This blog has moved to here! It's a morph of my cooking blog and my nature blog (which has been defunct for some time, but which I plan on resurrecting). See you there!
Saturday, September 27, 2008
I've Moved!
This blog has moved to here! It's a morph of my cooking blog and my nature blog (which has been defunct for some time, but which I plan on resurrecting). See you there!
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Pi Day Tornado
The following narrative was written in my journal by the light of a candle between 3:36 am and 4:45 am. The pictures were taken on March 15 around noon.
So that thunder...was a tornado. A tornado that pancaked a loft 1/4 mile from where I live. A tornado that hit around 9:30 p.m. It's now 3:36 a.m. and I still don't have power. It looks like Kosovo. And the sirens won't stop.
To back up the story.
I'm sitting at home writing in my journal, trying to write a paper, and I hear thunder int eh distance. And it makes me happy. I forget that March is tornado season. The thunder gets louder, my internet cuts out, the rain starts, my power flickers. I decide to get a snack in case the power goes out completely and I'm in the middle of slicing bread when my power goes out all the way. Good thing my candles were already lit.
I sit down and try to type out more of the paper before my laptop batter dies. Hard to pick out passages in Derrida's Of Grammatology by candle light. Seriously, I'm blessed to have not lived in the 17th century. Or before they had candles. Reading by candlelight is ridiculously hard. I'm writing by it right now and it's not much better. Marginally so. I'm not trying to interpret anything at least.
I call my mom and we chat about how annoying this is. Eventually she realizes that I don't have power AT ALL whereas hers just flickered on and off. We hang up. Oh, during our conversation I asked if a tornado were heading my way. She didn't know. We hang up.
I sit in the dark. I contemplate the fact that I live in a studio apartment with a window in every room. I am fucked if a tornado blows through here. The rain gets worse. The wind gets worse. It dies down. I hear a shit ton of sirens go up and down my street. The weather seems better. I had talked to D. at some point during the storm and asked if he had power. He seemed confused that I should ask and replied that he was in Midtown at L.'s apartment for a Pi Day Party, they had power, I should come. Ok. I try to work some more, but really, trying to read by candlelight sucks.
So I decide to go to Midtown. L.'s place is only 1.5, maybe 2 miles from my house. I contemplate how dangerous it is to ride in my part of town on a bike, at night, when the power is off. No intersection lights, no street lights, etc. At this point i figured it was just a bad storm and the sirens were in response to auto accidents or something. I'm worried that I might become one of those accidents--Atlantan drivers aren't known for their four-way-stop skills at major roads like Ponce de Leon--but I throw my fender on my back wheel, grab my helmet, and leave the apartment.
Now, I live on a fairly populated street. There's an apartment complex across the street from me, restaurants next door, houses all around, street lamps, etc.--all blacked out. DARK. People milled around because it was so weird, but I've never seen this part of town so dark, ever. The only light glowed from the second floor balcony across the street: two men smoking cigarettes in the surreal night.
I rode towards midtown and, I kid you not, one block from my house towards downtown, the power was on. Go figure. The entire skyline of downtown is lit too. Only later would I discover via 3rd or 4th person on the phone that the Georgia Dome lost part of its roof and the CNN building lost eithe rpart of the building or had a bunch of windows smashed in by the wind. At this point though, I knew nothing. Just that, annoyingly, the power was out.
It's raining again as I near Midtown and i eventually reach my friends. Only 30-45 minutes later do we find out that there was a tornado. D., N., and B. live in the Mattress Factory Lofts. D. was in Midtown during the storm. N. and B. were at home. They called D. to say that they were on their way, and, oh yeah, by the way, a tornado just ripped through. Their loft was ok, but the Fulton Cotton Mill Lofts got hit hard.
Apparently they heard a terrifying noise, ran into the hall, the tornado passed, some metal and glass broken, but nothing major. And apparently the time between the noise and the actual tornado was 20-30 seconds max. Not enough time to truly flee the area. One or two more people trickled in, each with stories about missing porches, people wandeirng around like zombies, and lofts with entire top floors obliterated. More info came in on the phone all night. No tv was at the apartment, so it was all 2nd, 3rd, 4th hand info. Which, in itself, is terrifying enough. What really happened? Are our friends ok?
