Washington College Magazine
Ecology Watch: Borne to the Bay
By John A. Buettner '89
Called to protection of the world's greatest—and most endangered—estuaries, several Washington College graduates are doing their part to "Save the Bay" as educators and policymakers with the Chesapeake Bay Foundation.
Save the Bay? Bosh! Pave the Bay I say.
It's another manic Monday morning on Route 50, and this road is an autobahn on steroids. I approach the Bay Bridge with the same trepidation that every commuter in Queen Anne's County feels—what's it going to be today? A truck flipped over spilling its toxic contents, a commuter fender-bender, another billion dollar paving job?
As a mate aboard CBF's historic skipjack, The Stanley Norman, Paul Bayne '99 is a jack-of-alltrades: sailor, educator, scheduler, organizer...and waterman. But these oysters are dredged for education, not profit.
I cross the Bay Bridge in record time. For once, I got lucky. My wife drives this route every day from our home in Centreville to her job in Annapolis. I drive it too, less often, and I don't envy her. Sure, from the deck of the bridge the Bay is pretty, sparkling in the sun. Look at those nice boats. Must be fun to putt around in a boat all day. But this Bay can be a nuisance, too—all because somebody wants to live on one side and work on the other, and somebody else wants to visit it. And that flush tax. What's that all about? You might wonder why I am heading to the Annapolis headquarters of the Chesapeake Bay Foundation with this attitude of mine. Well, it's a work assignment. My editor thinks I might learn something about "the fragility of the natural ecosystem and what our alumni are doing to preserve and protect it." But what do I care where my steamed crabs come from, as long as those babies are hot and the beer is cold?
When I arrive at CBF's offices, the parking lot is full of hybrid vehicles. Uhoh. Welcome to granola land. Soon I am greeted by my party. It's Birkenstocks, cool shades and comfortable t-shirts vs. my khakis, button-down shirt and clipboard. Hey, didn't these people graduate from Washington College? This ain't workin'...
But, they aren't jaded, convenience culture suburbanites like me. As undergraduates, they fell under the spell of the Chesapeake Bay and were troubled by the onslaught of pollution, overdevelopment and overfishing that threatens the world's richest estuary. Now these grads are environmental stewards at the Chesapeake Bay Foundation. For more than a decade, the College has been a feeder school for environmentally conscious and socially responsible individuals committed to the CBF's mission. Nine alumni now work there—Lee Curry '61, Chris Dollar '88, Erin O'Neal '91, Andrew Wood '93, Dave Cola '95, Bart Jaeger '96, Matt Mullin '97, Paul Bayne '99 and Katy Bishop '04. Many more have moved through its ranks. And all have followed their own path to "Saving the Bay." Ugh. It's remote, isolated and inconvenient. "It's great!" according to Class of 2004 alumna Katy Bishop.
Katy Bishop '04 teaches the simple life to school children at Chesapeake Bay Foundation's Fox Island educational center near Crisfield.
Though she grew up amid the suburban sprawl of Baltimore, Bishop doesn't mind spending most of the year—March to December—leading an insular life on Fox Island. As manager of the CBF's facility on the archipelago located at the confluence of the Pocomoke and Tangier Sounds, Bishop leads small groups—sixth-graders to adult— through a living and learning experience that brings visitors closer to the natural rhythms of the Bay.
"I am from Towson and actually came to Washington College indirectly from CBF," she confides. "I was a senior in high school and didn't know where I wanted to go to college, but I went on a CBF trip and fell in love with it. I decided that day that I wanted to go to WC and major in environmental studies."
In her senior year of college, she discovered Fox Island through a CBF internship. After graduation she applied to become the assistant manager of CBF's program on Smith Island, but jumped at the chance to run the learning programs on Fox Island when the job became available last March.
CBF established the education center at Fox Island by restoring a 1929 hunting and fishing lodge. The structure rests atop pylons and is about a six-mile boat ride from the town of Crisfield. Nature has steadily eroded the chain of five small salt marsh islands, but it is here in the ebb and flow of the Bay's diurnal cycles that Bishop puts aside modern suburban life for one that is "completely green and self-sustaining." No wires or pipes connect it to the mainland, and solar panels provide electricity for a handful of lights, a refrigerator and the gray water system.
