Crystal Clear Caribbean Waters

We awoke early on Monday morning, packed up the car, and headed off for a half day trip to Steps Beach.  Our destination of Rincón, Puerto Rico was over an hour’s drive away, which provided me with the opportunity to view more of the island.  One major emphasis on the research project and the courses being conducted here is how everything is interconnected, which arose as a discussion during the car ride.  The boss and another intern explained to our two new students that the numerous mountain ranges on the island divide it into seven ecological zones, which, as a result, create vastly different climates, landscapes, and ocean current patterns, among other things.  This is what causes northern Puerto Rico to be like a rainforest, as it experiences downpours throughout much of year from trade winds off of the Atlantic Ocean.  Conversely, in Guayanilla, where the center is based, the mountains block out much of this rainfall, creating a dry climate and constant sunshine during the majority of the year.  Now, I had a picture to fill in the blanks of this ecology lesson, which I had also received.  I don’t believe that the mountains are quite as high as the snow-capped giants of the western United States, but they do look dramatic, rising up from this small island and towering over the villages far below.

Once again, I was excited to return to the ocean, which seemed to stretch on forever, uninhibited by land in its westward direction.  Palm trees and other tropical vegetation grew along the edges of the narrow beach, gently leaning towards the water.  Pelicans flew overhead in v-shaped flocks comprised of three individuals.  Occasionally, one would swoop down from the trees and glide along the water line until it was nearly skimming the surface, likely searching for its midday meal.  The beach itself is named for its rock formations below the water’s surface, which drop downwards in steps away from the shore, having been carved this way by the furious waves that pound the surf.  I was fascinated even by the few algae species and sea snails that I found atop the rocks left exposed by the receded tide, since they were quite unlike those that I had become familiar with in the colder northern ocean waters.

Unfortunately, the combination of not having had a proper ocean swim in years, the constant jostling by the crashing waves, and the panic over whether or not I could breath underwater, prevented me from receiving a full snorkeling lesson, and so I remained land bound.  This was only the beginning of my frustrations on that fateful day, about which I vented the other day.  I allowed the negativity to overtake me, so that I was no longer able to enjoy the beauty surrounding me and the freedom of being away from the confines of the house.  I took a couple of strolls along the beach, studying the shore life and getting splashed by incoming waves, for which I neglected to watch in the midst of my observations. 

Upon our departure from Steps Beach, we visited the food vendor’s compact trailer for a treat of empanadillas (fried meat pies) and pinchos (kabobs).  I’ve found it quite impressive how many Puerto Ricans understand and speak English in a province where the primary language is Spanish.  Even here, the boss had a lengthy conversation with one of the servers about whales in this non-native tongue, while we waited for our food.  We took our lunch to go, as we had a schedule to stick to, and traversed back through the mountains to our home in the south.

Delusions

I seem to have delusions as to how quick of a learner I am.  I tend to believe that I should immediately be proficient at a task, as I also have little patience for my own learning curve.  I’ve noticed a trend that upon entering internships, I begin to stress out very quickly and become incredibly critical of myself if I cannot comprehend or perform every aspect of the position and project in which I am involved.  I often compare myself to others, neglecting to consider that their more extensive training and educational backgrounds provide them with an advantage. 

I feel like I should know more than I do and I start to question what exactly I am proficient in that I can contribute.  I’ve dabbled little in several fields, but not enough to really develop functional skill sets, especially with no practice or reinforcement in between internships.  This is another reason why I am ready to find a focus so that I can consistently build my competencies, apply them, and work towards a more concrete, long-term goal.  Currently, I am aimlessly wandering; hoping that the internships I try based on the leads that I have identified will guide me to my passion.

It’s been frustrating coming into this internship at the end of the season, as I feel quite lost during project related discussions, as though I have missed important pieces of information during the development of the project.  There’s been a lot to try to wrap my head around and I struggle to learn the concepts and skills being taught to the students, who arrive for the field intensive course each week. 

