Essays from West of 98: The Genius of Our Places
“Consult the genius of the place in all;
That tells the waters to rise, or fall;
Or helps th’ ambitious hill the heav’ns to scale,
Or scoops in circling theatres the vale;
Calls in the country, catches opening glades,
Joins willing woods, and varies shades from shades,
Now breaks, or now directs, th’ intending lines;
Paints as you plant, and, as you work, designs.”
Alexander Pope was an 18th century English poet and gardener who, among other things, coined the phrase “Genius of Place.” This idea has become a key principle of landscape architecture, that a design should fit within the context of its place.
Wendell Berry has often applied Pope’s Genius of Place to agriculture. Forests, grasslands, deserts, and wetlands usually exist in nature for a reason. In each of those places, there is a certain, unique beauty that arises from the natural fit of landscape, climate, flora, and fauna, and their relationship to one another. Consequently, agriculturists should consult the genius of place and act accordingly. We see this in the successes and failures of our forefathers. Cotton works as a cash crop in West Texas because it is suited for the semi-arid climate. On the other end of the spectrum, the Dust Bowl still haunts the memories of towns across the plains.
The same principle applies to revitalizing our rural communities. Last week, I wrote of my trip to the San Luis Valley of southern Colorado. The genius of that place is easy to spot: the largest sand dunes on the continent, the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, snow-fed streams, brilliant aspens, bugling elk, and more. Local, state, and federal leaders have worked hard over the decades to consult that genius, and as a result, it attracts over half a million tourists each year. Not every place has those qualities. That is neither good nor bad. It merely reflects the unique genius of each place.
Almost two years ago, I bought a kayak for a new source of exercise and relaxation. Since then, the kayak has sat in storage. I am slightly embarrassed to admit that, but I am also honest enough to level with my readers. As I shared last week, physical challenges can intimidate me. I doubt my abilities. But on the return from the Strenuous Life Retreat, I vowed that enough was enough. If I could push myself on some challenging hikes, I could paddle my butt around a lake with still water. So I did just that on Saturday morning. I unloaded my kayak on College Lake, a small lake on the edge of Stamford. I paddled from shoreline to shoreline, across the open water, and into inlets choked by cattails (of which we have too many, but that’s civic improvement for another essay). I considered the view of the lake from the surrounding area and vice versa. I went back on Sunday morning and I pondered this essay as I watched the sun rise. I ran in to my friends Preston and Sarah who were on a sunrise bike ride down our red dirt roads.
When we think of small towns with potential for significant outdoor recreation, our mind runs to the mountains and the beach, not farm towns on the plains. But why not? All those “cool” towns that you dream to visit? They weren’t cool until they were. Spend a weekend morning paddling a kayak or gravel biking around Stamford and you’ll see that it has far more outdoor recreation potential than you might think. I dare say it’s not the only farm town with potential like that.
Some people will tell you that the sun is setting on rural places. Yet, there is an inherent genius in each such place. Wendell Berry writes in “The Art of Loading Brush” that in using land, one cannot know what they are doing until they know the place in which they are doing it. If we stop, look around, and truly come to know our rural place, we’ll find that it has more potential than even we realize. Stamford is not the San Luis Valley. It doesn’t need to be. Each rural place is unique, special, and full of genius. If we tap in to that genius, we might find the sun is only beginning to rise on our community’s potential.
James Decker is the Mayor of Stamford, Texas and the creator of the West of 98 website and podcast. Contact James and subscribe to these essays at westof98.substack.com and subscribe to West of 98 wherever podcasts are found.