Elk Ecology

Seventeen sixth grade boys and girls are on an elk hunt and today my classroom is a  field above the YMCA's amphitheater cookout. Fall has been sounded in the Rocky Mountains by the bugling of male elk --bulging bulls swelled with testosterone so that they have disbanded from their typical bachelor herds and are all alert to fight their normal brothers for their gathered cows. One antlered royal (six-pointed bull) has herded his harem of calves and cows out of the YMCA baseball field and into the canopy of pine for some grazing and chewing of cud. After a heads up on their location from my radio, my class tracked them here to fulfill Colorado Outdoor Education Curriculum -- Elk Ecology 101. Eco derives from the greek oikos, meaning home. For the time time being, these elk like to stay at the Y-M-C-A, and as the Village People have sang "It' is fun to stay"here for the boys and girls as well. How do they experience sharing a home with the elk?

 During autumn rut, bulls naturally command attention. Alert and tense, the dominant bull is prepared to fight every raghorn or satellite buckaroo that oggles his harem. The class watches the bull rear his head to display his massive antler, each weighing up to 40 lbs. -- a sign that he is  from a royal line with tough genetics and  has a successfully history of finding food. This heavy lifter charges a female elk that has strayed too far from the harem, the thick muscles of his belly rippling into spasms as he surges forward with his piercing, disgruntled bugle. Not too far girl. Lazily, she ambles back towards the herd, her long legs move with a meditated, unconcerned slowness. Even though the bull threatens her with the aspen-polished tips of his wrack -- he has nipped cow hide before-- the cool assurance of her walk reminds him that it was she who chose him. This big bull is lucky she continues to choose him, fights other cows for him -- so that her calf will be born in the early spring. If she can claim him early, her May or June calf will benefit from a long and ripe summer season, and have time to multiply the thirty five pounds of its birth weight by five before snows slide down old glacier paths on the alpine peaks and cover all in harsh Colorado winter. Late-born calves loose the winter fight when their mother was defeated the previous autumn in rearing, leg kicking tustles to mate with the dominant bull.

Imagine the of seventeen sixth graders as the gaze wide-eyed or through the lens of cameras as the 700 lb. bull gracefully bends his antlered head towards the ground between his legs and szzchhhhhhHHHH -- face soaked and dripping from a power spray of urine. Shrieks and giggles and gags, yells of "Gross!!!" or "What is he doing?" erupt from the previously spellbound group. Chuckling, I tell my class, "Bull Elk are thrifty. They make their own perfume to impress the ladies." Another priceless experience in outdoor education that I alone could never teach...

Rooted in the Conversation

Four years at the UCA Honors College flew past--are now past. Every year the college sends off its graduates with a gift to remind students to "stay in the conversation," that is, to remain engaged with fellow alumni and professors. Students in the past were given a paper weight, but my class of 2012 was given a pine tree. The planting of the tree was the beginning of a cyclical ceremony, for watching the tree grow would revive old memories but in a season freshly colored by the growth of thoughts and imagination.

My Dad and I, along with my little sisters Ella and Anna, planted the tree in front of the house--a sunny spot in front of the house, nestled in the view from the front porch. Through the years, I can imagine that I will mark its growth as I swing softly back and forth on porch. Maybe I will think about Environmental Alliance, and how we were funded by SGA to plant trees in the barren ground of Bear Village. Of course, I now think of my Knitwise group and a night of yarn bombing trees and light fixtures alike in Simon Park at Conway, demonstrating how the human creation changes the surface of the world we experience.

Ella Grace, now six, told me that she would water the the tree this summer. And so the tree found a name, after its caretaker, but appropriate to its history-- Tree of Grace. The tree represents  time of my life that was largely a gift, partly because my college degree was paid for by the honors college. It was also a gift of change and growth-- learning new knowledge, leaping with faith into strange ideas, imagining new ways of life both human and more than human, and acting out ideas in service learning. This pine is not only a memorial of the blessings of those four years, for it is the gift of life itself. The action of planting a tree is a gift of the honors college, for it unites the class of 2012 in an act of creation that changes the very surface of the earth.We will join the pines in the holy cycle of breath that occurs in the exchange between plant photosynthesis and human respiration.  The wind, heavy with the scent of pine, fills me with awe of the graceful mystery engulfing the Honors college, my family, the trees, and my own past seasons.

