Disconnection from Nature

There tends to be this romanticized idea about how back in the day of the western pioneers, there was a greater respect and appreciation for things in life and the environment.  Perhaps, appreciation for the material things I would agree upon, since these luxury items were difficult to come by in rustic living, yet very useful, as many have now become basic necessities.  To a certain extent, there was a greater connection to nature, as many to lived off of the land, depended on it, and interacted with it directly. 

Yet, due to the overwhelming abundance of natural resources and wildlife at that time, they appear to have been taken for granted from the very moment of the colonists' arrival.  There was no consideration of consequences for future generations or nature itself.  Everyone just lived in the present; survival being the primary focus.  One could catch fish by the hundreds in a matter of hours without a permit or limit, or log acres upon acres of old growth forests to make a quick profit and supply the demands of development and progress.

Materials, time, and back-breaking labor were put into a home, just to be abandoned a few years later for a more appealing tract of land, convenient access to roadways or town center, or better accommodation for an ever-expanding family.  In those days, it seemed so common that every couple would have a minimum of five or so children, so why not plan ahead and build accordingly, instead of constantly enduring the upgrading process?  The pioneers claimed immediate ownership to the land that they settled, which apparently granted them the authority to rape and pillage it as they did.  This set the standard in the development of our current mind set; the need to upgrade, the commercialism, nature just being there for the taking for our own benefit, and our total disconnect from it.

Self-fulfillment and a New Seal

Since my determination a few days ago to focus on and enjoy the present, I have noticed a significant change in my attitude and I have begun to really appreciate my time here and the island itself.  This shift has also coincided with work days becoming fuller, so that I often do not feel like I have completed all that I had wanted to accomplish by the end of my shift.  I started to wonder if actively being a part of a project or work and keeping busy with it legitimately fulfills me or if that activity simply keeps my mind from drifting back to the unhappiness that I seemed to feel only a few days ago.  Even if I am legitimately fulfilled, shouldn't I also be able to feel this way while working on my own projects?  Do these not actually satisfy me or am I approaching them with a rotten frame of mind, believing that they are not nearly as important as the other work that I could be doing, namely work for others? 

I keep returning to this struggle, finding meaning and satisfaction in doing things for others and not always putting myself higher on my priority list.  I do not think that this can all be attributed to cultural morals and the push to not be selfish, but also because I find it easier to help other people.  They can tell you what they want, what they need.  Yet for oneself, one must listen from within, which I feel is far more challenging and quite daunting.  What am I listening for?  What do I sound like?  What is it that I truly want, as I am constantly growing and changing?

I became aware of this tendency to ignore or belittle my own goals and desires over three years ago, and I believe that such an awareness keeps me honest, making it easier to recognize when I am falling back into that old habit.  Ideally, as I continue to encounter it throughout my life, the period of time between regression and realization will become shorter.  Until, at some point, it will only be a flicker of a thought, a faded memory, as I will have learned to cope and live with this flaw.

The first seal came today!  Everyone had started to wonder when the first one would show up and a bet had even been started in anticipation of the event, as they typically begin to arrive at the end of May.  He is a healthy weight for a premature baby at about twenty-one pounds.  Apparently, he had been swimming near the coast all night and was not able to be rescued until this morning.  Now, he lies in his own personal bathtub rapidly dozing off, but suddenly jerking his head up, as if trying to fight off the inevitable sleep.

Watching Wild Geese

There was a gaggle of Canada geese paddling about Grandma’s Beach at Ruckle Park headed by two adults, which were leading about ten babies with two more adults at the rear, as well as another six adults trailing at a safe distance behind.  The babies were about as big as those at the center, perhaps at the teenage stage on the verge of adulthood, and making the same chirping chatter.  They fed primarily on Ulva species, a thin, bright green algae, which was growing on the beach and the rocks and slowly becoming uncovered by the receding tide.  It made me wonder why we have been collecting terrestrial greens for them.  Perhaps, those would be their alternative diet, being a species at home on both land and sea.

