Southern Illinois…hmmm, I always knew there was a chance I’d be back, but still, it’s a bit surreal to be back in Carbondale. It’s been seven months but feels like a year. At least.
People, friends and many, many familiar faces. And a fair number of new connections. I’ve made a fast friend with the French volunteer on the project, who’s become a cohort and a partner in crime for many a practical joke. If I hadn’t been painfully shy as a kid, I think I might have discovered the prankster in me a little earlier in life. So, I’m making up for loss time, while I have time to indulge.
The first week-and-a-half has gone remarkably well. We had about six days of furious landowner contacts to fix us up for January (session #9), in our third and final season of the study. And of course, many sardines cans have been spray painted, hair snares made and clipped, cameras inventoried, etc. There’s a still a fair amount of prep to do, but a whole week to spare before the field season officially kicks off, January 4th.
While work is going better than hoped, everything else is teetering on mildly stressful to incredibly so. My housing situation fixed itself up. I’ll be moving in with two undergrads, which I keep reminding myself is no different than any other field season I’ve had. I’ve lived in much closer quarters to undergrads, recent graduates and folks of varying backgrounds. And yet, this feels like a regression back to my college days.
And then there’s the seven-pound dead weight of textbooks I picked up the other day (oh yes, I did weigh it!) I even dutifully checked out my classrooms so I won’t be blindly trying to find them my first day of class, January 19, which I anticipate being late to, as I’ll be struggling all semester to try and finish work and get to class on time. Walking the corridors, I felt, well, a little old. A little out of my league. And more than a little afraid. Part of it is knowing that I’m not going back to school to fail, or for that matter, to be a mediocre student.
Not all is woe though. Now when I think about that third week in January, when a full-time job and night classes 4x a week will inevitably and painfully meet, my heart palpitates for just a minute or two and then, I shrug it off.
I’ll adjust. I always do.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Time Well Spent
The good thing about long roadtrips is that you have plenty of time to think. The bad thing about long roadtrips is that you have plenty of time to think.
Driving from Kadoka, SD to Carbondale, IL yesterday, I had about 14+ hours to reflect on the past month, and what a brilliant month it’s been. When it comes down to it, 30 days is not a long time but these last four weeks have been jam packed with uniquely enriching experiences. I had not anticipated the wealth of access and opportunity that would be dropped on my lap.
I wanted telemetry experience, so after a quick lesson on how to use the receiver, I was handed the sole receiver that was available at the time and given free reign to track badgers that were out and about each night.
I wanted to trap badgers, so after a demo on how to set a leghold trap, I was let loose to trap any unmarked badger I found, as well as two marked badgers that needed replacement radio collars.
I wanted more experience handling carnivores – and mammals other than my disease-ridden beloved prairie dogs, and so I assisted in the processing of about two dozen black-footed ferrets and five American badgers.
It’s remarkable just how many chance encounters, casual introductions and referrals have led to jobs, grad school leads, collaboration on side projects and many a fascinating conversation. And of course there’s the people, who continue to amaze me with their generosity of time, expertise and advice that is so freely given. The world of conservation biology gets smaller and smaller with each passing field season. I look forward to the day when I truly enter this world and cease being an outsider peeking in.
Driving from Kadoka, SD to Carbondale, IL yesterday, I had about 14+ hours to reflect on the past month, and what a brilliant month it’s been. When it comes down to it, 30 days is not a long time but these last four weeks have been jam packed with uniquely enriching experiences. I had not anticipated the wealth of access and opportunity that would be dropped on my lap.
I wanted telemetry experience, so after a quick lesson on how to use the receiver, I was handed the sole receiver that was available at the time and given free reign to track badgers that were out and about each night.
I wanted to trap badgers, so after a demo on how to set a leghold trap, I was let loose to trap any unmarked badger I found, as well as two marked badgers that needed replacement radio collars.
I wanted more experience handling carnivores – and mammals other than my disease-ridden beloved prairie dogs, and so I assisted in the processing of about two dozen black-footed ferrets and five American badgers.
It’s remarkable just how many chance encounters, casual introductions and referrals have led to jobs, grad school leads, collaboration on side projects and many a fascinating conversation. And of course there’s the people, who continue to amaze me with their generosity of time, expertise and advice that is so freely given. The world of conservation biology gets smaller and smaller with each passing field season. I look forward to the day when I truly enter this world and cease being an outsider peeking in.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
A Weekend of Rest
“A hunting cabin at the study site” – that was all I knew about my new home. I kept my fingers crossed for heat, grabbed what I thought might be my last shower in a good while in Interior, and dug out my no-rinse soap from my backpack and headed to Lower Brule, fully expecting a shed with a porter john out back.
