[Guest Post from Ed Stevens]
A while back I had the opportunity to visit The Cather Prairie, a restoration project just south of Red Cloud intended to re-create the prairie as it existed in Willa Cather’s time. It is impressive in physical scope (several hundred acres), as well as in the obvious depth of commitment of those involved in the effort. Even in the early spring, the rolling swards of grassland, the pastoral springs festooned with Cather's beloved cottonwoods and a jangly profusion of wildflowers offer balm to the most calloused soul. But even as I soaked up the prairie lusciousness on that breezy Saturday morn, questions, like the springs in the canyons, bubbled up in my mind. I am generally reluctant to allow my enjoyment of beauty, order and symmetry to be disturbed by ontological bickerings, but a certain lack of metaphysical clarity implicit in the situation pesters me.
Consider...
By what spurious aesthetic do we value a "virgin" prairie, by which we mean one that existed in, say, 1875, over one which exists now - in 2012? What standard gives us license to consider a sweep of prairie grass, unsullied by tree, bush or plowshare to be more valued than some other green stretch, this one liberally punctuated with small red cedars, plum thickets and gawky goldenrod?
Is not the current state (or any state) of the land an equally authentic element of the Gaean creation story - our earth's story? Is bluestem more deserving of a place on the prairie than musk thistle? Does the cow deserve to drink at the spring, or must she walk half a mile to quench her thirst at a stock tank filled from an artificially drilled well - just to satisfy some arbitrarily defined sense of epochal legitimacy?
Biological evolution can best be understood when viewed as "analog" in nature, that is, as moving more or less smoothly from one state to the next, rather than as "digital" - jumping from one level of development to another, quantum-style. If this is so then it seems likely that all those intermediate states should be equally valued or justified. So, logically, it is difficult to see why certain of those states should be designated more desirable than others, based solely on the forms of flora and fauna currently extant upon them. Put another way, should we make judgments that only the ecosphere itself has the right to make? It makes decisions based on a couple of hundred million years’ worth of evolutionary experience - compared to our paltry one or two millennia.
I do not suggest that making sensible use of the resources provided to us by a loving Maker is not a good idea; indeed, efficient utilization of relatively scarce resources is not only a good geo-strategy, it is the only one I can think of that has demonstrable long term survival value. But I do submit that we must be careful about confusing stewardship with conservation, preservation or re-creation; to do otherwise is to find ourselves, to steal Buckley's marvelous phrase, "in diligent pursuit of the irrelevant."
So why do we do it? Why do we expend so much of our time and energies lusting after the existential architectures of yesterday? I wonder if there is another, more subtle dynamic at work here. Perhaps we seek the world of Cather (and others), search for the flowing source of her genius, not solely, or even primarily, in her written works, but by trying to physically re-create the world after those images she has left us through her words.
Extending the analysis further, isn't it possible that perhaps we are simply responding to some limbic desire to dwell, even temporarily, in a world that today exists only in dream and legend, yet has been so purely and powerfully evoked by Cather and others? Are we really just trying to build the "Good Old Days" into our own internal geographies? In our efforts, for example, to restore the "shaggy prairie" that she extolled, maybe all we're doing is hearkening to a primal need to seek the comforting swaddle of the known - the already experienced - or, to call it by its more familiar name, the past? Maybe conservancy, either actual or intellectual, is just another of our artful, and ultimately futile, attempts to go home again.



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