One youngster became distracted by a patch of algae on a rock, by which the gaggle passed, and two others followed behind, trying to steal the seaweed from him and romping about.  One patient adult stayed on with them, supervising the play as the rest of the group paddled towards the beach.  However, after awhile, she had enough and felt that it was time to regroup.  She began slowly paddling away, sounding a commanding honk every ten seconds until by the fifth call or so the little ones scurried up behind her for a quiet journey to shore.

Six Second Chances

Having been here nearly a month, only three animals have made it to release.  The others have sustained traumas and injuries too severe or were too young and weak to survive.  So, for a time, it seemed as if this was a place where animals come to die, instead of to get a second chance at life.  Yet, sometimes, the best that we can do is provide them an opportunity to die with dignity and minimal suffering, instead of in pain and alone out in the world. 

In spite of this tough reality, there are still second chances that come along, as six birds were released today!  A groups of starlings had arrived a few weeks ago as youngsters, who needed to be gavage fed, and I was able to watch them grow and develop, as they learned to fly, perch, and feed themselves.  After a time, they were deemed to be stable and self-sufficient enough to be moved to an enclosure outside in the woods.  That transition was quite a challenge, since they wanted nothing to do with being caught or being confined in small cardboard boxes for transport, from which a few quickly learned to escape.  I imagine that performing this same task to take them in the truck to a release site was even more difficult, since they had a larger area for evasion and had developed a greater aversion to humans. 

At the release site, I had just barely finished untaping the box when three starlings suddenly, anxiously burst out and flew off in all different directions into the evergreen woods.  One other starling was released and one stayed behind, as he is the sickly runt, experiencing slow feather development.  He can only fly well enough to hop from branch to branch and could just look on as the others flew high above chasing each other about the enclosure.  One day when I checked on them, he was perched on a low branch, looking tentatively, longingly up at his companions, and sporadically flapping his wings, as if preparing himself, as if this was the day that he would take to the sky.  I could feel the anticipation building and I encouraged him in my mind until finally, he began to let go of his perch in mid-flap, only to tip backwards onto the ground.  It was an awful disappointment.  I certainly hope that his condition improves, so that he can go off into the world to be a “real” bird.

A fledgling robin look quite different from an adult.  It is brown and white with brown spots along its breast, although the facial features are quite distinctive.  This fledgling spent even less time at the center, as he was nearly at the age to go off on his own.  He was released at a cemetery nearby the starlings’ release site, and similarly, flew from the box without hesitation into a nearby tree, where he remained perched, likely in shock over his new, unfamiliar surroundings.

The first release of the day was of a young raven that had arrived with a broken toenail, which eventually fell off.  He was quite tame, putting up little to no struggle on the mornings that he was to be weighed or when he had to be tube fed or medicated.  He even preferred to be hand fed, which would not do out in the wild.  Due to the loss of his toenail, he needed to relearn how to perch and reaccustom himself with flying and landing, which was a crash and burn attempt when we first moved him to the large raptor flight cage.  He soon figured this out and was quite ready to go when he was removed from the cat carrier and tossed into the air.  Like the robin, he seemed to be shocked at the change in scenery, and so remained perched high up in a conifer tree as we proceeded to release the starlings and make our way back to the trucks.

Personifying the Sun

I always get the idea in my head that it should still be fairly dark just before sunrise.  As if sunlight is condensed in a small area and appears all at once like a magic trick.  And so, when I awake to low light levels, in which I can clearly see without my head torch, I begin to panic that I have missed this morning spectacle.  Yet, it is a gradual process and the sun hints at its grand appearance with gentle pale yellow beams, as if testing the water to make sure that all is well and the conditions are just right for its arrival.  Maybe it is teasing the early risers, who are awaiting the light, warmth, and fresh start to a new day, and it brightens the sky just a little bit more, ever so slightly, to build up the eager anticipation of its viewers.  Or perhaps, the sun does not do mornings, like a lazy Garfield the cat, requiring adequate time for waking to the point of being fully aware and alert.  So, it spends a couple hours gradually stretching, reaching out higher in the sky, as if growing, while fighting back exhaustion and the urge to curl up for a nap among the cozy, fluffy clouds, which it may do on rainy days. 

