Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow

I am tired of goodbyes, by which I condemn myself to an isolated existence; as I leave family and friends scattered across the globe in the wake of my departures and their own.  I know that their loving energy reaches out in an effort to close the distance between us, as if to embrace and assure me that I am not truly alone.  No longer do I have a sense as to where home lies; for if home is where the heart is, I have carelessly left it in a myriad of places with unlikely caretakers, so that it is simply muddled in confusion over this matter, which has been years in the making.  Or perhaps, in giving it away piece by piece and hiding bits away in such obscure nooks, which I now cannot specifically recall or access, I wonder if anything remains to excavate from within this fleshy shell; while I simultaneously ponder if ever ‘goodbye’ will hold any other meaning than ‘so long forever...’

Unlikely Assailants

The White Stork pair may not nest here for the tranquility of country life or the sweet deal that they landed on the best perch in town. Instead, they receive protection from vigilant sentinels, in exchange for sacrificing some peace and quiet, as the Barn Swallows are constantly jabbering while on duty.

I know, being protected by a swallow may seem far-fetched, considering its small size, but stick with me on this. One may not be able to do much more than provide a tasty meal for a ravenous raptor, but in hordes, they are something to reckon with. Here in Gugny, when they have tired of flying (which is quite rare) and congregate along the power lines, I feel like I have stepped into Alfred Hitchcock’s movie, The Birds, as they leer down at me.

But they don’t just look intimidating. The other day, I witnessed an unidentified falcon in hot pursuit by a swarm of swallows. He swooped in low, miscalculating the angle, and narrowly missed side-swiping the hostel building opposite me. The poor guy made a shaky recovery and glided below the roof, aiming to perch on a nearby fence, so that he could get his wits about him. Yet, this tactic ultimately failed, as he was only granted a few seconds of reprieve, before his assailants swooped in after him.

The following day, another unidentified raptor was scoping out the scene from a comfortable distance overhead. Upon spotting him, the swallows took off screaming vulgarities and chased him away within a matter of minutes. Hours later, a dot in the sky appeared. Even with my binoculars, I couldn’t identify any distinguishing features. He soared in a few easy circles, before disappearing from view. But just because I couldn’t see him any longer, didn’t mean that the threat had diminished. So again, the swallows were on the offensive.

It seems to me that as long as the swallows remain content with their own accommodations, the storks will not need to be particularly vigilant or even lift a feather in defense of their territory. Unless, another stork gets too close, that is.

So what do you think? Does it seem probable or have I been hanging around the birds too much?

Who Would Want to be an Apple?

Fall is in the air. The sun is bright and warm, but doesn’t produce a sweltering heat, which may also be eased by the gentle breeze that flows unhurriedly by. The air smells of earth and apples, plenty of which have already fallen from the trees; forced from the comfort of a sturdy, lush green home, surrounded by fresh, young companions to a morbid mass grave site, only a short distance below, where they face inevitable rot and decay, which completes their circle of life at the conclusion of this harvest season.

Yet, some may escape this unpleasant end, in exchange for another. Those that may be salvaged, whose bruises have not spread like an infection, penetrating to their core, and whose flesh has not been claimed as home to any number of burrowing insects, are carefully scanned, turned hand over hand, tenderly dusted of grit and grass, and placed snug in a bucket among other fallen comrades.

Now, clustered together in anxious anticipation in a single room with only a skylight, they await a plethora of alternative fates, which depend upon the creativity of their grim reaper and the availability of ingredients. Perhaps, they will be chopped into pieces, drowned, and boiled into an unrecognizable pulp. Or maybe, once in bits, they will be drenched in a sticky substance, suffocated between two sealed, heavy sheets, and endure a steadily intensifying, roasting heat.  Or, they may even be pressed between heavy weights until they burst from the unbearable pressure, their innards splattering and juices flowing freely. Some may be even less fortunate, meeting their end slowly and agonizingly, one chomp at a time. But I think that the “best” way to go is really a matter of preference.

There are how many verbs...?

I spent this weekend immersing myself further in the nuances of Polish grammar. Upon my first introduction to verbs earlier this summer, I was quite relieved to learn that there are only three verb tenses, compared to the myriad of simple, perfect, and what have you tenses that exist in English. Yet, I soon discovered that each verb falls into one of four classes, which determine conjugated forms, based on person and number. There’s no easy way to tell to which class a verb belongs, as in any language, there are always exceptions to the rules. Also, the infinitive, or root, of the verb can undergo changes that make it look like a completely different word. Okay, I accepted that and dealt with it.

Recently, I started noticing some “discrepancies” among the web resources that I’ve been using, such as two different verbs having the exact same meaning. I expressed my frustration to my co-worker (who by chance has a degree in the Russian language) and she proceeded to explain to me all about aspect in Slavic languages. So there are three verb tenses, right? Add to that imperfective and perfective aspect, which express actions in progress or with an unknown end and actions that have been or are scheduled to be completed, respectively. This means that there are actually two words for every verb, some of which don’t even resemble each other. And, verbs that indicate motion have two imperfective forms for on-going (determinate) and frequentative (indeterminate) action. At least these still have only one perfective verb.

As a result, I passed the weekend reading up on these topics and familiarizing myself with all of the possible forms of the verbs that I have learned thus far. The next challenge will be using them properly in sentences!

Homesickness Sets In

Flashback to...11 April 2010

I felt a tinge of homesickness today, as I was wandering the streets of Baltimore.  I found myself yearning for a familiar face and a warm embrace from someone, for whom I care.  I’m unsure if the same length of time has passed, as when I felt homesick in Seattle, or if it’s shorter this time.  Since I came to appreciate home more after the former trip, the longing for it and the people special to me is a bit stronger. 

Yet, I certainly don’t want to allow myself to settle.  I haven’t pushed myself far enough yet to remain at home.  I got a taste of what it is like without my comfort zone, without the familiar, without immediate support; and while it was exciting and refreshing to be so independent, I recognized the value and importance that the aspects of home have in my life.  I need to keep teaching myself how to appreciate and value the familiar, the new, and the unknown. 

