Afternoons of Reverie

Nature Journal: The Living Planet Aquarium

Tuesday, March 29, 2011 Mikentire 0 Comments Category : Aquariums

At the beginning of the semester I contemplated what sort of meaningful service I could provide. I had secured a volunteer internship at Mountain Horse Medical Center in Park City and thought for a moment that maybe that could count. But then I realized that I was going to do that anyway: I’m a pre-vet student and I desperately need experience. So I got to thinking again. Before my mission I volunteered as a Docent at Utah’s Hogle Zoo. I loved it, but the program had changed and I wouldn’t be doing the same things. So then I visited the Living Planet Aquarium. It was wonderful. This was what I wanted to do and I quickly signed up.

Earlier I wrote about the zoological institutions and their roles in conservation. But today I want to write about something else they do. They complete us. There is something about wildlife documentaries, the Discovery Channel, and Animal Planet that makes us whole. Without a doubt, it has something to do with how removed we are from our own world. We lock ourselves away in our cities and pretend that this world has only to do with business, economics, language, and culture. And we live pretty happy lives. But something isn’t right. We eat food but have no idea where it comes from – except from the store. Sophisticated cityscapes block our views of the simple and whole. We go on living quite happily for some time in this way. Until that certain missing something accumulates with enough of other missing somethings and we feel ready to explode. Something is wrong. We buy paintings or photographs of landscapes. We make it a priority to center one of the world’s most metropolitan areas around 843 acres of hallowed park land. We build zoos, plant botanical gardens, and play in parks to remind us that there is more to life than what we live.

We do it because we realize that anthropocentrism alone is unable to answer for our experiences here on Earth. There is certainly something to our differences with the rest of the world. Language, art, science, and reasoning do separate us from the rest of our fellow beings. We will never be the puppy Dillard patted in her book. Our experiences will often be different. But these differences by themselves are not enough to satisfy us. But because of these differences, biocentrism is also not the answer. Don’t get me wrong – we are as much a part of this world as are the other organisms. They too have inherent value. But we have the ability to see and analyze what is around us. Cause and effect are not unknown to us. Eventually we could see that some of our favorites were leaving this world, that we were the cause, and that we had to take action. So finally we got around to protecting them. Why though? Because we are connected to them. We feel responsible for losing them. It’s in this mixture of biocentrism and anthropocentrism that we find true happiness. Here the wonders of the world are appreciated and cared for by the very differences that made us human in the first place.

Now back to the aquarium. Volunteering there is wonderful because I help people rediscover this feeling. The underwater world is so unknown to most of them. It stimulates a sense of wonder and mystery. For most people it’s something they’ve never seen. Looking into these aquaria reminds them that our world is more fascinating than the busyness of their everyday lives. They wander through Discover Utah and are surprised at all the things that can be found in their backyard. Then it’s into Ocean Explorer where they see octopus, sea turtles, and sea jellies for the first time. They get to touch a sting ray and it reminds them of petting their dogs. They name the rays, give them personalities, and in this interaction they bombard me with questions. From there they go on a Journey to South America where they meet cute Gentoo penguins, caimans, an anaconda, and plenty of fish that make you feel small. I love watching the wonder in their eyes. One of the volunteer posts is greeting the guests at the entrance. Their eyes seem dull, tired of waiting in line, and irritated at the impatience of their children. But something magical happens when they press their noses up to that first tank. That all melts away. Eyes light up, brows soften, and intrigued smiles spread across faces.

I love volunteering at The Living Planet Aquarium and plan to keep on doing so. Each time I get to teach people about some of the most fascinating animals. I get to preach the gospel of conservation to an audience that has had their hearts softened by the fantasies of nature. But most of all I get to bring them back in touch with the environment and bring them back to real life.

Nature Journal: Beyond Life

Tuesday, March 29, 2011 Mikentire 0 Comments Category : Nature

To be honest, our class trip to Goblin Valley and Little Horse Canyon began way too early after way too late of a night and I felt that I had to go. But after some nice chat, a good nap, and a long drive we found ourselves at our destination and I found myself in love with everything around me. The thing I love about Utah is how fantastically different one location is from another. And here in this land of sculpted stone and warm red sands I felt like I had left home but somehow was discovering another. I have been in similar landscapes hundreds of times. There was something different here though. It was my first time in a slot canyon and I could feel the forces that had carved this piece of artwork into the crust of the earth.

