Charcoal (7/30)

Measurement site from last week.

Exposed Cypress tree roots in the burn scar

Over the weekend I managed to find myself a book store and an art supply. After bumming out, reading comics, and getting myself a new set of pens, I feel refreshed. I slept in and had a long chat with my mentor and with my youngest brother over the weekend, so I'm feeling pretty mellow.

So today, after hitting snooze once (or twice, or more) I crawled out of bed and started the week. I didn't know what the plan was, but the weather is a little cooler this week, so we had a day in the field.

Fire equipment for the small fire we had over the weekend

Last week I spent a bunch of time working on some elevation spreadsheets, and today we went out to an area that burned in 2008 to continue the work. Before the fire that took out that section of forest, a few wells were installed and surveyed for elevations. To determine how much peat soil was lost in that fire, we went out to take some new elevations.

Oh, the walk was so much easier than those well runs. We had more to lug around, but (for me at least,) it wasn't terrible. The peat, instead of being mucky, crunched underfoot instead of sucking my feet into the earth. The fire had burned away the nutrients in the soil, leaving the ground and tree matter crunchy and blackened. By the end of the day, it looked like I had rolled around the bottom of a charcoal grill.

Palamedes Swallowtail- Thanks, Mao! 

At first I was nervous about falling- the charred wood that made up the slash trail looked soft and dangerous, and I was worried I would completely wipe out. I mean, I did a few times, but it was fine, because after I stumbled, all I had to do was stand back up.

I also only saw two blackberry bushes. I squashed them both.

We spent a little time at two different plots, surveying the elevation at two old wells. One had melted in the fire, and the other was in pretty good shape. Surveying was pretty straightforward, and in the open air, the sounds of frogs resounded as loudly as a symphonic concert.

On the way back, we loaded up an old datalogger and wandered back. The way back seemed to be a little weaker, and when I was clambering over a log and when I landed, my foot went straight through the peat and I landed, face first into a patch of fennel. My allergies drove me crazy all day after, but the walk was one of the better ones.

Tree roots in a ditch bank.

Out on the walk.

These roots left my hands and legs
 completely black with soot.

More of last week's measurement site.

The fire burned everything away- leaving charcoal.

Surveying and recording data for the burn!

The Homestretch (7 / 25)

I apologize for not posting much recently- between Prime Hook and my current exhaustion, I've been a little uninspired and at a general loss of things to say.

Earlier this week I was sick, nothing serious, just enough to make me miserable. When I drove myself to the clinic, I was completely delerious in my fever- the road made me nervous and unsure, and I felt like I wasn't making sense as I spoke with the people at the desk. I felt so warm that I was completely convinced I would combust on the spot. They told me to drink water and check my temperature and sent me away- scolding me for my addiction to coke zero.

Besides my sudden lack of physical fortitude, there are a number of things that are signalling the end of the summer. I find myself in the office more, putt-putting around until I feel guilty about receiving a  paycheck and try to find something to do. I'm not sleeping as well, which isn't really surprising or a big deal. I cycle through these periods of sleeplessness as steadily as seasons, so the fact that I'm in the middle of a dry spell is a big indicator of the arrival of the homestretch.

This lack of restfullness is a really bad thing. I'm a completely different person when I get enough sleep.  This isn't an exaggeration, for once: ask anyone. I'm terrible when I don't sleep. So now I'm turning into a version of myself I really dislike- my temper is shorter, I'm snarky, moody, selfish. Instead of being midly inconvenienced and amiable about the dirty dishes my housemates let pile up ('Oh, I'm sure they were just busy and will get to it') the sight of a single dirty utensil will drive me into fury. I mean- you just put your bowl in the dishwasher, you couldn't take the time to put ONE FORK in the wash? I feel like a maid, piling things I didn't dirty into the dishwasher over and over.

On top of my permanent scowl darkening the clubhouse, a few of the other interns have taken their own greivances to the airwaves. Complaining about the swamp, a lack of phone service, and the ac that doesn't blow quite how you want it won't make the end of your visit any better, it won't make the weeks go any faster.

And sure- having to stand in a heard of mosquitoes to make a splotchy, crackly phone call is not ideal, but at least I can talk to my family at all. I'm sorry you were thristy and forgot to put a Sprite in the fridge for you smouldering day in the office, but the heat index was 107 yesterday and there are people installing structures and fighting fires. (Not me, I've become so useless-but there were people in the heat all day, and you were thirsty? Alright.)

It's not about what you don't have, or how bad you think you have it- it's about acknowledging what privelege you do have and making the best.

