ALENVS3000-2018

In my opinion, privilege is a collection of benefits or advantages that are acquired by an individual as a result of the aspects of their identity. A person’s identity can include their ethnicity, religion, ability, sexuality, economic class, and gender, just to name a few. To state it simply, privilege is an invisible lens through which you perceive and are perceived.For example, I would identify as a middle-class, white, able, female. Throughout this blog post, I have included some photos of wildlife that I have been privileged enough to encounter.

Bighorn sheep (Ovis canadensis) ram in Banff National Park (2018)

I think that privilege definitely plays a significant role in nature interpretation. The main challenge I have when interpreting nature to an audience is building a relation or common ground with them. Relating to folks who have never had the opportunity to experience true wilderness was a big struggle for me. I had a hard time understanding that not everyone cares to learn about new plant or bird species or understands why a particular type of forest is so important. This was my own privilege speaking for me though, and I learned to start looking at nature with the fresh perspective that many folks have when they are introduced to nature for the first time. This new perspective really opened my eyes, it was like starting  to love nature all over again and helped me gain a better appreciation for nature. 

Black-handed spider monkey (Ateles geoffroyi) in Nicaragua (2017)

The hardest challenge I’ve faced in my career is being able to communicate with all audiences. It’s tough trying to communicate with folks when you don’t speak the same language. The demographics of many of the folks I met while working in Algonquin Park were so diverse! We received a lot of folks from Germany, France, and the Netherlands, but fortunately, many understood basic English or could at least understand the tabloids I gave them. However, one pair of travellers that really resonated with me were these two women that were completely deaf. I immediately greeted them without knowing, and they handed me this slip of paper telling me that they were not able to hear me. After feeling like such a jerk, I brought out a pad of paper and two pens to communicate with. They would write down any questions they had for me, and I would respond including any comments or suggestions I had for them. I was humbled by how we were able to communicate without speaking. I then realized how being able to hear and speak was something that I had taken for granted, and that a lot of interpretive programs were not accessible to folks visual or hearing impairment. 

Hoary marmot (Marmota caligata) in Mount Revelstoke National Park (2018)

When we went around the room on the first day of class, discussing our experience with interpretation, I didn’t have much of an answer. In fact, my answer was somewhere along the lines of “honestly, I don’t even know what nature interpretation is, and I’m here to find out”.

Over the course of the semester I’ve learned some solid foundations to help me figure out just what nature interpretation is. I’ve learned the basic principles of planning, running, and evaluating a walk. I’ve learned about how to balance risk to make sure that a program isn’t too boring or too scary. I’ve been able to, on multiple occasions, see professionals in the field interpreting nature and setting an example. The funny thing is, if you were to ask me today what nature interpretation is, I still don’t think I’d be able to answer. This isn’t however, because I’ve learned nothing. This is because I’ve learned one very important thing: nature interpretation can be done an infinite amount of ways. Interpretation is as much an art form as anything; the art of grabbing an audience’s attention and holding it through a presentation, ensuring each member walks away with something.

This leaves me to consider where I fit into the world of interpretation. I think that I bring a very specific view of the field with me, and as such have broken my ethic as an interpreter into three fundamental principles:

1)      Let people be free to discover on their own. In my opinion, the best way to learn is through experience.  Someone once told me that “experience is a bitch of teacher, but it’s a damn good one”, and as I consider this, I begin to realize how many of the lessons that I will never forget are ones that I learned from experience. Because of experience, I know that if a mountain bike trail is marked as “professionals only”, one should probably listen to it or risk some serious wipe-outs. Because of experience, I know that reef sharks are only going to chase you if you run from them: the best thing to do is stand your ground. Because of experience, I know that some of the best stories come from times when you had no plan, no idea, and no direction. This is something that I think everyone should experience, and as much as I can teach people facts and lessons about nature, few of them will truly grasp my point until they learn it from experience.