One of the reasons I took my last trip by myself was because I wanted to get used to the idea of being alone, since there won’t always be a familiar face to accompany me on my journeys.  Yet, there is also value in sharing experiences, sights, and adventures with another individual, which creates a new level of meaning.  I know that I am capable of striking out on my own, and that I will not falter in making the right decision for myself.  I would simply prefer a companion with whom to enjoy life; discover, explore, and contribute positively to the world.

Quirks of Biebrza Valley

-Wild boar and moose skins mounted on the wall add to a room’s decor.
-After one shot of vodka, you’re obligated to have at least five more.
-Gugny’s tap water tastes strangely similar to the scent of marsh water.
-Pride is taken in White Storks nesting anywhere from telephone poles to chimney tops.
-Elaborate burial sites look more like art exhibits.
-Bus stop huts for a bus that I’ve seen only once.
-Immense trust is put into visitors to honor national park restrictions.
-When someone gets lost in the marsh, the police stop at the hostel for a coffee break.
-The happening weekend hang out spot for young men in Trzcianne is in front of the adjacent markets. 
-Prominent crosses and shrines stationed in front of every other house as a symbol of Catholic pride.
-Communist era instant coffee in the market, which is only 30% coffee and the rest a type of grain.
-All of the produce in small, independent stores is locally grown, even though it’s not advertised. (I’m not sure about the bananas though.)
-House pets and cows freely wander the streets.
-Crosswalks are merely for decorative purposes on the streets.
-No matter how fast you seem to be driving, several cars will still overtake you.

Status Update

On Friday, I paid a visit to a physical therapist in Białystok.  Actually, two of them spent about an hour studying my knees and my x-ray, and guiding me through some restorative stretches and exercises.  I don’t know if my case was just that interesting, but also, one had a better understanding of English, and did much of the translating. 

They determined that both of my patellas are “naturally” rotated inwards.  (I don’t know if this is a birth defect or a result of improper usage over the years.)  This irregularity would cause extra strain on my knees from disproportionate muscle usage and improper joint movement; never mind the added pressure of hiking in the challenging conditions of the marsh. 

Both physical therapists were confident that I would heal by following a regular exercise routine, designed to shift the patellas back into place, and simply because I am young.  Yet, this process will take months, which I had already gathered from speaking with others here, who had previously suffered from knees problems.  This, combined with my relapse of pain and a more regular Aquatic Warbler breeding season, which is winding down, will prevent me from getting back to work, as I had been hoping.  Now, I’m trying to figure out my next move and how to push forward from this.

Silent Summer

The heat wave has since broken, to be replaced by an ambiance reminiscent of autumn, complete with the scent of a hearth fire wafting through the air.  Occasionally, the sun peeps through the thick, graying clouds, while a fresh breeze ushers them along, initiating a rustling of leaves. 

Yet, the birds do not stir as they did a few weeks ago, during early summer.  It seems still too soon for migration to begin, but they must have gone somewhere.  The Yellowhammers’ requests for “one piece of bread with no cheese” have become fewer, perhaps tiring of the same bland meal.  The spirited call and answer of the Great Tits have become more infrequent.  Just yesterday, I spotted the first individual that I’ve seen in weeks.  I admit that I haven’t been out and about much recently, but the Yellowhammers and the Great Tits, in particular, could once be heard through the open bedroom window or from the doorstep. 

The Barn Swallows, on the other hand, have doubled their numbers, which, they may use to intimidate the other birds away from their turf, as they congregate upon the telephone lines, just next to the hostel’s driveway.  A few days ago, they were holding parties as wild as those had by the college students, who were counting singing male Aquatic Warblers, with droves of them twirling and swooping through the air, chattering endlessly.  Yet, even yesterday, they seem to have hunkered down, being partied out.

Getting Acquainted

Flashback to...April 2010

The other interns seem friendly and enthusiastic about being here with other young biologists.  We have been getting along well so far.  Most of them are Irish and British, and another woman is from Vancouver, Canada.  With this cultural exposure, I’m expecting to come home with a bit of an accent as well as some new terminology.  Apparently, not everyone is staying for the entire season, as some will be starting jobs and Master’s programs in the fall.  I’m wondering if I will end up having the place to myself for the last month or so.  Yet, we are still waiting on six more people to arrive, so that may not happen. 

There are seven sites on the island that will be surveyed monthly, and over one hundred annual sites, located Sherkin, on other islands, and along the coast of County Cork.  All of the work needs to be coordinated with the tides because we will be able to see the most shore and the greatest biodiversity at the lowest tides, which happen near the end of every month.  The tides are affected by the pull of the sun and the moon and the best alignment for the greatest pull happens after the full moon, and to a lesser extent, the new moon. 

I think it’s getting late now.  I’ve been using my alarm clock to check the time occasionally, but mostly I just ignore the concept of time.  At the moment, it’s rather irrelevant. 

Field Station Conditions

Flashback to...April 2010
The marine station seems to have fallen into a state of neglect with so much property to maintain.  Half of the buildings are now used for storage, mostly of books, especially in the sports hall, where conferences and educational programs were once held.  Yet, this is by no means the “rustic” living that I had expected.  There are still beds, hot water, electricity, modern kitchen appliances, internet (although dial-up may seem ancient to some), flush toilets, and a washing machine.  Though, the rooms are certainly drafty, perhaps due to the concrete walls and lack of insulation.  And it’s about a quarter mile of a walk to the toilets, which are separate from the shower.  However, I don’t think it could get much more rustic than my time in the Vermont Youth Conservation Corps, living in a tent and working on the Appalachian Trail. 