I know I may be a little hypocritical with this post (duly acknowledged), but if I don't get these feelings of frustration out I swear I'll just burst. I'm more homesick than I've ever felt. I miss the company of my friends- the people that know when I'm joking and the people that can read the look on my face and call me out. The people that make absurd noises not because they have nothing better to fill the air with, but because our little group of bandits knows exactly when and who to sneak up behind.

I've never felt these degrees of homesickness. But I'm exhausted- I can't make any more small talk. I can't make awkward dinner conversation or be polite with those I don't care for. I'm tired of asking people where they're from, how they like the swamp. My lack of effort makes my apathy worse, which in turn has sent me spiralling into this terrible cycle of just...missing. My whole person aches for the familiar and the comforting.

This is how I know the homestretch has arrived. Plenty has happened this week- I drove a diesel around the refuge spraying for invasive Phragmites, I've met with USGS biologists and filled spreadsheets- but my head has been somewhere else. I want my skin to be the way it was when I arrived, unblemished by the violent swollen bites from the bugs and the harsh sun, and I want my mind to be as refreshed and anxious with excitement as it was when I first drove past that government brown sign and into summer.

I feel more mellow having gotten that out. Thanks for putting up with me, and wish me luck as I close out the last month of this curious summer.

Prime Hook Pt. 3 (7/20)

Oh my word I am exhausted.

One of many River Surveyor
measurements made!

Fred and I went back up to Prime Hook this past week! I left early Monday morning, after a typical night of not getting enough sleep. I always get a little antsy when I travel, so I didn't start with a full tank. Anyway, we ended up getting there in the early afternoon and taking measurements.

We ran into some of the guys from St. Jones Reserve, an estuary research center that works for the state of Delaware and frequently visits the Prime Hook NWR. The reserve is also where we've been staying on our trips. They saw us when we arrived and greeted us cheerfully, saying that we "Picked the hottest week to come up to collect data."

I know that when people say stuff like this, they mean it in good-humor, but I always feel like they're signing my death certificate when they talk mention things of that nature.

Upstream of the Prime Hook Creek WCS

Except it ended up being not that bad. It was actually pretty nice in comparison to the swamp- the humidity was low, and the breeze kept the bugs away. Plus we were consistently knee-deep in the bay, so that always helps the heat.

We walked the breach a million times, collecting velocities at different points. One run takes about two hours, and we did at least one or two a day while we were up there. My arms got really tan while we were there- permanent tanlines, permanent sleeves, even the people back at the bunkhouse complemented me on how tan my arms were. And then someone said something about the comparison between my arms and my legs, and let's just say I'll have to spend hours evening up this weekend.

Downstream of the PHC structure

My arms are also a little leathery. I'm mildly concerned about the amount of sun I got.

Besides the breach- we went and made countless measurements at the structures in the refuge. We smelled pretty bad when we came back from the refuge each day. A couple of times Fred was chest-deep in water filled with this nasty-smelling hydrogen sulfide- the bacteria in the water produce it as a biproduct. It is foul.

Mmm, marshy

But the trip was fine! It was nice to get away from the swamp for a couple of days, I went back earlier in the day to drop off some equipment and enter some data and I feel pretty refreshed. We were working some seriously long days, though, and being out in the sun all day is seriously draining-- by Thursday morning my skin recoiled at the slighted hint of sunlight and all I wanted to do was sleep. I was absolutely beat, but this wasn't an unpleasant exhaustion.

So today I slept in and got a whopping 11 hours of sleep- I have to catch up on all the nights I spent tossing and turning on the plastic Reserve beds.

And so closes my 7th week at the Refuges, can you believe it? (To make up for a lack of depth, photos!)

The breach

All of those footprints!

Horseshoe crabs

A dolphin skeleton guys from the Reserve pulled up from the beach.

Salt marsh adjacent to the breach.

The beach!

Fox pawprints!

Bed formations left by the exiting tide.

An osprey nest in the breach area.

Standard seashell beach photo

I've started learning to tie knots!
Check out my sweet donut knot.

Ahhh, perfection- I stayed up late working
 last night working on some of these!

Townie (7/14)

The chariot.

Freedom!

Earlier this week Fred loaned me his old truck, so I have a set of wheels for the remainder of the summer. It's older than I am, it's three different shades of red, it's a manual, and it doesn't have ac or power steering. I'm over the moon, I am so excited to be able to get out and about, and how generous was it for him to lend it to me? Ahhh, I'm so stoked. I mean, I would be thrilled even if I had to wind it up every time I went to drive it, but when I brought it back to the bunkhouse I almost spent the night in the cab.

Some of the items on display at the train museum. Most have
 been donated by  individuals previously involved with the station.

