Human Ecology Essay Collection 2020
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Human Ecology Essay Collection 2020 Human Ecology Essays College of the Atlantic 2020 All graduating students at College of the Atlantic must write an essay exploring their understanding of human ecology, a task which they approach with as much eagerness as dread. For some, the meaning of human ecology is straightforward and easily defined; for others, it is best demonstrated through metaphor and analogy. For all, the task of writing a human ecology essay presents an opportunity to reflect on the perspectives, narratives, and places that have informed their experience with an interdisciplinary curriculum. This year, 31 seniors chose to share their insights and document their personal journeys within their practice of human ecology. Edited and designed by Donovan Glasgow, Sara Lowgren, Rose Jackson, Molly Pifko, and Maya Roe With help from Blake Cass, Ken Hill, and Anne Kozak Front Cover: “Anenome Cave” by Hugo Navarro Title Page: Priyamvada Chaudhary Back Cover: Priyamvada Chaudhary Thanks to the Writing Center, the class of 2020, and all readers and advisors. © May 2020 College of the Atlantic www.coa.edu Essayists Patrianna Anderson 5 Yoichiro Ashida 9 Helena Bader 14 Lily Besen-McNally 24 Hunter Bischoff 27 Alexandra Ceurvorst 32 Priyamvada Chaudhary 39 Leta Deithelm 43 Jennifer Elliott 47 Sahra Gibson 51 Beverly Guay 57 Rebekah Heikkila 61 Rose Jackson 65 Rayna Joyce 69 Lilly Kendall 73 Petra Laucikova 77 Sara Lowgren 81 Lillian MacNeish 84 Uakevelua Munekamba 88 Hugo Navarro 92 Indiana Nunez Sharer 96 Emma Ober 100 Jenny Reichert 105 Maya Roe 110 Quomaruliati Setiawati 113 Isabelle Tiller 116 Eva Trotta 120 Thule van den Dam 125 Ania Wright 131 CJ Young 134 Ana María Zabala Gómez 138 Notes 144 Patrianna Anderson Professors in Vans Drinking Coffee I have found that my most significant moments of growth and learning have come not in the classroom but in the hours spent out- of-doors, in small offices, and, in many instances, inside a white van driving to a study site, camp, or in some cases another country. Just to clarify, this van had windows, a license plate, and an identifiable COA logo wrapped along the side, and I was a willing participant of these adventures. To clarify further: no kidnapping was involved. To escape our island campus for an afternoon and spend 45 minutes in transit talking about graduate school or what it was like to live in the 70s, discussing primary literature or the fat content of seal milk, has delivered incredible insight into life and its misadventures. This form of instruction is relaxed, and it has taken me down roads rich in discovery and interconnectedness. In these moments, I have had the space to ask clarifying questions. The reward is candor from both my professors and myself. Engaging in these talks while exploring the backroads of Maine has allowed me to break down false preconceptions and to demystify my trajectory in life. As I look back, common themes arise. Wilderness, conservation, and changing landscapes emerged in so many of these conversations, along with lessons on how to take responsibility for my thoughts and opinions by asking challenging and pointed questions. —WILDERNESS AND THE CHANGING LANDSCAPE— I couldn’t sleep the night before our journey to northern Maine. I had read a paper in preparation for the trip that kept me up thinking about wilderness, about how we define it, and, if it exists, where we might find it. In conjunction with these thoughts, I was contemplating the idea of pristine landscapes. The idea of pristine conditions ran throughout ecological reports, documentaries, and a large novel about the rise and fall of various fishing communities. Each source kept referring to an effort to return to pristine conditions, whatever that means. I thought about the roles that humans play in the world. I wondered whether pristine conditions consisted of a world before the introduction of humankind. Could they be found in a landscape 5 untouched by the industrial revolution? An ocean before boats and fishing? These thoughts kept me occupied into the wee hours of the morning and I was wide-awake by the time the first sunbeams of the day filled my room. I sat silently in the van as we drove off campus. My mind was active, many of my thoughts not yet fully formed. I asked my professor about a recent course he taught in Costa Rica, and this led to a conversation about changes to the landscape. He reminisced about the way Costa Rica was back in the 80s, his first encounter with the country before the tourist boom, before hotels replaced small rooms for rent, and before millions