In Michael Pollan’s novel Second Nature: A Gardener’s Education, he describes the act of gardening as an intimate relationship with nature, in which one learns the give and take of the land.  Unlike hiking and other adventurous outdoor activities, gardening may not offer an immediate emotional high; hours of shoveling dirt, weeding, pruning, watering, sunlight and patience must occur before one experiences the fruits of their labor.  However, I have found that the slow, tedium of gardening teaches you not only about the soil stuck under your fingernails, but about yourself.  It is these hours spent outside away from technology, toiling away rain or shine, which have allowed my mind to race away into a state of personal reflection.

Throughout my childhood, I spent days outside helping my father with yardwork, sometimes willingly, sometimes not-so-willingly.  Living on a 17-acre farm, there was always something to do, and in my father’s eye, it was best to be proactive.  In the small rural town of Shickshinny, our neighbors were few and far between.  Nevertheless, he insisted that we mow every visible field that wasn’t used for agriculture.  Heaven forbid yellow dandelions began popping up in front of our home.  This often-entailed hours with the lawn mower, sculpting clean rows back and forth in the large open fields.  Granted, on a riding mower this wasn’t the most physically challenging task.  So, to keep things interesting in the more intricate spaces, I zipped around apple trees and bushes and sometimes skidded down hills, challenging the monotony of the orderly rows.  Gliding across the grass, my thoughts often wandered through that week’s events or big decisions ahead.  It was sitting on the tractor that I contemplated hardships with friends, college choices and what I was going to have for lunch when I was finally done with mowing the lawn.

While Pollan’s experiences varied from my own, I was constantly drawing upon similarities from his stories, sparking suppressed or forgotten memories.  For instance, I recall walking through my grandmother’s cul-de-sac neighborhood, rows of identically sided homes separated by lush green lawns and strips of sidewalk.  As I strolled with my parents, we came across a home whose lawn was unlike the rest.  My parents scoffed at the presence of a garden in the front yard, teaming with vegetables and surrounded by overgrown grasses.  Like Pollan’s experience, there was rumored contention with this uncivilized and rebellious neighbor.  At the time, I also was uncomfortable with the disruption in the neighborhood’s orderly façade, agreeing with my family’s complaints.

However, over the past few years, I have thought back to this unique lawn and the societal norms that sculpted by opinion of what right and wrong looks like.  American culture tells me that I am a part of a larger society and should contribute to my community’s success by doing my part, including mowing my lawn and caring for my neighborhood’s appearance.  My obsessive-compulsive tendencies tell me that everything should be neat and orderly, sculpting landscapes in an organized fashion.  My environmental education at Dickinson tells me to convince my dad not to mow ever single field on our farm; alternate fields seasonally and let them fallow to save gasoline and sequester carbon!

On the other hand, my wild side tells me to let go and let fields revert to nature.  So often I get caught up with wanting to understand and maintain control of everything in my life, including the environments around me.  However, the Earth and its systems are so much more complex than I will ever comprehend.  Through self-reflection in the fields, I have grown to know the importance of simplicity.  To accept the ups and downs of each day, and to appreciate the simple moments and memories of dirt under my fingernails and between my toes.

Written on April 25th, 2017 , Uncategorized

This week’s reading by Anne Whiston Spirn explored the ways in which humans have constructed landscapes that seem natural to visitors.  Prior to the reading, while I was aware that national parks are thoroughly managed, I had not contemplated the design of parks in relation to the viewer’s nature experience.  Describing various parks throughout the U.S., Spirn relayed that through the construction of landscapes, we assign nature a purpose.  The trees, rivers and mountainsides within park boundaries are often not solely bio-centrically protected. Rather, they also serve an anthropocentric purpose, providing society with an emotional escape from urbanization, environmental education, and a sense of grandeur and recreational entertainment. In order to practice best management methods, it is important to recognize that these landscapes serve both ecological and anthropogenic ideals.  Without balance, both nature and society may suffer.

 

In national park management, if we were only to acknowledge the ecological needs of a landscape, visitor frequency to sites would likely decrease due to necessary restrictions.  These restrictions would protect lands from erosion from footpaths, air pollution from vehicles, discarded waste at campsites, and water pollution from sewage facilities.  Such restrictions would limit access for all people to national parks, creating an elitist mentality where only the wealthiest or most esteemed environmentalists could gain access to nature’s wonders.  The plants, animals and waterscapes would be protected, but only a few may know of their beauty and value to our planet.  Ecosystems would thrive in seclusion, relatively undisturbed by man.

