Hoosac Tunnel Visit

This is my first time visiting Hoosac Tunnel. We thought we knew where we were going but we were definitely not in the right location when we first set off on… Read More

This is my first time visiting Hoosac Tunnel. We thought we knew where we were going but we were definitely not in the right location when we first set off on first. Second time trying to find the dirt path, completely covered by snow, was much more successful. We parked the car in a plowed spot and started our adventure. To our right: a small building. We made a note to visit it on the way back to the car. Our main focus was to just get to the tunnel.

Stumbling along up towards the tracks, I was excited to see them stretch out to my left and my right. We go right, wondering if this was the direction we needed to head towards to get to the Hoosac Tunnel. The crisp snow crunched under my boots. I run forward arms out on both side, the contents of my backpack jumping around as I stumbled forward trying, and failing, to keep my balance. I’m sure I looked like a little kid running home from the bus stop. We didn’t actually cross the tracks but we did note a small stream on the other side and not long after we noticed another possible stream on our side of the tracks (after almost stepping directly into it).

Walking up to the tunnel, the West Portal to be exact, was not as “creepy” as I had expected. Looking back on the moment I feel like that may have been because of the snow that covered everything in the area. It’s hard to understand just how large the tunnel is until you’re standing at the entrance. It becomes even clearer when you see someone else standing at the entrance. The tunnel was decorated in graffiti and a common tag found locally: “You’re going to be okay” was just on the outside of the tunnel. The inside of the tunnel looked unwelcoming. The snow itself didn’t dare to venture inside the endless darkness.

Unexpectedly, we found that the closer we got to the tunnel, the warmer it got. I have had friends describe the tunnel to me beforehand and everyone always describes the tunnel as freezing, especially in the winter. The air seemed to stand still beside the tunnel. Maybe it was the history of deaths in the “Bloody Pit” (as the tunnel is sometimes referred to) that added to the eerie feeling while standing just outside. But the longer I stood there, the more I was able to dismiss that uneasy feeling and enjoy exploring the outside of the tunnel, making excited remarks about the most unexciting things: the track wasn’t directly in the middle of the tunnel but closer to the side, closer to the small stream. Why?

We decided to backtrack before stopping by the building near the car. There was a brick building falling apart just above the tracks. Was this where they originally tried to bore into the mountain? There was a hole filled with dirt. It looked like there were tracks on the ground. The corner of the roof was missing. I have no idea what this place was actually used for. Maybe it was built over the original site and then was used for other purposes later on? I’m really unsure of what to think about it as of right now.

Between the two unknown buildings: beavers. I have never felt so excited about beavers before in my life. We didn’t see a beaver, but after identifying a tree that was clearly gnawed on, we ran back and realized we had walked right past a dam without realizing it was even there. I don’t know what it was about that particular experience that made it so exciting when we didn’t even see a beaver. I had seen a beaver walking down my street once and didn’t think anything of it. But here I was, jumping like I was having the time of my life (I was), pointing at the dam repeatedly.

We took a look into this smaller structure, and the first thing we see: “you are going to be ok” again. This area feels secluded from the rest of town, but the tag reminds us of where we are, that even though we aren’t surrounded by people, people have been here and people will be here. Despite the graffiti in the three locations in this area, there was no litter that we could see, and the area did not look like it had been destroyed by people visiting. I hope the snow melts by the time we visit the tunnel again so we can take a closer look at the area.

 

 

I hope the beavers are having a good winter.

Bent Creek Excursion

Winding down the smooth asphalt descent into the experiential wilderness, bike clipped to my trunk, I decided to go a little farther into the depth this time around. Engine grinding up… Read More

Winding down the smooth asphalt descent into the experiential wilderness, bike clipped to my trunk, I decided to go a little farther into the depth this time around. Engine grinding up the hills I have entered Bent Creek, established in 1925. This is an experiential forest encompassing 6,000 acres of the Pisgah National Forest, studying the growth of planted oaks and hardwoods.  I thought my phone and I needed some space but forgot that was my only way to take pictures so sadly you will not be able to see it.  Driving down here on a sunny weekend means cars lined up with bikes and slobbery puppies jumping out trunks and moms running after their little toddlers wobbling into the woods.