Anywayyyy- My initial plan for the day was to sleep until the sun went down again, but a fire was found on the refuge yesterday, so the americorps crew that showed up the day before ended up getting up pretty early to go out and help out. It wasn't a serious fire, it was 200 yards from the ditch, and about the size of a truck. It was one tree. But they were up and rowdy, doing laundry at 7am right across from my room, so I was up by 8:30.

Which means tonight I need to get some major shut eye, but I'm already feeling more refreshed than I did during the week. Today I decided to explore and get some of my much-needed alone time (coming from a family of six, I learned to really appreciate 'me' time) so I went out.

Original 18th century fireplace in what was
 the overflow waiting room of the station.

I walked around down town, scoping out the peanut stores and seeing if this downtown was similar to most. I ended up at the Train Museum over on Main st, which was originally Suffolk's train station, after I picked up some chocolate covered peanut brittle. The woman working gave me the run down, and showed me around the place since I was the only visitor in at the time. It was built in 1885, and most of the building was original. She even gave me the heads up about a few other places I could check out, which included Riddick's Folly, a house that had been used as a Civil War Union headquarters after the family took a long vacation farther west. I haven't been, but it's next on the list.

I walked around the nearby cemetery and many, if not most, of the dates were from the 19th century. It reminded me of all the times my friend and I would run down to the cemetery by her house when we were in middle school. After that I went to lunch, a little place downtown called The Plaid Hatter. They had a huge selection of teas and all sorts of grub. I got a zucchini carrot burger and a salad- which came with a balsamic glaze so tasty I could bathe in it. (I can actually make this at home, so maybe I will.... though I doubt that'd help my bug problems.) I was pretty hesitant about the sandwich and the lemon yogurt spread, but it was delicious. I was full halfway through, but the toasted ciabatta and spread were so good that I ATE IT ALL.

A statue dedicated to the soilders of WW1
at the entrance to the Cedar Hill Cemetery in Suffolk.
 

I finished my sandwich before my server even came back to check on me. It was that good. I might just be a regular.

Then I went thrifting, which I always love doing. Thanks to my Grandpa Paul dragging me to second hand stores and yard sales as a kid, I am always poking around in these places.

I guess I didn't do anything terribly exciting. I went to the mall and walked around, mostly just enjoying wandering around the stores. I drove around, for the most part, feeling pretty cool because I was driving a manual transmission and gas is a whole dollar cheaper than back home. When I went to get a soda from Chick-fil-a the boy at the counter got a little flirty when he gave me my change, which of course, brightened my day pleasantly.

For dinner, one of the other interns and I went to the Plaid Hatter's sister restaurant, the Plaid Turnip. I got pulled pork this time around, but because I spent the day eating peanut brittle and stuffing myself on other sandwiches I only ate half. I also got a cupcake, because it was lemon flavoured and the second the server mentioned it I had to.

The Plaid Hatter

So, nothing terribly exciting. I guess I just wanted to say that I have recovered (mostly) from the week. My patchwork skin still itches, and I'm still tired, but mentally- I'm in a much better mood.

Bad Water Day (7/ 13)

This was bound to happen.

The early mornings were without a doubt going to break me down. I've been feeling so tired lately- it's just so hard to go to bed early, and I end up so mentally exhausted. It was hot again today, and after the rain, the bugs were out. All of this, mixed with uncooperative water turned me into a whining, teary mess.

I went out, planning on knocking everything out today- even the stuff that wasn't terribly dire. I like getting things done, but when I got to the site where I was going to do a measurement, nothing was working out.

The water was shallow, so I was going to wade because it must have been less than two feet deep. But I sunk farther and farther with every step, until the muck was threatening to remove my hip waters from my legs. Being alone and not really caring to drown, I abandoned the endeavor and figured that since I was there, I could try a river surveyor measurement anyway, maybe it was deeper across the ditch?

Nope. It was a foot deep the whole way across. So I couldn't do that measurement.

Moving on, I couldn't find the culvert where I was to do another flow measurement. I hacked the vegetation away and poked around, but didn't see it. Being tired and already in a foul mood, I abandoned that too.

By mid-morning, I was in a miserably grumpy mood, which was worsened by my crippling inability to do anything productive. I went to the next site where I completely unraveled.

I had done these measurements at this site before, so I figured it would be fine. Well it started out okay, with me inching down to the culvert as I tried to avoid the poison ivy and keep from losing all of my stuff. Then the biting gnats came out. They flocked to my arms and face, and each little bite really stung, for as little as those bugs are.

And then the yellowflies started chewing on me- not exaggerating- they bit me through my shirt, on my arms, my legs. The 28 seconds it took to get each of the three readings felt like an eternity. I was working on my last one, trying to brush flies off with one arm and keep the wading rod steady in the other when I saw it.