We hung out, made some random music--I played the spoons!--cause L.'s upstairs neighbors to get really mad and bang on the floor, and I left around 3. I decided to ride up Boulevard because, as sketch as it is to ride on it with the projects and the junkies and the prostitutes and gangs etc., it doesn't have a hill and the other was one big hill with fewer lights and it's own brand of sketch. Boulevard had power at least, so I rode up towards Highland, pedaling as fast as I could. So far no evidence of the storm. I get to my intersection and I'm about to turn left when I decide that i might as well ride to where the tornado hit, since I'm on on my bike and all.
I get to Edgewood and Boulevard and a police car is blocking the intersection. No one can go past that point towards Dekalb Ave. I ride up to the officer and say that i live at the Mattress Factory Lofts, it wasn't hit, can I go there? They wave me through and right as I get to Lenny's Bar, I see it. The damage. A tree branch here, there. And then. The apartments across the street from Lenny's. Their balconies? Well. A bunch were lying on the street. No power or electricity at this point. There were also enough branches and debris to make riding a bike stupid. But I kept going.
I turned right onto Dekalb Ave and it felt like I turned right into Kosovo. Shadows and outlines of mangled fences, buildings, trees lined the street, sidewalk next to the parked freight trains; lumps against the grey unilt sky. Shredded plywood and maples lay flung across the pavement. My bike bumped along. Every now and then, a homeless man would call out a greeting, but other than that, silence. So I rode. No cars. No lights (other than my comparatively weak blinkies). Debris, twisted fences lining the road, separating it from the tracks. Buildings missing corners, missing signs. Police baracading the MARTA station. Ironically, electricity on at the Mattress Factory Lofts.
I turned left onto Memorial to circle home via Cabbagetown and the Cotton Mill. Was a building really "flattened like a pancake," according to CNN? Still no lights, still silence as I was waved through by a policeman onto Boulevard. Turn right onto Carroll Street (emergency vehicles all over all this point0 and try to ride up the narrow technically two-way but really just one car width street. The businesses' glass all shattered, tree branches in the middle of the road, blinds hanging out of window frames on the outside of buildings. And then, to the left, the Fulton Cotton Mill Lofts. One building, two building, no building, four building. Oh. My. God. The building is there, technically, but three or four floors are gone. "Stacked." Kind of funny given the lofts' new name: The Stacks.
For a brief moment, however so tiny, I knew what it was like to be a New yorker and look out the window and see the buildings gone. But there were cars behind me, so I pedaled on. Weirder still was the Krog Tunnel. completely dark to the extent that I with my light on I still couldn't see in front of me more than two feet. And the tunnel is long enough to make that scary. So dark.
Made it home. Power still off. Though it's on one block over. Riding home I felt like I was in a war zone. one block was fine, the next obliterated, the next fine. The darkness, the shadows, made it all the more surreal. And as i approached Dekalb Ave, where it grew apparent for the first time that nature had her way, wreaked some havoc, the mockingbirds snag out clear against the murky night. Beauty in the midst of war.
I was lucky. So lucky. No damage here at my house. I can't help but think of friends at the Cotton Mill, near Carroll St, that may have been hit. I've heard there are no deaths. But no one counts the homeless. The tornado hit downtown, then ran up Dekalb Ave, and out across Boulevard, hit the Cotton mill, then lifted. The Cotton Mill didn't collapse for another hour or so, so hopefully everyone got out. But their lives are gone. Who knows how much art, how many projects, pets, collections, family heirlooms were lost. Who knows, maybe lives.
So that thunder...was a tornado. A tornado that pancaked a loft 1/4 mile from where I live. A tornado that hit around 9:30 p.m. It's now 3:36 a.m. and I still don't have power. It looks like Kosovo. And the sirens won't stop.To back up the story.
I'm sitting at home writing in my journal, trying to write a paper, and I hear thunder int eh distance. And it makes me happy. I forget that March is tornado season. The thunder gets louder, my internet cuts out, the rain starts, my power flickers. I decide to get a snack in case the power goes out completely and I'm in the middle of slicing bread when my power goes out all the way. Good thing my candles were already lit.
I sit down and try to type out more of the paper before my laptop batter dies. Hard to pick out passages in Derrida's Of Grammatology by candle light. Seriously, I'm blessed to have not lived in the 17th century. Or before they had candles. Reading by candlelight is ridiculously hard. I'm writing by it right now and it's not much better. Marginally so. I'm not trying to interpret anything at least.I call my mom and we chat about how annoying this is. Eventually she realizes that I don't have power AT ALL whereas hers just flickered on and off. We hang up. Oh, during our conversation I asked if a tornado were heading my way. She didn't know. We hang up.
