I'm walking through the trails- conversations in the background fading away in the distance as my lense focuses more and more on what my eyes lock on to. It fascinates me how perspectives can differ so much on where you stand, everything dependent on an angle. As I walked through the Wissahickon Valley, I'd take several pictures from different angles. Some were standing up, others squatting, and even making weird neck movements. Every picture captured something different. We take for granted light and air, the simple things in life yet they're what makes us exist. They're what made every scene uplifting...every picture different...every experience worth breathing. 

I'm walking through the trails- conversations in the background fading away in the distance as my lense focuses more and more on what my eyes lock on to. It fascinates me how perspectives can differ so much on where you stand, everything dependent on an angle. As I walked through the Wissahickon Valley, I'd take several pictures from different angles. Some were standing up, others squatting, and even making weird neck movements. Every picture captured something different. We take for granted light and air, the simple things in life yet they're what makes us exist. They're what made every scene uplifting...every picture different...every experience worth breathing. 

I'm walking through the trails- conversations in the background fading away in the distance as my lense focuses more and more on what my eyes lock on to. It fascinates me how perspectives can differ so much on where you stand, everything dependent on an angle. As I walked through the Wissahickon Valley, I'd take several pictures from different angles. Some were standing up, others squatting, and even making weird neck movements. Every picture captured something different. We take for granted light and air, the simple things in life yet they're what makes us exist. They're what made every scene uplifting...every picture different...every experience worth breathing. 

When I arrived back at Bryn Mawr after our trip to Wissahickon and saw one of my friends, the first thing she said to me was, "So I heard you got lost."  She was jokingly referring to the first part of our walk, when jccohen and I, absorbed in our cameras, fell behind to the point where Hummingbird had to call and ask where we were.  We kept pace after that point, and I fell into conversations with various groups of people, but the trip felt somehow different after that- not better or worse, just like there was an an after where I was engaged in conversation and community, and a before where I was silent staring through a lens.   

I thoroughly enjoyed our trip to the Wissahickon State park on Friday. One particular aspect of it that fascinated me was how we dealt with unexpected situations (sometimes they would be considered problems, but I don’t think many of us viewed them as such)—getting lost, and rain. As an outdoorsy person, I love the rain and don’t often shy away from being out in it. Even as I sit here in my bedroom typing, my two windows are open and the sound of the heavy raindrops and bird songs, mixed with the fast-moving flooded creek below is calming. Being in the light rain at Wissahickon made me feel more connected to the park, like part of the ecosystem that is involved by choice, but also involved by simply being, because at the end of the day humans are part of these modern ecosystems too. I was out in the rain, just like all the other animals present in the space. Also on a more practical note, I loved how I didn’t hear anyone in our group complain about the rain, I instead noticed how we all approached it as an adventure.

"I've had thoughts but not written anything. I am happy and at peace, though, so it's alright. I am tired and don't want to find problems." That's all I wrote in the pocket notebook I carried all day with me on our trip in Wissahickon. I feel like I always push myself to try and find issues with things; keep myself from totally enjoying an experience. But cynicism is exhausting, and I was truly happy during our trip - I don't want to steer away from that. Perhaps, though, I don't know how to write about happiness?

Being content isn't triggering enough to get me to write. Is that okay?

Would we be in school if everything in the world was right, and everyone was happy? Would we learn about economics if the system was working smoothly and had no problems? Can you write a novel without the conflict, struggle, and difficulty that lead to resolution, or some sort of conclusion?

I don't really have much to say.

Today's lesson plan was focused on Micro Aggressions since it was a topic that we wanted to go more indepth with the week before but didn't have enough time. We sat in a circle and watched the video "I, too, am Havard" and I could see some head of the students nod and empathize with the students from Havard.

We finished the video and talk about our own experiences with micro agressions that eventually lead to the entire group of students dicussing the concept of light-skinned versus dark-skinned and beauty. After several stores about being commented on for being "pretty for a dark-skinned girl" from the girls in the group had provoked the other co-facilitators to ask the boys if they ever experienced a micro agression regarding the tone of their skin specifically. One, A.K., had his head held down the entire time and when we asked him about it, he spoke up and said "I hate when people do that." We questoned what he meant and he continued, "I just hate when people say things like that".

So (as per usual) I’m making some adjustments.

Sunday night, please post a paragraph about your experiences in the Wissahickon (Jenna and Shamial--economic/educational/artistic/literary reflections on the environments you occupied this weekend will be most acceptable contributions to the discussion).

Turns out we’re going to have a visitor on Monday afternoon. Michael Morella, a reporter who will be contributing to the US News and World Report's fall edition of "College Road Trip,” has taken an interest in Bryn Mawr’s 360° program, and has asked to sit in on our class. So I think it makes sense to move things around a bit, to create a space in which, in good 360° fashion, the orientations of our different disciplines might be made a bit more "porous" to one another.

In preparation for this discussion….
by class time on Monday, please look through the powerpoint presentation by Elizabeth Callaway, A Space for Justice. I’ll fill in details when we meet—but do pause to ponder the move from slide #12 to #13. Also read two short essays by Sue Ellen Campbell, “Magpie” and “"The Land and Language of Desire” (which will soon appear in our password protected file of readings), and bring to class a few jottings of your reactions to share.

Response to Chapter Four: "What is imaginative ecological education?" (having missed class)

I was pleasantly surprised at the turn of every page how most of the questions I'd asked in response to one part of the reading would be discussed in the following paragraphs, which reassured me when I'd doubt some of the claims of the reading.

That being said, I'd still like to discuss some of these things myself, or simply point out things that caught my attention.

abstract binary oppositions, metaphor