Should I Stay or Should I Go?

I thought that this was it.  I thought that this was my calling.  I thought that it would be different.  Famous last words.  Rehabilitation is uniquely different from zoo and shelter work, but it is still animal care.  I believe such work to be a noble cause and I love being a part of it and interacting with the animals.  Perhaps, I wanted me to pursue this.  I pushed myself, just like a parent who tries to live the life that they wanted through their child.  I do have a history with animal care.  I also have a history of leaving animal care.  Those past experience can be interpreted in a number of ways, though I am uncertain how exactly to interpret the things that I take interest in, if they’re things to be taken seriously or not. 

Before I went to Ireland, I wanted to work with birds.  When I got to Ireland, I was thoroughly engaged in my work, but I also wanted to work with the seals.  At home, I fell back to animal care, while wanting to return to the ocean, and just travel in general.  Now, after only two weeks, I don’t want to be here.  I want to be back on the seashore; I want to be back in Ireland.  Although, I still can’t see myself working at that particular marine station again.  I thought that traveling at least would do the trick and make me happy, and it did.  I was in awe on my way journey through British Columbia and was eager to learn and do in my first week. 

I’m getting on well with people here, though the connections aren’t very deep, and I don’t know if they ever will be.  I’m keeping myself busy and active.  I could be on the fringe of homesickness, yet I don’t find myself missing it much without my lover still there.  I feel like I’ve been coping better without him so far this time, compared to last year.  I’m feeling under the weather in general, which could make me feel either more awful about this situation and blow it out of proportion or could be a sign that this isn’t the path for me.  It could be stress and fear regarding the chaotic learning yet to come during the impending overflow of patients.  Although, this feeling isn't always terribly obvious or right at the surface.  It certainly comes up each time I handle a new animal or interact with a more dangerous one.  I don’t know if I have the capability to fake confidence.  But it’s not even supposed to be faking; it’s believing on nothing that I can do something that I’ve never done. 

As a staff member was leaving today, I had the urge to plead to take me with her.  I’m ready to travel again.  Although, part of me wants to stick it out here because it will be an amazing experience, whether or not I continue with this as a career path.  I’ve also made a commitment and I’d feel rather silly leaving so early, especially after pushing for a more extensive internship.  And it’s only three and a half months, now closer to three.  I can do this.  Stay positive and focus on what I have, what I’m gaining, and find the joy in what I'm doing.  I don’t want to be constantly wishing for something else or I’ll never be truly happy.

Generational Destruction

Every history of the "civilized" settlement of the New World, epitomizes the efforts of those first pioneers, how they tamed the land, conquered the wild beasts and the native people, and implemented modern "progress" in the face of adversity.  It was quite an achievement to set off into the unknown and successfully make a living for oneself.  Yet, settlers seemed to have seen the land, not for what it is, but for what it could be; sizing up its potential, its worth.  They shaped it into the places and the lives that they left behind, even though they were trying to get away from it all and start something new with the thought that, somehow, this would be different.  And so, the preexisting life and the processes that had worked well for millions of years were thoughtlessly disrupted and ravaged.  The settlers quickly began to take their surroundings for granted; only taking and never returning, paying back, or appreciating the gifts available to them. 

Today, we continue with this trend, initially marveling at the land’s natural beauty until our thoughts quickly turn to what we can get out of it, how we can benefit.  We continue to ravage natural resources, alter landscapes, never really considering the big picture, the long-term and large scale damaging effects.  Areas boast natural beauty to attract tourists, while simultaneously destroying it to support another economic facet, in order to double their profits.

We have little time to stop and take notice of our environment, to observe the changes that we have created.  Without this time to reflect, the alterations to our landscape seem so gradual in the grand scheme of our time.  We quickly become accustomed to that garden where an old-growth forest once stood, or the little shopping plaza that continues its expansion over former farmland.  These become the norm, as if the landscape never looked any differently.  This makes it easier for us to justify continuing development because it seems that our impact won’t be that much compared to what it is already, but compared to what the environment was decades ago, the consequences are huge.

