Dixie Transforming

A brief internal review of my blog entries this evening revealed I’ve left out one or two important stops.  In late March with much effort and logistical maneuvering, I had scheduled a flight over North Carolina’s eastern plains to observe the impact of the hog growing industry on the Neuse and Cape Fear Watershed areas.  It turns out I never got around to writing about the flight itself, or highlighting the organization that helped get me up in the air.  ‘Better late than never’ certainly applies in this case.  Plus, I think this entry will be both a pleasure to write and to read.  So off we go:

When I was planning my adventure through the American South earlier this winter, I realized a few difficulties I was bound to face as a road-going traveler.  Traveling by car meant that most of my sites would need to be accessible by personal vehicle.  For most sites on my itinerary this was no problem: parking lots are plentiful in the south, afterall.  But some of the places I wanted to visit and poke around a little bit — take a few photos, do some field sketches, trample around in my rubber boots, etc. — happened to be on private property.  Two such sites were mining areas in Kentucky and hog producing regions of Eastern North Carolina.

I’d heard some stories about people getting shot at in the South for mistakenly trespassing across private property, so I was sufficiently shaken enough to brainstorm a different approach.  I did a little online research one night and came across some great aerial photos of both of these site types – coal mining and hog farming.  The perspective from a small aircraft is different from anything you can find on the ground.  You can see relationships from the air that are not perceived with your two feet on the ground.  Right then and there I got in my mind that I needed to find a way to get in the air.  With surprisingly little effort, I identified an organization that could help me do exactly that:  Southwings.

Southwings motto of “conservation through aviation” translates to a lot of logistical work and relationship building to pair volunteer pilots with parties doing research, surveying, reconnaissance, photography, among other things.  Southwings’ local partner organizations – like National Wildlife Federation, Gulf Restoration Network, and other conservancy based nonprofits – typically “sponsor” the flight and can invite academics, journalists, government leaders, etc. to come along.  They use the unique opportunity to spread the word about a particular issue or controversy impacting the South’s diverse ecosystems and landscapes.  Flights address all kinds of issues: logging, mining, habitat loss, watershed pollution, oil spills, unsustainable development patterns.

I dropped by Southwings’ Asheville, NC headquarters on a cold, blustery afternoon in early March to ask about what I’d need to do to set up a flight to look at concentrated animal feeding operations (CAFOs) in eastern North Carolina.  I received enthusiastic assistance from Caroline Douglas, the organization’s Conservation Program Director.  She suggested I contact Lower Neuse Riverkeeper Larry Baldwin to ask if he’d like to sponsor the flight.   I filled out some forms and left their office with Larry’s cell phone number, excited about the idea of this aerial adventure and what it would bring to my research.

Our flight was finally scheduled for March 18 after more than a few urgent calls and emails to get everyone on board.  But it was set.  Bad weather came in that day (of course) and we reassembled to meet the following day, March 19.  I met pilot Jack Lynch early that morning in the parking lot of the Burlington Hardee’s fast food restaurant.  I followed him into the small airport and parked my car, all the while getting a little anxious as this was only my second time flying in a small plane (first time was a few months earlier – when I flew in Kauai).  It turns out Jack’s plane was a *little* bit nicer than the plane I flew on in Kauai.  Jack owns a stunning state-of-the-art single prop plane manufactured by Lancair Columbia out of Bend, Oregon.  I immediately felt a little safer after observing the care Jack took in prepping the plane for our flight.  We took off with no problems, and headed to New Bern, NC to pick up Larry.  We would take off and land a total of 6 times that day!

L-R: Lower Neuse Riverkeeper Larry Baldwin, Rachel Edmonds, Southwings Pilot Jack Lynch

Now for the hog farming part of this story.  A *brief* history is important to understand what things I was going to see on the Southwings’ flight.  Hog farming has been HUGE business in NC ever since the tobacco industry bit the dust in the early 1990s.  Farmers who’d traditionally specialized in tobacco needed to find new ways to support themselves.  Some began raising hogs, chickens, and turkeys in small-scale family operations.  By the end of the decade, some of the largest pork producers in the world (Smithfield, Premium Standard, etc.) figured out ways to vertically integrate the industry and deliver enormous profits to the corporate coffers.  They used their influence at state and national levels to push out independent farmers and later sign them on as contractors.  Animals would be farrowed and fattened by contract farmers in barns on their family land, but the pigs would remain corporate property.  The farmers would be paid a fee for raising the animals, but they would be required to purchase feed and other supplies (hormones, medications, antibiotics) from their corporate “partners”.  Similarly, contract farmers would assume liability and be responsible for the environmental impact of raising hogs they don’t even own.  Many signed on, eager to make money the only way that seemed possible.