I sit in the dark. I contemplate the fact that I live in a studio apartment with a window in every room. I am fucked if a tornado blows through here. The rain gets worse. The wind gets worse. It dies down. I hear a shit ton of sirens go up and down my street. The weather seems better. I had talked to D. at some point during the storm and asked if he had power. He seemed confused that I should ask and replied that he was in Midtown at L.'s apartment for a Pi Day Party, they had power, I should come. Ok. I try to work some more, but really, trying to read by candlelight sucks.So I decide to go to Midtown. L.'s place is only 1.5, maybe 2 miles from my house. I contemplate how dangerous it is to ride in my part of town on a bike, at night, when the power is off. No intersection lights, no street lights, etc. At this point i figured it was just a bad storm and the sirens were in response to auto accidents or something. I'm worried that I might become one of those accidents--Atlantan drivers aren't known for their four-way-stop skills at major roads like Ponce de Leon--but I throw my fender on my back wheel, grab my helmet, and leave the apartment.
Now, I live on a fairly populated street. There's an apartment complex across the street from me, restaurants next door, houses all around, street lamps, etc.--all blacked out. DARK. People milled around because it was so weird, but I've never seen this part of town so dark, ever. The only light glowed from the second floor balcony across the street: two men smoking cigarettes in the surreal night.I rode towards midtown and, I kid you not, one block from my house towards downtown, the power was on. Go figure. The entire skyline of downtown is lit too. Only later would I discover via 3rd or 4th person on the phone that the Georgia Dome lost part of its roof and the CNN building lost eithe rpart of the building or had a bunch of windows smashed in by the wind. At this point though, I knew nothing. Just that, annoyingly, the power was out.
It's raining again as I near Midtown and i eventually reach my friends. Only 30-45 minutes later do we find out that there was a tornado. D., N., and B. live in the Mattress Factory Lofts. D. was in Midtown during the storm. N. and B. were at home. They called D. to say that they were on their way, and, oh yeah, by the way, a tornado just ripped through. Their loft was ok, but the Fulton Cotton Mill Lofts got hit hard.Apparently they heard a terrifying noise, ran into the hall, the tornado passed, some metal and glass broken, but nothing major. And apparently the time between the noise and the actual tornado was 20-30 seconds max. Not enough time to truly flee the area. One or two more people trickled in, each with stories about missing porches, people wandeirng around like zombies, and lofts with entire top floors obliterated. More info came in on the phone all night. No tv was at the apartment, so it was all 2nd, 3rd, 4th hand info. Which, in itself, is terrifying enough. What really happened? Are our friends ok?
We hung out, made some random music--I played the spoons!--cause L.'s upstairs neighbors to get really mad and bang on the floor, and I left around 3. I decided to ride up Boulevard because, as sketch as it is to ride on it with the projects and the junkies and the prostitutes and gangs etc., it doesn't have a hill and the other was one big hill with fewer lights and it's own brand of sketch. Boulevard had power at least, so I rode up towards Highland, pedaling as fast as I could. So far no evidence of the storm. I get to my intersection and I'm about to turn left when I decide that i might as well ride to where the tornado hit, since I'm on on my bike and all.I get to Edgewood and Boulevard and a police car is blocking the intersection. No one can go past that point towards Dekalb Ave. I ride up to the officer and say that i live at the Mattress Factory Lofts, it wasn't hit, can I go there? They wave me through and right as I get to Lenny's Bar, I see it. The damage. A tree branch here, there. And then. The apartments across the street from Lenny's. Their balconies? Well. A bunch were lying on the street. No power or electricity at this point. There were also enough branches and debris to make riding a bike stupid. But I kept going.
