walewis – American Environments to 1893

April 27, 2014

Revisiting Themes through Down to Earth

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In his book Down To Earth, Steinberg writes a stirring but surprisingly persuasive text about the role of the environment in shaping American history. This book reminded me of several themes we have discussed over the course of the semester and also introduced me to several new ways of thinking about how nature has guided the history of the United States.

While reading Down to Earth, I was struck to see how this work connected with numerous other texts we have read this semester. In beginning his narrative with the split of the mega-continent Pangaea 180 million years ago, Steinberg paralleled his history with that of Crosby’s in Ecological Imperialism (3). Furthermore, Steinberg’s characterization of nature as the primary actor in history has similar qualities with that of Ecological Imperialism. For example, Steinberg notes that after farmlands in New England were abandoned, the old oak and chestnut trees that once stood on the land did not return. Rather, new forests of white pine trees emerged because of their adaptability to growing in open landscapes (53). I found this section reminiscent of Crosby’s discussion of weeds and their ability to grow on land often uninhabitable for other plants.

Steinberg’s book also shared many themes found in Cronon’s Nature’s Metropolis. First, both authors acknowledge the ability of “industrial capitalism” to redefine perceptions and uses of nature. Steinberg and Cronon even use similar examples, including the evolution of markets for grain and lumber, to demonstrate how capitalism quickly transformed natural resources from entities originally processed in small amounts to mass- produced market commodities (71). Both Steinberg and Cronon also discuss the problems wrought by the uncontrollable consumption of natural resources in American cities. Examples of this include the inability to dispose of garbage in cities like Chicago, and much of this waste was eventually dumped into bodies of water like Lake Michigan (168).

Apart from being able to compare this book with themes presented throughout this semester, I also especially enjoyed reading Steinberg’s chapter “King Climate in Dixie.” While Steinberg’s argument that the climate conditions of the South facilitated slavery is apparent to most historians before approaching history through an environmental lens, it does provide valuable insight into the development slavery in the South. Steinberg provided particularly interesting analysis when discussing how nature precipitated the emergence of the task system of slavery. Due to the partitioning of land into quarter acre lots and the hardiness of the rice crops, slave labor on rice plantations in the Low Country of South Carolina evolved from the gang labor practiced across cotton and tobacco plantations (79). I also found it interesting how Steinberg noted that cotton’s boom in single crop agriculture came after the introduction of Mexican cotton allowed slaves to pick five times as much cotton as they could using green and black staple varieties – this meant more profits for plantation owners (84). This, accompanied with the emergence of the Cotton Belt, helps to bolster Manish’s claim about our desires to exploit with sights only set on the benefits of our actions and not the consequences. As Steinberg indicates, the desire to exploit cotton ultimately led many southern farms to produce cotton as their only crop (83). Eventually, this lack of foresight would cost the South in the Civil War, as cotton farms were incapable of producing food for Confederate soldiers (98). Moreover, this struggle with nature during the Civil War hearkens back to the battles with the environment presented in Brady’s War Upon the Land. With this in mind, Steinberg’s Down to Earth provides an excellent medium through which to reflect on all we have read, discussed, and learned in class this semester.

April 13, 2014

Counterintuitive Qualities of Conservation

In Crimes Against Nature, Karl Jacoby aims to write a monograph that combines the fields of social and environmental history in the United States (xvi). To do this, Jacoby analyzes the conservation movement that took place at the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. In the book Jacoby attempts to illustrate a non-elite “moral ecology” – a perspective that “offers a vision of nature ‘from the bottom up’” – in order to complicate the narrative of the American conservation movement (1, 3). While Jacoby’s work focused on squatters, poachers, and thieves, it also reminded me of several themes that we have discussed from previous readings in class this semester.