EDGE Garden Begins

On our first work day, we dug out our long and lean bed. Garden variety will revitalize this space between the dorm and the parking lot quite nicely - much better than flat bermuda. The first step was to break bermuda's choke-hold with a broad fork; then we shook out the soil from between the roots so that an empty plot of promising soil remained. Actually, it was far from empty. Tanya was excited to see earthworms.

The EDGE garden will give UCA students the opportunity to share a gardening community - where we as individuals will share our knowledge as we learn together about gardening,of course, but also topics like international and local food issues, composting, and seed saving. Students will be growing seeds from the CAAH (Conserving Arkansas's Agricultural Heritage) seed bank of the UCA Campus. The goal is that when student's save seed and conserve heirloom varieties, they will experience their Arkansas Heritage and make new memories connected to a particular plants in the garden. These seeds connect with Arkansas agricultural culture, folklore, traditional dishes, and history.

As CAAH says:

One for the cutworm,

one for the crow,

one to share,

and one to grow!

Smooth Black Square

Gone.

Under the pink sky of yesterday's dusk, Tanya planted two oregano seedlings in the Edge garden. The first herbs poked up sweetly green in the new herb bed - we had just laid the rocks. Wayne and I had started these seedlings at the beginning of the new year by putting cuttings from into little Dixie cups. Big Wayne has been watering them for three months. It was a devoted and long effort, but the oregano grew and until it was ready to spread roots in a bigger plot of ground. Early spring winds allowed him to harden the plants outside this past week. Over the weekend, we decided that we could plant- the first oregano bushes-to-be were for UCA and the students at Edge garden. This morning, there was a smooth square of black soil. No naked green. No hole...No dirt flung...no clean scooped hole. NO HOLE!!!!! These plants were plucked. So fast- So gone, gone, gone. The ground is empty when they grew with such effort. they were plucked without being used in a student's spaghetti or pizza. I do not expect to understand tornadoes or hurricanes. I am sad that I have to contemplate pluckers in the first season of a great campus garden.

WHY?

WHY PLUCK?

Squirrels at UCA

A reward for studying at Torreyson library on a Sunday is that, on the walk over, few people are to be seen or heard. (Usually the sidewalks are brimming with bacpacked crowds tromping to class). On Sunday evenings, the campus is quiet of human chatter, and in the open courtyard, squirrels skitter down from the high world in the tree limbs to scamper freely in the turf.

Today, one such squirrel perched himself on a bicycle that had been left chained to the rack. As I passed by, he burst out in an angry chrrrr, and my mind jolted, thinking the force of what must be curses in the squirrel's voice were directed me. But as I turned and followed his gaze, I saw a weathered grey tabbby cat, whose languid yellow eyes stared at the squirrel, following every move as the squirrel leaned forward on its paws. Its tail flagged wildly, picking up the quick violence of its shrill -Chrr!! Chrr! Chrrr! A showdown. Could the cat understand the fast clip of the squirrel's chrr? What did they see in eachother's eyes? The squirrel denounced his shiny seat on the red bike to dash, round and round, up the oak tree behind the bike rack.

Sometimes, I will see pairs of squirrels chasing eachother in loops throughout the courtyard. Their fuzzy legs sink deep into the faded, lawn, the soft, pale gold of a prarie. They chase eachother, curving up the sides of trees or between the posts of the picnic table. Sometimes they almost collide with one another, and spin into wild, acrobatic flips. All part of the fun, at least for me, as I catch myself laughing loudly. The squirrels' use the fast whip of their tails to keep them from falling on their heads. At least at this moment, the squirrel does not see its flickering tail mirrored in the eyes of a cat. Then, out of necessity, it must practice fight -chrr! chrRR! CHRR!- or flight into the oak tree. Why watch the squirrel? The squirrel makes me laugh, because it can do amazing things - spins in the air, scampering swirls up trees, leaps from limb to limb over empty air- things that I regret I can not do. But also, I saw this squirrel look into the hungry eyes of another and Chrrr!!! What language would I use in a similiar situation?

Conserving Arkansas's Agricultural Heritage (CAAH): Ancient Seeds, First Seedlings of the Year

CAAH and the First Seedlings:

The click of the door closed the Anthropology lab for the weekend. Earlier, my stomach fluttered as I planted one, two, sometimes three seeds into each flat. Cherokee Mustard seeds and Red Russain Kale seeds were small like the beads you buy in tubes at the craft aisles, and could only be brushed with a thin layer of soil so that their stringy stalk could push through easily. These were the seed bank’s first seeds of the New Year to be planted. I sprinkled them with water from the sink, and placed them under the grow lights on the counter.