 

On the other hand, if parks were only managed for anthropocentric needs, society’s influence may run rampant on the environment. Roads may be widened to allow for greater traffic into the parks, hotels might be constructed for the ease of visitors who prefer a less-outdoorsy experience, and trails may be entirely paved to prevent injuries and protect park liability.  These management practices would sacrifice the integrity of the parks, increasing pollution and disturbing the habitats of many plants and animals.  As frequency of visitors would surely increase, the quality of one’s experience may drastically decrease due to loss of species, crowding and degradation of wild landscapes.

 

While these two cases I described are extreme examples of management, residing at contrasting ends of a spectrum, elements of both case are evident in management practices today.  To the credit of national parks, it is a difficult balancing act between preservation of environment and facilitation of visitors.  After all, visitors bring much of the funding for national park programs and salaries that fuel preservation initiatives.  In reflection of Spirn’s accounts of Yosemite and Niagara, it is necessary to alter nature through park management practices if we are to serve both our ecological and anthropogenic communities.  Without boundaries, people may exploit the land; without visitation access, people may never come to know nature through first-hand exposure.

 

Furthermore, if landscapes were not managed, would people still have the same wilderness experiences described in National Geographic or as depicted on The Discovery Channel? In Spirn’s description of Niagara Falls, the waterfalls were intentionally framed to tend to the viewer’s ideals of natural landscapes.  Had landscapers not planted vegetation along the banks or intricately positioned trails and lookouts, one’s view may be tainted by artificial objects, juxtaposed along the cascading falls.  So while management may seem intrusive and emasculative to nature, perhaps it enhances the experience of the visitor while simultaneously placing necessary limits on society’s reaches.

Written on April 3rd, 2017 , Uncategorized

This week’s readings exposed dichotomies within the environmentalism movement, highlighting both historical trends and present day perspectives.  These dichotomies are revealed through discrepancies of race, gender, social and economic class, and ethnicity.  Through this week’s literary analysis, I have determined that there are two major discourses in environmentalism that are flawed and have resulted in incoherent socio-environmental progress.   Firstly, there is a dichotomy between preservation of wild landscapes and preservation of public health.  This can be seen in the traditionally white lead movements for the protection of endangered species, national parks, and other wild or natural landscapes.  Secondly, there is a dichotomy of nature versus society, as seen in the segregation of parks in urban environments and the lack of environmental education and consciousness amongst American society.

 

To address these discrepancies in the environmental movement, we must begin to recognize the relationship between nature and society as a spectrum. Preservation, conservation, protection, or however you spin it, should not be focused on landscapes or people.  We are immersed in our landscapes, directly dependent on the health of our planet for the functioning of healthy societies.  This is discussed in both Gottlieb and Di Chiro’s writings about urban public health issues related to air, water and soil quality.  When these environmental elements that we interact with daily are compromised and polluted, disease and dysfunction emerges in our communities.  I was particularly engaged by Di Chiro’s description of toxin dumping as “poisoning” of a community’s environment.  The language used created a personal dialogue, suggesting that the pollution of one’s air and water is a personal deliberate act, disregarding the wellbeing of fellow humans.

 

Though many people advocate for deep ecology perspectives, valuing the innate presence of nature, the environmental movement is most effective when anthropogenic discourses are implemented.  People respond to personal stories, showing empathy towards individuals impacted by resource extraction, industrial practices, and the dumping of waste.  However, this empathy cannot be conveyed without proper education of the public.  The second dichotomy of nature versus society has resulted in inadequate environmental education of American society.  We have become disjointed from our surroundings, spending most of our time sheltered in temperature controlled buildings living life through a screen.  We have become disjointed from our everyday resources, not knowing the source of our food, our gadgets, or our clothes.

 

Without this knowledge, individuals are blind to the problem at hand: that we are living an unsustainable lifestyle and that the planet is ill, off-balance, and out of whack.  Thus, efforts should be made to educate the public and break down the dichotomous barriers between nature and society.  I believe in the phrase that knowledge is power… and that we need to bring that knowledge to all people.  In this way, we can address the issues of environmental racism and injustice.  We must not neglect our environments and our global communities.

