Assignment #2: Mapping I chose to map out the section of the Setauket Greenway Trail that I jog roundtrip numerous times a week. It is a 1.5 mile stretch from the middle of East Setauket to its endpoint in Port Jefferson Station. I am familiar with the trail now and, even after using it for the year since I moved into the community, it still intrigues me on various levels. What fascinates me is the varied topographies – both geographic and cultural – it cuts across. The landscape itself is surprising; after leaving the residential neighborhoods, the trail dips into an unexpected basin bordered on either side by sand dunes and powerlines before climbing back out through lush woodlands. The trail then emerges at the top of the hill next to a black chain-link fence that demarcates a lot of abandoned warehouses. The visual is striking: between the paved trail itself and the fencing is a patch of landscaped shrubbery and mowed lawn. On the other side of the fence is rusted graffiti-splashed corrugated metal, gaping black doorways and empty windows. There is something disturbingly post-apocalyptic about the setting; it speaks to man-made ruin and neglect, something one does not necessarily expect to find in the middle of the woods. …show more content…
At one end are the residential communities of East Setauket/Stony Brook – split-level ranches with multiple cars in the driveway, lawns that are diligently watered (despite the ongoing drought here) and mowed, the studied quiet of Long Island suburbia. At the other end, the trail literally empties out into a lot in Port Jefferson Station where homeless individuals curl up under trees for shade and sleep in summer and food pantries routinely draw large crowds on the weekend. (This is in sharp contrast to the more affluent gatherings literally down the hill in the coffee shops, boutique shops and restaurants of Port
In September 1954, he moved out of Northwood in Long Island onto the Northern State Parkway to see his new house in the countryside. He specifically said that Long Island had been one of the most beautiful places in the United States, and his house was one small reason it would not remain that way much longer. His new house lacked in exterior grandeur, but it made up for comfort inside and costs in all together $25,000. Kunstler got his first glimpse of what real American towns were like when he was sent away to a boys’ camp in Lebanon, New Hampshire. He visited his hometown Northwood when he became a teenager and saw how it has entered into a coma with so little for one to do there. Northwood had no public gathering places, so teens were stuck in their little holes who smoked pot and imitated rock and roll. For the teenagers there, the waiting transforming moment was when one became a licensed driver, as I can say the same about my town. Kunstler went to a state college in a small town, Brockport in western New York State. The college was the only thing that kept the town alive with healthy conditions where it was scaled to people, not cars. He ends the chapter by pointing out that this book is an attempt to discover how and why landscape of scary places, the geography of nowhere, has simply ceased to be a credible human habitat happened and what we might do about
A great difference between the two neighborhoods are the amounts of cleanliness, such as the one he explores in has "fragments of glass, chocolate bar wrappers… and cracked sidewalks with edges of stiff grass." In variation the area he resides in contains "no unkempt vacant lots." The tidy community holds "unattended stands piled high" containing produce, whereas the other has "seedy-looking grocery stores" with "windows covered in hand-painted signs and vertical metal bars." The houses in his community
When people see new construction or a recently paved road, they often do not realize the sacrifice that was made to create these luxuries. Most people pass some form of construction on the way to their jobs or school every day. This simple fact sparks questions regarding what this area looked like before it was inhabited by humans. Illinois forests have undergone drastic changes in the decades since European settlement. Only 31 % of the forest area present in 1820 exists today. (Iverson Pdf) Tearing down trees to build new structures isn’t bad if done in moderation, in some ways with time and good planning its wonderful. However, anyone that hunts or claims to be an outdoorsman will relate to the incomparable feeling experienced when alone in the woods and far from the hustle of the urbanized world.
