(OLD BLOG, FEEL FREE TO SKIP!) :)
My walk this week was one that I won't soon forget. The walk I go on is actually (GASP!) through the local Kennewatha park, which has some paths but actually has a lot of woods that are local enough to feel safe but secluded and large enough so that I think it counts as an authentic wilderness experience, or as close as I can get. I went on my walk and was still lacking in any real juice to start writing my blog. I decided that I would go towards the actual park and swing for a while to get my thoughts flowing. I slowed down and just sat on the swing taking in the sounds of nature around me, when a heard a rustling in the bushes nearby. Out walked a skunk, and my heart pretty much jumped into my throat. My first thought was of getting sprayed and how I would convince my roommate to let me back into the house to shower off the stench. My second thought was how I could possibly get out off the swing without scaring the skunk into spraying. The skunk walked out in front of me, and just stared at me, looking timid and uncertain. I don't know much about rabies, but I was pretty certain that at this skunk was a-ok, just uncertain. After a few moments, I started slowly swaying on the swing, thinking that if I was going to get sprayed maybe a little height on the swing would help the least amount of spray get on me. After a little while, I was just swinging normally, and the skunk was watching me with a bemused expression (if a skunk can look bemused), and then went on his way.
This whole situation really got me thinking about all the preconceived notions I have about nature in general. When I saw the skunk, I immediately assumed it would spray me, when I knew on some level even at the time that the skunk would only spray me if it felt threatened. Leopold said that he "once knew an educated lady… who told me that she had never heard or seen the geese that twice a year proclaim the revolving seasons to her well-insulated roof. Is education possibly a process of trading awareness of things of lesser worth? The goose who trades his is soon a pile of feathers". It stands to reason that the less time we spend in nature, the less comfortable we would be in it… But at what point do we actually toss everything we know to be true about nature out the window because of our discomfort being outside our homes? When nature becomes uncomfortable and alien to us, everything within it becomes strange and unpredictable in our minds. Maybe a few more walks into nature and I'll be confident enough to deal with nature the next time I encounter it.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Point A
I was pleasantly surprised when my nature walk did not require a jacket or even a scarf, but instead warranted only a hoodie! Although the seasons I feel are what makes Maine a unique and beautiful place to live, there really is nothing like those few days in Fall and Spring that jump out and surprise everyone with nice, warm weather. I find that in the bitter winter months here in Farmington I find myself wondering how it was possible that I ever left home without a jacket on, that the air could possibly ever have been or ever will be warm enough so that I won't see my breath when I exhale.
This fall has been a particular shock to my system because for the first time in my life this past summer I lived in a state other than Maine. In North Carolina, you literally NEVER go outside in the summertime until nightfall, because it is so hot and the sun is so scorching that you can get a sunburn in no time at all (at least for my pale Maine skin) and the air you breath is so laden with heavy, hot moisture that you have to struggle with every inhale. The drive down to North Carolina for the summer was one that I will never forget in my whole life, because it was the first time I had ever been out of New England. As I drove down I-95 every new state I crossed over into was a new experience and a milestone in my life. As I was out walking tonight, I thought about how in the past year my world has gotten exponentially smaller, from my hometown of Kittery seeming like it was light-years away to understanding that it only takes one 5 Hour Energy shot to get to Washington D.C. where all the greatest decisions in the country are made.
In the past year I also had my first experiences with air travel, flying to Buffalo, New York to see Niagara Falls and also flying down to North Carolina in the Spring. Berry says that for him, "air travel always has about it an insistent feeling of unreality", and I find that I agree with him totally. Flying to North Carolina initially (only my second time on an airplane!) and then driving the same distance were two totally different experiences, as when I drove the distance I felt more of an ownership over the states that I crossed through, the sights that I saw. No one ever says, "Oh yes, I've been to New York City. I flew over it going from Boston to Florida". When I left from Farmington on my drive in may, it was 40 degrees here. When I got to North Carolina, it was 105 degrees. I was able to see the changes in the landscape, watch the pine trees disappear, see the land flatten out, watch the grass grow from green and full of life to brown and scorched. I was able to see the sunrise from the George Washington bridge, and see the differences the air pollution made to the colors. When we fly, we lose the most essential part of travel, which is the experience of going from one place to another. To appreciate the distance point 'A' is from point 'B' is part of what keeps our homes sacred and familiar, and with simply flying over the obstacles (like rush-hour traffic and Jersey drivers) we lose that sense of the journey, and our connection to the places themselves.