In the midst of this, we keep seeking out natural beauty to get away from the grotesque urban sprawl, only to bring it with us, as we clear the land to build our lakeside mansions, followed by roads for easier access, and then stores, so that we never have to leave our bubble of a world.  Once there, we complain about the wildlife and their interference with our lives, our quiet and peace of mind.

Occasionally, we lament how the future generations will not see the land as we once saw it or as it once was, yet we continue the mutilation.

Humans and Nature

When I think of wildlife rehabilitation, I think of humans providing wild animals with a second chance at life, in response to the disruption of their lives by humans; an attempt to right the wrongs of our species.  This would include animals that have been hit by cars, caught in snares, and attacked by house pets.  And then there are other cases, such as a fawn that arrived two days ago after having been attacked by a mink.  A few thoughts came to my mind upon first hearing of the injured animal, and during further consideration thereafter. 

Of course, the first was, oh, the poor baby left on its own to withstand an unprovoked attack.  This seems to be the immediate response of the general majority, as we are unable to bear the thought of anything being killed, in spite of the fact that we are guilty of murders a plenty as a species from the food that we eat to the wars that we fight, which is an entirely different discussion.  Also, we tend to have difficulty accepting the fact that death is part of the natural order of things. 

This brings me to my second thought, which was that the mink was denied its dinner.  A significant energy load is required by an animal, in order to obtain food, whether it be via hunting, scavenging, or grazing.  Energy to locate specific food sources or the most energy rich sources, energy to collect or attack that food, and energy to consume it.  The mink was in the midst of this process, devoting so much of itself to this particular prey, yet all for nothing.  Maybe it had not eaten for a few days and would not have adequate energy to follow through this food cycle again.  Maybe it will starve. 

And what of the suffering that the fawn had to endure?  If the mink was allowed to finish what it started, then the fawn might have been dead within minutes.  But instead, it remained alive for hours, during capture, transport via car, ferry, and car again, a physical examination, and waiting in a crate for the arrival of a doctor to officially determine that there was no way it could be saved.  Even though, the fawn was “humanely” euthanized in the end, how humane was that whole escapade?  All because the attack had been witnessed at a family friendly campground and the adults did not want the children to see or even be aware of death in their general vicinity.  It was easier to send the fawn off to the wildlife hospital, so that they could ignorantly tell their children that it was safe from the big, bad mink and that it would be okay. 

The final thought was actually brought up by a co-worker, as to why the fawn had been attacked in the first place.  The wound sustained was on its face, which suggested that the fawn did not even try to run away, even though they are apparently fully capable of doing so as soon as they are born.  Natural selection was likely at work, weeding out the weak or sick, in favor of individuals that are capable of living in their natural habitat and coping with the dangers within it. 

So my question is, how involved should we get?  There is a reason why animal parents abandon or remove individual offspring from their nest, den, or what have you.  Should we be interfering with this selective process out of our own desire to prevent suffering?  Are we even qualified to "play god" in determining who lives or dies?  Nature has been working in its mysterious ways much longer than humans have roamed, much less dominated the Earth.  We have removed ourselves so far from nature that we are generally no longer able to comprehend these mysteries. 

Perhaps, this is why many people turn to religion, as there is some void that was once occupied by a connection to the Earth and its creatures.  We still feel the pangs of this void, this separation, and we struggle to fill it, so that the pain might end, we may become more enlightened, and we may understand the meaning of this life.  Yet, religion is just another human creation, which seems to further distance us from whence we came.  It creates a system of morals, of right and wrong, of heaven and hell that are completely unheard of among other species. 

Today, these morals do seem quite necessary, given the complex nature and life that humans have constructed for themselves.  Yet, just as one religious denomination tries to push its beliefs onto another, so we try to apply our morals to other living creatures.  But it just does not work.  Though we inhabit the same Earth, we live in completely different worlds.  And so, just as with different religions and cultures, we should learn to accept the practices and beliefs of our fellow beings.  We need to stop anthropomorphizing and try to see the world through the eyes of the mink, the fawn, the leaves that the fawn consumes, or the bacteria that enrich the soil for the plant life.  Only then may we be able to answer the question of what our responsibilities are to life as a whole.

