Energy and Place and Essential Questions

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Leading up to this project, there were many little projects that helped better prepare us for the essay and visual piece. Many of these projects included discovering and developing our sense of place, such as our inspiration journals in which we wrote creatively based on prompts. This not only helped us practice our creative writing skills, but it helped us get in touch with our inner feelings and access the dusty corner of our brains that is filled with raw, passionate emotions.

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When I decided to write a fictional story that still reflected my sense of place, I really had to be sure that I had a complete understanding of what my true sense of place is. In order to accomplish this, I had to really think about where I feel most at home and what about nature appeals to me so much. So, I finally decided that, of all places on this planet, the Amazon Rainforest was the most appealing and exciting to me. It has everything I like about nature all packed into one rather large area. I know that, for most people, their sense of place is somewhere they know and have been to. For me, I realized that my sense of place is somewhere I want to go; somewhere that pulls at my heart strings and makes me feel happy. All in all, it was a place that is full of life, yet threatens the life of the humans that dare to pass through it.

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I am most proud of the way I was able to tie my essay all together in the end. Not only was I able to provide a relatively deep background on the character for a short story, but I was able to tie in her past with the present. I felt like I accomplished creating both beautiful scenery along with an intelligent and understandable story line that comprehensibly combined my sense of place with my personal environmental ethic.

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I really enjoyed the way the humanities and chemistry connected together in this project. It not only helped me gain more information on all of the different aspects of energy and sense of place, but it helped me become better at managing multiple aspects of the same concept. I liked the extensive research that we were able to do in this project because I feel like I am truly knowledgeable about all parts of this project.

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Sense of Place Essay: Artist Statement

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In my paintings, I really wanted to get the viewer to think about something that isn’t really a common concept in our society. I really wanted them to think about the subtle consequences that their actions now will have in the not too distant future. I just really don’t want them to over look the fact that the planet is dying, and, even though it is a slow process, it is becoming an increasingly obvious problem. I feel like the paintings clearly show this because the first painting shows a beautiful nature scene, while the other shows a nuclear bomb with a plant that is about to be incinerated. 

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The entire process of my creation of my paintings was refining my original idea. I first believed that I needed to make some sort of drastic painting that dramatically effects the minds of the viewers. But, to make my paintings fit more with my ideas in my paper, I just made them simple yet straight forward, showing the difference between nature and man’s creation. It is obvious that man desires power and control, and, because of these desires, he has become ignorant and unkind to his surroundings; mankind and Mother Nature alike. So, by showing the scene of the forest, I am showing the beauty that still exists in the world today, and, by showing the nuclear winter, I am showing the potential of our future.

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My biggest inspiration for this piece was my love of untouched nature. I adore the kind of nature that threatens and challenges mankind. Honestly, I enjoy the idea of a place that could kill a human; demented I know. But, if you think about it, there are few places left in this world that are threatening to the existence of humans. I also wanted to tie this idea into a place that is very interesting to me, the rainforest. I love nature, but I really love the destructiveness that nature holds.

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The Heart of The Rainforest, The Soul of The Weary

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Sally Burchett

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The noises, mashed together in a symphony of undiscovered instruments,

besiege me as I meander through the untrodden path. The immaculate scenery causes

my breath to shorten and the rhythm of my pounding feet to beat faster. The soft

whistling of the wind tickles my ears and takes the sweat from my skin, cooling me

despite the hot climate. As I run through the dewy branches and soft ferns, the harsh

sunlight blocked from my pale skin by the majestic canopy that encases the jungle floor, my lungs absorb the immense amount of oxygen that poisons the air with its life. I anything had the ability to make someone, even the most able-bodied and tenacious man on earth, feel insignificant and fragile, the Amazon Rainforest is the place. Even as

I wander, happy in my surroundings, I know that I am an obnoxious stranger to the

sagacious, towering wildlife. The plants and animals stare at me, quite aware of my lack of knowledge of how to live peaceful alongside Mother Nature.

