Blast from the Past (6 / 30)

Sorry to swamp your eyes with all of this, but I also talked to my Grandpa Paul today.

He can talk to anyone, and as a result of it, has lead a very interesting life. He got going today about a few things that happened to him in the 70's while he employed as a civilizan worker for the Airforce. I could hardly wrap my head around what he told me, and because this blog in an exercise in experience through a colored lens, I thought his anecdotes were relevant and belonged here.

I was telling him about my time spent in Dover, Delaware last week, and when I mentioned Dover, he said:

"You know, Dover, New Hampshire is the second place that I ever learned that white people could be prejudiced towards us brown folk," this is word for word what he said, I promise.

So I asked him to tell me what had happened.

It was the early seventies, and he was stationed at a nearby Airforce base. Him and a buddy, who was black, went out to a local dance hall. Keep in mind- my Grandpa is pretty dark skinned, he is definitely a brown man. His grandfather, Ynoncencio, came from Mexico when my great grandmother was a little girl. To continue-

My grandpa and his friend were denied access to the hall, apparently they needed a local sponsor to invite them in. Which they both agreed was fine enough, and fortunately a man came up to offer them in, after a couple of questions, of course.

This is what he asked my grandpa, "What are you?"

(This a question I've gotten before, and never know what to think.) My grandpa asks, "What do you mean, what am I?"

"Well, what's your ethnic background?"

"Well, I'm Mexican, I guess, I don't know," it what he answered. Something else to keep in mind, my grandpa is a lot like me, he didn't grow up speaking a whole lot of Spanish, and as a result has never been fluent. I suppose I mention this because I've always gotten a lot of flack from strangers and family alike about my linguistic shortcomings. I mention this because it doesn't matter how much of the culture you carry with you, because the degree doesn't matter- there's bias and racism all the same. Just because my grandfather and I aren't fluent in Spanish, doesn't mean we don't feel the racial sting any less than anyone else.

"Well, I guess that's okay," the potential sponsor responded, "You can come in, but your buddy can't- you know how it is."

Laughing, my grandpa wrapped up his tale: "So my buddy and I, we just left."


The other story he told me completely blew my mind. I could hardly believe it.

Again, early seventies, a little earlier than the above story. Him and a friend were letting a couple of rooms for $10 a week (this isn't the shocking part, though noteworthy) and he gets the same few questions from a man renting on the same floor.

After my grandpa explained that he was Mexican, "or something," the man asks: "Well do you mind if I call my sister over to meet you?"

Laughing, as he normally is, him and his friend replied, "Well, we're both married."

"No, no, it's nothing like that. It's just, my sister and I have never met any Mexicans before. We've never seen any Latinos." My grandpa explained that they weren't being negative, that was just how it was a few decades ago.

My grandpa told me, as I sat with my mouth agape on the phone, "So I met with them, of course, I was like show and tell, but you know, stuff like that used to happen."

I never know how much to believe him, but he told me something else, about his mom- my Great Grandma Chole, that sealed the deal.

"You know, when I was a baby in my mom's belly back in 1940 or so, they used to have separate nights for the Mexicans and the blacks at the dance hall."


This just blew me away. It's a part of history that you don't really hear a lot about, it's something that isn't talked about when segregation is discussed. I never learned about any of this in school, I never read about this in the papers or the books. It's a story that's rarely told, and it should be taught! Can you believe it? Is it something you've ever thought about before? It's nothing that I had ever considered, and yet here it is. Three generations ago the prejudice was just as blatant and obvious as it is today, except this now instead of not being let into the dance halls, Hispanics/Latinos aren't being let into the country. And isn't it ironic, how the "Latino Vote" has become such a hot point in the upcoming elections?

So here I am: offering a different perspective. I can tell you already, that these anecdotes will shape my thinking for a while to come, and I hope that those of you reading will take something from this as well.

The Coffee Shop Hop (6/ 30)

My original plan was to go hiking through the refuge this morning, but when my alarm went off at 730 am I decided that I had two months left to hike, and decided to sleep in. Typical!

So I decided to explore the town of Suffolk instead. Anything to mingle with some living, breathing humans. I'm absolutely loving what I'm doing here, but my brain needs a bit of a break. So I went into town (I'm almost out of toothpaste), and I stopped at the farmer's market, where I saw a statue dedicated to Mr. Peanut.

I'm not kidding. I'll post a photo at some point.

There was something oddly comforting about seeing that two-legged peanut perched on a pedestal with his top hat in hand. My mom has a tattoo of this little guy on her ankle. She got it a few years back, after my Grandpa Bob passed away. He had the same peanut on his forearm, so seeing the statue made me think of him.

He was the first person to take me fishing, and I remember that day as clearly as if it were yesterday- the little urchins my brother sat on, the taste of the crackers we snacked on, and the way my brother and I were more interested in making a ruckus over learning to fish. The trip back is what stands out the clearest to me, I was wedged in the middle seat of my Grandpa's white Chevy, my knees bumping the gear shift as I peered over the top of the dashboard. I must have been nine years old, we still have that truck. This is the same man that passed on the most amazing biscuit and gravy recipe. I mentioned it before, and I feasted on the same stuff this morning.

After I poked around the farmer's market, I retreated to Starbucks to get my fill of my newest favourite: iced green tea. I'm so bohemian, I can't even stand it.

While I was there I poked around the internet and gave my mom a call. She was at a Tae Kwon Do tournament at which my younger two siblings were competing. Hearing about what was going on back home was exactly what I needed. Recently, each time I call home I have so much to talk about I kind of just barrel through the conversation, but I learned that my sister was competing on her weapons and sparring, and my baby brother was competing on his form and sparring. They're 13 and 11, respectively. I called later and found out that my sister got third place in sparring, and my brother had ranked fourth on his form. They've been attending TKD for about a year and a half, and it is the coolest thing.

I also called one of my dearest friends, Imani. This conversation was also exactly what I needed- I'm so used to having her, and all of my friends at Vassar, within and arm's reach that it's been a little lonely at the swamp by comparison.

I also settled down and wrote a stack of letters at a different coffee shop a few hours later on my way back to the refuge. This is a locally owned place, and I had to refuel my green tea tank. My brother's 18th birthday is coming up, so after buying a card, I sat down to write him a letter. I can't believe he's as old as he is, it seems like it wasn't that long ago that we were making mudpies during my dad's softball practices and trading Pokemon as we hunched over our Gameboy colors. His was that clear grey, mine was purple.

Among the stack (not exaggerating) of letters were several letters going out to National Parks and Refuges all over the country- I'm boasting, I love the fact that I know people from/ working in so many different places. I've been writing up a storm (nothing new) and if anyone would like to gain a penpal for the summer, my address is:

Elizabeth Ruiz
3100 Desert Road
Suffolk, Va, 23434


Of course, we all know I love writing, but that doesn't mean I'm not interested in what else is going on in the world.

Dreamcatcher (6/ 27)

I have always wanted to be a scientist.

It's been my dream, in some form or another, since I was a child, rolling around in the mud with my brother. I remember when I got my first telescope- astronomy was my first love- it was one Christmas, we were still living in England. I remember this holiday in particular, because my dad was deployed, and my young mind had so much trouble figuring out how my dad was involved with the gift when he was a world away. 'It's from me and Papa,' my mom had said, aiming the video camera at me as I tore the paper to pieces.

I must have been eight, at the very oldest. I knew the names of all of Jupiter's moons, and Saturn's rings had sent my own mind spinning.

I got a microscope a while later, and I remember making my own slides out of ant bodies, blackberries, and anything I could get my tweezers on. Anything that I could mush between the two pieces of safety glass was inspected, analyzed, and promptly filed away.

My other love has always been the arts. If you ask my mother, she'd quote me directly: I wanted to be 'An artist by day, and an astronomer at night.' That's all I have ever wanted.

I wanted a lab coat and an easel. My horn quickly replaced my paints, pastels, and pencils, and cells and cycles replaced the planets, but my devotion to the arts and sciences has remained unshaken. How could I have ever lost my passion, when I learn ever moment I'm involved in these studies? Even when the concepts were difficult, even when my horn seemed to have a mind of its own (it can still be quite temperamental) they were never cast out of my favor.

I realized today, as I was reflecting on the past couple of years- those leading up to my high school graduation and the full two years I've spent at  Vassar, that I am so. close. to realizing my dreams. This summer is the first of many steps towards the labcoat and discoveries I'll wear as a scientist. This December marks ten years of learning the subtleties of horn playing. I spend my days in the lab, and my evenings in the recital hall. I'm turning into the person I've always wanted to be, and the realization makes me happier than any paycheck, any sunrise, ever could.