By 9pm, there is still a hint of light in the sky, even though it is only April.  Yet, a chill sets in once the sun begins its descent, and the nights are quite cold.  I’ve been sleeping with two to three layers of clothing on, two sleeping bags, and a winter hat!  But the days are so much warmer!  I still wear as many layers, but there is a light breeze and bright sun high in the sky, creating a cozy warmth.  The weather is supposed to be lovely for the week, but it can be highly variable on an island. 

Northern Safari

 The other day, I decided to explore the “wet meadow” along a different path, and on the island, towards which I was heading, there was a large, brown lump of something.  Getting a better view with my binoculars was useless, since I dropped them in the marsh two days prior and they were still quite foggy.  My first thought was an elk, which I discovered to be correct, once I crossed the island and saw him frolicking through the marsh 100-200 meters away.  Maybe he was actually running from me, but it looked as if he was enjoying himself.

Another day, I was driving down the horrible, rutted dirt road to pick up the others from a work site, when four wild boar piglets popped out from the vegetation to the left of the road.  They didn’t seem alarmed at the intrusive presence and noise of the oncoming vehicle, simply standing in the road and observing it for a few moments.  I cut the engine and watched them until they disappeared into the grasses on the opposite side.  Mom was not in sight, but I’m sure that she was keeping a close eye on things, concealed within the overgrowth.

Several weeks ago, we took our day off to look for beavers, but without success.  I returned to the site with one of my co-workers earlier this month to give it another go.  We saw no signs of them on our walk into the forest, even at their village of dams and dens, yet on our return trip, there was a tree root in the stream that looked suspiciously like a beaver.  Presently, it began to casually paddle about and climb onto the shore occasionally to munch on some leaves.  Out of nowhere, another beaver came into view, and yet another, a bit further downstream.  They swam about paying us no mind for a good fifteen to twenty minutes, before one became spooked by some unknown, hastily diving underwater with a harsh splash of his tail.  And then, they were gone.

Angry Birds

Following a more successful trip to plot A last week, I decided to try wandering it on my own, in order to gauge the likelihood of searching the closest subplot solo on our next A day.  I only made it about 200m from the end of the main path along one side of the subplot, when I was greeted by the angry chipping of a female Aquatic Warbler.  I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to add another nest to our growing data set, especially since it is becoming a race against time to discover nests before the chicks fledge. 

From my place on the path, I watched her fly a few meters back and forth between two flowers, which grew slightly higher than the surrounding vegetation, chipping loudly and insistently all the while.  After some time, she began to quiet down slightly and even leave her perches for a few moments to rummage up some grubs for her babies.  I observed her duck down in several locations only a couple of meters apart, which made me think that her chicks had already left the nest and were now scattered about this small section of the marsh. 

But, when I finally left my post to inspect these areas, they were far too damp and the vegetation too sparse to be a hideout for a young fledgling.  Not to mention, she would occasionally pop back up with the same insect in an attempt, perhaps, to give me a false idea of her nest’s location.  She also employed other tricks of going down in one spot and coming up from another, or even flying in, from what seemed a distance away, with more food.  She never seemed to stay in one spot long enough for me to be certain that her nest would be there. 

Yet, my three hours of observation time did yield a deformed circle of a few meters’ diameter, which she frequented, so I am hopeful to find a nest within this area next time.

Settling In

Flashback to...7 April 2012

All I hear in the morning is the chorus of birds and the waves crashing into the shore not too far below me.  It’s a bit breezy this morning, but the sun is bright and the sky, cloudless.  And so much green!  There are trees on Sherkin Island, but they are not very large.  Some on the mainland seem more like home.  Yesterday was drizzling rain until I was on my way to Baltimore, when the sun popped out.  The peacefulness here reminds me of Plainfield, remote, lacking the harsh noises of development, but also, there is water. 

I do love the ocean, but I haven’t spent nearly enough time there as I would like.  It’s just one of those things that I keep coming back to as an interest, something I want to do, but then, the idea becomes buried underneath what I have to do, or drifts away for a time.  It’s kind of sad to think about not pursuing what one loves.  Perhaps, there is a time and a place for it, though since everything can’t be done at once, and it may take time to really develop a passion for something.  I’m here now though, neighboring the ocean.  There are no excuses.  I also wanted to return to Ireland after the last trip, since the island was so lovely and the trip was short and rushed.  It’s amazing what chances life gives to you and how many!  Until you learn the underlying lesson or make the most of an opportunity.

For the past few days, I have been exploring the beaches for intertidal sea life with two other rocky shore surveyors, in order to become acquainted with recognizing the various species.  This will certainly be a crash course in data collection and species identification.  The organisms that we will be surveying include seaweeds, shelled animals, sponges, lichens, and sea anemones, among others.  There is a small library in the lab to assist us with identification.  We’ve mostly been working with seaweed over the past couple of days and there are remarkable differences among them.  Yet, it has been challenging to match what I see with the descriptions and pictures in the books.  There are so many possible choices for what a single organism could be. 

Arriving in Ireland

Flashback to...4/6/2010

I’m exhausted, after lots of walking with a heavy pack.  I’m still waiting to get kicked out of the country for not having proper paperwork.  The entire computer system of the immigration department was down today, so I couldn’t officially be processed upon my arrival.  I have been given a month to take care of it, and I may have to take a trip back to Cork to do so, unless there’s something I can do from the island or a nearby town.  I tried to find out if the computers might be up and running by tomorrow, so that I could spend the night in Cork and get things sorted straight away.  But I didn’t want to try that without any certainty, especially being unable to get in touch with the marine station owner to inform him of the situation. 

In spite of this situation, I feel relatively at ease in Ireland.  It has a homey feeling and the people are rather friendly, just going about living their lives.  Not to mention, immigration and the exhaustion that I caused myself in trying to sort it have really been the only bumps in the road, so far.  I haven’t felt anxious, which I believe has helped to keep problems at bay, or at least, from becoming out of hand. 

I now have two hours to wait for the bus to Baltimore.  I already bought the ticket and it will arrive before the last ferry leaves.  I haven’t been able to access the internet, so that I can check for correspondence from the marine station.  So, I’m still not sure what I will do once I get to Sherkin Island.