The whole day my mind was filled with erosion. I could see water flowing down the sharp curves and sudden drops but then quickly filling up the narrows. The wind whipped at my back kicking up the minute remains at what had once been this great canyon. It slashed the walls as it made its way up the canyon, eddied in small pools along the canyon vertices, and carried parts of us to who knows where. I felt this canyon was changing me too. This unseen water and these invisible winds were shaping me right here right now.

It made me think of the power of such natural forces. The movement of rock, air, and water more often than not fall short of our notice. Our gaze usually falls upon ourselves – we’re pretty selfish that way. But when we do look out beyond ourselves – beyond the human – we tend to focus on other organisms: trees swaying, fish swimming, moles digging. Almost as if the mediums they are engaging are somehow separated from us. It takes something drastic to get our attention. The earth has to seize and send tremors through rock and stone, great waves result to hurling themselves from their depths, while high and low pressure winds find each other to create monsters that tear through our cities. And then we finally notice. But in this quiet canyon, I was connected to these systems without headline or disaster. They were a part of me.

This earth is awesome by itself. Some of the most impressive scenes in this world are ones devoid entirely of life. Lightning flashes across the sky and waves crash all on their own. And everything in Goblin Valley seemed to be struggling for life. But they were the afterthoughts. It was the fantastic rock formations that took the center stage. I find it interesting that biocentrism – not ecocentrism – is the opposite of antropocentrism. It should really be somewhere in the middle. The raw elements of the earth are as much a part of our environment and our relationships to it as are the organisms we share them with.

I love the dynamism of this place. The world is full of mystery. The rocks we look at today didn’t always look like this. A great portion of Utah used to hide underwater. Glaciers carve homes and ecosystems into living hillsides. Erosion and formation battle each other in a never ending series of mountains, canyons and valleys. 99% of all living organisms are extinct. They came, they lived, and they vanished. They had their time leaving their marks for us in the rocks. We aren’t much different. We too are leaving our stories. And I hope they’re good ones. Hopefully we will stop leaving the marks we do now. Hopefully the stories we will leave will be ones full of heroism and responsibility, of virtue, conservation, and character – and I hope those are the ones that we can leave deep – etched forever in the stone for all to see.

Nature Journal: Memories

Tuesday, March 22, 2011 Mikentire 0 Comments Category : Animals

Today we put my dog Beau down. He’s had cancer for a while now and for the last couple months he’s continually lost weight. I got a call last night from my mom informing me that he couldn’t stand up. So naturally, I left what I was doing to be with my dog in his last hours. When I arrived it was clear that he was going to have to be put down. My family didn’t seem to agree – he’d be fine in the morning right? I slept by his side, waking up periodically to make sure he was still breathing. But morning came and he wasn’t better. I talked my parents through the euthanasia process – something I’ve seen quite a few times in my time as a pre-veterinary student. I was surprised by a cold unfeeling and a momentary panic that my future career was going to leave me without emotion or soul. But things are different when it’s your dog.

When the lights that leave those eyes are the same ones you’ve cherished for the last eleven years it isn’t the same at all. This animal isn’t a client you’ve just met – he’s your family. The emotions you feel aren’t empathy or sympathy. They’re real, they’re yours and they’re strong. So sure enough when the time came, I found myself emotional, teary-eyed, and secretly grateful that my previous experiences with putting animals down hadn’t robbed me of my chance to grieve. We took him home and buried him in a small corner of the front yard. While digging his grave, we came across some of the bones of Ginger, our Golden Retriever who had died over five years earlier. I felt like Dr. Brennan from Bones– torn between the emotion of the moment and the intrigue of the science before me –wondering how such a bare frame held something I loved so much and amazed at how the beautiful arrangement worked so perfectly.

We held a little funeral service. Each of us went around sharing our favorite memories of Beau. I loved his intelligence and his mischief. My mom could see him as a puppy. Matt saw the adorable father he was and the ridiculously cute puppies he sired. Meagan thought of the ‘weddings’ we had performed for him and Ginger, and later him and Bailey. And Mitch reminded us of his great temperament and never-ending companionship. We sat on hallowed ground as tears streamed down our reminiscent faces.

