Megan Nisbet-Annie Dillard and the Frog

April 8, 2008

While reading Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, I came across a few pages that really interested me. In pages 4-6, Dillard talks about a special place she goes while she is at Tinker Creek. It is “a little island shaped like a tear (4).” This section interested me because I would love to have a little place to go and read, especially during the summer. As I sit here at my desk, freezing on this 50 degree day, I can’t help but long for a nice, sunny, warm place where I can read.
Pages 5 and 6 also really caught my attention. Here, Dillard talks about how she likes to scare frogs during the summer. Her imagery is amazing here—she writes so that I can see the entire scene playing out in my head. Frogs are my favorite animals, and I’ve even ordered a license plate that says “FROGGG” for my green beetle that also reminds me a little of a frog. But, I digress.
I realized that, though I think frogs are cute, I don’t actually know much about them, besides the fact that they eat by catching bugs with their extremely long tongues. I had no idea that they shed their skin, which I could’ve easily found out by paying more attention to nature. If I took time out of my busy life to actually enjoy the world, I would learn so much more than I would in school. Granted, this knowledge of nature and natural things wouldn’t help me make any money or get a good job, but I would have more knowledge about the world around me even if I only took two hours a week to spend in nature. I have a nature park literally three minutes from my house, where I could walk on the trails, and get a little exploring in. They even have a few lakes where I can observe animals there, and may even be able to observe a few frogs or turtles.
It’s funny to me that I used to be a “tomboy,” and used to play in the ditch, trying to catch tadpoles when I was younger, but now I cringe when the wind messes up my hair when I’m on my way to somewhere important. I used to catch ants and try to “feed” them in my backyard, and used to think bugs were “cool” just ten years ago. Now, I scream and get my boyfriend or little brother if there is a spider within five feet of me. I truly have become “nature illiterate” as Gary Snyder says in his book. I claim to like frogs, but I have no real knowledge of them, or many other animals. By going out into nature just a few hours a week, or even a month, I can become more comfortable with nature, and may even be able to at least tolerate bugs again. ;-)

Abigail Thomas, (04/02/08 ? discussion)

When Dr Redick was describing where he lived and how there was an area around or near that had once been woods that had been mowed down for potential housing (and Dr Redick told us about his sons efforts in protesting that). I just thought it was interesting that as I’m picturing the story, my personal reference that I’m implementing as the setting is this area on an off-road from my road in Louisa. At first it was just some woods with a few houses lining the road with their driveways connecting in for access. The driveways meandered in such a way that it looked like the way the people designed them were to just cut a car-size path around the trees as oppose to just plowing through for a straight and direct driveway to the road. But then about a year later (I had come back from school after awhile), acres right behind that line of a few houses were completely mowed down of trees. There were acres of gap where there had once been acres of trees. I thought it was interesting that as Dr Redick was telling us about the land around his house I used that little neighborhood on that small road in Louisa as the setting of his story in my imagination.
I think this is an interesting perception method that’s been used many times before by me: to have someone tell me about a place or just say the name of a place and my mind takes on a setting from my own sights and memories to explain this place. I remember one of my first major realizations of this method; in elementary school there was a girl in my class that had said the place name, Jamaica. She had visited there and when she said that word the setting that came to mind and was adopted as to explain what Jamaica must look like, I pictured a big black marble platform or stage and there was overcast. I knew that her facts weren’t all adding up with what I was picturing but somehow I maintained how what I was imagining was convincingly reasonable with what she said. She mentioned ‘beach’ and I pictured shallow, black-marble steps descending into dark water and there were a few red-orange crabs around and my classmates for the people on the beach. I decided that this must be based on some previous view I had and decided this was not unlike what I guess I see the Regency Square Mall in Richmond as (during my elementary school years).
I just think the mind’s attempt at substituting what you have seen for where you’ve never been is an interesting way that people interpret and try to map out where you’ve been and then beyond where you’ve been.

Abigail Thomas, on the Noland Trail for class (03/24)

We were standing on the trail and my friend picked up what I think was an old hazelnut shell. It was well powdered and dusted or the trail sand. She placed it on her thumb like a thumb helmet. Then she put it on my thumb but then it fell. As I recovered it I noticed a tiny bug crawl out like it was frustrated. It was about as small as one fourth the size of a small black ant.
After some lecture time we were allowed to wonder further down the trail. I decided to visit a tree that wasn't incredibly tall but looked well aged. It had thick deep rutted brown bark and had thick twisted and curvy branches and roots. The bark reminded me of black walnut bark, only brown. The twisted, curvy branches and roots had the growth behavior like Crate Myrtles. The tree was giving west shade at this time. There was a random dug-up of potting soil and a sprinkler nearby. The tree was amongst ivy covered ground, which was part of an ivy-covered region in the woods. Thick hairy poisen ivy vines grew up and around the trunk forbidding me to even think of climbing the tree (would have been too perfect otherwise).