And how lucky am I? To be satisfying the child I still am while turning into a so-called adult? The notion makes my head spin. When take a step back and retrace my steps, I have surprised myself. When I put my actions and journeys to another's life story they sound so astounding, and I think to myself 'There is no possible way I am living this life.'

Mermaid Continued (6 /26 )

So- my photos wouldn't post with the text. So here! There's me, standing with the Flow Tracker, soaked to my armpits. And there's the other- dumping the water out of a boot. Real life experiences, brough to you from the field, from the front lines!

Mermaid (6 /26)

'Hey, Papa, sorry for missing your call, I was in the field all day,' I felt quiet satisfied with myself as I returned home, at 530, after a ten hour day. I was soaking wet and covered in sand, and pleasantly tired from my time spent in the sun.

'The field, huh? Now you're really starting to sound like a migrant worker.' Brought back to reality by one of the most clever things I've heard in a while. My family keeps me humble.

I was beyond nervous this morning. For a fleeting, childish moment I thought about calling in sick- for a brief period, my nerves were in fact, making me a bit green.

With my usual mental fortitude (read, whining) I hauled the equipment to the truck at 7am and went into the refuge office. The entire half hour drive there, I tried pumping myself up with my music.

It didn't work, so when I parked the truck I was actually shaking in my boots. I was nervous because

a) Fred is on vacation and I am utterly flying solo here
b) I have been deemed hydro project leader in his absence.

So, when I met with the biologist, I put on my best guise of confidence and leaned against the doorframe like it was made for me to lean on. Sipping my coffee like the lead in a movie, I asked if we were ready to go.

Sure, we were ready, but I really, really wasn't. At the first structure, it took me half an hour to string a line across the channel to pull the surveyor across. I clumsily filled out forms and keyed in buttons- all this after I had almost drowned.

Fine! I'm exaggerating, but my nerves coupled with the inability to stand in the water lead to a moment of acute panic. I was originally going to wade and measure with the tracker, because I feel more confident on that device. Though when I crawled in, I found the water was too deep for me to reach, in my attempt to touch my toes to the floor, water flooded my chest waders and I gripped the edge of the channel the way a child learning to swim does.

After my left foot was sucked into the narrow channel water was passing through, I quickly abandonded the endeavor and awkwardly did a surveyor measurement. Oh, well.

The next one was just as bad. This may have been site conditions over technique but I wanted to do well today. But there was magnetic interference and I don't think the data is useful.

Also at this site, we had to call the matainence guy to cut away the barbed wire around the structure.  I get the impression that he doesn't like me too much, because when I thanked him for coming out to cut the wire he said, 'You don't have to kiss my ass.'

Uhh.

A few more exchanges like that and I retreated to the truck to grumble to myself as I rung my socks out and put my boots on.

Anyway, the fun part- the breach at high tide.

The water was high. Way higher than it had been when we marked out gps points last week. Eyeballing it and considering my luck, I decided against any gear. I cast the chest waders aside, because as I've said, I've had a lot of trouble staying dry.

Embracing the inevitable, I waded. I was wearing my knee boots, which I adore, which quickly filled. The water was frequently up to my waist, and the wading rod with the flow tracker was awkward and unwieldy.

How did you do it? You ask, How did those full boots not drive you crazy? I'll tell you-To keep my attitude keen, I did what anyone would do, I pretended to be a mermaid. Or Tom Hanks in Castaway, because every time I scrambled up the beach in my waterlogged boots I was mentally pretending to be a scraggly castaway.

You laugh and scoff at my childish line of thinking, but when you're sinking and toppling around like a baby on sea legs, you get used to laughing at yourself. The seasonal biotech and I sank to our chests on our way back, and each time we sank, we screamed 'Woahhh' and pedaled out of the mushy sand. We walked in circles getting as close as possible to the waypoints, so why not have a little fun with it? I know we looked positively silly.

Prime Hook Pt. 2 (6/25)

Salt marshes are stinky.

I mean... it's not rank. Salt marshes have a mucky, lively smell, the way salt water has that distinct tang.
I'm being totally candid (that's the general theme of this, if you hadn't noticed) but... I didn't say that they weren't beautiful.

This morning, I got up far before the sun decided to roll out of bed. I was at the refuge at 5 am to shadow the bird survey the seasonal biotech is working on. I wouldn't say I helped, because when it comes to birds I know that they have wings, but really that's about it.

Though watching the sun colour the sky pink and then blue as it crept into the sky was beyond worth struggling out of bed at four am. I spent four hours mucking around in the marsh, but I saw unreal prettiness- I'm sure some may not believe there's anything pretty in a marsh, but really.

The marsh hugs the beach, and as we left the shore to entered the vegetated wetland, I saw a side of the east coast I had never seen before. Tiny crabs scurried away from my footsteps as I clumsily moved through the grass, vegetation swayed in the breeze and under the weight of tiny singbirds. I am getting better at traversing the landacape, I've learned to walk on the hearts of the grasses, they're like little islands in the mud.
While we were out we heard rail clappers, willets, sea side swallows, sharp tails, black skimmers, and my personal favorite, the red winged blackbird, among a few others. To survey, we would trudge through to a designated point and stand for five minutes. Binoculars in hand, you watch and you really listen. I've never done this before, but teasing apart the chorus of bird calls is like dissecting a symphony. It's a delicate process, demanding a keen ear and quiet body.

This I enjoyed, and I really believe that if it weren't for the mosquitos, marshes and swamps would be among the most perfect places in the world. Even the sloshing sound of our footsteps sound as rhythmic as drumbeats, a steady suction of the earth around our feet.

Of course, I fell in. But after you resign yourself to getting wet, everything is just a little more enjoyable; sure, its always my right foot that falls in and its a little obnoxious, but that's nothing in comparision to the gradient of green on the floor. There's a soft, fine grass that grows in these areas, and by the root its colouring is a deep, dark green, almost as dark as the saturated earth. It gets lighter and lighter, turning a faint green yellow at the tips, as if it's trying to blend with the sky. This grass looks unreal, the way high definition television does when you're watching those nature shows.

Yes, the world is that bright, the colours are in fact that vivid. Yes, the multitude of creatures living in the microcosm of the mud is that extreme.

Incomparable to any sky I've seen is the one that brought the storm this morning. We were a mile down the beach when I saw the lightning. Deciding to squeeze one more survey in, I watched as the clouds shadowed overhead while the biotech watched the birds.

They were almost purple, and the storm itself was a well defined column of mist and rain. We ended the survey thirty seconds early, just as the first drops hit my face. It picked up quickly, until the fat drops had completely soaked my right side. I didn't even mind, because what can you do?

The grey bay waters seemed to glitter under the impact of the rain. It was lovely, even as the rain slapped my face like an irritable toddler, I was awed by the texture of the water and the pink sky. I guess today I was looking for all of the beauty I could find, and it was there- in the fluid cries of the blackbird and the accented conversation of the clappers and in the way the rain was swallowed by the bay. Anything can be lovely if you look.

untitled (6/23)

Ahh, Saturday. It looks like Saturdays are going to be my pretty days- the ladies know what I mean. But this morning, instead of my luxurious hair and make up routine making me feel relaxed and refreshed, I was absolutely fired up.

I hadn't mentioned this before, but while I was at Prime Hook a refuge visitor made an inappropriate comment. Fred and I were doing those measurements on Tuesday, and at Prime Hook, there is always a solid handful of people lounging around the structures trying to catch blue crabs. As we were leaving one of these structures, a car pulled up and the men inside hopped out to ask some questions.

I've already mentioned the trouble the refuge is having in the community, and these men, seeing the logo on Fred's sleeve and truck asked us what was going to happen, what the refuge was going to do, whatever.

It was obvious they had been drinking, and the older gentleman that had been driving had a beer cozy and I could see a vaguely familiar logo peeping over the top. He even offered Fred a brew, who politely declined.

The other individual had been leaning against the car, interjecting with a few strong opinions throughout the exchange. My mother has taught me well in the way of the vibes, and the vibes he was throwing were giving me the creeps, so I stood there, smiling without participating in the conversation.

People like him are easy to spot, so when he introduced himself and shook hands with Fred, I didn't offer my own hand or name. Though when we left, he made a point to shake my hand. Then, complimenting me on my grip, he continued by making a comment that I wasn't particularly surprised or flattered by. As we walked away I heard the older man scold him and Fred asked me what he had said.