All this got me thinking. What makes this small spot of dirt tucked behind our trees and corned by our fence so sacred to me? The remains of two animals? What makes these animals so special as pets or this house as my home? Memories & Relationships. We take parts of our souls and we infuse them with the world around us. We feel, breathe, and live in these places. They are as much a part of us as we are a part of them. We are a relationship-oriented species. We bond with the homes, animals, and landscapes we associate with. We have pets because they freely give the companionship we seek and reflect our own wishes and desires. We form nations because we first developed mutual bonds with each other. Our art and our words scream these relationships. And with these relationships there are times we won’t forget, moments that inspired us. Ones that made us laugh, cry, cringe, or hide. The never-ending cascades of memories continue to strengthen these relationships. This is what makes space place, house home, and pet family. I wrote earlier about the connectedness of the world. But it isn’t just ecological connectedness that makes this world beautiful. This world is beautiful because we, as humans, have formed these relationships with everyone and everything around us.

When camping you are always told to ‘leave it better than you found it.’ Ecologically speaking, I think we only know enough to limit how much we mess it up. At best, our efforts are really just to make the land ‘prettier’ than it was when we came. But spiritually and emotionally? I hope we form bonds with each piece of land we visit and each animal we encounter. I hope our souls communicate with those around us. And I hope it does leave both parties better. So here’s to you Beau: you certainly did just that.

Nature Journal: Snow

Saturday, March 05, 2011 Mikentire 0 Comments Category : Nature

Winter can be a gloomy season. We watch the leaves fall off the trees in a kind of frenzied anticipation. The trees themselves seem to be excited about these events. The sky fills with a myriad of colors and a mixture of paint strokes. It doesn’t seem too far-fetched to catch a vision of what it might mean to ‘paint with the colors of the wind’ at times such as these. In the end these colorful batches of Autumns long gone end up in brown piles on the ground. The trees that once stood in such regal glory crowned in the green of health, fertility, and renewal now stand naked, stripped to nothing but the dull grays of their bark. The animals flee; birds fly south; the insects hide. It seems nothing wants to stay here anyway. But here we are. We find ourselves stuck in this dying season around us because our jobs and our houses say so. Our pastoral depictions of a friendly Fall are quickly replaced by the looming projections of an apocalyptic Winter. For me at least, apocalyptic scenes of the environment are dominated by these visions of brown-leafless trees where we are deserted by the animals who have much more sense and find ourselves alone, facing the messes we’ve made.

I came home from my mission in the middle of March almost two years ago. Two years living in the beauties of a rain forest will do things to you. Beautiful, uplifting things. I didn’t come home to the evergreen blossoming of endless forests however. It was Winter. And it was brown, dull, and trees were few and far apart. But most of all it was depressing. And Winter can certainly be that way. At these times it can be hard to find the peaceful harmony described by the Pastoral. Only the danger of the Sublime and the threat of the Apocalypse in nature greet us. And I don’t know about you, but that doesn’t tend to be my favorite.

But something happens in Winter in this part of the world that doesn’t happen everywhere. Somewhere in the upper atmosphere, a speck of dust or a tiny ice crystal float among the chilled droplets of water making their way along their endless cyclical journeyings. And here, where temperatures are just right, these cooled droplets decide to get together with these specs in the most intricate and original of ways. As they do, a beautiful form of precipitation forms. The infant snowflakes make their way toward the earth, endlessly sculpted by the atmosphere and changing temperatures as they descend. All this happens without our knowledge until we either walk outside trying to catch the flakes on our tongues or wake up to find ourselves blanketed in a world of white.

There is something ratifying about snow in Winter. Nature is kind. She doesn’t leave us alone with the browns and the decays from a forgotten Fall. She decorates this strange world in memorable ways. Pastoral images of sledding, carriage rides, skiing, and snow-shoeing come to mind. Sublime terrors of blizzards and sheets of ice take over the dull boredom left over by the seasonal metamorphosis. And even our apocalyptic nightmares of dark futureless worlds are spiked with the wildness of cold and the stark contrast of fields of white. Snow comes with Winter. You knew it when you signed up. So what if it’s cold? Get out there and look at the transient beauty that only accompanies this season. I hear people all the time talk of ‘being sick of the snow’. I love it. It brings character to this period of inactivity. So these last few weeks as I walked out into the dancing snow, I couldn't have been happier.

