Reflections

My birthday is coming up this weekend, and in Erie it still is snowing. I'm usually not really affected by the weather patterns of the Great Lakes region, as I find it to be often 'over-blown' by some of the 'locals', who themselves seem to believe that Erie rests only about five miles from the Arctic Circle, but I must admit that this so-called "spring" has just been down-right terrible to behold. How silly was I to think that in March the weather "would start to improve by April 23rd!?" Ha! Please! To the contrary, each morning I wake up to freezing temperatures, snow and god-awful, windy-blown rain drops that bang off of my bike helmet and make my canvas shoes wet from the inside out. I thought that by April I would be afforded the opportunity to go on a nice cross-city jaunt through the glass-strewn streets with my eyes averted from the city decay by all the blooming, budding bushes, flowers and trees that line the way. I thought that the sun would touch my neck and turn my pastel-white skin a tinge of red. Yet, it is not to be. We here in the northwest corner of Pennsylvania perpetually find ourselves under a thick layer of the heaviest and ugliest clouds one has seen, well, since February. When will spring arrive!? When will I not have to worry about the mucus smell of earthworms crawling across the pavement to flee from the water-logged, muddy 'soil' along the corners of all Erie sidewalks and roads? Soon. I hope.

Last Thursday, exactly one day before my decision deadline, at 8:00 pm at night, I received an email from Marquette University telling me that I had--after nearly three and a half months of waiting--been awarded the Trinity Fellowship. I accepted the Fellowship right away, and since that time have done very little reflection about it, except repeating over and over again in my mind: "I'm a FELLOW." "I'm a FELLOW." "I'm a FELLOW." You know, I would like to admit that I'm not so easily enticed by titles and prestige, but it really does feel GREAT to have been accepted. Now, I guess I just need to get serious about the work I'm about to get myself into: the long nights of studying, the writing, the working, the being stressed, the loneliness.

Last night I found myself at a public discussion about Marcellus Shale Drilling, and was shocked by the general public discourse; we as a nation REALLY do see problems through 'Black and White' paradigms. There were numerous instances last night where I was utterly disgusted and frustrated with the lack of respect that fellow citizens had for each other's opinion--even if the expressed idea was not exactly popular (i.e.- supporting Marcellus drilling). And, I was even more appalled at the manner in which the audience would address the speakers: More often than not, each question started with some kind of one-up-man comment like, "Well, sir, I don't think you quite understand...", or "So, you're REALLY saying that...." The audience really did treat the professors like they were some politicans who were public enemy number one. Yet, my greatest critique goes to the toothless, grunge, know-it-all type in the back of the room who made comment after comment about absolutley EVERY SINGLE POINT that was brought up in opposition to Marcellus Drilling. He spoke in the most obnoxious squack of a tone that is usually only reserved for mentally disturbed uncles who drink lots of beer and speak at length about Agent Orange. I proceeded to chalk the guy up as a wise-crack (and, yes, an "asshole")and attempted to ignore his arrogant morter shells of shallow-thinking that kept falling throughout the auditorium. It didn't work as well as I would have hoped.

I hate getting lectured from some cigarette-smelling fool with thick-rimmed glasses cacked in about two decades worth of black grime and a beer gut to boot.

Small reflection

This past weekend my wife and I, along with a friend (Lucas), spent the days traversing the rounded hill-tops and 'fording' the rushing, early-spring streams of the Allegheny National Forest. It was a relaxing weekend, spent with pack on back and map in hand. We didn't have a real destination in mind, as all we hoped to do was to get our minds away from the cramped-up offices that have come to be the main environment through which we spend a majority of our waking existence. The peaceful rush of water and the rapid-fire tapping of the Downy Woodpecker was tugging at my soul in the deepest recesses of my being. I had to get out in nature. I had to leave the house. I didn't want to drink any beer this Saturday. The weather would have no affect on my mind; I was going no matter whether it rained, snowed or threw down lightning--which, ironically, was the coming forecast.

But, as is most common in Pennsylvania, the forecast never came into fruition, and we had two beautiful days of hiking weather. Parts of the shadowed valleys still had pockets of snow, but for the most part, we indulged our senses by touching lichen and moss-covered rocks, smelling the fragrance of vast stands of White-Pine and methodically enjoying the calmness that radiated outwards from water rushing over rocks and branches, as it made its quick escape down to the Allegheny River. Juncos, sparrows, hawks and chipmunks were our most-commonly seen fellow creatures, and we were delighted in their seeming disinterest in us, leaving us to our own adventure, as they flout above our heads in canopies, or stole away in hollowed-out trunks.

An escape to nature really does bring one back to reality in regards to our very HUMAN and natural connection to the earth. I've heard many times over again about those who have contemplated the vastness of the universe, and in consequence thereafter, been humbled. But for me, the universe is not tangible. It's large, sure enough, but I need to have my 'place checked' by seeing grandiose things that I can concretely know to be greater than myself. And hiking amongst gigantic igneous boulders is the perfect place. Thankfully, the Alleghenies are strewn-through with these mammoths, and each time I perch myself upon one, I am struck by how old this one, solitary rock must be. It's not part of the soil. It's not part of the earth's crust. It's not part of the hill. It's its own entity, sitting in that one place for over 1,000,000 years. It has seen geographical time, as it itself is a consequence ( and witness) to the near incomprehensible forces that created its being. And we mere humans, with our 72-year life-spans, climb on top of it and feel might. Who are we fooling, right?!

It's amazing the beauty that sits less than a two-hour drive to the east. It's hard for me to imagine that in this country, a nation in which we are blessed to have so many natural and geographic anomalies, that we Americans wouldn't want to preserve our own treasure. It's too bad that this last refuge of Western Pennsylvania wilderness might be on the chopping block for more gas drilling, yet I'm hopeful that the forest will be resilient, after all, it's already been environmentally pillaged once before; it's just unfortunate that 2011 is no different than 1911 in our society's collective thinking about the importance and necessity of nature.