Explicating the Emic

People, Perspective, and Postmodernism?: A Semester in Review

2011-12-20T21:37:00.001-07:00

When I waspulled off the Appalachian Trail and into a whirlwind of organizingPre-Orientation food pack out and feeding a bunch of leaders in the weekleading up to Pre-O's, I had planned on writing a last trail journal entrydescribing the strangeness of being swept up into that pace of"normal" life that is so much faster than hiking the trail. Theproblem was I was too busy and too tired to ever sit down and write thatjournal entry. I started blogging my trail journal entries and when I finishedposting those in October, I planned on writing another blog post to reflect onthose posts and to note how I was swept back into "normal" life. Theproblem was I was too busy and too tired to ever sit down and write that post.That state of existence pretty much sums how I felt all semester: I was toobusy and too tired to __________. I take full responsibility for putting myselfin that situation. I'm the one who chose two research classes, a studio artclass, and a class slightly heavy on reading, in addition to working quite abit. And I'm also the one who was too stubborn to not do everything Iwas supposed to to prepare for classes, even when the wiser part of me said Ishould really just go to sleep. There were times during the semester when thatpart of me that insists on doing everything to the fullest extent possibleconfronted the part of me that keeps an eye on important things like sleep,nutrition, and mental relaxation, and the confrontation wasn't nice. On the onehand, a good trip leader is continuously checking in with the group and withherself to make sure everyone is hydrated, fueled, and blister free. That'simportant to me, so I wanted to value the decisions that I could make in thebest-interest of my well-being. On the other hand, the driven part of me knowsthat if I don't follow through strongly with whatever I'm doing, I'lllook back at it and regret not going all the way. A good runner can push to theedge, even though it's uncomfortable, and stay there until the race is over.That's important to me as well.

Thisconfrontation of the well-being consultant and the gun-ho shoulder coach mademe question my past assumption that being insanely busy all the time was myperfect state of being. It's not that I want a bunch of free time, but I haveto come to value more the opportunity to go into more depth with the thingsthat I do, the opportunity to really focus. But that runs up against my lovefor wayyyyyy to many different things. I think at the end of last fall semesterI wrote about how I was excited that I believed I could combine a lot of mypassions. I was very optimistic then. Which is not to say that I'm not now, butI am somewhat amazed at the energy and excitement that exudes from thatwriting. Perhaps I should have read and absorbed that energy and excitementduring this semester when I was continuously worn out and beginning to losesight of the "why" behind my actions. As the semester came to a closeI began thinking about what I might write in my review of the semester. In thepast, I have identified themes that have developed in classes and beyond, yetthis semester I was having a hard time finding a strong, cohesive thread ontowhich I could grip. Typical. Just so typical of this semester to behave likethat. Just as we spent the whole semester learning about the different waysanthropological theorists have conceptualized culture and then finished offwith Lila Abu-Lughod's writing about the problem with the concept of cultureand how treating a "culture" as bounded and cohesive fixesdifferences between the self and other, I've spent many moments looking back ona period of time (i.e. a semester) and have used the time unit to bound it andidentified major themes to make it cohesive and now, I just can't seem to dothe same thing with this semester. This could in part be because the nature ofmy study is such that it is no longer little sets of semester long foci, butrather a shift to ongoing research. Nonetheless, it makes me laugh that whenlearning about postmodernism the thought came to mind--"Well,postmodernists may say that the time of modernism is over, but talk to anyonefrom back home and their understanding of the world is clearly rooted inmodernist assumptions. Postmodernism may live in academia, but not necessarilyelsewhere" but now I can't help but analogize the disjointedness of my lifeto the disjointedness of postmodernism. And so what do I write about if thereis no overriding theme of the semester? I supposed I could go into detail aboutpostmodernism, but to be entirely honest, I've done a fair amount of that inthe past week and a half with a final paper for my methods class...and I'm notquite in the mood to be doing it again so soon. Nonetheless, in the spiritof the way the semester has been, I offer not an analysis of the semester inorder to spin a thread of thematic lessons, but a series of snippets thathighlight the feel of what makes Bowdoin a community filled with wonderful people. I don’t know if itwill be an effective way to portray the semester, because so many of theseinstances may primarily have meaning to me because of the memory and feelingthey bring back. But, whatevs (as they say in the east), at least I can read itand think fondly about the importance of people in my life.

“Face it D,you’re a theory nerd. We all know it.” “So you’re going to make me come out,huh? I was a closet theory nerd, butI guess it’s not a secret now.” “Danica. Let’s be real here. It’s obvious.”

“Did you knowa person should be hugged at least eight times a day?”

Competitivehugs with the person living my alternate reality.

“The last twothings Danica has said to me is, ‘Have you felt like stabbing yourself today?’and ‘You remind me of a duck.’”

Bisbeeimpersonating last-year’s Danica who spent wayyyy too much time in the coldtape room at late hours during this year’s sculpture opening.

“Why don’t youcome in tomorrow with a list of the things you’re doing and your schedule andI’ll help you narrow it down.”

“Science!”

Friends whowill wake you up after a 10 minute nap at 2:00 in the morning. I’ve finallyjoined “the club.”

“What combinationare you? Oh, you’re INTJ. That’s obvious. We know our brethren.”

“D-money!What’s up?”

“Move yourchin down just a bit,” “I’m sorry. Iguess I just have a defiant posture.” When he’s done drawing, I take a look.“Wow,” I say, “I expected to dislike a drawing of myself as much as I dislikephotos of myself, but it actually…it…” “It makes you feel beautiful?” “Well…Icouldn’t go that far…but yeah, I guess so.”

“We’re twins. We’re basically the same person,can you tell? We look exactly alike.”

“Hi,how can I help you?” asks the woman who makes fried eggs at Moulton. “Um…I knowthis is a weird request, but can you start saving your egg shells for me?” Notquite the “over easy” or “over hard” answer she was expecting.

“Bisbee,how can I be of best help right now?” “Get out of here. Go take a nap.”

Duringbrunch while I’m frying eggs. “You’ll be fine on the test. Just think of itthis way, taking a test is like cooking an egg.” “…” “There are one-hundred andone ways to cook an egg.” “…Sooo you mean there isn’t just one way to do wellon a test, but a lot of different ways to get there?” “…yeah, that’s it.Exactly.”

Contradancing with the person “whose soul I have looked into.” (and couldn’t stoplaughing both when we were contra dancing and when we were told to hold eyecontact without knowing each other the year before.)

Planningthe Banff trip. Interviewing for the Banff trip… “So, it all started onFacebook…” and “I mean…I think we’re all qualified in different areas, sodepending on the situation I think different people will take the lead. It’snot set in stone, and I think that flexibility is a strength.” “…” “I mean…youhave to admit, Danica has sort of this presence.” *awkward moment*

“Yougive the best hugs.”

“Ihope things are going well. It seems like you’ve had some pretty intense lastcouple of weeks—yes?”

“Yes, yes, Ithink I like the spackle on the wood. It looks like icing, doesn’t it? What doyou think Eggs?” “Yeah, I like the icing. It really takes the cake.” Bisbeegroans. “That was not fresh, Eggs,really not fresh.” He turns away thinking we’re done. “But Bisbee,” I say, “I’mnot supposed to be fresh—I work with egg shells.” “Alright, two for two, yougot any more?”

“I can comehelp if you want, you know, ‘cause manual labor is my middle name.” “I do know.Manual labor is your first, middle, and last name.”

Roomie dinner.

After Icontinuously get headaches after laughing. “We’ve figured it out—you’re notallergic to gluten. You’re allergic to happiness. It just happens that youdon’t feel well when you eat gluten because everything with gluten ishappiness.”

“[Insert anyphrase here.]” “That’s ‘cause you’re a man-hater, R----.”

“The cruisewas canceled. Apparently the boat won’t start. This is bonus time, though—timewhere you had something scheduled so you couldn’t have done anything else. Gohome and take a nap.”

“So I’d comedown to the room when I was leaving to make sure the kids had turned out thelight, and I’d see the light on and think, ‘Oh somebody left the lights onagain,” so I’d go in there and turn out the lights and then I’d hear thisvoice, ‘Please sir, can I have some more porridge?’ And I find Eggs in there inthe cold in shorts shivering away with the tape.”

“L. You havebells attached to your belt.” “Well, yes. It’s the holiday dinner. Duh.”

“Nobody saythe word. We want to pretend it’s not looming after this meal.” “What word?”Pause. “Studying…”

“Baby belugain the deep blue sea…”

Post-meditationclass, leaning against M—in an immobile position with eyes closed. “Danicalooks like she’s gone to another place right now…” –B.

“Have you beengetting outside?” “Um, no. I haven’t been going on or leading Outing Club tripsand rarely find time to get outside in other ways.” “Get outside. Go. Now.”

“I allowedmyself two days off during the break. It was a total mistake.”

“I don’t getBowdoin Logs. They are just ice cream rolled in cookie crumbs.” “Cheap ice cream rolled in cookiecrumbs.”

“Beneath the pines, of dear old Bowdoin, we’reslingin’ the ink and kiddin’ the profs along.” (along with the dance andlaughing)

“Your lifejust always has something interesting to dissect.”

“Every day wematlabbin’” or “Every day we filterin’” We work in the hood.

“GlutenNacht!”

“I don’t wantto do work. I want to hang out with you.”

“It’s the eggsthat really wow me.”

Strange lookfrom a professor when I come to class in thermal long pants, 3 jackets and awinter hat. “I know it’s weird, but I can explain. I went surfing thismorning.”

WritingConferences

“Ihope you are going to relax now and not go do work.” I stutter a bit replying,“Well, I mean, I was planning on going and getting some work donetonight.” “*Sigh*” “It’s almost the endof the semester, though, right? So not too much longer now...though I’m notsure how much longer I can keep this up.” “I’m not sure how long you can keepit up either.”

“You pulled aDanica again…” (too many fried eggs on the line)

“Time isalways—or at least almost always—an independent variable.” “Unless you’reDoctor Who…”

“Do you have the will to live?”

“Are we good?”“No, you’re great—go team and go home.”

“You’rewearing pants?!?!”

“I thinkFaulkner once said that good writing means killing your favorite children.”

“I understandwhat you’re getting at. I just want to do it all!!”

“It’s good tosee you happy again.”

“I guess wejust live life in the periphery. So if all of us in the periphery got togetherfor our own social gatherings would be no longer be in the periphery? Or wouldbe spontaneously combust because we’d be walking contradictions.”

“Do I need tokeep N. away from the tilt at all times?”

“Hi there.We’ve just finished planning the rest of S’s academic career.”

I learned alot this semester—in academic areas, about the importance of maintaining a BigSky Country perspective on life (i.e. how things aren’t necessarily as big andin control as they seem if you are able to see the depth of the picture), aboutbalancing physical and mental well-being with making the most of a learningsituation, about the importance of getting outside and being active for my ownsanity, about how much I love the people around me, and much more. I wouldventure to say that this semester is the one in which I have “struggled” themost, but looking back on it, it was so fantastic—a situation in which I had anincredible love for everything I was doing and for people in my life, a feelingwhich I wish I had caught more sight of duringthe semester, but it is enough to look back and know that it was a time and place that pushed me togrow much more than an easier situation would. I think that a lot of meaningwas gained by beginning to know a variety of people on a more holistic level. Isee that process as one in which I simultaneously want to engage in ameaningful relationship in which participants know each other beyond singlefacets but also feel very vulnerable in that to let one know you are strugglingis to risk a misinterpretation of who you are and who you set out to be.

In some waysthinking back on these little instances of my semester experience, I can identify themes…I suppose thatcontradicts what I said earlier about the lack of an overriding theme, but Istandby my original statement that I didn’t recognize a thread developingthroughout the semester. The drawing together of the importance of perspectiveand people is something that arose after the semester, when I had the time andenergy to extract myself from the almost-constantly-working,dedicated-yet-exhausted self who navigated the semester. Two of the greatestsuccesses of the semester were the process of bringing to consciousness thegeographical underpinnings of my perspective on the minutiae of my life andusing a geological feature metaphor to maintain a sense of the scale andimportance of things during insanely exhausting times, and the recognition ofthe value of people and relationships with people. I laugh again because backin the day I used to be a bit of a cynic about people, and now I just can'thelp but love people and appreciate the people with whom I come in contactthroughout my everyday life. Perspective and people are what have come out ofthe semester not because they are a new way of thinking or new aspect of myBowdoin experience, but because I think they were challenged this semester,sometimes pushed out of the way by competitors and regaining awareness abouteach was vital for making this immensely exhausting semester still an immenselypositive adventure.

A little something my coach wrote me afew years back sums up how I think I had to learn to live this semester. Ithighlights both the joy of pushing to be the best you can be, the human elementof the relationships that are present in everything you do, that you can choose to have fun, and that the outcomedoesn’t influence the value of an experience or process. I’ll leave you withthat.

“Rememberto run with joy today. Enjoy your surroundings, the competition, and the gift of running. Cherish yourteammates and encourage them to be theirbest. Choose to have fun, and when it’s all done, we’ll hug and be thankful no matter what the outcome.”-Coach

The Appalachian Trail, Day 24

2011-10-15T21:09:00.001-06:00

August 15^th,evening

Mission Accomplished!! Despite the trepidation I felt at thethought of doing the Mahoosuc Notch with a big pack—which was quite unfoundedconsidering I’ve already done the Notch as a day hike so I knew what theterrain was like—I set forth in the pouring rain to accomplish the Notch andthe Arm of the great Mahoosucs. After a rainy filler morning and a fun sizeSnickers bar from Four Eyes as the Full Goose Shelter, I snarfed down a fruitand nut bar and hit the beginning of the Notch at about 12:30. I learned veryquickly that traversing the Notch is a weighting game. For one, you have to payattention to the weight of your pack and where it is pulling you, but moreimportantly you can use weight and attention to where you are directing yourweight to create foot/hand holds where there is only smooth, wet rock. Thistechnique is kind of fun because it means strategic shifting, swinging, andstretching to slow motion pinball your self through a boulder playground. It issaid that the Mahoosuc Notch is “the most difficult mile of the AppalachianTrail,” but I can think of many other miles that felt more challenging, likethe Southside of Moosilauke or the final stretch up the Kinsmans. I guess itcould be the most challenging section psychologically what with convincingoneself to take big steps/climbs/swings across/over/under abysses created byall the fallen boulders. If you let it get to you.

With amindset of the section being fun, the scramble is quite enjoyable. After theNotch I had to climb the Arm, which a man in a yellow jacket going south toldme “it was horrible.” I didn’t think it was all that bad, but I’ll give him thefact that going down would be more difficult. Now I’m chilling in the SpeckPond Shelter—it’s rather crowded since I think some people zeroed here and someof them are kind of grumpy. I had a wonderful dinner of split pea soup—perfectfor a rainy day—and since I got into camp so early, I hardly know what to dowith myself. I could write more, but I’m actually really cold, so I’m going todo some jumping jacks or something. But, man, what a day! I may be short, but Irocked the Notch in 2 hours with a huge pack, wet rocks, and while singing. Agreat feat indeed!

Not the notch, but before it.

The Appalachian Trail, Day 23

2011-10-14T11:06:00.003-06:00

August 14, evening

Maine! Oh yes, I know I told myself I wasn’t going to pull a17 mile day, but I ended up leaving Gorham earlier than I expected—it wasmaking me antsy—so when I hit Gentian Pond at 2:40, I kept going even though Iwas tired. And here I am at Carlo Col Shelter in MAINE! I’ve walked (andoccasionally slid and scrambled) over 315 miles! Of course I’m not done yet,but, mentally, finishing another stat is a milestone. I know my muscles will bemad tight in the morning—17 miles wasn’t a great idea—but maybe that’ll be mymotivation to stretch. Luckily for me, I have extra dinners due to my time inhut-land, so tonight I got to eat 2 dinners! What a deal! I’m awfully tiredthough…highs, lows, and angels? My low was the multiple false summits of Mt.Success. My high was the accomplishment of passing the state line and eatingthe last of my dehydrated sweet potato (rehydrated of course). My intimidationof the day were some cliff ledges as warm up for the Mahoosuc Notch. My angel?This may sound odd, but in some ways, myself, for encouraging myself to go thelonger distance, but also paying attention to hydration, fueling, feet, etc.and knowing when to take a break to address those issues. Tired. Bed now.

Goodbye New Hampshire! Hello Maine!

Mahoosuc Notch warm-up?

The Appalachian Trail, Day 22

2011-10-12T10:07:00.001-06:00

August ~~12^th~~13^th, midmorning [I wrote the wrong date and didn’t figureit out ‘til later]

I think now I understand. It’s already midmorning and I’veonly gone about 1 ½ miles due to the delay of waiting for quests to leave so Icould sweep out the bunkhouses. When I found out this would be my task lastnight I wondered why, out of all the chores that had to happen over the courseof dinner and breakfast, they were giving me one that meant I wouldn’t leaveuntil 9:30 am—3 hours past my usual departure time. Surely they knowthru-hikers like to get an early start and therefore make them wait to do worksimply to irk them, knowing that the hiking time is a more valuable currency toa hiker than having to wash dishes or something? I wouldn’t put it past thecroo, since the hutmaster seemed rather cold toward me once I told her I wasnorthbound. It seems like if all these things have to happen, it shouldn’tmatter whether we do dishes or sweep bunkhouses. Except when I finally wasallowed to go sweep the bunkhouses, there were wayyy to many dustbunnies andthe like for them to have been swept recently, so it began to make sense,especially after that task had been suggests at other huts: bunkhouse weepingis not done everyday like the rest of the chores, but infrequently, perhapsonly when they can lure a thru-hiker into doing it. It was quite frustrating tobe help up so long just to sweep bunkhouses in return for not being allowed tocome inside until 8:00 pm and getting kicked out in the morning at 6:30 until8:00 am and waiting around for several hours and not even really given food inreturn. I get that I’m not a paying guest and therefore don’t get what othersget and I get that they are “doing me a favor” by letting me stay and are underno obligations to do so. However, I just kind of wanted to be treated like ahuman being. I was nearly in tears (of frustration) when I finally left b/c allI really wanted was to maybe have a conversation with somebody or be thankedfor my help. It’s really amazing what a huge difference it makes for someone torecognize and appreciate your effort (J------ did at the last hut, this croodid not). This fact is by no means new news—I’ve been aware of it for years andhave tried to get to know and thank the people who provide servies throughoutmy everyday happenings, and this isn’t the first time I’ve been on thereceiving end of being ignored, but it still served as a reminder of how crappyit feels to be treated like a service machine. I wonder if the croos aresometimes treated like that and don’t like it so maybe they get bitter about itand do the same to passing thru-hikers, even if sub-consciously [especiallybecause thru-hikers are so easily seen as celebrities by guests and the croo isseen as service]. They always introduce themselves and talk about themselves atdinner [to the guests], seemingly in attempts of making guests recognize themas real people. Anyway, to be entirely honest, I really disliked my stay atCarter Notch Hut and I’m becoming increasingly ashamed of having become an AMCmember. I recognize that I made the wrong decision and should have stealthedlast night. What exactly was my reasoning behind staying there? When I am allalone I am not lonely, but when I am surrounded by people and treated asinvisible, I feel very very lonely. Hopefully I can out run the people todayand maybe run into some thru-hikers. I could say that I regret my decision, butI also think it was good to make the “wrong” decisions (especially where theconsequences aren’t dangerous) because it means I have to practice one of themost challenging things for me and that is letting go of my own mistakes. It’seasy to forgive poor treatment and resolve to double my efforts to appreciateother people’s labor, but it’s difficult to turn off the repetitive voice thatberates the choices I make. I could have done this or should have done that…Ha,so I’m glad this little work for stay fiasco happened so I can practice lettingthat voice go. But then is that cheating if I become glad about the decisionsdoes it negate the possibility of practicing letting go of the negative voice?[Or maybe deciding to see it as practice is simply a technique for letting itgo?] If anything at least I’ve had my hut experiences in the Whites and knowthat I’ll steer clear of them as much as possible when I thru-hike.

Well, the sun is shining and I’ve got another 12ish miles togo today, so enough written contemplation and on to hiking!

August 13^th,evening

How far away both spatially and temporally Carter Notch Hutfeels now! Despite my late start, I got to Rattle River Shelter by 6:00.However, the high quantity of bugs and the trashiness of the shelter motivatedme to go 1.6 to Route 2, which takes me to Gorham. I actually didn’t want tostay at a hostel tonight since it’s clear and a full moon, but having gone theextra couple miles will make it easier to reach tomorrow’s goal even withresupply. It was an interesting day. It’s the first time I’ve been invited tosmoke a join and drink beer in one day (not by the same person). Obviously Ipolitely declined both, it was just a weird occurrence. Didn’t see any Nobostoday, but saw at least 6 Sobos. I warned them about Carter Notch hut, but theymight have better experiences being Sobos and all. I’m 16.5 miles from Maine!As tempting as it is to push through and get there tomorrow, the terrain isn’treally conducive to a 16 mile day…I will use restraint. My body is asking for azero day, but seeing as how I only get 5 more days of hiking, I’m not zeroingnow!

The Appalachian Trail, Day 21

2011-10-10T07:21:00.000-06:00

August 12^th,evening

I guess every once in awhile all the powering forward pilesup into exhaustion. Today was one of those days. My knees were grumpy and mymuscles were fatigued so it took me longer to get to where I was going. My daystarted with nearly getting blown off the side of Mt. Madison and the OsgoodRidge. The winds were gusting to the point where I had to spend a considerableamount of energy just staying upright. It was intense. Then down to PinkhamNotch where I ate lunch, and then up the blasted 5 peaks of Wildcat Mtn. Thoughthe uphill was exhausting, it felt much better on my knees. Now I’m waitingoutside Carter Notch Hut for dinner to be over so that I’m allowed to comeinside. The croo here is nice, but they seem rather wary of thru-hikers—onethought I was a southbounder because I was “nicer than northbounders that comethrough here.” Apparently by the last hut, some Nobos feel entitled to a placeto stay and are vocal about it. I am kind of cold, but I don’t mind followingtheir wishes. Maybe I’ll get hot cocoa when I go inside. In themeantime...highs, lows, and angels. My low was just feeling fatigued all day.My high was either when the deli at Pinkham Notch had gluten free bread or whena group of kids came outside to talk to me and ask questions. My angels werethe people I talked to on the way up about Montana—they are staying here tonight,so maybe I will get to talk with them more.

