On January 29th, the day it was cold partly sunny, and cloudy, the place I pick was the Bog Garden nearby Hobbs Road and it was my first-time experience going out particularly at the garden place. As I walk in I see family members or friends coming in doing walking, jogging, biking, talking, and others taking pictures which I’m was going to do that too. Anyways once I walk in I see a long stream that you can literally see the ground dirt and with that, I see rocks particularly shine rocks size of small, big, or medium rocks. On the stream hiding under some kind of above-ground trees where roots and specks of dirt, I see a lot of ducks mostly see ones brown ducks which are females, and the other ducks that have a glossy green head, white ring on neck, and body of chest brown and yellow nose are breeding male, I think they called Mallard. It’s impressive that females and males are in groups and try to find food to survive the cold weather on the stream or at the lake cool. As I keep walking on trails I realized there so many trails to walk not to mention see bridges but a medium one and tall trees blowing against the air surround me. I also realized it’s quiet and peaceful where you a certain area. The ground was hard and a sound of crunch like a candy bar but it’s a piece of ice that makes a sound. As furthermore, I see an amazing waterfall actually two that connects to the lake and along the stream as well. But the point is seeing that is graceful, bright, and scenic it’s not big, but I wish, hey it’s beautiful, and I can literally hear the sound like thunderous human-made waterfall seeing fairy and smoothly, but really cold. Besides that, I see rocks that are big and to describe that one is heavy, concrete solid lunar, molten, shine sparkled line and so on that I can stand on rocks, I think that area it was called Serenity Falls Bridge In Honor of Dorothy Lomax 2006 and the other one called Dr. Joe Christian “Serenity Falls” 2007, a very interesting and historical time to me personally. As I keep further long very walking is I still see a lot of tall trees one on water and others on the ground, but I notice there some trees that look like a bamboo tree across the stream when I was at the bridge taking pictures I don’t know what it calls. Speaking of the lake it was large and lovely to see Mallard ducks land to water in action cool. In my mind, when I look closely and standing at the side bridge touching the water is cold, limited fresh, and it feeds water to animals. Oh, I almost forgot is I saw fewer animals like birds, squirrels, ducks again and a chipmunk I think I mean it was quick and I have to glance hard was a tail color dark and light stripes that’s it. Overall it was beautiful and got a chance to see good scenes of nature, but I a curious question in my mind why the founder of Gob Garden is here near Friendly Stores? Was there a significant history behind Gob Garden? What’s the purpose of building the Gob Garden at Benjamin Park?

February 4th 2021

Hogan International Airport is a tongue in cheek loving nickname for a part of our family farm that is now known as the Hogan’s Magnolia View Farm. The farm is named for the huge majestic Southern Magnolia trees that tower over the old home place. The farm has several sections and one holds a grass landing strip active with airplanes from the 1920’s to the 1990’s It has been mowed, not plowed, for most the last one hundred years creating a diversity of plants and insects most often associated with prairie. We call it the Hogan International and if you come along with me and visit you will see how funny the nickname is. There is nothing international about the grass strip that served as an airport all those years ago, the “airport” is very much tied to place, this one particular Piedmont North Carolina place.

There are a few old buildings around the grass strip including a hanger built in the 1930’s to hold a canvas covered airplane. There is a modern hay barn designed for protecting square baled hay , and a walk-in refrigerator (um-hum) that, for a time, served the purpose of a smoke house. When family members killed deer they would process then hang the animals in the walk-in refrigerator to cure.

Since the early 1990’s, after the planes were silenced, the hanger became my cousins wood shed for his firewood business. He took trees destined for the landfill by road builders and development activities in the area and spend hours cutting, splitting, and stacking wood in the hanger where for a year of covered seasoning the green wood was transformed to prized seasoned firewood. Year after year in the early fall he would deliver to excited customers.

For most of my life the hanger has been a place to meet, have coffee, and maybe watch the sun come up in the East. There is a nice long open view to the East. The long grassy runway runs north to south and is book-ended by yellow pines to the south and open fields to the north. It is a welcoming space with a big sky. And when I close my eyes, I can hear the refrain echo through generations “Let’s meet at the hanger in the morning.”

The location I chose for my project is part of the French Broad River Greenway in Asheville, North Carolina. My section begins at the RiverLink Karen Cragnolin Park and ends just after the Amboy Road bridge. It travels along the French Broad River. Above is the map of the area, below is a picture of the map with a pink line of the specific stretch.

This stretch of the Greenway is not the prettiest stretch. It sits just above the water and often floods with rain. It is consistently muddy and holds water. The trees and brush between it and the river are messy and dipping into the flow of water. Above the path is a well travelled road. Above the road are businesses and homes. The homes are new and had accompanying destruction and construction that resulted in more sediment and runoff. There are power lines overhead and sewer pipes beneath. There are quite a few manholes that sit above ground that are old and dilapidated. The last third of the path, near to the bridge, turns from asphalt to dirt in a small woodsy area. This section is also consistently muddy and smelly and continues up under the bridge. There is trash on the ground. There may or may not be a homeless person’s mattress tucked up under the place where the bridge connects with the road. The river itself is wide, cold looking, murky, and green-brown. It is not a happy river.

