Digital Humanities at Geneseo

My grandmother’s house in the countryside of Central New York has always been an escape for me.
With the exception of National Parks, visiting there was the closest I had ever gotten to almost complete isolation in the rolling hills.
Beyond the garden, I had never gone past the trails my grandfather had made.
So, when I had visited for holiday, and the weather was nice (and Winston the puppy needed a walk), I went up, and observed.

Stepping out of the house with the dog so many feet ahead of me (Springer Spaniels are hyper dogs), I took in the rolling hills as the sun began to set.
I saw the vast trees and the farm buildings many miles away.
The sound of horses broke my trance as I saw her neighbor’s horses grazing in the field.
Before I traveled further back I stopped in the wide front to see my grandfather’s apple trees (as well as his next door neighbor’s sheep).
They (being in springtime) weren’t ready yet.
So I made my way up the hill with the sheep’s call echoing behind me.

The garden’s bounty was yet to come (with me looking forward to an abundance of redcurrant and blueberry).
The peony bloomed outside near the start of the trail (which is shown here), courtesy of my grandmother.
Walking up the back trail, I could hear the neighbors cows in the distance, breaking the silence of the woods.
The tall grass was soft to the touch, in contrast to the small amount of mud that stuck to my shoe.
Once I reached a clearing, I looked around the small field where nothing had grown, but an old shed stood to the right near the edge.
I continued on the trail once I spotted a wild turkey ahead.

I ended up reaching the backwoods about five or ten minutes into my walk, looking out into the trees, spotting my grandfather’s tree stand.
As I continued walking, I found some wild leeks in the ground.
I ended up taking them with me, thinking it could be useful for salad.
I raced Winston down the hill, accidentally falling on my side, getting leaves and sticks in my hair.
Once I reached the clearing before the start of the right trail, I looked back out onto the vast hill, breathing in the fresh air, with a new perspective. [{.alignnone}](/wp-content/uploads/sites/8/2024/04/20190628_205222-260×300.jpeg)

Living on the outskirts of the Geneseo dormitories, I took it easily upon myself to walk a small distance around my residence hall (Seneca), circling the few surrounding buildings and observing small pockets of nature and wildlife. During this past week particularly, I have taken special interest in the flowering white trees around campus—the type of tree, I am unsure of, but its small blossoms decorate the landscape almost entirely, and quite endearingly, and although they do not smell strongly I think of them with immense pleasure and often stop and note any changes to their size or frequency. I quite like how their branches frame the sky, and how unsparingly the buds bloom; having not experienced Spring in Geneseo before, I have been sure to notice how here, there seem so many trees that flower—at home, really, all I’ve noticed is the dogwood in a few parks. The branches of these nameless trees are curved and layered, and they bend angularly, with many kinks. The blossoms form in clusters, almost like how lupine looks and tapers, spear-like, but more rounded, and carrying more weight at the bottom.
While looking at one of the white trees that line a parking lot, I heard distantly the skitter of paper on concrete and turned to watch as a piece of scrap writing moved on the ground from afar. Though at some points it drew wide turns and appeared as though it were about to fly off, it would often return to its resting position, momentarily flipping over but always repositioning itself in what appeared to be some sort of ceaseless cycle. As I lifted my gaze from the paper, I was startled to find people adjacent to me, picnicking—sprawled out on their blanket, talking—as they were hidden by a few bushes, and I was, I discovered, distracted.
Briefly, I caught a glimpse of a bird in some nearby shrubbery; the small tree it hid in was sparse and just beginning to thicken with spring. It did not stay long, but watching as it held itself up against the wind was almost meditative, and as it flew off I was reminded of the warming weather that was to be soon returning. Close by, too, there were robins scattered across the grass, and they prodded endlessly at the ground as if it were going to let anything up. I wondered at their success and continued walking.
As I was returning to my room, I came across a walkway that appeared a bit neglected. It was covered in a thin layer of moss, something I have realized, here, I do not see often. There is ivy, weeds, small plants, and plenty of daffodils—little moss, however. The moss being surprisingly close to an entrance I often utilized, I wondered how often I had failed to notice the things right in front of me, the subtle but incessant workings of nature.
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Taking a step into nature and a break from staring at a computer screen all day was breathtaking. My first step on the bridge was right at the entrance of the path. Walking along the trails into the depths of nature was calming to say the least. The sun was beaming off the trees and the air was breezy. It was wonderful to be able to experience something so quiet and calming. Standing there with nature surrounding every bit of me was honestly more relaxing than I ever thought it would be.

The bird chirping was the set of my mood as soon as I entered. Listening to the birds having conversations and seeing the dandelions dispersed throughout the scenery was something beautiful to witness. Getting a sense of the new spring season, the trees are turning and getting fuller by the day.

Listening in on the sounds and movements around me really puts into perspective how much I am missing out on when I am enclosed in a classroom all day. Hearing the different sounds of the squirrels scurrying through the bushes and leaf piles and observing all the different plants, I could get used to this.