Jacoby does a particularly effective job in demonstrating how capital has shaped the development of our natural environment. Although he writes on the lives and perspectives of the voices that often go unheard in the retelling of American history, Jacoby’s narrative still portrays how the flow of capital even guided the conservation movement. In the Adirondacks, the unsettled woods of the region, along with flourishing fish and deer populations made the region especially vulnerable to being overtaken by capitalists. This is seen in the rapid abandonment of farm homes and construction of estates in the Adirondacks, accompanied by a burgeoning tourist industry (26-27). Additionally, as tourism continued to grow in the region, more and more people living in the Adirondacks identified with multiple vocations. These jobs included being a guide, a hunter, or fisherman, and often combined lifestyles on the Adirondacks both pre- and post- conservationist intervention (28). In the Grand Canyon, Jacoby outwardly admits that there was a close relationship between business interests and forestry officials (169).These examples serve to show that while on the surface conservation claimed to protect the environment, its aims could very likely have been driven by the capitalist geography we see presented by Cronon in Nature’s Metropolis.

The second element of Crimes Against Nature that I found very similar to previous class discussions was the unnaturalness of the conservation movement. I liked the definition of “wilderness” Brandon posited in his post as being unadulterated by human intervention. I also agreed with his discussion of the wilderness as an artifact of modernity. However, after reading this book, I think Jacoby might be arguing that as a result of the conservation movement, wilderness is something inherently different than it was before. This can be seen in both the ways that conservationists try to preserve wilderness as well as how Jacoby writes about the spread of conservationism. One example of this occurred in the Adirondacks, when dozens of towers, taller than the tree lines of the forest, were constructed in order to maintain a watch on potential fires that could damage the “wilderness” (77-78). The placement of the U.S. Army in Yellowstone National Park for 32 years only bolsters this view the unnatural means by which conservationists “preserved” the wilderness (97). In addition Jacoby discusses how conservationists have developed a “new vision of nature” and a “touristic wilderness” as their influence spread throughout the United States (170, 191). With this in mind, the cordoning off of these spaces by conservationists has clearly made the wilderness an artifact of modernity. However, perhaps this has also destroyed the primeval quality that the wilderness before conservationism contained.

April 6, 2014

Natural Disasters and the Dominance of Capitalism

I had never previously thought of natural disasters as a way through which to analyze culture, politics, and economy. However, Biel’s introduction to American Disasters – especially his explanation of disasters being able to teach us about the “normal” workings of American society – convinced me of the utility of looking at disasters to interpret the arcs of American culture (5). I saw these “complex cultural resonances” clearly in Patricia Bixel’s “It Must Be Made Safe” (6).

Bixel’s “It Must Be Made Safe” tells the history of the aftermath of the devastating hurricane that struck Galveston, Texas in September 1900. Deaths were estimated between 6,000 and 8,000 people following the storm, and the damage inflicted upon the port city was assessed at $30 million (223). The determination of the residents of Galveston never to experience this again is where I first saw an example of the cultural resonances introduced by Biel. After the local government failed to secure the restoration of utilities to the city, many people saw the need to restructure the municipal government. This led to the passage of a new bill allowing two of the commissioners of Galveston to be elected by the populace, and three commissioners to be appointed by the governor (230). What I found interesting about this purge of the old government was that while Galvestonians had perceived their officials as corrupt for over a decade, it took a natural disaster to induce change (228). While the natural disaster destroyed much of the city, it also provided a pseudo-purification or purge of the iniquities of Galveston. In a way, the storm represented an opportunity for a new beginning. Most people thought the new government was more in tune to the interests of the people (230). However, I think those “people” who were able to capitalize on the revival provided by the flood were clearly those who held the most capital, and I think that is seen in the economic aftermath of the 1900 hurricane.

While the local government before the hurricane was criticized for its “self-interested” nature, the appointment of commissioners following the passage of the new city charter in Galveston demonstrated that not much had changed. These officials held substantial influence in politics and business, and were appointed on their ability to acquire money from potential lenders and expedite the construction of a sea wall in Galveston (235). Though the reformation of government and construction of the sea wall were said to promote the restoration of Galveston and improve the safety of its people, the reconstruction of the city was driven almost solely by a desire to remain the most important port city on the Gulf Coast (224). Many of the reconstruction efforts were aimed at restoring beaches for tourism (235). This reflects much of what we have been discussing in the past few weeks of class as the manipulation of nature can be traced by the flows of capital and interests of capitalists throughout Galveston.