Earlier this year, my sister and I rode our bikes a long way through this stretch of the greenway and much further up the newer section along Lyman Street. We passed through this section in the morning and returned to it in the afternoon. We were accustomed to it smelling, often of the sewer or muck, but that afternoon, it was worse. We approached and the dirt path was covered in gushing water coming from further up the path and spraying out of the sewer manholes. It was sewer water gushing out onto the path and straight into the French Broad River. We watched as tubers floated by. My sister then called the Municipal Waste department to alert them to this health hazard and we took a different path back to the car. We walked our bikes along the road up above the path and saw that the sewer water was flowing out of not one or two sewer holes, but probably four or five. We were disgusted and heartbroken for the river and land. The manholes have since been fixed. I do not think the pollution was cleaned up.

I chose this stretch to do my journal on because I enjoy walking here and it has history. It stands out from the other stretches because it needs the most help. It needs human intervention because of human destruction. The French Broad River is a beautiful river that is used for plentiful tourism and human enjoyment, but it is hurting. It is dirty. It needs more love; love that actually involves help, not neglect. I hope to capture some of the beauty that is still there in this blog, hidden behind the human chaos that surrounds it.

Background

Although officially named Nisani Farm, I simply think of it as The Farm. It is a mostly sustainable, Certified Naturally Grown vegetable farm located in a small town in Southern Virginia called Phenix, population of 284.

With 50 historical acres including indigenous history and colonial history that is centuries old, I plan on uncovering some of the mysteries that the farm holds.

When I was eight, my once peace-corps volunteer parents decided to by a rundown “fixer-upper” of a property. This property contained an unlivable farm house, two tobacco drying barns, a pig-stye, chicken coup and three sheds, most of which were built using trees from our property. We ended up spending every single weekend at the farm, driving the 6 hours from the DC area where my sister and I went to school and my parents worked, every Friday night and Sunday morning so that we could create a livable space. This commute lasted for over a decade.

We have 30 acres of forest and 20 acres of pasture which we let go “wild” for pollinators. The fields change color throughout the year as new wildflowers come in waves, moving from wild Sweet Peas and green grasses to Black-Eyed Susan’s, and Queen-Anne’s lace, to Goldenrod and yellow Johnson grass. The natural portions of the farm were how I entertained myself as a child and well into my teens and 20’s, trying to learn every plant, insects, fungi, constellation, tree, and animal that I could. I truly immersed myself into this ecosystem every weekend, away from cell service or the internet, only the gardens, the forest, the creeks, the bugs, and books to entertain me.

This past year I spent isolated at the farm, and for the first time I was able to see the progression of the seasons and how the organisms changed from one week to the next.

It is my paradise, a place that I can escape to without many distractions, with endless discovery still to do.

My habitation journal will be on Nisani farm and the two properties surrounding our property, specifically the wetlands up to Cub creek and the poorhouse.

The forests are my escape. In the spring they erupt green from every place I look: Arisaema triphyllum or Jack in the Pulpit nestle close to the ground, displaying drab pitcher shaped flowers that attract flies for pollination, or Oak Galls growing from the stems of large oak trees like large walnuts, letting a cynipoid wasp incubate within that scar of a tree.

 These little treasures I find, I collect in the form of photos and knowledge. Researching the intricate and complex system of Oak Galls and learning about their similarities to human embryos, or the evolutionary tactics Arisaema triphyllum use to reproduce. This Is how I connect with my environment, by coming to as much of a scientific understanding that I can for as many things as I can, as if the forest and I share these secrets together.

These secrets I hold dear to my heart, and I search for these treasures like a Bess Beetle searches for the perfectly rotting log.

Walk in the Woods

Checked the temp, decided to wear socks.

My brain was busy, too busy, looking at things, chattering about presenting later, all the meetings, catching up and helping folks from over the weekend…

Took a breath.

Had to remind myself.

“This isn’t your job.”

“Just breathe.”

In.

Out.

Thoughts…

Gently reminded myself.

In.

Out.

Crossed Friendly Ave, between shuttling metal monsters.

Onto a poorly patched driveway. Easier now to breathe, and worry only about the sharp paving stones under my thin sandal soles.

Easier now. To Be. What I call The Woods are near.

My busy brain, cataloging tree and animal species. Breathe.

My head relaxed as I slipped between the shadows of last years beach leaves, still fluttering in today’s breeze. A few clumps of dark brown oak leaves still clung to their trees. A boon to nesting squirrels if it gets cold again in Feb or March.

Galumphing down, towards the pond, there is no hint of breeze, but the slow ripples sliding my way, tell me my perceptions are missing all kinds of things.

I miss the Muscovy Ducks; I wonder if they were driven off by the dogs the college employed to drive off the Canadian Geese.

Up. Onto the grassy field; it is so dry that there is not even any dew to wet my socks. 

Closer to campus, an ring of trash, grows thicker the closer I get. Earth has a ring now too, thanks to this two-legged animal.

Four pairs of Canadian Geese wing south as I deviate towards Archdale, to see if one of my favorite two-legs is standing in his office. He is not. I head west to inspect some recent stumps and see if the groundhogs have moved.

Into the desert of Hege, conditioned air and no animals but me, only Silicone Valley bugs.

I saw a woodpecker here on Friday.