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I come to a halt as I reach the creek with its ever-rushing waters that are filled with creatures, many of whom are likely unknown to the scientist that are brave enough

to roam these forsaken lands, such as myself. I don’t mean to compliment myself, I

simply mean to state that this territory is not for the weak, nor for those with sensitive stomachs. The poor soil, the towering trees and the radical mood swings of the weather

make for an interesting mixture of thousands of acres of authentic wilderness -- which I

consider to not only be my second home but my charity project as well -- and a peaceful

place to get a taste of one of the last relatively untouched wonders. Don’t get me wrong,

I’m not completely naive. I have been to the outer edges of the forest. I have seen the vast, empty fields of dry and infertile soil which remains when the rest does not. But, I have learned to not focus on the destruction or on the emptiness. There will always be those who are ignorant and greedy; those who believe that the vast population of species, other than those that walk on two legs and build skyscrapers, is not significant

enough to halt the killing. Instead, I focus on the moments here; the moments now. I focus on the human-less landscapes hidden away from the eye’s of the gods that rule

the rest of the planet. I focus on the beauty of the untouched and the hidden. And, when

I focus on these things, I know that there is hope. I know that, no matter what, Mother

Nature will always fight the demons that inhabit her adored planet. I set down my pack beside my tent, which is comfortably snuggled against the

forest floor, just as I had left it a few hours ago. With the moral support of the echoes of

the chirps from the tropical birds, I rummage through my gear and take out my stream flow probe. Slipping on my knee-high boots, I cautiously approach the bank of the creek. Although it is not nearly as frightening as the Amazon River, which is fiercely flowing only a few miles away, it is still abysmal. The silt from up stream infects the

creek, the water sweeping it off of its feet and carrying it away into the unknown; a place I hope to stay away from. I am unable to see the bottom of the creek, but I still know

that if I were to slip into these rivers, though teeming with a diversity of beings that can end a human life with a swish of a tail or a snap of a jaw, the bottom is where my lifeless body would slowly decay, held down by the oppressive current. But, I am conscientious and I take my time. I brace myself against the steep decline where the dirt has been eroded away over the years. I dip my fingertips in first for a quick

temperature check, still bracing myself against the wall of dirt, then I slip on my gloves. I slowly climb into the shallows of the creek and collect the necessary samples for my

most recent check in with my allotted section of the rainforest.

I am surprised at the kindness of Mother Nature. Surely, with any other stranger invading her precious land, she would exert her power and reveal the true danger of the Amazon. But, she kindly allows me to learn more about the ways of this extraordinary place, and explore the unknown realms of my fantasies. I made my way back up onto the mossy ground and set my samples into their appropriate containers after recording my results in my log book. I make my way into my tent, rummaging through my belongings, searching for a snack, only to find empty wrappers and containers void of nutrients. “It’s much too early for dinner..” I say to myself. “If only I weren’t such a pig, then I might actually be able to last a month on purely my rations.” Alas, though my stomach has no limitations, the amount of food I can carry at once does. So, I head off

into the soft light of the afternoon sun, and reach my destination about 400 feet from my camp. It greets me with the promise of a happy belly, which is provided to me with little

effort on my part. I simply peel back the bark, do a little scraping with my knife, and

voila; behold, the mighty goodness of the meal worms!

After thoroughly stuffing my face with the squishy sacks full of protein, I sit

against the tree which has aided me in my conquest for satisfaction. I sit, pondering for

a moment, and then decide to pay tribute to this being. I jog back to my camp and

retrieve my journal along with an overly-used pencil.

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My roots sink; they search, they taste, they cringe. The cold feeling races up my wooden spine as the silent screams reverberate through my solid

structure. They plead, they beg, but it’s too late... It’s always been too late. We all know that our fate has been sealed by the thoughtless murderers

that have claimed this planet, our home, as their slave. The lack of respect

fills the air, clouding their eyes so they cannot see what their hands are

doing. Their emotions are locked behind lines of policemen, encasing the life

which protests the death. Their voices are silenced by the stitches of plastic surgery and nonsensical words escape their new lips, reeking of propaganda. I take a break and re-read my poem as it is thus far. I giggle slightly and realize

how off track I had become; so much for thanking the tree. All the same, I quite like the piece of writing, so, I continue on.The violence of the chop, the crunching of my bones, the aching of my core. The greed of the creature sitting inside the murderous machine stings my open wounds. I cry. No, I weep, I sob. My bark is turned into wood chips.

Children play happily in my shredded skin, not thinking twice about what

they step on.

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I once again remove the pencil from my journal. I huff at the irony of my words, written on the remains of a once living tree. Despite this fact, I must let my passion run free.