Abigail Thomas, Axis Mundi interaction

From the introduction, I don’t know what “center of focus” is. It’s a reference to place, but what would be the “focus”, what are the trekkers suppose to be focusing on, and why the ‘center’, what is the center.
I realize that in reading so many professional writers’ and their professional definitions, and discussions of definitions, and etymology of the word “wilderness,” that are pages and chapters long that it’s almost no longer about the wilderness but just another writing exercise or subject that professional writers can write about. I don’t mind reading these accounts and arguments on wilderness but I’ve read enough now that I’m to the point where it’s no good anymore. It’s to the point where someone might as well be describing to me something that I’ve never seen before, and the words and descriptions the explainer is using don’t even have a chance to do the description of this something justice. There needs to be different medias in exploring wilderness and spiritual journeys from one chair in a little white classroom. I might as well have never seen the light of day and have lived like a mole my whole life and now have come across a class that’s trying to describe and teach me about the sun and life outside and above the ground without any field trips to these places, and I have no previous experiences that I can relate to and imagine this outside world. But outside the mole metaphor and as a person taking this ULLC class on the wilderness as a sacred place, I would have thought I had some previous experience to relate this to, because it’s title and description caught my interest and now the class is keeping it. I’m fairly sure I have previous experience, but all these writers writing their exercises and being professional writers confuse me. I think, as Roderick Nash researches the meaning of the word to include the definition of wilderness as a place “where a person is likely to get into disordered, confused...condition,” that reading writings on wilderness, is a wilderness itself for me, and it’s not spiritual. This class is in dire need of a field trip (best media in the world, with maybe a journal in hand).
I almost don’t distinguish between symbol and a word for something (a word for a definition). In action they’re both the same to me as a word is picked out to stand for, and represent a definition just as a symbol is to stand for and represent a definition. And about Michael Frome, and him saying “wilderness is a state of mind.” Of course wilderness is of the mind the word was born of mind, there were words of other languages and descriptions and experiences, in which someone came up with the word wilderness. The word is a meeting point in discussions of experiences that wilderness and its etymologies represent.
Wilderness in Judaic and Christian scripture is just a bunch of those religions’ stories the Dr Riddick interprets as God choosing wilderness and people of wilderness as favored over developed and urban places. That’s very interesting though about the pattern of how whenever the people made artifacts of God themselves that they tended to be punished and the objects destroyed. Almost as if what people didn’t create and what God must have created, in these bible stories, the wilderness, that God may be teaching that promote what he made not man-made worship “artifacts.” And that the meaning of wilderness for Israelites is that wilderness is something that’s thought of as “bewildering domestication.”
I like the description of time, I can imagine what a nod, blink day....is and when its described that those perceptions are switched around, brings out my curiosity, I think i’d go hiking on the AT just for the different time perception.

Amanda DeSalme, Sunlight

I was walking back to my room yesterday when all my classes and rehearsals were done, and I noticed the sun. My favorite place for the sun to be in the sky is just before sunset, just before the sun breaks against the edge of the earth to bend the light into an explosion of firey colors. It is still full in the sky but low, casting long beams sideways onto the earth and elongating the shadows to make everything seem dimensionally deeper. This is especially glorious in a forest, creating long beams of light and darkness, like light coming in through a windowshade. As I walked I went in a zig-zag-like pattern, catching the beams of golden orange light on my face and avoiding large patches of shadow. I love seeing peoples' eyes in this kind of light. They seem much more alive than under the artificial light in classrooms or dormrooms. This lighting makes me more aware of beings and life and the rotation of the earth, for some reason.

I noticed the sun today also, on my way to class in the morning. Thy sky was filled with dark clouds, threatening to erupt any moment into a downpour of tears, but one small patch of holes in the thick layers of clouds let beams of sunlight reach through. This is another glorious sight, because the particles of water make the actual rays or beams of light more visible, so it is just like the sun a child draws, with lines reaching from the smoldering circle of yellow-orange. Looking at the cloud coverage and light peaking through, I pictured God or some higher being pulling away a patch of clouds to look down at us through the small opening. It was beautiful and almost like a calendar picture, the way the sun was breaking through. Seeing the various playings of the light, I thought about impressionists, and their great attention to light. It is a beautiful thing to capture.