Moment of Truth

I had built up so much anticipation over the outcome of this next moment of truth that by the time the day arrived, I could hardly recognize it, or any other associated feeling for that matter. It felt like a dream loading equipment into my pack, hiking up my waders, and strolling with the team along the boardwalk towards our entrance path onto the marsh. The site had changed so much since I was last there, on that fateful day of my injury, with tall reeds now crowding each other and spilling over the edges of the boardwalk.

I eased myself gently off of the boardwalk with my trusty hiking poles, and kept a slow, steady pace, while intently watching where my feet would fall, in spite of being unable to see anything through the murky water. So far so good, as little leg lifting was required over this well-worn path. I was determined to make it to the end of the path, but after having accomplished this, I then set my sights on checking a nest only 100 meters from where I now stood. Seeing my first Aquatic Warbler nest was too much to pass up. Approaching the plot, I had to pick up my legs more, in order to get over the higher, denser vegetation, to which my knees began to protest.

Finally, I found the marker and after a brief search, I parted the litter to find five pairs of tiny eyes gazing up at me with upturned pale yellow beaks resting on the nest’s edge and their gray bodies huddled together in an area no more than ten centimeters in diameter. I quickly recovered them and walked away, as mom was chipping frantically from a willow bush a few meters off.

I was certain that my knees would be mad at me tomorrow, but the journey was well worth it, and even now they are only sore from the intense, unfamiliar workout. I’ll see how much more progress I am able to make the next time!

Corncrake (Crex crex) Sighting

Since that first day, I have often hiked on that marsh, gradually increasing my distance and duration to build up my strength and endurance, carefully testing the limits of my knee.  A couple of days ago, the wind finally died down, so that I was able to see and hear all of the dusk activity.  Aquatic Warbler trills and Corncrake creaks seemed to surround me.  Barn swallows and Snipes swirled overhead.  The island’s willows were bustling with Whinchats and Marsh Warblers. 

Nearly every time I had come to the island, I would hear a Corncrake calling from a short distance away.  Tonight was no exception, and I was determined to find him, especially as I still remembered my missed opportunity one evening on our way back to the car from a plot in May.  Stealthily, I tracked the origin of the sound to the edge of the island, close to where I had come from.  The call remained in the same general vicinity, but the Corncrake was definitely on the move.  I stopped and strained my eyes to see through the tangle of grasses surrounding me. 

Suddenly, a loud creak sounded from behind, startling me.  I slowly turned and saw an eye peering back at me through some dried vegetation, only a couple of meters from where I stood.  Presently, he stretched out his neck and let out another call, so that I was able to get a better view of him.  He quickly retracted back into the vegetation for further observation, as he was still unsure what to make of me.  Once I returned my attention to the original individual, who I had been pursuing, I heard the one from behind dash out across my path and into the grasses that I now searched.  He became silent after that, perhaps from the shock and terror instilled in him by my presence.  Having little success tracking his friend, I decided that I would leave them be and head for home with a brilliant red-orange sunset lighting my way.

On the Marsh Again

After a long day of walking around Bialowieza, I felt that my knee was ready to try a slightly more intensive hike. Just outside of Gugny on the grounds of Biebrza, there is a birding tower at the center of a marsh, a short walk from dry land. A week or two ago, I determined that reaching this tower would be my first step in reconditioning myself for work in the marshes, as it seemed a reasonable distance and the marsh was more like a wet meadow.

Now, my moment of truth had arrived. I set my sights on the tower and plunged in. I immediately noticed the difference in this environment, as the water level was so low that Wellies would have sufficed, instead of waders, and the vegetation was shorter and sparser than out at the plots. These conditions were even better than I had anticipated for a trial run. My knee made a few complaints along the way, but nothing serious enough to keep me from setting foot on that island oasis. I felt as if I were on top of the world stationed in the tower, and the thrill intensified, as a strong wind whipped by, drowning out all sound and causing the structure to sway.

Białowieża versus Biebrza

For a change of scenery, we all took a day trip to Białowieża National Park. We passed by rapidly changing landscapes of dense forests, fields, and small villages. The most significant shift occurred in Białystok, the major urban center in northeast Poland, composed of high-rise buildings and a confusing web of highways, some of which were not even on the map. Our first stop was to the bison reserve, where patrons are guaranteed to see these endangered animals, if they are not so lucky to spot them in the wilds of the park itself. As we wandered, it became clear that this was more like a zoo with each species on display, rather than a mimicry of the animals’ natural ecosystem. It was particularly dispiriting to see the caged elk and deer, when they are so commonly seen within Biebrza. Outside of the gates, a string of vendors had set up shop, selling everything from tacky souvenirs to baked and farm-raised goods.

At the park’s southern entrance, we were further struck by how tourist-oriented the park was. Clear, paved or cobbled walkways led to an education center, a natural history museum, and a restaurant, but there was no obvious access to hiking trails. We birded as we walked, catching glimpses of species that we had not come across in Biebrza, owing to the drier, forested habitat.

A short drive away was Białowieża’s old-growth forest, which had been salvaged by default through the preservation of royal hunting grounds. All of these trees were named in honor of Poland’s and Lithuania’s most beloved royalty. We strode along a well-kept boardwalk, which made such a short loop through the forest that we retraced our steps back again.

Public access to the park is largely restricted, unless one is willing to invest in hiring a guide. It was difficult to conceive how inaccessible the park was having come from Biebrza, where much trust is put in the public to engage with nature responsibly. However, this is stance is certainly influenced by the fact that Biebrza is not a major tourist attraction, receiving far fewer visitors than Białowieża. Needless to say, it felt wonderful to be back in the wild and rugged Biebrza and homey Gugny.

