Final Place: Nighttime at the Pond

5:30 p.m. Thursday, Dec. 3

It’s cold, about 40 degrees, and dark. I’ve never visited the pond before during the evening, although it may as well be nighttime. If I weren’t surrounded by nearby buildings and streets, it would be pitch black. Somehow, I think I prefer night to day. Because I cannot see well, I imagine that the ducks, birds and squirrels will not notice me in return. Of course, I know this isn’t the case. Animals have a much better sense of smell and hearing than I.

I scribble in my notebook to the illumination of street and sidewalk lamps, whose white light shimmers off the pond’s calm ripples. Even the water appears black. A single male mallard paddles slowly and steadily in no set direction, creating a few ripples of its own. Although I cannot differentiate much between his feather colors, I know he’s a male because of the dark head and lighter body.

There is no female that I can see, unless she hides in shadows. There are also no critters or birds scurrying and fluttering about. It appears that Mr. Mallard and I are alone. I wonder if he has chosen a mate for the season. During this time of year, mallards usually come in pairs in preparation for mating season. Watching him here, alone, in the dark, makes me pity him. I want the duck to have a mate, at least some sort of company other than myself. I wonder if he feels lonely, the way I do right now situated away from all the hustle and bustle of students going to and from campus events. Since tonight marks the 140th anniversary of Chatham University, more students, faculty and other people wander about than usual. From a distance, I hear them talking amongst themselves. Their voices ride a gentle breeze in my direction and blend with the sound of an airplane flying overhead, car motors rumbling down the street, and the continuous splat splat of water spurting from the pond’s fountain onto its concrete disc base. Occasionally, the mallard quacks, a noise completely inharmonious with its surroundings, which is sad. Aside from people, he creates the only other natural sound. It should be the manmade airplane, vehicles and fountain that seem out of place.

Sounds come alive in the dark. I suppose it’s because at night I rely more on hearing than vision. I hear everything that goes on around me, whereas during the day I hear less—or at least register less—because I’m preoccupied by seeing what lies in front of me. At this moment, though, I see more than passersby do walking from the campus chapel to Mellon board room. None venture in the pond’s direction. Instead they remain on pathways leading directly from one warm, lit building to another. For now—and I expect for the rest of the night—the mallard will have the pond to himself until he flies away to wherever he nests.

Final response: Class Overview

Before this class, I had never read or attempted to write a nature piece. I remember thinking to myself, what can I write about? My surroundings, what I think, the flowers, all of the above? After reading a variety of prose and poetry classified as nature writing, I have a better idea now than I did at the beginning of the semester. Briefly, I guess I can describe nature writing as non-fiction based on the natural world. Even though that definition is rather broad, nature writing in general seems to be even broader. In Mary Oliver’s poetry, for instance, it seemed to be more about observation whereas with Janisse Ray’s Ecology of a Cracker Childhood it’s about how an environment defines who we are. Then with Gretel Ehrlich in Solace of Open Spaces it’s about how nature can offer peace of mind and inspiration and how the writing itself can capture the essence of a specific place.

I still feel that I have a lot to learn about nature writing. Because of the variety we have read, I have more questions now about what can be considered nature writing and how I should approach the matter. During my weekly place blogs, I tend to just describe what I see and what’s running through my head at the time. However, I didn’t receive much insight from others and cannot offer much insight in return because I’m not sure exactly what a nature blog should be like. In the future, as Sheryl mentioned in class, I think one blog entry per week would be an excellent idea. The writer could have more time to focus on one entry and shape it into a stronger nature piece. Simultaneously the reader could have more time available to comment and help the writer improve their skills. All in all, a win-win situation.

One class requirement that I am grateful for is the chance to workshop a final essay. When I’m learning a new genre, I desperately need reader comments. I can’t say that I’ve written much non-fiction let alone nature writing. So I’m glad that I have the opportunity to revise because I learn more through revision.

Even though I still have a lot to learn about nature writing, so far what I have taken away from this class is the benefit of creating a strong sense of place. Before, I simply thought about trying to include enough details to make the reader “see” my setting. Now, though, I have begun to think in terms of creating not just a setting but a place. Gretel Ehrlich accomplished this task best, I think, in Solace of Open Spaces because, as I mentioned before, she captured the essence of Wyoming. As a result of her descriptions, I felt as if I understood her characters better because I could envision the landscape and know how it affected people’s daily lives. When I start my thesis next semester, I want to apply what I have learned about place and environment to upcoming short stories. I hope that I will be able to offer not only interesting dialogue and plot, but a strong sense of place which has been a relatively weak component in my previous work.