I know large amounts of sunlight can cause skin cancer, but I do believe small doses are necessary for our happiness. I have noticed that in the winter, when I stay inside more often because I'm a wimp who can't handle the cold, I am a little more subdued, saddened almost, and once it is warm enough to ly in the sun like a lazy cat, I am energized and happy to be alive. We really depend on the sun. The vegetables that I love so dearly to eat have their own delight in eating sunlight.

I have realized now why many religions or cultures have a sun god or goddess, or worship the sun in general. It is beautiful, powerful, warm, glorious, life-giving, and wonderful.
All hail the sun!

Amanda DeSalme, Dillard: Trees

From Annie Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek:

“I want to think about trees. Trees have a curious relationship to the subject of the present moment. There are many created things in the universe that outlive us, that outlive the sun, even, but I can’t think about them. I live with trees. There are creatures under our feet, creatures that live over our heads, but trees live quite convincingly in the same filament of air we inhabit, and, in addition, they extend impressively in both directions, up and down, shearing rock and fanning air, doing their real business just out of reach” (Dillard, 88).

When I think about the way trees extend in both directions, up and down, I cannot help but think about the way a singer’s voice develops and grows, extending up towards the sparkling clear tone in the upper range like sunrays or stars and at the same time delving deep into the rich lower range with a tone of earth and soil, thick and moist like cake. Both the tree and the voice extend up and down, and most of the time, all that we see and acknowledge is the blossoming and branching upper range. We often forget about what is not staring us right in the eyes. I nearly forgot until I read this passage that trees take root deep down into the soil as much as they reach for the sky. It is a very grounding thought. What is the top without the bottom? What would the singer’s voice be like without the solid base, taking root in the breath to blossom outwards? A mirror image comes to my mind, a tree reflected in a placid lake, branches reflecting in the water, almost unveiling the truth of the roots digging deeper underground, out of sight. A Yin Yang also seems relevant. The bottom roots of the trees are necessary for the top to blossom, just as opposites are necessary for anything to exist at all. How can we comprehend happiness if we do not know the feeling of sadness? How can we acknowledge beauty if we have not seen a certain ugliness elsewhere? What is light without darkness, day without night? The juxtaposition of these opposites defines everything we know, just as Gary Snyder first defines “wild” as everything it is NOT in his book The Practice of the Wild. My belief is that we have to accept the opposites as they are, delve into each to understand the other, just as debaters prepare themselves for a debate by learning possible arguments from the other side. I was never one to take sides on arguments between friends or family members because I could honestly understand both points of view and just accept it as it was. Why can't people stop being stubborn and open their eyes to the unseen? We must all remind ourselves to open our eyes, see the full picture, and enjoy life as it is, with all of its trials and tribulations. I now view trees as old and wise beings, watching creatures scramble around on this earth not fully seeing, not catching the present. They watch and whisper truths, and if we're still and open enough we can catch on to some of life's mysteries, just listening to the trees.

Amanda DeSalme, Dillard and loopiness

From Annie Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek:

“It has always been a happy thought to me that the creek runs on all night, new every minute, whether I wish it or know it or care, as a closed book on a shelf continues to whisper to itself its own inexhaustible tale” (Dillard, 70).

Natural bodies of water have always fascinated me, especially the flowing currents of rivers, streams, and oceans. It is as if the water is alive, constantly churning, washing and carrying things along for the ride. Annie Dillard says that the creek is new every minute. This is true; it is new every second, but still the same. If you watch one spot continually, the water surrounding that area is new every second, each particle rushes on to new territory. But the whole body of the stream is so connected and smooth that it is all the same. Each particle eventually comes back around to where it was originally, if there even is a starting point to pinpoint. The water reflects the world, a murky mirror chopped and tumbling on towards eternity, cycling onwards like life and time itself. Thinking back on my life I have gone through numerous cycles, revolving around to find myself back where I started, yet still new and more mature than I was in the past. There have been calmer trickles in my life and also rough rocky currents, an overwhelming surge and tumble of life. It is all essential. It is all new and all relevant. “Time is the continuous loop” (Dillard, 77), and streams are one aspect of nature that illustrate this beautifully. Dillard also compares the creek’s eternal newness to a closed book, continuing to whisper its tale. It is interesting how a snapshot of time can be captured in a book, a piece of artwork, or a musical recording. We look at these snapshots and sometimes the beauty will speak to us as if it is a new revelation, and it is new to us. We have a revelation in the present using this artifact of the past, creating eternal beauty and connecting the two time zones to create one big loop. I’m not sure what to do with the loop now, but everything in life seems to correlate to this loop. All I can manage to do is to point out every connection and loopy illustration I can find and marvel at its horror, beauty, and wonder.