The Systems of Place

April 30, 2010

My place is a system. A natural system in one sense, a human system in another. Leaves, branches, and needles decompose, nutrients are released into the soil, trees and wildflowers grow out of the earth, animals eat the seeds and cones and spread new generations of the plants. People come to sit on the stump, they meditate for a period of time, a sense of peace or enrichment is achieved, the visitor leaves, and eventually returns. This spot is an educational system as well. It shows the diverse interactions that can occur as part of and within an urban environment, and can lend insight as to what could be improved in a stretch of city woods.

My place in this system is the watcher, the squirrel intimidator, the one intimidated by seagulls. I witness what is constantly happening here everyday, but that never gets noticed because of its location. I serve as the scribe of this spot, recording the weak trees, the lone squirrel calling to her family across the block, the woodpecker holes scattered like artillery wounds across the pines, the way the sun hits one place, but not the other, leaving a clear difference between the two. I am also a caretaker. I choose not to drive a car to limit my carbon footprint and effect on the system. I try to keep people from walking across the same area over and over to avoid the breaking of roots. I tell people that, even though an area is not heavily wooded does not mean that it isn’t important for the enrichment of both animals and humans.

This place has surprised me. My initial visits were purely out of necessity due to mobility issues, and I found the place to be, well, pathetic. The pine limbs are sparse, there are a few lonely hardwoods, the shrubbery looked grumpy, and so much sun came through the canopy. But somehow, my place came to grow on me, which after the things I just listed, was a bit surprising. It was comforting to know that, without a long hike, a bike ride, or a car adventure, I had access to a spot that was just as natural as any of my other options. Perhaps it has been very much impacted by humanity, but we are a part of nature as well, and it will be interesting to see how humans and nature have changed this spot in fifty years. The signs of wildlife was also a revelation for me, as I came to realize, despite having been told this, that animals will adapt to an area if it has ample food and shelter space for them. I saw woodpeckers, squirrels, a cardinal, chickadees, and other small birds, and it was wonderful to see that a little fragmentation was not keeping them from living here in Burlington. This has encouraged me, made me hopeful that the adaptability of these creatures to live in an urban environment will carry over to influence their response to climate change. My place has given me comfort and fostered my curiosity about the world around me within Burlington, a place I had once discounted as being too urban for me, and for that I am grateful.

Event Map

April 23, 2010



Most of my events are centered around the stump in my spot, and most of my travels use the stump as a center point. I found my squirrel to be the most intriguing "event" of my visit, so she has her own corner of the page to show that. I think that my attentions were very focused this day, considering that I didn't feel the need for much background imagery. (Click on it to see it in a larger size.)

Spanning time.

April 13, 2010

Today is one of those days when I feel warm simply because the sun is shining down on me. I forget my cold fingertips, ignore the chilly wind breezing through the thin material of my sweatshirt. To think, there are a mere three weeks left for classes… Time flies I guess. Pondering what my spot may have looked like 50 years ago is a bit challenging for me. For some reason looking to the future is easier than trying to backtrack. Maybe that says something about me, but I don’t really know. I would guess that my little patch of white pine was at one time a cleared field, considering that white pine is a primary successional species, taking advantage of the abundant sun and growing quickly, but that process would have begun more than fifty years ago. There is a lone maple tree in my spot (or maybe oak, I can’t entirely remember and the leaves are still hidden in their cocoons), so maybe the soils are fertile, but I would venture to say, based on the present state of the white pine trees, the soil is not very good so it wasn’t prime farmland. Limbs sagging, bark chipped, woodpecker holes up and down their trunks, the pines are in a sad state. My guess is that the entire area was once wooded, a long long time ago, but when UVM established Redstone campus the trees were either cleared with some patchy regrowth allowed, or the spot where I sit today was allowed to remain. Fifty years from now, I can imagine an entirely different setting for my sit spot. Actually, I have two potential futures for these pines. My first is that lilac bushes will be scattered throughout, along with some more maples and other species that take advantage of the sunbeams coming through newly formed openings in the dying pine canopy. Hardwoods will begin to replace softwoods, and the area will be home to some new birds, as UVM makes an effort to restore wooded areas on campus. My alternative idea is that UVM will chop down all my trees within the next 25 years, and begin to landscape this section of Redstone, disallowing any new growth and trying to maintain a clean cut, artificial looking natural space. But that’s not something I hope to see fifty years from now. In an ideal world, my wish to see more trees and more native plants at UVM will be realized, and there will be small nature education areas scattered throughout the campus. But we shall see what time brings. . .

Patterned Life

April 4, 2010

Shoots of green grass tentatively poke their young heads through the pine needle strewn floor. The lilac buds have burst on the sunny side of the bush, showing fragile young leaves where there were once only small green nubs. The smell of a neighbor’s Easter ham is wafts by, carried by the incoming breeze, mingling with the fresh scent of pine trees, refreshed and rejuvenated by the seventy-degree weather of the preceding days. There is the distant beat of drums mixed with the rustling of old leaves in the wind. My squirrel friend is eying me yet again. We stare for at least five minutes, my inquisitive gaze meeting the cautiously terrified stare of the poor creature. All the while my partner in watching is voicing its nervousness with a creaky cry, and I wonder what exactly it is saying and who it is talking to. I am the first to look away, but I find something equally intriguing: holes, bored into the pine trees, dripping fresh sap. Were they chewed or drilled? Did a bug or a bird or a squirrel do this? The holes exist only on the trees with few understory branches, with evidence of boring from previous seasons. Fascinating… but I’m not sure how to answer my questions yet. The pattern of vocalizations from my squirrel is what I find myself drawn back to again, and I wonder, could I talk back? I give it a try and am met with a curious and confused glare from around the back of the tree that my squirrel has retreated to. I think that this squirrels series of cries and mumblings are my favorite pattern in this spot. Although the cries do not come in a pattern, there is a distinct similarity between varies vocalizations. This squirrel’s voice seems to convey emotions, fears, upcoming events, and I find it interesting how squirrels from far separated trees are responding. I know that she (I’ve decided this squirrel is a girl), must be warning her friends and family, and I can’t help but think of the evolution of one cry into a more complex one. Imagine starting with one call and moving on to new, more intricate ones. I wonder if her vocabulary is as diverse as my own. I leave, and look back to see her watching me go. Maybe she’ll be a little kinder upon my return. Or maybe she'll have a new call to signal that "it's just that human who sits and watches us."