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This is a picture of a water irrigation pump, powered by a lawn mower engine. It came to mind while reading “Private Property and the Ecological: Commons in the American West.” This particular pump has been a part of the landscape in my parents’ home since I was young. This fixture in my backyard was a social “norm” in my area of town. The whole section of town I grew up in either had a ditch running through the backyard or water hole where the irrigated water would show up once or twice a week. The pump related to the chapters for this week in varying ways. The most obvious was the water laws in southern Idaho. Most people had lawn mower water pumps to move the water from the backyard to water their entire lawns. Every year on the corner of Hawthorne and Quinn streets a sign popped up in the spring announcing the “mandatory” water meeting that decided where and when the water would be available for people to use on their property. The term “mandatory” was used loosely. It meant if you had an opinion of when you should receive water each week and what time of day you should attend. Mainly people who had horse pastures or large vegetable garden would attend the meeting. The rest like my parents would receive a letter advising when to expect water each week and bill for the summer dues. It mirrors Mark Fiege’s analysis on a smaller level; a community of neighbors sharing water in the summer for use on their private property. This service was provided at a small fee compared to city water prices. Just like the private property signs of the west, these water pumps demonstrate the history of water use in Idaho within the city.

The water pump would remain an unimportant fixture in my memory, like Californian bungalows, had I not previously read Peirce Lewis’ chapter on how to read cultural landscapes. If you were to ask me if I “liked” the water pump, I would have answered no. I think it is hideous and reminds me what a chore moving the water was. Ask the questions the Lewis suggestions on page 93, “What is that? Why does it look that way it does? How does it work? Why is it there?” These questions make the pump much more interesting. It is a water pump sitting on an old lawn mower stand because it is using the lawn mower engine. It is still a mystery to me how the thing works, because it breaks every summer. To answer the question why it is there can range from a simple answer of; to water our lawn or, as in depth, to explain private property laws bending to the communal water use.  The vocabulary about its history was explained by Fiege and what little I knew of water meetings.

 A last connection is to the “The Enacted Environment.” (I did not make a connection to Medicine in the (Mini) Mall. I found the article fascinating, but it did not peak my interest like the other articles.) David C. Sloanes explanation of front yard evolution is similar to the evolution of the landscape in the neighborhood I grew up in. The land on the west side of Pocatello was all farm land bought in the 1940’s and turned into a housing development. In is a couple blocks of little rectangle houses on a fourth of an acre lots. They used the same water irrigation that farms used for the houses now. Therefore, irrigation used to water crops now waters lawns for a whole neighborhood.

The chapters selected for this week’s reading provided a good variety of material to think about. I got quite a bit out of Peirce Lewis’ “The Monument and the Bungalow.” I thought his two-part advice on how to begin evaluating and studying landscape was simple yet true, especially looking back at my familiarization with architectural history. Lewis suggested that we first need to be open, curious and ask unbiased questions, and to be sure to acquire the necessary vocabulary and background first. I’ve done quite a bit of work with inventorying residential neighborhoods, and too often I waited to study architectural types until after fieldwork. On another note, I had no knowledge of the Arts & Crafts style before this week’s reading.

I enjoyed Lewis’ musings on the fact that so many plantations stand while few sharecropper cabins do. The biased nature of landscape study and, often, historic preservation is an interesting aspect to touch upon. The “Great Man” school of thought is far-reaching.

I also really enjoyed Mark Fiege’s section on ecological commons. I read his book, Irrigated Eden: The Making of an Agricultural Landscape in the American West when working on my senior paper as an undergrad. That book dealt with the changing of the Southern Idaho landscape due to irrigation, the degree to which man could control nature, and the ways in which nature shaped the human environment. It does go into quite a bit of detail regarding the “rabbit drives,” which I wasn’t quite ready to hear at the time.

As for the Fiege piece included in the book – I thought it added to the argument that simple artifacts (such as the “No Hunting” sign) can convey endless amounts of information on places, or at least become important starting places when trying to understand the landscape around them.

My ability to be provoked into a tirade over one word will never cease to amaze me. Today, this word is ‘fossil’. However, this is an agreeable tirade; more of an elaboration to what has already been read (presumably by everyone in the class… you know, considering it was assigned).

This trigger word occurred early in the reading, specifically on page 105. The term was initially used to describe the cultural significance of a structure, the bungalow, which was so commonplace that it was largely considered quite insignificant. This rant based on the word ‘fossil’ is two-fold. Peirce Lewis also describes the importance of vocabulary and preliminary research that greatly assists in discovering the true meaning behind these cultural landscapes. While he focuses mainly on alluvial fans and architectural terms, mine would be on the importance of how words can be used creatively in order to make the observer use a different approach in their analysis. In this case, ‘fossil’, when viewed as an analogy, can open up an even greater understanding of this seemingly unimportant structure and why any Historian would devote time and effort into its study.