Not caring to repeat I threw my hands up, saying 'Nothing appropriate.' And when we climbed into the truck, I could see the gears turning in his head as he sat with the key in his hand. He asked of I was alright, and I was.

And I wondered this morning if it was sad to think I was almost used to it. I'm definitely used to expecting these sort of things, and when they happen, I'm always so throughly underwhelmed and unsurprised that I brush it off and file it away in my mental filing cabinet. This cabinet is adjacent to the one where I store the incidents related to my race.

So I've been mulling it over for a few days. I didn't say anything, because you can't give those types of people anything. Especially if they've had a few drinks. You tell them your name, they ask where you're from. You tell them that, and they'll ask where you're living now. You shake their hand, and they'll try to find a way to open that door. It wasn't worth my time to tell him not to speak to me that way, because fortunately, I'll never see him again.

So it's not the incident or the comment that's bothering me now, its the fact that I have to watch for these things. A man can go to work for years and never expect to get ogled. It's not the same for working women and that just makes me angry. Why is this dynamic acceptable?

Because it isn't. So now I'm fired up and it's just one more thing I have to fight for.

Cooking Up a Storm (6/22)

Because I'm driving up to Prime Hook this Sunday, I called it an early day at ended my work day at lunch. While I was at the refuge office I typed up the first draft of a how-to manual on observations to make throughout the refuge. I'm rather pleased with myself, because I got quite a bit done and it was something I started of my own initiative.

Today I also got some exciting news! Thanks to the wonderful support of the SCA staff (shout out to On Lee and Emily!) I'm going to be a part of the Follow Me blogging campaign for the month of August! Which basically means I'll be writing for the SCA world to see, which I am so stoked about, so keep your eyes peeled!

But back to Great Dismal! I took a half day, like I said before. After eating lunch and stuffing myself with nutella I completely crashed. The week and the trip caught up with me, and the second I sat down I fell asleep. Which I know isn't terribly exciting, but it was bound to happen.

When I finally emerged from my slumber, I couldn't decide what to make for dinner. I was going to eat left overs, which seem to be never ending, but then I saw that I had some feta cheese. In order to keep myself from feeling guilty about eating my weight in feta, I made a greek salad.

But to complete this scrumptious dish, I needed tomatoes. All of the tomatoes I got when I went on my grocery shopping spree went into my salsa. So I went into town and tried a new store. I not only found a few tomatoes, I found my holy grail. I found the tortillas. I even got to choose between yellow and white corn tortillas. The balance has been restored. Enchiladas on the horizon.

After dinner, I had nothing to do. With americorps gone, it seemed as though I was to spend the rest of the evening sitting alone and watching public access television while a summer storm worked my nerves over. The rain is coming down in sheets, and in order to keep myself from jumping out of my skin, I decided to cook myself some food to take to the refuge.

I had to get creative, because one package of chicken takes me a week and a half to work through. By the end of the summer, I'm going to be a chicken. So let me share some of my latest inventions!

I didn't actually measure any of my ingredients, so bear with me.

The first invention is a stuffed chicken breast inspired by the fusion restaurant down the street from my school. I lined the bottom of a casserole dish with tomatoes and added a little olive oil and pepper. On a sheet of foil, I threw down with some Sweet Baby Ray's bbq sauce and opened up a chicken breast. I didn't do too much with this. I stuffed it with feta, cilantro, tomato, and onion and wrapped it up. I put it on top of the tomatoes and lined the pan with some more of the salsa + feta. I threw it in the oven at 350 for 40 minutes. It's delicious, and pretty simple. The bbq might sound a little strange, but the sweetness of the sauce really complements the cilantro. Also, feta, who doesn't love it?

Oh, and if anyone has any recipe ideas that include coconut milk and mandarin oranges, I'd love to hear about it. 

Prime Hook Pt. 1 (6/21)

Don't mind me, just getting a little R&R before heading into work today. It seems to be the week of late starts. On Tuesday, I woke up half an hour late, today I slept in until 8.

Don't worry, I'm not late for work, I'm taking the morning to recover from our recent trip to Delaware.

On Tuesday, Fred and I loaded up the truck with the hydrologic equipment and our overnight bags to go to the Prime Hook NWR to do some flow measurements.

Prime Hook is in the middle of a crisis, so let me give you the quick and dirty history. Prime Hook was established to give water fowl an appropriate habitat, something the Fish and Wildlife Service held as one of its higher priorities however many years ago. To do this, they took a large section of salt water marsh along the Delaware Bay and converted it into a fresh water marsh. As I'm sure you've guessed, this has caused some problems.

In recent years, storms, flooding, and the sinking marsh has allowed the salt water from the bay to begin to creep into the refuge. The management is now dealing with a massive issue: much of the vegetation is dying from salt water intrusion, the water has the potential to disrupt neighboring agricultural activities, and the water fowl have half a mind to take off as the area is taken over. The breach where the salt water has entered the fresh impoundments would be expensive to repair, and the solution would really only be a temporary one, as another storm could cause this same series of events all over.

So that's where Fred and I come in. Due to the huge potential for negative effects in the nearby communities and the difficult management decisions a head, there's been a call to create a hydrologic model of the place to establish how and when whatever water can be controlled. So on Tuesday, we drove the four hours up to the refuge and tried to scope things out.

The biggest challenge for us was the fact that the water monitoring at the site has been minimal and relatively inconsistent. Whatever data has been collected has not been utilized, so its Fred's idea to go in, standardize the measuring process, and build that long term record.

Another problem: Prime Hook is a tidal system, which basically triples the amount of work we have to do. The main goal: to establish the relationship between the water level and amount of water moving either in or out of the system at any given tidal moment.

Hefty, right? So we took a couple measurements at some structures while trying to give the rundown of the equipment use to the biologist and seasonal biotech at that refuge.

That first night, I also got the chance to survey horseshoe crabs. I don't know if you've ever seen these crabs, but they're jurassic looking creatures, more related to scorpions than other crabs. Regardless, they're a vital part of any ecosystem in which shore birds are present, because they're an important food source to those birds. The Red Knot is a federally listed species of shore bird, and these crabs are a big part of their diet.

Anyway, it probably wasn't wise to go, because it was a 1030-11 pm exercise. It's the end of the season, so there weren't huge numbers present, but I did get to count a few. It was nice, we walked along the shore, the waves lapping at my feet as we walked and cast the quad into the water. It was breezy, which kept it cool and bugless, and the water's hushed rhythms made the entire experience quite pleasant. So in one evening, I went from having never seen the animal to knowing a brief life cycle and distinguishing the difference between male and female.

Yesterday morning was a struggle, after having stayed out past my bedtime. We did more of the same measurements, and also tried to put down some markers at the breach.

This... was hard work. Fred, the biotech, and I walked out (I finally had a pair of waders that fit!) along the sand and shore and stopped to mark a point on a gps while taking velocity measurements of the water moving through the breach. The sand was deceptive. I would go from walking comfortably on the hard, concretelike sand to sinking knee deep in muck in a matter of steps. My little legs waddled as fast as I could as I scribbled times and velocities in my field notebook. I'm not looking forward to doing this during high tide. Not at all.

On the way back I started feeling the effects of the heat. There wasn't much of a breeze coming in from the water, and it was in the nineties. Think about this for a moment- I was out for two hours with the sun beating down, I was wearing hiking pants and a polo. I was wearing chest waders. I was wearing my wool hiking socks. Needless to say, the trip back was slow, with frequent stops so I could clamp down on the slight nausea and the slow pounding that was starting in my head. I hadn't thought to bring water from the truck because I hadn't expected to go as far as we did.

After crawling back to the truck, I took off my waders to exchange them for flip flops and discovered that my calves had been dripping with sweat. I am not a sweaty person, I am far too dainty and ladylike, but after that walk my sweat had sweat, and even my sweat's sweat was uncomfortable. My shirt was totally damp and nasty, and when we got back to the refuge, I practically shotgunned a bottle of water. It took a while for my flushed face to turn to a normal color, and my farmer's tan has become extreme and very impressive. As I sat inside, chugging water, I would go from full- body goosebumps to feeling like a baked potato. When I rinsed my face I decided I never wanted to go outside again.

Yet I'm glad I did it. More than anything, I'm glad I pushed myself and I'm glad I didn't pass out because of it. I'm also thankful Fred wasn't around to see how pitiful I am.  But! I know what to expect when I return, and can be better prepared. I know that it won't get much worse than that, and I know that several gallons of coke and water and some sleeping in will make me feel as good as new.