As I walked tonight in the woods of Maine, I breathed in deep the smell that only this state has, and was able to appreciate that I now know, for the first time in my life, what ~Maine~ smells like.
This fall has been a particular shock to my system because for the first time in my life this past summer I lived in a state other than Maine. In North Carolina, you literally NEVER go outside in the summertime until nightfall, because it is so hot and the sun is so scorching that you can get a sunburn in no time at all (at least for my pale Maine skin) and the air you breath is so laden with heavy, hot moisture that you have to struggle with every inhale. The drive down to North Carolina for the summer was one that I will never forget in my whole life, because it was the first time I had ever been out of New England. As I drove down I-95 every new state I crossed over into was a new experience and a milestone in my life. As I was out walking tonight, I thought about how in the past year my world has gotten exponentially smaller, from my hometown of Kittery seeming like it was light-years away to understanding that it only takes one 5 Hour Energy shot to get to Washington D.C. where all the greatest decisions in the country are made.
In the past year I also had my first experiences with air travel, flying to Buffalo, New York to see Niagara Falls and also flying down to North Carolina in the Spring. Berry says that for him, "air travel always has about it an insistent feeling of unreality", and I find that I agree with him totally. Flying to North Carolina initially (only my second time on an airplane!) and then driving the same distance were two totally different experiences, as when I drove the distance I felt more of an ownership over the states that I crossed through, the sights that I saw. No one ever says, "Oh yes, I've been to New York City. I flew over it going from Boston to Florida". When I left from Farmington on my drive in may, it was 40 degrees here. When I got to North Carolina, it was 105 degrees. I was able to see the changes in the landscape, watch the pine trees disappear, see the land flatten out, watch the grass grow from green and full of life to brown and scorched. I was able to see the sunrise from the George Washington bridge, and see the differences the air pollution made to the colors. When we fly, we lose the most essential part of travel, which is the experience of going from one place to another. To appreciate the distance point 'A' is from point 'B' is part of what keeps our homes sacred and familiar, and with simply flying over the obstacles (like rush-hour traffic and Jersey drivers) we lose that sense of the journey, and our connection to the places themselves.
As I walked tonight in the woods of Maine, I breathed in deep the smell that only this state has, and was able to appreciate that I now know, for the first time in my life, what ~Maine~ smells like.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Moderation
For tonight's nature walk, I decided to take a stroll over on both Perham and Court St today. My mind abreast with the thoughts of Leopold and Thoreau, I decided to actually stop walking for a bit and invested some time into looking under rocks and trees. Maybe I could possibly make the same astute observations that the two nature writers did in hopes of make my own mind blowing philosophies.
Unfortunately, the only philosophies that I gathered about nature writing is that not everybody is capable of doing so. Why is that though?
Maybe it has something to do with maintaining a proper balance between that of pure nature and that of pure humanity at play. This new revelation is due large in part to the new readings of Wendell Berry's Home Economics.
Just in the very beginning of his book he talks in about how in reality (which I think speaks the most to our times) most people can't actually give up everything they're used to, to live in nature.
On page 7, he brilliantly lays out some main principles of his book by stating that, "People cannot live without nature; that is the first question of the conservationists. And yet, people cannot live in nature without changing it. But this is true of all creatures; they depend upon nature, and the change it... the making of these differences is the making of the world." (Berry, 7).
Now Leopold illustrated this idea near the end of his book A Sand County Almanac, but not so clearly defined as the words of Wendell Berry. In getting back to my observations of trying to record nature, I believe I was unable to do so because I think too much on the pure side of humanity. But the even bigger problem is that when I try to think of nature, I think too much of it on the pure side of nature as well.
As Berry mentions, we are people who must change nature within nature to be able to adhere to human nature. This very idea by itself frightens me, because as he also points out in later parts of his essays that we humans have a tendency of destroying too much, or rather do things that are beneficial to us and us only; hence leading to an environmental imbalance within nature. However, my concern is that if it is in our nature to take and alter nature, then what can nature do to take and alter us? Regardless of all the readings that we accomplish, it seems that reaching that verdict is never fully achieved. The idea of an intrinsic act to obtain an intrinsic good rarely seems to be outlined.
As I continue to read on in Berry's book, I hope to stumble across a new way of acting intrinsically good towards nature and maybe even gain a better understanding as to why nature --after reading the works of Emerson, Thoreau, and Leopold -- seems so puzzling to me.