And here I am writing this blog post on the kitchen table in my cabin on the plains, with a pitched roof, a loft, a wood stove, central heating, a washer/dryer, a clawfoot tub, views of the Missouri River, and a basement lab for pit tagging and processing ferrets. Mule deer and wild turkey mill around the cabin, and there’s a dog town no more than a 100 meters away.
I also seemed to have adopted two kittens and discovered that my slight allergy to cats has gotten much, much worse in the last year. There’s even a television that took me two days to figure how to use it … kinda. DVD (check), regular television news and programming (not so much). And after three days of puzzlement, I’ve confirmed that I’m back on central time even though I'm technically west of the Missouri.
I spent the last 2+ days eating when I was hungry and sleeping when I was tired. I hiked out to the river and checked out the PD towns looking for surface plugging, indicative of ferret presence. I cooked and froze food, setting myself up for the next 10 days. I read a book. I found wi-fi access. I made my first cell phone call from my place of residence for the first time in months.
I rested. I feel whole again. Good thing work’s started.
And here I am writing this blog post on the kitchen table in my cabin on the plains, with a pitched roof, a loft, a wood stove, central heating, a washer/dryer, a clawfoot tub, views of the Missouri River, and a basement lab for pit tagging and processing ferrets. Mule deer and wild turkey mill around the cabin, and there’s a dog town no more than a 100 meters away.
I also seemed to have adopted two kittens and discovered that my slight allergy to cats has gotten much, much worse in the last year. There’s even a television that took me two days to figure how to use it … kinda. DVD (check), regular television news and programming (not so much). And after three days of puzzlement, I’ve confirmed that I’m back on central time even though I'm technically west of the Missouri.
I spent the last 2+ days eating when I was hungry and sleeping when I was tired. I hiked out to the river and checked out the PD towns looking for surface plugging, indicative of ferret presence. I cooked and froze food, setting myself up for the next 10 days. I read a book. I found wi-fi access. I made my first cell phone call from my place of residence for the first time in months.
I rested. I feel whole again. Good thing work’s started.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Goodbye P. Dogs
The summer of 2009 is possibly the hardest I have worked in my life. At last count, we trapped some 1,270 individual black-tailed prairie dogs in four months and three trapping sessions. And then there were the nights spent spotlighting, initially for fun, then to help out, and then because two people were needed to hand spotlight out both sides of the truck.
I was entrusted with a research project to call my own. I stuck a leaf blower down 238 burrows, and hiked across PD colonies all over Buffalo Gap National Grasslands and Badlands National Park, with northern harriers, ferruginous hawks and bighorn sheep for company, plus the occasional perplexed tourist or cranky PD hunter.
I learned to make naan and bake two desserts. I played mini golf on National Talk Like A Pirate Day, and hosted a Malaysian makan in my trailer. I dye marked a ferret and trapped a badger, a handful of burrowing owls, a 13-lined ground squirrel, a rattlesnake, and several cottontails. I only mildly molested a large male PD weighing in at a 1490g(!), and scraped road kill off Highway 44 to get hair samples for a flea study. I drove from Wall to Interior with five gallons of gasoline in water jugs the night we found out that our one gas station in “town” started closing early for the Fall. I memorably got cozy with the crew on our second to last night – five in a trailer barely built for three – because both trailers ran out of propane 24-48 hours before the end of the season.
And in my free time, I’ve delved dangerously into André Gide, Joan Didion, David Quammen, David Eddings and Ayn Rand.
I’ve lived a lifetime this summer.
I was entrusted with a research project to call my own. I stuck a leaf blower down 238 burrows, and hiked across PD colonies all over Buffalo Gap National Grasslands and Badlands National Park, with northern harriers, ferruginous hawks and bighorn sheep for company, plus the occasional perplexed tourist or cranky PD hunter.
I learned to make naan and bake two desserts. I played mini golf on National Talk Like A Pirate Day, and hosted a Malaysian makan in my trailer. I dye marked a ferret and trapped a badger, a handful of burrowing owls, a 13-lined ground squirrel, a rattlesnake, and several cottontails. I only mildly molested a large male PD weighing in at a 1490g(!), and scraped road kill off Highway 44 to get hair samples for a flea study. I drove from Wall to Interior with five gallons of gasoline in water jugs the night we found out that our one gas station in “town” started closing early for the Fall. I memorably got cozy with the crew on our second to last night – five in a trailer barely built for three – because both trailers ran out of propane 24-48 hours before the end of the season.