I turned right onto Dekalb Ave and it felt like I turned right into Kosovo. Shadows and outlines of mangled fences, buildings, trees lined the street, sidewalk next to the parked freight trains; lumps against the grey unilt sky. Shredded plywood and maples lay flung across the pavement. My bike bumped along. Every now and then, a homeless man would call out a greeting, but other than that, silence. So I rode. No cars. No lights (other than my comparatively weak blinkies). Debris, twisted fences lining the road, separating it from the tracks. Buildings missing corners, missing signs. Police baracading the MARTA station. Ironically, electricity on at the Mattress Factory Lofts.I turned left onto Memorial to circle home via Cabbagetown and the Cotton Mill. Was a building really "flattened like a pancake," according to CNN? Still no lights, still silence as I was waved through by a policeman onto Boulevard. Turn right onto Carroll Street (emergency vehicles all over all this point0 and try to ride up the narrow technically two-way but really just one car width street. The businesses' glass all shattered, tree branches in the middle of the road, blinds hanging out of window frames on the outside of buildings. And then, to the left, the Fulton Cotton Mill Lofts. One building, two building, no building, four building. Oh. My. God. The building is there, technically, but three or four floors are gone. "Stacked." Kind of funny given the lofts' new name: The Stacks.
For a brief moment, however so tiny, I knew what it was like to be a New yorker and look out the window and see the buildings gone. But there were cars behind me, so I pedaled on. Weirder still was the Krog Tunnel. completely dark to the extent that I with my light on I still couldn't see in front of me more than two feet. And the tunnel is long enough to make that scary. So dark.Made it home. Power still off. Though it's on one block over. Riding home I felt like I was in a war zone. one block was fine, the next obliterated, the next fine. The darkness, the shadows, made it all the more surreal. And as i approached Dekalb Ave, where it grew apparent for the first time that nature had her way, wreaked some havoc, the mockingbirds snag out clear against the murky night. Beauty in the midst of war.
I was lucky. So lucky. No damage here at my house. I can't help but think of friends at the Cotton Mill, near Carroll St, that may have been hit. I've heard there are no deaths. But no one counts the homeless. The tornado hit downtown, then ran up Dekalb Ave, and out across Boulevard, hit the Cotton mill, then lifted. The Cotton Mill didn't collapse for another hour or so, so hopefully everyone got out. But their lives are gone. Who knows how much art, how many projects, pets, collections, family heirlooms were lost. Who knows, maybe lives.Fucking Kosovo.
War Zone.
And the birds
sing.
War Zone.
And the birds
sing.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
One Year Ago, Amazon
March 12, 2007
This morning at ~6 am we loaded up on a small boat and went in search of birds. Immediately, i.e. at the dock, we saw three or four black vultures, but those were probably in the area of the lodge and village. Overhead, several pairs of blue headed and mealy parrots flew and the branches lining the tributary held scores of Smooth Billed Annis and Yellow Rumped Caciques. both are dark blackish birds and the caciques have a bright yellow "v" on their tail spread. Both species are common along the river.
Another species that we saw several of is the Amazon Kingfisher. The Amazon is the largest kingfisher here and it is dark blue to dark green with a white chest and black band around his eyes (I think...this is from memory). one pair flew together by the shore and swooped and dove towards the water but did not catch anything. Their call is like a rattle.
One distinct bird was a raptor, the Yellow-headed Caracara. It's smallish-medium, has a white head (with yellow marks, I assume, but I couldn't see them without binoculars), brown-rufus body, and a dark band on the tail spread. Their call is like a Peregrine Falcon--high and sharp--and we saw at least three or four in the hour we were on the river.
Greater Annis are all black (or black looking) and are large, perhaps one foot tall. Orependulas were extremely common (orioles), and I was able to see one male call, which is one of the thwat glump gloom calls.
Just as we were reaching the lodge again we spotted a Chestnut-eared Toucan, or Aracare, as the locals call them. It was smallish with a rufus head.
The habitats we saw the birds in were gallery forests where the dominant trees are Cecropias and Heliconias. We also floated through a floating meadow comprised of water hyacinth and water lettuce. Both species are native here, and are not invasive like they are in the U.S.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Strip Trees
It looks like everything survived the freeze ok. I spent chunks of time over the past two days huddled in my bed under covers (and cats) with the space heater on...I'm such a wimp. The "cold" makes me want to move to Florida ASAP and I never want to live in Florida! I like seasons! I do! I just hate being cold.
The time change was weird too. Was Daylight Savings super early this year? Thank God I had nothing to do today because I couldn't drag myself out of bed until early afternoon. Maybe I'm just exhausted, but I feel jet lagged.