Unfortunately, the only philosophies that I gathered about nature writing is that not everybody is capable of doing so. Why is that though?
Maybe it has something to do with maintaining a proper balance between that of pure nature and that of pure humanity at play. This new revelation is due large in part to the new readings of Wendell Berry's Home Economics.
Just in the very beginning of his book he talks in about how in reality (which I think speaks the most to our times) most people can't actually give up everything they're used to, to live in nature.
On page 7, he brilliantly lays out some main principles of his book by stating that, "People cannot live without nature; that is the first question of the conservationists. And yet, people cannot live in nature without changing it. But this is true of all creatures; they depend upon nature, and the change it... the making of these differences is the making of the world." (Berry, 7).
Now Leopold illustrated this idea near the end of his book A Sand County Almanac, but not so clearly defined as the words of Wendell Berry. In getting back to my observations of trying to record nature, I believe I was unable to do so because I think too much on the pure side of humanity. But the even bigger problem is that when I try to think of nature, I think too much of it on the pure side of nature as well.
As Berry mentions, we are people who must change nature within nature to be able to adhere to human nature. This very idea by itself frightens me, because as he also points out in later parts of his essays that we humans have a tendency of destroying too much, or rather do things that are beneficial to us and us only; hence leading to an environmental imbalance within nature. However, my concern is that if it is in our nature to take and alter nature, then what can nature do to take and alter us? Regardless of all the readings that we accomplish, it seems that reaching that verdict is never fully achieved. The idea of an intrinsic act to obtain an intrinsic good rarely seems to be outlined.
As I continue to read on in Berry's book, I hope to stumble across a new way of acting intrinsically good towards nature and maybe even gain a better understanding as to why nature --after reading the works of Emerson, Thoreau, and Leopold -- seems so puzzling to me.
In Defense of Higher Education (and Other Sundries)
Before I launch into this post, I need to ask you guys to bear with me, as I have no idea where this is going to end up and I'm formulating my thoughts as I go.
I have no walk I'd like to expostulate on first before gracefully tying in my observations about Berry's text we read this week; instead, I'd like to jump right in and begin head on. I heartily disagree with a lot of what Berry has to say. His prose is hard for me to wrestle with in general, but none moreso than that found in his essay "Higher Education and Home Defense." And the most offensive and egregious to my sensibilities is a two paragraph passage and quite lengthy for the blog, but I would like to quote it here.
"The second requirement for entrance into the class of professional vandals is 'higher education.' One's eligibility must be certified by a college, for, whatever the real condition or quality of the minds in it, this class is both intellectual and elitist. It proposes to do its vandalism by thinking; insofar as its purposes will require dirty hands, other hands will be employed.
"Many of these professionals have been educated, at considerable public expense, in colleges or universities that had originally a clear mandate to serve localities or regions--to receive the daughters and sons of their regions, educate them, and send them home again to serve and strengthen their communities. The outcome shows, I think, that they have generally betrayed this mandate, having worked instead to uproot the best brains and talents, to direct them away from home into exploitative careers in one or another professions, and so to make them predators of communities and homelands, their own as well as other people's" (51-52).
Um, excuse me? There are so many things wrong with this passage that I barely know where to begin. The smug authoritativeness with which he pens his opinion is one point. Another is the scathing, broad generalities that are busy demonizing public higher education. Nevermind that education is one of the most precious things that a person can gain in his or her lifetime on this planet, that it helps broaden intellectual and cultural horizons, breaking down prejudices and intolerances. Nevermind the fact that the freedom to choose to attend a respectable school, to be taught things and learn, is currently denied to an uncomfortably large percentage of the world. No; instead, let's make generalities about the career choices that college-minded individuals entertain, that every person who decides to leave their community for school or after is driven purely by monetary and corporate interest alone. Let's paint public education in the worst light possible to prove an already murky point, in a time when obtaining an education is possibly the most important and life-impacting thing an individual can do for oneself and the world at large.
Berry's words here betray his backwards and selfish view of the higher education system. Yes, I definitely agree with him that the commodification of education is not the route we should be taking; that instead of putting a premium on schooling, we should be exposing as many people as possible to it. But to attack it in such a broad way, under the guise of criticism for corporate negligence for the local sphere, is something I definitely disagree with and oppose.