Written on March 27th, 2017 , Uncategorized

At its roots the Columbia River is a natural system, composed of water and sediments from the earth. It is teeming with macro-invertebrates, fish, plants and other organisms, and is powered by the sun and gravity. However in reflection of Richard White’s novel The Organic Machine, ever since man arrived to the Pacific Northwest, the Columbia has undergone an identity crisis. Imposing human ideologies upon its flowing waters, man has commoditized the river’s properties in order to suit society’s needs. Through the physical manipulation of the river’s shape, flow and biological content, man has also manipulated the river’s identity and assigned it a purpose.   However, through the scope of deep ecology, one may argue that the river does not have a utilitarian purpose, and continuously operates regardless of human need an influence.

After reading The Organic Machine, thus learning about the history of the Columbia and how man came to know and harness the river’s resources and power, I began to ponder the purpose of the Columbia. Man has used it for transportation, energy production, irrigation, recreation and as a source of food. But simultaneously, the Columbia has acted as a habitat, a cultural symbol and a means of passage for reproducing salmon. In an attempt to organize and domesticate the power and various elements of the river, we have provided specific designations, segmenting its body with dams, factories, hatcheries and power plants.

In thinking about the Columbia’s purpose, I also contemplated how society has progressively attempted to manage the river through use, analysis, engineering and rationalization.   This can be seen in the history of energy harvest from the Columbia. Initial use of the river’s kinetic energy could only be implemented at mills adjacent to the riverside. However, upon introduction of alternating current, electricity could be transported beyond the river’s banks to cities within the Willamette Valley. But in true human fashion, the Columbia’s energy provisions were not suited enough for the fluctuating electricity usage of cities and factories. Thus, dams were constructed so that engineers could control the flow and energy output of the river, further manipulating the once natural system into an organic machine.

As discussed by White, such management practices have consequentially altered the Columbia’s physical and biological makeup, morphing the original identity of the river and our relationship to it. While natural forces may inherently power the source and the flow of the water, we have so greatly altered the composition and essence of the river.

At what point should society draw the line and stop interfering with natural systems such as the Columbia River? By assigning anthropogenic identities to the river’s qualities, we have eroded away the natural value of the Columbia, as seen through the environmental lens of deep ecology. Through deep ecology, one may argue that humans have no greater right to use the Columbia than the salmon that once freely travelled up and down its currents. Yet, we have ignored the signs that the Columbia is out of balance and is not the same river that we once knew. Furthermore, we ignorantly assume that since we have manipulated the river, we are the ones in control. But as White points out, despite the millions of dollars spent on everything from dams to hatcheries, climate trends such as La Niña and El Niño still dictate flooding and droughts along the Columbia. Mother Nature still has the final say.

Written on March 14th, 2017 , Uncategorized

The act of restoring nature assumes two things, namely that humanity has assumed moral responsibility for the deterioration of a natural environment, and that we have the innate ability to fix what we have wronged. Through this week’s readings, it seems that these two assumptions have both positive and negative connotations.   On the positive side, personal convictions have sparked an environmental consciousness movement in which individuals affiliate acts of sustainability, conservation or restoration as ethical decisions. However on the negative side, such restoration acts may become “feel-good” activities that are not as effective or efficient as they are portrayed to be. In reflection of this week’s excerpts, I have come to question the legitimacy of restoration efforts in relation to the established end-goal. Are we attempting to restore environments to their pre-human state, or as Mills described, “a rough but functional” version of the original ecosystem?

 

To explore the positive aspects of restoration, I looked to Jordan’s Sunflower Forest article, in which the act of gardening was referenced as a way to create an intimate relationship with nature. By cultivating the earth, one learns about the ways that nutrients, sunshine, water, worms and other organisms interact through complex cycles in order to produce plant matter. I think back to my elementary school days, watching a lima bean seed germinate in a plastic bag and planting it in a Styrofoam cup. These simple but educational moments give children a glimpse at the natural world around them, thereby cultivating a sense of responsibility and connection with their ecosystems. This realization of interconnection with the natural world creates the moral affliction that is the backbone of many environmental regimes and movements; such as the protection and restoration of endangered species, rainforests and wetlands.