In the archaeological world, a fossil is a window into the past. You get to see the biology, culture, and so much more in one imprint of anything from a footprint, to a leaf, or even remains. To connect this word with historical implications, something as modest as a suburban domicile can give a prepared inquisitor, a multi-layered view of the world that created said home. From looking at said bungalow in the same context as a fossil, the artistic movements of the period, needs and amenities of the suburban family, and any other culturally significant attribute could be discovered and would help paint a more accurate picture with far greater depth in a more expedient nature.

The reason I studied History as an undergrad, and gained employment in the field could be described through the word ‘fossil’. Every physical object in this world is a fossil – from my modest North End apartment, to the capitol building, or my friend’s rusty 1982 Volkswagen. If you approach every aspect of the cultural landscape that surrounds you with this mindset, an entirely new world will open up in front of you.

A few of these things I have read before, so I was prepared for what I was getting myself into; but a few things, admittedly, I was not prepared to get so frustrated over!
Naming J.B. Jackson as the ultimate in defining cultural landscape would be a correct statement, as long as we continue on from what he studied and not keep it as he left it, which is what I fear has happened in some cases.
I suppose things didn’t get too frustrating for me until chapter 12-“Normative Dimensions of Landscape” by Schein. From the beginning of the chapter the process of cultural identification via landscape becomes far too over-complicated and almost has more of a political feel to it than anything for me. Bringing the idea of economic and ecological history into defining a space, as well as admitting human activity plays a huge role, is completely agreeable. This all becomes too compicated, and continues to do so, when we are told that seeing landscapes through race, gender, or sexuality colored glasses is the true way to define a cultural landscape. (202)
The discussion of the red-lining in the 30s is a completely valid argument, as well as the African American population having to rely on self-governance and provide their own economic security within their community prior to the human rights movement. However, tying the idea of red-lining districts to the modern construction practices or new neighborhood areas is a stretch. Being angry about a bronze statue of a Confederate General in center sqare, or a part of the city keeping the name of “Cheapside” over the years, doesn’t necessarily mean Lexington is a city full of closet racists waiting for their chance to unleash it. These things all have historical significance. The final example from this chapter is the anger that seeps through the words when he writes about having no monument to ANY jockey in the park or former race track, I forget which (216). Either way, it states in the text there was no mention of any jockey, so why is the author only mad about the black guy not getting any recognition? Yes, Murphy does deserve a memorial. Why doesn’t anyone else?
That is my rant about that!
I fully agree with Jackson’s statement on page 86 about a landscape being an historical document; we will never be able to strictly define a cultural landscape because we will never be able to fully define a culture; everyone will see things differently.
The chapter on defining culture and landscape through streets and yards in L.A. forces you to do so of your own home, and I enjoyed reflecting on things I never thought about before landscape as a cultural aspect was brought to my attention. In all honesty, I wasn’t enthralled by Ecological Commons the first time, and it didn’t rattle my boots this time either. Medicine in the Mall felt like more of a lecture on preservation and development v. anti-development (much like Boise and its redevelopment issues, just sayin).
Soooo I guess that’s all I have to say!
Thanks for reading, fellow blog readers! Or just Leslie M-B, cause ya hafta. =)

I’m looking forward to training myself to keep a blog regularly, something I’ve tried to do before. Here goes for the first week.

J.B. Jackson’s piece, “To Pity the Plumage and Forget the Dying Bird” remind historians, city planners and activists to put a human face to the problems they are working with, and to look beyond simple visual aesthetics when making liveable places. This is what I have walked away with anyway. He frequently calls for redesign of communities and restructuring of resources to better serve the citizens of a community. Communities can be consolidates to bring about a higher level of inclusiveness. Jackson notes that one of the greatest issues with the cut-off state of impoverished neighborhoods is their lack of access to public assembly. Because assembly can be a driving force for change, or at least communication, restricted access for some community members can perpetuate social and economic differences. Jackson notes that hiding electric wires and removing billboards can do a lot for a community, but it cannot solve everything.

He seems to be urging city planners to look beyond simple aesthetic or environmental changes when looking into the areas he describes, or at least to urge them to “personalize” their methods depending upon the community’s specific needs. More than that, Jackson is urging people to look at these communities period.

I liked his brief comments of the need for historic preservation. On Page 144, he mentions that “the destruction of symbols and monuments continues.” I’m sure I’m biased in saying this, but I feel he could have gone into this aspect a bit more. I have spent so much time in the past defending the idea that history can foster a sense of community, or a sense of place, which is the focus of my graduate project. When these aspects of a community are lost, it can lead to the loss of so much more– morale, communication, activity, commerce. The reading this week made me think about these things in a more well-rounded way.