Homesickness Begins

I think that homesickness is starting to catch up with me.  Although, this time, I find myself not just missing certain aspects of home, but also missing Ireland.  Something really clicked there, it felt like home away from home.  Perhaps it felt right, although, I cannot say this for certain because it has been so long since my first few days there and the exact feelings and thoughts evade me. 

Currently, I feel lethargic, disconnected, disinterested.  There is not enough to do right now to keep myself occupied and my mind distracted.  Work hours have already been shortened, as another intern has arrived, yet few new patients.  Two more interns will be here at the beginning of next week, but I am uncertain what work there will be for them by then.

I know that the animals will come.  It is just a matter of when.  The intern coordinator has said that the number of patients build up gradually during the summer with a few intakes every day, so that, after a time, the center becomes crowded and chaotic.  I feel fairly ready.  The tasks that I am unsure of are ones that I simply need to practice and get in a habit of doing.  In other cases, such as learning proper restraining techniques, incoming patients are required.  That is something that I am rather nervous about, to have a good grip that is safe for the animal and handler/s alike, while trying to summon up some shred of confidence in oneself, so that the animal may not take advantage of the faint-hearted. 

I suppose I can ask for projects and push myself to engage in creative endeavors of my own that will get me through to the busy season.

Don't Take Life for Granted

Life happens so fast, whether it is the days that pass us by or the final breaths before death.  Today, there was much excitement over a young eaglet, which was to come to the center and begin his second chance at life, after a steep drop from his nest that afternoon.  Upon opening the box, which he was delivered in by the retired Coast Guard officers, bright, alert eyes were staring up at his many onlookers, who gazed back in awe at his small, downy covered body and adult-like feet and talons.  There was life in that box.  There was strength, a spark, a will to live and fight, which suggested a promise of recovery and survival. 

Once back at the center, he was lifted from his makeshift nest and placed on the examination table to assess his physical condition.  The veterinarian discovered multiple breaks in both wings.  As quickly as this life had come into this world and into ours at the center, it would just as soon exit, since birds need to be physically perfect, in order to survive in the wild.  It was as if his life had slipped away right then, while he was still squirming and crying on the table top.  The mask was placed over his beak, and as the gas gradually passed into him, he succumbed to sleep, so that the transition into death would be less painful and traumatic.  And so, we are finally left with a body, a former shell of an eaglet, to reunite with the life from whence he came. 

On the other hand, I watch the young starlings, crows, pigeon, finch, and geese, seemingly so helpless and dependent upon assistance to remain nourished, safe, and warm.  Just last weekend, all of them, except for the goslings and finch, were being fed essentially a protein smoothie through a tube stuck down each one’s throat and into the crop.  Now, many of the starlings have learned to eat solid food and meal worms from their dishes and to bathe in and drink from their water bowl.  Although, they will still nip at the hand that feeds, demanding service, while I attempt to feed the two slower learners. 

But even these slower, smaller starlings learn quickly, as just today, one was being tube fed in morning and had figured out how to feed himself by evening!  Their maturation time and capacity for learning is incredible!  Perhaps, in another week, they will be in an outdoor cage, and in yet another week, foraging for their own food wherever their wings may take them.  The finch is two days away from the next move towards greater independence himself.  The crows are demanding larger portions of protein smoothie and are beginning to eat solid food and meal worms.  The goslings have graduated from their playpen in the isolation room to an outdoor enclosure behind the clinic about two days ago.  Soon enough, they will all be fully grown and gone, to be replaced by a slew of new patients. 

I suppose that the lesson here is to not take life for granted, as every moment is precious, every moment important.  To live as you want to live, do as you want to do, throw caution to the wind.  Well, sort of.  To appreciate the little things, the simple things in life, because those are what hold our whole existence together and make life worthwhile.  It is much easier to recognize this in species with life spans so much shorter than our own and that are outside of our bubble of a world.

