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NWP Global Registry of Apprentice Ecologists - Glade Creek, Walkersville, Maryland, USA

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Glade Creek, Walkersville, Maryland, USA
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Whatifalthist



Registered: December 2018
City/Town/Province: Frederick
Posts: 1
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Some of the earliest memories I have involves walking with my grandpa through the lush woods of India. Although North America has an incredible amount of biological diversity, truly the forests of India are something to behold when examining the minutiae of creatures and beasts that make it their home. The trickling of the rivers after a fresh monsoon, the sharp pungent odor of rotting leaves and soil after water has leached in, the boisterous cawing of a crow signifying the end of a rolling thunderstorm and angry sky--these small aspects are what I remember the most about wildlife. The wilderness has always held an appeal for me, and its uniquely non-artificial beauty, in the pulsing rhythm and harmony present within.
When I arrived in the States, I sought to engage with wilderness in much the same, intimate manner. I would walk or ride on a bicycle through a trail in some woods nearby. When I traversed the breadth of the mile or so long asphalt trail, I was greeted with a veritable flood of sensations, from the quiet melodious chirping of birds in the branches to the omnipresent white noise of a nearby river bubbling. Even though the woods were only a few dozen feet thick on either side of the trail, all the sights and sounds of the neighborhood beyond were shut out by the impenetrable wall of vegetation and tall, imposing trunks blooming with life. Yet, here, too, in this paradise, there were signs of man's scarring of the land. Filthy mud-logged Ziploc bags and granola bar wrappers littered the grass every few feet, in clumps here and there. Other miscellaneous specks and chunks of brightly colored plastic populated the verdant flowers and shrubs. This was no longer the paradise it once was, I envisioned. Even in this relative vestige of undisturbed nature, the collective trash of humanity was sure to make its mark.
Thankfully, I was not alone in my negative opinion of the degradation of nature. Once I revealed my worries about a buildup of litter in the local wildlife regions, my Science Olympiad teacher proposed that our club members participate in a "clean up" of a local stretch of road. Motor vehicles had carelessly tossed out their refuse, even though littering is classified as illegal in the state of Maryland and carries heavy penalties for the offender. Although the violators likely knew the law--it is posted in prominent signs along roads--they still chose to contaminate a formerly pristine area of vegetation with human-created detritus. I spread the word to my fellow club members, enlisting the hands and effort of as many individuals as possible. Although Science Olympiad is an organization committed more to solving issues and tasks with a science-oriented approach, many of my fellow members were more than willing to help clean up the environment, much to my surprise. It seemed as if everyone was angered by the blatant irresponsibility demonstrated by the vehiclists who stained the land with waste.
We set out in May, with the spring sun high above us as the afternoon reached its maximum temperature. The blue sky spared no clouds to shade our endeavor, and my Science Olympiad teacher offered to bus some of us to the site in his pickup truck. As we jolted over the potholed roads and made out way to Glade Creek--more of a rut with mud than an actual course of water--I contemplated what I would find. Sure, the experience on my neighborhood trail had been disappointing to say the least, yet the place we were heading to experienced much more traffic on a daily basis and had been doing so for many more years. Naturally, I assumed a higher volume of people equated with a higher volume of filth. And--unfortunately--this turned out to be true.
We parked at the nearby Heritage Park, a collection of several baseball fields, asphalt trails, and weathered barns. Since it was a well-known and well used park, locally, the grounds were clean and contained freshly cut and uniform grass. However, the lot of land immediately adjacent to the park was overgrown with shrubs and a dense thicket of leaves and twigs protruding from spindly trees. Although to the casual viewer the small region of green appeared well nourished and healthy, once we turned our attention to the soil and ground below, we discovered, to our dismay, at least an inch of scattered debris. Cigarette butts, shattered green beer bottles, plastic packages of convenience chips and snacks, disposable shopping bags, and scraps of illegible paper jockeyed to catch our attention and effort. We had, thankfully, brought along several large black garbage bags. This was not a recycling endeavor--no, the filth had been rotting in the ground for at least several years from a salutary glance. This was a clean-up endeavor, a feeble attempt to save at least one mile of road centered around the Glade Valley Creek.
So we found ourselves toiling away in the broiling sun, along the aptly named Devilbliss Bridge Road in Maryland. The road ran for several miles through thriving, bountiful fields, and as far as the eye could see, wheat and corn rose in dominating stalks until they reached a barrier of trees. Several cars ran by during our ordeal, suspiciously eyeing a group of teenagers holding large black bags and working extremely close to the side of the rode. The region itself was nondescript American countryside. Other than the nearby Heritage Park with a few rundown buildings and a white farmhouse just down the road, one could imagine a landscape with no human alteration other than, of course, the vast fields. Soon we were all coated in a layer of slick sweaty brine, and a few hard hours of labor yielded a portion of road that was relatively clear of junk. Our club teacher applauded our selfless hard work and the visible fruits of our labor--roughly a dozen packed garbage bags bursting to the brim with substances.
Although to the casual outsider, it appeared as if our work was for naught, and we had expended an afternoon's worth of time just to temporarily reduce the amount of litter in a minute region of land, I believe we accomplished something more that day. The other club members and I chose to execute an Apprentice Ecologist project and demonstrate our stewardship and love for nature in the most personal and heartfelt manner we could--by purifying contaminated nature and returning it to its previous unspoiled state. Perhaps it was only mile-long stretch of land that was cleansed. Perhaps only a few hundred pounds of trash were successfully removed, trash that is soon to be replaced by careless citizens. Perhaps the trash will build up to even greater levels with due time, forcing the native species to flee and plants to wilt.
Yet, I believe we accomplished something, rather than nothing. We made a tangible change to the environment, an improvement in an age where destruction of nature is the norm. More than simply enriching a few square yards of soil, we enriched ourselves. I, now more than ever, desire to repeat my stewardship project, but on a grander scale. Perhaps in the future I can enlist the services not only of dozens, but of hundreds of willing volunteers. We must make a change for the better on ever greater scales, now more than ever in a time of catastrophic natural losses. Giving back to nature after all of the meaning it has given to my life is perhaps the least I could do as a measure of repayment. And, I sincerely wish, that others, too, will grow to see and feel as I do. I wish all of humanity will--one day--realize that the success of nature is our success; nature does not fear our end, yet we must fear the end of nature.
· Date: December 30, 2018 · Views: 2968 · File size: 9.0kb, 61.6kb · : 835 x 626 ·
Hours Volunteered: 60 hours
Volunteers: 20
Authors Age & Age Range of Volunteers: 17 & 14 to 18
Area Restored for Native Wildlife (hectares): 0.4
Trash Removed/Recycled from Environment (kg): 20
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