And in my free time, I’ve delved dangerously into André Gide, Joan Didion, David Quammen, David Eddings and Ayn Rand.
I’ve lived a lifetime this summer.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Down to the Wire
I have data coming out of my ears. We blew through 1200 data sheets a week ago, and even though at least two crew members are entering data every day, we’re still behind. I was caught up on data checking on Monday. Today I have 22 sheets pending, and that’s just my half of it.
My second to last work week started off with a bang. We have three plots open for 2nd trapping and another three plots open for 3rd trapping. That’s 535 traps in play every morning – probably the most ambitious push to date. Thankfully, after three long days, we’ll be back to a more reasonable workload of four plots tomorrow.
With temps in the 90s and little to no wind, it’s been a strange September but trapping’s been grand.
My second to last work week started off with a bang. We have three plots open for 2nd trapping and another three plots open for 3rd trapping. That’s 535 traps in play every morning – probably the most ambitious push to date. Thankfully, after three long days, we’ll be back to a more reasonable workload of four plots tomorrow.
With temps in the 90s and little to no wind, it’s been a strange September but trapping’s been grand.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Things that make me go … grrrr
1. Unsolicited remarks about prairie dogs being bad for the environment and that plague is nature’s way of thinning them out.
2. I knew exactly three things about leaf blowers, and am absolutely hopeless at troubleshooting in the field when machinery breaks down because I don’t actually understand how these darn things work. Today, I know exactly four things about leaf blowers.
3. That I kinda bounce off a shovel when I jump on it, trying to dig into dry, compacted dirt.
4. My strategy for dealing with stress by working harder so I’m too exhausted to think, doesn’t work as well as I’d like it to.
5. Data checking.
6. I have to unscrew eight things just to replace a headlight in an old Jeep.
7. Dropping a screw after I’ve unscrewed eight things to replace a headlight in an old Jeep, for the second time, because each headlight decided to go defunct one week apart.
8. Old maps that don’t correspond to the lay of the land.
9. That I’m not more excited about going back to school.
10. Summer’s almost over.
2. I knew exactly three things about leaf blowers, and am absolutely hopeless at troubleshooting in the field when machinery breaks down because I don’t actually understand how these darn things work. Today, I know exactly four things about leaf blowers.
3. That I kinda bounce off a shovel when I jump on it, trying to dig into dry, compacted dirt.
4. My strategy for dealing with stress by working harder so I’m too exhausted to think, doesn’t work as well as I’d like it to.
5. Data checking.
6. I have to unscrew eight things just to replace a headlight in an old Jeep.
7. Dropping a screw after I’ve unscrewed eight things to replace a headlight in an old Jeep, for the second time, because each headlight decided to go defunct one week apart.
8. Old maps that don’t correspond to the lay of the land.
9. That I’m not more excited about going back to school.
10. Summer’s almost over.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Trap Happiest: American Badgers
I’ve found my true love. These are such amazing beasts; cantankerous characters deserving of utmost respect. And if you get a chance, some pretty serious manhandling is certainly called for.
It’s Time.
The exodus has begun. Dave left this morning, and over the course of the next week, both Annie and Amanda bid adieu. Then on August 3, two newbies arrive, just in time for Sturgis. The turnover – and the inundation of bikers – marks the midway point of the field season, a remarkable one at that.
Our first trapping session has been the most productive in this three-year study. I’ve managed to dabble, experiment and take a stab in spotlighting, trapping all manner of avian and terrestrial critters, and collaborate on designing and implementing a number of studies, some successful and some less so.
What will the second trapping session bring? I can’t wait to find out.
Our first trapping session has been the most productive in this three-year study. I’ve managed to dabble, experiment and take a stab in spotlighting, trapping all manner of avian and terrestrial critters, and collaborate on designing and implementing a number of studies, some successful and some less so.
What will the second trapping session bring? I can’t wait to find out.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
A Night to Remember
I hit and killed a deer last night. A mule deer … not very large but very quick. It leaped out of nowhere. I saw it on the road and then it was one stride away from the front of my truck. And then it was gone. The hood flew up and all I saw was white. The deer must have flown some 15 feet when I found it a minute later. Dead … thank goodness! I don’t know what I would have done if the impact hadn’t killed it and it lay there suffering. Or if it landed on the other side of the road, and posed a danger to oncoming traffic.
