As someone who has such a deep love and understanding for the land in which we reside, geography plays a critical role in my life. None so important as the geography of where I am from and where I call home. It’s easy to confuse the two and for many they are one in the same. At one time it was obvious this was the same for me. However, as a third season of field work in South Georgia ends, I realize it’s more complicated. I’m learning that it may not even be so cut and dry as where you’re from and where your home is. To add to this, where I was born fall into neither category. As a result, I stew on the thoughts of being torn between two regions I love beyond words.
I am lucky to be from a long line of Appalachians (CORRECTLY pronounced Appa-latch-an) with my roots going as far back as the first whites crossing into what is now West Virginia. These mountains, older than the rings of Saturn, are in my blood. They are rich in history, culture, and biodiversity. Rugged and dark, the isolation there is palpable and has led to high levels of endemism. Home to the salamander capital of the world, I grew up on Appalachian species. My first salamanders were here. Hiking in Appalachians raised questions that led me on the path of discovery that I reside on today. In short, I would not be who I am today if I wasn’t a proud Appalachian. They are alluring for me. Constantly calling me back to their coves and hollers. For most of my life I found my time away from these mountains was spent waiting to find my way back to them permanently.
Smoky Mountain Rhododendron (Rhododendron smokianum) cling to the steep cliff faces within the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. It is just one of numerous species found there and nowhere else in the world.
Where I have come to call home though is vastly different. You’d be hard pressed to find similarities between the landscape of Coastal Plain of the southeast and where I’m from. They are there though for the Coastal Plain is equally diverse and rich. Between tannic heavy, blackwater swamps and sandy soil xeric uplands there is no shortage of flora and fauna. While not as picturesque or grandiose as a mountain view or raging waterfall, a true fire maintained Longleaf-savanna is the prettiest forest in the world in my opinion. When the setting sun illuminates the tree trunks and glints off the Wiregrass the Earth itself seems to hum its majesty. While being a transplant here I have grown to know this region more than any other. I walk the walk, talk the talk and have been gratefully helped along by those who know this place far more than I ever can hope to. Nevertheless, the connection I feel towards it grows by the day and I find it harder and harder to exchange it for the mountains.
William Bartram was the first European to describe many of the plants and animals in the Coastal Plain. He compared the open forests of longleaf pine to the parks of noblemen.
Then there’s my birthplace. The Bluegrass of Kentucky, the black sheep of the trio. Like every region the bluegrass has its merits and difficulties. While aesthetically pleasing with black rail fences and green pasture, it is a shell of what it used to be. A visitor in the 1750s would’ve encountered a Bluegrass of cane lands. They would’ve walked paths cut through the dense cane thickets by Bison and Elk. Massive Burr Oak and Blue Ash would’ve dotted the landscape, showing fire scars from prescribed fire set by the original land stewards. Today Thoroughbred Horses replace the megafauna and Bradford Pear replace the Ash. Like too many landscapes, it is now one that few steward and serves solely capitalistic design.
Despite this, I find that I love the Bluegrass too. I will never love it to the degree I love the other two places but it is still important to me. My parents still live there and I will always fondly remember the time I spent there. More so though, I love the Bluegrass for all of its flaws. It showed me early on what humans are capable of. What shouldn’t be and how important it is to prevent the loss of biodiversity and land stewardship as a whole.
My native wildflower garden in my hometown. It's not much but it's a step in the right direction of habitat management and land stewardship for the Bluegrass.
So, from all of this I find myself at a cross roads. As much as I wish I could clone myself I can’t. There can only be one Kevin, and I must choose. It is truly a "The Road Not Taken" paradox. Do I pick the place that made me who I am or the place that I have come to know so well, where I feel like I am doing the best for the world? It’s easy to say that you can choose both by visiting one or the other, (trust me I will) but you can never really reside in both. To intimately learn the native’s habits and languages. It is a question that I feel many others in this field have dealt with. Whether it be a fateful vacation across the country or a lifelong relationship, it’s easy to make a powerful connection to land foreign from your own. That’s what good stewards do after all, take care of not just our own but others as well.
Truth be told, I do not have the answer to my own question, but maybe, hopefully someday I will. In the meantime though, I can try to do right by them and share the love I have for them with others around me.
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