Ghost Town

Since my arrival, the hostel has been bustling with people, as groups of students unloaded each week to count singing male Aquatic Warblers throughout Biebrza National Park.  For the first two weeks, only a few were present, as the project was just beginning.  I enjoyed their presence, even though I took little initiative to strike up conversation.  Fortunately, some individuals did initiate conversation.  They never failed to impress me with their understanding of English, and put me to shame, as I was unable to hold a conversation in Polish. 

The dynamic of the hostel shifted with the daily arrival and departure of volunteers, tour groups, biologists, and other random guests.  Everyone seemed to immediately connect, conversing easily and unifying as a group, particularly at the nightly parties.  Yet, with the language barrier, I could not be sure how deeply these connections extended and how well everyone related to each other.  So I was left with the impression that they had become like family in this short period of time. 

Last Wednesday, about thirty students from Lublin arrived and that night commenced the wildest party I had yet witnessed at the hostel.  Some individuals even clambered up into the attic and insisted on peering down through our bathroom vent with their torch and conversed there throughout the night.

Needless to say, it was a sleepless night.

By the next day, the crowd had drastically dispersed, and now, there are two or three people left on the property with my co-workers and me.  It feels like a ghost town.  The quiet is at times refreshing, as when we spent a relaxing evening congregated around the fire pit.  We were only joined by the mosquitoes, whose company that we could have done without.  Yet, during the day, when all are off working and I am left to myself, the hostel seems like a ghost town and the silence feels somewhat unsettling. 

Home-cooking

Over the past two weeks, I have assumed the role of cook, as it’s far too much work to cook for oneself upon completion of a day in the field and I find it to be rather therapeutic.  Generally, my recipes are either spur of the moment, written down on a scrap piece of paper in some drawer at home, or lost in cyberspace on a website that I didn’t bookmark.  In spite of this, a limited budget, and a lack of oven, I’ve managed to pull together some decent dishes.

My favorite meal thus far primarily resulted from an effort to make a dent in the jar of shredded beet root that had been sitting in the refrigerator for over a week.  I heated this up with fried onion and garlic, which are staples in every meal, par-boiled, fried carrots, and rosemary.  Mix all of this up with rice and a beet soup base, and, voila!

One of my co-workers had been going on about potatoes and his mom’s mashed carrots and parsnips, so this became dinner one night.  From the potatoes, I made home fries with garlic, onion, red pepper, rosemary, salt, and pepper.  I let them cook, covered, over a medium-low heat for about fifteen minutes, or whenever I remember to tend to them, so that the potatoes would soften.  Another fifteen minutes, or so, with the cover off and a bit more heat crisped them up nicely.

These aren't actually my pierogies, but they look similar.

I was feeling ambitious one day and decided to attempt pierogies.  Every time that I make them, I remember how time consuming and tedious a task this can be, so it takes a few months for me to forget the last ordeal and have the urge to make pierogies again.  My most recent experience was no different.  I didn’t measure ingredients very precisely, so I spent lots time kneading in extra flour to get the dough to the proper consistency.  I still don’t think I managed to do this, since I fought with the dough, as I usually do, to keep it rolled out with my makeshift wine bottle rolling pin.  The real kicker was when I wanted to count my stuffed and sealed pierogies, once I had used about two-thirds of the dough, and they were all stuck together in the bowl.  I couldn’t separate them, so I opened and gutted every one of them and re-rolled the dough.  I was fairly efficient with the boiling and frying process, probably because I was ready to be finished.  Although, in the end, my cabbage and mushroom and potato pierogies were enjoyed by all and I learned some valuable lessons, which I will hopefully remember for the next time...

Letting Out Our Inner Child

It’s fascinating how captivated a child can be with the world around him/her, even with the simplest or most mundane things, like hand-washing laundry, as two little girls sat watching me today.  Everything is fresh and new.  Perhaps, even though a child has dug in the same sandbox day after day, they notice the subtle differences that make this particular moment all its own.  Or maybe they eagerly anticipate changes, knowing that the world is in a constant state of flux.  They remain enthralled by all that they notice, which is quite a lot, as they are always watching, processing, and learning, during the peak years of their development.

It’s equally fascinating that not long ago, adults experienced the world in the very same way.  However, the magic that it once held has disappeared to be replaced by jadedness from our common daily tasks to the overwhelming negative forces at work in the world.  Perhaps, this childhood experience is influential in the decision of many individuals to start a family.  In some distant memories, they can recall the wonder and excitement that the world once held and find themselves secretly missing those feelings.  It seemed to be an experience unique to childhood, so the only obvious way to relive such moments would be through a child.  As the child discovers, the parents reminisce, reliving their childhood and sharing what they hold most dear with their progeny.

While it is important to be so engaged with children, I don’t believe that children are the only ones who get to have all of the fun.  It’s far more challenging to connect with our inner child, to push away the worries, doubts, responsibilities, and horrors of life, for even just a brief moment, to recognize the good that we once saw in it and that still exists.  We need to essentially unlearn much of what has been taught to us about being an adult and how we must conduct ourselves within society, always remaining reserved, keeping busying, and wanting more.  We need to remember how to appreciate the simple things in life and marvel at their existence.

It seems that we are so firmly rooted in these mind sets, these cultural and societal constructs, that it becomes difficult to identify where they end and where our own true values and interests begin.  Maybe, if we revisit our childhood a little more often, whether it be through our memories or through new experiences individually or with our children, we may be able to find some answers and rediscover the wonder and beauty of life.

Understanding the Inner Self

I spent the past couple of days in self-reflection, trying to identify the unhealthy patterns in my life, so that I may address and remedy them.  For this, I utilized the following exercise from Starhawk's The Earth Path.  I highly recommend this book, not only as an aid to better understand the inner workings of oneself, but also to assist in reconnecting with nature, during a time in which we have distanced ourselves so much from it.  Happy soul searching!

Inner Pattern Observation

Starhawk: The Earth Path

The magic circle of the elements can help us look for our own internal patterns.  You can work with the questions below in several different ways.  Alone, you can meditate on them, write in your journal about them, or take each for a period of days or a week to reflect upon and keep notes on.

