After reading The fourth chapter “The Potato” and the epilogue of The Botany of Desire, there are two ideas that come to my mind:
First, as in the constant struggle of man trying to control —or domesticate— nature, I tried to make an analogy with communities. One could look at man as the moderator of a given community and nature as the community itself. While the creator or moderator can have some control of it, s/he can never force it to do something that is not in their nature. Great knowledge and wisdom are required to cultivate and grow it stronger. And any forced action risks the destruction of the community. Plus, it requires constant attention to maintain it healthy and organized, since it can go wild quite fast, becoming really hard to bring it back to what it was before.
It made me remember our talk with the community manager of foursquare. She told us the everyday work with the community, day and night , and how she was very careful to take care of the situations as they appeared, as fast as possible, to avoid having them out of control.
Secondly, I’m seriously thinking of stop buying food in my local supermarket, and look for an organic farmer’s market to get my fruits vegetables.
I already knew it wasn’t very healthy, but now I have a clearer picture of what’s happening. It’s just so easy to go to the supermarket, with longer opening hours and everything in one place. We’ll see.
That the Science of Cartography Is Limited
—and not simply by the fact that this shading of
forest cannot show the fragrance of balsam,
the gloom of cypresses,
is what I wish to prove.
When you and I were first in love we drove
to the borders of Connacht
and entered a wood there.
Look down you said: this was once a famine road.
I looked down at ivy and the scutch grass
rough-cast stone had
disappeared into as you told me
in the second winter of their ordeal, in
1847, when the crop had failed twice,
Relief Committees gave
the starving Irish such roads to build.
Where they died, there the road ended
and ends still and when I take down
the map of this island, it is never so
I can say here is
the materful, the apt rendering of
the spherical as flat, nor
an ingenious design which persuades a curve
into a plane,
but to tell myself again that
the line which says woodland and cries hunger
and gives out among sweet pine and cypress,
and finds no horizon
will not be there.