Here it is, the first week of 2010, a new decade no less. Can't say I expected it to arrive so fast or painlessly, but the world constantly surprises. Stephen and I just arrived home from a trip to Georgia and Florida, where we tried to get back in touch with nature; a bit. When I start to wonder exactly why it is we do what we do (that is, dedicate much of our time and energy to resource conservation), a trip to a national forest, wildlife refuge, or even our local greenway and park system helps me remember. Just the fact that I have to make a special trip to remember is a little disarming in its own way, but hey, I moved to a downtown urban occasionally war-like zone three years ago, precisely so I could leave the forest to the forest dwellers and the farms to the farmers. So I'm ok with the special trip to a protected area, because with the number of humans currently residing on the earth, if it isn't a protected area there is little doubt it will become a low diversity white spot of agriculture or construction on the map shortly. I don't need my own piece of nature, and I mean that...
Speaking of your own piece of nature, our trip took us first to Cumberland Island, Georgia, home until 1972 of a wealthy branch of the Carnegie family – yes, the steel barons. Originally the island was inhabited by an indigenous tribe, the Timucuans, who had lived there for something like 4000 years, until they were innocently killed off by “intertribal warfare and disease” (as the ranger station had it), not surprisingly shortly after the Spanish arrived. After a succession of missionaries, English colonists, plantation owners and slaves, etc, the island was bought as a 4000 acre birthday present for Lucy Carnegie. She decided the steel industry had led to her husband's premature demise, and would thus rear her 9 children in a steel baron version of self-sufficiency, ensconced on the island. In the strange stew that vast wealth breeds, the island managed to remain one of the least built-over or damaged barrier islands in the southeast US.
We ferried over to the island, and hiked up about 10 miles to the Plum Orchard Mansion, passing moss covered live oaks, lichens, ilex vomitoria (a tasty sounding species of holly native to the southeast US, which actually contains caffeine, wonders abound!) armadillos, etc. There are very few cars on the island, most visitors walk or bike, and it would be an extremely quiet place except for the nearby naval submarine base. The weather was cold and grey, so we saw few birds, and few people. But it was a lovely hike through the misty woods and across the abandoned beaches, where we saw more intact & vibrantly colored shells than I imagined possible. Sitting on a beach that isn't walled off by condos, hotels, and poorly constructed houses remains a viable possibility on the eastern US shore, but just barely. We lucked out and hit the island on one of the two days a month when the mansion was open for tours, thus satisfying two of our main fixations in one long day: old buildings and the natural world. On the return ferry back the mainland, the cold windy weather had taken its toll, as nearly everyone nodded off to sleep.
After a brief visit to Fernandina Beach, Florida, which purportedly has had more flags flown over it than any other place in the U.S., (that would be 8), the next leg of our trip brought us to the Okefenokee swamp. The name means bubbling water, or trembling earth, both references to the methane gases bubbling up through the swamp peat. We hiked a bit, and canoed a bit. The refuge has its own self-sufficient remnant dwelling, not a mansion but a sketchily constructed plank home from the early 1900s, which looked dismal, honestly. The blackwater swamp is part national wildlife refuge and part wilderness area, but not a state or national park, which means that various parts of it can be used in ways that would not fly in a park. Entering the refuge the pine trees line up suspiciously equidistant, and I can only assume they are part of a managed forest operation.
We canoed about 10 miles up and around the Suwanee Canal, the fortunately failed attempt to drain the swamp for logging operations in the late 1800s. We saw a really amazing variety of flora and fauna, including carnivorous plants, rattlesnake and alligator, and some of the most beautiful birds in the hemispere, including sandhill cranes, wood storks, great herons, great egrets, etc. While we didn't find many smaller birds, the birds we did spot were on average about 40” tall, stately, and easy to identify.
They appeared so healthy and happy in their swamp home, it is hard to imagine the plumage hunters of yesteryear stalking these same birds for ladies hats. Easy prey, I imagine.
But getting back to that first point, about reducing fossil fuel use, conserving resources, and in general trying to tread lightly on our planet. There's nothing like tripping over a sleeping alligator or startling an ibis from its perch to remind us that we share the planet with others, human and nonhuman, and sharing means being considerate in your use of resources, trying not to take what you don't need, and thoughtfully dealing with the remainders of what you do use. Even if those resources are still cheap and flowing freely, for now.