The aftermath was a blur. A flurry of phone calls. Occasionally, I stepped into the road to direct vehicles away from the truck. All too often, I was rewarded with a shower of gravel and truck bits by cursed speeding motorists.
A woman from a road construction crew stopped to help, and help she did. She provided a warm, bug-free environment in her SUV. She offered a place to stay in Rapid City. She offered a ride back to Interior that very night with her teenage son. She gave me a hug and wished me luck when the police came and she hurried home to her family.
It was the first time I’ve sat in a cop car, though I didn’t get to sit in the cage; just the passenger seat. The senior state trooper was teaching the junior trooper how to file an accident report, so I sat through the “scroll down on your right” and “click on the second icon” lesson, and spelled out my name twice.
When the tow truck arrived, the ride was quick and easy, and a member of my crew was not too far behind, ready to whisk me back to my trailer home. Once back at camp, I sent photos and relevant information/contacts to Dean, before catching a little over two hours of sleep. Then 4 AM rolled along, and it was time for work.
It’s been hard to come to terms with the fact that this is my first accident. I haven’t had time to mull it over. To think about how lucky I am to escape unhurt. That I didn’t cause any injury (or worse) to my friend, colleague, and cohort, sitting next to me in the truck. On how things might have turned out differently if I was driving my own car. Still, now I have to contend with damages to the work vehicle and the possibility that it might impact our already too tight budget. And live with the possibility that I may single-handedly send my crew home early, all because I had the ill-fortune of hitting an ungulate.
There was a brief moment last night, while emailing photos of the damaged truck, when I almost lost it. A boo-hoo moment of feeling sorry for myself. Now I’m just exhausted. Spent. Lack of sleep, a full workday, and an afternoon spent filing reports and paperwork has tapped me out. And still, on every level, there’s that hoping, waiting, and wanting things to work out okay.
Maybe a good cry will help. Maybe sleep is all the healing I need.
The aftermath was a blur. A flurry of phone calls. Occasionally, I stepped into the road to direct vehicles away from the truck. All too often, I was rewarded with a shower of gravel and truck bits by cursed speeding motorists.
A woman from a road construction crew stopped to help, and help she did. She provided a warm, bug-free environment in her SUV. She offered a place to stay in Rapid City. She offered a ride back to Interior that very night with her teenage son. She gave me a hug and wished me luck when the police came and she hurried home to her family.
It was the first time I’ve sat in a cop car, though I didn’t get to sit in the cage; just the passenger seat. The senior state trooper was teaching the junior trooper how to file an accident report, so I sat through the “scroll down on your right” and “click on the second icon” lesson, and spelled out my name twice.
When the tow truck arrived, the ride was quick and easy, and a member of my crew was not too far behind, ready to whisk me back to my trailer home. Once back at camp, I sent photos and relevant information/contacts to Dean, before catching a little over two hours of sleep. Then 4 AM rolled along, and it was time for work.
It’s been hard to come to terms with the fact that this is my first accident. I haven’t had time to mull it over. To think about how lucky I am to escape unhurt. That I didn’t cause any injury (or worse) to my friend, colleague, and cohort, sitting next to me in the truck. On how things might have turned out differently if I was driving my own car. Still, now I have to contend with damages to the work vehicle and the possibility that it might impact our already too tight budget. And live with the possibility that I may single-handedly send my crew home early, all because I had the ill-fortune of hitting an ungulate.
There was a brief moment last night, while emailing photos of the damaged truck, when I almost lost it. A boo-hoo moment of feeling sorry for myself. Now I’m just exhausted. Spent. Lack of sleep, a full workday, and an afternoon spent filing reports and paperwork has tapped me out. And still, on every level, there’s that hoping, waiting, and wanting things to work out okay.
Maybe a good cry will help. Maybe sleep is all the healing I need.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Trapping Ferrets
I trapped ferrets for the first time recently, dye marking this female in the chest for future ID. Next up...burrowing owls, and ... fingers crossed, badgers!
Monday, June 22, 2009
Poop Detail
Every day after work, I stuff PD poop into vials and freeze them in a large ziplock bag labeled “Fresh Turds.”
Like a lot of rodents, PDs are major poopers. For this stress study, I have to homogenize each sample by mixing and squeezing the entire deposit together, which I then carry around my plot in little ziplocks. I collect up to eight bags of poop a day and keep a cooler in the truck to store them.