 

On the other hand, Katz portrayed the restoration movement in a cynical light in his article The Big Lie. He described technological innovations used in restoration to be arrogant, as they assume that we truly know the solutions to the problems that we caused in the first place. Additionally, many restoration and sustainability practices are anthropocentrically driven, repurposing ecosystems so that we may use (and potentially abuse) them again in the future. Often, I don’t think that we anticipate the second and third order effects of our environmental management practices. I was reminded of case studies that we examined in my Freshwater Aquatics class semester with Professor Strock, in which efforts were made to restore nutrient-loaded lakes as a result of agricultural and municipal run-off. Restoration methods included dumping chemicals, dilution, dredging of lake bottoms, food-web manipulation and more. While some of these methods can produce short-term restoration benefits, scientists and policy makers may not be able to anticipate the potentially harmful long-term impacts of such restoration activity.

 

So while environmental restoration may be rooted with moralistic intent to make amends with our ecosystems, society must consider the full spectrum of consequences as a result of further altering landscapes. In reflection of the various author’s opinions, to make restoration efforts more effective and genuine, we must not view restoration as a means of recreating pre-human environments. Constantly evolving, nature is not static. So why do we restore environments with a static end goal in mind? Restoration efforts should bear in mind not only the long-term health of our ecosystems, but also the long-term health of our economic and social systems.  Perhaps humanity needs to work on restoring its own flexibility and resilience in order to survive and thrive.

Written on March 8th, 2017 , Uncategorized

In our attempt to manage our natural environments, we often form misconceptions about its purpose and its intent. We have come to define nature with anthropocentric mannerisms, describing the good or evil of animals, insects and plants as highlighted in this week’s readings by Buhs, Plumwood and Scott. If we stopped imposing human morality on the actions and events within our ecosystems, perhaps we may begin to see the world from an outside perspective, as Plumwood discussed after her near-death crocodile encounter. While such revelations often come from dramatic experiences in the wild, I believe the sharing of personal stories like Plumwood’s helps to convey the message that we are not separate from our environment. In fact, we are ever so intricately entwined with our natural world, interdependent with the very organisms that we have grown numb to except for in the face of danger.

Teaming through Plumwood’s adventure in the Australian bush, I was quite literally griping the edge of my seat in anticipation of her encounter with a crocodile, while having personal flashbacks of my own. Last March for spring break, I travelled to Florida to visit family friends in the Tampa area, and went canoeing at a nearby nature reserve. Similar to Plumwood, my friend and I were warned about encounters with alligators in the area, which could be aggressive due to the mating season. Nonetheless, we paddled down the river, winding through the canopied waters while keeping an eye out for glowing eyes along the banks. I recall my nervous glances and heightened heart rate, anxious over even the smallest gator encounter. In that moment, I had the familiar feeling of being out of my element, both a nerve-racking and exhilarating sensation.

Another personal experience of mine seemed to tie together Scott’s discussion of bureaucratically managed landscapes and Plumwood’s crocodile attack. It was summer 2015, and I was on a cultural exchange trip with Army ROTC in Rwanda to learn about the nation’s economic, military and cultural conditions and to help teach English language to their military officers. At the end of our trip, we ventured to Parc National des Volcans, a national park bordering Uganda and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The park is situated along the Virunga mountain range, a hot spot for biodiversity and home to the esteemed mountain gorilla. Through my personal research leading up to the trip, I had learned that colonial authorities created the park in the 1920s in order to protect the mountain gorillas from poachers. Though a non-malicious intent, this displaced indigenous populations from the forests and ultimately created the high-end ecotourism industry seen in many African nations.

Lead by a local guide and gorilla tracker, we began our ascent from an elementary school, traversing through agricultural fields until we came upon the park’s official border. Departing from civilization, I was soon trekking through the dense vegetation on my way up the mountainside, heart pounding both from the steep incline and in hopes of glimpsing a gorilla. Three hours later, our guides quietly informed us that a family of gorillas was just beyond the trees nearby, reminding us of safe behavioral protocol. Suddenly, a 400lb male came rushing out of the bush, yelling and beating his chest to intimidate and survey the new visitors. Just mere feet from my team, we all retreated into the prone position, yielding to the gorilla’s dominance. After all, we were foreigners in his domain. I will never forget the pure awe and fear I felt in the presence of a creature so much larger and stronger than myself. It was a humble reminder of human vulnerability to our natural environments.