I need to take it easy on myself.  I shouldn’t panic, berate myself, or try to escape.  I need to just do and throw caution to the wind, in a sense.  Stop worrying about what I will do wrong, and instead, focus on just learning the task at hand and enjoy it.  I can’t master any of this in a month.  It’s just not possible.  I need to do the best that I can with the most positivity that I can muster.

Short Story

Read and cast your vote for my friend's short story! The imagery is beautiful!
http://www.bookrix.com/_title-en-aaron-redfern-stories-about-the-rain

Around the Barrio

The barrio looks ragged.  Tropical greens are overgrown and twisted together, like miniature rainforests in between houses that resemble squat, concrete boxes, barricaded by iron gates.  Some are tattered and run-down with possessions scattered around the front yards, while others are double-stacked boxes, manicured with fresh paint.  Trash lines the sidewalks and Latin music blares from the passing cars, just like back home.  Stray dogs wander the streets and take a rest on the side of the road, looking incredibly dejected.  Meanwhile, nearly every home seems to have resident dogs hurling themselves at the gates and fences to deter passers-by from setting foot on their turf. 

It was about a twenty minute walk to the bakery, where we struggled to order bread and pastries with butchered Spanish and fingers pointed to what we wanted.  The clerks seemed to be slightly amused by this, yet also, perhaps, jaded by the ignorant English speakers in a Hispanic province. 

I neglected to think about exactly how hot and humid Puerto Rico would be.  I was primarily focused on the prospect of whale research and the ocean.  However, a short walk was nearly unbearable, as if it were already the peak of summer, even though it’s still only March.  I also forgot about the bugs down south, but the mosquitoes aren’t nearly as ruthless as those that I’ve encountered in the woods of Vermont.  When I did trail work in Vermont a few years ago, the mosquitoes, assisted by black flies, ate rings around my legs, just above the edges of my wool socks. 

I’m analyzing, on average, a hundred spectrogram frames an hour.  I’m sure that will improve, as I become more confident in identifying sounds, or even just the visuals of the frequencies, instead of spending so much time hoping that sounds will become more recognizable with persistent back-to-back repetition.  I’m finding it challenging to spend the entire day staring at a computer screen, even though I was just doing exactly that at home.  It’s just as exhausting.  I still don’t understand how electronics’ screens drain one of so much energy.  But this is an important cause, a good purpose, and a useful learning experience.

Arriving in Puerto Rico

At about 3:30am my plane landed in Ponce, Puerto Rico.  I was greeted by the boss' husband and two of the long-term interns, with whom I drove back to the field station in the dark, humid night.  I found it difficult to sleep, as I had drifted off sporadically on the plane.  Also, I could already hear the rooster crowing in the early morning hours and dogs barking into the darkness.  Unfortunately, the lie in that I was allowed the next morning seemed to do little for my jet lag, but I pulled through the best I could with a cup of coffee. 

I received a brief tour around the small property, which is heavily gated and locked to deter theft by the young generation of Puerto Ricans, who apparently feel that they are entitled to others’ property.  Aside from the gate, the front entry way is open with a stone floor and several items piled off to the sides, including a large bunch of bananas that had been cut straight from a tree in the backyard the day before.  The first room of the house is the largest, with a nook for a couple of cots, one in which I sleep, cabinets, and some kitchen appliances.  The other four interns have a bit more privacy with a shower curtain shielding the door to their room, and the two college students, who newly arrive each week for a field intensive program here, have a space.  The kitchen is small, but loaded with food in two refrigerators.  There is running water in the house and a microwave, but there isn’t the modern convenience of a stove and oven, only a hot plate and a toaster oven.  The bathroom is even modern-looking enough, with the exception of the wrench hanging onto the knob in the shower to turn on the water.  In addition, water pressure is low, so someone can’t shower, while another person washes the dishes at the same time.  The other bathroom quirks include spraying the shower down with bleach after use to discourage its development as a mosquito breeding ground and not flushing toilet paper, so that the toilet doesn’t become clogged.  The boss and her husband share the bedroom just before the entrance to the patio area, which has a concrete floor and simple, flat tin roof.  This is the dining area, work station, laundry room, and space to relax all in one.  The patio is surrounded by various flowering plants, a pomegranate bush, and papaya, plantain, and banana trees.  The village harbor can be seen from here as well, but I have not yet had the opportunity to venture to the ocean.