These trees here are on display like a mannequin in a clothing store. All observed, watched, but by scientific eyes. This is an experiment anyways, roots held and nurtured by man’s hand. Pulling up into the parking lot, I felt like I was showing up late to a party. Hikers and bikers clad in 2014 festival t-shirts and farm-to-feet wool socks unloading their precious cargo (puppies, babies, and bikes.) The highway drone has dulled to a faint woosh. Only heard if you listen for it, a faint engine roar reminding me I’m not allowed to forget I’m an animal of the concrete jungle.

I noticed Colorado, Utah, and New Hampshire license plates and asked the Colorado guy with a faded orange beard and gray tights under black mesh shorts what he was doing out here and he said simply “just hitting up some trails.” I realized he was looking at me expectantly, being the semi-native with a Virginia license plate, I quickly summed up the only trail I’ve loyally ridden the past year or so. Seeming satisfied with that piece of information he pedaled away. Everyone’s just trying to get a piece of life out here. Clipping into my bike I headed down a flat gravel path as well, rocks churning and gurgling beneath my wheels, hoping to discover new trails without getting too lost.

Feeling a little less like a roaming pedestrian on their day off and more like a scientific investigator, I jumped off my bike when I noticed a curious silver glint 10 feet off the path. As if strapping on my chem lab goggles I discerned the fence of metal to be purposeful, not left out here to fend for itself but could not figure out why.  I then I realized I was surrounded by about 5-10 year old oak trees, same height, same species, equal distancing. This doesn’t seem like natural primary succession, but whatever floats these rangers boats I guess.

Wandering through the baby oaks my foot slips into a modest creek.  I watch our liquid life flow in casual canorous curls through the slimy decomposing leaf bed. It is February yet I smell awakening.  The magnetic pull of hydrogen bonds glide my arms across their cool filmy surface. My limbs, feeling like branches, dance on it’s tension. Sterile skin sliding off onto the banks and eddies, my arms now crawl with microorganisms and mud. Relieved not to be hiding from my roots behind closed doors, my pores open and seep out my purest essence. This is a classic North Carolina woods, naked trees spaced out on top of a thick layer of brown leaves, churning with chipper squirrels, laced with creeks that used to carry creepy crawlers but now glint with aluminum. I sure am filled with romanticism for the natural but where would I be without it?

. Hours later I arrived back at my car, shooting out of a steep trail coincidentally right where I parked, feeling proud of my navigation skills I put my bike back on the car, feeling wild and drenched in bloody cuts and mud from “accidentally” falling into the mud.  I laugh at the beauty of it all.

The road in here abruptly lead out to blaring civilization and with that….the urge to shower.

The Blue Ridge Parkway

The mountains here are ancient. Once, millions of years ago, they stretched snow capped peaks as high as the Rockies. Time, and the water and wind that it carried, has… Read More

Perspective View of Proposed Park to Park Highway Through North Carolina, 1934. Courtesy of the North Carolina State Archives.

The mountains here are ancient. Once, millions of years ago, they stretched snow capped peaks as high as the Rockies. Time, and the water and wind that it carried, has dulled their sharp peaks into gentle, rolling earth. Now, well-worn and wrinkled, they descend back into the folds of the earth.

These mountains are the deepest blue, a color of shadows, and bear the name of their color. As they undulate towards the horizon, their deep blue fades so the furthest mountains are almost the same shade as the overcast sky. Like an unmade bed, their wrinkles and folds are soft, cradling one of the most biodiverse regions in the temperate world. When glaciers retreated at the end of the Pleistocene epoch, they left the vestiges of a much colder climate in the spruce-fir forests that now blanket only the mountaintops. The widely variable elevation of these mountains supports the growth of forests that are usually restricted to northern climates as well as one of the richest concentrations of salamander biodiversity on Earth.

Along the Blue Ridge Parkway, I feel the magnitude of the mountains as the road traces their contours. I am on a large scale now, observing passing mountains and counting time by the wooden signs that mark each passing mile. Ahead, the road is blocked because of snow and I continue on foot.  

