We the People

January 19, 2016Conservation, Fermatabison, Conservation, Cradle of Conservation, department of conservation and natural resources, forests, gifford pinchot, hemlock, J.T. Rothrock, malheur, market hunting, Pennsylvania, pine creek gorge, theodore roosevelttedleeeubanks

A century ago, lumbering, followed by wild fire, completed denuded this forest. Pine Creek Gorge, Pennsylvania

What stands between our heritage and the inability of man to control his greed is law.

Europeans came to this country over 400 years ago, and were blessed by what they believed to be limitless resources. The land seemed fertile beyond reason or imagination, and wildlife could be harvested without concern for its diminishment. Or, so they thought.

Theodore Roosevelt is the better known of a generation that came to realize the risk rapaciousness and predatory greed presented to our country’s natural heritage. Roosevelt and his colleagues such as Gifford Pinchot, Edgar Lee Hewett, John Muir, Frank Chapman, John F. Lacey, J.T. Rothrock, Myra Lloyd Dock, and George Bird Grinnell could see that without direct action, without government involvement, the feast would continue unchecked, leaving only a few moldy scraps for future generations.

Theodore Roosevelt and Gifford Pinchot were faced with millions of acres of cutover lands being abandoned after they were timbered. Fires constantly raged through the debris left after the harvesting; watersheds were eroding, silting rivers and streams.

ca. August 1907, New York State, USA --- Men stand on piles of cut trees --- Image by © U.S. Gov'T Agriculture Forest Service/National Geographic Creative/Corbis — ca. August 1907, New York State, USA — Men stand on piles of cut trees — Image by © U.S. Gov’T Agriculture Forest Service/National Geographic Creative/Corbis

States (such as New York and Pennsylvania) and the federal government moved in to begin the restoration of these lands. They bought these worthless lands from owners eager to sell.

Roosevelt recognized that we also needed a system of refuges where wildlife could flourish. One reason? We needed sources of wildlife, especially game animals. for restoring those lost in the Big Cut. Pennsylvania, for example, began reintroducing Rocky Mountain elk (the native eastern elk Cervus canadensis canadensis was extinct by this time) and white-tailed deer (!) in the early 1900s.

Edgar Lee Hewett’s inspiration, the Antiquities Act, and John F. Lacey’s Lacey Act (Lacey also helped with the Antiquities Act) are examples of legislation that pushed the federal government into conservation. The modern game laws were enacted in the early 1900s, bringing market hunting under control. The National Park Service and the U.S. Forest Service were created in this same period.

What stands between our heritage and the inability of man to control his greed is law. Through law, we established a system of public lands that is the envy of the world. Through law, we defined the limits to which we would allow our water and air to be fouled. And, through law, we protected land rights, establishing a clear demarcation between a public interest and one that is private.

Malheur National Wildlife Refuge, currently occupied by a self-styled militia, is a perfect case in point. According to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, “In 1908, wildlife photographers William L. Finley and Herman T. Bohlman discovered that most of the white herons (egrets) on Malheur Lake had been killed in 1898 by plume hunters. After 10 years, the white heron population still had not recovered. With backing from the Oregon Audubon Society, Finley and Bohlman proposed establishment of a bird reservation to protect birds, using Malheur, Mud, and Harney lakes.”

In other words, the Roosevelt administration set aside this property to help restore heron and egret populations devastated by the plume trade. Roosevelt’s original executive order included only those excess federal lands that had not been claimed by homesteaders under the federal programs that had been created to attract them. Eventually, additional lands were added to Malheur through purchase from willing sellers.

These are called public lands for a reason. We the people own them; we the people conserved them; we the people restored them.

Conservation and restoration efforts like Malheur have been funded by American taxpayers for well over a century. These are called public lands for a reason. We the people own them; we the people conserved them; we the people restored them.

Woman Wearing Feathered Hat by Bassano, whole-plate glass negative, 7 July 1911

The people who work for the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, the U.S. Forest Service, the National Park Service, and the other state and federal land resource agencies have done a wonderful job working for us to protect our shared natural patrimony. The next time you get a chance, thank them for their service.

As for the people occupying Malheur, they are thieves trying to steal our shared natural heritage. There is nothing patriotic or admirable about thievery.

