I have been in Providence for four years now and feel like the first year molded me to understand the land and what has come before. I have always felt things deeply; most of the time I try to ignore or brush it off, but here it felt different; it was calling to be known and for its history to be remembered. I remember the first time I looked up on Google what the marketplace area on campus was originally used for. I didn't understand why we had this big open space on campus that is barely used. Finding out later on that this was a trade market for enslaved Africans and indigenous peoples left me in turmoil internally. Here we have a school that “requires” a land acknowledgment at the beginning of every semester for every class, yet no one on campus is honoring the people that had their lives taken from them.

When thinking about this assignment, my mind kept picturing Lincoln Woods, a park not too far from campus that I found out about during my first year and have enjoyed before. It feels secluded from the city, like a break from the commotion. When I was there this time, it felt a bit different as I had a clear directive to pay attention to what I was feeling, sensing, and seeing. As much as I enjoy nature, I feel like when I get overwhelmed with life, I tend to put my connection with nature on the back burner. I don't know if I was fully aware of this unintentional behavior before this assignment.

Lincoln Woods (Caucaunjaivatchuck) 03.08.25

While driving to Lincoln Woods, I started thinking about what I knew about the history of this area, honestly not much besides what has been easily accessible, that the land originally belonged to the Narragansett, Nipmuck, and Wampanoag peoples, that it was stolen, and that it was now “preserved land.” In further research, I learned that Lincoln Woods was “founded” on Lincoln's 100th birthday in 1909. The land was popularly known as Quinsnicket Pond, a faux Indian name said to mean something like “The Domain of Many Rocks,” even though this is a made-up word. The land originally was called Caucaunjaivatchuck by the native tribes; this land provided protection, medicine, and generational knowledge. The land was not just a resource but a teacher, relative, and protector. Guided by the land, Narragansett, Nipmuck, and Wampanoag people moved seasonally, cyclically living by the waterways for centuries before settlers stole the land for “conservation.”

I wrote notes about how I was feeling there; they were “safe,” “allowed to be,” and “return.” I wasn't completely sure what it all meant when I was writing these down, but revisiting those thoughts, I believe it was what I needed to hear in that moment. Understanding that being in nature allows me to feel safe and fully myself, not being able to connect like this daily is harmful. I remember when I first got to the east coast, I had never seen so many trees in one condensed area. Being from southern California, the closest thing I know to “the woods” is the Los Angeles National Forest, which in comparison is maintained like nature here. When visiting this area before, I have had many encounters with wildlife, most notably when I was on a walk around the pond. My friend and I walked up on about five or six fawns. This being the first time I had seen fawns in person, I let out a small yelp of excitement, and all the fawns looked over as if I had disturbed their peace (which I had).

Seeing wildlife interact with the natural world around them so unbothered left me with a feeling of relief; as much as goes on in our “civilized” society, the parts of nature that go untouched also experience a freedom we will never know. While visiting this time around, I saw the beginnings of spring peeking out, the small buds soon to sprout up hidden between the blades of grass, the trees absorbing the sun, entering into the cycle of regeneration. I heard the morning sparrows sing their tunes and saw many squirrels run their route. In all of this, there is a freedom we can learn from.

Backyard 03.17.25 & 03.19.25

I am privileged to live in a space that has direct access to the natural world. As much as I can, I try to spend time out in my backyard here (despite the cold). In California, I grew up with my family spending most of the summer and fall nights talking outside on our loungers with our dogs and cats (our outside cats always have inside access). I decided to spend two of the twenty-minute sessions in my backyard but in different places, one outside and one on my closed porch area (because it was rainy).

I want to touch on the closed-in porch experience first because I think it's important to share my view that my house is not an inanimate object that I live within; it's a place that lives through me actively. I came to this through learning about Indigenous peoples' stories, knowledge of the land, and their perspective of the home being a part of the living interconnected world. But also from people like Thomas Berry. A geologist who wrote a book called The Universe Story, in this he touches on how we as hu

mans are not detached from what happens around us; we are a part of the sacred universe and should reimagine our relationship to the cosmos. “We must say of the universe that it is a communion of subjects, not a collection of objects.” (Berry pg. 81-82). As much as I enjoyed the time I set aside for this assignment, I wish we lived in a society where our instinctual needs for connection to nature were honored.

While on my porch, I felt a sense of calm, maybe because of the rain; it was strong and windy, so I was forced to listen to it instead of the list of things to do running through my head. I was joined by my cat Molly for a while until the rain started to pick up. I really appreciated the ebbs and flows of the weather; it's so amazing to experience the shifts when we are able to slow down and think about it. I love the clean smell, the rain leaves, and the feeling of renewal that's left in the air. For most of the time, I just sat and watched the rain, closing my eyes at points, trying to listen for birds or animals running around. I saw a few birds flying around at the beginning of the rainstorm.

A few days later I decided it was nice enough (55 degrees) to sit in my backyard. I found my favorite lounging blanket and spread it out. I usually don't like to be out back in the afternoon because of the constant noise from kids getting out of school and cars or sirens running up and down the main road. For the sake of trying to be in tune with what's around, I sat for twenty minutes. I heard a few kids walking home have silly conversations with their friends; there was a solid three minutes of sirens and honking (because people don't know how to pull over for emergency vehicles here), and I learned that if I am outside for that long, I can't help but pick up any trash or plastic flying by. I think being outside at peak hours (2pm) wasn't the smartest way to go about it; I was pretty distracted, honestly.

Sitting in one place for so long did allow me to tune into what I could enjoy, watching the birds fly around and squirrels run along the fence. I would do this again just during the summer (after 5pm) without so much distraction. As I say that, I am also reminded that Robin Wall Kimmerer in Braiding Sweetgrass says it bluntly, “All flourishing is mutual.” If we recognize and respect the universe around us, it will recognize and respect us as well. I learned through this exercise that being in tune to what is going on around is the best way to understand it.

Works cited

Swimme, Brian, and Thomas Berry. The Universe Story: From the Primordial Flaring Forth to the Ecozoic Era—A Celebration of the Unfolding of the Cosmos. HarperSanFrancisco, 1992.

Kimmerer, Robin Wall. Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants. Milkweed Editions, 2013.