Once back in the trailer, the gloves come on, and I busy myself with compressing hefty loads into small petite plastic containers, which are then labeled and squirreled away in the freezer, next to the serving size portions of rendang, beef stew and lentil soup.
And then the fun begins. The soiled gloves are carefully placed in the filthy ziplocks and re-sealed. As long as the mess stays inside the bag, it’s fair game. Because here in Trailer #2, it’s the PD crew (of 2) vs. the ferret crew (of 1).
The game is simple: how many bags of poop can you hide within a very small living space? We each have about 30 square feet of semi-personal space, so the hiding places become more and more creative as the days go by. Pillows, boots, sleeping bag, field pack … almost anything goes. There are just two basic rules: nothing gets hidden with food items and laundry bags are strictly off limits (bummer!)
Being the poop collector though means having an endless cache that is restocked daily. So for now, I do have a slight edge and regular gleeful guffaws.
Like a lot of rodents, PDs are major poopers. For this stress study, I have to homogenize each sample by mixing and squeezing the entire deposit together, which I then carry around my plot in little ziplocks. I collect up to eight bags of poop a day and keep a cooler in the truck to store them.
Once back in the trailer, the gloves come on, and I busy myself with compressing hefty loads into small petite plastic containers, which are then labeled and squirreled away in the freezer, next to the serving size portions of rendang, beef stew and lentil soup.
And then the fun begins. The soiled gloves are carefully placed in the filthy ziplocks and re-sealed. As long as the mess stays inside the bag, it’s fair game. Because here in Trailer #2, it’s the PD crew (of 2) vs. the ferret crew (of 1).
The game is simple: how many bags of poop can you hide within a very small living space? We each have about 30 square feet of semi-personal space, so the hiding places become more and more creative as the days go by. Pillows, boots, sleeping bag, field pack … almost anything goes. There are just two basic rules: nothing gets hidden with food items and laundry bags are strictly off limits (bummer!)
Being the poop collector though means having an endless cache that is restocked daily. So for now, I do have a slight edge and regular gleeful guffaws.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Cast of Characters
South Dakota in June can be a little frustrating. Rain, rain and more rain, followed by periods of moderate heat (75- 85 degrees) and strong wind. Then the occasional flash flood and tornado warnings, and lightning storms. In short, we haven’t gotten to our upper plots since last Monday.
The crew’s been valiantly keeping themselves busy. Lots of reading; trips to Wall, Rapid City, even Kadoka; surfing the net; walks, runs and hikes; crossword and Sudoku puzzles; cooking and freezing meals in anticipation (and earnest hope!) of long work days ahead; and movies, lots and lots of movies.
The motley crew beckons from all over:
- Two from Massachusetts, with one hoping to move to Kansas this fall (in her defense, it’s for grad school)
- One originally from Ohio, but moved from Portland to Interior
- One from Indiana, who’s moving to Fort Collins in August
- Two from Missouri and one from DC, who know not where the road will lead come October
We have two psychology majors, one of whom is also a physics major, and a former pastry chef; two worked as deckhands on tall ships, and another as a farmhand; two vegetarians – one just gave up cheese and the other smokes; one jogs an effortless eight miles a day; one has bad knees, two have bum ankles, and another can’t arch her back. And we have a pastor’s daughter, who is an atheist.
Not a bad bunch of people so far … far from boring at least.
The crew’s been valiantly keeping themselves busy. Lots of reading; trips to Wall, Rapid City, even Kadoka; surfing the net; walks, runs and hikes; crossword and Sudoku puzzles; cooking and freezing meals in anticipation (and earnest hope!) of long work days ahead; and movies, lots and lots of movies.
The motley crew beckons from all over:
- Two from Massachusetts, with one hoping to move to Kansas this fall (in her defense, it’s for grad school)
- One originally from Ohio, but moved from Portland to Interior
- One from Indiana, who’s moving to Fort Collins in August
- Two from Missouri and one from DC, who know not where the road will lead come October
We have two psychology majors, one of whom is also a physics major, and a former pastry chef; two worked as deckhands on tall ships, and another as a farmhand; two vegetarians – one just gave up cheese and the other smokes; one jogs an effortless eight miles a day; one has bad knees, two have bum ankles, and another can’t arch her back. And we have a pastor’s daughter, who is an atheist.
Not a bad bunch of people so far … far from boring at least.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Sunday, June 7, 2009
The Black Death
“I avoid it like the plague”
I can’t use this phrase any longer. At least not honestly since this is my second summer working with plague-ridden black-tailed prairie dogs in Conata Basin, SD. It’s great to be back.
