PHOTOS: New Friends

Me and Brian w/ our very bad Zoolander faces.

Brian looking like a blowfish.

Yahtzee is fun.

Erik's obviously still excited about becoming a Hot Shot.

Sleepy Issak.





Scotch, scotch, scotch. Brian loves scotch.

This little girl should not be drinking alcoholic beverages. Who is contributing to the delinquency of minors?



Brian's "perfect" smore w/ the signature "V" for Vasa. Looks burnt to me.

Erik showing off.

Smores are a very serious sport.

Really getting into smore making.

Elliot enjoying his smore.




Trippy, weird Hot Shot dance moves.

Erik's dreams have finally come true. He is a Hot Shot.

Sierra Blanca, overlooking Ruidoso.

PHOTOS: Trailer Trash

PHOTOS: Amitabha Stupa in Sedona

PHOTOS: Jeep Tour in Sedona

Steve, Me, and Nancy


The wheel ceremony.


A vortex.


Wildflowers in spring.

Steve lighting incense around birthday boy.

A Long, Long (Long) Story (Part II)

I logged into my e-mail account to get the contact information and call the intern supervisor. I received a new e-mail from SCA regarding the Yellowstone internship. "Unfortunately the position you applied for in Yellowstone National Park has been canceled, please apply to our other internships we have available." No! Is this how it was going to be? I was not going to get anything that I wanted. I was frustrated; I politely called the SCA office to see what was going on. "How come I was not getting any internship opportunities?" I asked. The woman I spoke with said that many budgets for national and state parks were being cut, and that meant internships would be one of the first to go. She also said that the time I have available to participate in internships is so narrow, and most employers would rather chose an intern with whom they would not have to negotiate start and end dates. She said that I should definitely call Lisa Hayward, the woman in charge of the owl internship, and give it a chance.

I was not excited about this internship possibility. I would be going to Shasta National Forest, not nearly as impressive to me, to hang out with owls and watch them poop. I decided to give Lisa a call anyway to hear more about the job. I did not get a hold of Lisa right away, but she quickly responded to the message I left regarding my "interest" in the project. She said that my application was on the top of about 40 applications, and that my references were excellent and really stood out. Her flattery was warming me up to the internship. She described the internship: I would be working very intimately with the threatened Northern Spotted Owl to help collect data to assess the affect of off-highway vehicles on the hormone levels of owls in the wild. I would spend more time with this owl than most biologists who study the owl do, and get to know them very personally. She explained how rare an opportunity this was, very few people will ever see a Northern Spotted Owl in the wild, and they may not be around for much longer.

The information she was telling me floored me. I was really disappointed in myself. I was so caught up in doing something impressive, that I almost didn't give a chance to do something important, which is what attracted me to this field in the first place. She offered me the position on a Friday. I talked it over with my family, my excitement growing, and accepted the position on Monday, two and a half weeks before the position was scheduled to begin.

Little did I know that would be the beginning of my owl obsession. Those who encounter me quickly learn that I have a little fixation with owls (spotted ones, in particular). I work them into conversations quite fluidly and frequently, and people probably think I am a crazy cat lady, but with owls. Yes, many people know of that part of me, but very few people understand it. Partly because I’m not very good at explaining it, and partly because, well, it’s a long story that soon people become bored with and don’t understand. I did journal entries of that summer and when I had typed those entries up, it turned out to be a 59-page account; see what I mean?
Here’s the short of it. The spotted owl means two things to me. Here’s the first. When I first encountered the spotted owl, it stared deeply into my eyes, like no other being ever has, as if it were analyzing the most secretive and hidden chambers of my heart and soul. I felt completely naked from the inside out, and I knew this creature was so much bigger, greater, and wiser than I was. He seemed to sum me up, and gather whether or not it was I who was worthy enough to be in his presence. He humbled me and I felt so little next to him.