There is the chatter of a stream alongside the road, swollen from winter melt. If you were to sit along its banks, you would be hidden from the road, sheltered within the arms of drooping rhododendron and the trunks of young trees. I descend towards it and sit in a hollow within the roots of an oak, the pull of the water an inch from my feet.

stream

From a car traversing the Parkway, you see only bare trees and thin, spreading grass that clings tightly to the earth, ducked beneath oncoming wind. But there is so much more to see. It is winter, and most living things have retreated from the cold; it is still apart from the water, the rush of life slowed, its colors muted. There is a skeleton of Queen Anne’s Lace here, a cluster of stonecrop cascading towards the stream bank, sumac holding only a bundle of drupes and, beneath it all, a blanket of last fall’s leaves. Most of the green is from ferns that line the water and rhododendrons crowded above them.

But the plants whisper of spring. I can smell their murmurs as the soil thaws, a yawn of life stretching from slumber. Just beneath the leaves is the growth of new ferns. They are curled into themselves, yearning and impatient as if within a moment, their coils could spring open to unravel skyward. But for now, they wait until spring brings warmer days.

Back along the road, there is more water, locked into crystalline ice as it cascaded down a rock face. Even this ice speaks of spring; as I walk closer I can hear the rapid drip of water released from its tips. Beneath the ice, melting water mimics the flow tadpoles, rushing across the rocks and into the soil below. Clouds are gathering overhead and across the mountains; they will release more water tomorrow. I feel the mountains opening in anticipation of rain, readying themselves for water that will flow through their veins to feed the growth of spring.

The Blue Ridge Parkway grew from the need to employ workers during the Depression mixed with rising rates of automobile ownership among American families. Stories like Kerouac’s On the Road and Pirsig’s Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance speak to the way that road travel is embedded in the American imagination; in a road trip, the road is as much a destination as the journey itself.

The roadway of the Blue Ridge Parkway, situated within a narrow corridor of National Park land, offers travelers a scripted view of the ancient Blue Ridge Mountains within a frame of a car window. There is inherent duality in that interaction, where the “nature” exists on the other side of the glass. To leave your car is to become part of the narrative of a changing landscape where time is measured by seasons, the thawing of ice, the ebb and flow of mountains.

Genesee Greenway Exploration

  The air was cold and the skies were a dreary gray as I got out of my car to venture onto the Genesee Greenway for the first time. I… Read More

 

The air was cold and the skies were a dreary gray as I got out of my car to venture onto the Genesee Greenway for the first time. I was in the small rural town of Mount Morris, parked right off the main road, and I was intrigued to discover how this nature path would morph into the immediate civilization that surrounded it. As I set out on the trail, I immediately became hypercritical of the place, picking up on the old beer cans, cigarettes and fast food wrappers mingled in with the trees and fallen branches and the sound of a nail gun intermingled with a distant bird call. The trail wound itself right through the edge of town, passing in close contact with the backyards of homes, war memorials, bowling alleys and laundromats. At some points, the houses were so close that I had a lingering feeling I was trespassing, walking past mobile homes and easily peering into the small and cluttered kitchens. At one point along the trail, large concrete foundations of an old home sat on the side of the path, and I thought about whether the building of this trail uprooted these people from their home, in an ironic human-induced version of nature’s take-back of civilization.

I imagined this place in the spring, when the sun would shine through the full, green trees, blotting out the nearby street and the small, rural poverty that ran alongside it, and I imagined that this trail could present some kind of elusive escape from its immediate surroundings, but today with the bleak gray February skies and the bare trees, the harsh reality of the trail’s surroundings really challenged my thinking of this place as nature. To see nature as a thin line intruded upon by an all-encompassing human society made it difficult to see how this place could offer an escape from society. To me, this place reminded of me of various parts of the canal by my house, where teenagers would go to hide from their parents and smoke cigarettes and drink stale beer, rather than a place to find solace and experience the outdoors.

I departed from this first section of the Greenway in search of something more familiar and suited to my expectations, and I drove in the direction a county park in the area, parked my car, and descended a very steep, slippery hill to find the path crossing through the trees of this park. A steep hill covered with trees and leaves ran along one side of the path, concealing the houses above and the sounds of the street, while farmland ran alongside the opposite side. I heard the wind rustling through the trees and the sound of water melting and dripping in the swamp-like area that ran immediately on one side of the path. As I was walking, a bright red male cardinal chased a female cardinal across the path.