(What do you do with a single free day in Victoria? Follow vague directions to a local knowledge spot and climb out over a 200+ foot drop into a gorge of course. No plan, no idea, no direction - just four guys and a goal)

2)      Life begins outside of your comfort zone. Contrary to what we spoke about in class, I’m a firm believer that people should be constantly challenged, and that the best way to experience nature is to constantly put yourself in a state of discomfort. When I’m home for the holidays, I’ll often go for walks through the forest near my house. Its easy to get to and a good way to spend an afternoon. Last year, however, I decided I didn’t want to do that anymore because I’d grown up in that forest and it wasn’t new anymore. Instead of walking the same trail, I ended up bushwhacking and doing some off-trail exploring. I ended up in waist-deep snow. I found an abandoned hobo camp. I tracked a deer for 40 minutes, trespassed on in a farmer’s field, and still couldn’t find it. And best of all, I got hopelessly lost. I found myself in a very uncomfortable position: I had no idea where I was and was running out of daylight. Now, before I go any further its important to mention that this forest isn’t massive; I knew I could walk in any direction for under two hours and figure out where I am (I’ve been briefly but genuinely lost in an expansive forest before and its not something I’m eager to do again – see section 1). However, trudging through the snow trying to find something familiar afforded me two benefits. First, I began to notice little things in the environment that I hadn’t before in my desperate attempt to find something familiar. And second, I felt more alive than I had in a long time. All I had was myself and my skills to rely on. I trusted myself to find my way home, and I felt powerful when I eventually did. I do my best to do things that make me this kind of uncomfortable as often as I can - from illegally climbing through gorges in the Pilbara Region of Western Australia, to snorkeling with sharks and stonefish on the Ningaloo Reef, to boating into polar bear territory to collect firewood in the Cree Nation of Wemindji, to something as simple as walking through the Arboretum at night and trying not to jump at the shadows. The times in life when I am most exhilarated, and the times when I grow the most, are the times that I am deliberately uncomfortable. This is something that I think people need more than ever in a time when so much of our society and technology is focused on keeping us comfortable (read: numb).

(”What do you mean we’re going past the stop sign? Isn’t that illegal?” “Yes it is, Calder, but you won’t believe what’s down there!”)

3)      Give no quarter. There are obvious exceptions to this one, but as a general rule I believe that most people are capable of that which they think they are not. Last year, I underwent surgery to fix a foot that had been broken for two years. While this surgery fixed the break itself, it didn’t fix the chronic pain that accompanied it, and since March I’ve lived in near constant pain. Despite this, I continue to live my life the way I did before the surgery, and before the break. It takes some more teeth-gritting, some extra care, and a lot of Tylenol, but I have been able to meet (and exceed) my limitations despite this injury. I’m now a part of a gold-medal winning Quidditch team, I run 8 kilometres almost daily, and I’m in the best shape of my life. I have had the good fortune to realize that my injury can’t hold me back, and as an interpreter I think this is an important concept to pass on. Anyone and everyone can be outdoorsy, in most cases the only thing holding people back from going on a hiking trip, jumping into a lake, or climbing a mountain are their own perceived limitations that stop them from trying in the first place.

(A fracture of the 5th metatarsal - broken for over two years…)

(…and 8 months later, a regional gold medalist) 

University can be an interesting time. Many of your friendships sprout out of mutual dislikes of schoolwork that makes your head feel like it will explode. Trying to both enjoy and hang on to parts of being a young person while simultaneously focusing on your next steps into the professional working world is a delicate balance. Your music taste, favourite show on Netflix and your life goals can change day to day, creating a weird combination of instability and excitement. You’ve got so much going on that time to process anything is sacrificed because you’re too busy doing the damn thing.

For me, what strikes a balance, connects me with people of similar interests, and adds an element of stability while maintaining excitement is my relationship with nature. Freezing, scorching, rainy, sunny, bright, or dark (damn you daylight standard time). Programmed or informal. On payday or when you’re in the hole. In sickness and in health. Taking a deep breath in the outside air never fails to rebalance, refocus, and reconnect me. And in most cases, it’s just fun. So of course I want to share this with others.

My perspective on nature as an interpreter (and I’m sure this will change) has developed quite a bit, in a few different ways. Beyond the clear conclusion that nature is lovely and fun and should be enjoyed by all, this is my current assessment.

The belief that nature has the powerful possibility to be a common ground. Allow me to be a bit sappy here. In our daily lives, in cities and towns, surrounded by human made buildings and roads and stuff, it’s easy to divide, to see self and other, and to think those differences are significant. When surrounded by things that truly are other, from the ground and all that grows to the sky and all that is, it’s a reminder that we are all just humans. From this understanding, nature can definitely solve a lot of the worlds problems, as we’ve discussed many times in class.

