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.