Ironically, these efforts only led to the destruction of Galveston’s natural environment. Filling projects led to the destruction of many trees and plants because they were trapped under dredge material being used to raise the grade of the island (238). Construction of the sea wall led to the erosion of other Gulf Coast beaches (241). I think these examples lend themselves to supporting Manish’s point that many politicians and businessmen have been stubborn and reluctant to adapt to the threats of nature. To apply this theory to my example, moving the population and businesses of Galveston off the island and to a more suitable coast location were way too high for any businessmen or politicians to even seriously consider. This mindset, like Manish indicates, has “expanded beyond the check that nature institutes on society.” The profits promised by trying to manipulate nature were too desirable to leave. It is remarkable that even after being stricken and humbled by the power of natural disasters like the 1900 Galveston hurricane, mankind still assumes the conviction that nature is an entity to be conquered.

March 30, 2014

Cronon’s Complications with Second Nature

Unlike previous readings throughout this semester, this week’s portion of Cronon’s Nature’s Metropolis left me with two very different reactions. While Parts II and III of the book were both filled with information pertinent to the growth of Chicago in the nineteenth century, the end of the monograph left me puzzled with Cronon’s analysis.

I found Part II of Nature’s Metropolis very effective in emphasizing the importance of natural resources in the development of Chicago. Cronon’s thorough assessment of the emergence of incorporated grain, lumber, and meat into Chicago’s – and eventually the country’s – economy demonstrated how the power of “first nature” was inescapable. In the production of crops, Cronon explains that the glaciers that once existed in the Great Lakes region were responsible for the richness of the soil surrounding Chicago (98). Additionally, Chicago’s lumber trade declined after forests north of the city were exhausted of their trees. Only these forests, due to the network of waterways that ran through them, were able to supply the rather treeless Chicago with lumber (200). These examples served to show that Cronon’s concept of “first nature” was responsible both for the creation and the destruction of different pieces of Chicago as a metropolis.

Cronon also linked his concepts of “first” and “second” nature in Part II. In his discussion of wheat as the definitive cash crop of Chicago, Cronon writes about the importance of the gridding of land and the grain elevator in commoditizing nature. As the railroad established its presence in the Midwest, the transport of grain increased dramatically in scale and necessitated the use of a grain elevator to make the process more efficient (126). The use of the grain elevator railroad also contributed to the creation of the Chicago Board of Trade in an effort to standardize grain qualities for consumers (119). Also bringing agriculture off the farm and into the city was meat production in plants on the South side of Chicago. The commoditizing of meat, Cronon argues served to convince Chicagoans that meat had become an “urban product” (256). While Cronon effectively reveals a relationship between first and second nature, he seems to fail to discuss the implications of this link. When a natural product like wheat became commoditized, did it too become second nature? Unfortunately, Cronon leaves us with inconclusive answers for inquiries like these.

While I found Part II holistically convincing, Part III of Nature’s Metropolis saw Cronon’s arguments beginning to unravel. I also think at this point Chelsea’s commentary on “humans allow(ing) capital to rule their lives” becomes clearly applicable. Even Cronon becomes obsessed with capital when he makes the claim in his chapter “Gateway City” that second nature is capital (269). Though I understand Cronon’s demonstration that second nature can be traced by the seemingly unceasing flow of capital as noted by Chelsea, I am left completely clueless as to why he didn’t make the distinction at the beginning of his book between “nature” and “capital” as opposed to his created concepts of “first” and “second” nature. Moreover, in our discussion several weeks ago on Part I of Cronon, we talked about how Cronon considered both the creation of railroads and cities a step in ecological evolution. However, in “Gateway City” Cronon asserts that there was nothing natural about the advantages Chicago had in becoming a metropolis (295). In Part III of this book, Cronon appears to become more concerned with the economic and cultural history of late nineteenth century Chicago than with the environmental approach taken in the first parts of his narrative. Sadly, with all these contradictions and conflicts in his arguments, I found Cronon’s conclusions, or lack thereof, disappointing.