A fly, as big as my thumb, perched on my hip and looking up at me with it's huge, globular green eyes.


I screamed. They probably heard me from the visitors center.

And that was it. I couldn't get focused after that, I hit 'end section' and clawed my way back up to the road, completely giving up. By the time I was on my feet again, tears were running down my face and I was exhausted. I was totally defeated, it felt like the swamp and all of the bugs had a personal vendetta against me. I was sweaty, teary, and as soon as I had everything packed away (which I had to do around my cloudy vision) I crawled into the truck and sat there for a minute, crying it out and considering a phone call to my parents, my friends, my mentor, and maybe a hotel/resort in some remote place without flies.

With my tail between my legs, I came back to the office and began to pack up the truck for Prime Hook on Monday. Oh, today is miserable. I haven't done a thing, and my skin is starting to look like I have some sort of problem with all of the bites I have.

The only nice thing I saw all day.

Degrees of Dampness (7 / 12)

It's been rainy here at the swamp, but great dismal has never seemed so bright. When the sky greys over with stormy, lingering intent the swamp begins to glow. It's like when the sun is blocked out, the energy from the earth itself just radiates and bounces from leaf to leaf.

After the rain.

On Wednesday we were out checking a few wells for the USGS hydrologist that has some stuff set up out in the blocks. The drive out there is long, about forty minutes, and on the way there Fred and I talked about the burn scar. We agreed that it was pretty in its own way- something subtle, unlike the majesty of the mountains or the unreal scenes of the west, but something nice in its own right.
After Fred repaired a rain gage, we stood on the edge of the road and considered the walk ahead. He knows how I felt after the last walks, having read through my postings (Speaking of which, almost 700 page views! Thank you!!) and he said that we didn't necessarily have to go today, but hey- we were already out there, and it was in the low eighties, so why not?

It was the best walk to date. It rained during, and that kept the heat away. Better rain than sweat, and I like to think it helps keep the ticks away. When the drizzle inched toward a downpour, we stood under some of the trees. I studied the way the dim light and rain made the sweet pepper bush leaves transparent. I listened to the quiet percussion of the rain on the leaves. It didn't help much, but it was nice to not have to march through the rain.

We got to talking about work, and the comfort level the swamp offers. Fred told me between the heat and the swamp, its one of the more uncomfortable places he's worked at. Which is strangely comforting, be because if I decide to work in this field later in life. It's only going to get better, right?

We also got to talking about working hard, doing physical work. I've never had to work like this before. I've lived a comfortable life, nothing extravagant, but I always had what I needed. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that this was what my grandparents had in mind when they came to the states. They grew up on farms, in families of 11 and 12 or more, raising chickens and working. When my siblings and I don't share the way my abuelita thinks is appropriate, she always tells us about how her and her 9 older siblings would share everything, even an orange.

I know my parents have sacrificed, and still sacrifice a lot to make sure I don't struggle. They had me so young, and they chose to build a family over schooling.

Cypress trees from the Southeastern portion of the refuge.

A combination of these things have made it so all I do is go to school. I learn, I discuss, my campus job involves me sitting on my butt all day. My abuelito and my grandpa Paul both worked in a pottery mill for years to build up a life for their families.

As a result of their hard work, I have the privilege to just go to school. They let me know that I don't know how to work (A 'kid's these days' sort of thing) and before I realized what was happening, I was seeking these opportunities.

The challenges I've faced navigating the swamp and working in the heat have evolved into this strange sort of homage to the work my parents and grandparents have done. It's not the same, but I think I want to show that the work they've all done hasn't turned me into some soft, lazy, stagnant individual.

I'm among a handful of dozens and dozens of extended family to be getting a degree. I'll be three, four, maybe five. There's no huge pressure to succeed outside of my own head, but I guess all I'm trying to do is prove to myself that I'm capable of doing whatever I please, no matter the challenges.

It's been nice making my observation rounds on my own, too. I get to commune with nature and space out as I memorize the bark patterns on sycamores as much as I like. I was taking a measurement today when I saw a big frog. He was a brown version of a green frog, I said 'Hello, frog!' brightly, and it chirped at me loudly and splashed into the water.


Communing with nature indeed.

'el dolor infinito' (7/11)

The White House

This past weekend I went to DC to meet up with a few of the other interns. I was hesitant to go, a combination of shyness, nerves, and a reluctance to spend money made me not want to make the trip at first.

I decided to go because

1. Cabin fever is creeping in.
2. I told myself I would try to get to know the other interns.
3. I got the news about my father's deployment a few hours before I left, so I figured I should do something instead of letting myself wallow.