Most of the occupants had left for a survey trip earlier that morning, so the two interns, who had met me at the airport had been assigned to the task of familiarizing me with the project and the acoustic files, through which I would be sorting.  I set to scouring the recordings for various sounds, including humpback whales, fish, and non-biological objects.  I found it particularly challenging to distinguish between the knocking noises made by fish and non-biological objects, and the frequencies of some less frequent humpback whale calls that looked very much like those of fish.  I just finished sorting through my first three thousand files, waiting to hear from the intern, who is checking my work, if I have a knack for acoustics or will need some more practice. 

In a way spring here seems similar to spring back at home, as the environment is filled with the sounds of birds’ mating calls and human chatter, and constant activity with brightly-colored birds flitting among the bushes, lizards scampering along various stationary objects, and random cats lolling through the yard.  There is never a dull moment, even once the sun goes down.

In Transit

Traveling today was far less painless than I had expected it to be.  I had anticipated needing to make flawless transitions among bus, subway, and train, in order to arrive at Rockville Centre at a reasonable time.  Megabus’ stop had changed, since I last traveled from New York in October and was supposed to be farther from Penn Station, where I needed to be.  Fortunately, the bus arrived remarkably early, even with a long layover in Hartford, and I didn’t even have to navigate the subway because Penn Station just happened to be only four blocks away. 

It felt wonderful to be outside in the warm, fresh air, or as fresh as you can get in New York City, after being stuck in the congested bus for hours.  I didn’t even feel particularly anxious as I wandered Penn Station, following the signs for the Long Island Railroad.  However, I did feel a twinge of nervousness, once I had purchased my train ticket with no indication as to where I should go next.  I approached the ticket counter to inquire about where I should board, and was instead directed to the information desk at the end of the row of windows.  Throughout my trip planning with Google Maps, the only trains that ever appeared to be traveling to Rockville Centre were Babylon trains, so I was rather confused when I was directed towards a track with a train bound for a final destination of Massapequa Park, especially with a Babylon train waiting on the adjacent track.  I decided to just trust the information desk guy and boarded the Massapequa train. 

I was struck by how spacious, clean, and cool the train was in comparison to the subway.  Even the lobby of the station had been far stuffier.  But here, there was climate control and people weren’t crammed together, looking miserable.  It seemed as if it would be a pleasant enough ride.  I sat down with two gentlemen in a cluster of four seats with one bag sitting in the adjacent seat, as the overhead rack was far too near the ceiling to fit any bags.  The train’s first stop just so happened to be Rockville Centre, as we were only passing through Jamaica Station. 

I was also very grateful that my dad had insisted on me taking his cell phone with me, so that I was easily able to inform my friend which train I had made it onto and locate her once I arrived, since there were several directions, in which I could start walking.  I haven’t seen her in years, but we’ve kept in touch through e-mail, Facebook chat, and the occasional phone call.  It felt like we just picked up where we left off.  I love that feeling, when there’s no awkwardness, no need to get to know the person all over again, and instead, you just resume. 

She took me out to dinner at a Greek restaurant near the train station that she and her sister frequent quite regularly.  The waitress knows her by name and quite possibly knows what she orders by now as well.  I couldn’t figure a way to eat my lamb gyro to keep it in one piece, so I opted to use the fork and knife.  Hunger had caught up with me finally, as I’ve had little appetite over the past couple of days due to nerves, and I polished off the entire meal.  Even now, hours later, I still feel rather content. 

After dinner, we raced back to the Lakeview Public Library, where my friend works, for the knitting class that she was scheduled to teach.  A handful of women showed up, eager to continue with the past few weeks of lessons.  For most, this was the only time that they had to do anything for themselves, away from family and work.  One woman was ecstatic to have made something with her own hands, even if it was slightly deformed and holy, where she had dropped several stitches.  I didn’t remember how to cast on, so my friend started me off and I spent the evening plugging along with twenty stitches back and forth on the needles.  It was quite relaxing and I make good progress with a more professional looking knit than my first and only piece at home. 