Getting my butt kicked on Mt. Madison

Osgood Ridge. Though I was getting blown over, it was still really cool to see the clouds moving perpendicular to the ridge really fast and diving down over the edge into the valley.

A sample of the Wildcat Climb

Looking back toward where I was

A snake. :)

That awkward moment when you reach the top of a mountain and the tourists hop off the gondola...

The Appalachian Trail, Day 20

2011-10-09T12:03:00.001-06:00

Ack, delay. I've been traveling to and from the Appalachian Long Distance Hikers Association Gathering! Here...I'm back.

August 11^th,early evening

I think I may have overfilled my rock-hopping quota for theday—y knees are just a little bit grumpy. But I’m not! What a fantastic day! Igot out of Mizpah at about 7:00 because there was no sense in sticking aroundfor pancakes that I couldn’t eat. The morning began misty as I climbed up Mt.Pierce then across to Clinton. For Eisenhower I took a side loop to the summitwith no view. Monroe was another side loop and it cleared off just a bit sothat I could see Cargo and Pony Express along the AT below me. We ran into eachother at the Lakes of the Clouds hut where we refueled. My feet were steamingso it must’ve been cold, but I was well-heated from climbing. After Lakes ofthe Clouds, it was only 1 ½ miles to the summit of Mt. Washington on a prettyeasy grade. It was quite strange to go from seeing nobody in my own misty worldto coming across hundreds of tourists at the top speaking all sorts oflanguages and wearing everything from motorcycle onesies to flip flops. Myinstincts told me to hightail it out of there, but it’s not every day you hiketo the top of the tallest mountain in the Northeast, so I hung around for alittle while to do some people watching and waiting around meant I was therewhen it cleared off.

After Mt.Washing I had the AT and side-loops to summit Clay, Jefferson, and Adams. I metup with Walks Softly and his partner on top of Jerfferson—they are just on a 6day vacation trip, but I’ve been seeing them off and on since Galehead. Theyare very nice and today on Jefferson I learned that Walks Softly knows IanYaffe ’09 who I don’t actually know in person, but who started Taste forChange, which I took on last year. They are staying here at Madison Springs Huttonight, but as a thru-hiker I’m not allowed to eat dinner with them. Adams wasthe hardest climb of the day—lots of rock hopping, which was hard on myalready-fatigued stabilization muscles, and the wind was gusting strong enoughto knock me off balance. I persevered though and after staying on the Adamssummit for all of 30 seconds, I booked it down to Madison Springs Hut and sawmy first moose of the trip. It looked like a cow moose and she was only 20 yds.from the hut in a little stand of trees. After warily observing the moose, Iwent into the hut, hopeful for a work for stay. Hope granted.

I was thefirst hiker to ask, so it was a definite yes, but now there are 4 other workfor stay people, so it seems that the croo is not too set on the 2 hiker limit.It sounds like my work is going to be in the morning after breakfast, though,which means I’ll be getting a late start. Now all I have to do is wait about anhour and a half for dinner to be over so that I can eat leftovers.Unfortunately there is no “library” for us to hole up in, but at least we arepermitted to sit on a bench at the edge of the room (Cargo and Pony Expresssaid that they had to wait outside during dinner and breakfast when they stayedat Galehead.) The croo seems pretty respectful toward us, but when the croo hada joke contest for which table would be served soup first, one of the guestsoffered, “What’s the difference between a thru-hiker and a homeless person?”Croo member, kind of under her breath, “Now that’s a touchy subject.” Guest,“Goretex.” That joke didn’t win the contest. As the croo turned back towardsthe kitchen the red-haired one looked over at us with an apologetic face andmouthed, “Sorry.” Of course, I don’t think it really bothered the thru-hikerswho are with me. [Later, I found out that the person making the joke—wecouldn’t see him at first—was Walks Softly, who himself hiked the trail severalyears back. Additionally, when I went to the Appalachian Long Distance HikersAssociation Gathering I learned that that joke is a thru-hiker joke, one thatis told amongst the thru-hiker crowd and that it actually has two parts in theanswer: What’s the difference between a thru-hiker and a hobo? Goretex, and thehobo smells better.

In the pastfew days in the Whites, it’s been interesting to see the influx of people whocome into the woods/mtsn. so can pay $90 a night to stay in bunkhouses—do theysee thru-hikers as being akin to other low=social status groups? We are dirty,smelly, and scruffy—things that to us are just inevitable results of scramblingup and down mountains without showering every day, but that to someone stayingin the huts who can hardly imagine staying in a tent somewhere (and that’s notreally an exaggeration—many people have been shocked to hear I’ll bivy up justabout anywhere), those characteristics might signal a homeless person, thedregs of society—a position, which, I think, is assumed to be reached by thefault of the individual in that position. Yet this is somewhat contradictory,because while thru-hikers are kept out of the way in huts, and some peoplereact negatively, most people are pretty impressed at the physical and mentalchallenges of hiking over 2,000 miles and the existence of frequent trail magicmeans there can’t be totally negative associations. Oh the contradiction. Maybeto thru-hikers and non-thru hikers alike there is enough joking in thecomparison of hikers to hobos to not contradict the awe most people have forhikers?

later: nearing bedtime. High for the day was finallygetting clear skies on top of mtns. Low was probably tiring of the self-righteousnessof some thru-hikers I’ve been around. Angels were Walks Softly and his wife (Ifound out they were on their honeymoon) for being all around nice people andinviting me to lunch with them.

I like the Alpine Zone a lot.

Awesome view from Eisenhower.

Looking down at the AT from Monroe.

"STOP. This area ahead has some of the worst weather in America." :D

One of the Lakes of the Clouds.

Looking back at where I came form.

Buddhist Prayer flags near the top of Mt. Washington.

Yikes--people!

Highly prepared for rock scrambling.

Obligatory summit picture.

Mmm..Prezzies.

Mt. Clay up ahead.

String of Prezzies.

Cog Railway. (Don't worry, I wasn't mooning anyone.)

Classic Ridgeline Photo.

Mmmmountians.

Moose (I think they hired the moose for the tourists.)

The Appalachian Trail, Day 19

2011-09-29T20:28:00.001-06:00

August 10, midmorning

Argh. This waiting is driving me nuts! I’ve got mountains toclimbe and I’m stuck here because the post doesn’t come until noon. I sure hopemy box is in the mail today, because I can’t stand the thought of losing a dayand a half. Ordinarily I would say that having to wait is good for me becauseI’m the go go go type and need to learn how to chill out. But in this case,climbing mountains is chilling out and that’s what I want to do. Atleast I finished my book so I don’t have to carry it anymore? I suppose I couldstudy the maps some more, but what good would it do? Maybe I should massage mystiff knees and calf muscles?

August 10, past noon

Double Argh. I have to try really hard to not let myself getfrustrated. Luckily, I got antsy enough to not just wait around and actuallyasked someone if the mail had come yet and found out that 1) the mail doesn’tactually “come”—someone has to go pick it up and 2) there is actually a logsheet of which packages are received so it’s not quite as disorganized as theguy yesterday had me believe. Nonetheless, it seems like nobody is really onthe same page regarding packages, so I don’t quite trust them to do somethinglike forward it. At least the guy knows I’m wanting to get to Lake of theClouds tonight so he said he might be able to go get the mail now and be backin about ½ an hour. I think it wasn’t a good idea to tentatively plan out therest of my trip—which I did last night because I had to let my prospective transportation know where I mightbe—because it made me realize how little time I have left which is contributinggreatly to my feeling of agitation at losing the morning and part of (who knowshow much) of the afternoon. I just have to tell myself to accept, accept,accept. Funny how I find it much easier to use that mantra to becomecomfortable and open to a pouring rainstorm while hiking than I do using ithere in the plush, luxurious setting of the Highland Center. I’ve identifiedthat the looming end of my trip is creating that overwhelming desire to squeezeevery last minute of hiking out of my days, but I think also I’m gettingagitated because I’m second guessing myself regarding staying here for a sillypackage and I keep wondering if I should have just ditched the package. Me whowrites about trust and about trusting one’s own decisions, all confident whilesitting in the wet woods writing about it in application to the choices I makeout there, but then set me back in the so-called real world and it’s back tonot fully trusting the decisions I make. Where, then, lies independence? Deadin the gutter? Can independence only exist when there aren’t other extraneousfactors? If so, independence found “out there” almost seems artificial, or atleast an alternate reality. Or maybe it’s not that it’s “fake,” but rather the“easy way out.” Just as cooking for and serving a large group solo is easierthan orchestrating a group to do the same task, perhaps achieving independencewhile hiking alone is easier than achieving independence while livingentrenched in society. Is our desire for independence what drives us to spendtime in the outdoors, in rejuvenating nature? Even when not hiking alone, isthat exhilaration of backpacking a way of practicing the self-sufficiency andindependence that we hope to emulate as “rugged individuals?” Maybe I amoverthinking this too much and blurring personal experience with generalitiestoo much…it does seem to be calming my nerves, though. Maybe I should spendsome time meditating. Accept, accept, accept, even in the trappings of tourists,mail schedules, and looming deadlines. Accept.

August 10, evening

Well, I suppose things just happened sometimes they end upturning out well despite the seeming inconvenience. A guy working at theHighland Center actually went and got the mail after I asked him about itinstead of waiting until their usual time, so I got my package at about 1:30. Imade sure to tell him that he really made my day and then repacked my pack withthe new food—there was several pea soup dinners AND bagels in this package soI’m looking forward to eating in the next few days. I didn’t hit the trail ntilabout 2:00 and I had a climb to the top of Mt. Jackson, which barely makes the4000 footer list at 4053 feet. That was just after 3:30 and so I pushed aheadwith bright spirits about my pace and, therefore, ability to get to Lake of theClouds tonight. However, I stopped in at Mizpah Hut at 4:45 to get water anddid some asking about the terrain b/t Mizpah and Lake of the Clouds. Aside froma steep climb up to Pierce it’s fairly flat, and only 4.5 miles, but that’s notincluding going up the spur trails to the summits of 4 other Prezzies. Once youget to Pierce it’s pretty much all above treeline where 1) you aren’t supposedto cam and 2) it’s not a good idea to camp even if you wanted to ignore AMCpolicy (they have that policy for a reason). Slightly frustrated, I started theclimb to Pierce, hoping that I would make it to Lake of the Clouds before dark.However, I was also thinking about how I didn’t want to have to skip thesummits, but knowing that trying to summit them all before dark would be follyso (speaking of trusting one’s decisions), I turned around and went to ask ifthe Croo would accept work for stay. I didn’t want to stop hiking so early, butit seemed like the best thing to do. The Croos said, “Yes, you can work forstay, just put your stuff in the library and don’t unpack it since there areguests there. We’ll let you know when we have chores. You can have leftoversaround 7:45.” It does seem like they try to sweep thru-hikers under the rug andkeep them out of sight/mind of the guests (except when there is an eveningprogram of a “thru-hiker talk” where youcan ask a thru-hiker anything). In any case, I won’t hold it againstthem. It doesn’t really matter if I’m a 2^nd class citizen—I have aplace to stay, right? So I go outside and call Pa to tell him the situation andwhen I get off the phone I meet ZigZag’s daughter, L---. It turns out thatsomeone in ZigZag’s group quite the trail this morning so there was an open bedthat had been reserved for that person. L--- said, “You could probably takethat bed, unless my mom met someone along the way.”

“Aw, well thanks,” I say, “but I’m on a hiker’s budget soI’m working for stay.” She says, “No, it’s already been paid for, so it’ll goto waste if no one sleeps in it.” And that is how I fell into the situationwhere I no longer was set to eat the leftovers, but rather I would join them atthe table and eat dinner like a civilized human being. Now, if that ain’t trailmagic, nothing is. Thru-hikers themselves can be trail angels! Speaking ofangels…I’m tired, so it must be time for highs, lows, and angels. My high forthe day was the exhilarating feeling of freedom I had when I finally was backon the trail climbing straight uphill and sweating like mat. It felt right. Mylow for the day was waiting and waiting and, by extension, not getting veryfar. Although, I could say another “hight,” or at least a feeling of relief waswhen the guy walked in with my package. My angels were the guy who went and gotthe maile early and ZigZag for offering the bed space (or maybe my angel shouldbe the guy who quit this morning?). It’s funny how much when I was talking tomy dinner partners last night at the Highland Center, one of the topics thatcame up was “wasn’t I scared of crazy people on the trail?” but from myexperiences thus far, people only seem crazy enough to do really nice thingslike carry your trekking poles for 2 days (Chaco and Sketcher were angelsthen), off you beds, share information, take you into their house for a couplenights. No, I won’t deny that people can and do do bad things at times, butthis trip has confirmed by suspicions that people are willing to reach out anddo good things without any apparent benefit to themselves. Ahh, altruism.People are good, I tell you! Isn’t it weird that it’s a solo journeythrough unpopulated areas that reaffirm this thought?

The Appalachian Trail, Day 18

2011-09-27T06:48:00.000-06:00

August 9^th,13 minutes before hiker midnight

It’s funny how a day can be so eventful that you wake upslightly damp in a bivy behind a rock and go to bed in a comfy mattress withclean linens. I didn’t necessarily end up in this situation by first choice butit ended up seeming the best solution. What happened was I left my little cubbyhole on the side of South Twin and trotted along past Guyot (another 4000footer in the bag), over Mt. Zealand (another 4000 footer, but quiteunspectacular), and then took a lovely break on Zeacliff where I met somepeople with whom I talked about Montana and a couple of Southbounders –Mr. Zand Achilles. Then down down to Zealand Hut for some potable H20. I wasactually feeling rather lethargic and tired, because I didn’t sleep well at alllast night. (Note to self: do not drink a caffeinated beverage such as chai teaat 3:00 in the afternoon, especially after consuming little to no caffeine inthe past 3 weeks.) Nonetheless, I pushed on and, since the terrain was reachingthe characteristics of a domestic pathway, reached Ethan Pond by 1:30. NO sensein stopping now, I thought, and I went the final 3 miles to Route 302. Afterwaiting and waiting and waiting for a hitch, a state park guy picked me up andtook me to Willey House where a family then took me to the AMC highland center.A man with a very heavy French accent took me down to the gear room to get mypackages, but only the one from ma and pa was there, not the one I’d forwardedfrom North Woodstock. I should not be able to beat a package to it’s destination!So, what to do? I looked at maps and asked questions to develop multiplesolutions to this problem, including staying at the center, stealthingsomewhere, getting a shuttle back in a few days, or forgetting the packagealtogether. After much deliberation, I took my father’s advice to “splurge” andgot a (very expensive L) bed at the Highland Center. At least Dinner and Breakfast are included. It’sweird, though. Just as I felt awkward at the huts, I feel like matter out ofplace here. The staff doesn’t seem to give much respect to dirty thru-hikerguests, and everyone is so…touristy, high class, etc. The guests are actuallyquite nice—I had a lovely dinner with some people and though they may havethought I was a little crazy, they certainly semed to enjoy asking questionsand hearing stories about the trail. I guess I was a little bit of a spectacle,but at least they were nice about it. I am still coming to terms with thehigh-class tourism of the Whites and the uppity-ness of the AMC. Today, Iwanted to write about how the AT community does or does not reflect broadersociety, since that was on my mind as I walked, but this jolt into so-called“society” has got me off-balance AND I truly am exhausted. Let’s sleep and hopemy package comes tomorrow. And hope that my very talkative roommate will bequiet soon.

My high for the day was probably picking and eatingblueberries along the Ethan Pond Trail. My low may have been that feeling ofrejection I had when car after car passed me by when my exhausted self wastrying to get a hitch. (Am I that ugly?:P) My angel was most definitely Mr. Z, becauses he came upon me looking at mymap on Zeacliff and asked if I wanted to trade maps since he came from where I’mgoing and vice cersa, which solved my problem of needing to find the map forthe 2^nd half of New Hampshire. Thank you, Mr. Z! It’s strange beingthe only hiker hiker around…I miss the motley crew. On the Brightside, maybethere will be fewer hikers trying to get work for stay at Lakes of the Clouds.

Mm, waking up to blue sky

Good morning trail!

Looking across the valley at Franconia Ridge

The anticlimax of the "Summit" of Zealand.

The rock slide area reminding be of rock slides along the Lake Como Trail...

Look out for trains!

A picture attempting to emphasize how high the mountains felt when down in Crawford Notch. Kind of a fail.

The Appalachian Trail, Day 17

2011-09-26T12:19:00.000-06:00

August 8^th,morning

Isn’t it weird how with any trip, at the beginning it seemslike it will last for so long and then you blink and it’s nearly over? [moralof the story: don’t blink. Whatever you do don’t blink.] At the beginning ofthe trip I thought, “Wow, 27 days of hiking—that’s going to last for such along time.” Then I blinked. Today is day 17. 10 days left. Now it seems soshort, and I’ve just gotten into my groove. Well, let us make the most of it.I’m going peak bagging today!

August 8^th,evening

Peak bagging it was! I think I got 5 official 4000 footerstoday (maybe 6 if Little Haystack counts). The day began in a heavy fog withthe breakfast game of pouring a bag of M&Ms into my jar of peanut butterand fishing them out with my knife. [Don’t worry it was a butter knife, not asharp knife.] It sounds like an unhealthy breakfast, but really it’s got theprotein, fat, and carbs that I need and the M&Ms make the PB morepalatable.

Anyway, up,up, and way it was to the Franconia Ridge Trail and then I traversed that trailin a white world of mist and rain and looming rocks and mountains. It was avery surreal experiences, wandering along this stone pathway and seeing nobodyfor several hours. It went much more quickly than I expected—maybe because Ididn’t laze around on top of Lafayette and Lincoln since I couldn’t see morethan 30 yards in any direction. It was down and back up again to Garfield. Iarrived at the Garfield Shelter at 12:45, and even though that’s where I hadplanned to camp, I didn’t want to stop that early! I ate lunch there withZigZag, Ranger Bob [whose name I initially thought was Rainbow Bob], Full-timeand another guy who are thru-hiking but apparently have the means ot stay inthe huts, not just hope for work for stay.

Then downdown and back up a bit to Galehead Hut. I spent some time inside drinking chaiand contemplating whether or not to ask for work for stay. It was still only abit after 3:00, and to be honest there were so many people there and they wereso...I don’t know…rich?...that I was a little overwhelmed and decided tohightail it out of there, even though the sky kept teasing me with a fewminutes of blue sky then several more minutes of overcastness. What the heck, Ifigured, at least I’d get another peak out of the way. On my way up South TwinPeak, I stopped and called Pa to have him look if North Twin Peak was considereda separate mountain. It was. So at the top of South Twin Peak, where I finallygot a great 360 degree view, I dropped my pack, grabbed my jacked, took apicture of a family, and then booked it 1.3 miles down the North Twin Peak SpurTrail to the other summit and then booked it back. Boy can I fly when I’m notcarrying a pack!

I had toput that pack back on, though, and headed down the trail again until I foundthe rock with a flat spot behind it that the family on South Twin told meabout. There I laid out my bed, cooked dinner and ate, hung my food and here Iam now. It seems like it’s threatening to rain but hasn’t started yet. Today asI was hiking, I thought a lot about independence and trust. Perhaps it wasfitting that I’m practicing a very independent way of living in the state thatshouts, “Live free or die!” but I’m mostly thinking of it in a self-sufficiencykind of way—although with self-sufficiency comes the flexibility to do what onewants on short notice. I was just thinking of how while hiking solo, I am on noone’s schedule but my own and that schedule is never planned too far in advanceand is changed often. It means that I go much faster than I would with a group,not because I hike faster, but because I only stop when I need to stop and Ican choose to change my itinerary whenever. Further, I don’t even have to stickto my own rhythm—sure, I have a little evening ritual of set-up, dinner, andwriting, but sometimes I don’t feel like cooking dinner, so I don’t. I wasthinking about how when you have to feed a bunch of people, like for WFR or Pre-Os,it’s actually easier to just do it all by one’s self. Yes, it’s more physicallyexhausting but you can plan and execute and modify very efficiently, becausethe moment you think of a better way to do things, you can put it into action.When you are orchestrating a group to get such a task done, you do less manuallabor, but you have to juggle delegation and communication of a plan andchanges to the plan. With those two situations in comparison, it’s like goingthe independent route is the easy way out. Hmm…the American emphasis onIndividualism and Independence—is it just the easy way out? Is cooperation toochallenging? When I think of teamwork as being a greater challenge thanlearning to operate independently, I want to turn towards that greaterchallenge. However, I am, at this moment, still independent.

With independence comes responsibilityand the need for trust in the existence of that responsibility. As I hikealong, I have to have self-trust that my muscles will lower me properly, that Iwill have placed my foot so it won’t slip, that I have not exceeded the amountof force needed to overcome the friction between my boot and the wet rock(F=ma, so if there is an X force that would overcome the friction, I takesmaller steps to reduce my acceleration, thus keeping Fthink they are capable of doing andknowing (that’s why I believe in giving something all you’ve got and then givea little more because you’ve got more than you thought you had), so I’mthinking that sometimes it’s good to just trust yourself a little bit, becauseyou can never truly be independent if you don’t trust your own judgment.