Luckily for me the weather is getting much warmer (maybe I won't freeze on my birthday this year! novel!) and the birds are reappearing. I tromped over to a neighborhood park and watched the robbins sort through leaves and hop across branches. The park was full of Chinese privit and mahonia and English ivy of course, but I did find a red headed woodpecker among the American Beech stands.
I suppose this afternoon walk was one of strip trees. Every tree seemed to be in some state of undress--whether shedding last year's leaves and pods or barely covering the branches with new flowers and winged seeds. This is one of my favourite times of spring. The pollen hasn't started yet, the flowers are just beginning to appear, the birds have just arrived, and the weather isn't too hot (just warm enough).
Thoreau always seems to say it better than I can. (March 11, 1859) But methinks the sound of the woodpecker tapping is as much a spring note as any these mornings; it echoes peculiarly in the air of a spring morning.
The time change was weird too. Was Daylight Savings super early this year? Thank God I had nothing to do today because I couldn't drag myself out of bed until early afternoon. Maybe I'm just exhausted, but I feel jet lagged.Luckily for me the weather is getting much warmer (maybe I won't freeze on my birthday this year! novel!) and the birds are reappearing. I tromped over to a neighborhood park and watched the robbins sort through leaves and hop across branches. The park was full of Chinese privit and mahonia and English ivy of course, but I did find a red headed woodpecker among the American Beech stands.I suppose this afternoon walk was one of strip trees. Every tree seemed to be in some state of undress--whether shedding last year's leaves and pods or barely covering the branches with new flowers and winged seeds. This is one of my favourite times of spring. The pollen hasn't started yet, the flowers are just beginning to appear, the birds have just arrived, and the weather isn't too hot (just warm enough).Thoreau always seems to say it better than I can. (March 11, 1859) But methinks the sound of the woodpecker tapping is as much a spring note as any these mornings; it echoes peculiarly in the air of a spring morning.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Premature Blooms
Atlanta's weather is neurotic. I know I've mentioned that before, but really, it is. Las March I escaped it for 10 days in the Upper Amazon Basin in Peru. This year...I'm stuck. The past few days have been gorgeous--60-70 degrees, sunny, spring-like--but tomorrow morning the weather report calls for snow!
I hope the plants survive. It happens every year; I expect it to. But it's always a surprise when it does happen. In many ways, March is like my life. Good things happen and I bloom--prematurely--and then some little or major frost comes around and wipes the slate clean. But I rebound. I wasn't born in Georgia for nothing!
Over the past year I've run through as many job options as I could think of--hydrology, ecology, baker/chef, writer, literature, philosophy, sustainable food, bicycle advocacy & education, and probably a few that I can't remember. I had seven W-2 forms this year. SEVEN. I was planning on graduting this year, I was planning on not; I was planning on going to Russia this summer to study Russian, I was planning on going to Africa instead for ecology; I was focusing on literature, I was focusing on ecology. How many times can I change my mind?!
I'm growing and I'm learning, unlike the flowering plants around here. Every year they bloom and then freeze, but I'd like to think that I'm leaving that phase behind. (Although maybe that's a premature statement as well...) I know I'm moving in a few months. Where? Who knows. I know that I love nature and I love books, but that I have to decide in the next couple of years what I really want to do with those passions. I know that I'm really good at writing resumes! I know that I still love to cook. I know that I have friends and family supporting me (even though they think I'm absolutely neurotic at decision making).
All in all, not too shabby.
p.s. I applied for a job at the California Academy of Sciences. Fingers crossed!!!
I hope the plants survive. It happens every year; I expect it to. But it's always a surprise when it does happen. In many ways, March is like my life. Good things happen and I bloom--prematurely--and then some little or major frost comes around and wipes the slate clean. But I rebound. I wasn't born in Georgia for nothing!Over the past year I've run through as many job options as I could think of--hydrology, ecology, baker/chef, writer, literature, philosophy, sustainable food, bicycle advocacy & education, and probably a few that I can't remember. I had seven W-2 forms this year. SEVEN. I was planning on graduting this year, I was planning on not; I was planning on going to Russia this summer to study Russian, I was planning on going to Africa instead for ecology; I was focusing on literature, I was focusing on ecology. How many times can I change my mind?!