In this place, all seemed right and aligned with my ideas of nature, yet it bothered me why these disparities between the two parts of the trail existed and why I could not reconcile the first part of the trail with the idea of nature. To see this trail as a continuum rather than discrete parts could offer a metaphorical answer to the acceptance of nature and society as ends of continuum, in which the majority of our world today lies somewhere within the middle of these two ends. In a world that is decreasingly less wild and increasingly more civilized, it seems like places like these might offer a solution as to how we can alter our stereotypical view of nature in order to make nature more accessible.

Natural, Artificial, Expensive

 First, I do believe a good vent is in order. Number one, why can’t I add plug-ins to my WordPress Blog? Why did my Timeline photos all decide to… Read More

First, I do believe a good vent is in order. Number one, why can’t I add plug-ins to my WordPress Blog? Why did my Timeline photos all decide to be too small? They weren’t small before. Why are online guides always so out of date compared to the current versions? Mysteries I will never solve…

As for the process of using digital tools, I am skeptical but intrigued. I actually had a friend who was hired to do a major digital media project for the city of Camrose. It was entitled Boomtown Trails or something to that effect, and basically, the thinking was to use digital tools to make history more contemporary and accessible. I remembered thinking, “wow, that seems like a massive waste of time.”

I always felt like the people that care about the history of Camrose are people in their 70’s who wish to return to the days when you could still be blatantly racist on tv. And as for contemporaries, that demographic is comprised of roughnecks, University employees, and people who have a yearly yoga-pant budget of $10,000. Who is out there thinking, “man, I really wish Camrose would spend thousands on some digital project, that would sure disrupt the stranglehold the cult of hockey has on this city.”

I still carry many of those beliefs with me today. Who is this for? Who’s mind will be changed that isn’t already? My hope waxes and wains, and in this season, it is waining. The scope of the problem drives my cynicism, my current circumstances poisons my paradigms. Yet, unexplainably, I feel… pretty good. And as I said in the onset, I am intrigued. I can’t even explain why, and that contributes to the excitement of the whole thing. And the last time I felt excited is when I woke up hung-over and remembered I had left-over Chinese food in the fridge. The process of building the timeline was even kind of fun, in a strange, infuriating way. Will my project have any meaningful impact? Doubtful. Will it even be worth the effort I put in? Questionable. Will I grow as a person through the effort? For sure that’s a maybe. But like I said, I am intrigued. And I do like being intrigued.

Natural Bridge

  Most of the archival documents that were located were from the North Adams Public Library but were all newspaper clippings or pamphlets of the location (some with varying differences… Read More

 

Most of the archival documents that were located were from the North Adams Public Library but were all newspaper clippings or pamphlets of the location (some with varying differences in information on the Natural Bridge). I have been in contact with a professor on the MCLA campus in hopes that he has some more information on the Natural Bridge. While I am currently waiting to hear back from the Environmental Studies professor, I did get to look through said newspaper articles and do some online research. Most the research that turned up online was not particularly backed by any confirmed sources but a general knowledge. I am currently looking for the exact words that Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote about Natural Bridge. A local historian seems to have some useful information regarding this, however with previous experience looking into his work, I am unsure how much of it was accurate so I decided against using his work until I can meet with the professor. I am excited to update the timeline after meeting with him seeing as I do enjoy this particular template (I have used it several times for history and research classes).

The materials that I was able to come across at the public library have increased my interest in the location and have motivated me to continue reaching out to others for resources. Currently the state park is closed so there are no tours. The park opens late in May so as of right now I am trying to reach out and see if it is possible to still schedule a tour, and if it is not, if someone is willing to answer a couple questions over the phone about Natural Bridge since the state site provides little detail on the location.

As I already said, I have used this particular template/program before and after familiarizing myself with it once more I can say that I still enjoy it. It helps organize thoughts and keeps the dates in order so you don’t have to flip back and forth trying to manually organize everything on your own. I think that for this project it is incredibly beneficial to utilize this program. I think that StoryMap (which I have never had the opportunity to use) would be beneficial for Natural Bridge if we had photographs of the arch, the dam, the gorge, the open space, the sculptures… I think that once we make the trip over and take photographs it will be interesting to see how it looks using StoryMap. We are planning to head over soon to see if the sound installation is still being used/ if it is still running despite the state park being closed.

I’m excited to gather more information and personal photographs on Natural Bridge in the next few days.