“To Pity the Plumage, and Forget the Dying Bird” truly hit home for this humble social scientist. The images J.B. Jackson portrayed in this selection embodied the exact reason why I developed an unbridled fascination with History, Historic Preservation, and the sociology of these objects and events that connect people to their past.

Growing up, I would always be fascinated by an old building. It didn’t matter if it was a factory, library, home, or warehouse; I wanted to know everything about it. This especially rang true for buildings that in their design or stature alone, the adage ‘if these walls could talk’ would repeat endlessly. I have been lucky enough to experience quite a bit in my brief 24 years, including traveling to 27 states and three countries. I have resided in suburbia, one of the largest cities in the world, as well as one of the last remaining rural regions with untouched natural beauty. In each of these different locations, the character of the city or town could easily be observed in the landscapes that surround you. The natural beauty that exists in agricultural areas is indescribable, however the dilapidated Main St. haunts the town with an overwhelming presence of poverty and struggle.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, the commercialism and endless development of a major city removes any natural beauty that may have existed before. In addition to natural landscapes, structures of historical or sentimental significance are overshadowed and dwarfed by the sky-scraping monuments to capitalism. In either sense, the appreciation for what was, or always had been, is overtaken by the infinite demand to obtain, construct, and progress.

All too often the localities that are the heart of this nation and its essential services are long forgotten in the rustic natural beauty that surrounds them. The wonderful thing about the cultural landscape, is that it provides an abridged history of the town or city and its people, that may have otherwise been forgotten.

I found JB Jackson’s writing to be very interesting. During my undergrad years at the College of Idaho, I watched and was involved in the revitalization projects in downtown Caldwell. While the restoration of Indian Creek and Main Street was certainly interesting and beautiful, I hadn’t thought about the changes needed to be made beyond the cosmetic level before I read this article. I believe that part of the reason that we, as a society, deal with failing city/town centers in this way (i.e. cosmetic over political changes) is that it is much easier to deal with cosmetic changes than it is to acknowledge and seek to change the major political and social failings that have led to mass poverty. I particularly enjoyed the final quote he included from W.A. Crook, who said, “This crisis is one of human worth.” The very idea that a healthy and safe town may still be impoverished if it does not help the individual’s work and social life is one that changed my idea of city planning.
On a lighter note, the reading reminded me of one of my favorite television shows, Feasting on Asphalt with Alton Brown. The show is a culinary/cultural history project that follows Alton as he travels around the country looking for truly local food that is off of the “franchise highway,” a similar idea to Jackson’s idea that the truly American places, which are different from the typical “small-town” look, are off the beaten path. I believe that it is the small, unknown towns that are perhaps the most interesting parts in America and tell the story of our country better than larger than many bigger cities. Alton quotes Herman Melville who said, “It is not down in any map; true places never are.”

I never thought blogging would feel this empowering. Hopefully the delightful illusion that people care about what I have to say will last the entire semester.

Chapter five touched me in a special way. I found it reassuring that one of Jackson’s foci was on the social function of the built environment. (64) His emphasis on the function of American roads in the 1950s and 1960s allowed him to react positively to a change in the American landscape. This made him a progressive in the truest and best sense. While static ideas in our minds might be potentially adequate gauges of changes in our environment (built or otherwise), keeping in mind the function of roads, buildings, institutions, businesses, social practices will provide a more accurate judgement of their social value. For example if functionalism is applied to roads it makes infrastructure changes easier to understand. I live about six miles from campus and use the connector daily. By using the connector I save myself about 15 minutes on a round-trip between my home and campus. I also save money on gas and lessen my carbon footprint. The connector ultimately is the most efficient and enjoyable mode of travel from my home to downtown. A similar thought-process could be applied to the proliferation of chain stores such as Walmart or Fred Meyer. They’re so popular because people prefer shopping at them in comparison to other available options.

Henderson’s chapter on a ‘return to the social imagination’ is a good illustration of some problems facing the humanities and social sciences. The ideal of social harmony, cooperation, and the possibility of some sort of egalitarianism seems to largely taken for granted and accepted with little analysis. This is in opposition to the focus on the individual which has been prevalent in certain branches of the sciences, especially those have some grounding in Darwinism. One of the major problems in these disciplines is why any sort of cooperation exists at all. Most often this is addressed as the problem of altruism (Dawkins’ The Selfish Gene provides a good discussion of this problem). Asking these questions would help humanities and social sciences academics gain a more nuanced understanding of their areas of expertise. In addition it might help us develop a more adequate and functional social imagination.