With a friend, partner, or in a healing or mentoring relationship, you could share with each other your reflections and give each other feedback and insights.

In a group or circle with a high degree of intimacy or trust, you could go around the circle, giving each person time to respond to each question without being interrupted or challenged.  At the end, you could discuss what is similar or different about your conclusions.  In group work, I would suggest taking one element each session, and devoting five or six sessions to this work.

Air

Are there patterns you can identify in your thoughts?  Particular phrases or words you say to yourself again and again, or snatches of inner dialogue that repeat?  Names you call yourself?  Images you hold?  Fantasies?

How do these affect your perception of yourself?  Others?  How do they impact your energy?  Emotions?  Body?  Spirit?  The choices you make?  The possibilities you see around you?  How do these patterns restrict or harm you?  How do they serve you?  What do they do?

Fire

Are there patterns you can identify around your energy level and how you use your energies?  Cycles or repeating ebbs and flows?  Ways you dissipate or squander energy?  Patterns of eating or drinking or sleeping?  Repetitive ways you build up energy or stoke your fires?

How do these affect your perception of yourself?  Others?  How do they impact your energy?  Emotions?  Body?  Spirit?  The choices you make?  The possibilities you see around you?  How do these patterns restrict or harm you?  How do they serve you?  What do they do?

Water

Are there emotional patterns that you can identify?  Cycles of feeling?  Patterns in love, patterns in relationships?  Patterns in the way you respond to fear?  Hope?  Anger?  Attack?  Loss?

How do these affect your perception of yourself?  Others?  How do they impact your energy?  Emotions?  Body?  Spirit?  The choices you make?  The possibilities you see around you?  How do these patterns restrict or harm you?  How do they serve you?  What do they do?

Earth

Are there physical patterns you can identify?  Patterns in your health, fitness, muscle tone, and flexibility?  Do you get sick in response to other patterns?  Cyclically?

Are there patterns you follow around money or other material resources?  Around providing for yourself and others?  Around shopping or spending?

Do you notice patterns around your ability to set boundaries, or your encounters with others’ boundaries?

How do these affect your perception of yourself?  Others?  How do they impact your energy?  Emotions?  Body?  Spirit?  The choices you make?  The possibilities you see around you?  How do these patterns restrict or harm you?  How do they serve you?  What do they do?

Spirit

Are there spiritual patterns that you can identify?  Patterns around consciousness-change, intoxication?  Addictions?  Patterns in communication and connection with others?

How do these affect your perception of yourself?  Others?  How do they impact your energy?  Emotions?  Body?  Spirit?  The choices you make?  The possibilities you see around you?  How do these patterns restrict or harm you?  How do they serve you?  What do they do?

Down for the Count

Within the first week, I’ve managed to injure myself on the job.  I’m uncertain if I somehow twisted my knee in stumbling about on the uneven marsh turf or if I overextended my leg in my many attempts to heave myself over tall grass tussocks from my sinking spot in the marsh.  Either way, I was in pain by the end of the survey on Friday.  Since then, I have taken every other day off, hoping that would be sufficient time for my knee to recuperate.  I have also been utilizing a walking stick and brace for extra support to minimize the strain. 

On Tuesday, we began another phase of the project, counting the singing male Aquatic Warblers at dusk, which made for a longer day in combination with our nest searching efforts.  Early on, especially as I hiked over the tangled tussocks, I could tell that my knee would not fair any better that day.  By the end, I could not even feel exhaustion from the strenuous work or hunger, being well past dinnertime; there was only pain.  It was then that I determined to seek medical help, as I would only jeopardize my health and the quality of my data if I continued in this way.

I was accompanied by a staff member to the doctor’s office the next day, and was instructed to not work for at least three days and was prescribed anti-inflammation cream and pain medication.  So far my knee doesn’t feel much improved, although it may take more time after I pushed it to its limit the other day.  It’s uncomfortable to keep it still and straight or to bend it too much or rotate it.  However, it does feel infinitely better to just walk on solid ground.  I sincerely hope that I will heal within a reasonable amount of time, so that I can get back to work!

Appreciation

17 May 2012

Following the intensive trek on Thursday to the site furthest from the road, the journey to the final survey site had to be a cake walk.  While there was still a significant distance to cover, it was far more manageable, of which I was greatly appreciative, commencing the theme for the day.  We marked plot corners with posts and recorded vegetation measurements, as we picked our way through the marshland.  However, the area was fraught with ditches, in which little vegetation grew and the water table extended far below the surface, so that dark, watery abyss patiently awaited its next unsuspecting victim.  This so happened to be me, as I attempted to create a different path across one ditch, since I did not believe that I could match the gait of my companions.  Yet, the distance was still too far, and I either slipped off of the little island of tufted grasses or completely missed my mark.  I quickly began sliding into the abyss, but as water inched above the tops of my waders, the hand of our guide firmly seized my arm and heaved me out, bringing me safely “ashore.”  I took some time to dump the water from my waders, which had filled to the brim, and straighten my drenched socks before continuing on.  I was certainly beginning to recognize the importance of a walking stick for the sake of my safety.

Needless to say, this incident helped me to more fully appreciate the certainty and security of firm, dry land, as we crossed an island of woodland on our journey back towards our vehicles.  As we exited the island, the sun was beginning to set, casting radiant red shadows across the clustered clouds.  Gradually, it peeped out from its hiding place behind the great white puffs to brighten the landscape one final time with its blinding light.  It isn’t very often that one has the opportunity to see a sunset like this, as each one is quite unique.  One co-worker also brought up the fact that few people are privileged enough to work with nature in the way that we are, to be contributing to a project for the greater good of wildlife, and to both live and work in a world-renown national park; yet something else to appreciate.