Imagine for a moment, a world of death. For 200 years your family has been sealed away with a thousand other people, to protect you from the dangers outside. Now your father has disappeared, and it’s up to you to find him. After a harrowing escape from your subterranean home, you walk through a tunnel to the outside world, past dead bodies, stretched out in front of the door, as if to say “don’t leave us out here to die!” As you walk through the gate to the outside, and as your eyes slowly adjust to the sun you have never seen, a wasteland emerges before you. The world is devastated, destroyed and annihilated. Broken twisted hunks of metal lie next to a sign on the side of the mountain saying “scenic overlook” on your right, the broken remains of the interstate bridge stand as a monument to a destroyed culture. Petrified trees are all that remains of the local fauna. Off in the distance, all that remains is destruction. While you may think of this stunning visualization of a wonderful novel, this is actually one of the opening scenes from Todd Howard and Bethesda Game Studios’ “Fallout 3.”
One of the main issues that the book, “Ecology of Fear,” discussed about were the inherent dangers and problems that suburbanization imposed upon the landscape of Southern California. Although suburbanization in theory and in reality did create abundant benefits to a great mass of people, especially to those who wanted to avoid the daily nuisances of urban city life, its negative consequences were quite grave indeed. Suburbanization led to a complete eradication to the natural landscape of many areas in California. The book’s vivid accounts of how the lush, green landscape was bulldozed just to build tracts of homes were a painful reminder of the beauty that was lost due to suburbanization. “In 1958 sociologist William Whyte – author of The Organization Man – had a disturbing vision as he was leaving Southern California. ‘Flying from Los Angeles to San Bernardino – an unnerving lesson in man’s infinite capacity to mess up his environment – the traveler can see a legion of bulldozers gnawing into the last remaining tract of green between the two cities’.” (Davis, p. 77)...
A new phenomenon happening in our city is the rebirth of many of our older and rundown areas. One of the best examples of this is the "Soulard" area of town, which now has an established nightlife as well as exquisite historical antique homes. Lafayette Square has also enjoyed the same type of success as Soulard. It is still in the middle of a high crime area, but is populated by upper-class people with beautiful homes with elaborate wrought iron fences and intricate security systems. This trend of fixing up old flats is spreading out from the areas of Soulard and Lafayette Square to neighboring communities at a rapid pace. The Compton Heights area is coming back with rebuilt old Victorian styled houses and private gated streets that contrast the French styled flats of Soulard. The Shaw and Tower Grove area are also following the lead of revitalization similar to these charming old neighborhoods.
“The fact that people live close to one another does not necessarily mean they have much to do with each other. There may be little interaction between neighbors” (Lee & Newby, 1983); throughout the community mapping exercise and interviews in the Bartram neighborhood it was noted that many individuals both those who reside and work in the area do not recognize the Bartram Neighborhood as a community. Marsha, an employee at Bartram Village, stated that “Bartram is not seen as community by the people who live in it” (personal communication, March 2014). She further explained that the residents identified with the wider area of Kingsessing or Southwest Philadelphia. Mrs. Clara, a resident of the neighborhood, also explained how she and other members viewed the neighborhood. She stated that “If you mind your business and keep to yourself, you will be fine” (personal communication, February 2014). A Police Officer from the 12th District stated “Bartram is not a community. The community is Bartram Village the Housing Project; the rest is just Southwest Philly” (personal communication, March 2014). All individuals concluded that Bartram is “like an island”, community members do not interact, and there is no Bartram identity as a whole (personal communication February 2014. Some community members do not see this as a problem, “it is just the way that it has always been” (personal communication, February 2014). They mention lack of resources, crime/safety, lack of investments, and lack of educational resources as the neighborhood’s main problem. However, without this neighborhood coming together, these other problems will remain unaddressed. "A sense of community is the glue that can hold together a neighborhood (Chavis & Wandersman, 19...