I like DC. Maybe better than New York, which is always a little smelly in some places and definitely confusing to navigate. (I swear the subway system was designed by a four year old with a case of the scribbles.)

We went to the Smithsonian Museum of American Art first. I know a lot of people aren't terribly interested in art, but I love it. I love being able to stand in front of a piece of transformed canvas, and being able to look into the very mind and soul of the artist as I trace the smooth lines of brushes and paints. I especially liked the portrait gallery- the had all these card-sized photographs of Civil War generals. It was a little odd to realize that those legendary men looked like everyone else. I bet you've never thought about Ulysses S. Grant's nose, have you? I could have spent hours there, falling in love with every person ever painted and swooning at the sight of the landscapes in their intricate frames.

One of my favourite pieces from the
Smithsonian Museum of American Art.

We went to a couple different Smithsonians throughout the day, each one getting more crowded as the heat steadily rose. Ahhh, to have been walking on sidewalks.

Later in the evening we went to the movies, which I wasn't super excited about- why would I drive four hours to do something I can do anywhere? Anyway!

Afterwards, the other people I was with decided they wanted to try to find a club. I didn't feel like driving around an unfamiliar city at one in the morning, and with us all being under 21 anyway...

Well, I tagged along. We walked all up and down the street, I was dodging girls in skirts and guys in polos or sketchy tank tops as if the street were a side scroller. It was like that first awkward semester at college as you try so desperately to find out what's going on.
The one place we did end up going into was a little cafe/restaurant/bookstore called Poets and Busboys. It was perfect, and full of my fellow young, disenchanted, educated twenty-somethings. All I had wanted to do was check out a bookstore, and at 2 am on a Saturday night, I did just that.

My favourite from the sculpture garden near
 the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History

I scoured the bargain bookshelves, poking around until I found a $5 book of new latino poetry. When I went up to the counter to pay, Pablo Neruda's Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair (Veinte poemas de amor y una cancion desperada, originally) was sitting on the counter. The book was small and slender, and $13. I had heard of Neruda before, so on a whim I slapped it on top of my other book of poems.

The young woman and the counter eyeballed my books, and then me. 'Pablo Neruda, hm?'

I told her I was feeling a little bit brown today, and she brightened up, asking me where my parents were from. So I told her, 'My grandparents are from Mexico, but we're mostly in California now.'

'Oh! Are you from LA? I'm from LA.'

We talked for a little bit, about how we both ended up so far from home. We talked about not finding tortillas, peppers, panaderias. She is working on her masters and with an education-based nonprofit called Teaching for Change. She told me to go to Brooklyn after I told her I was in school in New York. She said its full of Mexicans, and a lot of them don't even speak Spanish.

I'll make my pilgrimage to this perfect land, where I would belong completely, in the spring.

The Mural at the Smithsonian Museum of Air and Space

I didn't learn her name, but as I handed her my signed receipt she told me, 'If you're ever in the area, and if you ever need anything, let me know. Definitely come back and visit.'

That was the highlight of my trip- it was a perfect moment, unexpected and comforting on this curiously different coast. And of course, books. I've been picking apart Neruda's poetry, using it to brush up on my Spanish and add words to my vocabulary. It's so beautiful, to read alound and mull over the lyric, romantic syllables. Neruda believed in the power and poignancy of the personal symbol and the personal spirituality through one's surroundings. His work and the marriage of the wonderfully painted scenes of his homeland in Chile with the images of those he loves and their signifigance to him describe flawlessly what goes on in my own busy head.

Moldy Bread (7/9)

I got lost on the refuge today.

It was bound to happen, have you seen the photos? Everything looks the same. North, South, up, down. I can pick apart the different regions of the refuge, but the right side of the road looks exactly like the left.

It wasn't bad, though. I was up on the Northwestern corner of the refuge, wandering from staff gage to staff gage, making my obersvations. On my list of structures to check is the one at the intersection of Camp and Jericho. Jericho is too muddy to drive down, and there was a fallen log in the way on Camp, so I hiked it.

Round trip, it was 4.6 miles, which didn't seem terribly far. On my way there, I had plenty of time to think about what I was doing, which was hiking.

Ohh, the walk was so nice I could hardly stand it. It was in the eighties or nineties today, and cloudy. I was walking down the road, so no brittle wood, no blackberries caused me any harm today. The song birds were out to celebrate my comfort with me and everything. There was a little mud, but I clomped on through to the site, writing this post in my head as I went. (This I frequently do, having a post already in the works before I even finish out my day.)

I've never really thought of myself as a conservationalist.