I'm growing and I'm learning, unlike the flowering plants around here. Every year they bloom and then freeze, but I'd like to think that I'm leaving that phase behind. (Although maybe that's a premature statement as well...) I know I'm moving in a few months. Where? Who knows. I know that I love nature and I love books, but that I have to decide in the next couple of years what I really want to do with those passions. I know that I'm really good at writing resumes! I know that I still love to cook. I know that I have friends and family supporting me (even though they think I'm absolutely neurotic at decision making).All in all, not too shabby.p.s. I applied for a job at the California Academy of Sciences. Fingers crossed!!!
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Baby Got Books Reading Series, March 24
For all you Atlantan bibliophiles, Wordsmiths is hosting the Baby Got Books Volume 2 reading series (& musical gala) on March 24 at 7:30 before they move to their new location off the Decatur square.
The event features author Hillary Jordan reading experpts from her Bellwether prize winning novel, Mudbound. Barbara Kingsolver, the founder of the Bellwether prize, described Hillary Jordan as a writer whose as "characters walked straight out of 1940s Mississippi and into the part of my brain where sympathy and anger and love reside, leaving my heart racing. They are with me still."
After the reading The Wayne Fishell Experiment and Hope for Agoldensummer will perform. I haven't heard the Wayne Fishell Experiment live, but their website advertises the music as "gay-acoustic-indie-folk-pop" which is pretty damn stellar. Oh, their tracks are too, and you can listen to them at the website. Hope for Agoldensummer is one of my favourite bands of all time. The Athens based ladies are a combination Appalachian grit and southern drawl and openly invite audience members to grab maracas, tambourines, drums, etc. and join in with the music. Whiskey flasks are encouraged.
Basically, you should go. It's free and what else do you have planned for a Monday night anyway?
The event features author Hillary Jordan reading experpts from her Bellwether prize winning novel, Mudbound. Barbara Kingsolver, the founder of the Bellwether prize, described Hillary Jordan as a writer whose as "characters walked straight out of 1940s Mississippi and into the part of my brain where sympathy and anger and love reside, leaving my heart racing. They are with me still."After the reading The Wayne Fishell Experiment and Hope for Agoldensummer will perform. I haven't heard the Wayne Fishell Experiment live, but their website advertises the music as "gay-acoustic-indie-folk-pop" which is pretty damn stellar. Oh, their tracks are too, and you can listen to them at the website. Hope for Agoldensummer is one of my favourite bands of all time. The Athens based ladies are a combination Appalachian grit and southern drawl and openly invite audience members to grab maracas, tambourines, drums, etc. and join in with the music. Whiskey flasks are encouraged.
Basically, you should go. It's free and what else do you have planned for a Monday night anyway?
Springing Back
I've been a bit MIA from the blog world for a while now, as I guess you can all tell. It’s been almost two months since my last post...where have these two months gone?Sometime in those two months I managed to buy a one-way plane ticket to Berlin, apply for CELTA (teaching English as a foreign language) certification (my interview is on Friday), apply for a job as a field technician with Audubon California (bird & vegetation surveys, data collection--basically my post-college dream job, and it’s located in the San Francisco Bay), spend some interesting evenings drinking my face off, fall out of love with my bicycle, and, oh yes, attempt to survive last semester of undergraduate education.
The future scares me…more than you can imagine. I'm not talented at making decisions and sticking with them—does it ever get easier? Right now I'm poised to leave America for several years on May 15. But I might get the job with Audubon California and move to San Francisco. Or I might work on turtle conservation and research in Dry Tortugas for four months with a professor at Emory. Or I might…
You get the picture.
I’m ready for the cold air to disappear and the flowers to not freeze as soon as they open. Atlanta’s tricky like that. I’m ready for the next stage of my life—whatever it is—but I need to stop living for the future…even though the future is hardly that; it’s two months away.
Unfortunately I’m not flying off to Peru this Friday like I was a year ago. I’ll be spending my spring break (spring break??? How is it already spring break?!?!) at home working on papers and researching austral migration and barrier islands. Oh, and I’ll be curled up with my cats and catching up on sleep; maybe writing a bit here and there. And I’ll try to not run away from the blog again. I’ve got to keep my sanity somehow!
I’ll leave you with a quotation from Thoreau that was more apt for yesterday, given the date, but still beautiful nonetheless:
March 4, 1840: I learned to-day that my ornithology had done me no service. The birds I heard, which fortunately did not come within the scope of my science, sung as freshly as if it had been their first morning of creation, and had for background to their song and untrodden wilderness, stretching through many a Carolina and Mexico of the soul.
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