Oh, and I'm driving up Sunday so I can be up at 4 am for a bird survey that starts at 5. It's nothing I exactly have to do, but it's something I want to try. Now is as good a time as any.

Precision (6/18)

Today was one of those days. I rolled out of bed ten minutes late, groggy and disheveled as I lumbered around the bunkhouse in an attempt to become a normal human being. I don't think I really recovered from this morning. Ocie had to tell me where my keys were and I managed to forget my rubber boots. What kind of hydrotech forgets her rubber boots?

After gathering the day's supplies and sneaking back to the house to grab my brown rubber boots, I downed the last of my hazelnut roast coffee and when the day got going, I managed to follow.

The first order of business was boppin' on down to the state park, which is wedged along the southeastern corner of the refuge. It's actually in North Carolina, and we headed down to talk to the Superintendent and biologist about a few structures and monitoring plans that are currently in the works.

So Fred and I got to business. He demonstrated how to install a staff gage from the very first step. We had to determine a known elevation point in relation to sea level to tie all of the gages together. To do this, Fred picked a spot just off the road with clear, open skies and drove a piece of rebar into the ground as a marker. Then, he positioned an antenna and gps atop the point to create a known reference. We left the equipment to collect data as we moved onward.


Down the road, as the antenna sent out its mystic beams to the satellites, we moved onto a different site where he already had a reference point. We then spent three long hours taking land surveys to get the gage staff positioned in the perfect place relative to sea level. We got it pretty close, coming within hundreths of a foot of the actual elevantion.

The most difficult part of the day was trying to make sure the elevation was correct. We must have done it five times, in five different spots, leveling the scope, positioning and measuring the set of markers. It was precise work, but I didn't mind staying to make sure we didn't have to come back later.

A good way into our afternoon, the Park Ranger stopped by to see how our work was going. She was the biologist, which was evident by the way she would pick out the differences between bird calls and explain the difference between a dragonfly and a damselfly. I wish I could say I had the ability to identify birds by their calls after her visit, but I was too busy running away from the yellowflies that seem determined to destroy my delicate hands. Really, next time around I'll actually talk to her.

So that was my day, later this week and next I'll be headed to a refuge in Delware called Prime Hook. We'll he helping to establish a water monitoring system there. It's a salt water refuge that had been turned made freshwater for water fowl upon establiahment, but is being driven back into a salt water marsh by Nature herself. From what I understand, it's a tidal system, and there is plenty of work to be done.

I'm really, really excited to work at a new refuge- it's a chance to see how much I've learned about water so far, and try out the information I've been chewing on in my spare time.

Oh, I forgot to mention, I saw a rattle snake today. When we went to retrieve the gps equipment it was just feet away from where we walked. A loud rattle and the scurry of the snake into the bushes caused us to leap backwards with startled, loud noises. It was probably between two and three feet long, and a park visiter called it a timber rattlesnake. I also saw a helicopter today, they were spraying for invasive species. Pardon my sideways pictures, for some reason blogger turns them around when I upload them from my phone-but see if you can find the snake.   

Homesickness and its Cures (6/17)

Of course, I'm used to being away from home. I am no further now than I am when I'm at school, but I am used to being home for the summer, and I prefer my mom's method of cooking spaghetti and my dad's biscuit and gravy over my own.

I felt my first flare of homesickness today, with it being father's day. Last year I loaded my three younger siblings into the car and we got him a gift together, roaming the mall until we found what were looking for. This year, a blotchy, abbreviated phone conversation with the older of my two brothers determined our plan of action.

I wanted to be home- to go to the waterpark and eat a home cooked dinner and watch as my dad opened our cards and presents.

So, in an effort to fight this heavy  potentially crippling emotion, I do what I normally do- I called home and woke my dad up. I went into town to pick up a few things from the grocery store and used the opportunity to have phone service to call my dad. Keeping with tradition, I kept him from sleeping in.

Another of my remedies is cooking my favorites. As I've said, my versions can't compete, but I do my best. I made biscuits and gravy, a meal passed down from my mom's stepdad, Grandpa Bob, to my own father. He cooks it on a skillet and always beckons me away from my Sunday coffee to watch how he browns the sausage and adds the flour, and to pop open the biscuit containers with a cry of 'Hassaaaan, chop!'

Today, I set two lonely biscuits on a pie pan and sat quietly at the table, watching a movie with the small crowd that resides in the bunkhouse. I ate, and while delicious, still didn't compare to weekends at home, with my younger siblings charging the table like a herd of small elephants, and my brother emerging from sleep slowly, lumbering down the stairs and as we point and yell 'It lives!'

In addition to making my dad's classic Sunday breakfast, I had planned on making my dad's signature salsa. Tomatoes, cilantro, onion, serrano, and lemon for good measure. His recipe normally calls for avacado, as well, but I left it out so the giant bowl I made would last better in the fridge. It's odd to have so much food around everyday. I made half a package of sausage for my breakfast and had leftovers. At home, we use two and nothing ever remains.

After deciding to make salsa, I decided to use tacos as the vehicle. This is the thing that made not being home so much more  miserable- I couldn't find corn tortillas anywhere.

I checked three stores, but the only Mexican food the state of Virginia recognizes comes in either a Taco Bell or Old El Paso box. After going out of my way to the Food Lion, I sat in the Silverado feeling very much like a child. 'I can't be home to spend time with my family, and now I can't even find tortillas?' Was the gist of my mental wails. After chatting with my dad, I just sat there and tried to keep from bawling. It was a desperate, childish emotion, one that stemmed from wanting just that one. thing. And not being able to get it because life is cruel sometimes. Now I really missed home, where corn tortillas (and tiendas) are plentiful and frequently home made.

As I tried to get over acting like a ten year old, I decided to return to Walmart to see if they had the Maseca to make my own. I figured this would be better anyway. and incredibly, I found a bag and trotted home, momentarily appeased but ultimately irritated at myself for coming somewhere so... far. Even in Poughkeepsie, NY, I can ride my bike to the panaderia for pan dulces or waddle over to the Casa Latina for some gansitos and manzanitas.

However, my first attempt, unguided by my Abuelita's expert teachings turned out miserably. I started well enough, my first tortilla was bite-sized, so I scarfed it down, as I often did at home. Often, half of the tortillas I would make with my Abuelita wouldn't make it to the table, having been intercepted by my face. Rolling the dough, singeing my fingers, and stuffing my face eased my pains with their familiarity, but every tortilla after that first fell apart.

They were too dry, without a press, I couldn't get them thin enough, and they were also sticking to the pan. I added water and tried again with a cookie sheet, but I had added too much water and they still stuck, and my patience was gone. It took everything I had to not throw a fit, and the main reason I didn't was because there would have been witnesses. After doing such a terrible job at being brown, I didn't want anyone to see my cry.

So I just tossed the mushy mess and made my salsa instead, which turned out quite well. I made my taco meat, which was pretty tasty, and borrowed a few tortillas for dinner.

Three tacos and a coke zero later, I was content. A few hours later I tried again, this time carefully eyeing the dough and rolling it liberally between my hands. Using a makeshift press and a nonstick pan, I managed to churn out eight ragged, yet delicious tortillas. The whole affair was tiring and frustrating, but I guess that really made the experience feel like home. So tomorrow, I'll go to work, and after, I'll eat leftover tacos on homemade tortillas and call to see how the water park was.

Field Trip! (6/16)

After giving my shoulders that intense canoe workout last weekend, I set myself a little goal- I wanted to do something every weekend. I told myself that I wouldn't, didn't want to spend all weekend vegging out on the couch.

Which is exactly why I decided to drag myself out of bed at 630 on a Saturday to volunteer. Last night, a few of the Americorps members were talking about their plans to do a community outreach volunteer day at the zoo in Norfolk. So, keeping my mental promise in the forefront, I asked if they had room for one more.

Of course, I was secretly hoping for some time to glance at some animals, but after getting up and getting outside I felt good. I wasn't just sleeping, I wasn't lounging, my yawning ended when I picked up my rake.
It was an easy enough day, with the 8 americorps members and the volunteers from town and the naval base, we turned a 4 hour mulching job into a 2 hour exercise, I got to check out the animals after all. We spread and evened out mulch around the tiger and otter enclosures. I've always been hesitant to do manual work. I've always been more prone to the indoors, doing dishes over yardwork.

But like I said, a pleasant day. It was good to do something for the zoo. I enjoyed getting to know a few of the corps members a little better. They're leaving on Thrusday, and I'll certainly miss them. I've become quite enamored with the people, they'll all a bunch of characters. Hopefully, the group that is replacing them in early July will be as friendly and hilarious.