Problems regularly arose as contract hog operations expanded across many counties in Eastern North Carolina.  Heavy seasonal rain and hurricanes tended to overflow hog lagoons that capture excrement and liquid waste from adjacent pig barns.  These pig manure filled lagoons are what I planned to observe on my Southwings flight.  Essentially open cesspools, hog lagoons are a major threat to water resources in North Carolina.  Sadly, there are no regulations that govern the decision where to site lagoons on property with streams or wetland areas.  No fool-proof technology for their construction or management is mandated to prevent contamination of shared water resources or wildlife habitat.  Since neighbors tend to complain about visibility of hog farming infrastructure, lagoons are usually built at the rear portions of a property where watershed areas are present.  While out of sight, they aren’t out of mind; lagoon waste spread over farm crops eventually reaches groundwater resources that everyone in the community shares.  It’s a no-win situation.

The flight was an amazing eye-opener and it certainly clarified some issues for me in terms of understanding the relationship of the hog industry to the landscape.  Because the technical aspects of the problem are vast and evolving, simplifying it with a few key graphics is the way I would like to make it more accessible to a lay audience.  I developed this graphic below the other night based on an actual aerial image I found with Google Earth.  Compare the diagram with some of the photos I have included from the flight and try to identify potential hazards.

Conceptual diagram of hog production facilities in Eastern North Carolina

Each of these hog barns holds approximately 2500 pigs. The lagoons here abutting a drainage way hold the waste of up to 20,000 hogs.

Liquid waste is transferred from the hog barns to lagoon through an underground piping system.

What does the future say about NC’s hog industry and its troubled agricultural coastal plain?  I am hopeful that technology will bring us solutions, coupled with some old fashioned regulatory reform.   Agriculture extension offices and universities are studying new models and practical methods for addressing the waste issue.  Some claim to have solved the problem, but corporate pork interests have not promised the capital needed to pay for equipment and training for contract farmers.  So far just lip service.  The day will come when it will not make economic sense for Smithfield and others to ignore the problem.  While vertical integration rules today, it will surely fail if local water resources become unreliable.  Water is the common denominator for all of us.  Industry should resolve to protect local water in the interest of its own longevity.  Just sayin’.

For the few readers who may be wondering, I haven’t ignored what has been happening down in Louisiana.  You know, the oil spill stuff?  Thousands of jobs lost?  Seafood industries soon to be obliterated?  Wildlife suffocating under brown muck?  The future of Louisiana teetering on the brink of disaster?  Sigh.  Yeah.  I’ve simply been stewing for the last several weeks, trying to figure out a way to get this entry down.

I left Louisiana for Oregon on April 18, 2010, just a couple days before the epic blow out at the BP undersea rig Deepwater Horizon.  Had I anticipated this scoop, I probably would still be down in the bayous today trying to cover the story of the year (a story that happens to address my research thesis for this fellowship trip pretty darn well!).

Earlier in the spring I’d driven along coastal Louisiana hopeful to see some of these fabled rigs out in distance.  For me, a researcher of the South’s economic-fueled landscapes, the opportunity to capture the image of these floating virtual cityscapes was extremely alluring.  Sadly, from the vantage point I chose at Cypremort State Park, I couldn’t see them at all.  I was warned I would need to move further east to see anything – words of advice from an Army Corps of Engineers watchman I met at one of the Old River Control facilities. So I left the South in late April with only a faint idea of what the oil and gas industry means in a physical sense – the closest I got to an actual rig was in Morgan City, Louisiana where a retired (outdated) rig named “Mr. Charlie” is open to curious visitors like myself.  The rig functions as a museum and public outreach facility.

Morgan City's oil rig museum - modern rigs are exponentially larger than this old relic.

Oil and gas extraction is huge business in Louisiana and the South in general.  The diagram below describes the presence of offshore oil and gas rigs along Louisiana’s coast:

Over 3500 oil and gas rigs are in the Gulf of Mexico. Deepwater Horizon is just one of these.