That summer I learned about the intimacy and love that owls share for their family, they are not mechanical; they have fears, joys, sorrows, and many other emotions. And I learned how insignificant people are and how if you just let yourself be vulnerable to the wild, you will realize that you are no more than one of millions of species on this planet; no more or less important than the others. John Muir once questioned the loyalty he had to his own species; he wondered why he regarded humans with less favor, feeling a sense of betrayal and guilt to his own kind. I too feel a higher sense of regard for those not of my genus and understand that conflict. Gifford Pinchot’s motto was “The greatest good, for the greatest number,” valuing the sustainment of humans over all other creatures, though he did so with conservation in mind because he understood the need for it to exist in order for us to exist. John Muir believed in allowing the natural world to exist for its own sake, and not for people’s sake; for it has every right to exist as much as we do. That day that I met that owl, in only a second, a moment, an instant, as he was sizing me up and evaluating my character, I converted from the ideals of Pinchot, to the religion of Muir.

The second of what spotted owls mean to me, is they are a symbol of that summer. Everything changed that summer for me. The owl is a symbol of what I learned and how I grew. I came to the forest ignorant and not knowing what to expect. I had visualized the hiking and the waiting for owl scat, but what I experienced was deeper. I had a kind of camaraderie with the other researchers that only comes from instances in life where everything depends on each person to be fully present and active in their role. I was pushed to give my all, and there were moments when I was so proud of myself because I had gone beyond what I had ever thought I could do. I was also proud of my mission. When I was in the Navy I learned about hard work, but I never owned my mission or felt as though the mission was dependent on me. I felt needed to complete this mission in the forest, as if it would not be successful without me.

I learned about other people and relationships. I learned that one’s walls could be taken down completely and that one could trust and rely on another person as intimately as a lover, a child, or a parent. I learned about the successes of others, and how obtainable success is if you believe in yourself. I learned that the only limitations in life are the ones you put upon yourself. I learned that when you feel like giving up, press on a little longer and often what you receive for your persistence is more rewarding than if you stopped trying. I learned that you’re always going to have insecurities and fears, but to take chances no matter how scared you are. I learned that quiet moments with yourself and a good book or an issue of National Geographic are priceless. I learned about living with excess, that happiness lies not in what you own, but in the relationships you have with other people and the natural world, as well as the choices you make in this life. I learned the value of positive thinking and courage. I learned how kind the hearts of friends could possibly be. I learned to be more curious and to never stop learning even if your head feels full.

I learned about the wilderness. That the most frightening things in the forest are not the animals you might encounter, but the people. I learned that bugs are not gross, nor is owl poop. I learned what it was like to have an intimate relationship with a wild animal, and to care about its survival so much, even though it could probably care less about you. I learned the sounds and smells of the forest, and when I’m away I miss them very much. I miss the cicada’s electrical chime, the distant hooting of a spotted owl, and yes, even the squawking Steller’s jay. I learned about the different kinds of owls, their different sounds and habits, as well as other birds of the forest.
I learned about the struggles of living in a small community in the middle of nowhere; the difficulties and challenges of surviving and bringing up a family. I learned to be humble, simple, and not so judgmental. I learned the views of the loggers, the hopelessness of drugs, and the folksy fun of a town all gathered in one place for a night of music, drinks, and release. I learned about the strengths of a small community, as well as the downsides to a place “where everybody knows your name.”

I truly met the best people in the world that summer. I am blessed. I know I have been given this experience for a reason, to improve myself as a person and to improve this world with my new knowledge. The initial impression I had on the project is no longer a thought in my mind. I am disappointed that I felt as if it was insignificant, but I am pleased that I have grown. I had the thought that this was just a silly bird and I wanted to do greater things, but now I know that this thing is much greater than I am. The noble and divine spotted owl forever humbles me.
Now I hope you understand my crazy little obsession.

Intermission: The Heart

The heart is a curious, unpredictable, and maddening thing. It guards itself ferociously from those who wish it potential harm, speculating everyone’s intent, asking for secret passwords, interrogating them, suspecting the worse, guilty till proven innocent; and then, without warning, it becomes completely vulnerable. It lays down its arms and the soldiers disperse leaving only a small, naive child with all the love and trust in the world. What is this all or nothing of the heart?