"There's no computer, no TV. We have solar power and a bicycle that we ride to operate a pump for water pressure for washing and showers."
Bishop spends her days leading school children and adults through the marshlands and beaches, setting crab pots, scraping for soft shell crabs, canoeing and exploring the intricacies of Bay ecology.
It's not unusual, she says, to return every evening "covered with mud from your head to your toes until all you can see is your eyes and your teeth," but the lesson is clear.
"We immerse people in the environment of the Bay to show them how complex and rich it is, but we also show them how little they need to survive." An over-dependency on technology and the overuse of natural resources are two of the detrimental side effects of living in a wealthy industrialized society, she notes.
"We show visitors that they don't need to consume so much—simply not flushing the toilet so often, not running a dishwasher, and taking shorter showers helps the Bay tremendously. The easiest thing to do is to conserve water. We're not smart about water use."
It was Fox Island that also brought another Baltimorean, Paul Bayne '99, to CBF. After his pre-orientation trip to the island as an incoming freshman, he never got the Bay out of his system. He studied biology and learned to sail on the Chester River. Now a skipjack program manager, sailor and educator, he spends six days per week out on the Bay aboard The Stanley Norman, CBF's 103-year-old skipjack that serves as the organization's flagship.
"With its roots deep in the oystering past of the Bay," Bayne says, The Stanley Norman is not just about taking the kids out on the Bay. Rather, it is history kept alive, which makes the "Save the Bay" mission real for CBF's supporters, not to mention the politicians and the decision makers whose policies will make or break the Bay's future. Real lives and livelihoods depend on it.
Bayne enjoys his life on the water, and probably would have preferred the life of a waterman in a different age. "When I first joined CBF, I worked in a traveling program, plying Virginia's waters in an old workboat piloted by an old man from Tangier, covering everywhere from Alexandria to Richmond. It was a great way to learn about the Bay, from a real-deal waterman who had worked on it day after day."
But it was Washington College that bound his own life to the Chesapeake. "I discovered that Washington College had the Bay on its doorstep, and that changed my life," says Bayne. He's not the only one. "It's a running inside joke here about the huge number of WC grads at CBF. He's proud of that.
After my morning's hypertensive commute, I must admit his stories of adventure were soothing my sore suburban soul. Somewhere beyond the bright lights and strip malls, there is a part of Maryland we haven't yet paved over.
Matt Mullin '97, who encouraged the College to develop an environmental studies major, now directs CBF's educational program.
Matt Mullin '97 was the College's first environmental studies major and a biology minor; today he is Education Senior Manager for the Chesapeake Bay Foundation, overseeing educational programs in Maryland, Pennsylvania and DC. Mullin is responsible for the CBF's educational programs that reach 40,000 people per year. Despite my preconceptions about hybrid- driving, tree-hugging, granola-eating environmental fanatics, Matt insists that CBF's approach is different.
"We don't teach environmentalism, we teach science through a hands-on approach that demonstrates practical applications in the best lab out there—the Chesapeake Bay," he says. "We gear our programs to support what science teachers are teaching in the classroom." So how do you make the Bay's problems relevant to people in other states not living directly on the Chesapeake?
"You have to base it in what is locally relevant to them," he explains. "For instance, middle or high school students from Pennsylvania who are out on our Susquehanna Watershed Education Program don't necessarily care about the Chesapeake Bay, but they do care—and we teach them to care—about their local tributaries and the Susquehanna River. The Susquehanna has a huge impact on the water quality of the Chesapeake." But I need simple facts, the brass tacks. What are the biggest issues facing the Bay? What can I do?
"The two overall issues affecting the Chesapeake Bay are sewage treatment plants and agriculture," he says. "Simply put, too many nutrients. We are working to find ways to reduce the nutrient load. You just have to remember that anything that anyone does within the watershed of the Chesapeake leaves an impact on the Bay, so any land use in the watershed is affecting the Bay. We don't want to work against agriculture, we want to cooperate with farmers."
But I am not a farmer, just one of the 16 million people who live in the Chesapeake's watershed. Whew, I guess I am off the hook.
Wrong.
"Actually, the most toxic land use in the Bay's watershed is the suburban lawn," Mullin explains. "The chemicals and fertilizers that make your lawn as green as can be also run off into the nearest storm drain which ultimately feeds into the Bay."