Connections to nature are step one in conserving it. Who we vote for, and what we advocate for has always been important. In 2018, particularly in the political climate of our closest allies, our societal challenges seem to feel very heavy. Threats to natural features across the world feel eminent, and as someone with a connection to nature, it feels like a strong call to advocate for what I value, which includes conservation. To those who haven’t had the same opportunities to connect to nature, how can I expect them to feel the same? I think it’s important to giving people context of nature and the environment and allowing them to decide how they feel from there, even if they don’t feel the same as I do.

With strong beliefs comes great responsibility? I think my panic of impending environmental disasters and natural losses can certainly make me feel that way. What? How can you not feel the same way as I do? Now I have to convert you to the right side! Accepting that that isn’t really my role is still a work in progress, and instead I try to channel that into enthusiasm for what I interpret. This also comes with the acknowledgement that not everyone has had the opportunities that I have to be introduced to the concepts that I have, or to connect with nature. Whether due to ability or circumstance, heading into interpretation with the intent to include varied demographics is a responsibility. Bringing more people to the table (or into the woods) has the potential to enhance everyone’s experience, because everyone has something to share.

This class gave me an opportunity to try some different interpretation formats, and some connected more with me than others.

Unscripted interpretation → not in a classroom/formal presentation writing. I enjoy interpretation most when I don’t have a script, just a general sense of what message I want to portray, a few solid interesting facts, and my ability to create discussion which would drive the flow of the conversation. I also know from past experiences that I enjoy interpreting most on a one-on-one or two or three people. In this format, the audience genuinely gets the chance to ask you questions about what interests them, there is much less pressure to be scripted, and I feel like I can be a much more real human.

Active interpretation → let me move! I’m not good at listening to people for more than five minutes in one location, so I don’t like making people listen to me for more than that time. Giving people tactile and hands on content is very up my alley.

Interpretation through writing → coming into it, I really thought this blog would be a task and a nuisance, I didn’t really realize how much I would enjoy writing in this format. I think I am able to still portray my personality through writing, and I find it a healthy challenge to write in a compelling way each week. I might continue into my field school next semester!

In the spirit of reflection… 

Two last things:

Going out west for a season and plans to return again have definitely made me biased towards the large scale, classic beauty of the mountains. Being slightly bitter to come home to Southern Ontario, this class definitely gave me a kick in the pants to try to embrace the pieces of nature I have around me. I have enjoyed my many walks in the Arboretum this semester, and I think I’ve finally got it through my head that just because it’s different doesn’t mean it’s not as good. School life doesn’t have to equal inside life, and I’ve definitely stopped skipping out on the nature I have access to on a daily basis.

Wild Goose Woods boardwalk

I will be debriefing the group that did an Indigenous Peoples walk. Overall the walk was thought-provoking, effectively delivered, and passionate. Every group member was very well equipped with the information they transferring to the audience, and each one did so professionally, and with the ability to capture my interest. When the group told us they were going to perform a Smudge Ceremony I was a little worried that someone who wasn’t of indigenous ethnicity was going to perform this, but I was relieved when the person who performed it was of indigenous background. They were the second last group to go on an extremely cold and wet day so that was a hard position to be in. It’s hard to captivate people’s attention when they’re tired and cold, but the group was able to accomplish their goal seamlessly. One of the gifts they used was “The Gift of Story”. The group took us to War Memorial Hall on campus where they gave us a quick history on what the building symbolizes. This made me feel sad but also happy that people who fought in the First World War were remembered like this. Then the group described how the Indigenous Peoples were treated during and after the war. This was effective because they were able to use examples and cause and effect to describe how it was for white people but then how horrible it was for Indigenous Peoples.

“The Gift of Beauty” is the second one I want to talk about. When the group performed the Smudge Ceremony I was very intrigued. When they explained the significance behind it and when they brought out the tools to perform the ceremony I realized this was a very important ceremony and not to take it lightly. As we formed the circle and the ceremony proceeded, with knowledge of the importance of the ceremony, the entire scene was beautiful to watch. From the movements to the different smells and emotions in the air, the group created an atmosphere and shifted my mood to one that I was able to appreciate the weigh and significance of the ceremony.