Written on February 28th, 2017 , Uncategorized

In their earliest years of school, American children are taught about Christopher Columbus’s great journey across the Atlantic to North America, where he discovered a vast rugged land, teaming with natural resources. This romantic portrayal often paints a landscape largely void of human influence, with mountains and valleys ready for exploration. These historical accounts have shaped the American perspective of what wilderness and natural landscapes should look like and contain, especially evident in today’s U.S. National Parks system. Through this week’s readings, the legitimacy of what society refers to as natural is brought to question, and the reader is challenged to justify the continued preservation and protection of landscapes that may not be unscathed from human hands after all.

Contesting the American societal construct of wilderness, Charles Mann’s article 1491 debunks the common perception that European settlers were the first to largely impact the Northern American landscape.   In fact, he states that in the pre-Columbus era, approximately 112 million people lived in the Americas, outnumbering European populations at the time (p. 43). These compelling population estimates cause one to wonder what impact Native populations were already having on the continent before Europeans arrived. As discussed in Cronon’s article, Native Americans had developed extensive agricultural and hunter-gatherer systems particular to their surrounding environments, to include felling of trees and burning brush. With tribal settlements covering vast areas of the continent, these systems had large-scale existing effects on the landscapes, which Europeans came to identify as natural environmental conditions.

Disregarding the influence of Native Americans, the modern day concept of wilderness was created in the mind of rich, white city-dwellers (Cronon, p. 78-79). The men of early explorations often characterized the American frontier as masculine in nature, where rugged landscapes could be dominated for the sake of nationalism. With the advent of the National Parks system in the 1870s, areas of wilderness were artificially stripped of human presence. Though as Mann pointed out, these regions had been under anthropogenic influence for centuries. Today, we continue to place physical boundaries between society and the environment, suggesting that something cannot be natural if humans are present.

In review of these readings, I was left quite disgruntled. Though I was aware of the discrepancies of early-American history education, I did not realize the magnitude of influence that Native Americans most likely had on the continent. We have come to identify ideal natural landscapes as void of civilization, but the very landscapes that European settlers discovered and sought to protect had already been altered by humanity. If what we think of as wilderness is not actually wilderness after all, how should we think of it? What grounds does the U.S. government have to cordon sectors of the Earth from present day indigenous populations in the name of environmental protection, if these populations have been tending to the land for generations long before Europeans arrived?

As Cronon begins to suggest, perhaps the solution to our misconstrued socio-environmental perspectives is the abandonment of nature dualism (p. 88-90). He suggests that nature exists on a spectrum, and that we must recognize that there is wildness in all things. We should not view our landscapes as black or white, natural or unnatural. Instead humanity must shift towards non-dualism, recognizing the interconnectedness of civilization and our entire planet.

Written on February 14th, 2017 , Uncategorized

The End of Nature?

It seems absurd that almost 30 years ago, authors such as Bill McKibben were writing at lengths about anthropogenic impacts on our environment, yet today, society still struggles to conceive the far-reaching impacts of humanity. In his book The End of Nature, McKibben describes nature as the elements of ecological systems that have not been impacted by the agency of mankind (p. 7, 50). He then argues that this concept of nature has come to an end. In one way or another, humans have had a large influence on our planet, reaching every corner of the globe. We have pushed environmental systems towards regime tipping points, with changes in oceanic and terrestrial landscapes, atmospheric composition and climate patterns, among other discussed effects. Through this book, I come to question the morality of playing God by altering our ecosystems to such extremes, and our full understanding and control of these critical circumstances.

 

As opposed to earlier environmentalist authors, McKibben has the hindsight to analyze a broad range of ecological stressors. He organizes his argument chronologically, looking at present day actions (of the late 1980s) and the near-future implications of such behaviors. This allows the reader to question, “How did we get to this point?” and “Do we fully understand the truth/consequences of our far-reaching impacts?” Furthermore, reading this book in the year 2017, one wonders whether controversial issues such as geoengineering will ever be an ethical solution to the consequences of the end of nature.

 

McKibben acknowledges that the complex feedback systems (p.26) and limited natural resources of our planet pose a challenge to scientists, economists and politicians alike. These actors in socio-environmental conflict continuously seek progress and development, through what he calls muscular industrialization (p.130-131). In a fossil fuel dependent economy, McKibben suggests that we have created a false sense of security, shielded from Mother Nature’s forces. This security, in the form of our sheltered homes, convenient forms of transportation and ready to serve meals, is derived from un-natural energy resources, heavily manipulated by mankind. From McKibben’s analysis, our environmental predicament is becoming increasingly obvious. Society keeps searching for more energy sources, in the form of natural gas, oil sands and more, thus avoiding the truth that our energy-intensive lifestyles cannot be sustained by nature.

