April 24, 2024
We have come to the farm.
Professor Gray has just described a sound walk. We will walk without speaking. We will listen… biophony, geophony, anthrophony.
We strike out in two groups. Mine heads up the hill towards a back pasture. Bird chirps overhead – biophony. Gravel crunches underfoot – geophony. Truck engine revs on road below – anthrophony.
We arrive at a structure where the cows are crowded together, corralled by a wooden fence. We press our upright lanky bodies along the fence on the other side to get a better look. We look at them. They look at us. Because words have been removed this is all we can do. We are not asserting our humanness with commentary. It feels peaceful. Beings looking at other beings. I am overcome by a sense of connectedness, oneness.
And then, we hear it… the thick, steady, insistent sound of piss, streaming from bovine bladder onto soppy soil.
Because we have been instructed to remain in relative silence our gasps and giggles rise up from our bellies, catch in our throats and then bubble up into our eyes in the form of delighted glances darting between us. Now we bi-peds are more connected, sharing in the quiet comedy of the moment, in on a joke the cattle are not. But then I look back at them – their massive, sturdy bodies, their expressions unphased by the fidgety humans who can’t keep it together at the sound of a bodily fluid being released. The joke is on us.
We eventually reconvene with the other group to discuss our soundwalk findings. Then our classes split. I gather my class in a circle and we read the full Dickinson College Land Acknowledgment. We do it as a listening exercise. A breathing exercise. Each student reads one line outloud. Breathe in. Breathe out. What do you hear?
Enduring diversity… cultural eradication…moral failing… turning honestly toward… incomplete… in-process…attempt to reconcile…interrelated histories… home.
Then we move eyes closed. Stretch, fold, twist. What do you feel?
Then we move eyes open. Reach up – sky, bow down – earth. What do you see?
Plant your hands and feet to the ground, head down tail up – trees upside down. Lower your belly to the grass and peer through the blades- earthworm view. Roll to your side – hills align with your spine. If you pay attention, if you’re willing to move, it doesn’t take much to change your perspective.
We are reaching the end our time here. I say we have 5 minutes left. A student asks, “Can we see the cows again?” Before I finish replying “If you run” most of the 14 bodies lift up off the ground, turn, and bolt up the hill. Because I have never attended a Track and Field event this is the fastest I ever seen a group of 19year olds move. It is collective, spontaneous and joyful.
As I watch them disappear over the ridge, I realize this will be one of the defining moments of this course this semester. But then my educator mind kicks in and I think “Wait. What learning outcome does this fulfill? What’s the rubric? How will I asses this?” These feel like the least interesting questions that have been asked all day. I let my ribs and skull sink back to the ground, let mineral bones rest on mineral soil and unearth the hidden curriculum…
(Upon successful completion of this course)
You will be able to
stand amongst cattle.
Witness their twitching, snorting, and pissing.
Be rendered speechless. And find it delightful.
You will be able to
recall that as a child
you were equal parts artist and scientist
all curiosity and unabashed exploration.
You will be able to
recognize that the world is not a problem for you to fix.
What the world needs is for you to pay attention.
What the earth needs is for you to be satisfiable.
What the body needs, your body, is to be response-able — able to respond.
So that when there is a lack to be faced,
a longing to be felt,
a listening to be fulfilled,
Your bones align
Your heart pumps
Your muscles fire
Your lungs inspire
and on your next exhale
you mobilize,
you rise
you bolt
up the hill and around the bend
to return
Here.
A being among beings.