What does it mean to “live in place”? Why is it so important? Is this something anyone can achieve, or should it be achieved at all? What does it feel like to live in place? What can one do to develop a knowledge and appreciation of where they live if they do not already have these?
I think living in place can best be described by Val Plumwood, as quoted in Earth’s Insights, by J. Baird Callicott, “Identity is not connected to nature as a general abstract category..., but to particular areas of land, just as the connection one has to close relatives is highly particularistic and involves special attachments and obligations not held to humankind in general” (184). That is to say, one does not identify with the whole of nature on a global scale, merely that part of it in which one lives. A person will (or at least can) development a special relationship with the land around them, and will feel for anything that happens to it. To them, their area is not a foreign place of fear, but something to know and treasure. When the people (or person) lose this connection with a land they know so intimately, it can cause devastation to their own lives and spirit, as if their closest relative had died.
Too often have I seen people not care about where they live. They know very little about the nature that surrounds them, or if they do, they care only to get away from it. I would like to use the town in which I grew up and my own personal experiences to help illustrate my ideas of what living in place should mean. The place is a small community, isolate on the Olympic Peninsula, in the Olympic National Rainforest. The town was supported mainly by logging, and other forest related occupations. It is a beautiful place, with much diversity of species in the environment surrounding the valley where the town is based. I was in love with the forests, the mountains, the animals, the weather, and every other nuance of the area. Everything fascinated me, and I could never imagine a future without it. In the morning, I could tell whether the sun would manage to break through the clouds that day or not. I could find my way through the woods and hills around my house and never get lost. I knew the seasons, the migratory birds, and why the seagulls would fly inland from the ocean. It was my home. I could not imagine feeling this way about any place else in the world. Very rarely would I (or do I) find another person of my age that would agree with me. My generation cared not what would happen to this beautiful land, but only to get out and away from it, from the isolation of living in such a location. And it hurt me to realize that some day this place would be desolate, with all the younger people gone away to live in a “better” city. There would no longer be anyone to sustain the population of the town, and slowly, as slowly as the logging industry is dying, the community living in the lonely little valley would die also. I returned to my childhood home this last summer, and already, in only 5 short years, has the town begun to downsize. Stores have been closed, and rarely has a new one been erected, people have gone, and never do I hear of anyone moving in. People think not how lucky they are to live in such a beautiful community, only on making more money and succeeding financially, taking a very anthropocentric view of necessities and environment.
Who will take care of this little town in the future? Will it be the children? Is it too late to instill in them a sense of obligation for the land in which they live? Maybe a program in the schools, such as they have in the Mattole, according to the description by Freeman House in his book Totem Salmon, would help give children a better understanding of, and will to protect, the environment in which they live. Although the education in the schools in this place gave a lot of attention to Native American History, trees (logging, planting, general care), and fish, little did they give opportunity to actually do something within the environment that surrounded us. There were field trips, but not daily activities investing time and spirit into maintaining the ecosystem in the valley and surrounding mountains. There were no projects in which the students felt they were a real part of something bigger. Most of the material was taught in a “this is the way things are” fashion, and kids were never really taught that any change should come about and that they should be a part of it. It is important that a young generation of people begin to see the value in the area around them, to see that living in the only temperate rain forest left in the United States should mean something more than it being just a “pit” to get out of and forget about. If these children begin to participate in programs to preserve their environment, much like the students in Mattole, maybe they would then feel less of a desire to vacate the area permanently.
One generation, my generation, is gone from that town now, most likely never to return to live there again. For many, it is not financially feasible, or even socially desirable. Of all my peers there, I know of only one who feels the same pang of loss in leaving this community. Many of my friends would tell me how lucky I am that I was able to move away and “get out” my freshman year in high school, as if it were some kind of prison from which I was escaping. For me, it was anything but this. It was a culturally rich area, with much to offer in the way of diversity in nature, and I miss it. To me, moving and leaving this place behind was the hardest thing I have ever done, and it was forced upon me by my families need to relocate to find work. This is the deepest loss I have ever felt, and reading the quote from Val Plumwood in Earth’s Insights, by Callicott, gave a good analogy to my feelings. What she said was this: “[Loss of your area] may be as deeply grieved for and felt as the death of kin” (184). Thinking about it in these terms makes me wish there had been more I could have done to help preserve things before I left, as one might wish to have been able to patch up a relationship with a family member who has passed on. But I know I can never go back and live there as I once did, things have changed too much. You can never return to a time that is gone. All I could hope for would be to look towards the future and begin making preparations for a better tomorrow, though I am not sure I will ever relocate to the place that was once so much a part of me. But no matter where I go, I wish it to be somewhere similar to the home of my youth.