 

The Genesee Valley Canal/ Greenway

Archival work done on the Geneseo Valley Canal (turned railroad, then later turned hiking trail) was done through special archives sources and internet resources, mainly Flickr and Youtube. The narrative arc of this land spans nearly two hundred years, starting in the 1830’s when the idea of building a canal to Rochester from the communities … Continue reading The Genesee Valley Canal/ Greenway

Archival work done on the Geneseo Valley Canal (turned railroad, then later turned hiking trail) was done through special archives sources and internet resources, mainly Flickr and Youtube. The narrative arc of this land spans nearly two hundred years, starting in the 1830’s when the idea of building a canal to Rochester from the communities of the Genesee Valley was funded by the state. Nearly forty years later, though, the canal was essentially unused and abandoned. Different legislators in the area proposed the idea of turning the old canal into a railroad, and the idea was supported by many of the newspapers in the area.

I couldn’t find any sources about what happened between the railroad being built and now, but something obviously changed. That path of the railroad/ canal has now been changed into a 90 mile hiking trail, which partially passes Letchworth State Park. What’s really interesting I think, and I’d like to explore this more in the future, is how this place of a human-made mass transport was slowly transformed into a “natural” (or maybe just natural? minus the quotations) area. That transition begs the question of  what will happen to our highways or our airports two hundred years from now? Will those places become natural as well? Or is there no real use between defining man-made and natural, if it all will eventually be seen as natural one day?

 

Testing StoryMap

Walking around Mirror Lake in the winter is not cold because of the snow. As a park, the paths are routinely cleared, though a few packed snow tracks reveal the passing of bobcats which recently ground away the serenity. The darkness of the paved path almost feels like a gaping tunnel around the park, drawing …

Continue reading “Testing StoryMap”

Walking around Mirror Lake in the winter is not cold because of the snow. As a park, the paths are routinely cleared, though a few packed snow tracks reveal the passing of bobcats which recently ground away the serenity. The darkness of the paved path almost feels like a gaping tunnel around the park, drawing your gaze from the blinding white surrounding you.

The cold lashes out from the wind and deceptive sunshine, both biting your cheeks and burning your skin. The cold stems from a sense of time running out, aware you need to be across several city blocks and seated in a classroom in twenty minutes. The cold contrasts with a growing frustration at the lack of information available, despite the kindness of the individuals you have spoken to. And then you find it.

Tucked in front of a skeletal bush just off the path, sitting at hip-height and covered in snow you see an information signpost. You may just race up to it so fast you slip on a hidden glimmer of ice and crash into the bush, now tangled in dormant branches and dusted in snow. You may just hesitantly clop towards it, your boot soles by now more than frozen. Anticipation builds. What piece of Mirror Lake history will the humble little sign hold which the City Engineer did not know, which the City Secretary had no information for, which the Chamber of Commerce Office Administrator could only guess at?

Mittens at the ready, you gently brush at the snow, which trickles out onto the snowy lake, dancing around the cleared hockey rinks and little red nets. Beneath the snow rests a translucent layer of ice. The scraper sits on the passenger side floor of your car winking at you from the other side of the park, traffic hissing by on the highway seemingly miles away. So you brace a fingernail against the mitten, and begin to scrape for all you’re worth. The picture you uncover rests below.

Having taken the one picture, out in the cold for a total of fifteen seconds, your phone decides to shut off. You breathe in the chill air, looking up into the blinding snow and sunlight. Success! … And your nose begins to drip.

City Engineer Jeremy Enarson can find archival sources from 1975 to the present on the maintenance and planning for Mirror Lake. Strangely enough, few sources exist prior to that time. We only have that far back because of maintenance programs in the 90’s which sought out the older plans for the dam. In the few aerial shots of the city and surrounding areas, we can see that Mirror Lake has kept her current shape and appearance for at least the last half century. Myths of damming the creek for a water supply for steam locomotives stretch as far back as the early 1900s, and we could potentially search railway records for more information.

I think the limitations of the archival data available offer an opportunity for increased creativity, focusing on the documented recent past, oral histories of the mythic past and personal connections to the lake (including someone who spearheaded a naming contest for the lake in the 1970s or ‘80s!!). I think StoryMap will work well for this project, as we can  connect historical pictorial views of the Lake with the approximate vantage point of where they were taken, and offer a unique visual tour of the area for those unfamiliar or unable to visit. The signposts situated around the Lake with more interesting public history would also be interesting to place on the map.