The people at Malheur would like to remove from the public domain assets that would accrue to themselves. They would like to return to a time when government had no role in protecting our national heritage. Look at the photographs that I have included in this article. They reflect that time.

Regardless of the strategy being used by the federal government to bring this stalemate at Malheur to a close, those occupying the refuge are breaking the law. Americans have worked for generations to conserve and restore this heritage once at risk, and now a handful of mindless ultra-rightests would like to snatch that heritage away.

I understand our government’s wish to not make these people martyrs. Waco is still too fresh in our memories. But, there is a limit to patience. These lands are owned by we the people. And we, the people, have a right to reclaim that which is ours.

Here is one final photograph and anecdote to consider, this one from Western Colorado. These are bison hides.

The hides were often shipped by train to Pennsylvania and New York to be processed in tanneries. Some of these tanneries were in an area where I have worked, now call the Pennsylvania Wilds. I have walked around the ruins of these tanneries, a sobering stroll.

Most of the hemlocks in those forests, once called Penns Woods, were felled for their bark. Tanneries would first soak the hides in water, then lime, then tannic acid derived from the hemlock bark. Tanneries then dumped all of the waste (flesh, hair, lime, tannic acid) back into the streams and creeks where the tanneries preferred to be located. These tanneries proliferated in New York and Pennsylvania, any area with an abundance of water and hemlock.

This is a photograph of the tannery at Arroyo, in Elk County, PA. This image is from around 1910, the height of the hide tanning era. Notice the denuded slopes behind the tannery. The river in front of the tannery is the Clarion.

After J.T. Rothrock visited in the late 1800s, he told his wife that only two words came to mind to describe the Clarion – desolation and abomination.

Consider the environmental impacts of this process. First, market hunters slaughtered the bison. Next, “bark peelers” cut all of the hemlock. It has been estimated that one tannery alone used 100,000 cords of hemlock bark from an estimated 400,000 trees over its 20-year history. Finally, they dumped all of the waste into pristine rivers and streams – lime, tannic acid, flesh, and hair.

Of course, I have ignored the social and cultural costs of this process. The bison were slaughtered not only for their hides. They were slaughtered as a way to control the remaining tribes of Plains Indians and to force them to reservations.

The forests of the Pennsylvania Wilds were completely obliterated during this era (post Civil War through early 1900s). Finally, at the turn of the century, Joseph Trimble Rothrock began taking his wagon through these devastated forests to photograph the wreckage. He returned to Philadelphia and gave lantern slide shows showing the “city people” in the east the extent of this ruination.

Through his efforts (and those of his acolytes such as Gifford Pinchot) the public finally forced the state into creating a forest bureau (now part of Pennsylvania DCNR) and a school of forestry in Mont Alto. Acquisition of these cutover lands by the state would soon follow, beginning over a century of restoration. The result of this effort is millions of acres of state forest in Pennsylvania, one of the world’s largest FSC certified sustainable forests.

The federal government has played a role in this restoration, as well. When the U.S. Forest Service first established the Allegheny National Forest in western Pennsylvania, locals ridiculed the land purchased as the “”Allegheny brush-patch.”

Clarion River, Elk Co., PA, by Ted Lee Eubanks

This final image is one of my own of the Clarion today. Arroyo is now part of the Allegheny National Forest. A section of the Clarion that crosses the national forest is now designated as a National Wild and Scenic River.

Let that soak in for a minute. In about a century, the Clarion has gone from “desolation and abomination” to “wild and scenic.” That recovery is due, in large part, to the efforts of the U.S. Forest Service and the PA DCNR Bureau of Forestry.

Now, virtually all of the land in the region is public (national and state forests), the only way this devastated region would have ever recovered.

The threats remain, however. The land purchased for the Allegheny National Forest, in many cases, only included surface rights. With the fracking boom, the forest has become riddled with active wells and pads. State forests have been opened to oil & gas development. Yet, with a recent change in administrations, there is hope that this too will be addressed.

This is the lesson that I take away from my studies of conservation history. Man’s rapacious, insatiable greed is inborn and indelible. Greed is an inexorable force, relentlessly searching for the tiny cracks where our attention wanes. Without the rule of law, and never-ceasing vigilance by we the people, man inevitably slides back into the dark abyss.

