Soru

For centuries, cartography was as much an art of filling silences as it was a science of measurement. Early mapmakers, when confronted with the vast, uncharted stretches of the deep ocean, did not leave blank spaces on their parchment. Instead, they populated these unknowns with illustrations of sea monsters and billowing clouds, a practice historians refer to as 'decorating the void.' To the modern eye, these creatures seem like mere flights of whimsical fantasy. In reality, they were a cartographic currency, a way to reassure travelers that even the unknown had boundaries and names.

When mapmaker Eleanor Vance began her survey of the forgotten Appalachian valleys in the 1970s, she found herself working in a similar tradition. Rather than drawing serpents, she recorded the colloquial names of ridges and hollows whispered by the locals. In her journals, she wrote that she was 'weaving a safety net of names' over the landscape. Vance knew that without these labels, the mountains would remain, to the outside world, a terrifying and silent blankness. By mapping the local lore, she transformed a rugged, intimidating wilderness into a legible tapestry of human history.

Based on the passage, the phrase 'weaving a safety net of names' most nearly describes which of Eleanor Vance's actions?