Like most people, I rarely think of these things. Who has time? But the message is clear from my conversations with this group. Saving the Bay is about consciousness-raising—and having enough conscience to accept that if I am going to live near the Bay, I am going to have to take some personal responsibility for it.
"As I see it," Mullin continues, "it comes down to an educated citizenry that is willing to act on behalf of the Bay as they carry out their daily lives. We're not against progress. We want progress but with a sustainable environmental focus. The very building we're in reflects that." He gestures to the CBF's "green" headquarters, the Philip Merrill Environmental Center—a structure built with the intent of harmonizing nature and civilization. That's where I meet Andrew Wood, Class of 1993.
A self-described Bay "native," Wood serves as the Facilities Senior Manager for CBF and takes pride in every inch of the foundation's headquarters. Situated south of Annapolis, overlooking the historic Thomas Point Lighthouse, the Philip Merrill Environmental Center serves as a beacon guiding us to the Bay's future as much as the old screwpile lighthouse guided ships in the Chesapeake's past.
Wood found his way to CBF "through a network of CBF members and Washington College alumni." Now the former American studies major travels throughout the Chesapeake region to maintain the CBF's 15 facilities for education and administration, but it is easy to tell the special pride and fascination he holds for the Philip Merrill Center.
Opened in 2000, the Center is more than a place to work, it's a way to live, and it embodies CBF's hope for a future in which civilization and nature can co-exist in harmony: recycled materials, ground source heating and cooling, photovoltaic panels to convert sunlight to electricity to conserve energy. Waterbased coatings and the gravel parking lot where all those hybrids are parked help water seep naturally back into the ground instead of run off and load the Bay with more sediments, chemicals and nutrients. All told, the 32,000-square-foot Center only uses about two-thirds the energy of a comparably sized office building.
"In everything we do here, we try to incorporate a low-impact, naturally-based approach," Andrew explains. "We actually try to get by without using any paints on the outside of this structure and use exposed, natural metal surfaces. The solvents in paints can leach out over time and run into the Bay."
The building is also designed to capture and use rainwater. Rainwater is collected on the roof and diverted into the large wooden cisterns on the front of the building; the water is used for all nonpotable purposes, such as washing hands or dishes, and fire suppression, too. But, as the son of a master plumber, it's the toilets that impress me. No water! "The self-composting toilets turn waste into compost. It needs to be turned weekly to absorb oxygen in order to break down," says Wood, "but it gets to a point where it can be used safely on your home garden. You'd be surprised at what it breaks down to volume-wise. They only have to be emptied once per year."
At the conclusion of my tour, Wood noted that architects and designers from all over the world visit the Center to study its principles. "This building is not only a working headquarters for CBF, it is an educational tool in itself, a lesson in 'green design.'"
Andrew Wood '93 believes green design can minimize the harmful impact of land development on the Bay.
I thanked Andrew and headed back to my car feeling something akin to pangs of conscience. As I drove back to the Eastern Shore, I remembered something Matt had said to me: "The Bay might look pretty on the surface, but you have to look below the surface."
Traffic was light on the Bay Bridge, so I was able to gaze on the Bay with a little more understanding. He was right, of course; most of us just see the surface. It is reassuring to know that we have advocates willing to take a deeper look at the Bay, to plumb the depths of its waters, explore the intricacies of its ecosystem, and teach people like me that our indifference is the real threat.
As I thought about my conversations with these alumni who have committed themselves to preserving this environmentally, culturally and historically rich estuary, I felt a connection to the Bay that I never felt before. It also occurred to me that the Chesapeake Bay has always been a zone of conflict—from the meetings between the Native Americans of the region and the first English settlers, to the armadas that drove up its length to quell the fledging Revolution and, then again, to reassert the power of the British Crown during the War of 1812. From watermen's wars over oyster harvesting rights to citizens lined up against developers poised to build along every shoreline for the coveted "water view," its history is one of conflict.
While the Bay' s bounty and beauty draw millions to its shores, we who cannot seem to live without it don't seem to know how to live companionably with it. But people like Katy, Matt, Paul and Andrew are willing to teach us. They are convinced the conflicts can be resolved, that we can learn to live with the Bay and pass it on to future generations, healthier and stronger than it has ever been before.
John Buettner '89 is Washington College's Director of Media Relations. He would love to install a composting toilet in his home.
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