Anyway, it’s getting close tobedtime, so I’m going to do highs, lows, and angels. My high for the day waswalking the Ridgeline in my own magical world. It didn’t matter that I couldn’tsee the scenery, because I felt the highness of it all and I felt like Iwas on top of the world. My low for the day was the feeling I had going upSouth Twin from the combination of pepperoni and cheese (from lunch), crystallight lemonade (from hiking), and hot cocoa/chai (from the lodge)—bad combo. Myangel of the day was Freebird, a Sobo with whom I talked about a mile after summitingLafayette, because we talked about how it was too bad we couldn’t see thesurroundings but also that the rain kept the hoards of tourists away, so wecame to the conclusion that it didn’t matter what kind of weather itwas, trotting the ridge was awesome. Thanks Freebird for showing some of thatexuberant love for being out there that oozed from your being. That’s what Ifelt as I walked, too.

Peace out, Friends.

Awesome view...

At least you can't miss the cairns

What are these things?

Mt. Lafeyette Baby! (I went here a couple weeks later...it's sooo different when you can see)

Odd cement thing on top of Garfield

The Appalachian Trail, Day 16

2011-09-25T13:17:00.000-06:00

August 7^th,morning

Went to bed around 8 last night. Got up later than usual,6:45. Drizzle, drizzle, drizzle. Well, it’s a short day today—that should helpcompensate for how the wet rocks will slow us down.

August 7^th,evening

Let us take a moment of silence (or maybe we should sing?)to thank muscles. Last semester when I started going to weekly meditationsessions, Bernie (one of the greatest people on Bowdoin’s campus) reminded usthat a lot of times we only think about the wonderfulness that all thedifferent parts of our body do when something is wrong—like we only thing ofhow great it is to have teeth to masticate our food when we have a toothacheand cannot do so properly. I’ve worked hard this semester on appreciatingeverything that I am able to do even when nothing is wrong. Today, nothing waswrong at all and all I could think about as I walked was muscles.

Muscles. When I was coming down from Kinsman Pond (about 5.3miles from the road in Franconia Noth) it was all about stabilization musclesthat kept me upright as I pranced over wet rocks and roots (my rear end onlygot wet once!). When we go to the road, we grabbed a ride into Lincoln withsome guys who had just finished up a weekend hike. After getting my own pair ofsuperfeet from Lahout’s (the local outfitter), I stopped in to Mrs. W’s PancakeHouse for 2 over easy eggs with some bacon (no omelet w/ home fries, which ismy usual town far, because they fry their home fries in a fryalator that alsofries breaded things, which made me miss Nick and the egg sandwiches and spicyhome fries that he makes for me on my Sunday brunch shift. Actually it made memiss Sunday Brunch in general—Eric, Leo, Nick, Zina, Julia, Imelda—it’s time wegot back together!) After the eggs and bacpn, I moved a couple stores down tothe “Udderly Delicious” ice cream “shoppe” (Lincoln is a touristy place, so itwas a shoppe not a shop) for agluten-free-brownie-with-mocha-chip-ice-cream-and-hot-fudge-and-whipped-creamsundae. With my stomach full, I felt like I could safely resupply without buyingtoo much, so I head over to the Price Chopper. Price Choppers are okay as faras grocery stores go, but they are no Hannaford, so I am once again stuck witheating sandwich fixings (this time sharp cheddar and turkey pepperoni—no morefish for awhile) with no bread-like vehicle. I’m holding out for a successfulbounce-by-phone box in Crawford Notch from some gluten-free bagels. With mypack newly heavy-afied from the 2.5 days’ worth of food, I walked out to themain drag and hitched back to the Flume Visitors Center. A quick mile trotalong a bike path brought me back to the AT at the beginning of the LibertySprings trail. Up, up and away I went. Part of why I planned to do the climb toLiberty Springs today instead of tomorrow on top of the mileage to Garfield wasthat I’ve actually been on this trail before on a somewhat-failed Pemi Looptrip during fall break of my first year at Bowdoin (failed only in the sensethat we didn’t do the whole loop due to weather) and I remember being somewhat frustratedwith it and remembered it as very challenging. Now, there are many factors thatcould have affected that experience—maybe the people I was with hiked fasterthan I did or maybe I was poorly fueled at the time, but in any case, this timeI didn’t feel like it was an outrageous climb at all. Maybe scrambling overKinsman dulled my senses :P, but it was a WONDERFUL climb that started out witha pleasantly inclined slope perfect for warming up muscles and then progressed intoa great challenging but absolutely manageable climb, which brings us back tothe topic of muscles. And loving muscles.

Of course,it probably helps that this is something like my 16^th day out, but Ijust felt great and could keep powering on without breaks. I got to thinkingabout how back in the day when I was a wispy little runner I could rock out6-minute miles and sub-20 3-miles like nobody’s business after I threw all myenergy into become a fast runner and how at Bowdoin I stopped doing speedworkand over the past 2 years my mileage has decreased so I can’t run like I usedto—which often makes me rather disappointed. It’s not really that running fastmeans anything important in the big scheme of things, but I liked having workedreally hard toward a goal and I liked being able to lead a pack of runners. Buttoday, I knew that the power with which I powered up this mountain and othermountains of this trip was something I wouldn’t have had “back in the day.”Sure, I’m not the spry runner that I was, but give me enough fuel to avoidglycogen depletion and I’m a muscular powerhouse. That probably soundsconceited—I don’t mean it to sound conceited, I just realized as I wasobserving the rhythmic step/breath/click of my walking and the carefully placedfooting that moves smoothly into an upward drive force over and up a mini-cliffthat I love the fact that I am able to do what I’m doing. And by extension, Ilove my body, which is something. I’ve always been my own harshest critic whosets goals higher than anyone else’s expectations and then always tells myselfthat I can be better than I am (which is true, it’s just often morecritical than it needs to be). At the same time, I’m typically also holding theactual belief that with hard work I canmeet whatever standards I set for myself.

When Istarted this trip, I realized that it would require a consistent amount ofpositive self talk and I used a lot of it to convince myself that I could dothe things I set out to do. Now, I’m still using positive self talk, but itdoesn’t have the same tone because I don’t have to convince myself that I canachieve X goal. I already know I can. When I say I am Danica Loucks and DanicaLoucks can handle anything, it’s not my attempt to trick myself into finishinga crazy challenge, it’s just a verbal statement of what I already know. I lovepower up hills/mtns.—I love being a mountain climbing beast, but perhaps evenmore, I love the feeling that comes with knowing that I am a mountain climbingbeast. Not the fastest, but one with endurance and perseverance.

I beastedit up Liberty Springs and was rewarded with blue sky, a sunset, goodconversation with the caretaker, Will, and another section hiker, Twisted Tree,seeing a snowshoe hare, and a quarter moon that reminds me of neap tides.

And all is well.

Better than well, really. I love love love climbing things,and talking to people, and seeing young people in the woods, and celebratingsimple things like a dinner of apple and cheese. And I love muscles.

In othernews, the word on the trail is that if you treat Hut crew staff like people,they are nice to you and if you treat them like service robots they will not goour of their way to help you. Fancy that—they are just like the rest of us andlike to be appreciated! We learned a bit about the crews of the hut system fromMr. Caretaker Sir (who I later learned from Will is names Ian) and it soundslike the crews, like the caretakers, have to deal with a lot of crap frompeople (and really, they do—they have to compost the privy waste!). The Whitesare weird in that they are very heavily visited, thus have touristy things, butthey are also some of the most challenging trails, so you get unpreparednewbies in bad situations often. Cotton kills, people, and other life lessonslike leave no trace principles and wear proper footwear. Hopefully more on thatlater—I’ve learned a lot from talking to many different people in the past fewdays, but I haven’t had much opportunity to write it down because I’ve beenspending so much of the remaining daylight of each day talking. It’s actuallyalready dark, and I had to write by headlamp, but it’s past hiker midnight, soI won’t go on.

Did I mention that muscles are great? You should thank yoursevery so often, okay?

Oh. And I can see stars. That’s one great thing aboutsleeping out side that I haven’t thought of due to shelters or it being rainingwhen I have slept outside of shelters. See? It was a good thing I came up to ashelterless campsite.

Later: I’m having a hard time sleeping. I think a lotof it has to do with the euphoria I’m feeling. Part of it is that as much as Ienjoy being alone—and indeed being alone may be contributing to this feeling ofawesome—it’s hard to have all this excitement and feel-goodness bottled up tohave all by myself. When I’m hiking, I can sing, but that’s not appropriate atnight in a group campsite. I wish I had a close friend with me—not to ease theloneliness, because I’m not lonely—but someone to share the contentment with. I’vebeen listening to the group meeting this nearby teen group is having, and whileit’s mostly logistical, it reminds me of group gatherings we’ve had on Pre-Osand on LT expedition. It’s hard to do highs, lows, and angels by yourself.

Lonesome Lake

Ehh...where's the bridge?

Yum!! Diabetes, anyone?

I got distracted while waiting for a hitch...that looks fun!

Do you see the groves worn where all the thru-hikers plant their poles?

A little cultural diversity in New Hampshire?

Up up and away! Stairway to Heaven?

Arriving at Liberty Springs Campsite, the exact spot where we came 2 years ago.

Blue sky at last!

Yes, my bivy is smaller than a nalgene. Lighter too!

The Appalachian Trail, Day 15

2011-09-24T14:56:00.001-06:00

August 6^th(late afternoon)

Got into Kinsman Pond Shelter around 3:00. Seemed silly tostop, but it would be a risk to go on to the Lonesome Lake Hut in hopes of awork for stay. So I’m taking the afternoon off, which isn’t too bad consideringI spent the morning doing a lot of up and down and then spent the afternoonclimbing mini-cliffs up Kinsman Mtn. It was a pretty neat climb that involvedlots of hoisting and powerful drives with the legs, making me thankful for allthe squats and power cleans I’ve done, and then got into a prettysweet-but-painful downhill. Pleasant weather, though now it’s cloudy and windy,but at least the rocks were dry. Ended up with about 10-11 miles today andgenerally tired and sore, but no real specific points of pian. I forgot towrite the other day that I met Cimaron—the oldest AT Hiker—at the Hikers WelcomeHostel. The day I came in he had slacked South over Moosilauke. Today we passedhim on our way north. It was kind of like passing a celebrity and we didn’t quiteknow what to say. I don’t think he remembered us. He just said, “I’m the oldestone out here,” as he shuffled along. As I scrambled up Kinsman, all I couldthink about was “Cimaron is going to do this. He’s actually going to do this.”My knees hurt on the way down—I can’t imagine what it’ll be like for him.

Anyway, incamp now. Met a couple overnighters who were passing through and we talked forawhile. They asked where we were from. When I said, “I’m from Montana, but I goto school in Maine,” the girl in the father-daughter pair got excited andasked, “Where?!”

“Bowdoin,” I said. “It’s in…”

“I’m going to Bowdoin! In 3 weeks!”she exclaimed. Indeed, E--D-, is going to be a first year at Bowdoin (w/ a namelike that she better be pretty awesome—like ___ my goomba, and ____.).Unfortunately she is going sea kayaking for her pre-O, not backpacking, butstill—first contact! And how random and cool! I love when weird connections likethat are made!

A work of art

You have no idea how long I stood here taking pictures to get the wings outspread in an image. ;)

Bath time? Too bad it's right on the trail.

Ha, and this is what I thought was Kinsman. Boy was I wrong.

Upward, friends!

Views abound, even from only partway up Kinsman.

And here we are on top. There were some people with a Finnish Muumi keychain up here.

You want me to climb down that?!

Home for the night.

Kinsman Pond...probably the grossest water source of the whole trip.

The Appalachian Trail, Day 14

2011-09-23T09:04:00.002-06:00

August 5^th(midday)

Wow. Awesome. Rocked it out going up Mt. Moosilauke. Insteadof being a frustrating challenge, it was an extremely pleasurable climbinvolving careful foot placement. I think what really helped was that I toldmyself not to feel like I need to rush—slow and steady wins the race. And itwas fun! And it’s just clear enough to see the world around me from the first4,000 footer of the trip. I didn’t expect to feel great today because eventhough I went to bed at about 9:30, I didn’t fall asleep until sometime after11:00. Part of it may have been that my body wasn’t used to the sugar rush ofdinner, but I think it mostly had to do with the noisy argument regardingpolitics between the intoxicated Bunyan and Doc. I had left the campfire whenthey started arguing about hunting and who was a better identifier of birdsongs and knew things wouldn’t be getting any more rational from there.Nonetheless, I managed to get myself up and going and after a sketchy creekcrossing, began the climb. Last night was interesting—certainly not likeprevious hostel experiences, but another example of AT hostels. From whatpeople say about some down south, perhaps it is more characteristic of AThostels. Now I just have to figure out how to deal with my maildrop best—I wishI could call and forward it somewhere. Anyway. Enough of that worry. I got upto the summit of Moosilauke around 11:45 and it’s only 2.5 miles to the shelterI was planning on staying at. It’s so tempting to try and push on to ElizaBrook, but then I would have to spend more time waiting for Monday at the otheraccess point to N. Woodstock. It’s weird to not be pushing on to some crazydistance. If I stop at Beaver Brook, it’ll be by far the shortest day I’ve had(8 miles!) but, hey, I really like the hikers I’m with, so why hurry? This sunfeels soooo good. I figure if I laze here on top long enough when I get toBeaver Brook Shelter I’ll be able to say, “Welp, too late to go on.”

August 5^th(evening)

Welp, when we finally got to Beaver Brook around 3:45 (itwas actually a quick 2.5 mile trot down) there were loads of people there. Allthe tentsites already had tents pitched and there were some sketchy peoplestanding around who told us, “The shelter is already full. There’s a bachelorparty here tonight.” There was nothing to do but keep on trucking, so we (me,Indy, Hershey, and Hershey’s cousin) headed down the steep steep trail, whichinvolved a lot of big steps, some rebar grips, and a beautiful waterfall. Itwas kind of a fun scramble, but my knees were happy when it was over. Therewere some really nice places to camp by Beaver Pond, but it was one of thoseprotected/high-use areas where camping is prohibited. So onward and upward itwas over the top of a little but very steep hill (mtn?) untilwe found a kind offlat spot. It works well enough. Dinner was delicious—mung bean noodles withbroccoli, peppers, onions, and sweet potato. (I should go into the dehydratedfood business.) and now I’m just chilling waiting for the sun to go down(pretty sunset through the trees) since our bear bag is already up and my bivyis prepared. Let us hope it doesn’t rain since we’re not in a shelter tonight,but whatever happens happens. I really enjoyed today. I hiked alone in themorning on the way up Moosilauke in a very relaxed, almost meditative state andthen spent several hours on top talking and laughing with Yak, Stitch, and Indy(and a few random passersby, although nobody stayed as long as us). Those 3were interviewed for a Vermont Public Radio piece on the thru-hiker perspectiveof the Gateway to the Whites. On the way down, I hiked with Stitch for awhile(and learned that she chose her name because she’s a veterinarian) and thenIndy and I pulled ahead and eventually caught up with Hershey and Hershey’scousin. As much as I like hiking alone, it was a very pleasant afternoon andgood change of pace to be hiking with other people. I did learn from ourconversations that 1) Pennsylvania is the worst (because of the rocks and yougo through when it’s wicked hot) 2) Yak and Stitch went to a lecture in Amicolabefore thru-hiking where the speaker said, “You may as well think about whatyou want your trail name to be and go with it, because otherwise you’lldefinitely get a name on the trail and you may not like it.” 3) While “pinkblazing” is generally referred to in a joking kind of way, there is a thru-hiker(Gingersnap) who stopped signing in at the shelter registers to lose a guy whowas trailing her. Sometimes it’s a relief to not be attractive—makes life mucheasier and possibly safer. Anyway, I’m going to read for awhile before it getsdark, but overall it was a wonderful day and a great introduction to the Whites. I was feeling intimidatedabout the Whites before hiking up Moosilauke, even though I’ve hiked in thembefore and done fine. I guess some of the hype around me rubbed off. Aftertaking on Moosilauke in a 10.5 miles day ending tired but still feeling well,I’m now more confident that I’ll love doing the rest of the Whites. Also, Ifigured out a solution to the North Woodstock problem—bounce my box by phone tothe AMC Highland Center. Ahh, the joys of group problem solving. Naptime forme—peace. Oh, also, Miss Janet and her insoles are AWESOME. Also, pun of theday: We’re walking down from the Moosilauke Summit and Indy says, “Look at howvibrantly green that lichen is!” I say, “Yeah, I’m lichen it.”

Vertical creek bank.

Looking toward North Moosilauke from South Moosilauke

Awesome giant cairns!

And this is when I decided to hike all the 4,000 footers in New Hampshire before graduation.

My thru-hiker companions get interviewed.

Down some steep stuff.

Haha, nice of them to recommend this after we've come down the "extremely tough" trail. :D At least we avoided tragic results.

The Appalachian Trail, Day 13

2011-09-22T21:03:00.002-06:00

August 4^th(evening)

I was going to write this afternoon, since I stopped hikingaround 3:00, but there was a shower to be had and a shuttle to Warren to do asmall resupply/dinner run (an odd dinner of an apple, an orange, cheese, andchocolate milk—what can I say? It was a general store—at least they had fruit).I had a really hard time today, despite the fact that the 14 miles I hiked weretechnically not that challenging. I started out just tired and sluggish, andwhen I warmed up and started to lose the sluggishness, my right foot startedhurting really bad. I didn’t really hike any slower, but it felt like I wasgoing really slow and it hurt. Interestingly, today was the first time someonementioned my age—a young woman was hiking south and she sees me. The firstthing she says, “Are you on your own?”

“Um…yeah.”

“Oh. You just look really young.”

“Well, I’m still in college? Are you alone?”

“No, there’s someone behind me. Well. I’m just out ofcollege, so people probably think I’m young, too.”

Now I’m ata scruffy hostel in Glencliff. It’s interesting—a lot of people, a lot ofinteresting conversation. At the moment people are talking about the crazythings “outsiders” think about the trail: “Are you bringing a gun?” “Aren’t youafraid?” etc. They were also talking about “pink blazing”—something I wascurious about before coming out to hike. Pink blazing is where a man will tryto follow a good looking woman—here they were talking about all the beastlywomen who hike 30 miles a day and how they’ve seen fools try to keep up withthese crazy fast women. On the forums on Whiteblaze.net the term “pink blazing”seemed rather predatory. In these people’s stories, pink blazing seems likemore of a silly, flirtatious thing where the female is such a superior hikerthat the man’s efforts are hopeless.

In anycase, I guess I better get onto bed—Mt. Moosilauke is on the docket fortomorrow. It’s basically the first realWhite Mountains for the trip. Sure, Smarts was a real mountain, I guess, but itwasn’t like the madness that is to come. I’m a little concerned, what with mysore foot, but we’ll see. Someone at the hostel tonight—the person who drivesthe shuttle—recommended I ry insoles and is letting me borrow her insoles for acouple days. I’ll leave them in Lincoln and if they help I’ll get some of myown in Lincoln. I hope hope hope that they help because otherwise it’s gonna behard to keep going. I was going to slackpack Moosilauke with a bunch of othershikers, but I’ve looked at the shuttle costs and the expense of staying at thehostel another night and another shuttle on Saturday morning. I feel bad sincethe shuttle is cheaper for everyone the more people who use it—but still. Idon’t really want to dilly-dally around here. I’ve got places to go and WhiteMountains to see. I planned a maildrop, stupidly, for North Woodstock and hadEmma send it out toda. Of course, I’m scheduled to have access to NorthWoodstock either late tomorrow or early Saturday (when the package most likelywon’t have arrived yet) or Sunday, when the Post Office won’t be open. I guessI’ll check on Sat. Morning and then have to chill near Franconia Notch if it’snot there.

Argh. I find it very frustratingthat I think so much during the day, but then I either forget to write it downor write everything out of order so that none of it makes sense. And 2^ndArgh—I have the Barbara Streisand song stuck in my head. Welp, as bad as thatsong is, it does at least remind me of AWLS.

The climb up Mt. Cube. Summitted before 7:00.

Kind of an anti-climax.

Whew. Glad to know I'm in the right place!

The Appalachian Trail, Day 12

2011-09-22T20:38:00.000-06:00

Oi vitse, I thought I had posted yesterday becase I definitely typed up the journal entry, but apparently the post never happened. Here it is. If anyone cares. They probably don't.

August 3^rd(evening)

A rather long and strenuous day. Left Moose Mtn. Shelter,went down Moose Mtn., went up and over a little mtn, down to Dorchester Roadwhere I got water but no ice cream at the Ice Cream Man’s house. The Ice CreamMan has actually been keeping statistics of hikers for years. Median age: 26,typically a 4:1 male-female ratio. After that stop I tackled the 4 miles upSmarts Mtn. It was a vigorous and surprisingly enjoyable climb. I really gotinto driving up the steep slopes. At the top I was rewarded with a great viewfrom a firetower. Then down down down which went by quickly, but my quadsstarted to cramp up. At the bottom there was finally a nice stream (1^stwater since the Ice Cream Man’s house), then it was up again 1.6 miles to theHexacuba Shelter. The shelter was unfortunately an extra walk off the AT, butit’s pretty sweet—a hexagon, of course! Today while hiking I was thinking aboutwhat are markers of authenticity for thru-hikers. For one, a small pack andtrekking poles is expected, thus a large pack can make fellow thru-hikersassume you are an outsider. Yellow-blazing (skipping sections by driving,therefore, following the yeallow marks of the road) automatically ruinsauthenticity. White Blazers are most honorable. Clean-shaven men who claim tobe thru-hikers are doubted. Tonight was the first time my gender has reallybeen brought up—it was in regards to hitchhiking. Everyone knows it’s easy fora girl to get a hitch. Therefore, it’s wise for other male hikers to hit roadswith a female hiker to get an easier hitch. I suppose female hikers seem lessthreatening and less homeless-like than the typical bearded, crazy-hairedthru-hiker. I guess one should be concerned about girls being picked up moreeasily, but it seems like if there is a general concern about creeps picking upfemale hikers, then more “normal” people would be willing to stop [to preventcreeps from getting to them]. Well, whatever. Makes life easier for me.