 

In acknowledgement of society’s faults, McKibben discusses efforts to alleviate large-scale environmental distress, through the implementation of geoengineering (p. 56-58). By comparing geoengineering to playing the role of God, McKibben is able to frame environmental manipulation as a philosophical issue, examining the increasing dominance of mankind over the natural world (p. 60-64). Like my reaction to many other environmental writers, I am left conflicted by McKibben’s concluding messages advocating for deep ecology (p.154), and his contrary statement, “There is no future loving nature” (p. 180). Between “the end of nature” and today’s heavily engrained socio-economic systems, the natural world might not be restored until humanity gives way to Mother Nature.

 

After reading McKibben’s book, it seems that while humanity is the catalyst of such global change, Mother Nature is still in the driver’s seat. We have arrived in a geologically convenient time for growth and development, and have thus manipulated the natural world. However, how long can we hold onto our grip and unsustainable lifestyles, until Mother Nature puts humanity in a crippling headlock?

Written on February 8th, 2017 , Uncategorized

In a society defined by geometric structures scraping the skyline, the mechanical tick of a clock and glass walls shielding us from the elements and other organisms, humanity yearns for nature. We have come to define areas untouched by man as wilderness, characteristically vast, teeming with flora and fauna and at the mercy of Mother Nature’s forces. Through this week’s readings, authors portrayed humanity’s inherent need for wilderness and the threat modern society places on these regions. With deep reflection and first-person accounts, they effectively argue that the untamed natural world not only provides an emotional outlet from the structure of society, but a sense of adventure, independence and belonging to our collective ecosystem.

I began my readings with Zahniser’s paper on the overarching qualities of wilderness and its provisions to civilization. Using a holistic writing approach, this article helped to set the tone for further readings, defining wilderness as a social construct formed out of separateness from rigid society. Zahniser makes the contrast that being in the wilderness exposes one to their sense of dependence on nature’s provisions and teaches one independence from the safety nets of civilization, such as transportation, modern agriculture and shelter. These points were then enhanced through Muir and Abbey’s firsthand accounts traversing Yosemite and the Colorado River.

Taking you along for the journey and appealing to all the senses, Muir describes Yosemite’s grandeur scenery as enchanting, causing him to lose his sense of danger along cliff sides. While I have never been to Yosemite, I was able to relate to Muir’s experience through my own excursions in Iceland. I recall the same lack of fear while inching my way across a snowy ridgeline with inadequate equipment, knowing that the wrong footing could send me sliding downhill. It was the magical allure of the warm geothermal springs just beyond the mountain ahead that caused me to forget my frozen fingertips and fatigued muscles. While my sense of worry and extremities were numbed, like Muir my senses were fully alert, taking in the dancing light of the winter skies and the brisk wind gracing my cheeks.

Perhaps the most impactful article was Abbey’s day-by-day recollection in Down the River. Building upon each day’s insights and experiences, Abbey slowly separates the reader from the rules and regulations of civilization through vivid descriptions while he travels along the river. Though while out on the water Abbey is independent from authority, he is still reminded of his dependence on nature’s provisions, as Zahniser also discussed in his article. For instance, as food and supplies run out, Abbey and his companion must rely on the cleanliness of the Colorado’s waters to drink and their ability to catch their own dinner. This serves as a reminder to the reader, of the ease of access to food that American society often provides. Many are fortunate (or unfortunate) to simply purchase fish from a local grocery store, without questioning its availability, its source, or its quality. This detachment from nature’s food chain is made apparent in wilderness, devoid of modern conveniences.

Abbey’s final approach to the Glen Canyon Dam draws attention to the dwindling presence of wilderness, due to the encroachment and management by modern civilization. Riveting adventures come to an abrupt halt with a simple white restriction sign, signifying the engineering of our natural landscapes and the ever-growing need to manipulate environments to meet the needs or desires of humanity. Though, maybe we are destroying what humanity truly desires… the opportunity to experience a wilder side of life.

Written on February 1st, 2017 , Uncategorized

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ENST 406 Senior Seminar

Understanding the Human Place in Nature — Spring 2017