I've never thought of myself as such because I never thought there was a place for me. I was tucked away in my cozy, scholastic niche in the hard sciences. I spent my time in labs, moving genes in fruit fly genomes and making biofuel and ketones. I've never felt that studying the enviornment in a non-biology setting would be as relevant to me. What did a four hour bird identification field trip have to do with me?

I realized today, while I was out walking, that I was wrong to think that there wasn't a place for me. When I think of conservation I think of building trails, bird identification, interpretation, or even activism. I've realized that there's a place for me in this field, and there's certainly a place for anyone that inherets this funny little globe. I've never thought of myself as an outdoors person, either. I booked my flight in late May, right before I purchased my first pair of hiking boots.

I've also always mentally limited hiking to those hyper-athletic, with crazy strong arms and an addiction to Cliff bars and a pure hatred of soda. So while I was out hiking today, and having a fine time listening to the birds and trying to identify trees, I recalled what Mamie Parker said about going somewhere with an open mind, as she put it "With your glass empty."

So this is me, dumping out the glass I thought I had already emptied.




Also, this post is entitled "Moldy Bread" because that's what my sandwich was made of today. I also feel a little moldy because I got rained on again.

Breaking News (7 /7)

My father has been in the Airforce my entire life. When I was just six months old, my mother, who was younger than I am now, boarded a plane and joined him overseas.

I've always had a funny relationship with his work. As an adult, I boast about how well adjusted and how suited I am to moving and adapting. I name drop Airforce bases like I'm some cool, nonchalant jet-setter. What I don't talk about is all the sacrifice that my family has shouldered over the past twenty years. I'm not an optimist by nature, but this has always been one of those things I try to see the best in.

I found out earlier this afternoon that my dad will be deployed to Qatar later in the year. Probably in October, for six months-ish. Which means depending on the likeliness of him visiting me and the lining up of my school breaks (will my October break be before he leaves? Will my Spring break in March be after he gets back?) There's the possibility that I won't see him until May-next summer.

He's been there before, though I don't remember exactly when. Between the missed Christmases and birthdays, it's hard to keep the deployments straight in my head. I swear, the man used to go to Turkey and Saudi Arabia like he vacationed there.

For some reason, I got it in my head that after moving back to California, he would be done with all of this business. He's been talking about retiring there for a while, and since my parents just bought a house, I figured we were done moving.

So this news hit me especially hard today. In April of 2010, my dad went on remote to South Korea for a year. He missed my 18th birthday, my high school graduation, and my departure for college. This is nothing I hold against him, having long since accepted the fact that it's work, and not a choice. But just because I know he would have rather been there, yelling embarassingly loud as I walked the stage, doesn't.change the fact that I'll never forgive his work for doing that to me.

He returned April of 2011, just in time for the summer after my freshman year. Between his return a little over a year ago and my long distance schooling, I've spent a grand total of 5 months of the past two years hanging out with him.

I was home for a little less than two weeks this summer, and he took time off of work to spend with me, but the limited time I spend at home has to be divvied up among my extended family. Which meant our plans to have extended father daughter time didn't work out how we wanted.

I guess this is why the news has been so upsetting. I haven't been home for Thanksgiving since I left for school, the trip from coast to coast has never been feasible in the short vacation I'm given. After my semester at sea this fall, I'll have a long winter break. I was really, really looking forward to spending the holiday at home, with my family, arguing over chores and stuffing ourselves at the crowded table.

I'm trying to accept the fact that this won't be happening for me this year, the way I planned and imagined in my head. I know that it's getting to the point where my life is diverging from my family's, but I feel like I'm just missing out on so much- my brother's graduation, his eighteenth birthday (which is actually today) and now I'm missing out on the time my dad will he at home. It's hard, and right now I feel like a child- something that looks like it's getting more common the older I get.

Every deployment brings new challenges. When we were in Oklahoma (4th-8th grades) they were especially difficult because of the frequency of the orders. It prpbably wouldn't be terribly inaccurate to say he was deployed for as much time as he was there. I was braver then, taking on the role of mom's little helper over that of an upset child.

It's always tough on my mom, and I remember distinctly pulling my siblings aside on occasions when she was beyond stressed. I would clench my teeth and speak to them in a low, menacing tone, saying things like, we need to help the best that we can right now, we need to behave to make it as easy as possible for Mama. While fighting the urge to have a knock-down-drag-out with them.

And I guess after all of those times I tried to make it as easy as possible, I'm just worn out.

