<p>immadinosaur: Sorry. I read the entire thread front to back and didn’t remember seeing it, so I figured I’d ask anyway.</p>
<p>@amazeedayzee</p>
<p>try the “search this thread” thing at the top right. you can search for your question and every post with those words will show up.</p>
<p>found the gardening passage…</p>
<p>Like most Americans out-of-doors, I was a child of Thoreau. But the ways of seeing nature I’d inherited from him, and the whole tradition of nature writing he inspired, seemed not to fit my experiences. In confronting the local woodchucks, or deciding whether I was obliged to mow my lawn, or how liberal I could afford to be with respect to weeds, I was deep in nature, surely, but my feelings about it, although strong, were something other than romantic, or worshipful. When one summer I came across Emerson’s argument that “weeds” (just then strangling my annuals) were nothing more than a defect of my perception, I felt a certain cognitive dissonance. Everybody wrote about how to be in nature, what sorts of perceptions to have, but nobody about how to act there. Yet the gardener, unlike the naturalist, has to, indeed wants to, act.</p>
<p>Now it is true that there are countless volumes of practical advice available to the perplexed gardener, but I felt the need for some philosophical guidance as well. Before I firebomb a woodchuck burrow, I like to have a bit of theory under my belt. Yet for the most part, Americans who write about nature don’t write about the garden–about man-made landscapes and the processes of their making. This is an odd omission, for although gardening may not at first seem to hold the drama or grandeur of, say, climbing mountains, it is gardening that gives most of us our most direct and intimate experience of nature–of its satisfactions, fragility, and power.</p>
<p>Yet traditionally, when we have wanted to think about our relationship to nature, we have gone to the wilderness, to places untouched by man. Thoreau, in fact, was the last important American writer on nature to have anything to say about gardening. He planted a bean field at Walden and devoted a chapter to his experiences in it. But the bean field (which I talk about in my chapter on weeds) got Thoreau into all sorts of trouble. His romance of wild nature left him feeling guilty about discriminating against weeds (he rails against the need for such “invidious distinctions”) and he couldn’t see why he was any more entitled to the harvest of his garden than the resident woodchucks and birds. Badly tangled up in contradictions between his needs and nature’s prerogatives, Thoreau had to forsake the bean field, eventually declaring that he would prefer the most dismal swamp to any garden. With that declaration, the garden was essentially banished from American writing on nature.</p>
<p>I think this is unfortunate, and not just because I happen to stand in need of sound advice in the garden. Americans have a deeply ingrained habit of seeing nature and culture as irreconcilably opposed; we automatically assume that whenever one gains, the other must lose. Forced to choose, we usually opt for nature (at least in our books). This choice, which I believe is a false one, is what led Thoreau and his descendants out of the garden. To be sure, there is much to be learned in the wilderness; our unsurpassed tradition of nature writing is sufficient proof of that. But my experience in the garden leads me to believe that there are many important things about our relationship to nature that cannot be learned in the wild. For one thing, we need, and now more than ever, to learn how to use nature without damaging it. That probably can’t be done as long as we continue to think of nature and culture simply as antagonists.</p>
<p>Its definitely not wry disapproval… rueful confession or wistful nostalgia</p>
<p>For that, was it not asking for the tone of “With that declaration, the garden was essentially banished from American writing on nature?”</p>
<p>it was asking for those lines specifically. yeah.</p>
<p>damn… good job finding it online. only if we knew about this article before, eh?</p>
<p>sdy123, actually that line wasnt included. the “I think this is unfortunate”</p>
<p>it was the two lines before that at the bottom of the page.</p>
<p>Lol, I found the Uhmma passage</p>
<p>It’s on page 156…</p>
<p>i thought that rueful and disapproval basically have the same meaning but confession fits better than wry.</p>
<p>do you think a M-2, W-3, CR-3 will make NMSF? state of NY</p>
<p>rueful means regretful…</p>
<p>i put wry disapproval, but i see where you guys think rueful might fit. but i didnt really see it as a confession…</p>
<p>"…declaring that he would prefer the most dismal swamp to any garden. With that declaration, the garden was essentially banished from American writing on nature. </p>
<p>I think this is unfortunate…" </p>
<p>That has wry disapproval written all over it what are you talking about lmao</p>
<p>hate to repost, but does anyone with some experience know, </p>
<p>do you think a M-2, W-3, CR-3 will make NMSF? state of NY</p>
<p>@daniel6738</p>
<p>m -2 (because math was so easy) will be a pretty steep drop. expect 74 at highest.
w -3 will be a huge drop too, because writing was really easy, so expect 72-74.
cr - 3 will be 76-78 i predict. </p>
<p>so…i imagine your score will be 222-226 which will probably make it.</p>
<p>What would a -3 in Math be?</p>
<p>@jungrobilly</p>
<p>expect a 70 at highest.</p>
<p>Wait, then what would the lowest be?</p>
<p>it depends.
i would definitely say this year’s math was easier than last year’s, even though both were really easy.</p>
<p>last year’s -3 on math was 69 for both w and s forms, so probably around the same for this test. the psat curve doesn’t really change that much.</p>
<p>i think -3 will be lowest 700 highest 720… or maybe not… but the fact that -3 is in the 600s is rediculous</p>