And what of the personal choice of students that he so blatantly ignores? He's hypocritical to espouse the rights and will of local community members, and then disregard the fact that those students who choose to not attend school locally are intent on never serving their communities with their newly-gained education. I chose to finish my formal education on the complete opposite corner of the country for many reasons, but I'm pretty sure none of them involve plans to sell my soul to a corporate, impersonal job for the further exploitation of fellow humans.
The bottom line is, Berry is unfair, unjust and just plain wrong in his generalizations and nigh demonization of higher education, and I am not okay with it.
I have no walk I'd like to expostulate on first before gracefully tying in my observations about Berry's text we read this week; instead, I'd like to jump right in and begin head on. I heartily disagree with a lot of what Berry has to say. His prose is hard for me to wrestle with in general, but none moreso than that found in his essay "Higher Education and Home Defense." And the most offensive and egregious to my sensibilities is a two paragraph passage and quite lengthy for the blog, but I would like to quote it here.
"The second requirement for entrance into the class of professional vandals is 'higher education.' One's eligibility must be certified by a college, for, whatever the real condition or quality of the minds in it, this class is both intellectual and elitist. It proposes to do its vandalism by thinking; insofar as its purposes will require dirty hands, other hands will be employed.
"Many of these professionals have been educated, at considerable public expense, in colleges or universities that had originally a clear mandate to serve localities or regions--to receive the daughters and sons of their regions, educate them, and send them home again to serve and strengthen their communities. The outcome shows, I think, that they have generally betrayed this mandate, having worked instead to uproot the best brains and talents, to direct them away from home into exploitative careers in one or another professions, and so to make them predators of communities and homelands, their own as well as other people's" (51-52).
Um, excuse me? There are so many things wrong with this passage that I barely know where to begin. The smug authoritativeness with which he pens his opinion is one point. Another is the scathing, broad generalities that are busy demonizing public higher education. Nevermind that education is one of the most precious things that a person can gain in his or her lifetime on this planet, that it helps broaden intellectual and cultural horizons, breaking down prejudices and intolerances. Nevermind the fact that the freedom to choose to attend a respectable school, to be taught things and learn, is currently denied to an uncomfortably large percentage of the world. No; instead, let's make generalities about the career choices that college-minded individuals entertain, that every person who decides to leave their community for school or after is driven purely by monetary and corporate interest alone. Let's paint public education in the worst light possible to prove an already murky point, in a time when obtaining an education is possibly the most important and life-impacting thing an individual can do for oneself and the world at large.
Berry's words here betray his backwards and selfish view of the higher education system. Yes, I definitely agree with him that the commodification of education is not the route we should be taking; that instead of putting a premium on schooling, we should be exposing as many people as possible to it. But to attack it in such a broad way, under the guise of criticism for corporate negligence for the local sphere, is something I definitely disagree with and oppose.
And what of the personal choice of students that he so blatantly ignores? He's hypocritical to espouse the rights and will of local community members, and then disregard the fact that those students who choose to not attend school locally are intent on never serving their communities with their newly-gained education. I chose to finish my formal education on the complete opposite corner of the country for many reasons, but I'm pretty sure none of them involve plans to sell my soul to a corporate, impersonal job for the further exploitation of fellow humans.
The bottom line is, Berry is unfair, unjust and just plain wrong in his generalizations and nigh demonization of higher education, and I am not okay with it.
Fluff and Complaining
My walks have gotten increasingly chilly and require more layers. I find this fact to be parallel to much of what is occurring in nature at the current time. While the trees are shedding their leaves animals all around are beginning to put on their winter “fluff”. While I don a sweater and a fleece, they bulk up on fur and eat a few extra nuts and berries to get ready for the harsh New England winter. As I plod along the leaf-covered trail, however, I begin to get a little warm. Luckily, I am able to unzip a layer or two to feel more comfortable. What, pray tell, do the chipmunks, squirrels, and other critters do when they get too warm? They can’t shed their fur in a moments’ notice, for they will need it later. (Perhaps later that day according to New England weather patterns). What would I do if I had to be stuck in a coating of heat trapping substance? I’d probably just sit around waiting to get cold. That theory probably doesn’t work for animals. Especially ones that are likely to get eaten. In lieu of this option, I would probably complain. I would complain a lot. Now, I know that wouldn’t make me any cooler or comfortable but I suppose in my mind, it would help a little.