of visitors walked the now well trodden paths. There is something special about the first time one sees a place. That early introduction, when everything is new and time passes slowly, places us outside of our element, amongst new customs. Each time you arrive, many questions arise, and routines have yet to be established. Perhaps for my professor, his early experiences in Costa Rica were the moments when he saw the land as close to “pristine” as it ever would be through his eyes. He smiles as he reflects on his misadventures on the coast, involving a tent on the beach, his passport, a gun, and the local police. His face lights up when he recalls the old Costa Rica, the Costa Rica of his youth. It made me reflect on my first experiences in Costa Rica. Years after his first adventure, I had my own mishaps on a similar beach. —IMPOSTERS ON A BEACH IN COSTA RICA— Having sustained a ruby red sunburn on my limbs, I took a break from hiking the scenic trails of Parque Nacional Manuel Antonio at a well used beach. There were children running in and out of the waves and couples embracing each other. I sat in the shade, drinking in the slight breeze. Suddenly, I felt something on my back, slapping my sun- kissed arms. I looked around me, a man down the beach was filming me and laughing as another something crawled onto my back. I felt tiny stings as an unknown creature slapped my shoulders. As soon as I understood that these were monkeys on my back, I felt one latch on with its teeth. A monkey had just bit me. I realized that I was an imposter in this changing landscape; my presence, and the presence of many other tourists, had impacted the behavior of these “wild” monkeys. Even as I recall being bitten, I am brought back to my thoughts of wilderness and pristine landscapes. For many people, the forests of Costa Rica feel like wilderness. For others, tourism and development have consumed the wilderness that once was. For my professor, the crowds of tourists keep him away from beautiful parts of the country, 6 places that were once well kept secrets and are now large capital schemes. As we see the development of such places, I am of the mindset that we can only spare a few moments to define words that are inexact by nature. When my colleagues remark on the loss of the world’s wild places, my response is: What are we going to do about it? —THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA— When discussing pristine conditions, impacts on the ocean are frequently cited. For centuries, there was this assumption that the bounty of the sea was endless. In the early summer months after my second year at COA, I visited coastal towns in Newfoundland and Labrador with my professors and a large group of students. In two white vans, we drove for hours, stopping to interview fishers and visit historical sites. I spoke with my professor about cod. I wondered about the lessons that policymakers and fishers learned after the devastation of the cod moratorium in the 90s. One major takeaway was the importance of communication between politicians in Ottawa, the scientists, and the fishermen. Another was the inherent ineffectiveness of a single-species management system. The cod moratorium shows us how exploitation of a natural resource has lasting impacts on communities and natural landscapes. As we drove to new places, meeting locals with weather worn faces, I was reminded of the importance of conserving both landscapes and local traditions. I spoke with men and women who had lived hard lives, forever changed by the introduction of factory ships off the Grand Banks. Conservation is just as complex as the species and places we hope to conserve. Many perspectives need a seat at the policy-making table. —EDUCATION IS NOT THE FILLING OF A PAIL, BUT THE LIGHTING OF A FIRE— In my freshman year at COA, I read a convocation speech that had been delivered by Adrienne Rich at a women’s college in 1977. Her words comforted and challenged me to push myself harder than I ever had in the past. My place in higher education did not come easily. I needed to reach for the answers and experiences that were important to me. Rich urges us to ask difficult questions and never to accept uncertain answers. I go into each new term wondering what I want to learn, what my motivations will be. I recently learned that I have to tell my professors what I want to be taught. Sometimes I am so absorbed in my worries and fears for the upcoming term that I forget that professors have similarly restless 7 nights. We stood chatting as M/V Osprey sailed into Canadian waters. My professor was speaking about the start of the new school year. A wave of anxiety washed over me.