We have proven, time and time again, that we can change this world for the better. We will have to prove this again and again if this world is going to survive.

Man’s rapacious, insatiable greed is inborn and indelible. Greed is an inexorable force, relentlessly searching for the tiny cracks where our attention wanes. Without the rule of law, and never-ceasing vigilance by we the people, man inevitably slides back into the dark abyss.

Good interpreters copy, great interpreters steal

October 9, 2015Fermata, Guerrilla Interpretationcreativity, flat design, ideas, interpretationtedleeeubanks

I stole this quote.

Actually, I stole the form, and then modified it to fit my specific need. Pablo Picasso is most often credited with the form (good artists copy, great artists steal), but I can find references from T.S. Elliott (the immature poet imitates; the mature poet plagiarizes), Igor Stravinsky (lesser artists borrow; great artists steal), and William Faulkner (immature artists copy, great artists steal). I suspect that they all stole the form from someone else.

Steve Jobs used the same form in developing his rationale for lifting ideas such as the computer mouse from others. Jobs said, “It comes down to trying to expose yourself to the best things that humans have done and then try to bring those things in to what you’re doing. I mean Picasso had a saying he said good artists copy great artists steal. And we have always been shameless about stealing great ideas.”

Jobs found a way to hide in the shadow of another (in his case, Picasso) to justify his thievery. Steve Jobs had visited Xerox’s Palo Alto Research Center in the late 1970’s, and saw a demonstration of a new three-button computer mouse. The problem? The mouse cost $300 to manufacture. Jobs took the Xerox idea to an industrial designer and developed a new mouse with only one button. The cost dropped to $15. Jobs had invented his mouse with a Xerox idea that he lifted.

The Macintosh and its mouse benefited humankind; we justify the theft as being a necessary part of the creative process. Newton’s quote comes to mind, “If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of Giants.” Does it matter that Xerox’s contributions have been forgotten, and that others like Jobs have been credited with what Xerox created first?

Interpreters steal. Some steal content, like photographs for an interpretive panel that someone else took. Some cut-and-paste from Wikipedia, or lift from a graduate student’s thesis that surely no one will ever remember. These are all examples of blatant theft.

Interpreters also steal ideas. We freely share our interpretive techniques and concepts. We are flattered when others use them.

Interpretation benefits from the sharing of ideas. We advance as a whole when someone creates an improved way to design a panel, or develops a better wayfinding app, or uncovers a new insight into a moment in history. But, where do we draw the line between sharing and stealing?

Eric Westendorf recently wrote an article for Forbes titled Stealing in the Classroom: Why Teachers Should Steal Like Coders. He identified three qualities of coders that have led, he believes, to a more progressive coding environment.

• Coders collaborate.
• Coders seek examples of features they are trying to build.
• When coders find a good example, they also find the code. Coders improve on the “stolen” code, then share the improved code with the world of coders.

I know nothing of coders; I assume that Westendorf’s assessments are accurate. I also see some of these same characteristics in interpretation. We do collaborate, we do look for better ways, and we do, at times, share with others.

Interpretation is locked in a small room without windows, and we inhale each other’s exhaust.

What happens when the same ol’ ideas are being stolen and circulated? Rather than looking for the better way, what if the interpreter (or, more specifically, their employer or client) is looking for cheaper or less risky ways? What if efforts to standardize interpretation are more focused on limiting risk than inspiring creativity?

Interpretation is locked in a small room without windows. We inhale each other’s exhaust. Our ideas are recycled rather than rekindled.

Whether or not we steal isn’t the issue. We steal from the wrong people. Rather than swiping from each other, we should be going outside of the profession to find new ideas and approaches. Graphic design, environmental sociology, geography, creative writing, art history, advertising, and computer engineering are examples of disciplines with ideas and approaches that could help stretch the outer bounds of interpretation.

Here is an example. In the past couple of years, I have used flat design in the development of interpretive panels. Flat design has been popularized in the design of software user interfaces, and argues for simplicity, clarity, and honesty of materials. This approach uses simplified design (forget the text shadows, photographed backgrounds, and signs shaped like a salmon), bright colors, and visual clarity to enhance the user’s experience.