The agency I chose to do is the Hillandale golf course, which is located in Durham North Carolina. The reason why I chose to do my project on Hillandale golf course because since the beginning of the semester I have been traveling over to the golf course twice a week for a class learning the rules and the way the game of golf is played. Hillandale golf course is named the “Granddaddy golf course of Durham/ Research Triangle golf”. Hillandale was donated to the Durham area back in 1911 through the philanthropic interests of long-time Durham resident John Sprunt Hill. Donald Ross and Perry Maxwell originally designed the course. Donald Ross had designed the first 9 holes and Perry Maxwell came up with the last 9 holes. Since 1960 over 1.7 million rounds of golf have been played that being an average of 45,000 yearly. This public golf course provides a challenge from each level of players in the game of golf. In 1960, the Hillandale Golf Course was moved to its current location in Durham and was redesigned by George Cobb, who is also the designer of the Surf Club in Myrtle Beach, S.C.
The drive to cross the Kentucky border had taken hours and hours of strenuous patience to finally arrive in another state. The view was by far country like as hints of cow manure could be smelled far from a distance. We drive through small towns, half the size of our hometown of Glen Ellyn had been the biggest town we've seen if not smaller. The scenery had overwhelmed us, as lumps of Earth from a great distance turned to perfectly molded hills, but as we got closer and closer to our destination the hills no longer were hills anymore, instead the hills had transformed to massive mountains of various sizes. These mountains surrounded our every view as if we had sunken into a great big deep hole of green pastures. Our path of direction was seen, as the trails of our road that had followed for numerous hours ended up winding up the mountainous mountains in a corkscrew dizzy-like matter.
In Cannery Row by John Steinbeck a magical street near the bay called Cannery Row is the place of many different people, which some come running and panting to go to work. As the writer describes, Cannery Row is more than just a poem. It is a stink, a quality of light, filled with lots of sardine canneries, restaurants, weedy lots and junk heaps and whore houses as one might have said. If you close your eyes after reading you can almost smell the soon to be canned fish and hear the street groaning. The author has an ability to make the street alive in our minds and show how one street has formed its own community.
Sheehan, R. (2010). 'I 'm protective of this yard ': long-term homeless persons ' construction of home place and workplace in a historical public space. Social & Cultural Geography, 11, 6,
About half-way between West Egg and New York the motor road hastily joins the railroad and runs beside it for a quarter of a mile, so as to shrink away from a certain desolate area of land. This is a valley of ashes---a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat into ridges and hills and grotesque gardens, where ashes take the forms of houses and chimneys and rising smoke and finally, with a transcendent effort, of men who move dimly and already crumbling through the powdery air. Occasionally a line of grey cars cr...
When Willy and Linda purchased their home in Brooklyn, it seemed far removed from the city. Willy was young and strong and he believed he had a future full of success. He and his sons cut the tree limbs that threatened his home and put up a hammock that he would enjoy with his children. The green fields filled his home with wonderful aromas. Over the years, while Willy was struggling to pay for his home, the city grew and eventually surrounded the house.
As I began to walk this trail, I began to recollect the days of when I was a kid playing in the woods, the birds chirping and the squirrels running free. The trees interlocking each other as if I am walking through a tunnel with the smell of fresh pine and a hint of oak all around me; a hint of sunshine every now and then is gleaming down on the beat path. This path is not like your ordinary path, it has been used quite some time, as if hundreds of soldiers have marched this very path.
This area of the world is so foreign to my Oklahoma life; it infuses me with awe, and with an eerie feeling of being strongly enclosed by huge mountains, and the mass of tall trees. However, when my foot first steps onto the dusty trail it feels crazily magical. The clean, crisp air, the new smell of evergreen trees and freshly fallen rain is mixed with fragrances I can only guess at. It is like the world has just taken a steroid of enchantment! I take it all in, and embrace this new place before it leaves like a dream and reality robs the moment. As I turn and look at my family, I was caught by my reflection in their impressions. The hair raising mischief in the car was forgotten and now it was time to be caught up in this newness of life. It was as if the whole world around us had changed and everyone was ready to engulf themselves in it. The trickling of water somewhere in the distance and the faint noise of animals all brought the mountains to