On the drive back from the site, down the deeply grooved dirt road, wrought large, muddy puddles, the car had enough of this abuse and stalled at the intersection to the main road.  Fortunately, our guide was not far ahead and rang the organization’s auto specialist to assess the situation.  We were perfectly content to wait with our thermos of hot coffee, which was a welcome relief from the cold marsh water.  With a bit of time for the car to dry out and a pull onto the road, it burst back to life, just in time for us to observe a mother fox with her kits crossing the road a ways ahead.  It was supposed that the car was meant to stall, so that we would not miss this beautiful moment in nature’s nightlife.  So much to appreciate!

The Aquatic Warbler Workout

16 May 2012

The second day was far more trying, as it took three to four hours to walk through forest with muddy spots that would eat you alive, a marsh, some more woodlands, another marsh, a small island of trees, and more marshland, just to get to the farthest edge of our farthest plot.  There were times when I felt ready to give up and as if my feet could go no further.  When these “stories” inched their way to the forefront of my mind, I had to pause and breathe, in order to quell the mounting frustration and avoid making the situation worse for myself.  I especially struggled in areas where the vegetation was about half the size of me, trying to lift my legs over it without tripping myself. 

I welcomed the beginning of the survey, as we had to slow down and take our time, so that we might spot females flushing from underneath the layer of plant litter or hear their alarm calls at our approach.  I appreciated having a GPS unit there far more than in a car, since it was so easy to get turned around in an environment with relatively indistinct features, while simultaneously scanning for birds and trying to stay upright, feeling where my feet would fall.  I couldn’t keep a constant eye on the GPS, so almost as soon as I would look away, I would start walking off in a slightly off course.  I think that I tended to head in the direction, in which I was looking.  So, straight lines from point to point on the map didn’t really happen. 

I flushed some birds, but they never came back, so, perhaps there were no nests or they were not females.  The others primarily flushed female Aquatic Warblers, but also did not turn up any nests and one kept hearing alarm calls.  We worked well as a team and finished the site slightly earlier than expected, which was good, as darkness came quickly on this cold, cloudy, rainy day.  It was twilight by the time we reached the car, which we had left about eight hours prior.  We made it home, hung our things to dry, as all of it was damp, cleaned up, wolfed down dinner, and now, everyone, with the exception of me, is fast asleep. 

We get a bit of a lie in tomorrow, so that we might wait out the morning rain showers before trekking to our final survey site.

Marsh Hiking 101

Yesterday was my first semi-official day on the job.  I say semi-official because we took frequent breaks to listen to the harmony of bird songs around us and observe them through binoculars, as they flew overhead, including Marsh Harriers, White-winged Terns, Meadow Pipits, and, of course Aquatic Warblers.  We also did not search specifically for Aquatic Warblers.  Instead, the project leader took us on a trek around one of the large survey sites in the peat marsh of Biebrza National Park, so that we could mark the edges of the plots for future reference. 

It was wonderful to be back out in nature, which built up my anticipation for the start of the field work.  We were surrounded by marsh with occasional patches of trees, unable to see the boardwalk, from which we had come.  Yet, some hills could be seen far off in the distance, which are lit up by the night lights of larger towns.  The project leader advised us to “stay away from the light,” as it is a seven kilometer walk to a river, which one must swim across, in order to get to the towns.  I’m unsure of the total distance covered today, but it was tough going, and I cannot imagine what hiking several kilometers must be like! 

And it did feel quite like hiking, particularly through plots, in which the vegetation is taller and denser with seemingly less standing water.  One really needs to pick up one’s feet!  Yet, there is always a hole some place, where the entangled root systems suddenly disperse and some unfortunate individual loses a leg for a few moments.  It was very challenging to tell the locations of such danger zones in advance, since some areas were small and surrounded by vegetation, seemingly harmless.  Even though, I spent much of my walking time carefully watching where my feet feel, I still managed to locate a few gaps in the plant life.

Devon Food Tour

Tuesday began my Devon food tour, which commenced with a welcomed hot breakfast at Bill’s in Exeter.  I decided to give a new dish a go, ordering the bubble and squeak.  It consists of partially mashed potatoes, mixed with a variety of other ingredients, traditionally leftovers, as my friend informed me.  The waitress was quick to interject that I would not simply be eating leftovers, and later, returned with a dish, in which the bubble and squeak was blanketed by ham, over-easy eggs, a creamy hollandaise sauce, and topped with a sprig of parsley.

That evening, we went for traditional fish and chips in the seaport of Brixham.  At Nick’s Fish Bar, we not only had a full view of the harbor, but also, were quickly filled by small orders of golden, crispy, flavorful fried cod and chips.

Wednesday’s lunchtime was spent at Fuller’s Pasties in Brixham, which specializes in pasties.  To me, a pasty resembles a calzone at first glance, but its shell is far more similar to that of homemade pie crust or a southern style American biscuit, crispy and flaky.  It can be filled with any variety of ingredients, typically savory.  The pork and apple pasty that I chose reminded me of eating a hand-held Shepard’s pie.

I’m still trying to wrap my head around the terminology used for Thursday’s first delight, cream tea.  It has nothing to do with a difference in the tea, as I had initially thought.  It simply refers to the pairing of tea with a scone, topped with jam and clotted cream, which is a thick, cream spread.  However, in proper Devon tradition, the clotted cream must be spread upon the scone before the jam, as the reverse is customary of its neighboring county, Cornwall.

I sampled various other sweets during our travels and experienced a tea intake so high that would be reminiscent of my time in Ireland.

Burning of the Clocks

On Thursday, my friend had the day off from work, so we headed off to tour his hometown of Brighton on this cold, drizzly day.  One of our stops was at the Brighton Museum and ArtGallery, which offered displays of modern art, ancient Egyptian artifacts, and a historical depiction of Brighton. 

One piece of art in the latter section was an elaborate, white, paper clock costume, which suddenly began flashing a display of lights.  I thought that, perhaps, this was donned by the lead of the Burning of the Clocks parade, which was explained on the plaque.  Minimal information was provided about this event, so I did a bit of research. 