Island Life and Exploring the Seashore

It is strange to be on an island that is surrounded by so much land and activity on the sea with a rather severed, indirect connection to the ocean.  It seems to defy the concept that has been molded into my mind as to what an island really is.  There seem to be various types of islands, based on their formations over the course of geologic time, the climatic conditions that they experience, the natural resources covering the land, the size of human populations and the intensity of their development, the nearness to land, and the closeness of exposure to the raging temptress of the oceanic depths.

Although, I am technically on an island, it is still a whole new culture shock.  I was expecting to and given the impression that I would “get away from it all” here.  To a certain extent I have, particularly since home is at the opposite side of the continent, but civilization is only a fifteen minute drive away, where I am over-stimulated and still quite confused by the hustle and bustle of town life, which is complete with traffic, constant chatter, and thriving commercialism.  In the summer, during the peak of tourist season, the island population is supposed to double to something like ten thousand people.  The center of town, every tourist trap, and the island’s natural beauty attractions will be crawling.  I anticipate spending much of the summer hiding away in the woodland haven of the wildlife center. 

Yet, for now, I can immerse myself in the beauty of the island and give in to the allure of the seashore.  I still find it to be quite exciting and magical, as I cautiously step from rock to rock, unsure of my footing on slippery seaweed, and having become unaccustomed to such a balancing act, while simultaneously being distracted by familiar and new seashore treasures alike.  I imagine that there are at least creatures of the same genus as those found along the Irish coastline, as they are at a similar latitudes and experience similar climatic conditions. 

As I first stepped upon the stony shore of Ruckle Park, I caught, out of the corner of my eye, the scattered movement of several tiny critters.  Crabs covered the shore, racing for cover below rocks, between crevices, and underneath patches of fucoids.  I must watch where my feet fall, in order to preserve these precious lives, though it is quite challenging to determine exactly where they are hiding.  I descended upon another stretch of shore and was struck by the size of what I believe to be a Porphyra species, which is a papery, yet tough, reddish-pink seaweed with a glint of iridescence.  I found it to be double, maybe even triple the size of any plant that I had come across in Ireland.  From the grassy edge above the sea, I noticed a stretch of feathery looking seaweed, billowing in the current.  I could not be sure exactly what these plants were from such a distance and I felt the urge to find out.  I managed to navigate my way down and much to my dismay, as I approached the water’s edge, I became certain that the invasive Sargassum muticum has also found its way to the shores of British Columbia.

Finding My Passion

Ever since I arrived on the coast and caught my first whiff of that salty air, my immediate desire was to scope out the shore life.  I’ve anxiously been awaiting an opportunity and finding a location to do so on Salt Spring Island, as publicly accessible coast seems to be limited.  I jumped at the opportunity to examine the short strip of shore by Centennial Park (in the center of town) on the first day of my arrival here and was disappointed by the lack of biodiversity with really only barnacles about.  Yesterday, I walked over to the closest stretch of beach, and upon arrival immediately set to work attempting to identify the seaweeds scattered along the shore.  I had to remind myself that it is a different coast with different conditions, and that species may not quite be the same and that many need microscopic identification, in order to keep myself from becoming too frustrated by what knowledge I’ve lost, since last year. 

I certainly enjoyed my time on Sherkin and every day was a new adventure, in spite of the repetitive nature of the work.  There was always a different location, a new species, a challenge to overcome, a different season, something to set apart each site or month from the next.  I am easily immersed in research, particularly when I get to the writing bit and I’ve been involved in the entire process up to that point, which makes the work far more meaningful and interesting.  I miss the work and the location, but I didn’t much care for the management.  Yet, in watching the seals below day after day, I also longed to work more closely with the animals and to be an advocate for them and their well-being. 

