Country Folk

I will never forget the trips I've taken with my father, traveling across the Southeast. My brother and I went everywhere with him as children and even later as traveling tradesmen with his employer, Stebbins, in paper mills and plants. One of the last journeys we took together was a trip to Pensacola, FL with family to see the Blue Angels.

My father had cancer and not much time left, but he was making everything he could out of it. It was spring and the countryside was cacophonous with clicks and whirs and whoops and peeps of the bottomland life. We traveled together in his truck, as my brother and I had done so many times before. Except now, he was remarried, another son, a new life. The story was repeating, except this time with too much urgency, a tragic finality. It was all still beautiful: the rest stops, the gas stations, the changing scenery, the ice chest full of snacks, sandwiches. I was never happier than when going somewhere with Dad.

The arrival was nothing short of heaven: warm winds, distant seascape, light that enveloped everything it touched, and the family all there, together. Grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, even me, down from Ohio. In a way, I must have been the most exotic addition. Everyone else had been spending much more time with Dad in those days than I ever could have living in Ohio.

There was a moment after the Blue Angels finished that we all stood around, talking. Scott, fisherman, mason and old friend of Dad's, spoke of the islands out on the water, fishing the sloughs and the channels between the mainland and small islands just beyond where the angels flew. He generously offered to take us out on his boat, but we ended up not going. But the two fisherman had made me aware of the unique topography underneath the waves near the barrier islands. I had a realization then of the quiet cartographer my father must have always been, surveying the underworld from his aluminum boat. Above the submerged valleys and plains of land beneath the bays and estuaries of Southern Louisiana, the boat was a kind of airplane. A fisherman must see himself this way, I thought. Flying high. The clouds reflected underneath as glow above. He drops his silvery, invisible line to the land below and enjoys the sense of weightlessness. Not many fisherman would ever articulate their experience in this kind of way, but I always felt this way going fishing with my father. This calm, must be at the core of most country folk's love of the out of doors. Serenity, my dad once said.

This was just one more of the many moments I felt deeply connected to my father but felt I could or should not say anything. He wasn't much on vocalizing every damn thought or feeling. As Freeman Tilden once suggested, he let the scenery speak for itself. And so his silence taught me what words never could. And I held back, as I've done most of my life, keeping in this poetry of place, this desire to celebrate the land in words. My brother, Joey, felt the land as well as I did, I think, though he never was so inclined to be a writer. We've shared many great experiences together in the country, swimming, fishing, drinking, telling stories and cutting up. And so too, I think we share many of the same values about family and place.

The political rhetoric these days seems to pin environmentalists against country folk. This is a terribly unfair abuse of language and power, in my opinion. Many "environmentalist" are just people that want to keep the country a rural place. I was a country boy before I ever thought of calling myself an environmentalist. I enjoyed chopping down small trees, making forts, starting fires, catching bugs and shooting guns. Of course, I didn't make much of a hunter. When Dad went duck hunting, I much preferred staying at base camp, tramping the woods with machete in hand, making lean-tos with palmetto and discovering interesting wildlife. (I'll never forget discovering wild onion!) When Dad brought ducks back to be strung up on a rope near the fire, I was sad to see the ducks still twitching. Though, or perhaps, because their dark eyes did not reveal any pain, despite their undoubted suffering, I was drawn to them. Such stoicism, as a later found, was a great theme in my fathers life. For some reason I had this sensitivity, despite my other destructive, boyish behaviors. I didn't like to see trash in the river or anywhere. My bare feet were cut one too many times by broken bottles and pieces of tile discarded in the river. I didn't like to see forests cut down, because that's where I learned to play and dream.

In years leading up to his passing, my father and I seemed to continually butt heads on certain issues. He told our snorkel guide in Key West that I was a "liberal" once, because of my job in Ohio. He called me a "tree hugger" frequently, too. He made fun of me for using the ceramic plates instead of paper plates and going through the trouble of washing dishes. Perhaps it was a misunderstanding and miscommunication on both our parts, because we agreed that we loved our home. I confronted him once on how I didn't like being called "tree hugger" and he responded by saying, "What do you mean? You don't like being called tree hugger? That's not a negative word. Hell, I'm a tree hugger."