Lex, of Americorps, and me cheesin'

So yes. I haven't keeled over yet. Working outside, volunteering my Saturday morning snooze. After returning to the bunkhouse, I indulged myself in some spa treatment.

The senec fox doesn't seem to be much of a morning creature either.

Red panda!

I went shopping yesterday to treat myself, so after two weeks of wearing dirty jeans unfit for public use, I am sitting casually in the sun, looking quite fabulous. I have on new jeans and a new top. I even slapped on a bracelet and necklace, and if I ever decide to wear shoes again, I have the perfect sandals to match. I also put on make up, a luxury I haven't had the time to enjoy since I started waking early and working outdoors. Really, it's a perfect day- we stopped at a local farmer's market. I ate the most tasty pulled pork and drank amazing strawberry iced tea. I even picked up a few dollar paperbacks. It has been a comfortable day.

Of course, it was worth getting up to see my favourites- the otters.

Sea Legs (6/14)

I spent the majority of my second week attending the Atlantic White Cedar conference, a triennial event that showcases current research and restoration efforts on this tree species. There were hours worth of talks based on different aspects of cedar growth, decay, restoration, and management. In fact, for a while the Great Dismal Swamp NWR had a rather impressive collection of cedar stands. However, Hurricane Isabel in '03 and the South One '08 and Lateral West '11 fires have all but removed the hard work of the refuge staff.

A small cedar and it's seeds at the Cavalier Wildlife Management area.

On Tuesday, I listened to the presentations, learning about soil conditions, herbivory, and a few restoration efforts in neighboring states. There were so many different perspectives-  some researchers look at the hydrology, some look at the soil, others still look at the planting method. The multidisciplinary aspect of the conservation field is something I really enjoy. It meshes all of these fields and all of these passionate professionals into one common goal. It was good to see.

On Wednesday we went on a field trip. We went to the Cavalier WMA to see how their cedar stands were coming up, we went to Dismal Swamp State Park to hear about their outreach and look at the trees that remained after Isabel. Finally, we hopped the road to the refuge and looked at what was left of what used to be an 80 year old cedar stand.

It was heart breaking and incredible to look at. I've mentioned the burn scar south of Lake Drummond before, but when you stand on the side of the road and look out while trying to imagine what was... it's hard to do. I can hardly imagine what it was like, losing all of those trees and all of the work the foresters had spent so much time.

The burn scar on Corapeake, where the Lateral
West fire of 2011 destroyed most of the cedars.

Today we wrapped up the Symposium with some more talks. My favourite talk was given by a chemical analyst, she was looking at turpene levels in white cedar in relation to browsing effects.
Turpenes are secondary metabolites produced by plants to fend off herbivory. The compounds made digestion difficult and therefore defer consumption. The presentation was heavy in organic chemistry, the research was conducted using gas chromatography and mass spectroscopy, two techniques I used this past year.

It was fascinating to see organic taken to the next level, to something a little more interesting and relevant than what I did in lab. I thought my lab experience would be on the useless side here, but I was glad to have found myself in familiar territory.

The 80 year old cedars of the Dismal
Swamp State Park in North Carolina.

Outside of the familiar, however, is my norm. After the symposium, my supervisor and I retreated into the depths of the swamp, to the northern section of Jericho ditch. I pulled on my hipwaders, rolling the tops down an inch or two so I would have full leg movement. These were the same ones that sprung the leak, but today they were all patched up! I had repaired them over the weekend.

This afternoon I felt more like a dwarf than a water person. I grabbed the mallet and a stake from the truck in case we needed to stake a spot for the cross section to go across the ditch. As I stepped down the slope after having crossed the railroad tracks, I felt like one of Snow White's dwarves.

I waddled across a small ledge, passing under the leaves and through a small tunneled gate to the observation site. As things normally do here, it felt mystic, and I entertained myself with fantastic daydreams to avoid the thought of tripping and falling into the vinegar waters.

The point of the trip was to take flow measurements again. We do this by setting up a measuring tape across the ditch ends. Then, using the flow tracker, we take measurements every half foot or foot. The flow tracker looks like an 80's calculator attached to a  measuring pole. The pole has a small sonar sensor at the bottom, and by keeping it level for 28 seconds, it gives us the velocity of the water in feet per second.

As I scrambled down the steep side down int to the ditch, I clutched the side shrubs as if I were climbing down an earthy ladder. I hesitated at the water's edge, concerned. Taking that first step into the water always makes me nervous, not because I'm afraid of the water moving- it's never that quick, but I fret because I can't see the bottom. The water is too dark and frothy for me to see where I step. I  cautiously stepped in, feeling my boots suction tightly around my feet. Trailing along the side, I inched to the site where I would tie  the tape. I tested every step after really getting into the water. I took my time, as Fred was checking the staff gage.

The feeling of water around waders is a curious one. I could feel the water slipping around my calves and the coolness of it as it rushed by. My feet sank in the soft, slippery ditch floor, into the invisible earth. There's something to say here- I know the water isn't deep. Rarely higher than two feet, but my footing is unsure as I maneuver, though I know with time I will step confidently.

Lumberjacks (6/12)

Yesterday, Monday, was the darkest of Mondays. On this dark, tumultuous day, I was so mentally scarred I don't think I'll ever recover. The USFWS is going to have to pay for my therapy, after the terrors I have witnessed.

'Oh, you poor child!' You cry at your computer screen, reading my heavy words, 'What happened, you poor, poor thing?'

With a weighted heart, I will tell you of my tale, my sorrows. Yesterday... yesterday was a day I will never forget.

Yesterday was the day I pulled not one, but TWO lonestar ticks from my hair. I cringe even now, remembering the feeling of those tiny, indestructible tick legs scurrying up my neck. The tickling feeling as they navigated the downy tendrils on the nape of my neck sends a shudder through me even now. My skin crawls.

The first I caught in my fingers as my supervisor and I were riding from the Portsmouth end of things back towards Jericho and the central part of the refuge (I should really upload a map.) This one was reasonable, I'll admit. We waded through grasses as tall as I am,  stepping carefully around holes and down slopes to make measurements. Fred cut the tree blocking the road into pieces and- wait, this needs more.
It was a long, skinny pine. Though after having stood before the redwoods of Northern California, all the trees look skinny in my eyes. It smelled like Christmas, and was draped across the road, having been knocked down from across the ditch. Prepared, Fred suited up in his cautionary orange kevlar safety gear and weilded a chainsaw, approaching the tree with serious intent. I too, suited up by putting a pair of work gloves on to my hands, the tiny things my dad calls 'kid hands.' He sliced it into sizeable chunks similarly to how one would slice up a holiday ham. I tossed the pieces to the side of the road, dirtying myself with damp dirt and crumbling shreds of bark. As he neared the thickest part of the trunk, the chainsaw became wedged in the sturdy pine.

Getting closer to examine the damage after awkwardly tipping a log as heavy as I am over to the side, I saw that our obstacle was in fact two trees, and the saw was stuck in the bottom trunk. I waited for instruction as Fred grabbed the bowsaw and shovel from the truck, he tried to lever the bottom trunk as an attempt to relieve the preassure and I tried to wiggle the saw free.

The Water Control Structure I spent
the friendlier part of my day at.

Being the weakling I am, I'm sure he was lamenting his choice in intern gender. Using the bowsaw, he made a little room for the saw, and I went and put my weight on the shovel, lifting my feet from the ground. The saw came free, the log snapped, and the top trunk sprung upwards. If it weren't for my catlike reflexes, I would probably have a broken nose.

I was really impressed by the upwards snap of the tree. More impressed than worried, but I've always had more booksmart than common sense. I wondered what a physicist would have said.

Anyway, escaping relatively unscathed, we went about our business, on down the now clear road. Down the way, we stopped to do flow measurements with the flow tracker. I put on my hip boots and we waded into the ditch.

Graceful as I am, I slipped on the shrub at the bottom of the ditch,  effectively tearing several holes in my right boot, right at the knee. (Monday of all Mondays!) It didn't bother me at first, but when we measured the center of the ditch, my boot started filling up. With resignation and my usual dry internal dialog, I figured the swamp was determined to keep me soaked, so I let the boot fill.

Look at that flow- I had to stand in that water.

Standing in the middle of this ditch, the water was up no higher than my midthigh (it only went to Fred's knees, but I've given up completely on my height.) the yellow flies decided to start gnawing on my hands and arms. The devilish things were mildly balanced by the huge black and white butterflies that landed on my hands as I tried to keep the flow tracker straight in the water.