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Their ignorant minds shaped and twisted by the hands of their parents. The future generations are becoming blinded by the lack of Mother Nature’s scenery, which has been chopped away and melted down. A new world has

formed; a world full of the animal that once dwelled in caves and spoke in

grunts who now feed on the souls of the inferior. They now run around, their

hands full of guns and money, recklessly demolishing this life bearing planet.

I stop. I glance back at my writing as I think of my father. Even though he was a

great man who once would have given his life for his family, he has become just

another drone that follows orders without a second thought. This drone is, however,

arguably one of the most accomplished men in the paper business. He had worked his

way up the latter of the 28 story building, leaving behind a small part of his humanity

behind with each step. I do not wish to be misunderstood. After all, I do love my father,

but I am afraid all other feelings towards him fall short of significant. I do not hold him in the highest of respects, and, as he has made quite clear, the feeling is mutual. His biggest goal in life is to achieve the highest profit ever known to his company, while mine is to ensure that he doesn’t ruin my beloved nature in the process. He has just begun a new project in Peru which will eventually spread through the heart of this jungle I have poured my soul into over the past few years.

So, in my best act of defiance, I sit here. I work here. My mission is to find something; a new species, a toxin, or anything out of place in order to legally bring his operation to a screeching halt and save this precious landscape. So I work, I breath,

and I live in this beautiful rainforest my hurried hands attempt to sew a net of protection

around what has now become part of me; part of my soul. I rise and glide over to my tent, were my testing equipment sits quietly in suspense. I fiddle with the dials and the

strings, nervously procrastinating the discovery of my results. I mean, after all of this

time and all of this love poured into my work, what if I fail? Who else will step in to

protect the land of the innocent and give their life just as I have? “No!” I shout out to myself. “This is not productive thinking. In fact, I’m merely depressing myself.” I whisper with a smirk, placing one hand on my hip as if to sass

myself. So, I remove my focus from my thoughts and turn on the small device. With my

heart in my throat, I brush the thin layer of dust off of the waterproof screen as I stare

blankly into the holy lights. It beeps three times which is nothing out of the usual, yet I

am still standing still, unable to breath. The results appear on the screen and I stand

perfectly still for a few long moments more. I fall to my knees as a throbbing pain fills my body, masking to stabs of the twigs in my knees. The numbers are normal, the water

appears to be fine. I turn off the machine, disappointment aches in my stomach and spreads to the marrow in my bones. My back falls against the ground, which cradles me in moss and ferns that soothingly stroke my skin. Perhaps I’m just too far from the machines, from the poisons of the humans, to register the change. I crawl to my pack and remove my dinner in hopes that some food will relieve the ache in my gut. The smell of soup fills the air around me, and the aroma tickles my nose in attempts to cheer me up. I slowly sip the soup out of its metal container, and its warmth spreads through my veins. I lean against my tent, aimlessly staring into the tall trees that stare at me, their eyes filled with anticipation. I look away as shame flushes across my face. I pick up the petri dishes filled with samples of dirt and water and wrap

them carefully in bubble wrap so they are ready to be transported to my lab. As I look

into the sample of sand from the edge of the creek, a reflection catches my eye. I twist

my head around and my sunglasses fly from my head, hitting the ground with a thud. I stop, afraid to scare away the frog that stares at me with huge eyes. I fumble through

my backpack and remove my gloves. With a snap of the latex against my wrist, I am

equipped, and I capture the sticky creature within a soft net. He does not squirm, he

simply relaxes and allows me to trap him within the confines of plastic box. I rummage

through my tent, flipping through the pages of my book of species while simultaneously

snapping pictures of the dusty orange, purple eyed, leathery skinned ball of hope. I

reach the end of the book. Breathing heavily, I dial the numbers on my satellite phone

with shaking fingers. The rings are slow and painful, but I am strong and hopeful.

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“Hello?” a raspy voice answers after the seventh ring.

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“Hello, is this Charles?” I ask; my voice filled with adrenalin.

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“Yes, I am Charles.”

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“It’s me, Danielle.” I breath heavily for a few moments, anticipating an answer. After a long pause I continue. “I found what I believe to be a new species of frog, so I

am going to extend my stay here.” Silence fills the phone. “It’s time to call off the

project. No more machines, no more destruction. Go find your profits somewhere else,

Charles.”  I sigh as I hang up, knowing that he is unhappy. Despite my father’s feelings

of defeat, I am delighted. I am no longer weary; I am blissful.

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