The Burning of the Clocks was created by Same Sky in 1995, as an alternative festivity during the holiday season in an effort to recreate and revive the traditional Winter Solstice celebration.  Anyone can participate in this event, which commences with a parade of individually designed paper lanterns through the streets of Brighton.  Each lantern is a unique representation of its maker’s fears, hopes, and dreams.  At the close of the parade, these lanterns are burned in a large fire on the beach to signify the passage of time and the beginning of new life at the start of the new year.

U.K.'s National Rail System

If you are planning to travel on the London rail system from Heathrow Airport at some future time, I have some advice for you. 

To give you an overview, I had purchased tickets in advance online, in order to secure seats on trains of my preferred times and to save a bit of money.  However, the only option available to non-U.K. residents for claiming tickets is to pick them up at a self-service machine within certain train stations.  Heathrow is not one of these locations, but when I phoned National Rail customer service, I was told that my confirmation information would be enough to secure my ticket for my trip from the airport. 

Now, after actively using the transit system, I have learned that the London Underground and the National Rail system are two separate entities that cannot provide tickets issued by the other.  I also learned that National Rail customer service agents are quite indifferent to the problems or complaints of their customers and are unwilling to issue refunds for selling tickets under false pretenses.

As a result, I have come to the conclusion that one should either avoid buying Underground tickets through National Rail online, claim your tickets from customer service (which should be an option on the website), or just bite the bullet and pay for your tickets as you go.

And I'm Off!

A very quick post today, as I prepare to head off on my next adventure. Following visits to friends in the United Kingdom, I'll be traveling to Poland, specifically Biebrza National Park. I will be volunteering for an organization to collect field data on the threatened Aquatic Warbler, so that their breeding biology and reproductive success may be determined. The data may provide some clues for how to best manage their habitat, so that the population will grow. I will be living remotely within the park with no internet access, except from the field office several miles away, so my blog posts will likely become infrequent. I will try to do the best I can!

Polski List

I’ve spent the past several hours composing a letter to a relative in Poland, with whom I have recently connected.  I have learned a few words and phrases over the past couple of months through my inconsistent podcast usage and practice.  Yet, I know nothing of sentence structure and verb conjugation, my knowledge of assigning proper gender articles and endings to objects is minimal, and I generally spell Polish words phonetically in my podcast notes because it’s far too complicated otherwise.  Needless to say, these factors make for an interesting letter, and I imagine that she derives much amusement from my feeble attempts at writing in the Polish language. 

During my writing sessions, I am constantly revising sentences for the sake of simplicity.  Although, I find Polish to be a challenging language, it is really quite straight-forward and to the point, which is demonstrated by the significant lack of Polish equivalents to English articles and other filler words.  I also greatly mistrust the accuracy of online translation tools.  As a result, I translate the Polish word or phrase provided by the translator back into English, in order to see how jumbled my message became in a matter of seconds.  It reminds me of the telephone game, in which a sentence is whispered from one person to the next, all the way down the line, until the final player states aloud something entirely different from what the group began with.  When I am really struggling with the online translator to produce a translation with some resemblance to my original meaning, I pull out my hefty Polish-English dictionary to do it the old-fashioned way. 

But, finally, my letter is complete and ready to mail and, hopefully, does not contain too many awkward mistakes!

Better to Have Loved and Lost

“It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”

- Alfred Lord Tennyson

This is a powerful quote full of truth, yet so bittersweet, and easy to overlook and underappreciate when one has not truly experienced loss.  I have written about the pain and sadness, which I have experienced over what had seemed to be true love, yet this does not compare to the suffering endured when a lover departs this world.  Loss is then, no longer about companions growing apart or one deciding that it is time to move on.  It is a forced separation of individuals very much in love, with their lives planned out, looking forward to growing old together.  Yet, for some unknown reason, this opportunity is denied.  Dreams are crushed.  The physical bond is broken. 

At least with the average break-up, one can eventually let go and take comfort in the fact that their former lover is happier now in a better place.  I suppose, this can still be said of death, as it eases the suffering of the one in pain, but it doesn’t seem the same to me. 

I read of and try to imagine what it could possibly be like to endure such anguish, but I have no real frame of reference.  I feel silly and selfish for permitting the mourning my own loss to consume me, when my former love is still alive and able to make a life for himself, as he desires.  I should not allow myself to experience my losses and defeats as if they are the end of my world, as there are nearly always worse alternatives, which I would be unable to comprehend.

The Thrill of New Love

Flashback to...February 2010

New love can be an intense and thrilling experience that continually draws one back, eager to delve deeper into this discovery; trying to uncover what it is about his touch, the twinkle in his eyes, his presence that drives me crazy.  I feel the urge to return to those moments, as often as I can, to explore this emotional connection, so that I might attach some conclusions to this abstraction.  But also, those memories make me feel so good.  I don’t want to let that feeling of satisfaction get away, not even for a day, and I look ahead in eager anticipation to the next time I get to experience it. 

Yet, it’s important not to get lost in the emotion and excitement because it will not necessarily better acquaint me with him. I need to ask questions, engage him, and simply enjoy the process of
                                                               getting to know who he is. 

It is also easy to become so immersed in another person that I forget about myself.  I must remember that spending time with myself is just as important as time with him, as well as with my friends.  I don’t want to lose touch with myself.  I need to balance my desire and need to learn, explore, and discover within friends, my lover, and myself because all are important presences my life. 

I need to continue establishing and enforcing boundaries.  Just because one thing changes, shouldn’t mean that the floodgates let loose to overwhelm all that we’ve worked toward.  Make small adjustments as the situation calls for them.  One thing doesn’t always have to lead to another.  There is no set path or guidelines.  We can make our connection what we want it to be, the way we want it to be, without forgetting or dismissing our original goals and intentions, even as it becomes more challenging and easier to lose oneself in another, in a connection.