When I got out of the ditch, I had to drag my right foot out of the water and down to the truck. When I pulled my boot off, I flipped it upside down and water sloshed comically out. I was soaked to the knee. But only on my right knee. It's an improvement. Don't worry, I had a spare pair of socks because at this point I was just being realistic.

Here's the foam! And downstream is where
we did our wading measurement.

Anyway, after all of this, we were driving back from our outing and I felt a tickling on the back of my hair, at the base of my braid. Absently, my fingers probed and captured the culprit. With silent terror, I either dropped it or threw it out the window. It's all a blur.

Back at the office, I had untucked my sweaty shirt and as I mindlessly thumbed the bottom, I felt a tickle on my hip and brushed another off with a half hearted yelp. I tried to squish it with my boot hopefully. It didn't work. Bravely (dare I say intrepidly?) I plucked it from the carpet with my BARE HANDS and released it into the wild again.

It gets worse. As these things normally do.

After a scalding, paranoid-induced scrub down in the shower, I was satisfied. I didn't have any embedded, any remaining would have been rinsed down the drain. So after my long day, I curled up in the recliner with a book and got to work.

Another tickling interrupted my day, and there it was. Probably that very first tick I released into my room, back for vengeance. I used words that would have made a sailor more than proud, and screaming, threw it outside. I felt vulnerable, having been attacked in my own home.

I went outside and hosed myself down with the bug spray. I even took the 100% deet, flipped my hair over, and spritzed it freely. Never again, I vowed, swearing on my split ends and deet-mangled hair.
Anyway, the rest of this week should be friendly. Today I spent nine hours sitting on my butt at the Atlantic White Cedar Symposium. Today there were a serious of scientific presentations, all of them on white cedar. It was interesting, I went into the Hilton with nothing but a chicken biscuit from the Chick-fil-a down the street and the knowledge that the species was mildly important. I now consider myself an expert on the AWC. Ask me anything, I dare you.

Canoe Cruise (6/10)

'You're an intrepid soul'.

I was gulping a liter of water down, sitting at an enclosed picnic table as I tried to cool down. I laughed and said thank you to the older gentleman who was speaking to me. He was on the large row boat I had past as I had canoed up the channel, after having crossed the lake.

Cruisin'

This weekend, I went out to the lake to try my hand at scooting around on it. On Saturday, I made myself a peanut butter and jelly-strawberry, of course- sandwich and awkwardly hoisted the green one person canoe into the back of the Silverado. It was cumbersome and looked just a little ridiculous sticking out of the back of the truck, but I shrugged and drove down to Lake Drummond.

This weekend was warm, sunny,  clear, and beautiful. I was only out for an hour and a half on  Saturday, but I paddled a little ways into the lake and ate my lunch on the glassy surface, sitting with my paddle to one side, against my shoulder. Having been only the second time in a canoe, and the first time by myself, I didn't go very far. I didn't quite get my steering right that day, so I returned early in the afternoon.

Today was something  else. I packed some fruit, expecting to be back fairly early, but once I got into the water, I couldn't stop.

Isn't that just unreal?

It was bright out, and the glossy waters were flat, reflecting a crystal clear picture of the sky back at itself. The sight was mesmerizing, as if the world had been flipped upsidedown, I felt as though I were drifting along the empty night sky.

I was entranced by the tiny whirlpools my paddle sent spinning behind me with every slice through the water. I cruised along, the small bubbles that welled up behind me looked almost like eyes, with the way the sunlight bounced of them. Like my canoe, the occasional breeze sent wrinkles over the water, making it look more like satin than a lake. The texture was almost unreal.

Nearing the other side, after almost two hours!

As the white truck shrank in the distance, the air got quieter and quieter, until the only sounds that reached my ears where the noises of my breathing and the forced rush of the water as I cruised. It was so serene, and my first real moments of solitude since I've arrived.

The channel that leads to the
campgrounds on the Chesapeake Side.

I made it all the way across the lake today, one way was probably 2.5, 3 miles. I even saw the brown head of an otter coasting just under the water as I neared the other side. I paddled so far and for so long I left Suffolk and found myself in Chesapeake, where several groups of people were setting up tents, eating lunch, launching boats, and finishing up their own kayak trips.

I milled around and chit chatted with some of the peoeple I had passed when I found myself coming out of the lake and into a channel lined with green and brown.

I am a bit of a wanderer- and I am completely content to explore and spend time on my own. But I like it, I like my life. I like that the 3000 miles from my house to my school has become all but inconsequential. I like being able to shrug my shoulders, pack my bags, and go anywhere I please. However, I can't forget that the reason I can wander around is because I know that i'll always have a homebase. Home is just a plane ride or phone call away, which is what makes wandering so comfortable. Although, I will admit that not being able to call home at any given moment is tiring. My brother graduated from highschool this weekend, and my service is so splotchy that I could hardly call home.

Anyway, I spent almost three hours on the water today, and I am sunburned, exhausted, achey, but my head is as clear  and peaceful as the surface of the lake. I would have never labeled myself as intrepid, but as I mull it over, I agree, but who wouldn't? Who doesn't want to be resolute and fearless? I'm into it.

The 40 Hour Week (6/8)

This is the first time I have used a computer since I left home, about two weeks ago. In comparision to the tiny, buttonless keys of my phone, the keyboard feels huge under my hands. I've been scrolling through my blog, and please excuse the untidiness, I'll be cleaning it up as I go. I just finished my first week of work, so I felt I should go ahead and type something up before I leave the office for the weekend!
Today I was all by my lonesome, more or less. Fred was out of the office today, and he left me a list of things to do.

My morning commute.

So let's see. I went to the northeastern edge of the refuge to take some staff gage readings with the biology intern, who had nothing to do. It was fine company, I will be the first to admit that I am a little intimidated by the amount of time I spent one-on-one with my supervisor. Do you know how hard it is to keep conversation going for 8 hours? It's no easy task, let me tell you. Anyway, we got up there and took one reading, but as we continued down Portsmouth road, there was a tree blocking the way.

I know, that really happens. This is the second or third time a tree has blocked my way on the refuge. Each time it reminds me of Pokemon. Apparently, I don't have the right equipment to make it to the next gage reading, so I'll go back and train at the intern gyms until I'm ready.

But anyway, I spent all morning driving all over this little state, because I am absolutely awful with these windy country roads. They throw my sense of direction right out the Silverado's windows.
So I got lost. I was out of the office for a solid three hours, and the time it took to read the gage was only a few minutes. I can already tell this job will be a lesson in humility.

Anyway, when I get back to the refuge I realize that the passenger back tire is low on air. Really, really low. It was also audibly hissing at me. Looks like I ran over a nail on my morning out. This was stressful. Yesterday's series of small mistakes has worn me down, and when I crouched down to find the source of the hiss, my shoulder tightened up into the tiny, painful ball of stress it gets when I'm freaking out. This was also embarassing, but like I said. Humility.

A turtle that we passed on our
way to the control structures.

After I putt-putted around and touched base with Fred, I asked the tree guy for help. He's not a tree, but that's his thing. Fred is the water guy, and Bryan is the tree guy. Anyway, he filled the tire with air and gave me really unhelpful directions- the tire place was about 7 miles away, not too bad, right?
I got lost. Breathe in, breathe out.

With my tail between my legs, I returned to the refuge, at this point, it was about 1 pm. I was wasting the whole day, and I could feel the stress building up in that sweet spot. I walked in, made jokes, and picked up one of the office interns so she could drive me. We were there in 10 minutes. Oops.
Anyway, I spent the entire day, driving around, getting lost. It was 2:30 by the time I got back to HQ, and I had done NOTHING on my list of things to do, so when Bryan told me I could cut out early, I stayed. And you know what? I finished EVERYTHING. I am a MASTER HYDROLOGIST. Data collector extraordinaire.

Really, all I did was use excell and put numbers into spreadsheets, but there were a lot of tabs to sort through. I also downloaded the flow data from the flowtracker and the depth stuff from the river surveyor. I think I'm going to take this weekend to recover.

Culvert Climber (6/7)

Today, I strut. This morning, I waltzed right into the office, coffee in hand, backpack full and my sense of humor greatly improved by yesterday's humiliation. I managed to make light of the events of yesterday when my supervisor asked me how I was doing. I had spent the morning pulling splinters and thorns out of the pads of my fingers, and when I studied the mazework of fine scratches on my arms I told him, 'No, it's good, yesterday makes it look like I'm actually doing something.' Battlescars. Welcome to the Great Dismal Swamp.

