Musings

While walking back down to the lower dorms after class today, I saw a red maple leaf pirouetting in the wind. The leaf had fallen in such a way that it downward pointing stem was balanced perfectly on its axis and the brisk wind caught it in a spiraling eddy, causing the fire red leaf to spin exquisitely through the air. It was beautiful - a ballet choreographed to gravity and composed by the wind. This small event reminded me of the conversation we had in class today and one of the questions it brought up for me: where is the intersection between poetry and science? The beauty a pirouetting leaf represents to me is reflected by its improbability. I am curious about how the wind could cause something so perfect? Was it constricted through a corridor of trees, forced to speed up until released out the other side? How is it possible that the leaf fell at just the right moment, at just the right angle to cause it to spin in perfect symmetry? The answer to one question invariably leads to another, and another. The poetic image is inspired by my longing to understand and the knowledge that I probably never will. Science, to use the word loosely, is not about trying to understand the unknown, but rather, the search for better and greater mysteries. The more that I understand from science, the more questions I reveal, and the better able I am to find poetry.

While I continued my journey down to the lower dorms, still lost in the wonder of autumn, it occurred to me that perhaps I am thinking about this project in the wrong light. Someone drew my attention to the Foxfire books after class today, and after browsing through one, I reflected that these oral histories had a focused theme: to preserve the skills and knowledge that would be lost if someone didn’t write them down. This idea is reflected in the Silko and Elder snippets we read, that a story, at it’s core, is designed to preserve information for future generations. If I view this project in this light, the question changes; it is no longer about what I want to study, but rather what needs to be recorded and preserved for further generations to learn. The topic should be defined more by necessity to preserve information than the desire to purse interests. And so I am forced to ask: What knowledge contained within the Black River watershed will be lost should no Sterling College student decide to ferret it out?