What I noticed throughout my journey in nature was the involvement of all the different insects, birds, and a variety of animals. And then I came across a variation of different plants in which they were labeled. These plants were so unfamiliar to me. I bent down so I could get a better visual of these interesting things that consisted of nature. What could be the purpose of these plants? I thought to myself for a moment. I sat there and took it all in. Each plant was different in a very unique way. The Robin’s Plantain plants were newly buds that had completely bloomed. These small white flowers attract bees as to why there was a Bee Barn located directly across from these plants. The Robin’s Plantain brought me joy in many ways because daisies are my favorite flower and they reminded me so much of them.

Despite the joy I was given with the plants, the green grass was extremely overwhelming with color. I noticed that there were patches of stiff, old grass from the winter season but also new patches of brighter, greener grass. I made a personal connection to the thought of this new grass growing. The thought of even after a gloomy season of Winter the grass will continue to grow during the Spring season regardless of how brutal the weather affected nature. New trees were growing, new plants were prospering, and the animals were enjoying their homes that were made all throughout the natural world.

Nature is a beautiful thing and I realized that today when I took time to personally engage myself in the outside world. With the involvement of different animals, rodents, plants and how the weather treats nature, it is truly a remarkable experience to encounter. Step outside, put your phone away and enjoy the life nature has given us. The gift of nature will never go unnoticed.

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I stand on the wobbly dock, eyes trained on the water attempting to memorize every detail of its movement and being in order to write about it later. I note the rippling effect the wind creates on the smooth surface, and the once bright blue color fading to black as the sun sets behind me. As I am writing this all down I can not help but feel like this is too obvious, the water would be an obvious focal point for anyone in this spot, on this dock. I start to yearn to find a lesser known beauty, something looked over yet still breathtaking. For the first time since I arrived I tear my gaze away from the water and start taking in the things I had walked right past in my laser focused state of getting to the water.
I notice the rocks lying in wait underneath the shoreline, how the water turns transparent it seems just to put these rocks on display. Each one a slightly different color and shape, yet if you squint they all become one with each other dormant under the waves like an unlikely foundation. I notice the grass, the smell and appearance of it being freshly mowed, yet sections left to grow, allowed to blow in the breeze looking softer than wool. This grass is supporting the other onlookers I see before me, holding their blankets and baskets and bodies, yet all they can seem to focus on is the same water which dominated my gaze just shortly before.
But the thing that captured me like no other, was the tree domineering at the edge of the shore just off the dock, peering over the area as if it owned everything, the water, the rocks, the grass, even the people inhabiting it. It stood alone while the other trees grouped together, from this angle it looks taller than the rest although that may just be perspective’s little mind tricks. The sun sets directly behind it, its light seeping through the cracks between branches like water running through your palms, fast and flowing while simultaneously stagnant and slow. The branches are strong and opaque at the heart of the tree but as your eyes travel outwards the branches become smaller and fewer, translucence takes control and gives permission to the light to make its journey through.
This tree holds some sort of importance that I can not put my finger on, it holds itself like it knows something we do not. I wonder why the water is held much more divinely than the tree, why the water attracts visitors and not the tree. Is this what the tree wants? Is it intentional? Are we fools to think the water is the leader? Are we fools to think the tree is? Or are we fools to even think there is a leader to begin with? Maybe there is no larger meaning, maybe it is just some rocks, grass, water, and a tree.

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The tree stands about 20 yards away, in a little clearng next to the gazebo. I’ve spent the last 20 minutes
sitting quietly on the grassy lawn of the park and I’ve only just noticed it, blocking out all senses but the chirping of the birds. So when I finally crack open my eyes, I have to blink a bit to adjust to the afternoon sun. It’s a perfect cloudless day, but a chilly wind penetrates my double-layers, and I shiver. I look down at the notes I’ve jotted down so far:

– owl hooting (barn owl?)
– birds
– very green grass

The world is coming alive, as it always does after the harsh winter. I look around at the park, fixing my eyes on the tree once more. The tree’s vibrant pink flowers stand out against all the greens and blues. I stand up, stretch my legs, and begin to stroll towards the gazebo. When I reach the tree, I position myself directly beneath it and point my camera up. The branches unfurl out, allowing peaks of blue between the pink, until they disappear beyond the edges of the square frame. I take the shot, tuck my phone in a pocket, and sit down on the ground one more.

I’m happy to see about a half-dozen bees, buzzing around the flowers, pollinating. I’ve always liked bees. As a child, when all my friends would scatter in the presence of one, I would go completely still, letting the bee rest on my skin, trying to keep my breathing shallow, and my body relaxed. Every time, a few moments would pass, and the bee would float away again. I like to think they appreceiated my non-reactive approach, driven by fear though it was. I let the bees be and they let me be in return.