I liked how the group brought the audience around campus and informed us of different connections to indigenous peoples around campus. I thought this was effective because people walk on campus everyday and are familiar with it, therefore when I go on campus now and remember the walk I will remember the importance and significance each waypoint had to indigenous culture. I feel like this experience aligns with the last gift I’m going to talk about which is “The Gift of Revelation”. They were able to turn the campus people walk on every day, into something that was so impressive and interesting that I will remember everything they talked about when I walk on campus from now on.

    You’ve surely heard some slogan along the lines of ‘save the bees’ in the past several years. There are lots of issues causing colony collapse in the European honeybee (Apis mellifera), and scientists are still trying to pinpoint the exact factor causing this issue and how to best address it.     Something you don’t hear too often is that Colony Collapse Discorder (CCD) is a problem for the European honeybee, but technically they are an invasive species here in North America. They were brought here only several centuries ago, as they are one of the most popular bees to farm. There are over 800 native bee species in Canada, and 400 in Ontario, which are also really struggling, but don’t have too much awareness since they don’t produce products (eg. Honey, wax, propolis, etc).      Did you know that a single colony of the invasive honey bee can outcompete up to a thousand native bee colonies for habitats? Most native bees die off in late fall, and only the queen bee survives the winter. She must find a suitable habitat all alone and begin laying eggs for her colony. However, the invasive honeybee overwinters as a colony, and is able to establish itself faster in the spring. It then gets first pick for the best habitats. All of this happens when an inexperienced beekeeper accidentally allows their colony to split and move out of the bee box and into surrounding trees! But hey, I’m not just here to give you the bad news. There are things you can do to help!

1. Set out a shallow plate of water with rocks in it as landing zones; bees get thirsty too! 2. Don’t use pesticides on your lawn; embrace the natural beauty of native species like clover and dandelions which are great for pollinators, and don’t have to be mowed/pulled out/chemically removed. Not to mention pesticides kill important organisms in the soil and end up in our water – yuck.

3. If you have a green thumb, try creating a pollination garden in your yard. You can plant pollen rich plants (but make sure they’re native species, like Asters, buttercups, marigolds, violets, etc). All types of pollinators, like hummingbirds and butterflies, have been suffering in recent years. Here’s a link to a guide on trees and shrubs that will attract pollinators throughout the year

4. Buy/build nesting boxes: unlike the bee boxes or honeycombs you may have in mind when you think of bees, you can create boxes that look like this:

(Insect hotel, 2015) Here are some instructions on making a bee-utiful nesting box of your own! It’s a pretty fun project, and the native bees will be super thankful!

Are you familiar with our native Ontario bees/do you see them often? Do you have any other ideas on aiding native pollinators?

Ok everyone, I am incredibly excited to share with you all something ancient and mystical living amongst us today. It comes from a world that we will never know, but is still our own. This living memory may be one of the loneliest beings on earth as its species slowly dwindles and fails, but as the last survive, they provide testament to the resilience of life, the desire to survive, and evidence that the world around us will never be the same as it is in the moment we experience it. Today I share with you my favorite tree, Nothofagus moorei, the Antarctic beech.

The Antarctic beech is one of the only remaining species (I was told the only remaining but I question the reliability of the sign I read as it is my only source) native to Antarctica living today. Now, I know what you must be thinking. Yes, that Antarctica. The one with the lightless winter, miles thick ice sheets, and not a single tree to be found; let alone a deciduous tree that can grow to 50 metres in height. However, the southern extreme we know today wasn’t always that way.

(Photo by Neil Ross, 2013). 

Tens of millions of years ago after the dissolution of the supercontinent Pangea, a new landmass was forming in the southern hemisphere. This continent, named Gondwana, was comprised of what is modern day Africa, South America, India, the Arabian Peninsula, Australia, and you guessed it, Antarctica. The dominant ecosystem across much of Gondwana was cool, subtropical and temperate rainforests. It was in this environment that the Antarctic beech came into being. Over the following millions of years, Gondwana started to break and the last to pieces drifted south together, what would become Australia and Antarctica. The tree is believed to have originated in the Antarctic portion, with small populations extending into cooler alpine regions of Australia. As the two landmasses finally split, the trees living on their native Antarctica slowly dwindled to extirpation as ice devoured their ancestral range. Today only a handful survive in elevated peaks scattered along eastern Australia.

