Between the Commons and the Market: New Cultural, Social and Economic Perspectives on Fisheries History and Coastal Heritage
Historians, social scientists, museum professionals and other scholars working in the field of fishery and coastal heritage are cordially invited to the 14th NAFHA Conference, which will take place at the Norwegian College of Fishery Science, UiT The Arctic University of Norway, 24-27 September 2014. The conference is organised in association with the Norwegian Museum Network of Fishery and Coastal Culture, and the Council for Fishery and Coastal Museums. PhD students and younger scholars are particularly encouraged to participate in the conference.
This conference engages with new perspectives in fishery history and coastal heritage. It will build upon recent historical scholarship in these fields, such as the two-volume North Atlantic Fisheries History (2009, 2012) and the forthcoming five-volume Norwegian Fishery and Coastal History (August, 2014). These works reflect the new multidisciplinary scholarship on the historical exploitation of marine resources, and stimulate the debate and reflection on cultural, social and economic approaches to the development of fisheries and coastal communities over the long term. The conference aims to be inclusive. We welcome speakers and delegates from different disciplines and perspectives, and persues a broad thematic and chronological approach.
For more information please click here to download the CfP.
Kuta Beach, Bali, during “Trash Season.” On top of the regular daily trash left behind at the beaches, this is a phenomenon that occurs annually between the end of December and the end of February. Because of strong winds, plastic discarded in the ocean in Java is washed ashore on the beaches of Bali’s southwestern coast. According to the Jakarta Post this can be up to an astonishing 20 tons per day! Although the Balinese are trying to keep their beaches clean for the tourists, they struggle (and fail) to keep up during “Trash Season.”
For your most recent project, Eclipse, you’ve painted sixty plant silhouettes on gesso panels. These are common woodland plants that are also found in less conventional landscape spaces, such as motorway verges. Collisions between the natural world and car travel are an underlying theme in your work. Could you expand on the thinking behind the strange juxtaposition of taxonomic systems that inhabit this work?
People go to the woods as strangers from their everyday life in the city or in the town; we go to experience natural habitats, back to nature – somehow this idea of being natural seems more authentic – and the car park is a threshold at this point of change, where people either sit in the car with a Thermos or get out and take their dogs for a walk. We go to places like King’s Wood to experience ‘nature’, but the woodland is artificial. It’s managed, it’s controlled. Some of it is coppice – it’s ancient but nonetheless forms an industrial site. Much of the rest is in large part a plantation.
Some visitors come to King’s Wood to have this kind of communion with nature. Are you suggesting that this leisure tourism is a folly?
We travel and engage with landscape largely as tourists. Today relatively few people work in the landscape – it’s no longer an agricultural economy as it was two hundred years ago – so our experiences are largely premised on tourism. ‘Oh! Let’s go and have a look at that because it will do us good!’ It somehow edifies. But there are other considerations –in travelling to places like the woods we leave a carbon footprint, we leave mess, we leave litter, we leave fumes – all these things have a massive impact. Read More
Change is constant and inevitable—in jobs, in relationships, in business, and in nature. It can make us feel downright powerless to realize that nothing is certain. So why even bother trying to plan ahead?
Well, when it comes to thinking about how people might cope with big changes that will affect us all, such as climate change, planning ahead…way far ahead…could make a big difference in how future generations—you know, our children’s children—will live in a changed world.
In fact, by thinking through what is possible, we do have some power in determining how our communities react to both foreseeable and unforeseeable changes to our environment. And a diverse team of scientists at the UW-Madison is currently trying to help envision potential futures in the very region they call home: the Yahara Watershed.
The Yahara Watershed is a 536 square mile area of southern Wisconsin that, in addition to the UW-Madison, is home to 372,000 people, the state capital, and four iconic lakes: Mendota, Monona, Waubesa, and Kegonsa. Freshwater is central to Yahara’s cultural identity, economy, and daily life.
As this map shows, land in the Yahara Watershed is used for all sorts of purposes, from agriculture to development to public open space. Managing the area for these mixed uses is a challenge. Read More
What differentiates humans from other animals is a question that has long occupied scholars in the life sciences and humanities alike. For the conservation biologists, farmers, and indigenous Adivasis I met during my ethnographic fieldwork at a wildlife sanctuary in South India, it is precisely the resemblance of certain animal species to humans that puzzles them in their daily lives. Wild Asian elephants in particular are renowned for their almost-human cleverness in this region of the Western Ghats of Kerala. Working and living side by side with elephants, both scientists and forest dwellers highlighted the exceptional intelligence, cognitive abilities, and social behavior of these large pachyderms. These traits make elephants unpredictable actors in wildlife conservation, and their abilities pose enormous challenges for mitigating the severe human-elephant conflicts in this densely-populated and fragmented forest landscape of South India.
“They are just like us” was the judgment frequently made regarding elephant behavior by small-scale agriculturalists, who encounter wild elephants on an almost-daily basis on their paddy fields, coconut plantations, and vegetable gardens at the border of the Wayanad Wildlife Sanctuary.
The elephant trenches and electric fences that the forest department built for their protection are not of much use in preventing the hungry herbivores from entering the farmer’s agricultural fields. Read More
This interview was conducted by Klaus Taschwer for derstandard.at. To view the German text, please click here. Thank you to Rachel Shindelar for helping to translate the interview.
Austria’s environmental journalists have selected you as academic of the year. Surprised?
Yes, I was completely surprised. Most of the previous recipients have a profile that is rather different from mine. I was nevertheless very happy, because it provides another opportunity to bring environmental history into the mainstream.
In 1998 you wrote the first “Austrian” environmental history dissertation and in 2007 you became the first Austrian professor in environmental history. How should we understand these terms?
