‘Self-in-place’-based knowing
A rainbow lorikeet in my garden
I thought I would apply my field journalling skills here in Germany to see how well I could understand relations of place. Of this place. But it seems that I am learning more about my ‘self-in-place’ rather than the place itself. For example, I am learning how much I am used to bird diversity in Australia. Here, in Lüneburg I am experiencing mostly pigeons. I have seen an occasional duck along the Ilmenau River or in the lake at Kurpark. In my garden at home in Australia, I will see all sorts of birds, from rainbow lorikeets to kookaburras, cockatoos to bower birds and even the white faced heron; if I’m lucky the endangered gang gang will drop past. I also see kangaroos regularly. But the only mammal I’ve seen here, apart from the throngs of humans, is a lone rat. Of course, I am in a European city, it’s not fair to compare to the small coastal village where I live.
But even spiders aren’t here casting their webs. I walked past the very, very, very old St. Nicolai Church that had all sorts of angles. As I was looking at the building, I caught my brain making a prediction that a spider’s web would be in a tight corner. I didn’t realise my brain was doing this until the expectation wasn’t met. There was no web. It surprised me (both that I’d thought to notice a web and that I hadn’t). I looked all around this church but found only a few small webs. How strange I thought, so I kept paying attention. Almost no webs to be found within the city. I hadn’t realised how much my brain expects to see spiders webs, but my house would be covered in them if I didn’t wipe them up occasionally. My house is among the trees, it’s an easy place for them to find.
But this is what I’m learning here, my self-in-place-based knowing: I hadn’t realise what surrounds me all the time back home, until I’m no longer surrounded by it. It’s absence is reminding me of its presence. It is revealing to me what my mind has come to expect, what it’s predicting.
A spider’s web at Kurpark
It predicts a smile from someone I pass when walking in nature. It predicts colours at sunset. It predicts a visible moon at night. Stars too. It predicts birdsong. It predicts quiet at night. It predicts salty air mixed with eucalyptus scent. It predicts that leaves will release smells when you crush them. It predicts surprising animal encounters. It predicts the background sound of the ocean - a loud roar tells me it’s a southerly swell. It predicts a changing tide.
I have found myself trying to find what my brain expects here. I found webs in a small forested part of Kurpark. My heart lifted. I also found a different bird species here, a small one.
I must be sure to look for stars tonight.