It can take quite sometime for the light to access all corners of the island and penetrate the forest here at the center, as it warms up, flexing its muscles, extending its reach.  Until then, the flowers remain closed, content in their own slumber.  They only begin to unfurl as they sense the nearing touch of the sun, attaining full bloom with unrestricted exposure to the morning light, as if shedding an extra blanket or layer of clothing that was necessary to maintain a comfortable temperature overnight.  Gleefully, the birds greet the morning, perhaps cheering on the sun, encouraging it to rise up, as they are eager to begin a new day of foraging for food, caring for their young, or traveling to places yet unseen.

Waiting for Me

So much of life is spent waiting; waiting in line, waiting for the date of a big event to come about, waiting to save up enough money for that vacation to Europe, waiting for oneself.  I often find that I am waiting for myself to be ready to do something.  Perhaps, waiting for the most opportune moment, when it feels just right, waiting for inspiration to hit me, and maybe knock me over to make the point even clearer.  I want to be in the right frame of mind, to feel capable enough in what I set out to do, so that I can be certain that it is my best quality work.  Or I am waiting to realize what the best course of action is to take, anticipating an obvious moment of enlightenment.  I may be waiting for things that will never happen, which provides me with an excuse to avoid taking control of my life.  Instead, I let myself slide, take the easy way out, and push things back another day.  There is no use in forcing an issue, as it may work out on its own in time, especially with less worry and pressure, right?.  And that is why I let myself get away with so much because I figure it will come back to me when I am ready, whatever that means.  Yet, I am unsure how to gauge my own readiness. 

This internship is only a blip in my life.  I have the rest of my life to travel, explore, discover my dreams, and achieve my goals, whatever they may be.  I’m already beyond the age requirements for many internships, so a few more years gone by will not pose anymore of a limitation.  I just need to get used to the fact that I will always be the oldest in the group, by a long shot, eventually.  My focus now is the job at hand.  I’m here, I’m not going anywhere else, so I should put all of my effort into this position.  Stop thinking about where I could be, what I’ll do next.  There will be a time for that, but it is not now, especially since I am currently so susceptible to pessimistic thinking regarding my predicament.  In addition to this, I need to renew my efforts at positive thinking and taking care of myself.  I need to be good to myself.  Currently, the way I am going about life is not healthy, as I hide away, hold myself back, and take the easy way out.  Tomorrow will be different.  Tomorrow I will get back to me.

The Beauty and Wonder of Nature

In spite of my pessimism, I have seen some amazing sights and beautiful animals, including ones out in the wild, for which I am incredibly grateful.  Pileated woodpeckers at home are a common song to hear, but not to physically see, apparently.  One day, as I was sitting in a wooden lawn chair outside of the kitchen, one swooped down from overhead and landed on a tree no more than ten meters away from me to the right of the little tool shed.  He scoped it out and then hopped to a spot closer to me on a stump, before flying off.  Then, three times over the past few weeks, I have heard an incessant buzzing noise that sounded like the mother of all bees, towards which I turned to see a hummingbird hovering stationary in the air.  Twice, it seemed to be observing the photographs of past rehabilitated and released animals posted outside of the kitchen or, perhaps, contemplating if the glass was a safe medium through which to travel, but, both times, they eventually went on their way.

Unfortunately, these tiny creatures do not fair well once injured.  Both hummingbirds that have been admitted as patients quickly passed on within the hour.  Although, circumstances seem to play a significant role in the outcomes, since two more have recently arrived at the center, an adult and a youngster, and have been doing quite well.  The hope is to later release them together, so that the young one may have some guidance.

Herons have been flying about and silently, gracefully stalking fish by the water’s edge at Fernwood Point.  I am always impressed by the agility and beauty of these birds, yet up close, they are apparently quite vicious.  At both Fernwood and Vesuvius Bay, pairs of bald eagles have engaged in brief chases through the air before going their separate ways, one back to the forest’s edge, perhaps returning to guard the nest, while the other glides away from the island.  At Fernwood yesterday, there were actually three, one smaller than the other two, who was making quite a racket, squawking and drawing attention to himself, perhaps a fledgling.

