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.
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.
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.
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| After the rain. |
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. |
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.
I, too, descend from manual laborers. Although I spend most of my time in an office now, my mom still has this image of me alone on a mountain somewhere, probably inadequately dressed and malnourished, doing exactly the type of work that she's worked so hard so that I wouldn't have to do. But I know the simple pleasure of falling asleep in a tent, with dew dripping on nylon, while hermit thrushes sing their hearts out; and I know the satisfaction of hiking up a steep mountain trail and thinking, "I built that."
ReplyDeleteMy parents have similar mental images of me and what I'm doing! I'm glad to know that the rewards are so precious- I'm quickly learning that collecting mounds of data while the songbirds tweet and whistle has its own subtle satisfaction.
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