Greta Gaard outlines a list of binaries in her work “Toward a Queer Ecofeminism.” These binaries are used throughout the reading to address the issue of feminism and how it interacts with ecological factors to produce an entirely different side of the feminist agenda. We can extract these binaries to use in other situations, such as our exploration of a liminal space we have deemed “Apocalypse Park” here on the USF campus. It was incredible to take a step back and view everything we came across with this binary lens. Pretty much everything can be summed up as “this or that.” Now that we have constructed these binaries around everything, we also have the ability to tear them down, allowing things to be more than one thing or another. Now that we have taken the step back, we can take a step forward, and blur the lines society has constructed around everything.

It is odd how such simple objects can evoke such an emotional response, especially in a place like the apocalypse park. While these chairs were generally creepy during the day, a sense of eeriness was laid over them after the sun set. But why? It follows the same logic as the stairwell issue. Nighttime is when the monstrosities come about, and we allow them to consume our thoughts. Laura and I had a long conversation about the possibility of someone living in that area while we were there at night. Fear struck me before I was reminded that other signs of life would have to be found before a conclusion was made. The interesting point here is that these thoughts did not cross my mind during the day. Sure, I found it strange that two office chairs were just sitting out there, but I was soon caught up in the photo opportunity. It was only at night that my irrational thoughts crept in. For centuries, humans have feared the night because of the uncertainty it held. Things are most certainly not different now. We assume the worst when the sun is gone because light is our safety net. It is light that makes these chairs harmless, but darkness injects into them some sort of evil plot. Combine that with the change in their position, and you have a horror story that is contained within our very own apocalypse park.

We briefly talked about how different the apocalypse park looked at night as compared to during the day. One of the most noticeable differences was the creepiness level of the stairwell in the main part of the park. This staircase leads down into the murky depths of the ground level. When the water level is high, you can not see ground and if you continued down this staircase, you would be submerged up to the knees very quickly. Both times we visited, the water level was low enough so that we could walk down it completely before encountering water. During the daytime, this staircase didn’t seem too out of the ordinary. We considered it an odd placement for stairs, but there was no odd vibe being given off. When we went back that night, though, the air had definitely changed. Looking down those stairs at nighttime is such a creepy experience, as shown by the picture. You can barely see the bottom and the odd placement suddenly seems like an omen of ill will. Who knows what might happen if you were to traverse these stairs? This is a good representation of a culture/nature binary. Humans tend to think of daytime as more civilized because it is the time where most things happen. But nighttime is a whole other game. Bad things happen after dark. That’s why we set curfews for our children and walk home with friends rather than by ourselves. This just adds to the stigmatization of the nighttime, which ultimately lead to our labeling of the stairs at night as “creepy.” Nighttime is when wild things can occur, ones that seem animalistic and uncivilized. And that’s why we attribute it to “nature,” because it is something we cannot quite comprehend.

    When we die, our bodies are returned to the dirt, to be reclaimed by that from which we came. Some believe that our souls continue on, untouched and unperturbed by the ending that is death. Can this also happen when we find a place that exhibits such a strong hold on both nature and humanity? It seems to be a choice between the mind or the body. Do we allow our bodies to be taken by this space? Or do we retain our mindfulness, aware of what we can become? And if our bodies are reclaimed and our souls live on, are we still a part of ourselves, or have we become a part of nature? Gaard would, I believe, say that we can be both. She strongly agrees with the dualism of such binaries. Both choices are possible if we examine them deeply. I’d also like to present the idea that liminal spaces such as apocalypse park claim our souls rather than our bodies. If we form an emotional attachment to this place, we leave a piece of ourselves here in a nonphysical form. We retain our physical being, but our spirit is tied to those places that have an effect on us.

           We can also call upon the reason/emotion binary by the same logic. We can either follow reason and make the decision that society believes we should make, or we can give in to our emotions and follow a path that gives us the greatest amount of satisfaction. The caution tape reminds us that sometimes an emotional choice is a reckless one. When considering this binary, I am stunned by this caution tape being in this liminal space. This space has always evoked an emotion in me, and going there always seems to be an emotional choice rather than a logical one. So are we throwing caution to the wind by examining this space? Gaard would want us to re-examine these binaries and discuss how this piece of debris represents something outside of the box defined for us. Maybe there is a way that caution tape cast aside can represent both a freedom from the societal boundaries and a necessary warning to consider everything before proceeding with our free choices. Maybe emotional choices can also be reasonable, even if they seem rash.