Later, we spent our last couple of hours together chatting over tea, before heading for the airport.

On the Road Again

At this time tomorrow, I will be in the village of Guayanilla, Puerto Rico, commencing my first internship of 2012.  I will be working at a marine station with a Ph.D. student and other interns on a project to determine why humpback whales are showing up in Puerto Rico and how they are using this habitat, based on analysis of behaviors, photographs, and acoustics. My primary duty will be listening to the acoustic data that have been recorded on hydrophones stationed off the coast of the island for humpback whale calls.

It will be a good foot in the door, if I decide that marine biology is a field that I would like to pursue, as I will gain some valuable experience in just a month's time.

Similar to my work in Ireland, the marine station in Puerto Rico is supposed to be fairly removed from civilization with patchy and/or limited internet access, so I will do my best to keep up with blog posts!

Chaotic Trip Planning

I was supposed to be spending this past week engaged in preparing for my upcoming trip.  I remember looking at the newly posted work schedule, wondering if I would have enough time to brush up on my Spanish, reread the information I had found months ago on humpback whales, theodolite tracking, and Puerto Rico ecology, make travel arrangements for my next trip, organize my living space, pack, and do all of the other detailed things that I needed to do.  But I promptly fell ill with the flu, and instead, spent my week passed out in bed, trying to rest and recuperate, so I could at least get myself to Puerto Rico.

 

Even since the fever broke, I haven’t felt up to par to get anything done, not to mention I’ve just been so worried about having only a few days to do what I had planned to do in a week.  I awoke this morning still fretting about all of the last minute things that I needed to do, worrying if I’d get it all done in time. 

Before leaving for Ireland and British Colombia, I’ve felt nervous excitement at the prospect of those trips.  Now, I’m just terrified.  I don’t know if being so ill has thrown me off this much, as I’ve been battling headaches and disorientation all day still.  I’m surprised that I even managed to pack.  Or perhaps, there has been too much down time, during which I’ve been able to push off thinking about the future.  Maybe that’s another reason for this fear; the future is here, and it’s no clearer than it was before.  I’m hoping that I’ll get over this hump once I start moving again. 

Also, there was a time when I was organized and everything had its place, so that I could easily locate whatever I needed.  Now, I’m lucky if I’m able to find an important piece of paper.  Twice already, I’ve nearly lost a train ticket for my next trip, as it floats about in my desk drawer.  When did this happen?  When did my life become so chaotic?  When did I become so chaotic? 

Single Status

Flashback to...1 February 2010

Romantic songs and such don’t depress me like they used to, when I have been single in the past.  It’s been nearly a month since my ex and I broke up, and that’s about when I would start getting desperate for another guy, another relationship.  But now, I’m enjoying the time that I have to myself.  I also do have my fixes at contra dances with bountiful opportunities to flirt without romantic involvement.  Perhaps, this helps me to be more accepting of my single status. 

However, a month is certainly not a long enough time to deal with my dependency issues.  Eventually, I will apply what I’m learning to a relationship.  If a guy is truly interested in me and respects me, then he will be happy to spend time with me as a friend and won’t push me.  Let that friendship develop first.  I don’t want to fall into something and learn about it as I go along.  I want to ask questions first, so I can decide if a relationship is the best option for me.  Be selective.  Get to know what I want and see how it compares to what he wants and who he is.

What Will You Do When You Can’t Dance Anymore?

What will you do when you can’t dance anymore?  This was the question posed by director Zach in “A Chorus Line.”  What would the dancers do when no longer able to pursue and live their dream?

Diana admits to not feeling like she’s getting anywhere by landing small roles in shows, but when she shares these experiences with others, they are floored.  They find it incredible that she’s been living her dream, working her way to where she wants to be.

Shelia comments that she too felt that way once, and had a timeline set for herself.  Achieving her goal in “just a few more years” ushered her on, but now, at thirty, she’s become disillusioned and wonders how much longer she has to wait for her time to come, her big break.