Unfortunately, the trees are currently believed to be on their last legs in their final stronghold today. Evolving in a cooler climate, the increasingly warm Australian temperatures have robbed the trees almost entirely of their ability to reproduce sexually. In addition, their alpine homes were traditionally out of the reach of the bulk of the fires that regularly reset life in Australia’s lowland bush. In the past decades though, drier weather has promoted the spread of fires into the mountains. Unlike the majority of Australian flora, the beech is not resilient in the wake of fire. The final figurative “nail in the coffin” is the slow but steady erosion of the mountains that host them as time rolls along. With large root systems that favour deep soil, the thin mountain topsoil exposes the roots to mosses and parasitic plant and insect species. With some trees alive estimated to be up to 12,000 years old, the age of this ancient beauty is coming to an apparent end. Fortunately, its timeless message of consistent beauty in the face of constant change will long outlive it, and possibly even us who learn this lesson. 

For our nature interpretation lab this week, James Gordon came into our class and wrote a song with us. For those of you who do not know, this is James Gordon. Our song was about leaving the city and escaping into a forest. In our song, we described many nature sounds. It was a very fun and eye opening experience because it made me realize how musical nature really is. Our lab with James Gordon also made me realize how music can be used as a tool in nature interpretation to involve everyone and get a meaningful message across.

Where is music in nature? Music is in all sounds in nature. It’s the wind through the trees, rain drops hitting the ground, the rustling of leaves, in birds chirping, in crickets stridulating, in frogs and toads croaking, and in fire wood crackling as it’s engulfed in flames. These are just a few of the sounds that I associate with music and nature. Because nature is so musical without even trying to, sometimes I’ll find a forest and just stop and listen to the noises.

(Colour Box, https://www.colourbox.com/image/falling-leaves-image-5477056)

The more interesting and less obvious question is, where is nature in music? Like music, nature is everywhere. It’s in the materials used in the physical production of musical instruments, it’s the people playing the instruments, and most of the time, it’s the inspiration for music. I listen to a lot of folk and ‘Canadiana’ music and in those kinds of music, it’s more obvious of the artists’ inspiration by nature. Even though music genres such as electronica and rock aren’t traditionally inspired by nature, they can be. Some electronica music can even incorporate natural sounds into their music. I was browsing on YouTube and I found this interesting nature electronica.

Here is an article explaining stridulation if anyone’s interested or don’t know what that is! Crickets and grass hoppers are in the same scientific family and both stridulate, but do so in different ways. 

Even though I am musical and enjoy listening to music, I found this blog post difficult to write because what’s to say about nature and music? It’s almost indescribable. I was looking up music in nature and stumbled across this article in Science.

To give you a summary of this article, it’s about the history of human music and it goes on to describe other music in nature, establishing a concept of ‘universal music’. Human music dates all the way back to 50,000 years ago.  This concept is related to mathematical Platonism which suggests that there’s a universal mathematics awaiting discovery. The authors of this study believe that instead there’s universal music awaiting discovery because there are many similarities in our music to that of birds’ and whales’ music. This concept is very enlightening because it means that we are all part of an ‘animal orchestra’ and are all connected through music. I knew that music could connect people and bring them together, but not that it could also connect people and animals.

As you and I may have been told time and time again, beauty is entirely subjective, and lies in the eyes of the beholder. People are different. Backgrounds, privilege, circumstance and personal preference shape what we define as beautiful in our everyday lives. Art has its roots in beauty as it is created through whatever appeals to the artist as beautiful or provoking. An artist strives for beauty but isn’t satisfied by how it may appeal to the masses, but only to itself. In this way we can say that art is selfish in the way that it is created to be beautiful to the artist. Not being a person familiar or experienced in visual art, I am often unable to interpret it, especially modern art. However, after reflecting upon the nature of art, and nature itself, I can draw a parallel that is selfishness. Like an artist, genes and evolution make many mistakes, and only choose the ones that work best for them, depending on their circumstances. But this doesn’t make it any easier.

