Some may call it Red Rocks, some may call it Southwest Burlington, some may even call it Red Rocks Park. I am one of those people. My site was never something I connected with, presumably so since I am not a sentimental person. In all honest, I did this post and the one before it in the same day. Knocking out two assignments at once is smart, but I do think I should have earnestly went to Red Rocks with the intention of it being an emotional journey. The thing is, I would not have been emotional no matter what the context was.
The large oak tree resting next to an old residential pipe could easily be deemed as my phenology spot, but it is not mine. I went to a space with other people, a place that has been visited by thousands of people before me and thousands more to come. How could I possibly call this place mine? It was a fun experience to go back to this location every once and a while, but I cannot lie and say I enjoyed myself.
What Has It Done for Me Lately?
As you may or may not already know, the beacon of my phenology spot is a very large red oak tree. It rests next to a laughably small ravine carved by a leaky old pipe. Nothing is new since the first visit.
Other than the obvious leaves falling and tide rising, I have not seen a tree plummet or a fence built. I cannot imagine that it’s a place for care.
To the right would be a sketch of my spot that I spent 15 minutes on, but this terrible blog making site won’t let me put any images in for lord knows why. So just pretend there’s a picture, or don’t, I don’t care.
Funny How Time Flies
I really have nothing more to say about Red Rocks. I never loved it, and I will never think about it again. Culture doesn’t intertwine with nature here at all, actually, which is why it’s so awful.