Thinking to Wendell Berry’s Home Economics, I am reminded of the “Irish Journal”. On page 32 Berry is speaking with a couple of ladies in Suffolk. He notes that the “neighbor had been to America, where, she said, a lot of young people go and do not come back. She said that. During the first part of her three-week visit to Chicago, she had wondered why anyone lived anywhere but America. But then she had begun to be bothered by the noise and the crush of people and development and had wanted to get home to Ireland”. This passage spoke to me on various levels. The first being the “vacation” level. I love going on vacations. While I live in Vermont, my family has a camp in Maine, and we also go camping in Maine and Vermont quite often. I suppose there’s little I love more than pulling a sleeping bag out of the closet and heading out into the woods and sleeping under the stars. I love vacations that aren’t necessarily nature oriented as well. I enjoy doing things that are out of the norm. The only thing about vacations is that after a week, or however long you are gone, there is nothing better than the moment you come within view of your own house, you take a shower in your own bathroom, and you slip between the sheets of your own bed. Why is it that we put such a perfect view on that which we don’t have, in order to come back home and be relieved to be back in our tiny little bubble? I suppose that we become so accustomed to what surrounds us that it is uncomfortable to go into a place that seems to belong to another person, state, or country. Do we get attached to our own slice of nature where there is less noise, fewer people, and less development? Yet in the same vein, what about people who leave their homeland? My grandmother left Ireland for America when she was a small girl. Essentially running away, she hopped on a boat and ended up in America. She made a conscious decision to leave her homeland and begin life anew. At the time, she had the same view as everyone else: America is the place to be. Today, however, all she does is complain. Healthcare, manners, taxes, the shape of the cars, color of the grass, street names, you name it, she complains about this. I can’t be sure if this is due to old age or if she is just really disgruntled with American society. Can you really be that way if you chose to come here? If I were to consciously go out into the woods for an extended amount of time, I would tell myself not to complain. If it’s not going to help, and you chose to be there, what’s the use? Probably none at all.
Thinking to Wendell Berry’s Home Economics, I am reminded of the “Irish Journal”. On page 32 Berry is speaking with a couple of ladies in Suffolk. He notes that the “neighbor had been to America, where, she said, a lot of young people go and do not come back. She said that. During the first part of her three-week visit to Chicago, she had wondered why anyone lived anywhere but America. But then she had begun to be bothered by the noise and the crush of people and development and had wanted to get home to Ireland”. This passage spoke to me on various levels. The first being the “vacation” level. I love going on vacations. While I live in Vermont, my family has a camp in Maine, and we also go camping in Maine and Vermont quite often. I suppose there’s little I love more than pulling a sleeping bag out of the closet and heading out into the woods and sleeping under the stars. I love vacations that aren’t necessarily nature oriented as well. I enjoy doing things that are out of the norm. The only thing about vacations is that after a week, or however long you are gone, there is nothing better than the moment you come within view of your own house, you take a shower in your own bathroom, and you slip between the sheets of your own bed. Why is it that we put such a perfect view on that which we don’t have, in order to come back home and be relieved to be back in our tiny little bubble? I suppose that we become so accustomed to what surrounds us that it is uncomfortable to go into a place that seems to belong to another person, state, or country. Do we get attached to our own slice of nature where there is less noise, fewer people, and less development? Yet in the same vein, what about people who leave their homeland? My grandmother left Ireland for America when she was a small girl. Essentially running away, she hopped on a boat and ended up in America. She made a conscious decision to leave her homeland and begin life anew. At the time, she had the same view as everyone else: America is the place to be. Today, however, all she does is complain. Healthcare, manners, taxes, the shape of the cars, color of the grass, street names, you name it, she complains about this. I can’t be sure if this is due to old age or if she is just really disgruntled with American society. Can you really be that way if you chose to come here? If I were to consciously go out into the woods for an extended amount of time, I would tell myself not to complain. If it’s not going to help, and you chose to be there, what’s the use? Probably none at all.
When the Luster Dulls...
As I write this, I sit contentedly in the meadow adjacent to the Sandy River. Ice clinks in a Nalgene filled with tap water, Smart Wool socks snuggle happy feet, and a soft flannel shirt warms my shoulders. I am at peace, lounging upon yellow-green grass that in the next couple of months will soon be covered with a blanket of snow. I am happy for two reasons: it is my favorite time of the year and I just purchased my first pair of Carhartt pants.
After departing Reny's with my guilty purchase swinging at my side, I raced to put them on and proceeded to call my sister who works for the Utah Conservation Corps and wears the pants every day. "Rachel, I am on Cloud 9," I exclaimed. "These pants are life-changing." I was--and continue to be--ecstatic.