March 23, 2014

The Bond between Nature and Industry

Steinberg’s Nature Incorporated provided an interesting and convincing argument about the significance of water in the development of nineteenth century New England. One way in which I think Steinberg was so effective in presenting his claims was through his linking the growth of industry with transforming views about nature. In his first chapter, Steinberg outlines the ways water was used for commerce and for navigation throughout the eighteenth century. He then contrasts this utilization of water with that of the burgeoning textile industry that emerged in New England and created a demand for waterpower (59). As more textile companies flocked to the Charles and Merrimack Rivers, this demand for waterpower – and thus for control of the water – spiked. As Steinberg clearly indicates, the competition fostered by industrial capitalism soon “necessitated” the privatization of water (46). The agreements over who was entitled to water quickly fostered the idea that water was no longer a force of nature, but rather it “turned water into an instrument” (49). In this way Steinberg asserts that without the forces of industrial capitalism in New England, it is unlikely that water would have become viewed as merely a means to earn profits. Competition throughout industry accelerated ideas about controlling natural resources – in this case water – and consequently distorted nineteenth century views of nature.

In response to Manish’s post, I largely agree with his commentary that man can never divorce himself from nature. However, I would argue that industrialization – at least in the eyes of Steinberg – did “conquer” nature. While humans remain reliant upon nature and can fall victim to its elements, I think that the force of industrialization in New England “conquered” water in such a way that the resource could not return to its original state. An example of this occurs when Steinberg discusses attempts to restock fish populations in the Merrimack. Although efforts to privatize fish and restock waters in New England were largely failures, the attempts demonstrated how nature was so tightly woven into “human agendas” and how people strove to “redesign nature” to fit their economic needs (203-204). These endeavors, compounded with the pollution of rivers discussed by Ian, illustrated how humans had, in effect, conquered nature.

Lastly, I thought that it worked in Steinberg’s favor to narrow the focus of his narrative to New England. While we have largely criticized this approach in class, especially for the last two books we have read, Steinberg does well to articulate the importance of selecting New England. He asserts that the Merrimack Valley held systems for controlling water that were unprecedented in the nineteenth century, and he states that the valley was at the “heartland of waterpowered industry” (95, 243). Unlike previous authors, Steinberg was also able to reiterate that his study centered only on the industry of New England. With that being said, the case of industrial and urban development in nineteenth century New England was so dynamic that we could likely find elements of this type of water and environmental politics throughout the United States. An example that came to my mind was the Chicago described by Cronon in Nature’s Metropolis. Much like Chicago forged the frontier and created a new kind of ecological development in the Midwest, Steinberg argues that the industrial capitalism of New England established a new “ecological relations” with water (11). I found that Steinberg, akin to Cronon, effectively demonstrated how industry transformed not only the environment, but also human perceptions of nature in nineteenth century America.

March 17, 2014

War Upon the Man? – Nature’s Stance in the Civil War

I found that Brady’s War Upon the Land brought up some interesting concepts for us to consider both with respect to works we have read in weeks passed as well as the history of war and the environment in the United States. One concept that I enjoyed and found particularly effective for Brady was her development of nature as an actor. I thought Brady depicted this especially clearly when she presented the quotes of Captain Thaddeus Minshall stating that “nature and man are at war” (2). While we have previously discussed nature’s potential role in determining the course of American culture and society, this quote from Minshall gives nature both agency an orientation, and one directly opposed to the conquest of humans. With this in mind, I think Brady’s focus on the Civil War becomes a great point at which to start the conversation about war emerging between man and the environment.

As Brady mentions, although the wars of colonial America and the American Revolution housed conflict within North America, the Civil War was the first prolonged and large-scale series of battles to occur on American soil. This compounded with the technology that made the Civil War the first “modern” war in American history places this monograph at the beginning of an age where we see a shift in the way Americans interact within the environment – particularly as industrialization spread rampantly across the United States (4). Additionally by discussing environmental history in conjunction with military history, Brady is able to write a narrative that emphasizes the idea of nature and man as independent, but inherently linked agents. I think this is brought up effectively in Emily’s post where she juxtaposes Brady’s discussion of nature’s “power to shape human decisions” and how Union generals used their own northern ideas about improving, civilizing, and conquering nature in establishing a battle strategy against the Confederacy (emkrall).