I would have liked to be able to manipulate the background map a little more, as the lake is a grey blur, the park area a speckled mirage, and the roads obnoxiously bold. Both roads and railroads appear the prominent focus, despite the centrality of the Lake (which took SOOOOOOO MANY attempts at placing pins, you would not believe). But these also offer opportunity to critique our human-centred view of landscape.

We split the experimenting in half. Curtis made a TimeLine. And below you will be able to find my first attempt at developing a StoryMap. You may have to let him load for a moment, as he’s just waking up and doesn’t like to be disturbed. He is little, and a little simple, but I see the potential for great growth.

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The Hoosac Tunnel

Archival documents were mostly found online through the form of photos and maps. The most promising vessel of information discovered from the North Adams Public Library happened to be Builders of the Hoosac Tunnel by Cliff Schexnayder. This particular text contains over 500 pages of history of the Hoosac Tunnel as well as over 123 pages of …

Continue reading “The Hoosac Tunnel”

Archival documents were mostly found online through the form of photos and maps. The most promising vessel of information discovered from the North Adams Public Library happened to be Builders of the Hoosac Tunnel by Cliff Schexnayder. This particular text contains over 500 pages of history of the Hoosac Tunnel as well as over 123 pages of bibliography and endnotes (a true brick of information). With some help from a mutual friend (an expert in the Hoosac Tunnel, and currently working as a railway dispatcher near Boston), I was able to find some promising sources of photos, stories, and other information. Some websites need some further research to prove the validity of the information (for example I found some conflicting information from one site to the book – the same event, however dated during two different days), however they do seem promising as far as picture sources.

Overall the materials found and used enabled me to understand much more about the location itself than I knew already. Living in this area for 3 years, there are a lot of stories you hear just in day to day life, especially from asking locals or those who have lived here their whole life. Actually sitting down and being able to read about the history of this place, as well as seeing this place in the few photos taken as well creates a new life for this location. It is really different sort of understanding that there are a lot of ghost stories surrounding the area and then actually discovering that over 100 people died in the tunnel itself (not to mention the some 90 people that died elsewhere around the property).

The TimelineJS program really puts everything into perspective, seeing everything laid out in a numerical way. Watching the creation of the tunnel, essentially, as the timeline lays out the dates. I think it is really useful, especially for this project, because it was a very long process. The other program, StoryMap, would have been great as well, however due to the fact that we do not have pictures of the locations yet, it would make it difficult to create a map. Overall the Timeline seems to be a better resource for us for this location. There are a lot of events happening almost simultaneously, so it is nice to see it laid out in a clean, simplified way.

Once we have more information, videos, other photos, and more, I think it would be interesting to combine the information into the StoryMap as well as use the TimeLine. Because the tunnel is so long (over 4 miles) it would be interesting to layout all the information possible onto a map. For now, however, the timeline works well with what we currently have.

 

Book Citation:

Schexnayder, Cliff. (2015). Builders of the Hoosac Tunnel. Portsmouth, New Hampshire: Peter E. Randall Publisher.

Letchworth State Park Story Map

Letchworth State Park is a state park located near SUNY Geneseo in Livingston County. It is a pretty sizable park, about 17 miles long, with lots of different distinct locations… Read More

Letchworth State Park is a state park located near SUNY Geneseo in Livingston County. It is a pretty sizable park, about 17 miles long, with lots of different distinct locations within the park, so I thought it would be a cool place to try out the StoryMap application. I found some archival material in the school’s library, mostly looking at old journal articles and books published about the place. I had been to Letchworth a couple of times before doing this project, but I had not known much about the history of the place before I started looking at some of the archives. For instance, I did not know the Seneca Native American tribe had such an important presence in the park, and I did not know that the Genesee Valley Canal once crossed through the park. I think going forward there would be a lot of cool things to look at for Letchworth regarding the Native American history, especially because the Native Americans were so connected to nature, it might make for some interesting writing on the subject. The StoryMap application took me a little while to figure out, especially regarding some little details about the appearance, but I can see how it would work really well in a project like this. In my story map that is attached, I did not really have a clear narrative or theme within it, I more used it to see how it could work with the archival materials, but I think that once I get used to this application and create a more clear narrative arc within it, it could make for a really cool project.