My dad is especially fond of telling people how I used to act when he would leave for work when I was a toddler. He would walk out the door as I dawdled in the living room, watching my vhs tapes. The second he was gone, I would burst into tears and run to the door to follow. He always laughs when he describes how I would stick my little hands through the mail box slot and wail after him. His telling normally includes a few mimicked cries, and a laugh I know better than my own.

I can really identify with that younger version of myself, I'm probably shedding as many tears as I write this as I did every morning when he left. Only now, instead of waiting on someone to pop in a new Barney tape, I'm waiting on someone to hit pause on my accelerating life so I can spend time with my Papa.

Blood, Sweat, and Close to Tears (7 /5)

Let me being by saying that I cannot believe yesterday was the fourth of July. Where is my summer going? I feel as though I've barely arrived, but as I close out my fifth week of the summer and consider how much I've  been up to, I suppose it makes sense.

I had a lovely fourth, though. It was a necessary break- I ended up sleeping in yesterday and getting a solid 11 hours of sleep, which I'm always in short supply of. A few of the interns and I had a cookout later in the afternoon, we invited the forester over, too, so we had a nice little party going. We have all sorts of goodies left over- watermelon, burgers, hot dogs, classic fourth fare. That night we went to see the fireworks in downtown Suffolk.Since my family moved back to our hometown a couple of years ago, Independence Day has always been a huge deal, so I'm glad that I got to celebrate here at the refuge.

Anyway, that's all fine and dandy, but I am exhausted. Absolutely bone tired. What a week! On Tuesday, Fred took me out to the blocks to check on the water monitoring wells he and a grad student had put in last year. The premise of the exercise is simple enough- measuring the water levels in the wells. The point is to correlate fluctuations in the water table to what's going on nearby.

This is done by installing a well, which basically involves digging a hole down to the ground water and sliding the well in place.The wells are made of PVC tubing with either slats or holes in the bottom, so the water can enter the well. The bottoms of these are frequently wrapped in some sort of mesh, this acts as a sediment filter. After these are inserted into the hole, they're surround with sand, which acts as another filter, and covered. To make measurements, all that's needed is a measurement down to the surface of the water in those wells.

Simple enough, right?

Well, this would be a wonderfully luxurious, relaxing exercise if it weren't for the locations of the well transects. We scientists adhere to the holy order of observation protocol, and end up doing everything in sets of threes or fours along a stretched out transect in a certain area. So all day Tuesday and today, we were moving along North-South transects that cut through the blocks. I have no idea how far apart they were from each other, I was too focused on not falling to my death.

So on Tuesday we went out to two transects. These were not terrible, I had to duck under some paw-paw branches and waddle under some vines, but these walks were through wooded areas that had a nice canopy to block out the sun. Afterwards, we went to an area that was fairly clear, and not quite as shady or comfortable. We also grossly underestimated the heat.

The area was dry and open, as it had recently been logged over to allow one species of tree to pop up over another. There were trails from these operations, and though I didn't really... see them, Fred picked them out and went bounding into the brush ahead of me. I'd probably have trouble keeping up with him walking down the sidewalk, but once we got going through these old slash trails, he would have to wait on me to catch up and I clambered awkwardly over the scraggly landscape.

I could feel the heat rising from the ground, radiating from the grass and even from my own body. My eyes were focused on my feet, which was littered with old tree mass that had been bleached by the relentless Southern sun. Sticks, logs, twigs snapped like toothpicks under my feet, sounding as bright and intense as firecrackers. I had trouble walking comfortably, because I was never sure when the piles of debris would hold my weight, and if I fell through how far my foot would go.

I began to feel the heat halfway to the center well. A dull, rhythmic ache started up in my head- a telltale sign that I was overheating. I've always been a little more prone to this than others.  Oh, and I forgot to mention that over my jeans, I was wearing chaps and gloves to shield against the thorns that framed our paths.

To continue this behemoth of a post- it was hot. I was hot. My hat, the chaps, the work gloves I was wearing to fight the ocean of prickles and grabbers only trapped my own heat further. My water had gone warm in my backpack, and I was feeling pretty awful.

This was on top of the thorns, which I have really grown to dislike with a certain kind of anxiety and hatred. I don't mind the holly, or the greenbriar, but those blackberries tear me up. They catch my pants, my shirt, my backpack, my skin, my hair. I can't count how many bits I've pulled from my hands and unfortunate legs. I kept tripping into bushes, over the unforgiving wood that would catch my feet and send my balance out the window.

I had to go slow, taking breaks to drink my lukewarm water and clamp down on the voice inside my head that just wouldn't stop whining. There were points, when I was couched over with my eyes screwed closed as I attempted to calm the pounding in my head, that I just wanted to be plucked right out of the swamp and be sent home.