As an avid radio listener, I’ve gotten downright depressed listening to the seemingly endless interviews and feature stories about forlorn shrimpers, oyster guys, and fisherman of lower Louisiana.  These people are some of the most dedicated, self-reliant, and earnest workers I’ve ever read or heard about.  They are not modern people – they are old-fashioned in terms of their global footprint and worldly ambitions.  But they sure know how to work a shrimp boat, which makes them a rare breed in today’s workforce.

One of the most remarkable things about  Louisiana’s coastal fishing communities is how tied to the landscape their members find themselves for their everyday existence.  That close relationship with the land is what makes the situation so much sadder.  With the inevitable arrival of oil into the marshes of coastal Louisiana, shrimp breeding and fishing grounds will be decimated and likely closed by government officials.  Considering forty percent (40%) of the U.S.’s seafood is harvested off the coast of Louisiana, it goes without saying that more than just shrimpers and fisherman will be put out by this oil spill.  As consumers, we will probably have a hard time finding seafood at an affordable price in the coming months and years.

The intertwined relationship these fishing communities have with the oil and gas economy is not unrecognized.  Some of the best paying jobs are on oil rigs and most these communities have members who depend on them for their livelihood.  Many shrimpers work rigs on the off season.  This fact may explain the even-keeled nature of the public’s comments on how BP is handling the capping operations and pending clean up.  Restrictions on future oil drilling is just as much a threat to the communities of coastal Louisiana as is the oil slick arriving in nearby marshes.

As for me, I’m hoping Louisiana’s bad luck changes course real quick.  I would be downright happy if I didn’t hear any news out of the state for a long time save for Super Bowl victories and everyday indecencies on Bourbon Street.

The following lyrics are from a song called Old Home Place written by The Dillards, a 1960s bluegrass band:

What have they done to the old home place?
Why did they tear it down?
And why did I leave the plow in the field
And look for a job in the town?

An overgrown home place, a common sight in rural Georgia.

In Georgia, the decaying remains of the homeplace are a common sight from the state’s two lane country roads.  Their solemn presence has sparked the interest of laypeople and scholars alike.  Nearly everyone is curious about spooky ruins, afterall.  Each homeplace has a unique story since its beginning and end are tied to the idiosyncracies of a single (albeit usually extended) family.  Interestingly, the family histories seem to have a few things in common based on the general age, condition, siting, and contemporary use of the structure and the surrounding property.  First, a definition:

homeplace (plural homeplaces)

-noun

The part of a piece of land on which a home is built; a person’s birthplace or family home

-origin

1730–40, Americanism; “home” + “place”

The county is small, with only 2771 residents and four small towns.

On the same family property, prefab dwellings contrast with a traditional homeplace in Glascock County, GA.

The old homeplace porch appears to remain in use, with an aging mobile unit in the background.

The Lexington Herald-Leader published an interesting article on the prevalence of surface and MTR mining in KY.

Graphic credit: The Lexington Herald-Leader

Flying a few thousand miles west to spend Mother’s Day with my favorite lady.  There will be some post interruptions this week, but should resume once I return from the garden isle.

This week we are in Kauai...

Bigger is better. (um, yeah.  next!)

Build it and they will come. (sounds risky…)

He who hesitates is a damned fool.  (sign me up)

These quotes capture the looming concerns of U.S. port facilities.  For years, shipping conglomerates have been phasing out smaller ships to invest in the largest vessels possible to realize greater economies of scale in shipping costs.  In an effort to retain market share, the Panama Canal authority decided to expand to accommodate these ships.  The anticipated completion of the Panama Canal improvements in 2014 will enable some of the largest ocean-going vessels to achieve shorter passage routes between the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans.  As a result, port facilities around the world are in a tizzy to stay competitive once the large ships are allowed to make the 48 mile journey through the newly expanded 180′ wide locks.

Vessel terminology is a critical issue in the discussion.  Currently, the 110′ wide Miraflores locks allow “Panamax” ships to pass through.  It’s a tight squeeze considering the ships are 106′ wide.  The class of vessels able to pass through the Panama Canal once improvements are made are termed “post Panamax” or “new Panamax” ships (between 134′-160′ wide, respectively, passing through a 180′ lock).  “Post” and “new” Panamax ships are eclipsed in size by a superior grade of ships, termed “super post Panamax.”  The super post Panamax vessels, at 176′ wide, will not be able to pass through the improved Panama canal.  They are limited to ocean-only routes between ports.