Another piece of War Upon the Land that I appreciated was Brady’s use of the concept of “agroecosystems” or “domesticated ecosystems” (9). I think the most effective deployment of these agroecosystems was the ability to use them to highlight the differences between northern and southern farmers leading up to the Civil War. While southern lifestyle was dominated by plantation farms, most northern yeoman looked at their much smaller farmland with industrialist perspectives because the environment did not direct the culture of the North (18). I also think you see the clash between these two divergent environmental cultures in examples like the Union’s efforts to redirect the Mississippi River in the early years of the Civil War. Before finally being able to “embrace the hybrid nature of the river’s landscape,” General Grant’s Union soldiers unsuccessfully tried to turn the river twice, and as a result they suffered at the hands of diseases that plagued the mosquito-ridden region (48). It was not until northerners sought to understand the southern agroecosystem and “ally” with “their erstwhile nemesis, water” that the Union was able to use the southern environment for their own directives (41). Through this work, I think Brady was successful at establishing a framework for future historians to assess the ongoing cause and effect relationship between war and the environment as well as developing an effective frame in which to view nature as an actor in American history.

March 10, 2014

The Fatal Flaw of The Fatal Environment

After reading Slotkin’s The Fatal Environment, I was impressed but unconvinced with Slotkin’s concept of the “Frontier Myth.” While Slotkin provides an extremely thorough examination of how the “myth” of the frontier has been molded to explain Westward expansion, I think the breadth of his work makes some parts of his narrative superfluous.

Much like Ian, I found Slotkin’s Part III – “The Metropolis vs. The Frontier” to be one of his most effective sections. I would like to add to Ian’s analysis that while Slotkin argues that “humanity does in fact exist in nature,” I think Slotkin also believes that in the minds of nineteenth century American industrialists, humans were very separate from nature (iasolcz). This is seen in “The Language of the Frontier Myth” when Slotkin discusses the dispossession of Native Americans. While arguing that Indians were human despite white industrialist ideas that assumed otherwise, Slotkin outlines nature as something “primarily inhuman” (79). He asserts that throughout the Indian wars and American industrialization, the myth emerged that an inherent struggle existed between this inhuman realm and that of human “civilization,” and that it was this conflict that fueled tensions during Westward expansion (79).

Additionally, Part III set the framework for the remainder of Slotkin’s narrative by juxtaposing both perceptions of the frontier in popular culture – as found in many of Cooper’s novels – and the expansion of democracy and politics to the West with the idea of a separate, civilized “Metropolis” that dominated American culture (109-110). I thought this section was particularly interesting because it covered similar topics to our previous readings, particularly Turner’s “Frontier Thesis.” Unlike Turner, however, Slotkin emphasizes the expansion of the frontier as a result of the specific economic, political, and national concerns that emerged within the Metropolis. For example, he ties the spread over the frontier in the 1840s to the increased prevalence of “‘Jacksonian’ ideology” in the early nineteenth century (114).

Slotkin’s section on the railroad also relates to our reading of William Cronon and the development of Chicago in Nature’s Metropolis. Both Slotkin and Cronon emphasize the importance of human actors in bringing change to the environment. They also argue that the development of the railroad and the opening of the frontier was a direct result of the injection of capitalist ideals into the economy –this brings us back to Cronon’s “geography of capitalism” (15, 26). Like Slotkin notes, railroads made access to “nodes of superabundance” increasingly easy (211). However, Slotkin also seems to take Cronon’s analysis one step further and questions whether capitalism might have molded the perception of the railroad opening the frontier. While questions like this are certainly intriguing, this kind of curiosity from Slotkin ultimately turned me away from his narrative. I think these questions detracted too much from an environmental history and instead created a massive study in historical psychology. This was only furthered when Slotkin included his chapters on George Custer. Although the story of Custer’s Last Stand was an effective lens to introduce perceptions of the frontier in the nineteenth century, Slotkin’s perpetuation of the hero myth throughout the book seemed to be a thoughtful, but unnecessary addition to his main argument.