I am certainly overwhelmed here now, knowing little about what I’m doing and that these lives are in my hands.  Perhaps, this is also why I am missing Sherkin Island, as I am more certain of my abilities there.  Though, that is not how I started off.  I was just as unsure.  It will take time, but I will learn and catch on, especially with so many experienced individuals to question.  I’ll see how rehabilitation goes.  I can’t yet decide if it’s a field that I want to continue to pursue.  I feel like it will offer adventure, similar to surveying.  Yet, I also can’t ignore the fact that last year’s internship was the first that I could see myself doing again.  I just have to take things as they come and enjoy the present moment.

Arriving on Salt Spring Island

Just getting here was an experience.  I utilized nearly every form of motorized transportation to get to Salt Spring Island.  I took a bus out of Springfield to Logan Airport.  I could feel my body quivering in anticipation, a combination of nervousness and excitement.  Yet, I felt confident, even moreso than during my travels to Sherkin Island last year.  I may not know where I’m going or what to expect, but I’m fairly certain that I can handle it.  Though, I did get a bit nervous at the transfer point when the bus didn’t show for ten minutes.  I couldn’t have missed it and I wasn’t sure if there were other terminals for pick-up.  I asked around, but I wasn’t about to start feeling okay with this until the bus showed.  There was plenty of time before I needed to be at the airport, but I don’t seem to do well when there are glitches in my plans, especially when there’s something significant depending on it, like the non-refundable plane ticket.  I don’t recall what time the bus finally arrived but apparently its route begins in Providence and there was lots of traffic on the way to the airport, causing delays.

At the airport, I made it to my gate in plenty of time to sit and wait for a couple of hours, after which I flew to Chicago to wait some more.  I made the mistake of getting a hamburger and fries from McDonald’s, which I later regretted with a queasy stomach, as I can only recall three times that I’ve had chain fast food stuff in the past year, and it's been years since I consumed McDonald's food.  My body was definitely protesting that decision.  It got a bit better once I got to Seattle, but I was also incredibly jet lagged.  I seem to do well enough when I lose time transferring between time zones, but not so much going forward in time, which is quite strange.  I also started to realize exactly how heavy my pack was, while trekking to the Link Light Rail, wondering when I would ever get there, as one sign after another passed by overhead.  By the time I got to the train, I could have fallen asleep propped up against my pack, but I refrained from this, as I didn’t fancy missing my stop and riding around on the train for the remainder of the evening. 

I hefted up my pack once again to walk the few blocks to the Green Tortoise Hostel, which I found to be quite busy.  Everyone was friendly and welcoming, and I was fortunate enough to show up on free dinner night.  I was certainly thankful for some real food after the fast food episode.  The hostel is going for a hip, new age kind of look, really geared towards the 20-somethings, though everyone is welcome.  After dinner I set out to map my route to the Clipper ferry the next morning, deliberating with myself if I could manage the distance carrying my pack.  Being cheap and not trusting public transportation, I decided to just get up extra early, so that I’d have plenty of time for breaks on my walk over. 

Sleep seemed to elude me that night, as I woke up at least once every hour, even after my roommates stopped coming in from their night out on the town.  So I just got up even earlier, helped myself to free breakfast and headed out, but not before checking where my ferry would land in respect to the ferry to the island.  I had foolishly thought that the ferries would make berth in the same harbor.  Of course, they were an hour bus ride away from each other.  I figured I’d deal with that when I came to it. 

It took me about double the time to walk to the ferry with my pack, but I still had time to check-in, which I completely neglected to factor into the equation.  It was a full house and as I was scoping out the available seats, I started to remember that I haven’t always done well on boats, as I usually get nauseous.  But then I recalled the successful experiences with ferries and RIBs on Sherkin and the dizziness/nausea tolerance that I built up over the past six months of contra dancing and figured that I’d be fine.  I tried to get into the motion of the boat as it bobbed in the calm water.  As we got going, I just focused on my music and tried as best I could to watch the passing scenery from an aisle seat.  It was breathtaking to see snow-capped mountains again.  Since winter wasn’t very long before, the snow extended much further down the mountain slopes than when I visited two Septembers ago.  It was invigorating to stand on the deck outside with the wind whipping past and the sea spraying up behind the boat, leaving a white, foamy trail and a ripple of waves that gradually died away with the increasing distance. 

