Through the course of my PhD research, I found myself escaping with increasing frequency to parks of different kinds in the cities I made home.
With little attention given to the links that interconnect the pieces we have created, problems arise when trying to reconnect that puzzle. At these moments, we venture into the murky realm of interdisciplinary research.
After sharing that I came to Yichun for my dissertation research on forestry history of the People’s Republic of China, I was told that I came to the wrong place.
It was with a certain amount of trepidation that I signed up for a taxidermy class. I am researching nineteenth-century British taxidermy production and wanted some hands-on experience.
It just did not sit right anymore to go on all these research trips. That’s when I calculated the Carbon Footprint of my project until thus far.
Looking back, my fascination with museums has clearly played out in my doctoral research on emerging relationships between humans and nonhumans under ecological emergency. Unsurprisingly, the natural history museum is one of the most fraught sites in which these relationships have historically been constructed.
When I worked for a rock climbing gym in Denver, Colorado between college and graduate school, I never asked my van-dwelling coworkers what they thought about living out of their vehicles across a fence from people experiencing homelessness.
To flesh out the labor between humans and animals, I sometimes find myself struggling to write between the “real” and “representational” interactions I experience on farms and see on paper in the archive.
Why do we tell those eerie stories, the ones we share at social events? Ghost stories often reveal more about a community’s concerns at a specific point in time. One such example can be found in suburban Melbourne, Australia.