What’s even more irritating is the other hearts it chooses to trust. My heart, for example, has a selection technique that most people might regard to be anti-intuitive and questionable. It’s attracted to the seedy, vulnerable, passionate vagabond with an uncertain past, which has left my heart with dozens of hairline fractures occurring throughout my twenties. And each time it hurts that unbearable, excruciating, “I-want-to-die” pain I know you have all experienced (and if you haven’t, what are you waiting for?), your armies rebuild stronger, more vigilant and tireless, and determined to not have another break through their Red Rover wall again. Some people call it baggage, some people call it caution; it’s those things, yes, all wrapped up with a bow of bitterness. However, who would I be, had I not had that soul-crushing love and heartache? I certainly wouldn’t be able to speak intimately of it. I would be a heart of less substance, maybe, unable to relate or feel pain when my friends endure aches of the heart too.

And yet through all the disappointment, let-downs, and seedy, vulnerable, passionate vagabond hearts with uncertain pasts, we still yearn to love again. The heart believes it will never let someone like that in again; it’s like a virus, always mutating and adapting with each outside blow. But the child is still at the core, and as time goes by it longs to escape again from the confines of the compound. And though we will not admit it, we know we’d give up everything and anything for that child to feel love again.

A Long, Long (Long) Story (Part I)

I’ve always envied the people who knew what they wanted to do with their lives ever since they were old enough to know that they needed to do something with their lives. Me, I’ve never had much direction. I’ve kinda floated around aimlessly hoping something would shake me and one day I’d go “That’s it!” When I was in high school, I thought I wanted to be a teacher. How wonderful to be so influential to children, I thought (some may argue that I shouldn’t be influential to children). Then I became a camp counselor for the YMCA and found that being responsible for more than five children at a time brought me to near insanity. I told my high school English teacher that life was dull to me; nothing inspired me. People said that high school was the best years of your life. I thought, ‘Great, it’s all downhill from here.’ She said that once I start really experiencing life I would become inspired. So, I joined the Navy.

I really don’t know what I was thinking, but for some reason I knew intuitively that it was what I needed to do. Maybe it was those commercials depicting a sea of camoed sailors jumping off a ship into the ocean looking like they were on a very serious mission, not really knowing why they would jump off the ship, but knowing that for whatever reason, they looked like badasses doing it. I wasted one semester at the junior college before enlisting, which really reinforced that this was the right decision as I rarely went to classes and when I did, I’d often sleep through them. I knew I needed discipline, to grow up, to have life experience, to have good work ethic, to know what it was like to struggle, to get in trouble, to suffer the consequences; all that and a little motivation from Demi Moore in G.I. Jane made me do it. Well, I got what I asked for: an ass-kicking, degrading, thank-less, sexist, feel-sorry-for-yourself, low-totem, repetitive, alcohol-induced, hell-of-a-time. And when I say hell of a time, I mean it, because all those shitty days were made up for with some of the best times of my life.

The Navy gave me the discipline I needed, but I still hadn’t found the ultimate purpose for my existence (gosh, can anyone be sure of that?). When I got out of the Navy, I went back to the junior college. I thought, well maybe I’ll never know; maybe I should just pick something. And if I can’t find something I’m passionate about, then I’ll choose something that I can at least make a damn good decent living. My mom had always pushed the medical field; she’d always talk about nursing- what a great job it was, how we really need nurses and we’ll always need nurses, it pays so well, yadda, yadda, yadda. After a while I gave into the thought, why not, and what the hell, if I’m going to do it, I might as well go all the way, right? That’s when I knew… I was going to be a cosmetic dermatologist! I thought, this shouldn’t be too hard, it’s all about Botox, acne, and facial peels, right? I began to imagine the indulgent estate that I would build myself when I was a doctor; complete with north, south, east, and west wings. I’d have secret doors and passageways that could only be revealed by the removal of the most mysterious and tattered of books from my library. I’d have one of those circular gravel driveways with an extravagant fountain in the middle and my Bentley in front. Oh, I’d also have color-themed rooms- a yellow room, a red room, a white room; and I’d have a butler with a British accent like the one Batman has.