Flat design seems a natural for the interpretive environment. A quick review of the research literature reveals the need to increase the number of people that actually read interpretive panels (or are attracted to read them in the first place).

Flat design would appear to be a concept, a philosophy, to steal. The software industry will not be offended. They stole the idea from the Swiss and the Bauhaus school in 1920s Germany.

Whether or not we steal isn’t the issue. We steal from the wrong people.

The industrialized interpretation promoted by the agencies and, to a less degree, the universities, has done much to standardize interpretation. Standardization also stifles. Interpretation, as an independent discipline, needs to escape these prescribed limits. Looking outside of the profession for inspiration and ideas is an obvious path forward.

Simplicity and Repose

May 28, 2015Fermata, Guerrilla Interpretationinterpretation, simplicity, skillstedleeeubanks

Truth is ever to be found in the simplicity, and not in the multiplicity and confusion of things – Isaac Newton

Interpretation gravitates to the complex. Maybe all human systems have a natural inclination toward convolution, like stormwater sprinting downstream. Bureaucracies certainly hint at this drift. There is refuge to be found in the minutia of complexity.

The principles of interpretation aren’t complex. The rules are limited; the doctrine is easy to grasp. The role of the interpreter is to simplify the complex, not to complicate the simple.

What is difficult to master is the practice of interpretation. The underpinnings of interpretation can be fathomed in a single sitting; the skills that are required demand time, patience.

One can master art history without being an artist. One can become an expert in modern American poetry without being a poet. There is value in art historians and literary critics.

And certainly, one can learn the principles of interpretation without being an interpreter.

The role of the interpreter is to simplify the complex, not to complicate the simple.

Interpretation, as a practice rather than a subject, is mastered through the application of simple principles using skills and intuition that are gained through years of repetition and practice. These principles and skills are means to an end, not ends unto themselves.

The end or objective of interpretation is revelation (Sam Ham calls this objective epiphany). This objective defines interpretation. Revelation is what separates interpretation from its relatives such as technical and scientific writing.

The techniques used to achieve this objective are as numerous and as varied as the people who have mastered the practice. A guitar may have only six strings, yet no two guitarists approach the guitar with identical technical skills. A work of art may consist only of paint and canvas, but the techniques used by a painter are as individual as a fingerprint.

An interpreter gains more than skills with practice; an interpreter gains intuition. A standup comedian quickly learns how to read the crowd. An interpreter learns how to gauge his or her audience. A comedian counts laughs; an interpreter counts revelations.

An interpretive approach that provokes revelation is successful; one that doesn’t fails. Interpretive success or failure, or which techniques are better or worse, are arguments that are only meaningful within the context of revelation. Otherwise, these debates only complicate the practice of interpretation.

Guerrilla interpretation is an applied approach to the craft. At the heart of this approach are the basic, elementary skills that must be mastered to become a practitioner of the interpretive arts. Knowledge and creativity are critical to the practice, as well. Yet without the skills, knowledge and creativity are impossible to express or apply in a way that stimulates revelation.

Simplicity and repose are the qualities that measure the true value of any work of art – Frank Lloyd Wright

What is a theme?

May 24, 2015Fermata, Guerrilla Interpretationguerrilla, interpretation, principles, theme, tildentedleeeubanks

Sunrise on the Colorado River below Longhorn Dam by Ted Lee Eubanks

What is a theme? A theme to me should be the same as to you. An interpretive theme doesn’t differ from a literary theme. There is no need for a new definition of an age-old (Aristotelian) literary concept.

The theme is the main idea or underlying message of a literary work. The theme is a tool that unifies the various elements of the book or essay. A literary work can have more than one theme, although there is often a single theme that underlies the work.

The theme, more importantly, is a central insight that the author provides through his or her writing. A theme is revelatory. In our case, the theme is the central insight (or insights) that the interpreter provides through their interpretation. The most powerful themes are those with insights into the human condition. In other words, the theme of an interpretive walk, if lucky, offers insight not only into nature but into the human experience, as well.

Let’s use my hike along the trail from my previous article as an example. If you remember, I start themelessly. The only sideboards that I place on my interpretation is the trail itself (a thing, not a meaning). The trail and its inhabitants are the subject, not the theme.