These emotions are what has made it so hard to accept the place in which I live now. It has become a trial to even want to learn of this new environment. But at last, after much soul-searching and internal struggle, I am coming to appreciate the new area in which I live. I am beginning to want understanding of a new and very unique environment. It is taking practice to learn new patterns in the weather, migratory animals, and different species of plants. I am finally seeing the beauty inherent in this location, and admiring it for its own worth. It is difficult to do, and it always amazes me how some people can pass off where they live as just another place. Everything is so different, no matter where you go. Each new location deserves respect and observation of its own being. It seems that too often people choose a place to live based on societal pressure, where the “best” jobs are, where the most “opportunities” are, and not on the environment they feel a special kinship with, or their own desires. When they move to a new place, little time is spent on getting to know it. As long as they can get from point A to point B, and nothing interferes with that, they will not deviate or pause to see what is around them.
How do we solve this dilemma of diverse bioregional history in individuals? First, society as a whole needs to slow down a pace or two and take a step back to look around them. More emphasis should be placed on learning one’s own environment, where it is in particular that one lives. Secondly, value should begin to be placed on the lives of plants and other creatures that co-inhabit with people in any area. Once people see the worth in other beings, then maybe they will begin to pay more attention to the needs of others besides humanity. And thirdly, if people begin to take a real interest in the diversity of others’ experiences, their own knowledge would be expanded and they could see that they are not alone in the type of history they have, only unique in the specific variations of place and feeling. If people begin to treasure their own bioregional history, they could begin to value others’ histories as well, and see the importance of maintaining all places. Without variety, the world as we know it would collapse in on itself. Nothing is made up of uniform particles, but the diversity of atoms is what gives it its specific shape and use.
Guidelines that I would agree would be useful in creating this knowledge of place, would be those set forth by Mitchell Thomashow, in his essay Toward a Cosmopolitan Bioregionalism. A summary of these guidelines are as follows:
“Study the language of the birds,” he says. Basically this would be studying your landscape, learning its cycles, the habits of its creatures, and making natural history a part of collective memory once more.
“Navigate the foggy, fractal coastline.” This would be realizing that everyone has a different view of the world around them, and that local knowledge is best obtained through practice and consulting with people in that area.
“Move within and without.” Knowing the economy in the area is important to realize the impact that globalization might have. One should consider everything involved before acting upon anything.
“Cultivate a garden of metaphors.” Listen to your senses and pay attention to metaphors that use nature references. Often these could lend insight into the world around you.
“Honor diversity.” Make use of others’ ways of thinking and points of view, but don’t use solely a human perspective. Try to think about and see things as the animals in the area might perceive them.
“Practice the wild.” Learn how the wild and civilization interact and be sure to keep a balance between the two within yourself.
“Alleviate global suffering.” Look for places that need help and try to do something about it. View the world in naked truth, not fabricated reality.
“Experience planetary exuberance.” Appreciate life in all its forms and all its contexts. It is everywhere and deserves attention.1
If we as people can manage to do even a few of these things, then maybe we will be started in the right direction for seeing the world differently. From a changed perspective, can come changed lives. Perhaps more people will begin to feel as much passion for where they live as I have felt for the places which I have inhabited. But, unlike myself, maybe they will have the opportunities and education to begin to institute necessary programs to preserve the world in which they, and we, live. Changes can be made, but it is not only adults who should be involved in the process; children should be allowed to participate and be educated in the ways and the reasons for helping the place in which they live thrive and grow. Our yesterdays cannot be changed, for better or worse, but we can learn from them nonetheless. Youth must be taught by elders to appreciate life in hopes that they will begin, or continue, viewing each place in which they live as a gift to be treasured and cared for. Any future the world will have begins today, and we should all do what we can to make it the best place for tomorrow as possible.
1 Thomashow, Toward A Cosmopolitan Bioregionalism
Thomashow, Mitchell. “Toward a Cosmopolitan Bioregionalism.” (Other citation information unknown). 30, November, 2003.
Back to PHL 443 Essays.