So, looking across the meadow with my new dark brown pants that accompany my tan Carhartt jacket, I'm incognito among the colors of this landscape. It is the transition time between fall and winter and there are truths billowing about these days. Unlike the sweltering summer, the air is breathable, fresh, raw. The brilliant oranges, fire reds, and blazing yellows of peak leaf-peeping season have passed and the deciduous trees now turn to one another, slightly embarrassed in their awkward transition phases. Where have our clothes gone? they question. They'll be neglected by locals ad tourists alike until next spring when green chloroplasts rub their fingers together for the magic of the vernal painting.
But I love these stark trees, the dark green conifers interspersed among twiggy ash grays and beige trunks and the small tufts of crimson and gold holding their breaths until they too will be swept away by late fall's winds.
It's a landscape that does not lie, has nothing to hide. We are able to see her faults, her insecurities, her vulnerabilities. Few write longingly about trees without leaves or dustings of snow or red ripe berries, but I can't help but view their situation as admirable. Nostalgic for their past days of wonder, hungry to wear winter's evening gown, they wait in limbo, the shy girl in the corner, wanting to dance but lacking a partner.
Scattered milkweed wisps bounce across papery leaves, wilted weeds, and the last of the dandelions. It's a scene that wouldn't make the front cover of a brochure, wouldn't invite foreigners to play with this kind of Maine. But I'm allured by the grit and gray, the solitude and quietness that pervades hours such as these.
Wendell Berry observes that "Even the ugliest garden weed earns affection from us when we consider how faithfully they perform an indispensable duty in covering the bare ground and in building humus. The weeds, too, are involved in the business of fertility" (9-10). This makes me think about what in nature is "valued" by society. The first things that come to mind are postcards, snapshots, slices of scenery that provide awe and admiration. What I'm referring to can mostly be placed under the broad category of the pastoral--the idyllic fantasies of harmonious relationships as projected onto nature by humans. Of course, art in association with nature must at all times be revered and used as a tool for understanding, but over-simplified art, which distorts reality, can be detrimental to the environmental movement.
Berry asserts, "We must not go there to escape the ugliness and the dangers of the present human economy. We must not let ourselves feel that to go there is to escape" (18). "There" refers to nature and his analysis suggests that by distancing ourselves from nature and dubbing it "other," humans further deepen the chasm held within the statement man vs. wild. He proposes we adopt a new way of thinking: man with wild.
I can't lie and say that I don't view my little escapades to the meadow as escapism. I'm a dreamer as much as the next guy. But through incorporating everyday ventures such as these, however small, I'm in effect breaking down the "vs" and including myself in a continuing conversation with the landscape in my own backyard. In recognizing the importance of transitions, when nature lacks a so-called conventional beauty, we can begin to recognize the complex web of ecological relationships responsible for creating the world in which we live.
Small Town, Big World
I always enjoy walking through downtown in the afternoon, in the fall and winter I carry coffee to warm my hands. The streets at this time are always busy, something that is rare in Farmington. There is a real small town feel at this time of day, I always run into someone that I know. Which makes my vow of silence hard to keep, not having my cell phone in my pocket helps. I can rarely ignore a ring or a vibration, I want to know who?When? And why?
I am very much a child of a the modern age, I have a facebook, a twitter, I have a cell phone with a full keyboard, so I also text. I am very connected, so it is not that big of a leap to guess why I have this drive to know who, what, where, when, and why. I am programed to do this. After reading Wendell Berry, I realized first of all that he would hate me. I love technology, and I enjoy the convenience of globalization. Berry is leery of technology, he does not even approve of air travel. "for me, air travel always has about it an insistent feeling of unreality. I feel that I am where I do not belong...I feel that I am going too fast - incomprehensibly fast"(22). Berry thinks that as the world turns more and more to technology we end up moving faster and faster.
The faster me we go the more removed we get from our communities. Wendell Berry is big on community. He thinks that being local oriented, he thinks that staying small and knowing your community and its needs. Berry shies away from progression, he is wary of it yet he knows that it needs to happen. Berry tries to find a balance, yet it seems to me that his balance is hard to achieve.
Farmington to me seems like a community that tries to think locally. I am probably wrong in this idea, but I have always felt like the town tries to support its own. I to try to think locally but it is hard to do so, when buy local products is almost always expensive. Also, it is hard to think locally when I need to buy technology, there is none that is produced within the state. I like Berry's idea, of being local and thinking small yet, it is hard to enact as the world has already gotten so big.
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