Ports around the world are upgrading to super post Panamax cranes to the tune of $5 million each.

Port facilities are hedging bets and expanding as big as state and federal budgets will allow.  Ports do not want to miss the proverbial train (er, container ship) and find themselves out of the cargo handling game.  The Port of Georgia’s Garden City Terminal (just north of Savannah) serves as a prime example of this sea change (ba-da-bing) in global shipping trends.

In the last several years, the Port of Georgia has purchased a number of cranes that can offload super post Panamax container ships.  The implication of replacing the current cranes with larger ones becomes obvious once you get out on the water. These cranes are ENORMOUS and have nearly twice the reach of a standard Panamax class crane.  Their ominous perch over the river suggests the Port expects to be ground zero for global shipping in years to come.  To fulfill the Port’s imminent destiny, the Savannah River must be dredged to maintain a 48′ depth along the channel thus increasing the likelihood of salt water intrusion inland.  The neighboring Savannah National Wildlife Refuge, home and breeding ground to aquatic and avian life, can be expected to suffer fallout from the increase in river congestion and associated pollution resulting from these and other Port enhancements.

I spent a sunny morning with a self-described Port advocate a few Saturdays ago.  For about an hour, the two of us cruised around on his for-hire motor boat looking at the newest improvements.  I asked him about his work and his outlook on the present and future Port.  With the current troubled economy, he believed most Savannahians are fully supportive of the Port’s expansion and improvements.  No surprise, really, considering the Port of Georgia is one of the biggest employers in Chatham County.  When I picked his mind about the ecological and recreational impacts on the river,  he admitted there would be consequences, but he reminded me of the ways the Port has attempted to be a ‘good neighbor’ to nature.  For example, the newest cranes will use less energy than the current ones, plants along the river have reduced their emissions, and technology advances have enabled the Port to regulate and better manage the flow of ships past the city.  I agreed in part – there is no way of getting past the fact that shipping is, and will be, a core element of Savannah’s economic aspirations.  I also agreed that without the improvements the city would be rendered uncompetitive.  I was less able to agree on the upbeat outlook he was selling for river ecology and recreational user opportunities.  The behemoth ships will mean bigger wakes and more erosion, degraded marshland, less room for recreational boaters (forget kayaking!!), and an overall reduction in physical and visual accessibility of the Savannah River.

I didn’t mind playing the fool in this case.  Click here to look at photos from my Port of Georgia Garden City Terminal cruise on April 10, 2010.

Savannah, Georgia is a city students of urban planning and landscape architecture study in great detail.  The first capital city of Georgia, it was founded on February 12, 1733 by General James Oglethorpe and his settlers.

Ogelthorpe’s vision for the city was rational and functional.  He envisioned the city unfolding westward from the Savannah River.  Each city ward (similar to a neighborhood) had its own common space.  These common spaces were planned to host military exercises.  The later use of these military grounds as urban parks developed after the colony of Savannah became better secured and defended.  Twenty-four squares were established between the years of 1733-1851.  Wikipedia has a decent rundown of the historic squares.

The rational layout of Savannah's famed historic district.

Today, 22 squares remain, 2 being lost to the plundering wave of urban renewal in the 1950s-60s.  The squares make the historic district of Savannah one of the most walkable cities in the United States.  You can feasibly spend several days walking from one park to the other, enjoying a variety of restaurants, shops, and businesses found in between the squares.  It follows that tourism is one of the city’s biggest economic engines (behind the Georgia Port Authority, aerospace manufacturing, and the US military).  Another noticeable presence in the city is the numerous SCAD students.  The Savannah College of Art and Design campus is scattered across the city’s historic district in 70 ornate Victorian period buildings.  The successful adaptive reuse of these antique facilities is remarkable.  They buzz with the energy and 24-hour presence of young people pursuing careers in the creative arts.

My visit to Savannah took place over the first week in April.  I arrived at precisely the right time: the azaleas, tulips, and camelias were in vibrant spring bloom.  The impressive live oak trees were likewise laden with pollen, giving vehicles a nice powdery sheen of yellow.  I stayed at a home just outside the historic district.  If you refer to the map above, my accommodations were about two inches below Forsyth Park on Barnard Street.  The location was excellent as it gave me distance from the flow of tourist traffic each day and was within walking distance of Forsyth Park.  Forsyth Park is the city’s premiere location for recreational jogging and team sports.  There is simply nothing like an evening jog under the shade of this park’s glorious southern live oaks (Quercus virginiana).