And so I hope that we can all begin to agree to call ourselves something we can all be proud of. The word "environmental" has been sullied and manipulated for purely political reasons, as a means of social polarization.  It is not a word of pride as it might have been in the 70s. But if you love the outdoors, then you're loving the environment. (And if you want to have "outdoors" for your grandchildren's grandchildren, you would do well to try to an understand how it works. But that's environmental literacy and I'll save that for a separate post.) With my generation finally coming out of the woodwork, exploring ideas of leadership, education and community, we certainly need a new term. I say just keep it honest and simple. Let's call ourselves, as we truly are: country folk.

Mapping our potential

I have been hard at work over the last few years, trying to quantify the extent of the what's out there in in terms of place-based groups in Louisiana that are helping to preserve the natural and cultural quality of this great region. The following map is a recent addition to this project.

Information is vital to the work of making our special places and communities in Louisiana healthy and livable. Yet those who want to make a difference cannot do so without the literacy and tools necessary to get the job done. There are many groups and individuals that represent tremendous resources for the public, but they do not always communicate between one another. Many may not even be aware that the other exists.


The following map is intended for Southeast Louisiana citizens and community leaders interested in cultural and natural heritage conservation. The map is meant to help visualize the potential extent of our collective energies. Together, these organizations can help us understand where we're from and where we're going. 

These are the dots. It's time we start connecting them.

NOTE: If your group or center is not represented in this map or if you would like to become an active collaborator to this map, please contact me at matthew . s . herron @ gmail com (remove spaces).

POTENTIAL COMMUNITY PARTNERS for EDUCATION AND ACTION

View Potential Community Partners for Education and Action in a larger map

A new movement is stirring in Louisiana's botanical world

I knew something was strange when, instead of just taking the number from the machine, Betty Ross made me listen to the message.

The message was from a botanist, Dave Moore, at the Kisatchie National Forest. At first, I was confused. This couldn't possibly be about the post I made to a Google group less than 20 minutes ago. Then, my heart leaped with glee. I thought, he's going to offer me a job or an internship or something. Home. Kisatchie, even. But as I listened to the message he sounded a bit unsettled, curt even. Before leaving his number he stated that he was calling regarding the "lack of botanical opportunities in Louisiana." I new my comment on Louisiana Native Plant Society's discussion board was a bit brazen and presumptuous, but this guy seemed to be on a mission to find out who I was. After all, I had not even attached my phone number to the post. He must have hunted that down online. All in less than 20 minutes from clicking the "send" button. So here  is what I  posted, in response to native plant job opening in California:

Hello everybody... I'm new to this google group but have lived in
Louisiana most of my life and have been interest in LNPS for a few
years. I left Louisiana only in the last two years for professional
development in natural history and environmental education. I'm
looking to come back home soon, and so my question is this:


Why aren't there more opportunities in Southeast Louisiana for amateur
naturalists, botanists, etc. (young and old) to participate in native
plant education, monitoring and conservation? Most parts of the
country have botanical gardens or universities that sponsor citizen
science programs, that reach out for volunteers, that offer
internships for professional growth and citizen literacy. Why don't we
have them? 

California is so far away. I just want to work on conserving my home
in Southeast Louisiana, even if I don't have my masters in plant
ecology, I think I should be able to contribute my energy and
enthusiasm, right? 

Matthew
Extension Naturalist
Glen Helen Outdoor Education Center
Yellow Springs, OH 45387

What I thought would go unnoticed, elicited quite a few responses. Six, in fact, and the most board activity in almost a year. Some touted the opportunities that are out there. Some referred to Louisiana being in the dark ages. After only a few hours, the discussion was quite diverse and healthy. I stayed late in the office that day to finish the following response:

First of all, thank you everyone for your responses.  I hope I did not make
anyone feel unrecognized or unappreciated by my loaded, vague questions.
There is certainly a burgeoning community of naturalists, birders, buggers,
botanists and conservationists out there doing amazing things in Louisiana.