I was also a little proud of my ticks. I'm still really concerned about the one I let loose in my room, but I'll take my revenge eventually. It's official, I do fieldwork.

But today we did water work, and for that, I am grateful. We went to the southern end of the refuge, which is actually in North Carolina. Fred taught me to use the device that uses sonar to map the depths of the ditches. It's a big sensor that floats on what looks like a boogie board. We used a pully to map the botom, making passes over the ditch bottom. I effectively ruined the case that the blackberry (used to capture the data) is in, because apparently deet eats away at plastic. For a moment, I had to think about what would be worse- melting my skin away, or getting eaten by mosquitos. I'm sure by now, you know which I would prefer.

But I got to know the equipment and software, and I had my turn with the pully. It took me four minutes to push it across and pull it back, and those eight minutes were really... nice.
I was up to my knees, hip boots on in the water, standing at the pully. As I found my groove, I got the chance to open my ears up to the refuge. Behind me, a dragonfly as long as my index finger was chewing on a piece of grass so loudly I thought it was an animal. The dragonflies dove along the water, and where the trees cast shadows was a perfect reflection of their bright green leaves. The light coming through the brush we climbed over shot through a small section of the shallowest water by my feet. It shone orange and amber before turning brown again. After we left that spot, I could assemble and disassemble the device and collect data on the software, but what I really enjoyed was taking a moment to open up to the sounds.

Today I also learned how to take velocity readings by myself using the flow tracker device. It's not difficult to use or set up, but I feel good knowing that I can settle down and set it up myself.

To take readings today, I had to climb down from the road to perch on top of the culvert. The culverts are the wide metal tubes that run under the road, and I sat on the mouths of these to take my measurements. This was fulfilling, I would collect data, and my supervisor would go down a little ways to do his own work. This would have been wildly successful if I hadn't dropped part of the equipment into the ditch, losing it forever. It was just a little handle, that tightened the device onto its pole, but I had been thinking about trying to not drop anything right as the piece bounced out of my hands and onto the culvert, and into the water with a perfect little plop. I'm really embarassed, but I'm glad my supervisor is so mellow and understanding. I've been having a clumsy week, it's a miracle I didn't fall in as I was climbing down the ladder we brought into the ditch.

We spent basically the entire day doing this. Collecting data, talking  about the data, and conversing. I think I'm doing okay so far. Mentally, i'm doing pretty well, especially after writing everything out. But I plan on getting more experienced, more careful, and generally improving throughout the summer. I really have so much to learn.

I also wanted to take a moment and talk about my writing! Writing creatively is something I do as a personal hobby, I use it primarily as a vehicle for my personal thoughts and emotions, mainly as a workthrough of my thoughts when I'm by myself. This is  something I enjoy, and because I can't stay as connected as I normally do to family and friends, I feel like this is a good way to let everyone know how I'm doing. This is the most detailed and personal account of my summer I will ever give, and that is the reason why I'm writing. I want to share my experience in the most sincere way I can, this is why I chose this medium as my CDIP capstone project.  I truly appreciate your time, and your decision to be a part of this adventure with me. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it.

Get Dirt(y) (6/6)

As I sit, hunkered over my phone and sucking down a much-deserved milkshake, the pads of my fingers cry out in an agonizing pain.

Well, okay, it's not that bad, but I did have a really rough day. It started fine enough, got up at 630, padded around while I made my coffee and tried to be amiable with my bunkmates (no easy task that early, but so far so good.) Then I showed up for work, pulling up in a truck that is far too big for me. Its a Silverado. I have to take a flying leap to get in, but hey, I still have to climb up on kitchen chairs in the kitchen to reach the tupperware. Anyway, I started the day well. My supervisor gave me a presentation on hydrology, something that my molecular mind is having some trouble understanding completely. I get the basics, but if you asked me to explain what was going on at the swamp, I doubt I could do a decent job. To continue- someone from another government sector (I can't for the life of me remember this acronym, I'll see if I can find it.) came to the refuge to give us a hand doing soil samples. In a wetland like this, the soil and water activities are very closely linked. I liked the soil stuff, there was a little chemistry I understood, but this was not the dark part of the day.

I went hiking through that mess,
can you believe that? And I may be
smiling, but I am Not. Happy.

In pursuit of the most perfect soil sample to ever be collected, we went on a very, very arduous journey. At least, I thought it was difficult, but it was the first time I had ever done anything like this. It started easy enough, we pulled off one of the ditches in the area of the swamp called the blocks. The blocks are a collection of mile x mile pieces of land where a lot of conservation and observation happens. We went out onto one that was burned several years back. It started out alright, I had a new pair of hiking pants on and my new, beautiful hiking boots snuggly on my feet. The path we were on started as a bulldozer path, it had grown over since then, but my supervisor had a machete and I was carrying a tool used to collect soil from down in the earth, and I was using it as a walking stick as we went. Then, fairly quickly, almost out of nowhere, it became JUNGLE.

I'm exaggerating again but I am not kidding when I said I had a rough day. There were blackberry bushes, small shrubs, saplings, and I got tangled up in all of them. The thin hiking pants did nothing against the thorns, and were all but torn apart by the trek through the woods. I fell like I was swimming though plantlife, the red maple saplings snaked around and between my legs, ensaring me as I walked. I was third in line, and moving slow. I kept getting caught on the blackberries and their vicious thorns. It was a long, long hour and a half. We probably only hiked an eighth of a mile, but I was drenched in sweat by the end of our hike. We actually didn't even make it to the site that my supervisor wanted to sample. By the time we turned around and made it back to the road, my hands were covered in blood. Pinpricks of blood were welling up on my knuckles and forearms. There's a picture of me  smiling attached to this post. That was towards the end of our hike, and I may be grinning, but I was not. happy.

Wait, though. It gets dirtier.

After trekking unsuccessfully through the underbrush in the blocks, we turned to the southern part of the refuge. An area that had been burned recently, and is made up of plenty of standing water. Today, I did exaclty what I told my parents I wouldn't do. I believe my exact words were 'Don't worry, I'm not going to go trudging through the swamp.'

I went trudging through the swamp.

I was walking on the tops of slick logs and scratchy grasses, moving among the red maple saplings and the small cypress trees while crushing every blackberry patch I could get my boots on. This was easier travelling, but it  was mucky and treacherousIt reminded me of the swamp filled with souls from that one Lord of the Rings movie. A few times I slipped, catching myself with the shovel I was carrying as I tried to balance on the small pawprints of land scattered through the marshy area. I'm sure its no surprise to tell you that I fell into the marsh.

Rather, I sank, knee deep into the mud and muck with a really embarrassing noise. My supervisor gave me a concerned look and when he asked me if I could get out, I honestly thought that at that very moment, the swamp was going to gobble me up entirely. Though, with a great heave I crawled and clambered to my feet, the mud making an awful suction sound as I was reborn from the wetland as a filthy swamp thing. At this point in time, I was more than just wet. I was sweaty, bloody, and muddy.  My feet sloshed in my shoes, which squished in turn with every gummy step I took. So, in order to keep my head in the game I mentally threw my hands in the air and said 'Screw it, my feet are wet, I'm torn up, and my gorgeous boots are filled with mud.' From there I trampled through the swamp like I owned the place. How much muddier could I get?

That was a dumb question. I got even muddier.

So, as I've said before, we were in search of soil samples. Fred and I are both new to soil, so with our representative from the NRCS as our guide, we huddled around a small patch of grass, and after she gave the okay, she drove her shovel into the ground the an earthen queen,  pulling from the mud a squared piece of what was to become our sample.

A giant spider we passed on our treacherous journey.

Reluctantly, the cross section came up to the surface, and she set it on its side. She then picked it apart. I had never really though about soil in a scientific setting, but dirt is actually kind of cool. Pointing out the different organic layers based on color, structure, and texture, the soil monarch analyzed the saturated earth based on the levels of decomposition of the organic matter based on the aforementiomed attributes. At first I didn't see the textures or the subtleties in the colour changes, but after she measured out the layers, my eyes adjusted like they do in the dark, and it became clear. She then served me a healthy helping of the top layer of this mud pie and told me to feel it and run it between my fingers. For a brief moment, I just looked at the unusual gift I had been given. A sopping, mushy pile of decomposed leaves.

Hopefully my distaste wasn't evident, but I went for it. And wouldn't you know, the more decomposed the soil matter is, the slicker it gets. I was tempted to make an impromptu facial mask, but I would like for my supervisor to take me seriously. So after the demonstation, we tried it on our own.
I picked the horizons out fairly quickly after. They're like layers in a cake. After that I was really tempted to paint my face as if the mud all over my hands was war paint. I was reminded of the time my brother and I made mudpies in the dugout at one of my dad's softball practices. I didn't mind it then, and I was learning not to mind the mud now.