Joggers run the perimeter path at Forsyth Park in early April.

Hutchinson Island: Savannah’s urban frontier

Considering that the city is nearly 300 years old, Savannah’s urban expansion has posed challenges to planners.  Swamps and river deltas cordon the city’s south and eastern borders.  Large airports, busy highways, and military installations act as barriers along its western edge.  The only place for Savannah to go is north, across the Savannah River to the low lying landmass called Hutchinson Island.

The idea to develop Hutchinson Island stemmed from the city’s desire to get into the convention business (see my February post on New Orleans).  Due to the restrictions in the historic district’s building standards, Savannah had been unsuccessful in identifying a proper site of adequate size for new convention center facilities.  Erecting a modern convention center in the heart of Savannah would destroy the very urban fabric that brings tourists there in the first place.  But city planners understood conventioneers would also want access to Savannah’s historic treasures.  The city was pressed to find a solution that 1) allowed convention expansion within the city’s boundaries and 2) maintained the physical integrity of the historic district.

The city’s interest in putting the convention facilities on Hutchinson Island was due to several factors.  Some of the most important considerations included its proximity to the oldest parts of the city (most attractive to tourists) and the sparse development on the island (few neighbors around to object).  Many physical challenges were present: the low-lying island needed dredge material to elevate its shores, water access and roads needed building, there was no connection from the Talmadge Bridge, and ferry service would be required to give the convention center a meaningful link to Savannah’s historic district.  Despite all this, the task seemed doable and the city began construction on the convention center in the late 1990s.  A luxury hotel followed.  Private developers saw an opportunity to erect a luxury residential community and obtained city approval for the project.

That residential community, The Reserve at Savannah Harbor, was one of the sites I visited during my visit in early April.  I was interested to see how the project was faring in today’s economic crisis.  The Reserve’s developers began construction on its first residential units in mid 2007, right before the mortgage collapse of 2008.  Two and a half years later, I anticipated finding few active construction sites.  At the same time I assumed that as one of Savannah’s most exclusive communities The Reserve would be weathering the hard times with measurable grace.

Unbought parcels for sale at "The Reserve". The development's club house (currently boarded up) is in the distance. The lack of sidewalks is a hint that residents are expected to drive.

Once I arrived, I was saddened by The Reserve’s lonely character.  Most of the built properties are for sale.  There are several residences with well-kept lawns and late model cars in the driveways, but for the most part The Reserve fails to strike me as a thriving community.  I spoke to several people I encountered in Savannah and asked them for their thoughts about the city’s role in enabling The Reserve project to get off the ground.  One individual, who works security for the GA Ports Authority, shook his head and laughed: the place was going nowhere fast and it’s a good thing it’s across the river (meaning it remains off the public’s radar screen).  To me, the project seemed emblematic of today’s uncertainty in the real estate market.  If conditions ride out, and buyers interested in “plantation-style retreats” surface with viable credit, the project could very well work out.  After all, everything is ready to go – the 24 Hour security gate is built (though unmanned), the utilities are laid, and the streets paved (although challenged by aggressive weeds at this point).

The entry gate at The Reserve with stamped and tinted concrete detailing designed to look like brick and cobblestone.

Many of us have experienced the romantic allure that is part of a tropical island vacation: the excitement of an exotic landscape, clear blue waters, sounds of strange birds (maybe monkeys), the smell of lush vegetation, and the feel of the sun that seems so much closer than it does at home.  Islands and exotic beaches are some of the most popular vacation destinations for all these reasons and more.

Most likely, unless you are extremely rich, you will not be the lone castaway on a barren beach, plucking coconuts off a tree, swaying in a hammock, or spearing barracuda fish.  Sorry to disrupt your fantasy, but the hard, cold reality of mainstream island vacation-making means the place needs to be ready to receive crowds of tourists.  We now learn the critical word of the day: i-n-f-r-a-s-t-r-u-c-t-u-r-e.  There.  I said it. Your fruity-umbrella-drink dream is over.  Sorry about that.  And it will still cost you, so keep reading.

Islands these days are not complete without a cruise ship terminal.