February 23, 2014

Supplementary Text Book Review – Mahogany: The Costs of Luxury in Early America

Jennifer L. Anderson’s book Mahogany: The Costs of Luxury in Early America focuses on the rise and fall of mahogany as a luxury commodity in North America from the mid-eighteenth century to the mid-nineteenth century, a period that came to be called the “Age of Mahogany.”[1]In establishing the framework of her book, Anderson states the history of mahogany can only be understood by assessing the interaction between the nature from which mahogany came and the humans responsible for its eventual commoditization. With this in mind, Anderson argues that the history of the production of mahogany is one of creative and destructive transformation, and that this production came at a high price.[2]

Anderson introduces mahogany as a one in a long list of Caribbean commodities, but claims that certain characteristics of mahogany made it distinctive from the history of other luxury goods that emerged in the West Indies. First, mahogany was durable and scarce. This meant that unlike consumable goods such as sugar and coffee, this resource could endure several generations of use and, if destroyed, could not easily be replaced. Additionally, mahogany had already derived significant value as a war material in both Spain and Britain. Navies from these two nations realized that mahogany did not rot and was shatterproof, and they had been using it on ships long before the wood became an aristocratic consumer demand.[3] Additionally, in this section Anderson demonstrates the effects that mahogany had on international relations. The English and Spanish often sent privateers to steal the mahogany each was sending back to Europe.[4]

These claims about the initial popularity of mahogany are used to establish the foundation of Anderson’s first chapter, one of the most important in her book. While exploring the roots of mahogany’s value, Anderson also uses this chapter to argue that mahogany’s transition into a luxury good hinged upon four factors: increased access to tropical commodities, decreased prices for mahogany, active engagement of merchants, cabinetmakers, and buyers in promoting mahogany, and an alignment of mahogany’s qualities with refinement. Collectively, these factors made mahogany more available for use by European cabinetmakers and increased demand for the wood throughout Europe.[5] Through her recounting the early stories of the changing perception of mahogany as a war material into a luxury commodity, Anderson effectively provides a platform upon which she can illustrate mahogany’s entrance into the American economy.

According to Anderson, by the time mahogany had reached the American colonies, it was demanded out of “sheer desire.”[6] This was because mahogany reflected many of the qualities of “refinement” and gentility that were desired among aristocrats in the late eighteenth century. The unique grain of mahogany, as well as the reflection the wood had after polishing, quickly made mahogany a luxury good of the upper class. Portraits of wealthy families during this period often showcased pieces of mahogany furniture among family members, demonstrating the importance the good had in denoting affluence. Anderson’s thorough use of eighteenth century art and other rich primary source evidence – including housing inventories – only strengthens her claims. As access to mahogany increased, many more middle class families purchased mahogany. This led the upper classes to buy multiple mahogany furnishings in an attempt to make a distinction from the middle class. At the dawn of the American Revolution, mahogany had become a definitive marker of colonial class status.[7]

Following the exponential rise in demand for mahogany from the American colonies, the British Empire sought to establish a permanent mahogany works in the West Indies.[8] This section of Anderson’s monograph is arguably her strongest it marks a definitive turning point at which the commercial boom for mahogany first met its imminent demise. After exhausting their original mahogany supply in Jamaica, the British tried to establish centers in the Bahamas, the Cayman Islands, and the “Ceded Islands” after the Seven Years War. Unlike Jamaica, however, these islands did not contain a large population of mahogany trees. Thus, the takeover of these lands resulted only in the displacement of the native populations of the islands and the unsuccessful creation of any permanent mahogany centers.

After nearly depleting the entire Caribbean mahogany population, the British made one final push at establishing a mahogany center in Belize at the Bay of Honduras, a Spanish owned region. Following several negotiations and disputes, the British took control of the Bay of Honduras mahogany site in 1798.[9] However, even with the acquisition of this mahogany rich region, the British failed regulate mahogany production. By the turn of the nineteenth century, mahogany was quickly being depleted in Belize. At this point, Anderson recognizes that the market for mahogany had submitted itself entirely to the demands of the British mercantilist system. Slave labor became increasingly crucial to the success of mahogany logging, and as a result mahogany became part of trading for slaves from Africa.[10] As Anderson notes, the “relentless search for mahogany exemplified the imperial drive to find, expropriate, and control people, space, and nature.”[11]

