When I first saw the book list for our capstone class, one title jumped out at me:
“Coming of Age at the End of Nature, a Generation Faces Living on a Changed Planet.”
Before the book was even in my hands, I already had my environmental studies thinking
cap on. I wondered: Nature is such a loaded word, what does the author really mean by
“Nature”? And how can an entire generation’s conceptions and reconciliations regarding
Nature be summarized in one book? Can something so vague really be ending?
Furthermore, in our class discussion on thursday, someone insightfully pointed out the
declension narrative working discretely but deliberately behind the scenes of this loaded
yet vague title.
I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect based on the title, but I was pleased to learn
that the book encompasses a multitude of contributors who use a variety of angles to
approach the topic. A similar trend emerged as we discussed this book in class.
Specifically, we talked about how we connected with selected authors and how we perceive
coming of age at the end of nature, and everyone approached these questions in a variety
of ways. In both the book and our class, there are many beautiful positionalities and
epistemologies surrounding these questions.
So, what does “coming of age at the end of nature” mean to me? If we are talking
about socially constructed Nature, then it “ended” for me in the spring of 2016 (when I
took ENST 295, a course within our major focused on power and privilege). Until then, I
must admit that visions of untouched Nature and Wilderness had effectively romanticized
me. In the spring of 2016, I was presented with materials that showed me how these visions
are linked to oppression and perpetuate exclusion. The realization of the “end of nature” in
this sense is irrefutably beneficial, but it definitely rocked my world. Many years prior to my
personal paradigm shift, I fell deeply in love with the “backcountry.” Though it may have been
easier to quit going out there all together, I was determined to continue. So, I accepted that
my new knowledge was going to change the way I experienced my summer backpacking
trips and I kept planning them. I decided that my experiences from that point on would be
opportunities for coming up with something more meaningful than what is offered to us
through dominant culture. I have spent many hours since then in the Trinity Alps perched
on granite boulders, lying in meadows, and staring up at the stars in the night sky trying to
re-articulate my new definition. But for reasons I don’t yet understand, the task hasn’t
been as easy as I had originally thought that it would be.
Because of this, I really connected with a piece titled My Present Is Not Your
Tombstone, by Lauren McCrady. I relate to her desire to find her own “vibrant, contemporary
form of wilderness to love” (McCrady 109). It is clear that she has invested an extensive
amount of critical energy into her pursuit of a new definition, but hasn’t quite been able to
articulate it either. Nevertheless, she is determined to ask questions without despair:
what “coming of age” means to me, but I do associate it with shedding my innocent
regard for the world. If that is what it means then I do not want to claim that I have “come
of age” quite yet. But I will say that learning about the constructedness of Nature in the
spring of 2016 was a pivotal moment that completely changed the way I understand the
world, and there is something to be said for that transition. Perhaps I will feel that I have
“come of age” once I determine a new definition.
“Coming of Age at the End of Nature, a Generation Faces Living on a Changed Planet.”
Before the book was even in my hands, I already had my environmental studies thinking
cap on. I wondered: Nature is such a loaded word, what does the author really mean by
“Nature”? And how can an entire generation’s conceptions and reconciliations regarding
Nature be summarized in one book? Can something so vague really be ending?
Furthermore, in our class discussion on thursday, someone insightfully pointed out the
declension narrative working discretely but deliberately behind the scenes of this loaded
yet vague title.
I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect based on the title, but I was pleased to learn
that the book encompasses a multitude of contributors who use a variety of angles to
approach the topic. A similar trend emerged as we discussed this book in class.
Specifically, we talked about how we connected with selected authors and how we perceive
coming of age at the end of nature, and everyone approached these questions in a variety
of ways. In both the book and our class, there are many beautiful positionalities and
epistemologies surrounding these questions.
So, what does “coming of age at the end of nature” mean to me? If we are talking
about socially constructed Nature, then it “ended” for me in the spring of 2016 (when I
took ENST 295, a course within our major focused on power and privilege). Until then, I
must admit that visions of untouched Nature and Wilderness had effectively romanticized
me. In the spring of 2016, I was presented with materials that showed me how these visions
are linked to oppression and perpetuate exclusion. The realization of the “end of nature” in
this sense is irrefutably beneficial, but it definitely rocked my world. Many years prior to my
personal paradigm shift, I fell deeply in love with the “backcountry.” Though it may have been
easier to quit going out there all together, I was determined to continue. So, I accepted that
my new knowledge was going to change the way I experienced my summer backpacking
trips and I kept planning them. I decided that my experiences from that point on would be
opportunities for coming up with something more meaningful than what is offered to us
through dominant culture. I have spent many hours since then in the Trinity Alps perched
on granite boulders, lying in meadows, and staring up at the stars in the night sky trying to
re-articulate my new definition. But for reasons I don’t yet understand, the task hasn’t
been as easy as I had originally thought that it would be.
Because of this, I really connected with a piece titled My Present Is Not Your
Tombstone, by Lauren McCrady. I relate to her desire to find her own “vibrant, contemporary
form of wilderness to love” (McCrady 109). It is clear that she has invested an extensive
amount of critical energy into her pursuit of a new definition, but hasn’t quite been able to
articulate it either. Nevertheless, she is determined to ask questions without despair:
“What is gained and lost by valorizing wilderness? How do markers such as class, race, gender, age, ability and other factors dictate who is privileged enough to appreciate and enjoy the supposed benefits of a communion of nature? How can I form an idea of wilderness that is inclusive of a wide array of people with conflicting backgrounds and experiences and understandings of nature and the physical environment? How can I balance my concern for these issues with my growing sense of urgency and fear regarding the global environmental crisis? I don’t know the answers to these questions, but I’m tucking them in my CamelBak and carrying them with me out into the desert, to scatter among the cacti and juniper, where I pray they’ll be picked up and carried far and wide by the lizards and ravens… if you need me I’ll be out scouring the desert, searching for answers” (109-110).Thus far I have addressed the “the end of nature.” I still have not completely determined
what “coming of age” means to me, but I do associate it with shedding my innocent
regard for the world. If that is what it means then I do not want to claim that I have “come
of age” quite yet. But I will say that learning about the constructedness of Nature in the
spring of 2016 was a pivotal moment that completely changed the way I understand the
world, and there is something to be said for that transition. Perhaps I will feel that I have
“come of age” once I determine a new definition.
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