Infrastructure.  There needs to be a big enough airport, wide enough roads, large enough parking lots, and enough rental cars to get us out-of-towners around an island.  To enjoy ourselves once we’ve checked into our hotels, we need to have accessible beach walks, clear signage, pest management programs, erosion control, rental facilities, and lifeguard stations.  It goes to say that we might even need a Walmart.  All these things are required to have fun while we’re on vacation, right?  Ummm, yep.   Sadly, the result of all these described “necessities” is an island that resembles something more like home than we’d like to admit to ourselves and our pocketbooks.

So is there an alternative?  Can we actually “get away from it all” in our modern times?

Glad to answer that for you.  Yes, there is an alternative – and you don’t even have to completely abandon your expectations for luxury and service!  Room rates at the Greyfield Inn span from $395 to $595 per night with a two night minimum, and you’ll have to make your reservations at least six months in advance if you want one of the cheaper rooms.  The fee includes your meals and use of bikes, so don’t grumble too much!  If the price is a tad high, as I suspect it may be, there is a $4 per night alternative.  You will need to bring your camping gear and tick tweezers, though. Two choices for two different groups of people.  Makes sense so far.

This is where the elite classes stay on Cumberland Island. Greyfield was a former vacation "cottage" for a Carnegie descendant.

Once the accommodation question is resolved, you can start to think about that island experience I describe at the beginning of this post — an experience where people are rare, animals are abundant, you are aware of the “ecosystems” around you, roads are made of only sand, and 17-miles of undeveloped coastline await you.  Paradise, right?

Welcome to Cumberland Island National Seashore: a place where you begin to understand the limitations of being a human being.

There is a lot to do on Cumberland Island, but you have to plan ahead to do much of it.  At the camping orientation, given twice a day by the NPS rangers, scary pictures are painted of wry visitors who failed to acknowledge their physical limitations: snake bites, alligator attacks, groin tick infestations, poison ivy, sunburn, heatstroke, nausea, and feral horse bites.  It gets even gorier, but I’ll save you from it because I’d like you to actually consider going to this place at some point.

A first day on the island will usually involve walking as far as you can go around the island’s southern attractions.  This experience helps orient you to what your feet are capable of and how many pounds you can carry in your backpack.  Walking on sand is not an efficient thing to do, so if you are planning on going more than a few miles, you should practice a little bit beforehand.  You can also interact with armadillos and roaming wild turkeys and scruffy equines.

At first glance, they look pretty, but then you notice their ribs and their scarred tick bellies. The fat horse on the left is pregnant.

Day two might involve testing your endurance a little bit more.  On my recent travels to Cumberland Island, I had the big idea to rent a bike and go 17 miles to the First African Baptist Church.  This is the church where JFK Jr. married Caroline Bessett.  Yes, I am a celebrity stalker, I admit it, but who isn’t?  There are plenty of other things to see on the way to the church, which happens to be the last outpost on the northerly tip of the island.  Sounded like a good plan, but then I realized there’s an 17 mile return trip to get back to camp.  That’s a 34 mile bike trip on sand – using a wonky rental bike – I admit I was having doubts.

I discussed my supply needs with the ranger on duty (the one that scared us at the orientation).  He suggested I would need 10 bottles of water to get there and back.  That’s about a gallon of water!  Needless to say, the bike ride would end up being slower than I thought it would be.

Long story short, the bike ride did not require a whole gallon of water.  Weather conditions were nearly perfect – cloudy, 72F, breezy.  I drank about 5 or 6 of those 10 bottles of water.  In lieu of so much water, I should have taken more food and possibly a weapon.  On my way back, I ran into a wandering, lone feral stallion on the narrow sand road.  The darn horse had me in a standoff.  All I had to defend myself were a couple of oversize pinecones.  It was pathetic.  The take away message that day was you should not underestimate the scariness of an island’s feral wildlife.  Full of ticks, a scarred belly, bony ribs and back, oozing eyes and patchy hair – that horse was a piece of work.

This is a view of the "main road" about 13 miles north of my campground. The main road runs the full length of Cumberland Island and you'll need a 4WD vehicle to get there without a bike.

