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October 03, 2005
Seeing Essay: "What? Analyzing grass in college?"
On the first day of biology lab, Dr. Connie Chow brought us outside to the Muddy River, and told us to sit down and observe a patch of grass. We weren’t even told what exactly to be looking for or noticing and I began to think, “this is a college level course, and we are watching grass?” But during this time of solitude, I found myself lying on the grass, eye level with the blades, observing the unique blend of greens and browns and oranges and creams. This region seemed so large, though I knew that if I stood up, this unfamiliar world would only be a tiny part of the scene I saw everyday. It was not until a few minutes after commencing my study that I began to touch and feel the broad grass leaves and examine each particle of soil in my hand. As I moved closer to the grass, I could see minute creatures eating and tearing at each fiber, gnawing for food. I actually closed my eyes for a moment and let my fingers be my guide. I mimicked what the blind people, like in Annie Dillard’s essay, had been living. They learned to touch, feel, and sense the area around them. Their hands were their eyes. They were able to imagine the grass and imagine the branches through their senses. I was unfortunate. I already knew the shape of the tiny rocks and the color of the grass, and I could not visualize these certain aspects of nature in any other way.
Ever since I was young, I could identify a picture of a tree. I had knowledge of its size and shape. I knew that a brown rectangle with a green circle on the top would be a sign of a tree. A blind person, from birth, would not have this ability. Their trees would all be drawn differently. How amazing to have your own perception about the world as it truly is! It is clear why they never wanted to open their eyes if they had the chance. And yet though I am able to see, I never stopped to truly look at the entire ecosystem, buried in the greenery beneath my feet.
In a very split second, my small patch of grass was disrupted by a rather long bug. It sat on the dead branch for just a moment, but I could see its streaks of gold and red in its shell, and the green grass provided such a stark contrast to its body. It stayed for but a moment, rubbing its legs together, but I would have never noticed it if my eyes had not been at level with the grass. This bug that had nearly startled me, was a beautiful surprise. To think nature could display such a myriad of colors, from the dark brown-black dirt to this vibrant creature astounded me. Why did I never notice such color in nature before? It is because I never truly opened my eyes.
Like Dillard, “I would like to know grasses and sedges—and care”. This is the beginning of my journey into the world beneath my feet.
-Christina
Posted by lcisgancarz at October 3, 2005 07:08 PM
Comments
Christina,
This essay and experience is so awesome. I think it is wonderful that Connie Chung, Annie Dillard, and, now, you experienced the same thing. That is so awesome that you were able to experience it first hand. Maybe I will try sometime!
--Brenna DeCotis
Posted by: Brenna at October 3, 2005 11:14 PM
Christina,
Thank you for sharing this experience. You wrote with humor and depth and that made your piece very easy to connect to and made it a creative, refreshing experience.
My husband's grandfather grew up before TV and up to a point had only ever listened to rugby and cricket matches. One day his sons took him to a rugby match. And he wouldn't believe that they were the same game - he couldn't follow the one before his eyes because it wasn't what he'd imagined when he followed the commentary on the radio!
I hope that you never loose your new found wonder with the natural treasure chest around you. And three cheers for our Simmons lecturers who have the wisdom to know that our education lies in the "simple" things!
~ Nanette Savides
Posted by: Nanette Savides at October 4, 2005 12:51 PM
Christina,
It's sad how we overlook the smallest things. It often seems that when we are the most carefree and naive (in our childhood years) we notice the most. We ask questions and observe everything in sight. Now it's like nothing is new for us so we don't stop to see things in a new light.
Good post!
Posted by: Lauren Searls at October 5, 2005 09:44 PM