Is it realistic to be chasing a dream when it seems near impossible to achieve it, when it keeps eluding you?  How do you determine when it’s time to choose another path and move on?  Is it really because it’s impossible?  Or is it because it’s a challenging path that requires more time and greater dedication, as there is no standard time line for a less traditional route? 

Am I being realistic or am I just being naïve, believing that a dream come true would certainly happen for me?

M.I.A.

So, I’ve been M.I.A. for several days now, but I assure you that I haven’t purposely been avoiding blogging.

Upon returning home on Sunday night, all I could think of was getting upstairs to bed.  However, sleep evaded me, as I struggled through the night with a persistent fever and chills.  I awoke early the next morning, as my illness had come on too quickly for me to find coverage for my opening shift, feeling unrested, still feverish, and an intense pain pushing from behind my eyes and up into my head.  I took a couple of ibuprofen and laboriously chewed on an orange with my head barely raised from the table top. 

Somehow, I made it to work in this condition unscathed, and it reminded me of my drive to work in Northampton under similar circumstances several years ago.  Now, I survived over three hours shuffling about, struggling to be at the top of my game, wherever that top was.  Fortunately, a co-worker arrived early, relieving me from the remainder of my shift.  After that, I spent the next two days practically bedridden, with the exception of the visit to the doctor for my flu diagnosis, to which my dad graciously drove me.

I do recognize that I was fortunate enough to fall ill now at home, rather than when I am out of state next week, yet the timing was still less than ideal.  I felt unable to do anything, not even to think or move; never mind, organize myself for my travels.  I couldn’t even feel sorry for my miserable condition, as my primary desire was to just curl up and die.

On the first day, I had no appetite and on the second day, I was so hungry, but everything that I tried to eat tasted repulsive.  This frustrated me to no end, as I am quite fond of food.

On Wednesday, my senses and taste buds returned, signaling the final stretch of my illness and the light of recuperation.  With this new found vigor, I set myself on a cleaning spree, washing every bit of bedding and clothing that I had used and disinfecting any surface in the house that I may have touched.  I didn’t want anyone else to endure the same awful experience as I did.

I probably overdid it, still not being quite up to par and feeling rather loopy, as I rebuild my strength and fight off lingering flu symptoms.

Yet, I will try my best to keep up on my posts while I continue to recover!

Where Are the Parents?

Once school lets out for the day, the market, where I work, is swarmed by middle school children, who squander their unspent lunch money on soda, energy drinks, candy, and chips.  One of the adult customers commented on how she used to do the same thing when she was a youth, and voiced how silly it was for the schools’ to make serving only healthy meals a strict policy.  There’s no way to monitor the kids and force them to eat nutritious food. 

She also went on to tell me about the fifteen years that she spent working in day care.  She would take in children from parents, who wanted her to conduct toilet training and teach discipline because they couldn’t be bothered to do so, or even enforce her teachings on their own time at home.  There were still others, who wanted to leave their children with her for twelve hours a day, five days a week. 

With such extreme requests as these, the question arises as to why these individuals had children to begin with?  Was the conception accidental, or as accidental as it can be if a couple neglects to use birth control?  Had they already become jaded by the responsibilities of parenthood or did they not realize it would be a full-time job from the beginning?  Or did it seem like the right next step to start a family, instead of both individuals’ hearts being fully invested in this choice?

Too often today, kids seem to be going unchecked, controlling their parents and, as a result, are a nightmare for anyone else to deal with.  These parents don’t seem to want to do any work, as they keep turning to the schools to completely take care of their children’s well-being from discipline to good study habits and grades to healthy eating.  All of these habits and values must start at home and be instilled at an early age; otherwise the child seems to be nearly unreachable. Unless, hopefully, once they become adults, they will recognize the value of all that their parents wanted them to do, but never taught or enforced.

I understand that it’s a lot of work to be a parent.  One devotes inordinate amounts of time, energy, resources, and money into supporting and raising a child.  But, I believe, that all of the things that one invests mean nothing unless also totally investing oneself.  I feel that many parents of these troubled and misguided children are barely present in their lives, knowing little of what their kids are learning in school, who their friends are, what interests they are developing, and so on.  It’s easier for these parents to just throw money and new gadgets at them to make up for what they’re missing. 