The best quote of the day was when Bunyan was talking aboutsome guy he’d talked to awhile back about careers. He said that the guy said,“Thru-hikers’ attitudes towards careers range from ambivalence to outrighthostility.” Now Indy and Bunyan are saying I better not thru-hike right away,but should instead wait 10-15 years…otherwise I won’t have a career. :P

[Also, I forgot to write this, but I met a family from Bozeman, MT at the top of Smarts Mtn. That was pretty great. The moral of the story: always wear a shirt saying Montana on it so that your people can pick up on your origin.]

Some info...obviously not accurate since not EVERYONE stops at the Ice Cream man's house, but interesting still.

Juleweed--good for poison ivy.

Random sign to Katahdin.

Beginning to look like New Hampshire.

Feeling intelligent? It's Smarts Mtn.

Hexacuba Shelter

The Appalachian Trail, Day 11

2011-09-20T17:06:00.000-06:00

August 2^nd(late afternoon)

This is the earliest I’ve stopped for hiking—I got to MooseMtn. shelter at about 3:00 pm after leaving Hanover around 10:00. It was about10 miles on fairly easy going terrain. Even the climb up Moose Mtn. was rathereasy. My feet and knee are still a little sore, but the new shoes certainlydidn’t make me hurt even worse. Though I felt fine when I got to the shelter, Idecided to sit for a bit to figure out if timing for future shelters would bebetter from here or from Trapper John Shelter about 6 miles down the trail. Itwas a bit of a toss up, but seemed slightly better to go on to Trapper John.However, Eats had already stopped here and was hanging around. We startedtalking and ended up talking a great deal about anthropology (he was an anthrominor, interested in alternative medicine, agrees that anthro changes how youthink, etc. etc.). I also learned about a restaurant—Burton’s Grill—that he hasworked at that is really good about serving people with allergies/celiacdisease. We also covered how great it is to work in the food/restaurantindustry and Eats brought up how really working as a waiter gives you so muchinteraction and practice with building quick relationships, helping people makedecisions, tell people bad news, and so on, that it’s goodpreparation/experience for going into medicine (which is where he’s headed.).In any case, an hour and a half passed and although I still had enough daylightto get to Trapper John, I didn’t really feel like going anywhere. Plus itwas/is kind of overcast and looks like it might rain. If I stay here, itprobably won’t, but if I go to the next shelter, it probably will rain—that’swhat we decided, since that’s the way weather rules seem to work around here.I’m not totally sure how staying will affect my future schedule, because I’mabout to hit some mountains, which will likely slow me down, but I don’t knowby how much. Whatever—at least I now have an afternoon/evening to continuerecovering and to rest up after my couple of late nights. My right foot is sore(and has been sore) in a way that feels like a stress fracture, but every timeI think about that possibility I think about what some hikers were talkingabout back at Sutton’s Places about how so many hikers go home because ofsupposed injuries, implying that some hikers fake injuries or at least theseriousness of an injury when they discover they don’t have the gumption tostick to the trail. I don’t think my pain is imaginary, but it makes me wonderwhat factors affect how I perceive pain.

Notes: demographics of thru-hiker? just out of college orpeople whose kids just went to colleges/retired people. There are crazy hugenumbers of people in the beginning, with a lot of partiers in the beginning—mostdrop out.

Eats scrambles up a slope--someone thought it was steep and put a rope up.

Swamp fest.

2222. Also, notice stick figure on blaze.

Kind of a trashy shelter. The Chipmunks like it though.

Oh. Awesome water source.

The Appalachian Trail, Day 10

2011-09-19T06:43:00.000-06:00

August 1^st,morning

August?!? Really?? With the turningof the month comes a new part of my trip: The Zero Day. It’s quite strangewaking up and knowing there isn’t a full day of hiking ahead of me. Didn’tleave much reason to get up, so I slept until 6:45 (late for a hiker) anddidn’t get out of bed until 7:15. Now I’m sitting in this fancy screened porch,with a view to the east of Moose Mtn (what I plan to climb tomorrow), drinkingwater without bleach and with ice. How different from every other day of mytrip. Of course, I won’t be doing nothing all day—I have many goals: topick up a package of jerky and Trio bars at the Post Office, mail my boots anda few other things home, hopefully run into Chaco and Sketcher at the PostOffice or DOC and hopefully recover my poles that they may or may not have, andgo to EMS to get new shoes and more socks (and possibly a lighter stove if theyhave a reasonably priced one). I bet the only reason why Chaco and Sketcherdidn’t pass me up yesterday was that they knew Hanover wasn’t really atrail-friendly town, so they’ll probably drop in and out pretty quickly. Ifthey do have my poles, I hope they leave them at the DOC and don’t keep goingwith them—with a zero day and a prospectively slower pace, I’d never catch up.

I had astrange dream last night. I dreamed I was in the room where I was sleeping, butthat I had decided to go through my pack to see what I could take out todecrease the weight for the Whites. As I started pulling stuff out I discoveredI’d been carrying something like 6 or 7 books, a CD player, and several other oddthings that are everyday items but not what you’d take on a backpackingtrip. I think I decided to keep the book“Family and Culture” and sent the rest home. Next I was wandering around thehouse looking for someplace to help out. I finally found the woman who owns thehouse and asked if there was anything I could do to help. She said I couldmaybe go help clean the pool. I went outside and found the pool where a guycomes up from underwater with algae all over his face (cyanobacteria, anyone?)and say no help is needed. I end up wandering around watching the scene andapparently there is some special event going on and a kitchen crew is preparinga big feast but they aren’t supposed to be seen spending time with the peoplebeing served, so they devise a plan where the people being served—I think theyare of some high social status, but they are all wearing bunny suits (thinkHarvey) so I don’t really know who they are—pretend to the outside communitythat they have already eaten inside and come running out the doors in giantbunny lines, setting up a very orderly grid shouting, “We want seconds, we wantseconds!” The kitchen crew then had the permission to come outside in order toserve the lines and lines of people in rabbit suits. As each was provided seconds,he/she/it would hop down to a seated position. Just as nearly everyone wasserved, the people who had gotten food first hopped up and shouted, “We wantthirds! We want thirds!”

Wow—see,that’s what a combination of thru-hiking (weight, everyday things seeming outof place), a desire to “work for stay,” a past of researching algae, a feelingof awkwardness in an ivy league town, an awareness of the class divisionbetween the kitchen staff and Bowdoin students, and the knowledge that theconnection between my parents and the people in Cambridge is due to a fund setup in memory of my great aunt Margaret who was married to John Stewart whosefirst-cousin was Jimmy Stewart, who was in the movie Harvey.

August 1, evening

How is it still the same day?!? Ifeel like I’m living on a time scale so different from the usual rush whereevery day, week, month or year seems to be over before I know it. I’m not atall complaining of this seemingly slowed down time—I actually like it quite abit—but it just feels so weird. Today seemed like it could have been 3 days.Even though I got up late (7:15) and didn’t finish eating my porridge (read:oatmeal, but it was called porridge because S— is English) until probably 8:30,by that point I’d been here for a long time and the trail seemed far away andin the past. Maybe it’s all the sensory cues of cleanliness, soft beds, anddifferent food that make the gap seem so wide. Midmorning F— and I went intotown where I attempted to find a new pair of boots or shoes for hiking at theMountain Goat. The store was poorly stocked and had one employee to handleeveryone in the store. We went to EMS instead, where I managed to find a pairthat seems to fit more comfortably, some new socks, and since I didn’t know thestatus of my poles, a pair of Black Diamond trekking poles. Luckily for me, Igot a 15% discount simply for being a college student (“Man, I love college!Yeah!...”).

I shouldn’thave bought the poles, however, because as I came out of the Post Office frompicking up a package of jerky and trio bars from mom and dad and mailing my oldboots back to school, I saw Eats who yelled across the intersection, “Yourpoles are in the DOC basement!” I went on over there and sure enough they were.I never doubted that Chaco and Sketcher would bring them if they’d seen them inthe van, but I just didn’t know if they would [have seen them] considering thecluttered state of the van. They did, though, and I really hope they aren’t toofar ahead of me so that I might thank them. Of course, the new poles, then, hadto be returned, but F— kindly did that in the afternoon when he had to go backout that way. After retrieving my poles, we got fresh veggies at a farm standand had a most excellent salad for lunch. After that, I went with S— intoNorwich where I was able to pick up a free used book from the library andexplore the legendary Dan and Whit’s General Store that ahs the slogan, “If wedon’t have it, you don’t need it.” I would almost venture to say that it’strue! The afternoon was spent reading (I know, I got the book for the trail sothat I would feel more comfortable decreasing my mileage, but it seemed perfectfor a hot, lazy afternoon). Dinner was a delicious beef and vegetable stir fryon brown rice noodles with sorbet for pudding (read: dessert).

Now can yousee why it seems like multiple days? It all seemed sort of surreal, though.Watching S— and F— plan out the day so carefully made me wonder if it was justtheir habit of detailedness to packing the errands in as efficiently aspossible that seemed strange or if that’s what we all do and that it feelsstrange after coming from days where there is no such emphasis on scheduling.It was very strange to hear about how all these fancy people (staterepresentative, president of Columbia University, etc.) live or have housesalong this road and to be treated so well in a huge, beautiful house by peopleI only met last night. It got me to thinking about social class again (a topicmy mind often goes to), only this time thinking about the different classmake-ups of different towns along the trail and how that affects how townresidents perceive thru-hikers and how it affects what sort of interactionsoccur. It seems like the greater division between thru-hikers and Hanover couldhave something to do with the perception of thru-hikers of being akin to hobos,or at least being of an unrefined social class and dirty in a clean town.However, that high class/Hanover, low class/hikers relationship seems weird tome, because while there are some people on the trail who are just scraping by(I heard a hiker in the DOC say he only had $60 left in his bank account), ingeneral it seems like hikers are pretty well off or well off enough in their“real lives.” After all, it does take a fair amount of money to pull off athru-hike what with transportation, gear, food, occasional lodging, etc. AND,perhaps more significantly, you have to be in the position to take the time todo it, so you have to either be between jobs with enough money save up or havea job where you can leave for 4-6 months and can’t be the sole provider of afamily, or maybe you have been fortunate enough to retire. Really, when youthink about all the life situations of most people in America, who is actuallyin the position to easily pull this off? (logistically) Sure. It may not be theupper crust rich/high class people who choose to do it, but it certainly isn’tthe low-class that the scummy thru-hiker may be associated with in a place likeHanover. Every thru-hiker and section hiker I have met has appeared to be ofAnglo-Saxon descent. When people have talked about their real lives, it soundslike they are in pretty comfortable situations. So beyond hiking for the sakeof hiking and coincidentally getting hobo-like while doing it, is there anaspect of playing the role of a hobo/vagabond and being perceived as in that“low class” that is appealing to a comfortable middle or upper middle class?(ahh, def. of middle, etc. are blurry) How does the idea of a set destination,a sort of pilgrimage, come in? Is it okay to be a hobo when there is a specifictime and place that you are and a point at which you know you’ll go back toyour regular life? Or is the idea of pilgrimage something entirely differentwith something about achieving a goal that highlights the ruggedindividual—that character so highly prized in the frontier and was feared to bedisappearing as the frontier closed and thus revived through rhetoric as muchas possible? If hiking the AT is an ultimate demonstration of the ruggedindividual, both in physical accomplishment and physical appearance ofruggedness, but the thru-hiker perceptions and lingo carry connotations ofhobo-ness, are there two separate stories of who thru-hikers are and what theyare doing, or are they intertwined and Americans worship a romanticizedhobo-ness when they celebrate the rugged individual?

Imaginethat—that the ideal American character with an individualism and ability toface adversity is most similar to a hobo while homelessness/vagabonds/hobos arelooked down upon. Maybe it has something to do with choice? The thru-hikerchooses a faux-hobo lifestyle so it’s cool and American, but others may not?Then again, is hiking the Appalachian Trail really a place where people “playhobo” or is my Sobo/Nobo/hiker trash interpretation off track? Dunno—it’snearly actual midnight, not hiker’s midnight, so 1) my thoughts areprobably getting loopy and 2) I need sleep.

Inside Dan and Whit's

Obligatory gnome picture.

The DOC. Not quite as cool as the BOC, but good enough.

Bagels!!!! (Okay, I couldn't eat any of them, but they looked really good.)

The Appalachain Trail, Day 9

2011-09-18T12:27:00.000-06:00

July 31^st(well past hiker midnight)

The general understanding on thetrail is that 9:00 is Hiker Midnight. We’re all in bed and usually asleep bythen except for tonight. Surprisingly, I’m clean and laying in an incrediblycomfortable bed with not one, but two, pillows. But no, I’m not in a hotel. Asyou know I booked it to Thistle Hill yesterday, and that was in part to makereaching Hanover today feasible. Thistle Hill to Hanover is just under 16miles. The first 4.7 were done in anticipation of West Hartford, where thetrail goes right by a place that sells breakfast. The good ol’ omelet andhomefries—it was like Rutland all over again. It was a well-needed boost ofenergy to push me through the remaining 10 miles. The first 3 of those thenwere all uphill to get to Happy Hill Shelter. Was it a happy hill? Not reallybecause my blisters were only getting more painful. At Happy Hill I stopped andchanged socks and then pushed on through to Hanover. The terrain was prettygentle and the last 3 miles or so were on roads. Boy does that asphalt heateverything up!

As I walkedinto Hanover I felt very out of place. Everything was spic-and-span clean andtrendy and shiny. It seemed like a polo/Prius kind of a place. Apparently itwas family weekend [at Dartmouth] as well, so there were probably more polosand Priuses than usual. I left my pack in the Dartmouth Outing Club basementlike everyone else (by everyone else I mean all the hikers) and found freewatermelon and bought a mocha smoothie (probably the reason why I am still ableto be awake now—first caffeine in several weeks). I spent the rest of theafternoon trying to figure out where to stay for the night. Hotels wereexpensive. Hotels that were less expensive were full. Hostels were faraway/non-existent. The camping beyond the soccer fields was the strongest plan,but even that was a bit nebulous as to whether the police would get after youor not. I put off walking out there until 7:30 or so because my feet reallyhurt, but as I was limping my way toward the fields, not more than 50 yardsfrom the field-forest edge, I got a phone call from a couple who know somesomewhat-distant relatives of my mother (they may not actually be distant, butI don’t quite know how they are related, so it feels kinda distant) who live inCambridge, MA. How do they know people in this area? Luckily for me the guys inthese two couples were college roommates back in the day, and they were willingto take in dirty old me. Now I guess it’s not the traditional form of trailmagic, since it involved working the social networks (my parents decided togive the Cambridge couple a call), but it feels like trail magic to me!

The morning mist begins to burn off

Interesting architecture along the trail

Ain't no wilderness here

Happy Hill? Needless to say, I didn't walk the .1 to the actual shelter.

Definitely the best mailbox decorations I've ever seen.

After awhile you start to see the AT symbol everywhere...

Trail magic. Too bad I don't drink soda.

More trail magic. Cute boots. Watermelon in the cooler. This was at the house of The Brain.

Thru-hikers don't use sidewalks. Because they're trailblazers? or because the pavement feels to hard?

Why is it the Connecticut River that divides New Hampshire and Vermont?

Woot! Vermont in 9 days. Checketycheck!

The Appalachain Trail, Day 8

2011-09-17T17:02:00.001-06:00

Trail Journal, Day 8

July 30^th,night (past my bedtime)

Ouch. 21 miles today without trekking poles. Why, Danica,are you so stubborn and competitive with yourself? I was going to take it easyand bivy somewhere just past the farmstand, but then a Sobo, Columbus, wassitting around the farm and said it wasn’t that challenging. It was a lot ofups and downs for about 8 miles. I’d already gone 13. So I decided to head out,especially since a Nobo named Colorado said she was going to Thistle Hill and Iwanted to talk to her. I surprisingly was able to hold a 2 mph pace in spite ofthe hills, but my feet hurt sooo bad. Nonetheless, I made it before it got toodark to see without a headlamp. Colorado is indeed from CO (Fort Collins) andhas celiac disease. Other hikers at the shelter are Who Knows?! Graybeard, Ace,Towns, Big Ben, and Eats (all male). I think I might start writing down thenames of all the hikers I meet to see the array of names that exist.

From Day 1: Pyrite, Highwayman, Sassafras, Bump, Chaco,Sketcher

Day 2: Woody, Raw Indy, Towns, Sherpa

Day 3: Doc, Sarah

Day 4: Rainmaker

Day 5: Andrew, Apostle John, Vesuvia

Day 6: Loner Boner (the old guy at Churchill Scott…)

Day 7: Big Ben, Eats

Day 8: Colombus, Cueball, Colorado, Ace, Who Knows?!,Graybeard, Sundowner, Yak, Stitch

Ouch. Also my phone appears to be dysfunctional. Ouch.


Finally got a picture of the orange salamanders I've been talking about. This guy was about 1 1/2 inches long.

A sketchy ladder to a sketchy roof with a great view.

mmmmm

Obligatory "top of the roof" photo. Thanks Yak!

How 'bout them snails?

Ahh! I can see the farm stand--why do I have to walk to far to the side to get there???

Hobo signs? Me thinks yes. :P Took me forever to realize the top left symbol is for the Dartmouth Outing Club.

The Appalachian Trail, Day 7

2011-09-16T09:27:00.001-06:00

Trail Journal, Day 7

July 29^th,morning

A frustrating 2ish miles to Route 4, hitched a ride from a1996 Nobo to Johnny’s Pancake House where I had myself a heck of an omelet. Hadan interesting conversation with a military guy who was planning a sectionhike. Spent some time looking for the Rutland Transit Center. Now waiting forthe bus to Killington to get my food package from the Post Office.

July 29^th,evening

No need to shower or do laundry! 3 hours of hiking in atotal downpour did the trick—I’m as clean as a freshly bathed dog—still smell alittle funny but all the sweat and grime is gone! Why oh why am I so cheerfulafter spending the afternoon treading carefully on wet roots and pruning up dueto perpetual wetness? Because today was awesome and I just feel great! I wasactually feeling pretty horrible in the morning and even the largebreakfast—despite the most amazing glass of orange juice I’ve ever drank(drinken? drunk?)—did not help me perk up. However, when I came to the buststation and was waiting for the Diamond Express, no one other than Towns showedup. He apparently stayed at a hostel in town last night and was heading outagain today. We had some good conversation on the bus ride including how I’veleft the awkward position of having no name and how he had gone though thatsame awkwardness the first week of his hike. We also talked about humidity inthe south vs. north and east vs. west, among other things. When I got off atthe Killington Post Office, I met a Sobo who was going there as well. I pickedup my package, quickly disposed of the “daily crumble” that makes me nauseous,and packed the rest of the dehydrated dinners. Next I went to the Marketplaceto get some snack/lunch items for the next 2 days, drink mix to disguise thetaste of my treated water, and Gatorade and a snickers ice cream bar forimmediate consumption. Finally I was beginning to perk up!

I sat outside with my food andwrote a couple postcards. Then, as I waited for the bust to come by, a vanpulls over. That’s strange, I thought, since I hadn’t been signaling that Iwanted a hitch. The window rolls down, and the woman sitting in shotgun says,“Need a ride?” It’s none other then Chaco and Sketcher, the 2^nd and3^rd hikers I saw on my first day. We had camped at shelters togetherfor a couple nights, but had then been separated since Manchester Center. Itturns out that someone doing a dayhike had given them a van to use for the day.Apparently they were using it to drive up and down Route 4 and provide varioustrail magic to hikers. They dropped me off at the Inn at Long Trail so that Icould hike the Sherburne Pass trail to the AT, and I promptly left my trekkingpoles in the van, as I was distracted by our conversation. “Is there anythingelse you need?” they ask.

“Nah,” I say as I open the door. Istruggle with getting my pack out of the van and say jokingly, “except maybe asmaller pack.” They laugh and rive away. Five minutes later I realize where mypoles are. I left a note for them at the Sherburne Pass trailhead, hoping thatthey will have already found them in the van before giving it back and thatthey’ll be willing to carry them until they pass me on the trail (most likelytomorrow). So there I go, hiking along, poleless, tired, and sore. I considercamping at the Gifford Woods State Park and again consider stopping at MountainMeadows Lodge. Ultimately, though, I decide to just go for Stony Brook Shelter,so as to prevent some awkward mileage days in the near future. Near ThunderingFalls it starts drizzling, so I shift my sleeping bag into the waterproofedpart of my pack (contractor bag part). About halfway up a somewhat strenuousmountain, the skies let loose and I’m soaked within minutes. But the moment Ibegan to get wet, my mantra became “Accept,” which I repeated to myself inrhythm as I step-step-stepped up the hill (thank you Vermont for switchbacks).Once the rain was accepted, it was actually rather pleasant. Not cold really,good singing weather, although I couldn’t look around much because I didn’twant to slip on another root. Several (2.5 maybe?) hours later, I nearly walkedright past the sign for the shelter.

But I didn’t. So I arrived intothis somewhat-dry environment where Towns and another thru-hiker were alreadyrelaxing. After removing my puddle-filled boots and separating my dry thingsfrom the rest of my stuff (really, it’s incredible that this journal has stayeddry every time it has rained), I did the awkward change into dry clothes. Itfeels good to be moderately dry and to be warm (fleece is warm when wet!). Totop it all off, I had split pea soup with sweet potato tonight for dinner—theperfect meal for a rainy evening and only missing split pea soup day(Thursdays) by one day! Seriously, one of the best camping meals I’ve ever had.I swear, I could go into the backpacking food market with some of thesehomemade meals.