“There were snow flurries in the air today
early for my liking, snow flurries coming
in small singular spirals, falling through the air
spun by their shapes, the tug of the wind
sitting in the office, watching them tumble
by my window, pause in the conversation with client
marvel for a moment at the ballet before me
forward scouts for their brethren to follow
later in the season when fall yields to winter
soon enough they will come, in legions”

-Raymond Foss, Snow Flurries

Nature Journal: The Faces of Conservation

Monday, February 28, 2011 Mikentire 0 Comments Category : Aquariums , Causes

“Look mom! Penguins are REAL!” I volunteer at The Living Planet Aquarium and I hear a lot of things. Some correct things, usually wrong things, but definitely a lot of funny things. But that one’s got to top it off. And as entertaining as I find it to be, I also find it fascinatingly enlightening. Here is some little boy convinced that the penguins he saw on TV couldn’t be real, but here at a small aquarium in Sandy, Utah he had seen eleven living, breathing, swimming penguins that in fact were real. This is why zoos and aquariums deserve funding, why their existence is so vital to us. They start as a sort of ratification that the beautiful world we see on the Discovery Channel really does exist. But then they do something more. They make us fall in love with it and realize it needs protection.

The word zoo itself is an abbreviation of zoological garden that first came into fashion by the London Zoological Gardens. The psychology behind gardens takes interesting turns as animals are added into the mix. The botanical beauty of the world is designed not only to bring aesthetic pleasure and a sort of creationistic control to the human viewer, but with the addition of animals they serves as a kind of natural frame intended to give us a glimpse of how these creatures really live. But of course that’s not really how these animals live at all. But is there really a problem with that?

Critics of zoos tend to appeal to our very human notion of freedom and use words like prisons, liberation, and wild to create strong guilt about the housing of God’s creations. But here we need to stop for a minute and think about what it is that they are doing. In our personification of other organisms we always bring certain human traits to the foreground of our arguments while leaving other key aspects of our own humanity in the shadows. Don’t get me wrong here. I love nature. I love God’s creations and there is nothing like seeing them interacting on their own out in the wilderness oblivious to our existence. But let’s not forget that those same notions of liberty and freedom that we use to describe ourselves and try to use on them are in fact very human words. These creatures do not live in a world where food and shelter are provided. They are in a struggle for survival. And I’m not just talking about endangered species here.

Our romanticized notions of the natural world, while beautiful and inspiring are only one side of the story. “Nature red in tooth and claw,” as Tennyson put it, is the darker side. The animals and plants of this world are engaged in very real contests where predator/prey and parasite/host relationships can be more than just straining; they can be deadly. Ecological balances are rather wobbly at best and when outside pressures are added to these systems they seem ready to collapse. I count it as one of the Lord’s tender mercies that some are still going at all. My objective here is not to depress, but rather to educate. The natural world can be a deadly place. Zoological institutions then take these creatures out of such circumstances and guarantee them food, shelter, protection from poaching and medical care – much more than they could have hoped for in the wilds of the world. Exhibits are improving and our knowledge of exotic animal medicine and care is expanding rapidly. They may not be at home, but they’re definitely in good hands.

But these institutions are more than nice hotels. Zoos are part of the connections we seek because of our estrangement from the natural world. Pent up in cities and suburbs, we find ourselves seeking experiences with the natural organic wilds left in the world. Political orientations, environmental awareness level, and social standing all become irrelevant. If there’s one thing I’ve noticed about people by volunteering at the Hogle Zoo and the Living Planet Aquarium, it’s that we all need these experiences. People from all walks of life come to these institutions looking for something. And every one of them find it. Even the most cynical of people – and you can tell who they are – can’t help be awed by the beauty of nature and the connection we feel with these creatures. We need zoos and aquariums because they provide that very connection.

But we also need zoological establishments because they are geared toward saving these creatures and spreading a message of conservation. Many of the animals we hold dear are in danger of being lost. Zoos provide responsible breeding programs and coordinated efforts to restore these creatures or at the very least keep them from leaving us forever. Zoos and aquariums are the faces of conservation. People come, pay for admission, make donations, and contribute to conservation efforts. But those people also leave with an education, a smile, and a greater appreciation for the natural world. And I think at those moments everyone has at least one thought of what their role in these conservation efforts are. Regardless of whether they go on to act on those thoughts, we’ve got them thinking. Find yourself a weekend and go to a Zoo or an Aquarium and just have a good time – because these institutions are more than just educational – they’re also a whole lot of fun!