The second half of Anderson’s work emphasizes the production of mahogany amidst capitalism and technological innovation. The themes presented in this part of the book parallel several themes that are also introduced in Andrew C. Isenberg’s The Destruction of the Bison. In his book, Isenberg argues that the near extinction of the bison was caused by an amalgamation of economic, cultural, and ecological factors.[12] This is seen in his first chapter, as Isenberg credits the introduction of horses, livestock, and cattle into the Great Plains as critical factors leading to the displacement of the bison.[13]Similarly, the felling of trees and establishment of sugar plantations in Jamaica destroyed the natural environment of mahogany because the cane fields drained the soil of essential nutrients.[14]Additionally, Isenberg and Anderson agree that dependence on a single resource was extremely dangerous, though in different respects. Isenberg argues that the plummeting bison population of the nineteenth century made the survival of nomad groups in the Great Plains uncertain.[15] Likewise, in Mahogany Anderson recounts the story of the Card brothers, who depended on the successful harvest and sale of mahogany for sustaining their livelihoods.[16] Both men achieved minor success and epic failure, illustrating the high risk one faced when investing everything in the market of mahogany. Collectively, these stories represented parallel strands in the history of exploiting both bison and mahogany for individual gain.

Apart from their similar themes of ecological effects and risk in exploiting natural resources like mahogany and bison, Anderson and Isenberg also shared the compelling theme that Isenberg coins “the futility of riches and the fragility of nature.”[17] In a chapter titled “Mastering Nature and the Challenge of Mahogany,” Anderson states that the inability of “enlightened” men to recreate or replicate mahogany indicated “the limits of man’s ability to master nature.”[18] Mahogany, like the bison, had been so depleted that no amount of money, research, or effort could restore these resources to their previous presence in the Caribbean and North America, respectively. The destruction of both mahogany and the bison was a result of failed regulation because of a focus on economic competition. This competition, promoted by the capitalist economy present in North America, could be seen among the hide-hunters described by Isenberg, as well as in the failed mahogany dealer conglomerates formed among cabinetmakers in the Early American Republic. [19] Economic competition advocated the advancement of the individual at any means necessary, and this came at the cost of the near extinction of both bison and mahogany. In this way, Anderson argues that the inability to restore mahogany defied the Enlightenment belief that humans could master nature, and that oftentimes humans failed to realize the threats imposed on natural resources by capitalism. This continued through the industrial revolution.[20]

While their stories emerge from very different beginnings, Anderson and Isenberg both write historical narratives that demonstrate the costs of exploiting natural resources to near extinction. Since their near disappearance in the late nineteenth century, both mahogany and bison have made modest returns to their native landscapes. With that being said, both mahogany and bison have taken new roles in their respective revivals. Conservation efforts in the United States have redefined mahogany as “ornamentals rather than as future timber.”[21] Bison, on the other hand, have returned to become a part of the economy, but not of the environment.[22] These histories of the production of mahogany and the destruction of bison provide a clear image of the often short-term beneficial and long-term detrimental effects of “unsustainable exploitation” of natural resources.[23] Through their effective writing, both Anderson and Isenberg lead readers to consider how the American landscape, economy, and culture have been shaped from human interactions with the environment.

[1] Jennifer L. Anderson, Mahogany: The Costs of Luxury in Early America (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2012), 17.

[2] Anderson, Mahogany, 4, 17.

[3] Anderson, Mahogany, 7, 21.

[4] Anderson, Mahogany, 24.

[5] Anderson, Mahogany, 19.

[6][6] Anderson, Mahogany, 32.

[7] Anderson, Mahogany, 50-63.

[8] Anderson, Mahogany, 91.

[9] Anderson, Mahogany, 96-98, 113, 123.

[10] Anderson, Mahogany, 125.

[11] Anderson, Mahogany, 124.

[12] Andrew C. Isenberg, The Destruction of the Bison (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 1.

[13] Isenberg, Destruction of the Bison, 30.

[14] Anderson, Mahogany, 64.

[15] Isenberg, Destruction of the Bison, 121.

[16] Anderson, Mahogany, 154-155.

[17] Isenberg, Destruction of the Bison, 122.

[18] Anderson, Mahogany, 213.

[19] Isenberg, Destruction of the Bison, 163; Anderson, Mahogany, 205.

[20] Anderson, Mahogany, 249.

[21] Anderson, Mahogany, 314.

[22] Isenberg, Destruction of the Bison, 192.

[23] Isenberg, Destruction of the Bison, 198.