I am interested in interpreting what I see and experience. But, walking the trail and simply identifying the flora and fauna offers no insight either into this natural system or into our role within this system. This is guiding, not interpretation. This is information, not revelation.

Field guides, as an example, rarely offer meanings. Field guides are useful tools in identifying things (birds, Civil War weaponry, roadkill) and thus contribute to the overall knowledge that is a necessary part of interpretation. But, being able to tell warblers apart by their tail spots isn’t interpretation in its own right. This is guiding, begging for interpretation. This is information, begging for revelation.

At the start of our walk, I notice a black-and-yellow lichen moth, a highly specialized species. If need be, I could use a field guide to identify the moth. Once I know its identity, I am ready to consider how it will serve my interpretive needs.

I decide that the moth and its dependence on lichen can serve as a motif for the remainder of the walk (think about the simple motif that Ravel uses in Bolero). Specialization restates itself with other species such as the poison-ivy sawfly and the Hercules club beetle. These species become the repeated motif within my theme of specialization.

But, of course, a guerrilla interpreter doesn’t stop with specialization in insects. That theme is too limiting, too restrictive, too shallow. I extend that theme to one that is universal. My theme focuses the walk on the rewards of specialization and its risks within a changing world. In other words, I extend the theme to include the human experience.

I am not finished, though. As I mentioned in the article, there is a take away, a conservation message, that will serve as a coda. A diverse ecosystem supports diverse wildlife. Without the lichen, there is no lichen moth.

I could, in the same talk, note that a diverse economy provides employment opportunities for a diverse population, as well. But, the interpreter’s role is not to spoon-feed meanings. As I said in the previous article, we plow the ground where a visitor’s own ideas and revelations can be nurtured. In this case, I will leave the visitor with a clear understanding of the relationship between rich and diverse habitats and biodiversity, and let them explore the universality of this simple message.

My theme focuses the walk on the rewards of specialization and its risks within a changing world. In other words, I extend the theme to include the human experience.

Of course, I could write this out in advance. But why? What if I don’t see the black-and-yellow lichen moth at the beginning of the walk? What if I see the Indian blanket moth instead? If I see the Indian blanket moth first, I will allow that moment of opportunity to introduce an entirely different underlying message, that of the advantages and risks of blending into your environment.

Prescripted interpretation for the trail would need to rise above these unexpected opportunities. Such a plan would need to be organized around a more general theme (“an interpretive trail offers diverse opportunities for understanding the natural world”, or some similarly tasteless, textureless pablum). Since we are engaged in in situ interpretation, I would want to be sure that what I am interpreting is actually “in situ.” Otherwise, I am left interpreting a ghost, a figment, rather than a thing.

Are there advantages to the extemporaneous approach? Absolutely. For the interpreter, every day starts with a clean slate. Nature (or whatever the subjects might be) offers the cues, and challenges the interpreter to take the audience to places they, as well as the interpreter, have never been before. I will argue that the process is exhilarating to the audience, as well as the performer (the interpreter). This is walking the interpretive tightrope without a net.

Is this a better methodology? No. As I said in my article, the extemporaneous approach, an element of guerrilla interpretation, isn’t for everyone. You need to have the chops.

What does it take to master interpretation? You must be knowledgeable (about the profession as well as about the subject). You must be skilled (presentation, design, illustration, etc.). And, you must be creative. If the theme of a walk is its central insight, then give us a view that is new. Give us a revelation (didn’t Tilden say something to the effect that interpretation is revelation based upon information.)

I cannot think of a better way to exploit Tilden’s first principle – Any interpretation that does not somehow relate what is being displayed or being described to something within the personality or experience of the visitor will be sterile. Use what is at hand (the black-and-yellow lichen moth), and then embed that motif within a universal theme (the risks and rewards of specialization in a rapidly changing world).

And, of course, do all of this on the fly. Go guerrilla.

Indian blanket moth (Schinia volupia), Austin, Texas, by Ted Lee Eubanks

Interpretive Jazz

May 23, 2015Fermata, Guerrilla Interpretationextemporaneous, interpretation, jazztedleeeubanks

: Colorado River below Longhorn Dam, Austin, Texas, by Ted Lee Eubanks

If you aspire to being something more than a guide, or an usher, or a glorified bush beater, then you will need to provide a service beyond finding things. You will need to find meanings.