It’s weird, this feeling ofabsolute content. Especially considering the circumstances of a painful knee, aday in the rain, no trekking poles. It doesn’t really matter because I’m in astate of ultra-calm, probably leftover from the trance I reached while walkingin the rain. I just think it’s pretty great to just exist with how things are.You can’t change whether the weather will be fine or not, so better to justaccept what is. I was thinking about some of the things this trip is doing tome while I was walking. On is, of course, practice acceptance of all things,even that which makes us uncomfortable. Another is the practice of just beingwith yourself without any input from external human or non-human sources forlong stretches of time. As the Nobo section hiker Jacob put it a few days ago,“You’re just left with yourself and you are either unhappy or you come to termswith it.” Put that and acceptance together and you get the 3^rdthing: Positive Self Talk. You sure do need a lot of it out here, and it can’tjust be the occasional, “Aw, come on, don’t be such a Can’telope” (althoughthat does help). Instead you need some full blown confidence: “You are DanicaLoucks, and Danica Loucks can handle anything.” and the encouraging remarks atjust the right moments—“Come on D, you can do this. It’s all yours. Finishstrong.” Nah, those remarks aren’t particularly original, but there is nothinglike remnants of cross country to keep me motivated. I dunno, I guessthru-hiking could make each day more of a chore, but I think that over the longterm it has to be great for developing a habit of positive self-talk, becausewithout it, it’d be mighty hard to keep pushing.

Well, my eyelids are beginning tofeel heavy and my pack is heavy enough already, so I’ll humor them and get someshuteye. Do remind me, though, to write about the similarities between termsfor homeless vagabonds and thru-hikers. Other then the fact that Nobo and Soboare short for North/South Bound, is it coincidence that it’s remarkably similarto”hobo?” Why are some years more full of GAME and MEGA in the registries andsome full of NOBO and SOBO? Where and when did the term “hiker trash” developand how does it carry association with the term “white trash?” How about theterm “trail rat?” Plans-to-Much, a Vermont resident with whom I talked 2 nightsago, said something to the effect of “Oh, the Inn—they’re real nice to trailrats.” Why is it that there are these terms that seem to be deviations oflabels for lower class people, especially when most people on the trail have tobe relatively well off due to the expense and time commitment that thru-hikingrequires? Finally, my brain has stopped thinking in graphs! Good night all!Rain on my roof as a lullaby. Actually, remind me to write my questions abouttrail-town interfaces as well…

The Inn at Long Trail, a common place for hikers to stay

Kent Pond, I think?

In the middle of a rainstorm. These are getting to be quite common...

But at least rainclouds make for pretty photographs

Boardwalk

Thundering Falls...not so thundering itself, but there was thunder at the time.

The Appalachian Trail, Day 6

2011-09-15T16:39:00.001-06:00

Trail Journal, Day6

July 28^th,evening

Today was tough. I seem to have entered a time warp whereI’ll hike for what seems like hours and will still not have reached my nextcheckpoint. I’ll think to myself, “man, I must be going really slow,” but thenI’ll look at my watch and see that it hasn’t been very long at all. I wonder ifpart of this time warp is caused by my soreness in that every step feels likeI’ve already been hiking for some time. Another challenge of the day wasconvincing myself to eat. I barely got down a few bites of PB on tortilla forbreakfast, and really didn’t feel like eating n the middle of the day but knewI’d need the energy to get up Mt. Killington, especially because I’d alreadyhiked 10 miles before I started up the mountain. I reluctantly ate a couplepackages of tuna and some tortillas before hiking up Mount Killington intortoise-and-the-hare fashion (that is, slow and steady wins the race). SinceVermont believes in switchbacks, I was able to hike without stopping for a goodcouple of hours. By the time I reached Cooper Lodge (a run-down, deserted skilodge turned AT shelter), I was exhausted and out of water. The spur trail toKillington’s peak was another .2 steep miles. My guidebook said there was asnack bar on top and a gondola going down to Killington Village. I was planningon going to the top regardless, but I was looking forward to a cold Gatorade orsomething. It turns out, there was no such snack bar and the gondola wasclosed. But the view! The best view by far so far was on top of Mt. Killington.You could see everything in all directions—I’m so glad it was a clear day.After taking some pictures, I thought about the shelter I had initially plannedto go to—Churchill Scott Shelter. My knee protested, and the rest of my bodyagreed with the knee. So I did the obvious thing and took an hour-long nap inthe sun. When I woke up it was nearly 5:00, so I considered staying at CooperLodge, but it didn’t look like a very nice place to stay, and I felt betterafter the nap. I started down the trail and reached Churchill Scott by 7:30.There is some guy tenting away from the shelter, and one very chatty71-year-old man staying in the shelter. I know I should cook dinner, but thethought of food makes me feel ill and I’m tired. I’m going to bed, even thoughit’s slightly after 8:00.

The bridge at Clarendon Gorge

A map?

Woot! That's gotta be exciting for a thru-hiker.

Mt. Killington

Soo they said there was a Gondola going down to Killington Village...it was closed.

The Appalachian Trail, Day 5

2011-09-14T14:49:00.002-06:00

Trail Journal, Day 5

July 27^th,lunch break

I never got to finish my story of yesterday because itstarted pouring. I quickly stuffed this journal into my sleeping bag, looked atmy bag of food with rope and contemplated leaving it there instead of hangingit up so that I could get into my bivy before I was soaked. That thought wasfleeting as the age-old Almost Heroes quote came to mind: “The bear is worse.The bear is definitely worse.” So I jumped out of my bivy nest and grabbed thebag. I spent the next 5 minutes attempting to throw my water bottle attached tomy rope over a high branch. When I finally got my bear bag secured, I ran backto my bivy and crawled inside, shedding my soaked rain jacket. I zipped myselfup and there I was lying on my side, panting, in a tiny orange world.

And so I waited. Therain’s intensity modulated from light to pounding and back again over thecourse of 3 hours. My top half was wet, as was the top of my sleeping bag and abit of the inside of the bivy. I had a tiny section of the bivy open for freshair, which meant I had to keep my eye out for mosquitoes. It was the kind ofsituation that I—and you—would probably find uncomfortable. Yet as I lay therewatching raindrop constellations travel and morph across the orange screen thatwas my view for that time, I really didn’t mind. Sure, I was wet and hot—thecombo I am known to like the least—and I didn’t have much room to move, but Ifelt good—great, even. IN my little cocoon I was very much at peace with thesituation and even enjoyed the gentle massage of the rain on my sore muscles.And thought I didn’t get a chance to write this at the time, back at theWilliam Douglas Shelter 2 days ago when I was soaking and really didn’t want tostay at the shelter (thus I hiked 6 more miles to Manchester Center), I askedmyself, “What happened to the Danica who doesn’t care if she’s wet? Where’s theDanica who can handle anything?” I think I found that Danica lying in the bivylast night, content to lie there for hours doing nothing but drowse and watchraindrops. Yesterday was all very much like that zen-like state. I expectedmyself to be grumpy at the end of the day, since I had only gone 10 miles andmy foot and knee were really sore. Instead, I convinced myself to stop atGriffith Lake instead of pushing to the next shelter. The Peru Peak shelter wasclosed due to renovation, so I was just on a tent platform with myself andmyself alone. Somehow I was just in a really good mood and content with sittingin my sleeping bag (to keep my legs away from the bugs), cooking dinner(involving sweet potatoes), and writing in my journal. It was just good to be there.

In any case, the story I was telling previously involved myfirst introduction to drunk thru-hikers. They were the people on top of BromleyTower. I left before they did and the game of the day became “Can you hikefaster than an intoxicated thru-hiker?” For awhile it looked like that would bethe case, but late in the day my energy was waning and some caught up. Luckily,though, I hike slower than drunk thru-hikers so they went on to Lost PondShelter while I stayed at Griffith Lake. Of course, I was the one without aroof over my head, but as written above, not a problem.

Back at thebivy—it got dark and then stoppedraining. I ended up staying in the bivy from ~7:00 pm to ~5:00 am. I didn’tsleep much, I don’t think, but I did feel that I did really well mentally formy first night being alone. There were lots of sounds, from dripping tocracking to this crazy bird in the swamp. However, I remembered that HerrTurner used to tell us stories of sleeping alone in various places and how yourmin is the biggest creator of feat at night. Needless to say, with that snippetof knowledge in hand, I felt quite confident. I was, however, tired of lying downfor so long, and I kept waking up and not feeling tired at all. “Just wait forthe birdsong,” I told myself, knowing that it’d be about one hour beforesunrise when the birdsong started. I was elated when the birds started to singand packed things up, separated into categories of wet and less wet. I’vestopped for lunch at Little Rock Pond, 9-10 miles from Griffith Lake, but nowthat I’ve eaten, written, and aired my feet out a bit, it’s time to move on.Oh, and the sun is shining. :)

July 27^th,evening

Whew. What a long day! 20 milesagain, putting me 87 miles through Vermont—more than halfway. But ouch. Why doI keep pushing myself to the point of utter soreness? I guess the temptation ofthe question, “How far can you go?”tends to get me, even though there is no hurry to get anywhere, really. Wellhere I am—the Minerva Hinchey Shelter, so far the only shelter named after afemale. I spent the entire day alone and saw close to nobody. After awhile Iwas in this weird zone of feeling like I was isolated—like, possibly out in themiddle of nowhere, but then I would hear the sounds of human activity, such asairplanes (all day! must be a shipping lane) or cars, reminding me ofcivilization without actually giving a glimpse of humans. I didn’t mind being alone—afterall, I hiked alone all the other days as well. Even so, I was wishing forsomeone to be at the shelter tonight. There are two, but one is off tentingalone and the other is from Italy and doesn’t speak much English. It’s stillnice to have someone around though. I can’t even begin to describe thesatisfaction I had while eating my dinner. It was just another one of myself-made dehydrated meals, but man, it was mad good. I was considering sendinghome my stove to reduce weight, but I’m not yet willing to give up the one mealof the day that I actually look forward to. Aside from those meals, the onlyother foods I find remotely appetizing are venison jerky and Skittles (thelatter is especially strange considering I have never like Skittles before).

In othernews, I shall now be called “bitterroot.” Over the past 5 days I haven’t spentany considerable length of time with a specific group, so it’s understandablethat no one had given me a name yet, but I was thinking about how I might haveto give myself a name anyway, because I’m sure that naming rituals are meantfor early on in a thru-hike, not late for some random section hiker. I thoughtof a lot—Insomniac, Energizer Bunny, Bugbite, Nose of Montana, Robin Hood, RedRiding Hood etc. but ended up with Bitterroot. When I talked to Apostle John,who stopped here earlier on his way to Clarendon, he asked if I had adopted atrail name yet. I asked him whether or not trail names technically have to begiven on the trail, and he said it’s more like 50% are given by someone else ,50% chosen by people as their own or are carried along from past nicknames. Sotechnically I could just become “Sneaks” per usual, but why not try onsomething new? Dang, there is more to write but I’m so tired! Hopefully tiredenough to sleep through the moose calls.

Oh, I saw several orange salamanders today. And toadsyesterday.

Little Rock Pond

Mmm, gotta love a pine forest!

So many cairns--I don't know where to go!

Fairy house?

The Appalachian Trail, Day 4

2011-09-13T07:54:00.001-06:00

Trail Journal, Day 4

July 26^th, evening

I had to look atthe last entry to remember the date. It’s hard to imagine that it was only thismorning that I woke up at Sutton’s Place, did laundry, and restocked my foodsupply before heading to the trail. That is indeed what I did beforehitchhiking for the first time to get to the trailhead. Mom and Dad (since I’msure you’ll read this at some point)—Don’t panic. Manchester Center is a trailtown where hikers hitch all the time so even “normal” people stop to pick uphikers. I was initially apprehensive about it (so much so that I walked intotown yesterday—wasn’t going to do that again!), but I just stuck out my thumband, after a few cars drove by ignoring me, someone pulled over. This personwas only going to Highway 7, but very kindly went past their turn and took meall the way to the trailhead. This all put me in a great mood as I started upBromley Mtn. both because I didn’t have to walk 5.5 miles on a road and becauseI felt pretty B.A. for hitching a ride.

So I’m trottingalong up this hill and I hear a guy say, “ohhh, it’s a girl.” I look up and see this old-ish guy a few switchbacks aheadof me. He’s on his cellphone, and he says to me, “I was just talking to mydaughter and telling her that I saw a guy coming up the hill with what lookedlike a 50 pound pack.”

I say, “Actuallyit’s only 25 to 30 pounds.”

“Oh, that’s notso bad then. Where are you headed?”

“Maine.”

“How long youbeen out?”

“4 days,” Ianswer and we wish each other the obligatory “Have a good one’s”. As I’mcontinuing up the trail, I hear him say into the phone, “She’s got beautifullegs.” A pause—I imagine his daughter saying “what do you mean? or “Pardon?” Hesays, “She’s got beautiful legs like yours and mine that are built for thingslike hiking and biking.” I wanted to record this happening since it was ratherfunny, but also because it was yet another boost for me. Why should I care ifsome old guy thinks my legs are “beautiful” in an athletic sense? I shouldn’t.But, nobody has ever called my legs beautiful before, so I can’t help butthink, “Yeah, these legs were meant for hikin’!” and appreciate that someone sees beauty in that. On up thetrail I go until I reach the summit of Bromley. I climb the observation tower [and then the sky opened up and started anabsolute downpour]

^I seem to climb a lot of these towers...

View from the Top of Bromley Tower

Algae!!

Microplants

And this is what I'm walking down...

Trick platforms that sink into the water

Home sweet home for the night

My cooking set up. A bit heavy for a single person, but does a good job.

The Appalachian Trail, Day 3

2011-09-12T09:22:00.004-06:00

Trail Journal, Day 3

Monday, July 25^th20:47 EDT

Geez, I can’t ever seem to finish a train of thought inthese journal entries. I stopped last night because it was so buggy, and Iplanned on doing it in the morning, but the mosquitoes came back, so Ihightailed it out of Story Sping. My morning involved a quick 3ish mile raipsedown to a road and then a 3 miles climbed to the top of Mt. Stratton—thesupposed birthplaces of Benton MacKaye’s idea for the Appalachian Trail. Aftermy “first lunch,” (I got there are 10:30, so it wasn’t really lunch lunch) Iheaded down (3ish miles) to Stratton Pond. And what do you know, I’d alreadyhiked 10.5 miles before 12:45. This is my problem. I have the strength andenergy to pump out 7-10 miles in the morning then go 4-6 more to where Iplanned on sleeping and think “well, it’s still midafternoon—no sense stoppingnow” and continue to the next shelter. Shelters are a blessing and a curse. Inone way, they are great markers to set your sights on for such goals as “I’mgoing to eat lunch at the Goddard Shelter.” It’s quite nice to have them to dividethe trail up so you don’t have to think 20 miles to go but instead think 8 toGoddard then 4.1 to Kid Gore then 4.7 to Story Spring. They are a curse,though, too, because it leads you to not breaking up your hike intopersonalized lengths and sometimes having to settle for less mileage or moremileage than your body can handle. Of course, you can stealth camp in between,but not only is that discouraged but also after spending the whole day mostlikely hiking alone, the company of a shelter site is wanted. As I notedyesterday, the young thru-hikers were much more into conversation than theolder people. Tonight I am staying in a guesthouse in Manchester Center whereevery guest is a hiker, and while there is a mixture of young and old, Nobo andSobo, this group was the most inclusive of everybody. They are maybe not quiteas talkative, but seem to respect all the different hikes that are being carried out. It’s interesting that one of thecommon phrases on the AT is “hike you (own) hike,” which is often used inconversations where some hikers have been hiking together and one decides to dosomething different that either puts them ahead or behind the others. Peoplerespond to that person’s explanation with the accepting “Hike your hike.” Insome ways it seems to exemplify the emphasis of independence and “no stringsattached” environment. However, since shelters kind of dictate where peoplestop and, at least in the younger group, there seem to be expectations of whatrange of distances are considered “legitimate,” it seems as if the hike is notas free-spirited as it comes across. In any case…(that’s just a fillerphrase—how can I think all day and consciously mark something as a topic towrite about and then feel like I have nothing to say when I finally get to thepage? Part of that may be that I’m tired and sore which makes it hard to focuson the thoughts I had today.) so yeah…updates. I’ve discovered that even thoughI haven’t been hungry for the past 3 days, if I start to feel weak and grumpy,it’s time to eat. [here is where I have graphs drawn in my journal expressingsome of my observations…]

· I’ve been daydreaming about Gatorade the pastcouple days. Finally got some and it was a bit of a letdown.

· I actually ate a hamburger today intown—something I haven’t done for years. I have to admit—it was rather good.

· I learned some new foot massage tricks from a Nobohiker, Doc, who gave me a foot massage this evening when all the hikers wereconvening in the TV room. (He is a certified massage therapist in his reallife.)

· So far everyone I’ve met has been really nice andseemingly level-headed.

· Ouch. I’m sore. I slipped on some roots in therain today and my knee is unhappy about that.

No more for tonight even though Iknow there were things I learned from the crowd tonight that I wanted to writedown, but considering the insomnia I had last night and the ~18 miles I hikedtoday, I can hardly hold the pen and keep my eyes open. (*notes to self:hikers, injuries, homesickness)

[in regards to my "notes to self:" One of the things that we had talked about in the TV room that night was how some of the people there had been hiking with others, but that those people "got injured" and left the trail. I use quotation marks because several of the hikers there believed that many of the people were claimed to have injuries were actually faking it or at least exaggerating the seriousness of a minor ache or pain. They believed the reasons for this were either that the person decided they weren't up for the grueling conditions and potential monotony of the trail or they were homesick and didn't want to admit it to those around them. This skepticism surrounding injuries seems like a view that goes along with the standards surrounding what constitutes as a 'legitimate' distance (see above) in the sense that these opinions express a consensus of what the characteristics of a "true" or "authentic" thru-hiker are. A real thru-hiker hikes 20+ miles a day; a real thru-hiker faced with an injury--even something like a broken ankle--will either slow his/her pace or zero for awhile before continuing on. Compass and Southern, two hikers I met last year during the Pre-Orientation trip that I lead, told me the story of one of them (I don't remember which) breaking his ankle and hanging out in a town until it healed. I also heard from someone on the trail this time that someone dislocated her should, had it reduced but was told she couldn't hike anymore, had surgery on her shoulder and then quickly got back on the trail. An additional qualifier of authenticity, though presented in a half-joking, half-serious manner, is that real thru-hikers don't shave. Clean-shaven hikers who claim to be thru-hikers are not to be trusted entirely. :P Of course...there was Indy...) ]

Stratton Mountain Firetower (or maybe just observation tower?) ^

Sweet view? Characteristic of so many of my "views."

^A snippet about how Benton MacKaye came here and had a lightbulb moment of making a trail stretching along the Appalachian Mountains. I am curious about the accuracy of this story...then again, I didn't see the view that supposedly inspired him...

Stratton Pond^

^And then the rain came down with vigor.

The Appalachian Trail, Day 2

2011-09-11T20:59:00.001-06:00

Trail Journal, Day 2

July 24^th,19:43 EDT

As usual, I wasn’t able to finish my previous thoughts and I didn’t have time to writeyesterday due to my 20 mile day. Yesterday started with a chill-but-steadyclimb. Emma and I stopped for lunch when we reached the Seth Warner Shelter,then she turned around and I kept going. I initially planned on staying at theCongdon Shelter, but I got there at 3:30, so I decided to keep going.Eventually (this stretch seemed to take forever!) I reached the Melville NaumanShelter. We didn’t see anyone on the trial until lunchtime, so at first Ithought I might have misjudged when thru-hikers would be coming through thissection. After lunch, though, I saw 3 Nobo, then 3 more at Congden, and 2 moreat Melville Nauman. Tonight I am staying with a bunch of new thru-hikers.Additionally, I’ve passed several Sobo hikers. As of today, I have hiked 37miles. Still no name yet—it’s somewhat awkward when people ask me my name and Ihave to say I haven’t got a name. Yet no one has offered a name, which makes mecurious—how exactly are names chosen or given? How long does it typically takefrom the start of the trail until you get a name? I know usually other people choosean individual’s name, but also the first guy I met explained how someone wantedto call him “Pirate” because of his red beard, and he warped it to “Pyrite.”Another man was called “Highwayman” since in his working life he was a civilengineer. With the first hikers I met (older people), people weren’t verytalkative and what talking they did seemed very guarded—no personal details.Tonight, everyone at the shelter (Story Spring) is in their late 20’s or early30’s and people are very talkative and cover both on-trail topics (Sobos andNobos giving tips about what’s ahead), who is hiking where, i.e. “Did you catchJackrabbit yet?”, and personal life (sports, origin, boyfriends, family,literature). Multiple people hit it off well enough to swap phone numbers andemails and played a “guess each other’s real names” game. The first hikers Imet talked all about food, making me think that was a default topic. Thesehikers now cover a huge range of topics.

