“Communing” with nature is not exactly natural for me. I have no fond memories of camping, hiking in the wilderness, and looking for rare animals. Just thinking of such activities makes me reach for my bug spray. This is not to say, however, that I have never had extraordinary experiences with nature or recognized its sacral qualities. I’ve actually driven, in two separate trips, from Dallas to Los Angeles and then from Dallas to Rhode Island. The visual impact of the changing topography during these trips, from the mesas and plateaus of the Southwest, to the Mojave desert and the smoky haze of the Appalachians, will forever be impressed upon my memory (nevermind that I did not drive a little bit out of the way to go to the Grand Canyon, I know, shame on me). But, for lack of a better word, I am a “city girl.” My “communing” with nature is often a circumstance of my journey, not the impetus. So, it was with some trepidation that that I embarked on this exercise for class.
As I knew that any attempt to force nature upon me would end in a failed effort, I decided to seek nature amongst the concrete sidewalks and manmade edifices of Boston. Luckily for me, last week, nature decided to cooperate, and on a beautiful Wednesday afternoon, I set out on my quest. As I hit Copley Square, I resisted not doing to obvious and wandering over to Boston Common. I really do not have any problem with the Common, and actually love going there in the summer, but the experience does often feel so circumscribed, as though “nature” cannot exist elsewhere in the city. My roommate, who agreed to accompany me on my trip, decided that we should do a “loop” around the Back Bay, traversing Copley Square, heading up Commonwealth Avenue, across Mass Ave and into the Southwest Corridor Park to end up at Back Bay Station.
Certainly, this is not what many would consider to be an ideal “nature” walk, but for me, I started to notice things about the city I had not really noticed before. In Copley Square, the field of grass (just about the only remnant of nature in this busy urban intersection) became both a site of meditation and site of recreation. Given the warmth of the day, I watched many people sitting alone on benches, just seeming to enjoy being outside while others played their inaugural game of baseball with friends. On Commonwealth, we took the middle pedestrian route that honestly, I had never really noticed before. It was lined with trees that admittedly were planted in a row in a mechanical fashion, punctuated by monstrous statues of people I had never heard of, but there was something about these trees, perhaps just their unexpected presence, that calmed me. The open space of Comm Ave quickly changed to chaos as we headed up Mass Ave, and perhaps more than ever before the cacophony of the city streets and tight quarters around the Berklee School of Music jolted me out of my meditation. However, we quickly traversed this section of the trip and passed into the Southwest Corridor Park, one of my favorite places in the city. My roommate spoke enthusiastically of the utopic qualities of this place, where people of many classes, races and ages could be seen along the park on West Newton Street. Like on Commonwealth, nature came in an artificial packaging, mostly in the form of trees planted in large brick sculptures along the median of the trail. But there was something different about them. I looked up through the branches to take a picture and then looked ahead. In the distance, the Prudential Tower lined up among these trees, and to me, it was beautiful. This mixture of city and environment seemed to signify a blending of the sacred and the profane. It was not the jolting experience of Mass Ave, but rather a quiet recognition of something special that lurked within the shadow of skyscrapers.
Was this space sacred? I’m really not sure. And if this space was sacred did it mean that the city was not? I don’t think I can subscribe to this philosophy. Why do we assume that we must go away, far away, from “society” to commune with nature? Do the sacral qualities of the natural environment cease to exist in areas of dense population? “Sacred” nature seems to equal “unadulterated” nature, an environment that has had little human intervention. But if it is the question of the divine creation of nature, why does human intervention erase these qualities? As much as I firmly agree that human presence has destroyed many natural resources because of urban industrialization, can God still dwell in the nature of the cities? Perhaps, that is where we need sacred spaces of nature the most.
Posted at Mar 31/2008 01:43PM:
Elisa: I have images from my walk they are very large right now. I will post them later - thanks!
Posted at Mar 31/2008 02:53PM:
Heidi: I really enjoyed your insights into the city / nature binary -- even though my own background is much less urban, one of the first things that I felt drawn to write about is the sensation of experiencing nature in an urban context (which I didn't end up doing, obviously!). I agree that this opposition is too stark for thinking about how nature is manifest in cities. Your description of grassy plots and such feeling contrived or circumscribed was apt, but I wonder about examples like Central or Prospect Parks (in Brooklyn) where these spaces preserve or recreate the natural features of the land now occupied largely by urban features. It would be interesting to spend more time in class thinking about whether, in such cases, nature is being artificially preserved or represented, offers a sort of critique on the urban landscape that has overwritten its presence, or whether such an experience "counts" as communing with nature (maybe a better way to phrase that would be, is there a difference between communing with nature in Central Park, versus in the wilderness, and if so, what?). One of my closest friends from college is from Manhattan, and although he loves spending time outdoors, in parks, traveling, and so forth, things like animals and camping really throw him for a loop. Seems like a good relationship to tease out!
Posted at Mar 31/2008 06:55PM:
claudia: The nature/city binary is definitely a subject close to my heart (as you can see from my exercise). When I tell people that I grew up in NYC they give me a sad look and always ask "didn't you miss having a backyard?" But Central Park and Riverside were my yards! Yes, you have to journey through city landscape before you reach the nature but I think the contrast between the concrete and the grass can make one appreciate the nature even more, almost like an oasis. I am biased of course.
Also pertinent here is Leo Marx's first chapter which addresses the idea of the "symbolic" motion away from the city to the simplicity of nature and nature as an escape from reality.
Posted at Apr 01/2008 09:36AM:
Elisa: So, these are the images from my walk - the first (blurry one) is at Copley, second on Comm Ave, 3rd and 4th in Southwest Corridor Park
Posted at Apr 01/2008 11:46AM:
Carissa: I believe that in many ways this piece will resonate with all of us; since a majority of us grew up in cities. I have to admit that I have never been exposed to a rural environment other for a short period of time. I think cities like Boston and New York are too man-made, these preserved areas seem fake in a way. In these places anything that looks natural becomes more important to save? These places are representative of spacial change, but does that effect its sacred quality?
Posted at Apr 01/2008 12:22PM:
keffie: I have the same experience when on Comm Ave.--that it is like a little natural breath of fresh air in the middle of the city. However, I can't help but look at your pictures and see the way in which these green spaces are circumscribed by curbs and concrete. I think this is the way in which most of us interact with the natural world, but I cannot help but think about White's perspective that we are trying to work within a system that is inherently flawed. I feel a little like the rain on the parade.
