August (8/3)

The emails keep rolling in- deadlines for evaluations, and this project. My profile is up on the SCA's Follow Me blogging campaign. Each morning, I hit snooze one more time than I did the day before. Each evening, I eyeball the massive amount of stuff I've acquired and try to figure out how on earth I'm going to get it anywhere.

Earliest signs of fall?

The end is near.

Though it's still too soon to start looking back and hammering up some nostalgia from my keyboard, because you see, I've got a lot to do still. With three weeks left, I haven't done near as much on the refuge as I thought I would. I haven't gone hiking (outside of work) yet, I haven't gone for a bike ride. I haven't even gone for a swim this summer- which is maybe why it hasn't really felt like summer. But, I'm an adult now, I'll be spending my time working and working on my atrocious tan (permanent shirts) instead of lounging around the house. Which is fine with me.

The warbler.

So what I'm getting to is- I have three full weeks left here at Great Dismal. I remember when I was three weeks in, and wondering where my time was flying. Now it's really  starting to seem like it's been a while. I haven't been home since May, and I won't be home until October yet. I started my journey on May 28th (before six in the morning, I'd like to add) and I have a lot of road left to travel. I'm not slowing down yet, my goal for the summer was to keep my shoulders square, with minimal whining, with minimal tears (except I whine a lot here, sorry.) but I'm going to keep with it. I'm visiting a new refuge this weekend- for bird surveys and sea turtle nest sittings.

Caught! Unharmed, but nervous.

Today I finally got around to sitting in on the bird survey here at the refuge. I haven't been terribly active in pursuing activities with the biologist, just because it seemed like he hardly had enough for his intern to do. I enjoyed it, though. It was slow, and when I got there, they had been measuring a prothonotary warbler. In the hours I stayed, we only caught one more bird in the nets.

One was enough, though. I watched as Don measured the wings and examined the feathers, echoing the terms and jargon in my head as he recorded his observations on his forms. The other bird was a juvenile towhee, a small little sparrow with brown feathers. Once he had finished measuring, he asked if I wanted to let him go. With the poorly concealed excitement of a little girl, I carefully wrapped my hands around the delicate creature, holding his head between my fingers and cupping his body in both hands.

Examining the flight feathers.

Moments before freedom.

The towhee's feet scrabbled on my palm as it twisted around anxiously. It was warm in my hands, and I could feel his tiny heart beating rapidly under the pads of my fingers, beneath the smooth plumage of its belly and breast. I gazed vacantly at Don and his intern as they tried to tell me how to release it, telling me not to just chuck it into the air. Though I hadn't intended to fling it anywhere, my heart was racing as quick as the bird's. After a moment of them talking at me from both sides, I looked down at the little thing and its little beak and its little brown eyes.

I opened my hands as if I were making an offer to the trees, and with a flurry and a flutter, the bird took off into the brush, with a bright cry of "towwww-heeee."