The Appalachian Trail, Day 1

2011-09-10T13:03:00.000-06:00

Well, it's been awhile, huh? I left Camp Bobo on the 22nd of July and by the morning of the 23rd, I was on the Appalachian Trail starting from North Adams, MA. After 24 days of hiking, I came back and conducted food pack-out for Pre-Orientation trips (quite the logistical challenge!), fed anywhere between 40 and 100 leaders throughout a week, and then headed back to New Hampshire to lead a backpacking Pre-O (woot Pemi!!). Post Pre-O there was BOC Kitchen clean up to do, then some work in the dining hall while the first-years were oriented, and before I knew it, I was thrown into classes and the myriad of other thing I was doing. I wouldn't say that this was the "best first week" ever--with really no lulls in my life since...oh I don't know, maybe last Winter Break, a slightly changed perception of Bowdoin after spending nearly a month hiking solo, and the feeling of already being stretched too thin, I was really feeling stressed. Nonetheless, with some help from the favorite professor and the support of people from all areas of my Bowdoin life, my life seems to be back in order...so, back to the blog, right? Well, I don't actually have time to write something new at the moment. My time is still hugely taken up by school work and work and all that, though I have had so many topics come up in my Anthropological Research and History of Anthropological Theory classes that I want to write about here. However, for the time being, I shall refrain and instead begin your opportunity to live a hiking trip vicariously through my trail journal. Just as I experienced my trip day-by-day, you don't get to read it all at once, but must see the journey unfold...

July 23^rd,05:46 EDT

And so it begins. We’re drivingtoward North Adams, not in the perpetual heat that we expected, but in athunderstorm and rain shower. Fine by me—I learned how to accept “wet” longbefore I learned to accept that stifling “hot.” Whatever the weather, the dayis finally here to embark on this new adventure. I can’t say I slept much lastnight, so I may not be as chipper as I’d like to be, but Pa always said that ifyou lose sleep over something then you must care about it and it must be importantenough to be worthwhile. Of course, my lack of sleep may have been alsoencouraged by a hammock that broke and a cold, hard porch floor after that.

As the timeto start has drawn nearer and nearer, that old question has crept in: Whatexactly are you doing here?*** Wrapped up in that question is a stream ofquestions with blurry answers. Why hike? Why write about hiking? Are youwriting to yourself? to a few specific people? to the public? In addition tothinking about audience, am I writing field notes? only observations of what’s around me? Internal reflections?Connections to other aspects of my life? Those answers are a little uncertainbecause while this trip is technically the vacation of my summer, I also wantto think about what I see from an anthropological standpoint. … [and then I promptly set my journal down andfell asleep]

***"What exactly are you doing here?" comes from my favorite quote of all time:

“But what,” badgers a relentless voice, “exactly are you doing out here? What are you accomplishing? What are you getting out of it? And what, oh especially what are you going to do with your life?”
The voice usually stops me. Knocks me down, kicks sand in my face. But this time, finally, I tell the voice to shut up. It’s a stupid question, what are you going to do with your life. Setting out to do something with your life is like sitting down to eat a moose. Nobody ever did anything successful with their life. Instead they did something with their day. Each day.
Sunrise is birth. Sleep is death. Each day is your life.
Let the moose run. Eat some blueberries.
–Paddle Whispers by Douglas Wood

America's Got Talent: Contradictory Messages of Individualism

2011-07-11T03:51:00.000-06:00

I hate to admit this, but the truth is I've actually been following a television show this summer. While I haven't been completely isolated from TV growing up--I've seen various tv show episodes throughout my years--I've never actually gone out of my way to watch a show every week as new episodes come out. (And actually, I have to admit, I've done this with two tv shows this summer.) Seeing as how I just recently posted about not liking the guilt surrounding food, maybe I should try to stop myself from feeling guilty about watching televisions--something that becomes all too easy in the days of online television from sites like Hulu--but I made a commitment to myself to "live without a TV, always" and in some ways watching shows online is basically the same as having a television set. One of the shows I've been following is "Switched At Birth," which I actually like, because, despite the silly teenage drama, involves people coming to terms with cultural differences between hearing and deaf communities, as well as between high and low socioeconomic status groups.
The other show is "America's Got Talent." How did I even begin watching this in the first place? It's rather ridiculous, so I don't see why I got drawn into it, but it does certainly make you think about what kind of place America is. You know, per usual there are the highly skilled acts, the insanely strange acts, the cute kid acts, etc. Perhaps it speaks to the diversity of the United States, or at least the diversity of what people interpret as "talent."
In some ways it is the ultimate emphasis of individualism that is so often present in American thought and action. After all, here are all these people--mostly doing solo acts, I think--competing for the recognition and financial reward of being chosen as the top performer for America's Got Talent. It certainly doesn't invoke a sense of team spirit among them all--gotta fight to the top with confidence. However, since I have guiltily been following the show, I noticed a contradictory message about individualism. Awhile back, a 22-year-old woman from Florida named Dani Shay played in an audition. The catch? She and Justin Bieber look a lot alike. She actually didn't know who Justin Bieber was until she looked it up after people started telling her that she looked like him, and she eventually wrote a parody of "Baby" about her surprise at being mistaken for a male teenage heartthrob.
After seeing her initial audition, I listened to a bunch of her music on Youtube, and not only are her songs pleasant to listen to, but she appears to be a thinking, compassionate person--not something that always comes across with the popular culture icons of today. She was previously a rather obscure Indie/folk singer and songwriter, but this whole America's Got Talent gig seems to have pushed her into people's attention.
So, of course the judges forwarded her onto Vegas, where they would determine who would get to perform in Hollywood. Dani planned to sing an original song for the Vegas round--"Superheroes," one of my favorites of hers, which is a song "for anyone who is different," On Youtube Dani writes about "Superheroes," "I'd like to dedicate this song to anyone who has ever been mistreated, simply for being themselves. It takes courage to go against the grain; so let the brave ones face whatever comes their way, and let them be unshaken by their fears. I love you all, and I am here for you." What a fitting song to perform on America's Got Talent--after all, aren't we supposed to be a diverse country and accepting of differences? What a way to reach all audiences!
But no. The judges were very disapproving, and Dani stopped after just a short segment of it. After she walked off stage the judges went into this whole talk about how she shouldn't have chosen an original song, because how could they judge her talent unless it was a song that everyone knew. What it came down to, it appears, was that America's Got Talent is not about expressing an individual's talent but seeing how well someone can replicate that which has already been done and is already deemed popular culture. In this sense, whoever wins America's Got Talent is likely a celebrity molded into the already existing mosh pit of pop culture. Dani countered with their disapproval by saying that writing is part of her act, but they wouldn't take it. No, they wouldn't want a singer that is actually talented enough to write her own (meaningful) songs. She was forced to conform to their standards and sing something that has "already been done." Sure, maybe it was so that they could compare that performance to the original version of whatever song the person sings, but in a sense that is in itself very conformist and attempts to keep the face of America's Got Talent popular culture/mainstream/commercial. This mainstreaming is strange especially considering that during her first audition one of the judges told her that even though the "Baby" parody was funny and he liked the humor she brought, that "in your own right as a singer/songwriter very talented."I guess Dani Shay's originality and unique individualism is just a little too "alternative." Is the revered Individual then not a product of the self but of the pressures of popular culture and "what sells?" While I'm glad that they still recognized her talent and put her through to the next round, I also think it's really sad that she couldn't just be herself--the fully talented singer AND songwriter she is--to get through. Her choice of song "Trouble, Trouble, Trouble," which she sang when they gave her a "second chance," seemed to maybe express some conflict between the desire to get through and the desire to continue to be one's self regardless of what the judges ask for. Then again, usually I'm not all that committed to the idea that individualism is good...I suppose my bias now arises from the fact that I like her individuality because it provides something refreshing to the popular culture scene.
In any case...
Here is her original song:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pt7KmYLQOsY
Here is her first audition:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mHuUCI9MCJo
Here is her Vegas audition:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NvVBBV6jMSY
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9iIac1tJXBQ&NR=1

The Allure of Absence in American Food

2011-07-10T17:40:00.000-06:00

I could have written loads last semester about the interesting situations in which something, such as a phoneme or a group indigenous to Amazonia, is defined less by what it is and more by what it is not. In a sense, it is defined by its difference rather than its actual qualities. The other day I ran across another situation in which an item was described entirely by what is did not consist of, that is no calorie noodles, called "No-oodles," on the shelves of Hannaford in the gluten-free section.

Not only is it advertised as having no calories, but it is advertised by having no fat, no net carbs (carbohydrates minus dietary fiber, although I'm not sure how fiber negates carbohydrates in a 1:1 ratio), no soy and no gluten....no, no, no, no, no. Golly, if it doesn't contain any of those things, than what is it made out of??? Pretty much none of what is normally in food, yet it's called "All Natural?" Friendly, curly letters to tell us it's all natural, but capital letters to tell us NO. Perhaps most important of all: because it has none of these things, it also has "no guilt"--in capital letters and underlined. Since when is the consumption of calories, fat, carbs, soy, and gluten become something we should feel guilty about? Okay, so the guilt trip surrounding fat and carbs are nothing new--we've all heard the guilt woven into women talking about food, "Oh no, I really shouldn't...Oh...well, just one slice I suppose, but I'll have to run it off tomorrow." (And as a side note, why why why only women? Very few men express their concern for consuming too much food to the degree that women typically do.)
The popularity of advertising the absence of certain ingredients is something I've long noticed. Somehow if something has no fat or no sugar (regardless of what sketchy ingredient is in its place), the magic wand is waved and the guilt can melt away. I think these no-oodles are really taking it too far, though. Really--it's basically nothingness, some sort of filler to give it shape with no nutritional value, and it's being sold for more than any sort of regular noodle. First off, if you are trying to avoid calories, it would be cheaper to not eat at all. Hmm...0 calories for $3.99 or 0 calories for $0.00?? Tough questions. Of course, I can see that since there is pleasure in eating that one might want to simulate eating without getting the calories...but I can think of so many more delicious ways to eat without taking in a huge load of calories.
As you may know, I don't particularly like being negative, and I try to check myself when I become too critical, but I can't help but be frustrated by how the whole food situation in the United States is all about what it's not. Is it a culture of excess that creates the situation where absence of the things that make us function is seen as better than their presence? And I guess past the seeming ridiculousness of selling these over-priced nutritionally-worthless products, I am really saddened by this whole guilt-trip thing. I mean, even if someone didn't necessarily have a negative relationship with food, even seeing such a label implies that all of the things that it's advertised as not having are things that people should feel guilty about eating, which is pretty much everything. An overview of food advertisements would probably show an overwhelming number of messages that say, "No guilt here!" that in turn imply that the very nutrients that make us able to function are "bad." This is not to say that there aren't many changes that could be made to improve the well-being of Americans, considering the health problems that appear to be arising from the way food is produced and consumed now, but, honestly, guilt-tripping and selling filler "food" is not what I see as a "healthy" way to do it.
Maybe I'll go eat some real pasta now...

Away from dichotomies and universals, towards constructionism and identity self-determination

2011-05-23T16:20:00.000-06:00

Here we are again--at the end of another semester, and as usual, I am shocked at how quickly it went by and amazed at how much I and my situation has changed since the beginning of the semester. I guess it's good that we have these time divisions laid out to punctuate our lives so that we may be reminded to reflect on the past time period. While during my first year at Bowdoin I went through the ultra-high of the first few months of college, that strange period of loving and hating Bowdoin, and finally coming to terms with Bowdoin mostly in adapting to the social environment, now that I've gone through all that, I've noticed much more intellectual growth taking place this year as I've gone from being very uncertain about which direction I wanted to follow to finding the discipline and topics within that discipline that discipline that I absolutely love and could follow to the end of the earth (though I can't say I'm not interested in all sorts of other things that should be learned). As has become tradition (can something become tradition after only 4 semesters?), I've decided to write a brief semester in review. Interestingly, last time I wrote this review, I felt the drive to write it all out on the last day of classes--it was pushing to be written, so it just had to get out of the brain and into written words. The last day of classes for this semester was 12 days ago, but there was still a marathon of work to be done before last Saturday (a term-paper, a lab report, and 4 take-home exams adding up to over 50 pages of writing), and when that got done, there was packing and moving to happen, so obviously this semester's review couldn't happen earlier. I think, also, that I've been so immersed within everything that I've needed a couple days to pull myself out of the fleeting tendrils of the semester to be able to pull my thoughts about it together.
As usual, my classes were complementary and developed common themes. The most surprising synergistic combination was my World Prehistory class and Oceanography, both of which provided knowledge that helped take the other to a deeper level. Those were also the two classes that I was concerned about at the beginning, because, being 100-level courses, I didn't expect them to be the most challenging classes on earth, and I guess I associate worthwhile endeavors with challenges. I was right in that often the concepts introduced were fairly easy to pick up and understand on the first try, but once I was able to step past my belief that everything had to be hard all the time, I really enjoyed these classes. Archaeology is way more interesting than I thought it would be, and I love that it combines the social and natural sciences to figure things out. Although I expected Oceanography to be interesting and I knew that taking a science class was dangerous in the sense that I get kind of giddy about scientific things, I didn't expect myself to be so intrigued by the ocean. I remember sometime in 8th grade Earth Science deciding that I would never become a geologist because the geological processes were just so dang slow. Similarly, sometime in high school I decided that since archaeology was just looking at "stones and bones" and not able to look at actual people and how they lived, that I also wasn't interested in archaeology. Wrong and wrong again. I thoroughly enjoyed both classes, and I'm now planning on minoring in Earth & Oceanographic science as well as doing oceanography research this summer.
My other two classes were anthropology courses (well, prehistory was anthro, too, but different), one focusing on linguistic anthropology and one focusing on human interactions with/adaptations to/modification of/conceptualizations of the environment. The former I actually wasn't in until after classes started when I was feeling I needed another class that wasn't so transactional as the lower level courses. I ended up switching out of Chinese to take this class, which was a sad sad thing indeed--it was hard to imagine Bowdoin without Chinese class, and there were certainly times when I missed Chinese class like mad. Even so, I never regretted my choice, because the course gave me all sorts of new analytical frameworks, concepts, and examples to make me think in new ways. Having to make the choice between a language class and a class about language gave me a better understanding of maybe I hope to do in this oh-so-brief 4 years of college--there is no way to learn all the wonderful things there are to learn in this short time, so even while we do learn "things" in the sense that we are "given" information in the form of facts or opinions, it seems more significant for intellectual growth to be learning new ways of thinking and analyzing. When it comes down to making triage decisions (as it so often does) about courses, it makes sense to choose that which provides tools for future learning and critical thinking. I'm certainly no where near fluent in Mandarin, but I do know how to learn languages. Until this semester, I had very little idea about the all that can be analyzed about language with tools from linguistic anthropology. Anthropology & the Environment, the fourth class, provided me with an awareness of the common narratives that exist in thinking about nature, indigenous people in nature, conservation, and so much more, which led me to examining my own perception of these issues and finding that everything is sooo much more complicated that anyone ever thinks it is.
And so from all of these learning experiences come the themes that stuck out for me. In some ways, the themes in the courses, whether in the case of specific examples or in the meta-analysis of the processes of analysis in the disciplines themselves, were so prevalent that I recognized it as a semester theme early on--by spring break (halfway through the semester)--and it became somewhat cliche as I would start into my readings and immediately know that two articles of opposing viewpoints or a more recent analysis of previously existing topics were leading towards bringing attention to the fact that true dichotomies rarely exist. It seems like too often conclusions are drawn that have to go for the all or nothing approach, when really the more likely case is that whatever is being discusses exists somewhere along the continuum between the two extremes, and also generally exists in more than one state in different situations.
That brings up the importance of acknowledging the unique conclusions that can be drawn from each specific context. Instead of spreading conclusions from one context to other unlike contexts, examining each situation as its own first. Noting the specificity of each situation leads to another broader conclusion I've reached, which is that I don't particularly believe in "universals." It seems like a lot of academic disciplines strive to find the universals, and maybe some anthropologists look to find human universals. In terms of trying to reduce the inequalities that arise from perceived differences, universals seem like a good thing. Even so, I think universals can also cause the details (and accuracy) of a picture of a group of people, a place, or a situation to be lost.
Part of why I don't see universally applicable statements particularly feasible is because I've come to see much of the realities we perceive as constructed by humans. Perhaps this idea is most apparent in looking at perceptions of nature and culture, but I think it's kind of everywhere. I don't think things are "always already there" waiting to be discovered and labeled by people, but that how people label things shapes what we see as being "there."
In thinking about how such social constructions, then, affect how people make decisions--individual actions or legislated policy--I think it's important to pay attention to think about who is being most affected by such decisions and then take learn how whoever that is conceptualizes the situation. I think of this in terms of the interactions of how a group of people creates their own identity and how an outside force may also create an identity and how tensions arise from that conflict. In those kinds of cases, I feel that it's important to pay attention to that emic identity making and give it more weight than an externally applied view, in order to maintain a right to self-determination.

There are so many ways that the above themes could be expanded using specific examples and so many more aspects of the semester that could be fleshed out, but I think I'll keep it brief because I think it could easily get out of control considering how meaningful the semester has been. Beyond academics, I also got myself to try something I was apprehensive about (like the archaeology and geology...)--I started going to a meditation class and found it to be a wonderful balancing aspect of my weekly routine. I've never been able to just sit and put up with doing nothing until this semester when it became not a matter of "putting up with doing nothing" but savoring a moment of not juggling a million things at once. I think I'm kind of holding back pouring everything into this post and connecting the dots, because where I've come from there (the beginning of the semester) to here (now) is such an immense step that has served to solidify my passion for anthropology and my appreciation for everything I experience at Bowdoin that I think I risk getting to introspective and possibly sentimental about the mind-blowing gratitude I have for it all.
So, that's enough for now, friends. Keep on thinking hard, as always.

Investigating the tone of my writing + Anthro Love

2011-03-26T20:39:00.000-06:00

So this incredibly long spring break is finally coming to an end. While I did need to acknowledge the fact that I needed some time to recover from the insane life I lead around here, I did struggle, as usual, with this whole "relaxing" idea. It's...uncomfortable, mentally. That go, go, go attitude is possibly something I should explicated in the future, but that isn't why I've chosen to write at this moment. This will probably be my last chance to post for awhile, as I'm sure to be swept into the rapid flow of things, but I wanted to address my general tone of writing.
It came to my attention the other day when I found that something I had written about the Internet as a virtual agora in my first-year seminar (a sociology course titled "In the Facebook Age") was quoted in someone else's blog (Penny Press 21), in which the author (I don't know who it is) remarks on my pessimism regarding the possibility of the internet as a space for fostering democracy. She/he(?) writes:

"Today, as we're looking at the impact of Internet technology, the emergence of many to many communications, whereas the printing press was really a broadcast medium, in which a few people who had access to printing presses were able to influence and persuade many, we now have an age, which for better or for worse, every desktop connected to the Internet can influence and persuade."¹

With this statement, Howard Rheingold, like many other Internet enthusiasts, is expressing the belief that we are entering a new era of democracy that is closer to the Athenian ideal of true democracy. They see the Internet as a sort of "agora" where citizens (of the world potentially) can meet and discuss politics and governmental rule in a virtual town meeting hall. But others are not so sure about the ability of the Internet to foster greater democracy. Bowdoin College sociology student Danica Loucks has written a blog that raises many questions about whether the Internet can really provide a forum for real democratic debate. The article makes a good read if your are interested in discovering some of the impediments to Internet democracy. It is a bit of a pessimistic article but it is worth noting the issues raised so that those of us who believe in the potential for the Internet to improve our democratic processes can work to avoid what Loucks fears about the future of the Internet:

When it comes to democracy on the internet, I think we must remember that the Internet is only a machine. And as I say “only,” I mean that despite all its incredible ways to communicate, store information, and serve as a virtual town hall or agora for the world, it cannot change the democratic behaviors of citizens without the citizens taking action to change those behaviors. The Internet can provide tools to revolutionize political activity, but it would require people to change the way democracy is acted out. I can’t help but think that the Internet may play more of a role in the development of apathy or complacency with low levels of political participation. Or maybe it will play the role of further polarizing groups with different views. (DANICA LOUCKS, Bowdoin College Student 2010, see the entire article:http://learn.bowdoin.edu/courses/soc022-danica-loucks/2010/04/the-internet-as-a-virtual-agora/ )

Another skeptic of Internet democracy, although not as pessimistic as Loucks, is Peter Levine (www.peterlevine.ws), Director of CIRCLE, The Center for Information and Research on Civic Learning and Engagement.

Indeed, this author makes quote clear that this student (me) holds a very pessimistic view regarding democracy on the internet. The section of my post chosen to be quoted certainly does seem a little doom and gloom, and indeed, the quote is from the section in which I sum up my thoughts. It does fail to show, however, the lengthy picking apart of some of the ideas and issues surrounding the the topic of political involvement over the Internet. It is that picking apart of ideas--looking at things from all sides, playing the devil's advocate with myself--that I attempt to do, both for the sake of trying to gain a valid understanding that is not too narrow-minded and for the sake of having a wild thought ride in the process. So maybe it's a little crazy to have "conversations" when it's just me writing, but it's essentially conversations between different ideas, one of which I might eventually choose as a "winner," or more likely, finding some sort of new ground that is a hybrid of different opinions because dichotomies are problematic. (Interestingly enough, I later gave a presentation/wrote a paper on the Internet as a tool for activism, which was somewhat more optimistic.)

Now that I've tried to give somewhat of an explanation for my apparently highly-pessimistic post regarding the Internet and democracy, I will step back and admit that a lot of my writing can come across as critical and pessimistic. After seeing pennypress21's remarks about my pessimism, I recoiled, thinking "I'm not a pessimist!" but then recalled that my past two posts (regarding Perfectionism and Consumerism) were, if not pessimistic, perhaps critical or cynical. So, I'll acknowledge that my thinking mind tends to pick things apart and find problems with what I find. (For some less cynical posts, explore the series of me figuring out how to make decisions...)

Seeing the evidence that I indeed carry that kind of tone in a lot of my writing, I had to explore--what is it that leads my topics to end up being critical and is that reflective of my outlook on life?
I was trying to think of the right adjective to describe the lens through which I examine the world around me. Is it a critical eye? A cynical eye? An analytical eye? A realistic or pragmatic eye? Perhaps at times the lens is any of those--among other possibilities as well (idealistic, frivolous, ridiculous, etc.), yet when I really sit down to think about what approach I use to see the world, or at least what approach I try to use to see the world, I can only arrive at "anthropological." I say "try," because as I'm just beginning to become fully immersed in anthropology-ness in the academic setting, I'm sure I have a long way to go.

