Vicky Was Here in 2010

Why do people feel the need to carve their names into tree trunks and rocks or spray paint messages on the sides of buildings? This question comes to me after reading yet another name scribbled on a beautiful sandstone formation. I cringe when I see this graffiti, and I turn my head in disgust. But then I am reminded of other graffiti that I have seen and appreciated.

When I was little, I used to go to church camp every summer. The inside walls of each cabin were covered with graffiti. Everyone signed their names and the year they attended camp. Some left poems or Biblical verses. Others left messages that were less than holy. This tradition had gone back through the camp’s history, and it was lots of fun to read the walls. As I got older, I found my scribblings from when I was much younger. I even found my grandparents’ names from long ago. When someone I respected passed away, I might find their names on a wall and feel their presence again. At some point when I was in college, the camp decided to paint over the scribblings. I was appalled and I still am. They lost so much camp history with that decision.

As a teenager I found gang graffiti comical. One gang would write its name on a wall. Then another gang would cross it out and write their own. The individual gang member would often sign with his own nickname. It all seemed so stupid. It was like committing a crime and providing evidence of your guilt.

I traveled to Mexico and Europe as a young adult. I found foreign graffiti very interesting because it veered away from gangs and personal messages. Instead, much of their graffiti was political. This was really fascinating to me. I learned about struggles in their countries and I became more aware of how others see Americans.

Graffiti didn’t first show up with my grandfather’s postings at church camp, though. I remember seeing graffiti while visiting the Colosseum in Rome. Spectators at the games carved gladiators and animals on the marble walls. A senator even carved his name on the back of a seat.

As we visit the southwest, I am reminded that graffiti is much older than the Roman Colosseum even. We see ancient pictographs along canyon walls and read anthropologists’ guesses as to what the pictures mean. No one really knows, and I wonder if it was just as informal as the graffiti we see today. Perhaps someone just wanted to say, “I was here.”

On this trip we met up with some of the traditional “I was here” graffiti that the National Park System wanted to preserve. They framed it just where it was at Pompy’s Pillar in Montana. This rock was signed by William Clark of the Lewis and Clark expedition. He too felt the need to tell the world that he had passed by in 1806.

So, here I am looking at names carved into cacti. Perhaps the writers are so happy to be in such a beautiful place that they just want everyone to know they were here. Perhaps they just want the world to know they exist. Perhaps they have finally found the love of their lifes and need to express this emotion. After thinking all this over, am I ready to excuse the writers? Hell no! They can go write about it in a Blog or post it on Facebook. Leave Mother Nature alone!