So imaging the look my mom would give me if I called her crying, I trudged forward, trying to ignore the way my neoprene boots were cooking and rubbing my feet. There was a moment where I just had to stand there and have a mini crisis. I had been walking along and stumbled, as per usual, but when I shot a hand out to steady myself, I managed to cut myself on the web of my fingers on a blackberry stalk.

As I studied the small red streaks, I had one of those: "Why am I doing this to myself moments?" My internal dialogue was cut short by the pounding in my head. Of course, I let my supervisor know that I wasn't feeling so fantastic, and once we got to that well I took a nice long seat and break and recorded my notes from a fallen tree that served as my bench. It was so hot that I had stopped sweating.

Today was more of the same. Dragging myself through the heat, through the muck, through the sweat. Have you ever looked down at yourself and seen that you're completely filthy? This was a new one for me. My arms were covered in dirt, my work jeans are taking on permanent mud and dirt stains, and my hiking boots were collecting vegetation samples from the areas.

I took better care to stay hydrated today, but the blisters on my feet and the warmth of the sun sucked the energy right out of me. I was moving like molasses in the winter, and by the end of the day, Fred was hollering numbers to me as I crouched, defeated, in my little patches of berries and grass.

The last walk today was a little muckier than the others. I moved so, so slow, nursing my right foot and trying my hardest to avoid the thorns that seem hell-bent on dicing me. I had this big fear of falling down- I just didn't want to. I had slipped on the muddy, dead branches, and that falling feeling- after a long day already- stressed me out so badly that my shoulders tightened painfully for the remainder of the day. I inched along, dancing around mud puddles and wandering right into greenbriar snares. Because I was moving so slowly, I kept losing the trail I was following, and would end up just off the path. Though, just off the path means right into inconvenience out there.

After we hit the first well, of four, on this transect, I was offered an out. I thought about it, did I want to go sit in the air conditioned truck and maybe hit a few control structures while someone else mucked around? Yes, that sounded quite, quite nice. Instead, I asked how far they were and if it was alright if we just went slow. It would have been faster if I had crawled through there, and on the way to the farthest well, I was irritated for myself for not just calling it a day. Is there something to be said for trying to stick it out? Maybe, but I don't feel like I could have done as well as I could have today.

I sat the last hike out completely, but it was done much faster, and I occupied myself by checking some nearby structures and clearing debris. I managed to touch all sorts of poison ivy today, so my mind was pretty busy with that paranoia, as well.

I'm not going to lie. These hikes weren't terribly enjoyable- the covered ones were nice enough, with the songbirds singing from the trees and the breeze kissing my tired skin. The return trips were also more pleasant, as the conversation kept my mental whines at bay and me moving forward. I'm also not going to say that I'm especially proud of my performance, but at least it wasn't too buggy today.

Although, the flat tire we got on our way back to the refuge certainly threw a monkey wrench into things. I was driving, and the loud "pop!" of the tire caused me to stop so we could take a look. We stood and stared for a moment at the deflated tire. Fred smiled, and said, "I don't really want to deal with this, but oh well!" and then demonstrated how to change a flat.

Story of my life.

Dilly-Dally (7/ 2)

It's hot at the swamp, and the carnivorous bugs of the area have taken it upon themselves to launch a militant assault on my delicate person.

But that's okay! It's all about attitude- it's hot? It could be hotter. Bugs are eating me up? I'll always have my personality.

I also saw another otter today, so that basically smoothed everything over. I was out on Washington ditch, taking my time, taking pictures of water control structures and the refuge as I wandered around (Fred is back, and has a pile of things to do) and there it was.

It was standing upright, the way prarie dogs and meerkats do, as confident and resolute as a statue. I was driving towards it when the brown figure caught my eye. I made a really girly, excited sound, not unlike the noises that I make when puppychow commercials come on between my cop dramas and made for tv movies. I tried to take a picture, but it just scampered away, evading me to attend to whatever pressing otter business it had to attend to.

Anyway, I'm going to give your brain a break, have some pictures:

This sits right on the entrance to Washington Ditch.
I can't explain what it's like to work where one of our
 founding fathers worked and made his own living.

The tiny brown spot on the right it the otter, I promise.

Lake Drummond from the Washington Ditch viewing platform.

Nine miles of ditch, built by slaves. Incredible, right?

I want to say these are Tiger Swallowtail butterfilies, but don't quote me on that- there are so many different species fluttering around.

...species diversity? 

This was right off of Washington today, scenery like this blankets the refuge,
which is why I'm loving it so much. I had the urge to ditch (get it?)
 my duties today and go hiking through this.

Some history!

More of the lake! Easily one of the most beautiful sites on the refuge.