Even though it dipped to 41 degrees yesterday. And the waste water backed into the tub (a.k.a. my closet) in our trailer. And we got our truck mildly stuck this morning. And we had to hike to our plots because the road was too bad to drive. And after all that, we caught one whooping lactating female.
Not that I’m complaining or anything, because the primrose and spiderwort are blooming. Just in the last five days, I saw two rattlesnakes, a badger, a harrier, a burrowing owl, and several pronghorn. I made friends with the burrowing owl crew and secured a spot to spotlight and trap with them. I’ll be learning telemetry and working on a couple of independent studies. I’ve also learned 30+ new words in sign language, and made my first meat sauce.
We’ll be working almost exclusively on the upper plots this year with the Badlands at our doorstep. And with four new plots, we’ll have plenty to keep us busy. That is, if the weather cooperates. For now, I’ll obsessively check the hourly forecasts and do the rain dance. I have it on good authority that if you have no sense of rhythm, a rain dance will have the direct opposite effect, so I’ll be tap, tap, tapping away in my man boots till the sun shines.
I can’t use this phrase any longer. At least not honestly since this is my second summer working with plague-ridden black-tailed prairie dogs in Conata Basin, SD. It’s great to be back.
Even though it dipped to 41 degrees yesterday. And the waste water backed into the tub (a.k.a. my closet) in our trailer. And we got our truck mildly stuck this morning. And we had to hike to our plots because the road was too bad to drive. And after all that, we caught one whooping lactating female.
Not that I’m complaining or anything, because the primrose and spiderwort are blooming. Just in the last five days, I saw two rattlesnakes, a badger, a harrier, a burrowing owl, and several pronghorn. I made friends with the burrowing owl crew and secured a spot to spotlight and trap with them. I’ll be learning telemetry and working on a couple of independent studies. I’ve also learned 30+ new words in sign language, and made my first meat sauce.
We’ll be working almost exclusively on the upper plots this year with the Badlands at our doorstep. And with four new plots, we’ll have plenty to keep us busy. That is, if the weather cooperates. For now, I’ll obsessively check the hourly forecasts and do the rain dance. I have it on good authority that if you have no sense of rhythm, a rain dance will have the direct opposite effect, so I’ll be tap, tap, tapping away in my man boots till the sun shines.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
New States of Friendships
Zipping across the country through numerous states – some old, some new, some forgotten – I’ve had the privileged opportunity lately to reconnect with some dear friends.
Imbibing over beer, wine, root beer and mint tea; breaking bread in backyards, on decks, in restaurants, living rooms, kitchens and in Grand Central station; crashing in spare bedrooms, fold-out couches, floor space and basement futons; I’ve caught up on what’s new, and the benign and pleasant passing of life. There were also many late-night reminiscings on the meaning of life. Well actually, we mostly pondered on how little has changed, and how little has remained the same.
Of course, with any passage of time – up to 12 years in one instance – there was the meeting of spouses, children, parents, friends and pets. I even had time to help plant a vegetable garden with one family in Montana, trade ghost stories while chewing on dried squid with another in Ohio, and play peek-a-boo with an 18-month old Brooklyn toddler who didn’t understand a word I said.
These days with so much interaction limited to Facebook one-liners, it's good to spend face time with people I care about.
Imbibing over beer, wine, root beer and mint tea; breaking bread in backyards, on decks, in restaurants, living rooms, kitchens and in Grand Central station; crashing in spare bedrooms, fold-out couches, floor space and basement futons; I’ve caught up on what’s new, and the benign and pleasant passing of life. There were also many late-night reminiscings on the meaning of life. Well actually, we mostly pondered on how little has changed, and how little has remained the same.
Of course, with any passage of time – up to 12 years in one instance – there was the meeting of spouses, children, parents, friends and pets. I even had time to help plant a vegetable garden with one family in Montana, trade ghost stories while chewing on dried squid with another in Ohio, and play peek-a-boo with an 18-month old Brooklyn toddler who didn’t understand a word I said.
These days with so much interaction limited to Facebook one-liners, it's good to spend face time with people I care about.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Random Thoughts from Another Time Zone
It’s 9 AM and I see the sign: “see the largest prairie dog in the world!” But in Kansas?? Well, I have been struggling to find something nice to say about the state, and this sounded tacky enough to be worthwhile. But the signs led to a gas station, and the PD statue – apparently larger than the one in the Badlands – won’t be unveiled till this coming weekend. An uncontested claim it will remain. Which leaves me with nothing nice to say about Kansas, except that its speed limit is 70 mph. Oh, and at Kanorado, which is Exit 1, a whole mile from Colorado, I saw familiar burrows of my first PD colony for 2009. I left Kansas with a smile at least.