Every program or tour doesn’t need to have a theme. You can function as a guide for example, and themes may never cross your mind. Take bird guides. Bird guides can find, call, attract, and identify birds. As long as they can do the above, a bird guide will be successful. Birding clients demand little more than an expanded life list. This isn’t interpretation, though. This is guiding.

If you aspire to being something more than a guide, or an usher, or a glorified bush beater, then you will need to provide something beyond finding things. You will need to find meanings. The moment that you cross that fine line between a thing and its meaning, you enter the rarefied air of interpretation.

Interpreters explore meanings. Meanings aren’t spoon-fed to the listener or reader. An interpreter only prepares the fertile ground where the visitor’s own meanings will grow. A theme is one way to define the boundaries of this fertile ground.

Themes shouldn’t throttle meanings. Themes are meant to be flexible, malleable. In fact, one strategy of guerrilla interpretation is to adapt the theme of a program as opportunities present themselves.

Adaptability is one of an interpreter’s greatest strengths when interpreting nature, for example. Nature changes with every new day, with every new moment. You can walk the same trail every day for the remainder of your life, and each day’s experiences will be singular. Why not take advantage of what each moment brings by being alert to their interpretive opportunities?

Black-and-yellow lichen moth (Lycomorpha pholus), Austin, Texas, by Ted Lee Eubanks

Here is an example. I walked along the Colorado River in Austin last week, just as I do virtually every day. I carried my camera (as I do virtually every day, as well). I noticed an interesting moth perched on a beggar’s tick (hedge-parsley), and took a couple of quick images. I identified the moth as a black-and-yellow lichen moth. The caterpillars of this moth only eat lichen.

Now, think of where I could take the program based on this one moth. I could talk about specialization, and how evolution favors those organisms that succeed by specializing in a way to avoid competitive exclusion. I could then interpret the lichens that the caterpillars are feeding on. I could talk about how lichens have succeeded through the symbiotic relationship between a fungus and an algae (or a cyanobacteria). I could talk about how lichens also have few competitors, and that the moth’s caterpillars are among the few predators that a lichen faces. And, I can pose the obvious question. What happens to a specialist when that plant or tree they depend on has been eliminated or destroyed? No lichen; no lichen moth.

Lichen, Austin, Texas, by Ted Lee Eubanks

I would argue that the opportunity of the moment, the moth, gives me enough material for several programs, each branded and bound together with its own theme (symbiosis, specialization, competitive exclusion). I probably would have chosen specialization as my theme since I know of other species and stories along the way that will fit under that theme. Along the same trail, there is a sawfly whose young only feed on poison ivy, and a beetle that only feeds on the Hercules club tree. From there, I could expand to include the notion of biodiversity and endangered species.

Or, maybe I would have organized my walk around cryptic species, those that blend in with their surroundings. An example that I often see along my trail is the Indian blanket moth (Schinia volupia). The caterpillars of this moth only feed on Indian blanket (Gaillardia pulchella), and the adults are rarely seen away from the blossoms.

Guerrilla interpretation like I have described isn’t for everyone. Here’s an analogy. There are musicians that play from a written score. An orchestra is the perfect example of this approach. You play the notes that have been written for you.

On the other hand, there are musicians that take a basic melodic line and then extemporize. Jazz is the perfect example of such an approach. When you extemporize you walk the tight rope without a net. Not everyone is comfortable with playing extemporaneously, just as not everyone is comfortable with guerrilla interpretation. But, if you have the chops (talent, skill, experience, inspiration), this approach offers additional, expanded opportunities for engaging and inspiring an audience.

I may start a walk themelessly, and wait for the opportunity of the moment to bring inspiration and order to my walk. But, this isn’t to say that my program or talk remains themeless. I am an interpreter, not a guide. I simply wait for nature to give the cue.

Indian blanket moth (Schinia volupia), Colorado River, Austin, Texas, by Ted Lee Eubanks

Ted Eubanks' Fermatainc

all interpretation, all content, all original

We the People

Good interpreters copy, great interpreters steal

Simplicity and Repose

What is a theme?

Interpretive Jazz