When we returned to the truck with our ziplocks filled with mud and my shoes filled with swamp I was hungry, tired, muddy, bloody, sweaty, and overall, both mentally and physically exhausted. I don't think I would have minded this had I been doing it on my.own terms, or for glory maybe, but I guess science is important too.

When I got home after those trying, trying events, the first thing I did was strip down for a tick check and a shower. I had been mentally preparing myself for my first tick all week, but when I looked down at my tender, abused legs and saw that lone star tick inching up my thigh, I made a sound comparable to the sound my dog makes when you accidentally step on her and flung the parasite away.

Wailing, whimpering, screaming, I cast the thing away and jumped backwards. Thoughtlessly, I had sent it flying into the depths of my room. The room in which my bed, clothings, and earthly possessions reside. So what did I do after that?

After mentally preparing myself for this moment with cool collection and steely determination, I overreacted. Muddy and half undressed, I tore my room apart, throwing everything I owned into the washer with nothing but a towel to cover my paranoia. I then hopped in the shower and found a tiny little tick embedded in my hip.

This was a little easier to handle. I clawed it out of my sore skin with my bare hands not bothering with tweezers- why should I, after one of my bunkmates had seen me, wild eyed, as I stuffed the washer to bursting with muddied forearms and a towel? I sent the tiny monster shooting down the drain, and can now say that I work at the Great Dismal Swamp.

I did not have fun today, but I'll live for now. And if I can make it through blackberry mazes, the relentless marsh, and ticks, I figure that I'm just about unstoppable.

Damp Days (6/5)

Today was my first official day as a hydrology technician intern. I got just a little bit filthy, and just a tiny bit soaked today.

My supervisor and I spent a lot of the day doing what we did yesterday. We drove all over the northwestern portion if the swamp, checking the water gauges and clearing debris. Before we went out today, we had something of an intern christmas: i was given a pair of hip boots for the summer, an aluminum clip board, a waterproof field journal, and my very own tape measure. I spent all. day. trying to learn the tape measure fluently. It's marked in feet, but instead of being divided into inches after that, it's divided into tenths and hundreths of a foot. This would be fine, except the bottom of one line is one number, and the top of the same line is a different number. I felt like a child, learning my units all over again, it was far too confusing. I can do it fine now, but it took an entire day of staring hard at my little orange tape measure.

So we went around and took water measurements throughout that area today. Once or twice today, we had to remove debris that was blocking the flow of water through the control devices. I didn't really want to stick my hands in the water to pull out the sticks and gunk, but i dove in, ripping out sticks and clearing the path like the champion I am. This wouldn't actually have been a big deal if it weren't for the foam.

The water is filled with organic material, and when it gets shaken up its froths. The consistency of the foam is similar to what happens when you make a rootbeer float. Its bubbly but firm, and I was covered in it today. I pulled an especially large piece of debris from the device, and it got all over my hands, which I anticipated, but as I pulled the stick from the water it FLUNG this foam all over my legs. My supervisor escaped unscathed, having been educated in this sort of thing, but as I looked at my dirty, frothy fingers and grody pants, there was a brief moment of mental panic. I kind of just froze, I don't think Fred noticed, but I was freaking out a little.

And then I just sort of snapped myself out of it. Before I started that day, I told myself that no matter how the bad the bugs were, I would't complain. I did pretty well, I always forget to spray my head with repellent, but I sucked it up (get it?) and didn't complain about the bugs. I figured since I was already doing pretty well on that one count, so instead of being a baby about getting dirty, I rinsed my hands in the ditch and got over it.

Later in the day, we surveyed some land for a project that's going up this summer. At this point it was raining. It had been on and off most of the day, but now the drops were sprinting off of my hood like a tiny waterfall in front of my eyes. I was scribbling stuff in my notebook, and even though it is waterproof, I managed to wrinkle the pages. So, when I was scrawling in my little book, and the rain was coming down, and my hands were soaking wet, I had another moment. It was a 'I just want to go inside and curl up with a blanket and hot tea' moment. After that I decided to eat lunch and got over it.

So now, I'm sitting in the circle chair and watching 'America's Got Talent' with some of the americorps kids and thinking about the day. I got to get a solid run at what I'd be doing this summer. I also had a really pleasant time chit chatting with my supervisor as we putt-putted around all day. I even sat in on a meeting with a USGS member. Even though I'm exaggerating a lot and complaining a little now, I had a really great day. I managed to  escape relatively unscathed, which makes today a triumph in my book.

An Introduction (6/4)

So, I've been waiting for today to begin my introductions, I wanted to get a real taste of the refuge before I started laying it on too thick.

Let's start with the blog itself. Chalchiuhtlicue is an Aztec water deity. I chose this mythic figure for several reasons. The first is because if you follow my paternal heritage far back enough, (which isn't really that far, if I'm being realistic) you'll eventually bump into some Aztec lineage. My bisabuela (great grandmother) was born and raised in Mexico, and I've been told that in her youth her eyes were the greenest anyone had seen- a characteristic attributed to her own lineage and the apparent mixing of European and Native blood a little earlier in our history. I'm not going to draw too many parallels between connecting with my family history and connection with nature, because I feel the notion speaks for itself.

The second reason I chose this particular deity is because Chalchiuhtlicue, or She of the Jade Skirt, is a water goddess. Again, my explanation will be minimal: I feel a certain empowerment when alluding to goddesses of nature. Of course, there's the whole swamp thing. I am well satisfied with my selection of titles, I think it's the right amount of clever and I hope that those of you reading agree!

Next on my list of introductions: the swamp itself. I am currently living in the Great Dismal Swamp National Wildlife Refuge, a piece of land that stretches over 113 thousand acres of land. This refuge is the largest in the Northeast region of the Fish and Wildlife Service, and it's home to the larger of Virgina's two natural lakes. This refuge also holds a small portion of the underground railroad. I learned today that there are quite a few cultural snippets hidden away in the history of this place.

This is what most of the swamp looks like,
it's comprised of  forested wetland habitat.

From the beginning: the land was surveyed in the mid/ late 18th century and was written off as a miserable place 'not fit for man or beast' (I believe William Bird said this, but I will double check) Though not long after, George Washington passed through, deemed it a paradise, and set up shop.

The swamp is comprised of an series of intersection ditches through which water flows and collects. When I peered into the rushing, high waters that filled these, I imagined them as veins, carrying water to every inch of the land. These ditches and their paralleling roads were built to make the area useable and accessible for loggers. The land was made a refuge in the mid seventies, after the landscaped had been logged over once or twice. It's expanded several times since, and this summer, I'll be spending plenty of time poking around and getting to know those ditches. Don't worry it's a little less Shrek-y than you're imaging, and without a doubt far less Shrek-y, fumed, and unattractive as I first imagined.

That's the tangible, and more or less the summary of what I did today. We spent the entire day, after getting a brief history from the refuge manager, driving around the bumpy gravel roads, getting a feel for the landscape. Now I move into the intangible, and the creative.

I like the swamp, or maybe more than anything, I like what it stands for. The Great Dismal Swamp is a fine representation of Nature's durability, her persistence. This land has been abused, and more recently scarred by fires and human presence. When my eyes followed the glossy and even the algae-blanketed waters, I felt a great sense of respect and awe for how the place has bounced back. There is a great burn scar near the center of the refuge, from a fire started by a piece of machinery that ignited the organic peat soil and burned away a huge section of cedar trees. Their blackened stumps, the texture of matchsticks or dried lizard tails, stand dejectedly in the water.

The Suffolk side of Lake Drummond.

Not too far from this area is my favourite part of the refuge. At the very center, at the heart, is Lake Drummund. It spans 3000 acres, and now that I know where the canoes are, I plan on spending most weekends staring into the water. There's something about the water in this place, particullarly at the lake. When the wind doesn't send ripples all along the surface, it reflects like a mirror, except the instead of a clear blue or green, the water is black. All of the light bounces right back off of it, and it's as if the landscape is inviting you to look into it's center and see your own. This isn't because it's dirty, the water is stained brown and red from the organic material brewing in the soil. My supervisor described it as being tea.

While I pondered and soaked up the history of the swamp, I  thought about what would happen if I decided to walk right into the wetland. Sureley, the ditches and swamp would swallow me whole. The tree's vines would slip and embrace my shoulders, and with time, the turtles would climb atop my head and bask.