And there are some amazing gatherings in Louisiana. I just learned about
the BBBBB which is great! Bugstock, LEEC's annual symposium and CRCL's
volunteer plantings are fantastic as well. Charles Allen is fantastic! I
burned much fossil fuel to meet him and be his sole attendant on a
wildflower walk in the spring of 2010.


But if you will stick with me for Part II in the discussion, I think we
might be able to all agree that there is a unique "market gap" that could
be filled in Louisiana, in particular around the urban centers where
natural (and human) communities are being lost to development. The key word
is internships and volunteer programs.

A few examples may help illustrate my point, if you would not mind looking
over the following links briefly.


Texas Master Naturalist Program
http://www.tpwd.state.tx.us/landwater/land/programs/txmasnat/
<http://www.tpwd.state.tx.us/landwater/land/programs/txmasnat/>


New England Wildflower Society's "Plant Conservation Volunteer Corps".
http://www.newfs.org/volunteers/conservation-volunteers.html


California Native Plant Society "Rare Plant Treasure Hunt".
http://www.cnps.org/cnps/rareplants/treasurehunt/get_started.php


Chicago Botanic Garden's "Plants of Concern"
http://www.plantsofconcern.org/


Iowa Natural Heritage Program's "Land Stewardship Interns"
http://www.inhf.org/inhf-internships.cfm


Five Rivers Metro Park's Nature Programs
http://www.metroparks.org/GetEducated/GetEducated.aspx


Whether BTNEP, Louisiana Natural Heritage Program, LSU's Museum of Natural
History, TREE, LOOP or even Barataria Preserve... I have not observed one
website that offers internships or structured volunteer opportunities in
environmental education, land management or rare plant conservation. Of
course, everyone has a section on their website that says "Want to
volunteer? Contact___." But that isn't the same as planning for volunteers,
committing to volunteers by offering them a program that promises
intellectual and professional growth and publishing these opportunities 
online.


But volunteering isn't the same as an internship either. Our young adults
(high school and college graduates and beyond) are a terribly under
utilized resource. They have young energy, new ideas, idealism and the will
to learn new professional and life skills. What non-profit or government
agency wouldn't want to get twice the labor for half the price, all while
training the next generation of environmental leaders?


Of course, Louisiana isn't an internship dead zone. But such opportunities
are too often passed through biology departments or other convoluted,
bureaucratic channels like usajobs.gov or thesca.org. Regardless, such
opportunities are not published on websites and open to the competition of
citizen scientists, amateurs and the talented passer-bys.


Now to my story: I studied literature in college (the transcendentalists,
go figure) but came to Glen Helen Outdoor Education Center to spend a year
outdoors and learn how to teach better. But while here, I fell in love with
natural history and scientific inquiry. When not working over 50 hours a
week (for only $150/week, keep in mind) I looked to Ohio Certified
Volunteer Naturalists or other . became dedicated citizen scientist and
sworn amateur botanist. If I could have had an internship like this in
Louisiana, I would be so much closer to beginning my career in Louisiana.
Such internships are not uncommon in other parts of the country, as you
might have seen.


So with that I pose a new question: Where are those internships, those
structured learning opportunities for adults? The kind that help people
start careers? Would you agree that this is an interesting "market gap"?


Thanks in advance for those of you who indulge my philosophical,
job-desperate rantings. I apologize if I've taken over the group. Best of
wishes to all my brethren nature geeks! 

I was a bit embarrassed by the type-o I left, but chose not to acknowledge it. One person suggested I run for governor. Another made notice of a new Master Naturalist program in the works out of LSUAgCenter. (This, by the way, is TREMENDOUS news and is a real game changer for Louisiana.) Many people seemed to agree that there is a "void" that could be filled.

Throughout the whole process (that began yesterday at noon), I've been on edge, checking my email frantically to see who might respond. It seemed my whole life has been leading up to this moment and that perhaps I had planted a seed that would one day grow broad and strong as a live oak. There will be much to research and report on this subject in the near future.

But until then join Louisiana Native Plant Society's Google Group for the full discussion and to learn about hip botanical madness in Cajun Land.