Nature Journal: Light

Thursday, February 10, 2011 Mikentire 0 Comments Category : Nature

Sunday morning I woke up early to hike Squaw Peak and watch the sun rise. Well to be honest I didn’t intend for it to be a hike, but the rode was blocked and I was determined to see it. Before long the fascinating notion of light and its effects on us began to run through my mind. Here I was in the freezing cold and it was dark. I had my eleven year old brother who had spent the weekend with me, but besides that we were completely alone. Not too far up the path we found a carcass. Comforting. So here we were in the dark cold surrounded by death. The poor thing was some young fawn reduced to nothing more than a ribcage held fast to a spinal column by leathery sinews. It was an appropriate symbol of the elements we found ourselves in.

Leaving the fawn behind, we pressed onwards. The darkness gave way to morning and we could follow the reflective snow laid out nicely for our path up the mountain. But everything was dull here. There was no color in this world of night and everything was blurred. Maybe that’s why night can be such an apt metaphor for death. We fear it. To the faithless, death is nothing more than an end of perception where light cannot penetrate and all is obscured. And in the beginning of that nighttime excursion, I found myself wary. The snow near the carcass was littered with paw prints. They were those of coyotes, but the effect was still as chilling as if they had been the larger prints of wolves or mountain lions. What other creatures lurked in those shadows? I’ll probably never know.

But as we ascended the winding mountain, something remarkable began to happen. The dull, murky blurs of the world began to melt. Color, form, and texture were taking their place. Dark silhouettes of mountains were now full of life and character and their beauty was staggering. I live here - HERE. This emerging beauty is my backyard. How lucky is that? The warming skies were doing more than filling my eyes with detail and color though. They were filling my being with hope. There were no coyotes behind these trees. Frolicking squirrels and singing birds live here. The dead fawn stopped being a symbol of doom and became something I couldn’t wait to examine on the way back down the mountain.

And then it happened. The sky erupted into astonishing shades of light pink and baby blue. Night had finally given way. Golden rays of liquid sunshine flooded the valley below and everything woke up in its warmth. The sky was beautiful. The once dark clouds that seemed to be ominous signs of storms sure to come, were now nothing more than colorful wisps of cotton candy. Everything was bright and happy in the world. I wanted things to stay like that forever. But of course they never do. The delicate pink and infant blues of the newborn day gave way to the deeper blues of midday. The sunrise was over.

I wandered back down the mountain astonished at how far we had really climbed. In our rush to not miss it we had apparently sprinted up this thing. No wonder Mitch was tired. In the long journey down to the car I couldn’t help but appreciate the new scene before my eyes. I had seen it all before on the way up but it was so different now. It was real – living even. It had been nothing but silhouette and shade before. As I mused on the change and how this world had taken on life in the last hour of my experiencing it, I realized how the daily journeys of the sky are reminiscent of our own journeys through life.

The sun breaks over the horizon and showers the world in light blues and tender pinks – the very colors we bring infants home in. Everything is new and the world is mystery. It’s fabulous. Over time these blues deepen and the pink fades into nothing. The sky grows up. Things happen. Clouds come and go and the occasional storm darkens the place. But really it’s just a bunch of monotony and sometimes we don’t even notice it. It makes me wonder if there’s any pink left in my sunrise or if it’s over by now. But even in the adult sky’s uniformity there are still moments that take your breath away. Sometimes the sun hits you just right and you feel as if sunshine itself has infused with your soul. Clouds take on interesting shapes and become the stuff of dreams. Eventually though, the sun heads into the west, and we find ourselves at the sunsets of our lives. The blue deepens. It becomes regal even – a sort of deep navy full of experience. And then it happens. Rich golds and storied oranges streak across the sky before giving way to majestic reds and royal purples and finally the quiet tranquility of night. Night – where the sky gives way and we the heavens as they really are.

“Each day’s a gift and not a given right.” Let’s make the most of what we’ve got.