I think my choice of anthropology as a major was quite a surprise to many people. After all, I was the kid who excelled in science and math, particularly in chemistry, and I enjoyed what I studied in those areas. But I've never been one to narrow my focus at the expense of something else--I loved learning languages and enjoyed writing from a young age. I had no idea what anthropology was.

Yet I was always thinking about the how and why of people's interactions around me, and I think in the early stages I was rather disgruntled at what I saw. I disliked what I saw as the shallowness of popular culture, the way education was set up to encourage learning for the external reward of a grade rather than the internal excitement of discovery, and so on. You might have been able to label me a cynic before I went to Finland through a 4-H program. After, however, I had experienced a whole new way of seeing things. I think initially I just fell in love with being in Finland and, as a result, disliked my own culture more, but that passed, and I was left with an understanding of they ways people act and think as unique perspectives for viewing the world (my shift from reverse-ethnocentrism to cultural relativism perhaps, though I didn't know it by those words at the time). I was excited about stepping into different perspectives not to escape my original American upbringing, but to examine everything from multiple positions. On the practical level (as I so often am), I thought of it as a way to solve problems--by stepping into new perspectives we would avoid becoming too hard-headed about our own views.
Most importantly, I began to grasp as tendrils of understanding that the way people acted and the assumptions people had about what is right and wrong, natural and unnatural was by no means inherent. To put this progression into temporal context, I was beginning to grasp this post-Finland in my Junior year of high school. But dang, it was frustrating! At the same time that I was finding more and more reasons to not conform to what was expected of me from my peers as a teenager (with the reasoning that if that behavior is not an inherent way to behave, than there's no reason for me to do so if I don't wish to--I was, however, ignoring the consequences of not following the behaviors of a typically socialized teenager), I was being met with more and more resistance from those around me. I'll admit that this was a time when I found fault with a lot of aspects of expected teenage behavior as well as with the way education was run as a social institution, so perhaps it's not surprising that people were usually unwilling to engage in conversation regarding those topics. Part of the problem was that I didn't quite have the anthropological vocabulary to label what I saw in a way that I fully understood how/why an aspect of American culture was the way it was, let alone explain that to anyone else.

And then, I found Anthropology.

I kind of fell into Anthropology 101 by accident, simply choosing the class in Phase II registration after not getting into a class I had chosen in Phase 1. I certainly learned a lot of new ways to begin to analyze things around me in the class, which further enriched the observation in which I constantly engage. However, what stands out to me is that amazing feeling of learning about concepts that, instead of being entirely "new," gave name and face to many of the things that had confounded me in the past. I gained mental categories for the phenomena that intrigued me but that I hadn't been able to put into clear words before. With this addition of concepts, I transitioned from feeling incredibly out of place pretty much everywhere due to the fact that I didn't understand why everyone did what they did so "unthinkingly" to being excited about how awesome it is that we create such complicated webs of culture and how the acknowledgment that much of what we consider to be inherent is an exciting prospect for making change. Let's face it, there are a lot of changes that could be made to improve the quality of people's lives (by each person's/culture's own criteria, not necessarily our own)--understanding the cultural underpinnings that may be creating such situations can help understand the cause and thus how to improve the situation.

But "practical applications" aside, let's look at anthropology as a way of thinking and that way of thinking as a way of living. Instead of trying to box it off as an occupation or academic discipline like chemistry, let's allow it to be a method of looking at everything else around us. If anthropology is the study of humanity, and humans are pretty much everywhere and involved in all that we know of so far, anthropology is applicable everywhere. And here I am, often getting questions like, "Soooo, Anthropology...what are you going to do with that?" Recognizing that anthropological thinking applies everywhere is rather fortunate. Not only does it mean that I'm not having to "give up" something else for the sake of pursuing a narrow academic field, but it also means that no matter what I'm doing, I get to see the world in a rich, complex manner that makes everything even more intriguing than they already were without digging deeper. Grad student Jeremy Trombley, over at Eidetic Illuminations writes that, "Anthropological thought is valuable because it forces us to see beyond our limited cultural and historical frame, it forces us to consider the possibility that the world could be other than what it is." Well put, I'd say. I think in the past I often felt like I was outside of the "cultural frame" and couldn't see, but now I've got some sweet anthropology glasses that do wonders for that kind of vision.

Retrospectively, I can see that I've been trying to be an anthropological thinker for many years--seriously, I was the kid who sat quietly trying to soak in everyone's actions and behaviors while sitting in a restaurant, the kid who questioned why we were taught the way we were, the kid who loved the new vantage points gained from learning languages, the kid who recorded the intricate details of "how things were" in Finland including even the most mundane processes, and the kid to tried to understand aspects of life that were different by doing what others were doing. It's not at all that it's an innate talent--I believe I'm still in the beginning stages of learning how to think and communicate in an anthropological manner--but I think it's an innate interest, that with my newfound conceptual frameworks has become a passion. (Granted, I'm still grappling with the idea of innateness and am currently on the fence about whether it--aside from biological characteristics and capacities--actually exists.)

So why did I go off on this explanation of my discovery of anthropology? Because my gradually developing ability to think anthropologically and to write about what I'm thinking is the basis of how and why I pick apart various aspects of culture in the first place. I think that examining American culture, as opposed to some "Other" that is "there" and "then" rather than "us" "here" and "now," can come across as critical, because it questions the practices of most of the people who end up reading those thoughts. Examining one's own culture with the same scrutinizing eye that has been turned on others throughout the history of anthropology is said to be uncomfortable--I think that is a particular reason why it must be done. I'm all about getting outside the comfort zone. Some of my writing may appear to be cynical simply because it picks apart aspects of the untouchable understandings that shape how we think and act

Who knows at what point I can call myself an anthropologist (do we have to wait for the institution-sanctioned labels?)--for now I have to settle with "novice anthropological thinker." I was once warned away from anthropology by an informal academic advisor because "Anthropology is questioning its very existence as a discipline." Her advice meant to push me away did quite the opposite--if anthropology is a discipline in which you are not only questioning and continually creating and redefining theories about people, but also questioning and redefining the very foundations of the discipline (what is anthropology? What is culture? etc.) then that’s the place for me. See, I'm not the pessimist that others have interpreted me to be--I'm simply involved in a love affair with anthropology which involves taking on all sorts of unique angles for analyzing that which is thought by the general public to be "natural."

Perfectionism, that paradoxical creature of American thought

2011-03-21T21:45:00.000-06:00

So, I was taking a moment to write in my calendar all the events that are coming up after this crazy long spring break is over.*** (We get two weeks, which for someone hanging out on campus the whole time seems like a mite bit too long. Today while reading articles for class that happens next week (note, the first strange thing—being able to read that far aheard), I began reading outloud. In an odd possibly-English accent. (Aaaannd, that’s the second strange thing.)

In any case, I was writing in the upcoming events and activities for the month of April and quickly realized that in achieving everything on this schedule would result in one of the following:

a. Me going insane from trying to keep up and being put in a loony bin before May 1^st.

b. Me managing to get everything done but in a mediocre fashion due to being spread too thin.

c. Me managing to get everything done in a very beautiful and thorough fashion but being absolutely exhausted before May 1^st.

Needless to say, I experienced a noticeable increase in heart rate and blood pressure as I realized just what a tight fix I’m going to be in. But why am I telling you about my worries of surviving the next 7 weeks? It’s because in thinking about the possible outcomes of the situation, the issue of not just what has to be done, but how it is done arises, namely what attitude, level of thoroughness and amount of effort goes into each of these activities. And with the topics of attitude, thoroughness and effort comes that devil of –isms: Perfectionism.

Being an individual who does not believe in the concept of “perfect,” I do not personally hold any grudges against Perfectionism. I call Perfectionism a devil simply from the perspective of a generic American mindset. Indeed, we’ve learned from a young age that “Nobody’s perfect” and “We all make mistakes sometimes,” and there are classes about helping one’s self step away from the perils of Perfectionism. In my own experience, people are often called perfectionists with a sort of tone that simultaneously envies the focus with which people approach tasks and scorns those same people for having the crazy idea that they could be perfect. And by “people,” when I say “in my own experience,” it is, in fact, my own experience. By people, I mean me.

For some reason, the term “perfectionist” has been thrown at me like hurtling dodgeballs much more often in the past three months than in previous periods of my life. Whether it’s cooking for 50 people for a week and still insisting on helping wash dishes and mop the floor or reading that extra article for class, apparently I can’t hide it anymore—I enjoy working hard. But dodgeball it is—because Perfectionism is nearly a disease that is seen to inhibit one’s ability to be to realistic, to see one’s self as “only human,” I have certainly been dodging as best I can.

(**Side note: I hated dodgeball in elementary school. And middle school. And high school.**)

It’s not easy, however, since people are always tossing the word at you and then walking away as they move onto the next task while you’re still trying to give your best effort to what you’re doing then. Or, I suppose they would say, while you’re still trying to perfect what you’re doing.

Yet we must return to my original belief system: Perfect does not exist. Therefore, I would not be striving after such a thing. I firmly believe in making the most out of every situation—doing what you can, with what you have, in the time that you are given—but there’s no upper limit. There is no bar to reach, after which point you can sit back and say, “Well, golly gee, I just reached perfect. I think I’ll just stop striving to learn more about this subject/activity now and hang around in Perfectland.” I argue that while we hear so often that nobody is perfect, there is an underlying assumption woven into the American mental framework that perfect does exist. In order for such terms as perfectionism and perfectionist to come into such use, it must be assumed that all those people categorized as perfectionists are striving towards something.

So, let’s say the American framework does include an agreement that a “perfect” state for various achievements, things or aspects of life. On the one hand, there is the previously mentioned lessons that we’re not perfect, that we’re “only human,” and that we make mistakes. On the other hand, I believe another aspect of the American mental framework is that we must all be striving towards Perfectionism. Take a look for yourself—any magazine in the grocery store is offering tips for the perfect body, the perfect date, the perfect meal. Advertisements encourage you to buy perfect foods in order to achieve perfect health. Have you ever seen the list of the “15 Best Superfoods,” which are indeed healthy foods, but are certainly not sufficient by themselves to sustain a person? People learning English may strive towards perfect pronunciation in order to be “more American,” when in reality there is such a wide variety of language use across the United States that no such “perfect form” is actually practice. Citizens are looking for the perfect candidate that can fulfill every constituent wish and then are disappointed when reality kicks in and not all of their political dreams come true. The idea of achieving perfect seems tied into the American Dream that says you can get anywhere, do anything, achieve everything you’ve ever wanted to and the Protestant work ethic that says if only you work hard to get there.

But wait. We’re also the fun-loving nation, the entertainment society. We’re laid back, easygoing, happy-go-lucky—so, of course, keep in mind, that Nobody’s Perfect. But you should go to the gym everyday so that you can have the perfect body come summertime…

Back and forth, back and forth—yes, be perfect, it’s possible, oh, actually it’s not. That’s okay. Oh, but, be perfect...

That’s where the strange connotations come in when someone says, “Oh. You’re a perfectionist, aren’t you.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement that embodies both narratives about what “perfect” is, if it exists, and how it might be achieved. Perfectionism, then, is a god and a devil according to the American framework. It is a paradox infesting our society.

Ai, ai, ai—a paradox that we’re encouraged to live by. I suppose that’s not new. We could, of course, do away with the concept of “perfect” altogether. You see, if there is no upper limit labeled as “perfect,” there is no upper limit to how far one can take things. Then, people could pursue their studies or activities or whatever to whatever level they desire and have wonderful results regardless of how far they take it. For areas in which one has little interest, or for those who make wiser choices about maintaining their health and sanity over finding out more about the universe, skills and topics can be pursued to a moderate level without any feelings of guilt or inferiority for “not making it to Perfect.” For the areas in which one is most passionate, or for those who make unwise decisions about finding out more about the universe possibly at the cost of their health and sanity, there is no boundary. Here’s where it’s exciting—it’s where being “only human” is not an apt description for how far something might be pursued by the curious. While the term can certainly still apply to the fallibility of humans, it cannot be a limiting factor that prevents us from thinking and discovering amazing things.**

Now, if we accept for the moment another American ideology—the pursuit of happiness*—we can see how living with paradoxical expectations is not conducive to being “happy.” Therefore, engaging in ideas of perfectionism is not American. Certainly, there is much talk about the unhappiness of perfectionists. And American should pursue happiness. So, if we live with both the idea of pursuing happiness and of pursuing perfection, we end up with yet another contradictory situation in American life. Krikey—two tensions existing within this one small discussion. It’s not so bad, though. If you give up the idea of “perfect,” there goes one conflict. And if you are no longer striving for perfect, you can no longer fill any sort of role that someone wants to put you in as being that unhappy perfectionist, and then you can fill your life with discovering all of those amazing things that want to be discovered and you can fulfill at least one aspect of being American—pursue the happiness!

*Note: At some point in the future, I will be explicating the idea of the pursuit of happiness and just how silly it might be, but for the time being, let’s just say, “yes, let’s be happy.”

**As a disclaimer: while not having an upper limit is a wonderful experience, on the individual level it can be occasionally dangerous to one’s sanity, social life, and general health. Having no boundaries can get messy at times and lead to insomnia. But it’s fun.

***Also, it should be noted that this entire post was written in an pseudo-English accent with a possible Irish twist. I spoke the words as I pieced it together, and they came out that way. So I recommend going back to read this over again with such an accent. It improves it a lot.

Valentine's Day: The trigger for a rant about holidays

2011-02-14T21:10:00.001-07:00

This will be a brief post that simply outlines why I don't believe in Valentine's Day. It really has nothing to do with a particular bitterness about how it has always been just another day--that's probably best for me anyway. Instead, it has to do with the principle of the holiday. It just doesn't make any sense to make one day out of the year highlighted as a day of love. Shouldn't we be loving people every day? Whether it's the sense of loving a significant other or loving your family or friends or loving humanity, I feel like that should be year round. And even if it's not constant or needs time to develop, why have an arbitrary date for a day of love. Sure, maybe it's an excuse to eat chocolate, or maybe it's a good opportunity for people to propose marriage because of our fairly unique Western idea of marriage being based off love. Come to think of it, maybe having such a day helps validate the narrative of love stories to quell insecurity and denial about marriages being based of other factors such as class or race, or of marriages being anything other than a bond of love (such as an economic alliance). Of course we would have Valentine's Day in light of the images surrounding romantic perceptions of what it means to be in a relationship.
Here I go again, off into the land of sociology and anthropology (I'm actually considering changing the name of this blog, since it has very little to do with baking these days!), but that wasn't actually why I wanted to start writing. It was more to point out that love--directed towards all beings--like in the sense of loving-kindness should be projected all the time. It's like New Year's and the resolutions that accompany the celebration. First of all, the date is arbitrary, and second of all, if you have something you want to change in your life DON'T WAIT until the first of the year. If there is a habit you need/want to change, do it now. Right? At least that's my method.
Of course, there are certain benefits to having such holidays that promote things like gym memberships or the gifting of flowers, jewelry and chocolate...we oughtn't get me started at this time of night on the topic of rampant consumerism surrounding holidays, at least in the U.S. But really--don't you notice how a calendar of the year could be drawn up not by months, but by what products are sold in the grocery stores? It's actually rather like the calendars that can be drawn up of the cyclical nature of different cultures--what crops they are planting and harvesting, where they are living at a given time of year, and so on.

But...instead of planting bananas, groundnuts, and rice, the stores are stocked with all the right consumer products...just jump on the cycle any old place and round and round you'll go. Let's just start with the back to school craze. You've got your new school clothes, your school supplies, your lunchboxes and backpacks--all advertised to the max. Once everyone is back in school, the Halloween candy comes out. Now, I think it's a bit disturbing how each of the themed candies can sit for so long on shelves in terms of what they put in them. In any case, it's all about the pumpkin candy wrappings, the commercially made costumes, the "fun size" packages designed specifically for trick-or-treating. But heyyy, the day after Halloween, it's all about Thanksgiving. You gotta get all the right foods for the big Turkey day (the name "turkey day" assuming, of course, that you'll have turkey). But, bam, day after Thanksgiving it's Black Friday! And allll the Christmas sale are happening. 1. Did you know that the official date of Thanksgiving was changed so that it would coincide better with creating a "shopping season?" 2. Huge assumption that everybody is celebrating Christmas and that they are celebrating it by gift giving. Ahhh, the consumerism. Don't worry! If you don't get your shopping fix in the pre-Christmas season, you can stock up on fireworks and sparkling cider for New Year's celebrations. After you spend an enjoyable evening that is the finale of your holiday season indulgent eating, you can make a new year's resolution and buy something like a gym membership or treadmill or whatever it is you need to buy to make your resolution come true. (Hey, whatever happened to willpower and dedication to get things done?) But soon after the resolution craze, we're all into the floods of pink for Valentine's day. Then you might get into a bit of a lull, as St. Patrick's day doesn't get all the hype of other celebrations, though that depends on your location. In any case, restaurants can definitely capitalize on advertising potatoes and beer and basketball, which will tide everyone over until the Easter products can be put on the shelves. Oh hey, another instance where it involves giving children all sorts of "gifts," training them to expect to get things, to become materialistic, to want more. You may have another lull throughout April, but then it's May and you can get into all sorts of summery things. What do you need for your Memorial day vacation? Maybe it's time to buy a new swim suit--that kind of stuff. Which will tide you over until the fourth of July and soon after that it's back to the back-to-school craze.
Yes, that is the consumerism calendar. I might even draw out a diagram sometime. Funny how I got set off on that, because I really just meant to say how things that you want to do or want to celebrate or want to make happen should be put into action any time. Don't wait around for tradition to dictate what to do when.
Maybe I will boycott holidays on the basis of that argument, as well as to not engage in the consumerism that is expected of us. I think that holidays could be important in terms of marking the passage of time and in the sense that they can reproduce a culture's belief through ritual...but the constant ritual of consuming material items insatiably is not one I care to reproduce.

Refinement

2011-01-29T20:20:00.000-07:00

Anyone who has been following my blog over the past couple of months may have noticed a commonly appearing theme of "decision making." We are faced with making decisions, large and small, all the time, but perhaps the time in our life that we are so conscious of this decision making is during college. (Then again, who am I to make that claim? I've not made it past that point yet, so maybe it takes an increasingly more conscious spot in your thoughts.) There seems to be an acceleration of decisions right as you are finishing high school and they only increase as you get into college. What college are you going to? Once you get there, what classes are you going to start out with? Where will you live? What extracurriculars will you do? What kind of recreation will you partake in? And a little further down the road: What will your major be? Will you study abroad? What classes should you take for your academic goals and which ones should you take "for fun?" What will you do with your summers? Are you going to do an honors project? How will what you do in college add to what you might do after?

You might be thinking, "Whoa." Me too. When faced with a constant barrage of decisions, I tend to get stressed. There are so many factors that complicate a matter, and every decision seems to also be another factor for a future decision, so each decision begins to feel bigger. Not only that, but factors can change at any time, possibly changing what choice you will make.
Looking back on a recent series of decisions, I began to berate myself for the behavior I was exhibiting. What I saw in my actions were me trying something out for awhile, acting as if I were going down one particular trajectory, and then pull on the brakes very quickly as another factor--a thought or experience--came into the equation. I would then worry and worry for quite some time, fretting over this decision. I would try to become as informed as possible, but then would often feel paralyzed by the many seemingly valid options. In the end, I would just have to shift my weight one way or the other to start down another trajectory, because it wasn't doing any good to just hang there in a tension-filled limbo. But what really bothered me about these repeated decision making actions was that I kept changing what I was doing. For instance, I thought (for many months) that I was going to choose Sociology as my major, but come this September as I was reading an ethnography in my Sociology class, I had this thought that maybe anthropology was really the discipline in which I would thrive most. When I finally made the decision to go with Anthro, I not only had to revamp my future plans, but then was explaining to all these people that I was doing something different than what I had told them I was doing before.
A more recent similar choice was when I was debating whether or not to continue taking Chinese this semester. I had done my research, found a lot of valid points for both options, and then finally chose not to take Chinese based on a variety of factors. As I chose not to continue Chinese class as this time, I felt very good about my decision, but at the same time a part of me cringed.
"What do you think you're doing, D? So you're not going to follow through? What about those 3 other semester where you poured your energy into learning Chinese--you just gonna throw it all away now?" and also "Why are you so fickle? Everyone must think you're ridiculous, always saying you're going to do one thing and then changing your mind in the future. No one's gonna trust you."
But I've noticed that just how having to make a bunch of decisions one right after another has forced me to modify my decision making processes over time to develop a system that doesn't leave me paralyzed between choices, time passing is forcing me to refine my trajectory for life.
I've often described college/life as a series of triage decisions: Just like in a wilderness rescue situation where you may have 5 seriously injured people, but only two can be flown out in a helicopter, life presents me with a plethora of appealing options, but time says I can only choose a limited number. For me, I often feel like it is triage, because it's not a matter of choosing the "right" option among "right and wrong," or the "good" option among "good and bad," but of looking at all the things you really love and trying to figure out what things you really really love. I have attributed this feature of life as a possibly cause for my despicable fickle behavior--only over time do I figure out exactly how I want to spend my time, and that isn't always what I'm currently doing. I suppose this thought might be true, but it still seems rather negative. Try something, throw it out. Repeat.
But after seeing the development of my decision making skills as not one extreme change, but a gradual shifting of procedures, I understand that modification as a refinement of that particular skill. Compare that positive image of refining a skill with the gradual modifications we make regarding what we are doing during a specific time period and what those actions might mean for us in the future and maybe they aren't so different. Is the process of setting yourself in one academic/social/personal direction and then as you come across events finding yourself shifting your orientation and setting off in a slightly (or drastically) different direction a process of refinement rather than of negative "flip-flopper"ness?
Imagine you are hiking along through the woods; you are bushwhacking through a wild area with no trail. (That is often where I find myself both literally and metaphorically.) You have no in-sight markers that tell you where to go, and to be completely honest, you don't know what your destination is yet. You see a sweet looking mountain in the distance, so you get out your map and compass, figure out where the mountain is in terms of direction, set your compass to that specific degree, put the red in the shed (or the arrow in the arrowhouse), and start hiking in that direction. Things are great--you've got wonderful scenery around you, and you're daydreaming about what you'll find at the top of that mountain. But then a thunderstorm comes in and begins to pelt you with heavy raindrops. No problem, you think, you hole up and wait for the storm to stop. When things have cleared up, you look around. Your mountain is still there, looking as sweet as ever, but then you see that the heavy rain as knocked away some branches, giving you a view of a mysterious canyon. At first you think, "I can't go there to explore now, I'm headed to that mountain!" but then you remember that you don't have a specific destination, so why couldn't you go see what you can find in the canyon? And so continues your journey--you see things that interest you and go to them, sometimes reaching them and finding a new query and sometimes setting off in a new direction before you've arrived at what you are heading towards. Whenever you change direction, it's not a steep hill or rushing river that deters you; instead, it is simply a piqued interest in what is over the next mountain, up the next canyon or around the next riverbend.