February 14, 2014

Final Paper Topic

“The Anthracite Alliances: Ethnic Divides in Northeastern Pennsylvania Coal Fields, 1850-1875”

While coal mining had existed in the United States since the early nineteenth century, the development of railroads and the rapid growth of American cities during the middle of the century heightened demand for coal. Anthracite coal fields were found in Northeastern Pennsylvania, and several coal mining companies emerged in this region. The plethora of jobs available as coal miners brought many American immigrants to Pennsylvania, and an ethnic partition of the region quickly ensued as the coal fields came to be dominated by men from Ireland, Wales, Italy, Germany, as well as a host of other European nations. Additionally, canals were carved out of the Pennsylvania landscape in order for mine companies to transport coal into cities like Philadelphia and New York. In my research, I hope to potentially answer some historical questions that arise from these events. I would like to discover how the rapid development of the coal region shaped the social dynamic of the anthracite region, and whether any racial tensions emerged between different ethnic groups, or even between miners and mine owners of different ethnicities. I might also like to find out how the creation of canals in Pennsylvania altered the landscape – both literally and demographically – and how it affected people – perhaps Native Americans – who were previously living on the land. In order to answer these questions, I would try to use a wealth of newspaper articles from the mid-nineteenth century to see how the attraction of coal created divided communities. I could also strive to find correspondence between mine or railroad owners. Lastly, I might like to find any foreign newspapers published at the time not only to learn about the sentiments of the groups of the anthracite region but also to signify the importance of ethnic connections in the coal fields.

February 9, 2014

Weeds – Europe’s Miracle Gro?

At first daunted at the task of reading about “The Biological Expansion of Europe,” I was pleased to find Crosby’s Ecological Imperialism an enlightening read about the “biogeographical advantages” Europeans held in their conquest of the “New World” (5). Within the book, Crosby investigates the success of what he calls “the portmanteau biota” of Europe, and explains that while humans were largely responsible for the spread of this biota, the success of European ecological imperialism was “a team effort” by plants, animals, humans, and even diseases throughout the “Neo-Europes” of the world (293).

I found Crosby’s argument about weeds the most interesting in this work. Crosby asserts that weeds were critical in the development of Neo-Europes, despite their perceived uselessness by settlers. I was convinced by Crosby that weeds were integral to creating a suitable environment for the portmanteau biota particularly because the encroachment of these foreign weeds upon (mainly) America and Australia was an injection of the Old World’s flora in the New World’s land. While the presence of these often-agitating plants may have disgruntled European agriculturalists, these weeds were consumed by the livestock that were also brought from Europe. Thus, these plants were likely familiar fare for the chickens and pigs that were brought to the New World, and could have contributed to their near immediate success in new lands. Weeds became especially important as land was overgrazed by cattle and overused by farmers in Central America in the sixteenth century (151-152).

Because weeds were opportunistic plants – as Crosby asserts – they grew rapidly in disturbed and nutrient deprived lands. Comparing weeds in the New World to the modern Red Cross, Crosby argues that weeds kept otherwise arid soils stable for the planting of crops in the future (168-169). With respect to my colleagues, I would like to add to Ian’s post about Europeans manipulating the land “towards their directives.” While Ian focused on the intentional shaping of the land for profit in examples like Australia and the production of sugar, I think Crosby also demonstrates the sheer luck Europeans had in establishing Neo-Europes. The presence of European weeds in the New World allowed many farmers to continue planting the same lands season after season. Without any knowledge on behalf of the farmers, the weeds were also helping to manipulate lands to theses farmers’ directives year after year. Without this inadvertent import from Old World European culture, the agricultural successes of the Neo-Europes may never have occurred.

I also appreciated Crosby’s definition of a “weed,” and I enjoyed how he employed the term throughout the rest of his work. According to Crosby, weeds spread rapidly and fought against other plants. They are not always disliked, and they are not always harrowing to the other organisms around them. (149-150). He notes that weeds are “colonizing plants,” similar in many ways to the colonizing European imperialists (170). Additionally, near the end of his book he concludes that the expansion of Europe was due in large part to weeds. “Weeds, in the broadest sense of the word,” Crosby argues, “are more characteristic of the biotas of the lands anciently affected by the Old World Neolithic than any others” (292). With this quote in mind, weeds were truly characteristic of the settlers that brought them to the New World – these humans were opportunistic, fought aggressively for their land, and were often (but perhaps mistakenly) seen as a torment by those who could not get rid of them.