An Introduction (6/4)

So, I've been waiting for today to begin my introductions, I wanted to get a real taste of the refuge before I started laying it on too thick.

Let's start with the blog itself. Chalchiuhtlicue is an Aztec water deity. I chose this mythic figure for several reasons. The first is because if you follow my paternal heritage far back enough, (which isn't really that far, if I'm being realistic) you'll eventually bump into some Aztec lineage. My bisabuela (great grandmother) was born and raised in Mexico, and I've been told that in her youth her eyes were the greenest anyone had seen- a characteristic attributed to her own lineage and the apparent mixing of European and Native blood a little earlier in our history. I'm not going to draw too many parallels between connecting with my family history and connection with nature, because I feel the notion speaks for itself.

The second reason I chose this particular deity is because Chalchiuhtlicue, or She of the Jade Skirt, is a water goddess. Again, my explanation will be minimal: I feel a certain empowerment when alluding to goddesses of nature. Of course, there's the whole swamp thing. I am well satisfied with my selection of titles, I think it's the right amount of clever and I hope that those of you reading agree!

Next on my list of introductions: the swamp itself. I am currently living in the Great Dismal Swamp National Wildlife Refuge, a piece of land that stretches over 113 thousand acres of land. This refuge is the largest in the Northeast region of the Fish and Wildlife Service, and it's home to the larger of Virgina's two natural lakes. This refuge also holds a small portion of the underground railroad. I learned today that there are quite a few cultural snippets hidden away in the history of this place.

This is what most of the swamp looks like,
it's comprised of  forested wetland habitat.

From the beginning: the land was surveyed in the mid/ late 18th century and was written off as a miserable place 'not fit for man or beast' (I believe William Bird said this, but I will double check) Though not long after, George Washington passed through, deemed it a paradise, and set up shop.

The swamp is comprised of an series of intersection ditches through which water flows and collects. When I peered into the rushing, high waters that filled these, I imagined them as veins, carrying water to every inch of the land. These ditches and their paralleling roads were built to make the area useable and accessible for loggers. The land was made a refuge in the mid seventies, after the landscaped had been logged over once or twice. It's expanded several times since, and this summer, I'll be spending plenty of time poking around and getting to know those ditches. Don't worry it's a little less Shrek-y than you're imaging, and without a doubt far less Shrek-y, fumed, and unattractive as I first imagined.

That's the tangible, and more or less the summary of what I did today. We spent the entire day, after getting a brief history from the refuge manager, driving around the bumpy gravel roads, getting a feel for the landscape. Now I move into the intangible, and the creative.

I like the swamp, or maybe more than anything, I like what it stands for. The Great Dismal Swamp is a fine representation of Nature's durability, her persistence. This land has been abused, and more recently scarred by fires and human presence. When my eyes followed the glossy and even the algae-blanketed waters, I felt a great sense of respect and awe for how the place has bounced back. There is a great burn scar near the center of the refuge, from a fire started by a piece of machinery that ignited the organic peat soil and burned away a huge section of cedar trees. Their blackened stumps, the texture of matchsticks or dried lizard tails, stand dejectedly in the water.

The Suffolk side of Lake Drummond.

Not too far from this area is my favourite part of the refuge. At the very center, at the heart, is Lake Drummund. It spans 3000 acres, and now that I know where the canoes are, I plan on spending most weekends staring into the water. There's something about the water in this place, particullarly at the lake. When the wind doesn't send ripples all along the surface, it reflects like a mirror, except the instead of a clear blue or green, the water is black. All of the light bounces right back off of it, and it's as if the landscape is inviting you to look into it's center and see your own. This isn't because it's dirty, the water is stained brown and red from the organic material brewing in the soil. My supervisor described it as being tea.

While I pondered and soaked up the history of the swamp, I  thought about what would happen if I decided to walk right into the wetland. Sureley, the ditches and swamp would swallow me whole. The tree's vines would slip and embrace my shoulders, and with time, the turtles would climb atop my head and bask.