Archive for date: December 14th, 2015

Research is inherently broad, and it certainly does not always lead to the destination originally sought after. It does, however, pose a particular question (that is, whatever is being researched). This is what makes research and understanding go so well together. Understanding thrives on that focused ambiguity, as it grows from a directive but is only capable of doing so when not caged. This could easily be seen in our time on Santa Rosa Island with each professor.

The ball park was the nature of Santa Rosa, particularly its biodiversity and how restoration is going to play into that. each professor had their own respective discipline, ranging from art to archaeology, but they all provided equally valid insight to the understanding of Santa Rosa.

Professor Perry, the anthropologist, gave insight to how things were, and that information is valuable to see how the island reached its current state. Professor Allison and Cause, those more focused in the area of life science, reflected on the present, taking from the past and projecting for the future. The artist, Matthew Fermanski, did somewhat of a collaborative of all aspects, obtaining an understanding of the entirety of the island. All of the research done by the professors would lead back to the main idea, regardless of these varying perspectives. I feel an important note to make is that all of these inputs are necessary for an optimal output. While having any one of these alone is fine, the collaborative interpretation of the question (that being the one on biodiversity and stability) produces much greater results; the product of the whole is greater than the sum of their parts.

Give another question, perhaps reintroducing a species such as the island fox. Every perspective may provide valuable information as to how, when, and where is optimal to do so. Cause may be able to provide suitable areas to reintroduce the species, and Perry could tell where foxes were once prominent. With a combination of these two perspectives we would have a a better answer than if one acted alone. In fact, I am hard pressed to think of a suitable outcome without tackling the issue in an interdisciplinary manner.

All of these perspectives and disciplines are required to make an astute solution. Without any one piece, the product regresses into something lesser than what it could be. Interdisciplinary tactics allow for a critically thought out outcome; critical thinking is innately interdisciplinary, for the notion of it is to think out side the box. A very simple way to do so is by shifting one’s own perspective to another. Think about how someone else may do it, and aggregate that to your own understanding. In doing so, one not only improve your handling of the question, but to their understanding as a whole. Growth is an invaluable trait to possess.

Nature, I have learned, is brutally honest. There is nothing withheld to the viewer; it does not boast nor coddle, and it is never disarming with either its unpredictability or uniformity. Nature is revealing — it is love. Perhaps that is why Thoreau was so smitten with it; nature tells its story unremittingly, regardless of the listener — it does not, in fact, even need a listener. It continues its tale in the face of opposition and adapts accordingly. The only thing required is for one to choose to listen.

 

When we arrived on Santa Rosa Island I numbed myself to all expectancies, and I am very happy for that. I have taken from life that bias (something entirely different than conviction) shrouds and negates any understanding that may be gained from an affair. With that perspective in mind, I gathered a great understanding from the faculty.

 

With Matt Furmanski, an art professor, we examined how certain aspects such as the wind influenced the formation of the island, and how that contributes to the story, or narrative, of the island. matt spoke of how he unfettered buoys with lights attached just off the shoreline and took long-exposure photographs of their routes. this gave him an interpretation of the tide, as well as an artistic perspective on nature.

 

We also took part in surveying the frequency of certain organisms on the shoreline with the island’s primary caretaker Hanna Cause, an environmental scientist. We would progressively venture further into the tide — yet another interpretation of it. This time, however, the examination was more clinical; it fed to the environmental perspective regarding nature.

 

Both of these, however different, held that commonality: interpretation. This is the most enlightening thing I took from the island. In one of the most recent publications of Ray Bradbury’s novel Fahrenheit 451, there is an introduction written by Neil Gaimon that discourses the point I am discussing rather well. In short, Gaimon gives the very profound notion that if someone expresses their understanding of a narrative, then they are probably right; however, if they say that is all it is about, then they are probably wrong. Life is one big narrative, wherein there lies a finitely infinite number narratives. It is the narrative collective, nature being one of many. Just as Matt and Cause had their different, valid interpretations of the tide and its effects, so too does anyone else. That is the importance of interdisciplinary understanding. Humanity thrives on understanding other narratives, for without it we would move about aimlessly in a tiny sandbox of our own ego. That understanding is used to build upon one’s own narrative and in turn help others expand theirs. It is a cycle of improvement, and a very lenient, forgiving one at that. Nature is a microcosm for that pure narrative of life, and, just like nature, it requires willing, immersed participants. To be cliché, understanding is within the eye of the beholder, though the question remains in whether or not one will utilize that.