Who am I to interpret nature through art? I am not. That’s the only answer I can give, first because I’m not sure what it means, and second, I don’t consider myself an artist. BUT! Others can. Those who can recreate a picturesque scene on canvas with a waterfall, mountains and fields, Vivaldi with his four seasons, and even Toto with Africa have it spot on. I just don’t feel I can touch that. I prefer to interpret nature how it is, and in my eyes, art is anything but natural. Nothing takes my breath away like the real thing, and paintings don’t come even close to doing it justice. Maybe that sounds harsh and dull minded, but I tend to put nature on a bit of a pedestal and seeing it as a recreation in other people’s standards seems like blasphemy to me. When I see a painting like that, I see the objective, and I understand the level of skill involved, and appreciate it, however it is flat, and dead. Paintings don’t move, they are not alive, connected on every level of organisation, and 3 Dimensional.

Yes, I cannot paint, draw or sculpt a masterpiece but I’ve learned a lot about how to appreciate art through terms in the artistic community such as the gaze. The gaze speaks about the gaze of the viewer, the gaze of the artist and the gaze of the subject of the work (if applicable). Through analyzing and understanding the differences between each of the gazes a broader appreciation can be found. Relating back to beauty, through this deeper understanding, you as a viewer are often able to see a beauty in a work you normally wouldn’t even like. So, in some respects in this topic I do agree with you that beauty is subjective, however with greater understanding of the art world you can find beauty in another perspective other than your own.

So since this week is a free write for the blog I decided that I wanted to reflect on my summer. This summer I had the opportunity to work in Waterton Lakes National Park in the south western area of Alberta. In 2016 I road tripped out west with my family for a month and got to see the Canadian Rockies for the first time. I immediately fell in love with the mountains and all the wildlife that surrounds those areas. So the following year I applied to national parks out west. I got to see some pretty amazing things while I was out there such as bears, herds of elk, mule deer and many many wildflowers.

Black bear cub (pc. me)

One thing that I knew prior to driving out to Waterton before the summer was that the previous year there was a massive forest fire which devastated the town and park. Fortunately the many firefighters and the parks Canada staff was able to come together to protect all the buildings and historic sites and evacuate all the people before the fire came into the town.

This past summer another fire hit the town and it shocked me how much fires effect an area. This fire specifically was started by a lightning strike that hit the southern edge of the park in Glacier National Park, Montana. The fire spread very fast into our park and ended up only 5 kilometers away from the townsite.

Burnt forest floor in Waterton (pc. me)

I realized this was the norm for people who live out west. Being from Ontario I did not realize that extreme forest fires occur in British Columbia every year. That doesn’t make them any less devastating but it was surreal going to areas that just have to deal with that on a regular occurrence in certain areas of Canada and the world. Immediately when I realized this I became more aware of looking into how many forest fires were going on in certain areas around me. It was crazy finding out that at certain points in the summer that there was around 600 fires in British Columbia alone, with only a portion of those being under control.

Lupins growing in Waterton after the fire (pc. me)

One thing that I learned about fires from being out west is that it can be really beneficial to the land to get that extreme treatment. I always learned in conservation classes and forest classes in school that forest fires and controlled burns are really good for an area’s biodiversity. I did not have a good concept of this until I saw it for the first time. The parks Canada staff who have lived in the area for some time explained to me how devastating the Kenow (2017) fire was and seeing all the burned areas was a shock. But as the seasons changed I participated in a wildflower count in the park and the botanists that were there were surprised and super pleased about how many more wildflowers were growing in the area because of the fire and the ash fertilizing the ground. It’s absolutely amazing to me that with so much destruction comes great beauty in following years.

I have a few things that I think relate back to our posts about privilege a few weeks ago that I’d like to mention in response to your post. Our knowledge from previous environmental studies has allowed us the privilege to learn that forest fires and controlled burns are actually good for the environment in some ways. In that respect there is a song lyrics which I think works really well for this situation even though the song itself isn’t necessarily speaking to this topic. That lyric is “ From the ashes, I will rise again “ by a band called In This Moment, I think of this lyric in this context in that the ashes of what was before breed new life and beauty (as the crocus flowers do in your post). I think it is quite beautiful how even when the intent for something is completely different, depending on perspective we can still relate it back to nature.