They are best understood in light of our research. For instance, in a project that we have just completed, entitled “Enviedan,” we researched the changes in the Danube in the Vienna region from 1500 to the present, analyzing the many unanticipated and long-lasting consequences of the regulation of the river on the ecosystems and society. In another project, which began in March 2012, we focus on the effects of ski tourism on the Austrian landscape and environment.
Environmental history is at heart the history of the side effects of human activities. Doctors and pharmacists inform people of the effects and possible undesired side effects of medicines; environmental history does the same with regards to nature. Read More
In the “Making Tracks” series, RCC fellows and alumni present their experiences in environmental humanities, retracing the paths that led them to the Rachel Carson Center. For more information, please click here.
Imagining the Global Arctic
By Karen Oslund
In his What W. H. Auden Can Do for You, Alexander McCall Smith calls Auden “a poet of landscape.” Many landscapes— Yorkshire, Oxford, New York, and Italy—among others, feature in Auden’s poems, but he is also a poet of the sea in his Letters from Iceland, singled out by McCall Smith as “one of Auden’s oddest books.” Letters from Iceland does, in one of its poems about the sea, contain the line which is a source of one of the classic stories about Auden’s working methods as a poet. The line which reads, “Every port has its name for the sea…and the North means to all, Reject” is the result of a printer’s error in proof. Auden wrote the line as, “each poet has a name for the sea,” but then gave into his tendency to “sacrifice meaning for sound” to the extent that he “says things which are not true just because he likes the sound of the words,” and let the error stand.
While McCall Smith might be right in general about Letters from Iceland being odd, Auden is not very remarkable in this instance for saying things which are not true about Iceland just because he liked the sound of them. This book is usually described as a “travelogue” of Auden’s journey to Iceland together with a friend, but it is actually more about his ideas about Iceland before the trip and his working out of those ideas as he traveled in the country. In this voyage, Auden was joining a tribe of European travelers to Iceland—including Joseph Banks, Richard Burton, William Morris, Konrad Maurer—and people who wrote about Iceland without ever having been there, like Jules Verne, in elevating his emotions and desires to find something in the North which he did not experience at home. For Auden, it was the idea of untouched nature and a life unspoiled by the forces of European modernity, something which surely did not exist in Iceland in 1936, if it ever truly had at all. For one group of Romantic travelers, a visit to Iceland and the North was a journey back in time, and they hoped that the landscape, nature, and language of the country would remain preserved there in an unaltered state. But for other visitors, including many members of the Danish service bureaucracy which ruled the island from the late middle ages until the end of World War II, the Iceland they imagined was malleable and transformable, a place where reindeer and musk oxen could be moved from other Arctic places and thrive in an regulated and managed landscape. Read More
By Tina Adcock
“Friday. Left Peace River Aug 30 1929 ran on sand bar, had to stay all night, rained to beat heck.” With this tweet, Derryl Murphy began to narrate a family history that would soon gain a much larger audience than tales of this kind usually do. This past November, Derryl, an author based in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, began to live-tweet the diary that his grandfather, Cyril “Bud” Murphy, had kept during his first winter on a trapline in the Northwest Territories. He sent out these tweets under the moniker @TrapperBud.
@TrapperBud was an immediate success. Within two weeks of its creation, it had more than 700 followers—an astonishing number for a non-celebrity account to rack up in so short a time. The CBC and HuffPost Canada interviewed Derryl. @TrapperBud was recommended by Slate’s history blog The Vault and by Canadian Geographic. The surprising popularity of Bud Murphy’s diary reveals some interesting and unexpected insights about contemporary public engagements with northern Canadian history. In attracting a community of people with their own northern histories to tell, @TrapperBud may have also opened up new possibilities for my own research. Read More
The vastness of Mongolia’s sky and grasslands cannot be overstated; they present an expansive landscape of complexity, evolution, and history. During a research trip to Mongolia in the summer of 2013, I traveled from the northern forest steppe to the edge of the desert steppe of the Gobi Desert. I became fascinated by the myriad ecologies – specifically the dominant grasslands, their diversity and beauty. These legacy landscapes represent the co-evolution of humans and nature over thousands of years where nomadic pastoralism has been the dominant form of land management and way of life.
The grasslands of Mongolia are multifaceted, reflecting diverse climates, ecologies, and cultures across geographic gradients of precipitation, vegetation, and topography. Grasses have evolved under sustained grazing pressure from wild and domestic animals over thousands of years. 80 percent of the country is covered by grasslands where approximately 35 million horses, sheep, goats, cattle, and camels graze. Local adaptations to Mongolian ecosystems across these environmental gradients have resulted in nomadic lifestyles and specialized grass species. Read More
There are two abandoned houses in my neighborhood. I walk by one most days, a small four-family with asphalt shingles slowly littering the ground around its foundation. The sides are a greenish color that I think comes from moss. It smells moldy even from the outside. For a long time, hundreds of dead flies were pressed against the front window by a sheet of cardboard. The upper windowpanes are missing, though criss-crossed with X’s of drying masking tape, and sometimes I’ll catch pigeons flying in and out of them. There are condemnation notices from the city on the doors – its owners have long been delinquent in their tax payments – and I’ve seen workers unloading reams and boxes of papers from the apartments inside. I said the building is abandoned, but some evenings I’ll walk by and see the faint glow of a bare lightbulb coming from a rear room. So I often wonder, when I see trash cans in front of the house on the sidewalk on Tuesday evenings, or when I see one of the doors ajar, what is going on inside.
One frigid day in mid spring I was taking a walk and noticed that, behind the building, there was a panel missing in the fence. I followed the path around the building and stepped through the empty fence frame, and found myself in front of a rambling yellow house. Read More