Exploring Interdisciplinarity

Springfield, Colorado

I had never heard of Springfield, Colorado before. Springfield, Illinois: Yes. Springfield, Missouri: Yes. But Springfield, Colorado: Never. Have you? The sad fact is that we should all know about Springfield, Colorado. For Springfield is in the heart of the Dust Bowl. A terrifying, but also encouraging, lesson can be learned here–especially today–as we seek to deal with the recent oil spill off our Gulf Coast.

My introduction to Springfield Colorado proved to be a delightful affair–the wedding of my son Noah Evans to Sarah Moffett, a lovely young woman, who had grown up there.

Tea kettles were boiling; cultural wars raging; and this was Republican territory 

Although my husband Brock and I had already spent some time with Sarah’s parents–Joel and Sheila–as well as many other family members, we left Washington on the weekend of the wedding not knowing what to expect. After all, tea kettles were boiling; cultural wars were raging; and this was Republican territory. Along we came, east coast Democrats, and environmentalists to boot.

We were not the only ones who were somewhat tenuous about our final destination. Driving five hours from Denver, my husband stopped to ask a policeman for directions to Springfield. How were we to interpret his answer? The policeman had never heard of Springfield before! En route to the wedding from New Jersey, my son Stephen got similar vibes when the car rental representative at the airport advised him that there were far better places to visit in Colorado than Springfield.

And to be sure, from the perspective of a New Jersey girl, Springfield appeared somewhat stark, to say the least. Much of it seemed to live in the past. With many storefronts boarded up, there was not much to see. So, even arriving late at night, along a barren truck route that suddenly turned into Main Street, we found our destination–The Starlight Motel–straight away.

Haley, Ben & Sophie at Picture Canyon (courtesy Steve Garcia)

 A morning hike to, and exploration of, Picture Canyon provided a glimpse of the panoramic grasslands that make up part of the United States’ Eastern Plains. Accompanied by lots of wind and tumble weed, we climbed the rocks and eyed the delicate wildflowers pushing through the dry ground.

In Springfield, the ebullience and generosity of the Moffett clan pervaded the atmosphere, as we all gathered together in the backyard to witness the wedding of Sarah and Noah. A wonderful reception followed. Everyone–family, friends, young and old–pitched in. How else, one might ask, would it be possible to transform a large farm structure, on the family’s ranch property, into an elegant wedding ballroom, with delicious home-made food for all, where East met West, Red met Blue, and some–I am told–danced till three.

The Wedding of Sarah & Noah

Back home, recovering from bronchitis (altitude + grasslands!), I sought to find out more about Springfield, Colorado, and its history as part of the Dust Bowl. Everyone recommended that I read The Worst Hard Times by Timothy Eagan. I am so glad I did! However, the book, which described how the people of the Plains not only helped to cause the great Dust Bowl, but also managed to survive it, haunts me still.  Now I understand, at a far greater depth, the long, lonely horizon that I saw on encountering Springfield. But I take hope knowing that the young people I met at the wedding are starting out with hopes anew, even as Sarah’s father, Joel, is working for the National Resources Conservation Service (established by President Roosevelt to deal with the crisis of the Thirties) to help restore and preserve the landscape’s future.  Perhaps there is hope for the Gulf as well.

On Technorati: Colorado, Dust Bowl, Gulf Coast oil spill, National Resources Conservation Service, Red States/Blue States, Sarah Moffett and Noah Evans, Springfield, Tea Party, The Worst Hard Times, Timothy Eagan, wedding bells

juke box love from miss kristin g

As a child of the Sixties, I have been imbued with the music of the time. Somewhere in my brain there is a virtual juke box, where songs and memories are inextricably intertwined. Without forewarning, an event or thought will flip a switch; then, traveling through the synapses in my brain, a tune will come to mind; and–much like Doris Day in a 1950s musical–I will break out into song. It is, so to speak, a very emergent phenomenon. Of late, for example, it is the tune Going Out of My Head by Little Anthony and the Imperials that keeps running through my mind.

Rock Hudson and Doris Day PILLOW...from Christine Montone

This notion of the virtual juke box came to mind, I think, because I have been exploring how the brain works in my class Networks and the Creative Process. Most stimulating in triggering my thoughts about how the brain, memories, and every day experiences are linked together has been Joseph Le Doux’s book Synaptic Self: How Our Brains Become Who We Are –a book I highly recommend. In this book, Le Doux raises the question of how we evolve to become the persons we are.

how do we evolve to become the persons we are

Le Doux’s narrative relates to the eternal debates–dating back at least to the time of Plato and Aristotle–about the mind-body problem. Le Doux transcends this dichotomy, arguing that the body (brain) and mind (soul, consciousness, self) are one. The brain, according to Le Doux is constituted of a complex network of neurons that house genetic information and memory. While these neurons store information, they are continually upgraded via axions and dendrites that reach out from other parts of the network, transmitting information via neurotransmitters, such as seritonin and dopamine. As Le Doux explains, all individuals have a brain structure that replicates this pattern, but it is an individual’s specific architecture–the product of genetic makeup and experience–that makes him or her unique. As he says: we are our synapses.

synapse from Lush Photo

So, reading Le Doux, it is now clear to me that my virtual juke box is just one customized circuit among the millions of circuits that make up my brain. Moreover, I can see how this circuit has evolved and accompanied me throughout my life, housing all the songs that have buffered me through my first heart-breaks, the anti-war movement, and all those difficulties associated with the rebellious Sixties. But why now, I ask, should the song Going out of My Head–a song I haven’t thought about in years–suddenly raise its head.

A few weeks ago I heard a colleague speak to a group of students. Talking about his own intellectual journey, he described in a most poignant way his decision to pursue what he characterized as a Life of the Mind. Shades of Plato. Having just read Le Doux, I had to question his words. If the mind is the sum total of all our synapses, isn’t Living the Life of the Mind what we all seek to do? As for me, were I to be constrained to work with only one part of my brain, I think I would go out of my head.

On Technorati: brain architecture, Doris Day, emergent, Fifties musicals, Joseph LeDoux, juke box, mind-brain, Sixties, synapses, The Synaptic Self