The tree itself is small, probably planted relatively recent. I feel slightly ashamed that I don’t know what it’s called, being the daughter of a forester with whom I went on countless walks in the woods growing up. As I gaze up, I observe the thinness of its branches, the smallness of its flowers. It seems rather fragile, bending easily in the slight breeze. Perhaps it’s the relative newness of spring that makes it seem so vulnerable, still fresh with the memory of a relentless cold. But the passing of the seasons guarantees many warm days ahead, those summer days when the winter is a distant memory. I imagine the tree growing sturdier as the days go by, until it stands strong and proud against the whipping wind of an August afternoon thunderstorm. It gives me hope, that I, too, can stand straight in the face of the seasons ahead.

I stay here a few minutes more, eyes and ears alert, waiting patiently for something else to observe. But it’s still early and the earth is waking up slowly, so I sit up, gather my things, and begin to walk away, making sure to brush the bark one last time.


As I headed outside of my house in an attempt to be with nature, it took a long walk to truly be without the buildings, powerlines, houses, etc. I headed out to see something beautiful which is exactly what I found. After walking about a mile and a half, past the chaos of Main Street, I finally found a place of solace with trees, plants, and open grass. The small park on the end of Main Street, although still somewhat close to the hustle and bustle of town life, was a small getaway in its own right.

As I sat down underneath a giant tree, I made an active effort to put my phone down and observe the things around me. The first thing I noticed was the sounds I was hearing. The spring has brought beautiful sounds of birds to life and when looking up at the sky, I saw birds soaring from tree to tree and robins looking for worms in the grass. The grass itself was cold and fresh, as it had rained the day before. The sky was blue and nearly cloudless as if everything bad had been cried out by the clouds the day before. The breeze was light, causing the leaves to sway in the wind and create a light whooshing sound. It was, by almost anyone’s definition, a perfect spring day.

I decided that to take a different approach to view the nature around me, I would lie down underneath the big tree to see what I would find. When studying the tree closely, I began to notice just how unique it was. Instead of leaves, the tree was composed of thousands of tiny white flowers that made up the mass of a huge tree. There were hundreds of little clusters of flowers, about six in each cluster that made up what would normally be leaves. The flowers were tiny and delicate, something I found surprising. I felt amazed that something so little could withstand the ruthlessness of nature. Wind, rain, storms, and blazing sun all seem like they could destroy the tiny flowers. After looking down at the ground underneath the trees, my feelings had proven to be correct, as there were tiny petals dusted across the grass. Although they are flowers, I was surprised by their lack of scent. They were simply a visual sight to enjoy.

After observing the tree for quite some time, I began to notice something else peeking through the sky. The moon was coming out for the night and although it was slight, since it was still early, it looked beautiful next to the white flower tree. In the shape of a waxing crescent, it was a typical moon, but not unable to be appreciated.

One of the final things I noticed since it was also in my view was a pine tree that seemed to be something out of a cartoon. Instead of sticking out, the branches drooped downward, as if the weight of the needles was too much for the branch to bear. The overall downward slope of the tree gave an ominous feel, much different than the delicate tree that stood beside it. It felt as though the trees came from two different worlds, one a more forgiving place than the other, however beautiful in their own ways. By stopping and looking more closely at nature through a different lens, there is much to observe that may have gone unnoticed otherwise.


My learning in this course so far as exposed me to the depths of english literature, books, novels, and how the digitalization of books has changed how I personally view literature. In the beginning of the semester, we read and discussed *Broad Band* by Claire L. Evans, which tells the untold stories of women who broke barriers and were early programming pioneers. Learning about their contributions to computing, programming, and the internet was knowledge I wasn’t fully aware of.

After our discussions about Broad Band, we started to experiment with GitBash and our Visual Studio Code. I was confused with where the course was going. It felt as though there was a shift in the course, and suddenly we were no longer talking about the women who created these programs, we were actually doing it ourselves. I struggled to understand what the connection was between the english discipline and something as complex as coding. This was a really big switch for me. Growing up I was someone who found a lot of comfort in my daily reading and writing. I never found coding or programming of any sort to be of any real interest. In my head at the time, there was no connection between the two, and I decided to keep it that way up until I attended college.

I was very disinterested in coding and programming because I didn’t really understand it. At one point, my parents enrolled me to take a coding class it felt like I was being pushed into a space I was not quite ready for, because I had no knowledge on how these skills related to what I wanted to do in the future. I found myself questioning the relationship between english and coding, how it would directly benefit my future as an english major and wondering why it mattered for someone like me to learn about this.

When we opened up our GitBash and started creating folders and files, I realized that this was not as complicated as I thought I was. I was being stubborn and unwilling to open my abilities to something new. By enrolling in this class, I realized that my skills are neither above nor below anyone else in the classroom. Realistically, we are all in the same boat!

This class helped me realize that there is a deeper meaning in what we are doing. The history goes back further than I could have imagined. I also realized that I am not alone in this process. 7 years ago, I was completely unaware on how serious the digital world was getting. I have so much more to learn about the connection between english and coding. Coding is a language within itself and requires a different level of writing to understand. There will be a lot of things I will struggle to understand, but these are just small bumps in the road.