Traveling in this manner across Cumberland Island a person becomes very oriented to the landscape.  The nuances of the maritime forest are beautifully revealed, and the experience changes as the sunlight hits different parts of the foliage.  In most places on Cumberland Island, the predominant duo-culture is the saw palmetto and the southern live oak.  As you move north, you see an occasional pine tree.  Soon, these loblolly pines outnumber the oaks.  Later, you notice small wirey stands of long-leaf pine, an endangered native pine of Georgia.

Long leaf pine trees grow differently than other pines. They are a native Georgian pine species and increasingly rare.

Sound is one of your biggest experiential informants: the rustling noises in the fallen leaves is most likely an armadillo rooting around with its nose.  Bird song is ever present, and after a couple days, you’ll even forget the sound a crow makes.  At night, you hear the ghostly whinnies of wild horses moving through the roadway areas as they make their way to new grazing territory.  It is no surprise that the wildlife is one of the main reasons visitors come to Cumberland Island.  You interact more with animals than you do with people here.  For me, having grown up on a hobby farm, it is a reminder of my childhood – only the animals are a little bigger and fiercer.

The experience on Cumberland Island has nothing to do with island vacations you’ll find elsewhere.  Only a few other places in the United States can offer this kind of visceral experience where the landscape envelopes you so completely.  You aren’t provided for, save for running water at a few numbered locations.  You can only go as far as your feet or bike can take you.  You are responsible here.  That means you carry out each item of waste that you bring on the island.  Your care of the island is reflected in the pristine condition of the landscape.  To do this well, you act within a common ethic of stewardship that links you to the well-being of the creatures and plant communities around you.  Do you do that when you go to Hawaii, or when you pull into dock on your cruise ship on St. Thomas?

There is something to be said for “roughing it”.

Towns of the rural south occupy a special place in the American consciousness.  Our notions about them are based on the depictions provided to us by notable literary figures such as William Faulkner, Flannery O’Connor, Zora Neale Hurston and Mark Twain.  Whether it be the quintessential southern courthouse town described by J.B. Jackson — or ideas about responsible land stewardship in essays and poems by Wendell Berry — writings about southern towns and their surrounding landscapes evoke very clear images about the sense of place, history and culture.

With the decline of manufacturing (textiles, furniture) and traditional agricultural enterprise (tobacco) in the south, towns and cities are realizing a need to attract and cultivate new economic drivers for the 21st century.  Some are using arts as a way to invite new talent, people, and ideas into their communities and to rectify the waning sense of culture and place of our modern time.  In Durham, NC, a new performing arts center and the adaptive reuse of the American Tobacco Campus have created new amenities and office space in the heart of a once depressed downtown.  The result is an environment that can attract residents as well as workers with walkable cultural attractions and the appeal of being within the city’s historic district.

Smaller urban areas are also interested in what the arts can offer their communities.  In Louisville, Georgia, a “Friends of” group bought and renovated a defunct firehouse in 2005, turning it into a gallery space and community education venue.  The gallery functions to promote the work of southern artists through its monthly exhibit program.  Area youngsters have opportunities throughout the year to engage with professional artists through talks and workshops.  Such programs help to fill the void that school classrooms cannot address given limited public funding and outreach capabilities.

Mulberry Street, Louisville, GA

I visited the Firehouse Gallery for the second time during my fellowship trip this spring and managed to catch the monthly exhibit opening on April 2.  The featured exhibit was the annual Jefferson County High School’s AP Art class show.  Each featured student artist was provided gallery space to display a collection of work produced during the semester.  Artwork came in a variety of mediums including 3d model, oil paint, pencil, digital photography manipulation, ink, pastel and mix-media.  Students were also given the opportunity to sell their artwork in the setting of a professional gallery.  By the end of the night about 35% of the student pieces were sold, resulting in many proud students.

The Friends’ Firehouse Gallery does a bit more than promote the idea of art to a rural community.  It provides a way into art.  While the gallery venue is more or less traditional in form, it is the slate of innovative of programming which makes it a meaningful community asset.  Potentially more inclusive and flexible than any local church, social club, or civic group, the Firehouse Gallery responds to the talents and creative aspirations of more and more Louisvilleans each year.  The outreach work is a never ending effort.

The presence of Louisville’s Firehouse Gallery adds a sense of prestige and pride to the town’s identity.  Separate efforts to redesign the Broad Street pedestrian facilities and the retrofit of the Jefferson County Courthouse clock tower are other examples of the growing enthusiasm to reshape the experience of downtown Louisville.