From Colorado on up to Wyoming, the pronghorn came out to play; I started to pass more pickup trucks and drivers with cowboy hats; and there was even a Wall Drug billboard.
I drove 719 miles today. This is my fifth road trip in one year, logging some 20,000 miles. As a result, my U.S. geography is improving … in my spare time this afternoon somewhere between Cheyenne and Sheridan, I learned that I could name 44 out of the 50 states. The region I performed worst in is the northeast, where I lived! Figures.
My appetite came back.
Hunger = Cranky x (Alone in Car) x 719 miles
I have sympathy for friends who have had to bear the brunt of my hunger crankiness.
From Colorado on up to Wyoming, the pronghorn came out to play; I started to pass more pickup trucks and drivers with cowboy hats; and there was even a Wall Drug billboard.
I drove 719 miles today. This is my fifth road trip in one year, logging some 20,000 miles. As a result, my U.S. geography is improving … in my spare time this afternoon somewhere between Cheyenne and Sheridan, I learned that I could name 44 out of the 50 states. The region I performed worst in is the northeast, where I lived! Figures.
My appetite came back.
Hunger = Cranky x (Alone in Car) x 719 miles
I have sympathy for friends who have had to bear the brunt of my hunger crankiness.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Roadtriplogue
One night in Kansas and the world's your oyster
The bars are temples but the pearls ain't free
It doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it? I am 159 miles from the Colorado border and can push on no longer, so a night in Kansas it is.
Historically, travelers stocked up in St. Louis before heading out west, so it seemed like a worthwhile tradition to emulate. My morning began with a Trader Joe’s run for Cliff bars, granola bars, peanut butter, mesquite honey, dried fruit and nuts, and a couple of bottles of wine.
Missouri was a pretty enough drive and I even made a pit stop at Mizzou, i.e. Missouri University, to drive around the campus, only to be stopped by about 150 students in graduation garb. Idling on the street waiting for the procession to pass, I broke into a cold sweat. It appears that I still have a ways to go in coming to terms with the idea of going back to school.
And then I hit Kansas. Let’s see … President Eisenhower, Bob Dole and Arlen Specter were all born here. Yeah, that’s about as interesting as it gets. And while I entertained the idea of pushing to Colorado tonight, I have also come to admit that it’s possible, that just maybe, my “allergies” is in fact a cold that has been brewing for a couple of days. The most compelling clue was the fact that even though I had hardly eaten all day, I’m not particularly cranky, just tired.
Every now and again, i.e. when I don’t have a choice, I listen to my body so it’s time to take it easy, get into bed before 9 PM, and sleep in. This is officially my memo to myself demanding, no excuse me, commanding compliance and better health by morning. I don’t have time to get sick, for goodness’ sake!
Hey, hey … maybe I am a little cranky after all.
The bars are temples but the pearls ain't free
It doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it? I am 159 miles from the Colorado border and can push on no longer, so a night in Kansas it is.
Historically, travelers stocked up in St. Louis before heading out west, so it seemed like a worthwhile tradition to emulate. My morning began with a Trader Joe’s run for Cliff bars, granola bars, peanut butter, mesquite honey, dried fruit and nuts, and a couple of bottles of wine.
Missouri was a pretty enough drive and I even made a pit stop at Mizzou, i.e. Missouri University, to drive around the campus, only to be stopped by about 150 students in graduation garb. Idling on the street waiting for the procession to pass, I broke into a cold sweat. It appears that I still have a ways to go in coming to terms with the idea of going back to school.
And then I hit Kansas. Let’s see … President Eisenhower, Bob Dole and Arlen Specter were all born here. Yeah, that’s about as interesting as it gets. And while I entertained the idea of pushing to Colorado tonight, I have also come to admit that it’s possible, that just maybe, my “allergies” is in fact a cold that has been brewing for a couple of days. The most compelling clue was the fact that even though I had hardly eaten all day, I’m not particularly cranky, just tired.
Every now and again, i.e. when I don’t have a choice, I listen to my body so it’s time to take it easy, get into bed before 9 PM, and sleep in. This is officially my memo to myself demanding, no excuse me, commanding compliance and better health by morning. I don’t have time to get sick, for goodness’ sake!