Many songbirds have visited the feeder at the center, some of which I can recall from home, but several are unfamiliar species.  I have only been able to identify a few positively, including the Red-breasted Nuthatch and Rofus-sided Towhee.  I have seen different species of chickadees from the familiar Black-capped Chickadee and, perhaps, a White-throated Sparrow. 

Along the seashore, there are large purple starfish stuffed into the nooks and crannies of the rocky shore and lying among the seaweed, hoping to avoid detection, even with a group of six clustered tightly together near the bottom of a dock post, although this made it difficult to count the individuals.  Vibrant red and orange seas cucumbers line the rock crevices along the shore and hermit crabs hide in tiny pools within shells that were likely once inhabited by dogwhelks.  The rocks are filled with holes no wider than my index finger, in which critters have sought refuge until the tide comes in again, including a possible ascidian that squirted a stream of water at me before retracting when I touched it.  More sprays of water shot up all along the shore from the bivalves hiding beneath the muddy beach.  I discovered nudibranch (sea slug) eggs in a gel-encased, spiral cluster attached to a rock surface facing the sea, but unfortunately, the water was far too murky and fraught with long blades of grass-like algae to be able to detect a parent slithering along the sea floor. 

Conifer trees cover the landscape, perfectly straight and erect, seeming to reach ever higher for the sky and attempting to catch the clouds.  It is hard to imagine that much of the woods here is second growth.  Little grows beneath these dense and towering stands, save for the shade loving mosses that carpet the forest floor, creating an image of an enchanted woodland, complete with a garden gnome in a rear section of the center.

There are lilacs here, for which I always pause to inhale their beautiful fragrance.  I am happy that I am not missing them.

Struggling to Find Motivation

I have the urge to write, but no inspiration from which to draw.  I feel like an utterly useless medium, unable to grasp and transcribe the ideas and thoughts floating about in my head, and transform them into a provoking literary piece.  I felt this urge come on much stronger earlier today, but I opted to wait until I returned “home”, and so, left that desire, that creativity trailing behind me along the drying pavement on my return journey.  Perhaps, arriving at my destination drained whatever inkling I had left to write.  That’s not at all fair though, as I constantly struggle to settle down and just write, feeling as if it must be good on the first draft. 

I find it overwhelming, trying to return to my story, attempting to determine the direction, and how it should evolve and develop.  I am uncertain how to incorporate other literary sources of my own creation, even though I have successfully done this with others’ works on many a research paper.  And I am frustrated with the seeming lack of progress, as there are no definable goals, except the final product, a finished narrative.  It appears much more daunting and I am uncertain how to approach it.  I don’t even know how it will end.

I can never seem to quiet my mind.  There’s always something floating about; the to-do list for the day, the task that I forgot to complete, the error that I made, my feelings in the moment planning out my future course, my fears.  They all demand attention pushing each other around, creating chaos in my head.  I even find myself unable to retain a list of work tasks in the short-term, specific protocols and expectations.  I don’t know why this happens or where they go.  I feel so incompetent, air-headed.  Poof, it’s gone.  Without a care, without any assurance of return.

Tornado Strikes

It seems so unreal.  I cannot quite grasp it.  A tornado in Western Massachusetts; it’s unheard of.  This occurrence is common in the Midwest, where they are equipped with storm cellars to cope with a hard hit, a significant time spent underground, and a developed warning system.  The residents know how to react, they know what to do, how to rebuild.  Watching the news footage made my heart skip and my stomach turn.  How could this have happened?  Familiar places in ruins, family and friends isolated, stranded without utilities by downed trees and debris, unsure what to do next.  I did not have much of a reaction to the earthquake/tsunami in Japan, most likely because it is so far away, and was too catastrophic to even begin to comprehend, just like something out of a movie.  This feels like yet another natural disaster movie, but it is right in my own backyard, making the storm and the destruction so much more real.  What can I do?  What is my responsibility?  Rebuilding will happen with or without me, and the news reports may be hyping up the the damages sustained by the hardest hit sections of cities and towns.  My home did not incur any damages, in spite of two separate tornadoes touching down on each side of the city.