Furthermore, this teaches the kids that they are entitled to have anything that they want.  One day at the market, a middle school boy retorted to my greeting of how he was doing, with something to the effect of not being well because he had to pay for all of the treats that he had loaded onto the counter.  I was so appalled that I couldn’t think of a witty comeback quickly enough.  All I managed was something about how everyone has to pay for the products that they want. 

And with a comment like that, I seriously wonder how many other goodies he had stashed away in his pockets.  It’s entirely possible, since the market has been fraught with thefts by these students.  The problem has reached such magnitude that the kids are no longer allowed to bring their backpacks into the store and only a few may enter at a time, so that they can be closely monitored by the cashier and the sentinel stationed by the door.

I worry about the future outlook for this new generation.

Empty Space

Flashback to...29 January 2010

There’s too much space for one person.  The barrenness of the apartment is intimidating and overwhelming.  I organized my room today, so it feels a bit homier and cozier.  But once I step through the doorway, I am surrounded by nothingness.  The apartment looks like it did last year, when the remodeling work was being done, before my ex, his other girlfriend, and I moved in.  Now again, it doesn’t look like anyone lives here.  Blank walls, hollow sounds, dirty floors, and random items piled up in corners and scattered about. 

The life of this space is gone.  It wasn’t meant for me alone.  It was only last year that the three of us living together in this apartment, our apartment, not just theirs, was an exciting, new prospect.  It’s now only a memory dismissed, buried, and forgotten.  So, just as I was eager, then, to have a space that was uniquely ours and not theirs, I am now waiting for a space of my own.  I am just waiting, stationary, stuck.  They have moved on as I remain in the past.  This place represents the past, and yet, remains my present, but it will not my future.

Matching Game

Flashback to...14 January 2010

It’s so interesting how we seek out and are excited by similarities between ourselves and others.  It’s all about matching interests, ideas, and goals.  Why not some variety?  Why can’t differences be exciting?  They’re more challenging and engaging. 

Even though, I look for the similarities as well, I tend to prefer a companion who is different from me, yet similar to the way that I want to be.  But then, I seem to be searching for someone to guide my life and complete me.  Perhaps, once I know what I want and am willing to compromise on, the search for similarities will be a more well-defined, useful tool.

 

However, even when individuals do have obvious similarities, there are still an infinite number of differences between them.  These similarities may not be terribly crucial, so that over time, the differences could negate the similarities, and ultimately, create a less desirable match.

Introduction to Scuba Diving

For the past two winters, I have attempted to enroll in a SCUBA experience class at Westfield Water Sports in Southwick, Massachusetts.  The class is offered as an introduction to SCUBA, so that individuals may get a feel for the sport and determine if it’s something that they enjoy enough and feel comfortable with, before pursuing the formal certification course.  The introductory class is only offered every first Friday of the month, and it seems that there is little interest in winter weather pool time, as oftentimes, the classes that I have signed up for have been cancelled, due to too few participants.  However, I can’t place all of the blame on others for how long it has taken for me to get into this class, since my own plans or reservations regarding cost and my level of comfort have also kept me away.

Finally, last Friday was the night.  There were enough people interested and I needed to do this for myself.  My initial interest in trying SCUBA developed as I encountered various marine biology internship postings that listed SCUBA certification as an application requirement.  I decided that the certification would make me a more attractive and qualified candidate for such positions; however, having never even been snorkeling, I figured that I should find out what SCUBA was all about.

The class began with the typical filling out of waivers and signing one’s life away.  We received an overview of the functions of the essential pieces of SCUBA equipment, and were ingrained with the three basic rules of SCUBA; breathe at all times, ascend and descend slowly, and equalize early and often.  The slow ascent and descent and frequent equalization are safety precautions, which are intended to prevent pressure from building in the lungs and ears, reducing the potential of serious injury.