Monday morning and the door opened to a peeping of green over the flats. The Cherokee Mustard was living with the small square of land- in three days, it had risen from the Earth. What spirit! Do these small leaves already have a snap of mustard spice inside?

Transferring Tomato Seedlings:

The transfer of seedlings is a difficult matter, it isn't just one of those everyday things. If you pull on young leaves they are likely to sever and if you yank on new stems then the root ball may break, stuck in the dirt. Tomato seedlings aren't root zombies like Bermuda, able to live in a lopped off state. Carefully dish the seedling up with a spoon, using a broad circular motion that scoops up the dirt that the roods could be ling to. Keep the plant whole. Put it in a big pot and cover it with dirt to about an inch below the lowest leaves. Ahh! now you can make sure the growing plants have sun and water every day!

Good Recyclable Habits

Habits are hard forming and it is not often that I recognize that an activity has become part of my day to day lifestyle. Mulling over a cup of mug green tea this morning, I realized as I plucked the used tea bag from the cup and opened my compost bucket, how composting has become a unique habit in that it is second nature, my unconcious way to handle food scraps, as well as a subject of practical education that I am enthusiastic to explore and use when gardening. A compost bucket has a home next to my doorm room desk, and when I see it to be brimming over with coffee grounds and satsuma peels, I will take to dump into the working pile at Little Rock Urban Farms or at Big Wayne’s gardens.
I first learned to compost at the farmstead on Petij Jean Mountain. I learned to dump excess food scraps and organic matter from the garden into the pile. Imagine my shock to find a winter squash growing in the pile a few months after I started gardening. Amazing! I looked at compost more closely and as I learned by both reading and getting my hands dirty, I sensed the earthy wonder of the process. Leftover food, grass clippings, the leaves on the lawn...were not trashed but synthesized into dirt. All those leaves, apple cores, and tomato tops conglomerate in a from of witches brew - magic is worked and rich humus is formed. The soil is richer with nutrients, and microbial life grows, which attracts worms that loosen the soil, which allows the plants in the graden to thrive, which feeds the people...who have the choice to comkpost. Soil is alive, and when humans compost, they perform what I feel to be some of the most fruitful actions possible in human experience, by enouraging diversity of life they contribute to ecosystem development. Composting is one of my favorite parts of gardening, because my energy is being used constuctively; my actions add to the life of the soil. Grateful for the fruits and vegetables that nourish me, the least I can do is return the excess back to earth. Relationships with compost are helping me be grounded in a new, more mature form of joy. Before my compost conversion, my taste buds would rise in the store as my Mom bought me packages of pineapple, or better yet, summer blackberries. But at the end of the day, my purple stained teeth were the only remnant of the delicious fruit, and the plastic container they came was lost in the garbage, a lost cause for the soil. The scrumptious moments were quickly over, for as it is often said, joy is fleeting. Perhaps, John Keats says it more beautifully than me in his poem “Ode on Melancholy”:

Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine;
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might

Here, Keats uses the metaphor of a grape bursting in a man’s mouth to represent the transience of experience. There is an intense flood of sweetness that leaves an aftertaste of sorrow at its passing. He posits that at the core of delight is sadness, because beauty passes and fades away. Death, abscence leave memories. While it is true that beauty passes, thinking about compost can extend the metaphor of the grapes. Imagine tossing the grape stems with kiwi peals, wood chips, papaya pulp, and pumpkin shell - put them together and what have you got? A piece of land that is better than it was before, and better because of human action. Grape vines will bend deeply with more clusters, and a cornocopia of other fruits will flourish on the land. What recyclable joy grows in the garden when the compost is mixed in with the soil!
The experience of composting means mixxing new life out of old, and along with the fresh humus, human stories are dug in. In the same ground that the summer squash roots are drawing nourishment are material remnants of my experiences- the top of my first persimmon given to me by Raeleigh, the coffee grounds from the Summatran brew Wayne roasted, and the apple core that my cat Leon batted aound the kitchen. Compost brings feelings that my body trusts as it relaxes into the sense of durable, tough weather joys, who have no closing end because they are modeled after natural cycles. When rooted in the earth, good experiences are like good stories, like blackberry days - they come round again and again.

Some people may think that my composting habits are strange, and question the smelly, goopy bucket in my doormroom corner. Many of my climbing friends, have laughed at the composting tupperware that Wayne and I keep between our seat during road trips. But I don’t mind, because composting is one of my best habits. I would lose something wonderful if I threw food away...