After three hours on the ferry, we arrived in Victoria and everyone rushed out to wait in line to claim luggage and go through customs.  I had no problems, as there were no computer system failures to deal with this time.  The next bus to Schwartz Bay was forty-five minutes from the ferry’s arrival time, so I was cutting it close after the time spent waiting in line.  I had studied the map on the ferry and the bus depot seemed to be in an easy to find location, so I hustled over there to inquire about the bus, and then, hiked further up the street until I found a bus stop with signs indicating that the correct bus stopped there with only minutes to spare.  The bus arrived on time and I enjoyed my quick, yet amazing tour of Victoria.  I’ve seen plenty of trees, hills, fields, and such at home, but it’s so much more thrilling seeing these in a completely new environment.  I appreciate the little things so much more and everything feels like a new adventure. 

I had e-mailed the rehabilitation center with my anticipated arrival time, but thought it would be a good idea still to call and confirm with actually being at the ferry terminal.  I tried dialing the number a multitude of ways on the pay phone, and finally gave up to try Skype, because of course there would be wi-fi, but the program was having issues.  The ferry was huge!  It accommodated three lanes of eight to ten cars plus passengers, and that was the small ferry, as I later learned!  I opted to withstand the chilly breeze, so that I could fully enjoy the ride and the view. 

Thirty-five minutes later, the ferry crawled into Fulford Harbor and I attempted the pay phone game again.  Of course, it wouldn’t work, which seems to be pretty typical, as the same thing happened last year.  I even talked to 411, but they confirmed that I had the right number and couldn’t do much else.  I was skeptical of the pay phones, so I inquired at a little cafe at the port about the wildlife center and I was able to use the phone, which actually connected to the facility.  I was told the manager, who I had been in contact with was on her way, so I stood out on the corner with my pack, waiting and watching for her vehicle.

The manager is a pleasant, friendly woman and quite chatty.  There was too much information to retain on the drive over, particularly as exhaustion and hunger were overtaking my body.  I heard tidbits about the island and got a tour of town, including the places that would be visited most frequently and the best coffee shops and restaurants.  I was blown away by how populated and bustling the island was, since after my time on Sherkin, I expected islands to generally be rather remote.  It is about a fifteen minute drive from town to the wildlife center, where it’s more removed, tucked away in the woods with cages hiding amongst the towering conifers.  All of the buildings are wooden and rather quaint looking, but the interiors are pretty modern. 

There’s not much happening yet, since the rehabilitation season seems to hit this area later than those nearby, but there should be more patients to care for within the next two weeks.  For now, it’s just prepping and cleaning, learning the ropes and where to find things, and getting settled.  I certainly appreciate the down time after all of that traveling.  I’ll write more as things start happening and I get myself out to explore this island life.

Salt Water

As soon as you step over the threshold from the cabin to the upper deck, the wind hits you with a strength and intensity that could whisk you overboard.  As long as you can hold your ground, it’s quite invigorating to feel such power.  The wind’s force presses me up against the deck railing and below I see two steady streams of sea spray flying up from underneath the vessel as it cuts effortlessly through the calm water.  Bits of spray spike upwards into my face, as the rest trails behind in a seemingly endless stream of white foam.  I’m reminded of the RIB (rigid-hulled inflatable boat) rides back on Sherkin with that feeling of exhilaration, while speeding across open water, crashing over crests, spraying a salty mist in my face, and I can’t help but smile.

On the Road Again

This still feels so surreal.  How could I possibly be anywhere different than I am right now, having been here at home for such a long time?  I feel more confident in where I’m going, what I’m doing, though it also feels as if I just haven't woken from a dream. Yet, reality is slowly sinking in, as I can see my hands visibly shaking out of nervousness, though perhaps, a twinge of excitement.  I’ll be fine, just let go and do what I can.  It’s all planned.  I can’t do much more than follow through.