We reconvened at the pool, at which SCUBA equipment was distributed and we suited up.  By this time, I was becoming somewhat anxious, as I sat on the edge of the pool, fiddling with my face mask, so that it didn’t feel like it would either constrict the blood flow to my brain or allow water to seep in.  Breathing with the mask on felt strange, as I struggled for air in its confined space.  Finally, I slid hesitantly into the warm water and was equipped with an air tank.  I found it amusing that the tank felt lighter than my frame pack often does when I’m traveling. 

After, a few more instructions and a final review of the three rules, it was time for the moment of truth.  I purged my regulator of any water that might have entered, stuck it in my mouth, and began insistently negotiating with myself to go under water.  My less logical side soon won out and I plunged my head in.  We had been told to take five breaths before resurfacing; however, mine felt more like hyperventilation, as I continued to struggle with my logical side telling me that humans can’t breathe underwater.  I quickly popped up, breaking rule number two and tried to get my wits together.  Fortunately, the second attempt was far more successful, and I gradually became more comfortable with this crazy concept. 

As a group, we slowly made our way from the shallow end to the eight foot depth at the far end of the pool, from which we commenced our free swim time.  I found the experience to be thrilling and I felt more at home in and in tune with my element, as I darted around the perimeter of the pool. 

Now, I just need to save up for the formal SCUBA certification course; perhaps, next year.

Night Moves

On Friday night, I laid in bed reading and waiting to doze off, as it was long past my bedtime, when a muffled noise broke the silence of the frigid night air.  At first, it I didn’t think much of it, since I frequently hear nighttime sounds, such as the freight trains rushing along the nearby tracks and the sparse traffic zooming down the state highway at the end of my street.  However, my ears gradually began to tune in more, diverting my attention from my book, in an attempt to identify the sound.  Suddenly, it clicked; I recognized it.  Owls. 

I don’t recall the last time I heard owls calling in my suburban neighborhood.  Perhaps, this was just the first time that I had really listened.  I dropped my book, threw the covers back, and rifled through my backpack for my mp3 player, which contained audio files of bird calls.  I inserted one ear phone to listen to the owl tracks and attentively listened to the calls outside with the other ear, comparing and trying to match the calls of one of the recorded species to the live individuals just outside my bedroom window.  Oftentimes, I have little success in attempting to identify birds in this manner, as many calls and songs of different species sound quite similar to my untrained ear.  Fortunately, there were only a handful of owl species, from which to choose, and my eyes lit up when a nearly identical track to the outdoor chorus began to play.  Great Horned Owls.

I was ecstatic that, not only was I able to identify them, but I also had the privilege of listening to them.  It reminded me of the nights at the wildlife rehabilitation centre in British Colombia, when a pair of Barred Owls visited another that was recovering and awaiting the day of her release from the confines of her outdoor enclosure.  Their conversations filled the silence of the neighborhood. 

At this time, I clambered down the stairs to get a better look from the French door in the kitchen, which opens out onto the deck in the backyard.  I could only clearly hear one owl calling now.  I scanned the darkness and the shadowed, entangled tree branches for an owl-like shape or even slight movement.  Yet, I didn’t notice anything terribly obvious and my heart sank, as I came to the reality that I was unlikely to spot such a secretive and elusive creature. 

However, I did notice a dark, roundish shape near the top of one of the far trees in the wooded area between my family’s and our neighbors’ property.  I couldn’t be sure if I had also seen this shape during the daylight hours, perhaps a clump of leaves or an old nest.  I opted to close the door and stop letting the heat escape, and instead, continue to listen and observe the suspicious shape from my bedroom window. 

For several more minutes, I sat crouched on my bed, gazing out into the night, when suddenly, the dark shape in the treetop fluttered.  It then swooped down through the branches of the surrounding trees, straight towards the house, before it glided effortlessly to my left and past the side wall, perhaps seeking out the mate, with whom it had been conversing.

Reflection

This question really hit home yesterday, as I felt like it could easily be directed at me:

"How can you ask for me to stay, when all you ever do is go?" (Something Corporate)

Yet another thought, upon which to reflect...