Arcadia in the City

"We need the tonic of wilderness. We can never have enough of nature." --Henry David Thoreau

From the beginning of western civilization, people have been writing about the paradise of nature, and how we need to return to it in order to find some better version of ourselves. In Ancient Rome, Cicero wrote, "Things perfected by nature are better than those finished by art." He was followed closely by Virgil, who wrote a series of pastoral poems. Charlemagne, in the Middle Ages, wanted nature to be his army, and in Renaissance times, Shakespeare and Marlowe wrote lines upon lines in praise of nature. In the romantic period of the 1800s, philosophers and scientists like Goethe, Schiller, Humboldt, as well as musicians like Beethoven, explored the pastoral theme extensively.

With the discovery of America, nature and the wilderness took on a dual aspect: that of a paradise, a biblical Zion in the wilderness, yet also a feral, dangerous thing which needed to be conquered. This can be seen in much of early American literature, such as works from Hawthorne, Thoreau, Melville, London, and more. Statesmen like Jefferson and Roosevelt championed the frontier as well as the desire to triumph over it. As time went on, the two sides of the duality split further apart, perhaps most notably culminating in the rivalry between John Muir and Gifford Pinchot. One, Muir, thought wilderness should be preserved in its pristine, pure state. The other, Pinchot, believed that yes, we should care about nature, but as a thing for people to use.

We love the idea of nature and fresh air, yet also long for the security of civilization. We crave the suggestion of wilderness, while still being within reach of the city's familiarity. Leo Marx, notable scholar of American cultural studies, discusses this thoroughly in his book The Machine in the Garden, where he says:

We recall the scene in Walden where Thoreau is sitting rapt in a revery and then, penetrating his woods like the scream of a hawk, the whistle of a locomotive is heard...

Is this invasion of the urban into the pastoral always alien? Or have we reached a point where the two can co-exist, intertwined in a new form of "garden?" I would argue in this time when there is so little true wilderness in the world, where few spaces remain in the world that haven't known the footstep of a human, that a new version of the pastoral is upon us; one in which we experience places that were wild, tamed, then freed once more. These places bear the marks of their history, and as we travel through them, we can experience those marks firsthand.

In this story map, I use the city of Worcester, MA as an example of a place where the urban and pastoral meet and overlap. It is a guided tour through some of the more notable places in Worcester that started as a forest, were claimed by people for various uses, and then, ultimately, returned to their original forested state, with some shadows of man left behind.

Note: all photos in this piece taken by Melanie Meadors

“Within the lifetime of a single generation,” Marx writes in The Machine in the Garden, “a rustic and in large part wild landscape was transformed into the site of the world’s most productive industrial machine. It would be difficult to imagine more profound contradictions of value or meaning than those made manifest by this circumstance. Its influence upon our literature is suggested by the recurrent image of the machine’s sudden entrance into the landscape.”

Worcester, MA is just one example of a city where nature and the city meet, overlap, interact, and affect each other in generally positive ways. Other examples include Flagstaff, AZ, Colorado Springs, CO, Indianapolis, IN, and even Chicago, IL. People can go for a stroll through the trees after they get home from a stressful day at work. They can embark on a challenging hike on tricky terrain, and return to the comfort of their favorite urban restaurant for dinner. And they can learn a bit about the history of their city while they are at it.

Henry David Thoreau, a grandfather of environmentalism and advocate of simple living, visited Worcester several times throughout his life, and lectured here often. When he visited Asnebumskit Hill in 1852, near the border of Worcester, Paxton, and Holden, he described the hill as "one of the true temples of the earth," in a letter to his friend Harrison Blake. He also said, "I fear that your Worcester people do not often enough go to the hilltops."

By "going to the hilltops," and interacting with their cities in this way, people can feel a closer connection with both the urban and natural aspects of their home, and develop a sense of place in that city they might not have had before. Keeping these spaces green can increase a sense of community, and preserving the shadows of the spaces' history can help keep a connection to the past.

"The contrast between 'city' and 'country' in the pastoral design makes perfect sense as an analogue of psychic experience. It implies that we can remain human, which is to say, fully integrated beings, only when we follow some such course, back and forth, between our social and natural (animal) selves." --Leo Marx, The Machine in the Garden

References:

"City Parks." Official City of Worcester, MA Website. The City of Worcester. 2020.  http://www.worcesterma.gov/city-parks 

Hockensmith, Charles D. The Millstone Industry: A Summary of Research on Quarries and Producers in the United States, Europe and Elsewhere. Frankfort, KY, Kentucky Heritage Council, 2009.

Lynn, Jackie. Places to Hike in Greater Worcester. Worcester, MA, Greater Worcester Land Trust, 2017. Accessed from  http://hikeworcester.com 

Marx, Leo. The Machine in the Garden. New York, NY, Oxford University Press, 1964.

Southwick, Albert B. (2011). "When coal was briefly king." Worcester Telegram & Gazette, July 21, 2011.

Thoreau, Henry David; Sanborn, F.B. (ed.). The Familiar Letters of Henry David Thoreau. Boston, MA, Houghton, Mifflin, and Co., 1894.