I did pre-Med for three semesters. It wasn’t the ridiculously difficult biology, chemistry, and calculus classes that made me second-guess my decision, I knew this was going to be hard, but after a while I began to question my motivations. I was in this for all the wrong reasons. I didn’t want to be a doctor! Needles freaked me out, blood made me queasy, but most of all, I wasn’t passionate about it and it just wasn’t me. But, what the hell is me! I was so tired of this. Why could I not be satisfied by doing something solely for the money like so many other people?

I asked my little cousin Molly what she thought I should be. She said, “I don’t know, what do you like to do?” I said, “I don’t know, I like to hike, I could be a professional hiker.” She laughed and said no. I said, “I like camping, I could be a professional camper!” She laughed and said no. I said, “I like fishing, I could be a professional fisher!” She laughed and said no. I started the next semester fresh, I decided I was going to try a variety of classes that interested me: psychology, environmental studies, human sexuality (maybe I could be a sex therapist, that would be interesting), and an art class. But when I tried to get the military to pay for these classes, they wouldn’t, saying that I had to have a declared major, and that 12 units had to meet the requirements for a specified degree program. Great, what do I do now? The counselor scoffed at my attempted class list; I had to admit, it was a little weak, but I was completely clueless. She asked me what I want to be; I have no idea! She told me I had to choose something, so under pressure and without much logical thought, I choose environmental studies.

What soon came to follow was a life change I was not expecting. My first semester in this new field was a class on global environmental issues, taught by a passionate, inspiring, hopeful professor named Susan Mahoney. She taught me about the crisis in which our planet is in and enforced upon me a newfound sense of duty I had never experienced before, but had always desired. I was astounded by the dramatic and irrevocable impacts that humans have had on our planet and by the short period over which this damage has occurred. For goodness sake, if everyone lived as I did, we would need 21 planets to sustain ourselves! How many planets do you need? I was also astounded by my lack of knowledge of environmental issues and knew I was certainly not alone. I thought about all the people who were just like me, who did not know any better. I needed to let people know.

Following this class, I proceeded to spread the word about what I had learned. A reaction came from those I shared this information with, but not one I was expecting. I anticipated people to have epiphanies like me, but instead, people were indifferent. This deeply saddened me and I was confused; I did not understand this non-reaction. It became my mission to change people’s habits and inspire them to care (definitely easier said than done).

So finally I had found my passion, not what the heck was I going to do with it? Conservation efforts rarely take the form of well-paying, steady jobs. I had heard from an instructor about an organization called the Student Conservation Association, which had a great reputation for placing students in internships throughout the country with a conservation emphasis. I applied for several internships that December for the following summer, hoping for an offer by just one. I felt confident in my application; I had what I thought were good references and I am able to amply display my strengths in writing. I interview pretty well and confidently, and although I did not have a lot of experience in the field, I was eagerly able to describe my desire to gain experience through this organization.

I choose exotic locations, Alaska, Hawaii, Yellowstone, and Yosemite. When April came around, and other, more qualified and experienced people, were sweeping up the desirable positions I had applied for I frantically added more and more internships to my application. My expectations decreased, I became less cocky and a little more desperate.

When May arrived, I began to plan a summer in Rohnert Park. I looked at the bright side of things, my best friend's wedding, possible backpacking trips, and earning money with Starbucks. I had convinced myself so well that this would be an equally awesome summer, that when positions for Yellowstone and a little owl project in Hayfork, CA opened up last minute to me, I seriously questioned whether I should go or not. I wrote a blog on my MySpace entitled, "Should I Stay or Should I Go Now?" and opened it up for commenting. I wrote the blog partially for bragging rights; "Yellowstone wants me," I wrote nonchalantly. Mostly though, I was really torn on whether I should go and I wanted people who knew me to give me their opinion. Almost every person said that I would be a fool not to take up an internship opportunity, one commenter cleared up my head by saying "Do it for God's sake. Like Starbucks is your career choice..." I made my decision; I would take the Yellowstone job…