Hey, hey … maybe I am a little cranky after all.
Whoa ... talk about a serious wrong turn!
OK, OK, humor me on a lame joke... I've been on I-70W for a loooooooooooooong time.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Taking a Sizeable Bite Out of the Big Apple
I get the strange feeling that at least one of my friends in New York thinks I’ve become an uncultured vagabond. My lineup for 10 days in Gotham included: my first ballgame in three years; my first symphony (Mahler No. 1 in D Major); an uproarious British comedy visiting from London’s Old Vic; and a day of trail building in Bear Mountain.
These days, I hesitate to call New York ‘my’ city anymore. I still remember how to navigate the subways, walk and sip hot coffee without scalding myself, and can keep stride to hit every ‘walk’ sign on city blocks, expertly weaving through pedestrian foot traffic. When the #4 train inexplicably stopped at 149th Street, I joined scores of New Yorkers and walked the streets of the Bronx, following the Jeter, Teixeira and Rivera jerseys all the way to the new Yankee stadium.
But I no longer avert eye contact and even condescend to acknowledging another human being’s existence with a half-smile or a nod; and I haven’t felt the need to plug in my iPod, finding novelty in the city noise of construction, honking cabs, and snippets of random conversations.
This is a city where I am almost never asked where I am from. I’m brown and have black hair, after all. Now if you’re blond, blue-eyed and white…that’s unique! You can ride for 50 minutes on a subway from Brooklyn and not hear a word of English. My closest friends vary from locals to far-flung Thai and Turkish nationals. And you can walk out of Avery Fisher Hall after a performance by the NY Philharmonic, and know with certainty that there’s a percentage of people in that very same hall, who were also at the very same baseball stadium the night before. It’s that kind of city.
This is the city of my 20s and a place of many ‘firsts.’ This is where I found out what makes me tick and what turns me on. I attained some of my proudest professional achievements here, and too many gross personal failures. And yet each time I return, I feel more and more like a stranger; a visitor looking in. I’ve lost my edge, my angst.
Perhaps what feels strange and ever stranger is not ‘my’ city, but me; the person I was and the person I’ve become; the New Yorker vs. the former New Yorker. We go through many stages in our lives, and hopefully experience growth, transformation and evolution into better, updated versions of ‘I.’ Surrounded by these familiar settings – my home for 10+ years – I am reminded of my former self and struck by what I hope is forward progress of my current incarnation. I suppose NYC continues to teach me a thing or two about myself. It is one helluva city.
These days, I hesitate to call New York ‘my’ city anymore. I still remember how to navigate the subways, walk and sip hot coffee without scalding myself, and can keep stride to hit every ‘walk’ sign on city blocks, expertly weaving through pedestrian foot traffic. When the #4 train inexplicably stopped at 149th Street, I joined scores of New Yorkers and walked the streets of the Bronx, following the Jeter, Teixeira and Rivera jerseys all the way to the new Yankee stadium.
But I no longer avert eye contact and even condescend to acknowledging another human being’s existence with a half-smile or a nod; and I haven’t felt the need to plug in my iPod, finding novelty in the city noise of construction, honking cabs, and snippets of random conversations.
This is a city where I am almost never asked where I am from. I’m brown and have black hair, after all. Now if you’re blond, blue-eyed and white…that’s unique! You can ride for 50 minutes on a subway from Brooklyn and not hear a word of English. My closest friends vary from locals to far-flung Thai and Turkish nationals. And you can walk out of Avery Fisher Hall after a performance by the NY Philharmonic, and know with certainty that there’s a percentage of people in that very same hall, who were also at the very same baseball stadium the night before. It’s that kind of city.
This is the city of my 20s and a place of many ‘firsts.’ This is where I found out what makes me tick and what turns me on. I attained some of my proudest professional achievements here, and too many gross personal failures. And yet each time I return, I feel more and more like a stranger; a visitor looking in. I’ve lost my edge, my angst.
Perhaps what feels strange and ever stranger is not ‘my’ city, but me; the person I was and the person I’ve become; the New Yorker vs. the former New Yorker. We go through many stages in our lives, and hopefully experience growth, transformation and evolution into better, updated versions of ‘I.’ Surrounded by these familiar settings – my home for 10+ years – I am reminded of my former self and struck by what I hope is forward progress of my current incarnation. I suppose NYC continues to teach me a thing or two about myself. It is one helluva city.
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