At least that's how I like to think about this whole "setting myself on a certain trajectory" thing. I'm flexible--not set to any one destination. Who knows when a storm could come up and flood the river making it impossible to get somewhere? I'm informed--I use my map and compass to guide me when I do decide to set off towards a feature. I'm bushwhacking through the wilderness--I'm traveling where there isn't a set path, finding my own way. And perhaps best of all, I've got a sense of adventure--I go where my curiosity takes me and am willing to go somewhere new and willing to challenge myself to climb steep mountains to get there.

Sounds kind of fun, don't you think? Let's do it.

He who loves the sea...

2010-12-24T10:01:00.000-07:00

...probably also loves building gingerbread houses.

Okay, so that's not how the real quote goes. John (Coach Bisbee) told us that "He who love sea loves the ships routine" as one way of looking at the love of process. Our activities in sculpture were very much about process. It's not that focusing on process is a sacrifice of product. On the contrary, by focusing on process, the product actually improves. But it's not about the product really. "Why are we tearing down 6 weeks of work?" John asks. Because it's not about the product. It's about the process. This semester has been much about recognizing my appreciation for process from sculpture, to the writing process, to the digging around research of sociology.

Yes, it seems that I can't really do anything anymore with relating it to some aspect of my academic life. But at least this time I can include some food. We made our second annual gingerbread replica of Bowdoin architecture. Last year we made the Chapel, and this year, we attempted the art museum.
It was perhaps not as complex as the chapel, but a less time-intensive structure seemed fitting for our attempts to get it done despite finals, high school tests, hockey practices and so on.

In any case, the gingerbread cookie dough was just a generic recipe. Basically it went like this:

Blend:
3/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup solid shortening

Then add:
3/4 cup molassas
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon allspice

Stir in:
2 tablespoons water
3 1/4 cups flour

Mix well. Chill in refrigerator before rolling out with rolling pin until about 1/4 inch thick.

Cut pieces as planned. Bake on cookie sheet at 350 degrees for 15-20 minutes.

We've learned that it would be better to either cut the pieces out on top of parchment paper so we can just pick up the parchment paper, or roll the dough out on the baking sheets and cut away the extra, because it always seems like our pieces get warped in the transfer. (Not that that can't be fixed with a little detail-oriented "sanding" after baking.)
So we assembled the museum and the entrance to the museum, though it's not accurate, as there is a terrace that goes all around the sides. We ran out of dough, though, so it wasn't really possible to do that. I think the best part of our project was creating the lions and the dome. P and G made the lions after I showed them how to microwave starburst candies to the point of being malleable. Our dome was a stack of spice drops covered with a starburst dome. Twizzler steps, spice drop pedestrals for the lions. And a Bowdoin sun for good measure, even though there is no such thing on the real version. Creative license, perhaps?

Really, the process of making it was more important anyway. :)
In addition to gingerbread house building, I've been doing a lot of reading about the Appalachian Trail and wilderness as a social construction, as well as some work for the outing club. I also went skiing yesterday because it finally snowed!
This week of "nothingness" has turned out to be very rich. Though I haven't had many big scheduled events, I've really enjoyed digging into information with no other pressing matters and the wonderfully pleasant dinners I've had with people. It turns out that as a wayward child waiting around for a flight, I don't actually have to figure out what I'm doing for dinner every night. Host family, professor, other Bowdoin people--they care and provide great company. Sure, I'm excited to be going home, but I could get used to weeks like this.

Don't Even Blink

2010-12-21T15:40:00.000-07:00

Oh boy. Break. And here's what I did with some of my day today...

Constructing Home

2010-12-19T18:09:00.000-07:00

Though I wrote last week a long reflection on the semester, which I found very helpful for understanding on my own part what I got from the semester, I wasn't actually done. I had a take-home exam for one class and a sit-down Chinese exam. I think both went alright. And now I'm done. How we say it around here is "done done." Because you know, there is done, which is maybe that you are done with classes but not with tests and then you enter finals period and you may be done with an exam but still have a paper to write or done with a paper but still need to revise it. That is done, but you know, you just have to _____ (fill in the blank). Then, there is done done. Which is actually having completed all obligations existing for this semester.
Usually when people are done done they will post their facebook status as some sort of celebratory form of explaining "done done" and then prepare to travel. After a brief period, you will see their status then change to some sort of variation of "home." My process is a little bit different. I finished yesterday afternoon, and after turning in my exam I expected that I would feel an sense of relief or excitement. But it really just ended up being an anticlimax. I previously had obligations for being here--taking an exam and finishing my take-home exam, so it made sense that I was still here. But once done with no readings for next week, no homework, what was I to do? Well, there is the idea of relaxing, but we all know I don't do that well.
In truth, I really just want to go home. Now, "home" is a very confusing concept for me. Montana is my home and always will be, but coming to Bowdoin has led to constructing a home here and reconciling that home with Montana home. Only recently have they learned to coexist most wonderfully. As I think I've mentioned, sometime during this semester I made a transition to calling Bowdoin home. I don't think of it as relinquishing my other home, but having more than one, because I just don't think that living here four years and not making a home for myself would be...well, lonely? awkward? In any case, in addition to calling Bowdoin home, instead of saying "back home..." I started saying "Where I come from...." Anyone who has spent any large amount of time with me this semester gives me a lot of flack for saying "Where I come from" so much. But hey, Montana still is home and I love it, so I talk a lot about it. However, I haven't struggled at all this semester with the urgent desire to be back in the mountain lands. (Except for when it was dumping snow there and my bro was hitting the slopes without me, but even then it's not like that internal drive saying "Get home, get home!")
Until yesterday. I turned in the exam so...Victory! Right? I don't know...
Now that I have nothing particular to do for an entire week I want to be in Montana. Part of me is excited to make the most of this week by doing things I've wanted to do but never have time to do, but now that the time has come, I'm having a hard time remembering what it is I wanted to do.
I was kind of surprised how anxious I was to get moving west. Why was I thoroughly unexcited about a non-busy week here after everyone had gone home? Because really, the thought of having this time to read whatever, to spend time with my host family, and to explore is actually quite exciting. After thinking on this matter for awhile I realized that I have constructed my home here not based on the geographical setting, but on the people with whom I interact in my day to day life and on the activities I do during the semester. Since the majority of both those factors are leaving, the entirety of my sense of home reverts to the geographical connection. Home is then the home that is cradled by mountains, whose landscape is fully engraved into my mind.
I crave mountains. Not just any mountains, but the ones that you've seen nearly every day of your life, that you can recognize in any photograph, that are your ever-present guide to knowing where you are and which direction you are going.
I crave arrival in the valley and that unbeatable sense of comfort and existence with mountains on both sides.
And here I was, thinking I had totally gotten over wishing I was elsewhere. I really try to focus on the here and now, but sometimes I slip up. I don't know...in some ways though, this feeling that has arisen and prompted thought about what "home" is a pleasant occurrence, because I've begun to better understand the different ways that "home" can be constructed. I think all homes are probably highly based on the people surrounding you, which is also the case with my Montana home, but I think because of the additional geographical association, I connect them all and when I crave one, it is also the desire for the others. Maybe?
Maybe I'm just tired and am speaking nonsense. Does anybody else think about this kind of stuff this much? Recently I've had a minor obsession about how people construct space, how they create the meanings associated with a space. This curiosity arose from my Appalachian Trail resource and thinking about its construction of being wilderness when it's actually less than a day's drive from civilization almost all of the time. Perhaps understanding how I make my own meaning with different places to create "home" can help me understand how other spaces are constructed.
Or maybe I just think too much and post random stuff into the public domain of the internet. How strange our thoughts and actions are!

Montana Cuisine

2010-12-16T18:14:00.000-07:00

12-16-10

Montana Cuisine

mountains are our subsistence

the mud we play with as children, our gravy

rain and snow, the spice

wind that brings a tantalizing aroma

trees dancing across the hillsides, our garnish

the landscape a beautiful palate of infinite flavors, infinite colors

we take it in without taking it away

drinking the fresh air until we’re under the influence

of Nature

Finding the Human Elements, Constructing a Narrative: A Semester in Review

2010-12-09T20:33:00.001-07:00

And we've come to the end of another broadcast semester--well, not quite. I do still have an opening for our sculpture project tomorrow night, a comprehensive Chinese exam next Thursday, and a take-home sociology exam to do sometime thereabouts. But, in terms of classes, my last classes were today. It's strange that this past week hasn't had that end of semester feel--aside from all the talk outside of classes about it being the end, the classes themselves just seemed like any other day. I wonder this feeling is because the semester has gone by so fact that it seems impossible to be the end already, or if it's because, in spite of the amazing ground we've covered, there is so much further we could go in all my classes.
As I have mentioned in previous semesters, somehow my classes in any given semester seem to work together in creating a larger, cohesive chunk of meaning. They complement each other and synergize to make my educational experience more than the sum of the parts would be alone. It seems for me, and also for other with whom I've discussed these matters, each semester takes on a theme. The past couple weeks I've been thinking back to what the theme of the semester might be. In a discussion with a friend, I was explaining just how the classes and my life events have worked together to create greater meaning, and this friend said, "It seems like you're discovering the human element that exists everywhere." Indeed, I have.
I don't think I can fully explain the details of how all the classes worked together in the time that I currently have, and maybe it wouldn't make sense if you haven't been taking those classes and going through the decisions I've been having to make this semester. However, I'll give a brief overview.
Sculpture was my saving class, my balancing class. It was where I found calmness in any stress that was around. It's therapeutic, you know, to build towers with newspaper, create faces with wire, let the tape come alive as you do what it wants. Indeed, sculpture has been a process of finding and bringing out the human elements of inanimate objects. Of creating meaning with something previously only a commonplace object.
In Teaching Writing, I gained metacognitive skills--I spent much time thinking about thinking, which...well, I guess I've always done that. But by introducing new theories and concepts, this thinking about thinking became more explicit as I could categorize and label things. Also, we addressed how the many factors of people's lives come into play in how they write and how they may approach writing conferences. There was a big emphasis on asking questions and on being mindful of what each person may bring to the table. It's hard to explain the immense effect this class had on me--while many of the students didn't like the class, it changed how I view academic discourse, it changed how I view my role in academic discourse, and it changed how I think about my writing.
In Cultural Interpretations of Medicine, I learned to see medicine in a new light. We covered a huge expansive of information, but what really stood out to me was how "doing medicine differently" and improving medicine seems to involve recognizing the human element in medical interactions. That means treating the person as a whole person, not just treating a body with disease. It means acknowledging that the experience of illness for a person is not just a disease attacking a body, but something that affects that person's whole life. I loved learning about visual illness narratives, and I discovered in this class the horrible tension in academics where you want take something further--dig deeper and deeper, chase after answers that then create more questions--but you find that you can only do just barely more than is required because of time constraints.
The time constraints are certainly a result of the combination of many things, such as when I was working in the dining hall wayyyy too much, but I also kind of view it as the academics getting in the way of the academics. That we can't go as far as we want because of other pressing academic ventures. This idea has made me question the continuation of Chinese--I enjoy learning it, and I don't mind working hard to learn it, but it does prevent me from taking another class and uses up huge chunks of time that could be used to pursue other academic topics further. Everyone seems to think I started Chinese as part of a bigger goal, but to be entirely honest, I started it because I thought it'd be fun and figured if I was going to learn it I should start in my first year.

Speaking of having unknown larger goals, it has been a semester of making large decisions about majors, about future academic plans, and ultimately figuring out preparation for the even more distant future. I can say that there is never enough time to do everything we want to do. I guess that is where decision making comes in. In that process, I used the connection to Arthur Frank's "At the Will of the Body" to comprehend my own need for recognition of the immensity of my decisions. Although I am just one of the millions of people who have made these kind of decisions and one of hundreds that professors have advised, making me "just another case," an everyday occurrence, I needed someone to understand that for me, for my life, it is a significant string of decisions. The pattern of how the many decisions interact is incredibly complex, too, which also shows the importance of looking at the whole person and not just a small part. I think I did pretty well with navigating majors--I came to a decision that I am very happy with, but of course, that hardly solves the complicated issues.

The details are where it gets messy. I read a quote sometime during the semester and wanted to blog about it: "When you’re a little kid, you’re a little bit of everything: artist, scientist, athlete, scholar … sometimes it seems like growing up is the process of giving those things up one by one. I guess we all have one thing we regret giving up, one thing we really miss … that we gave up because we were too lazy or we couldn’t stick it out or because we were afraid"

As I've said, there is never enough time to do everything. There is not enough time to maintain all the wonderful activities I've done throughout my life, so this quote seems true in some ways. You dabble, and then you are expected to discover your focus. Had I had the chance to blog about this quote earlier, I would have probably said that yes, we do have to give up all these things and it makes us less of who we used to be. I would have said that there is more than one thing I regret not continuing. Maybe I would say that now. But the semester has taken me far--although I can usually describe in words better than in speaking, I don't know that I can fully explain in writing the sort of feeling it is. It is...an expansion. An expansion of how the brain works, of how I view the world and myself, of how I understand the importance of human interaction. From my own experience and from learning about others, I feel that understanding the thoughts behind peoples actions, how people experience illness, or disability, or even just life--it is something that can't be ignored. And with this expansion, has come a new series of ideas. These ideas are not totally off-the-wall random, but something that is a result this expansion which brought into view how the many strands of my passions might fit together.

And so, my response to the quote is that growing up isn't necessarily a process of giving up all those different things that you are. It is a process of synthesis. Though I may not do all of the cool things I used to, there is something to be said for the creation of new things. It's not just dabbling in something new, but actually developing something of your own.

There's nothing definitive yet--my plans are still floating around, but every day a new piece is added. Whether that piece is more information, an epiphany, a new opportunity--it all adds up. For once in my life I am feeling these ideas coming together and spurting a new seedling that draws my attention more than anything has before. Earlier in the year, wrote about my concern for being a jack-of-all-trades and master-of-none, and while I reached some resolution in that post, I think I've further solidified my views on the matter. I am not a jack of all trades who is master of none OR master of all. I am maybe not even a master of anything--at least not yet. I, my friends, am a creator of trades. I am a creator of concepts to be researched, projects to be carried out, even careers to be had. I am a creator, and as I figure out how these pieces fit together, I being to construct a narrative. I begin to construct the story line that portrays my experience, my human experience in which everything is connected. I don't have full control over the plot or the characters, but as I go along, I identify where I might want to nudge that plot or what kind of character I need to find.

I've always loved writing--so why not be a writer of my own life? These days, many of questions are no longer "Why ____?" Instead, they are "Why not ___?" Because, really, why not? Don't just dream big dreams of life; write big dreams into life. Looking back over things I've written in the past year and a half, I've seen the ups and the downs, the frustrations and the moments of pure joy. I expect those to continue, but there is a change in my way of thinking the past few weeks. You see, before, I had no idea where I was going or where I wanted to go or how to get anywhere. It's different now, and I have the confidence to play with many plans, knowing that I have a better understanding of what I'm driven to do and how I can get there. Perhaps that time of chaos--the transition to college, the attempts to figure out "what I'm doing with my life" and all that--was necessary. To know that uncertainty in order to be able to begin the process of learning to trust my intuition. To know that uncertainty in order to then know what certainty feels like. Feeling the tug of all passions in all directions, unsure of where to go, so that when a group of vectors decided to pull in the same direction, I can feel that net effect in contrast to the previous feeling.

This semester has been good for me. I've made some big steps. I feel more prepared to take more steps. And I do so with optimism. I'm currently reading Douglas Wood's Paddle Whispers, and although his writing is of a solo canoe journey, I find that I identify with it in terms of my own life.

" My map is, of course, a symbol, a picture of some Terrain. What it is not is the terrain itself. This distinction seems obvious, but it's easy to forget, for I live in a world of symbols--words, pictures, numbers, images, broadcasts--all constituting a sort of map, a description of the landscape of life. But not the landscape itself.

The map I have spread on the tent floor has, in itself, no real value, and no meaning. Like any map, it is of value only insofar as it enables me to experience the real world.

It is this experience I am after on this solitary quest, this adventure of the spirit. But now, alone in the night, gazing at the map and the lakes, rivers, and portages to come, I feel a pang of doubt, and I wonder...Am I ready? For the aloneness, the decisions, the occasional dangers of storm and wind and rapids? Are there answers waiting in the wilderness, or will I merely wander into new thickets of questions?

I know only that it is my journey to make, that ultimately I alone am responsible--for pulling the paddle, for feeling the moist duff or hard granite under my feet, for seeing the sparkle of the water and watching the sun rise over a dark hill, and for walking, silent and alert, down some gently calling forest trail. And I know that if I look and listen closely enough, what I find will be what is there." (25)

"The choosing isn't easy. Taken together, the choices constitute a journey, an interconnected series of lakes and trails and rivers, dark woods and high overlooks. Sometimes the choices seem to stretch out like a long, blue horizon; at other times they are narrowed and constricted into a swift rapids. Here the current is strong, the obstacles many, but once committed, there is no turning back. And even in the rapids, there are still choices, some freedom of movement within the swirling world of foam and rock. Cross-draw, backpaddle, brace! Slide to the right to avoid the sweeper. Ferry across the current and pull an eddy turn for a short rest behind the big boulder. Now, straight throught the standing waves at full bore!

There is always a choice. If only a choice of attitude." (137)

Whatever path I take, I'm in for a wild, awesome ride. Paddle forward, friends.

Time Famine

2010-12-03T06:45:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we had part of an ethnography to read for my class on cultural interpretations of medicine. It was looking at how people in North America use dietary supplements and why they use them. The ethnography allows the researchers to get at the "how" and "why," in contrast to many of the studies we've read that focused primarily on surveys that put people in categories and then the numbers are analyzed. This reading was probably my favorite from this section because it brought the individual and the human into the picture. While there are many reasons people choose to use dietary supplements, such as harm reduction (from living in what is perceived to be a toxic environment or to compensate for other unhealthy behaviors), resistance to illness, to reduce signs of aging, to enhance athletic performance, in following a lifestyle belief, etc.
However, what stuck with me the most was the concept of a "time famine." Many people interviewed said that supplements "helped them in their struggle to stay afloat in a complex and fast-paced modern world" (Nichter & Thomson 2006:187). Using dietary supplements is an attempt to become more flexible in order to meet the demands of work, family, and so on. Supplements become a method for compensating for lack of enough time to get everything done; it is an act of "buying time." The idea is there is no time to be sick. Our era is one of "highly specialized responses to ever-changing demands of work and market environments. Borders are porous and the flow of ideas, people, and materials is intensified...Innovation requires retooling, and the ability to reskill and adapt is highly valued" (Nichter & Thomson 2006:207).
Now, you may think that the rest of this post will be about dietary supplements. Instead, I've chosen to focus on the idea of the time famine in which we currently live. I think "time famine" is a particularly apt description of the life of a college student. We're balancing ourselves between course work, jobs, community service, extracurriculars, and other factors, and the result is most often a community of sleep-deprived students. Sure, we're young, we can stay up until all hours of the morning and still go on with our lives with any debilitating effects (for now), but we also compensate with caffeine and some students compensate by skimming instead of reading an article or something of that sort. I'm one of those "refuse to skim" kind of people, so there is no time saving there, but I can relate to doing what's asked of you, but not being able to go much further or of getting things done pretty close to their deadlines. The late nights I've had this semester to get things done have not been a result of procrastination, but a result of always having so much to do that has to be done earlier that everything ends up being started only a few days before it's due.
You may recall a post I wrote awhile aback when I wrote about getting into the zone of being immersed in untangling the processes behind creating a PTSD diagnosis. In this post, I asked, "Does there come a time in life when things slow down enough that you can latch on to something and follow it until you've dug out all the details? Is there time when you can start a research process, realize that there is a better way and start again?"
Though I didn't have a label for it at the time, I was describing my experiences living in a time famine. The 2 hours of picking apart the forces behind the PTSD diagnosis was like a feast among the famine.
The concept of "time famine" comes to me right as we enter the holiday season, a time that is very centered around feasting. My memories of Thanksgiving and Christmas always involve the huge amounts of food that you not only eat on the day of celebration, but that you eat for the four or five days afterward. Because of the gargantuan amount of not particularly healthy food, I've never cared much for the holiday season (though of course seeing family makes up for it!). Perhaps the feasts would have more meaning if our diets were scarce the rest of the time.
For college students, the holiday season marks a break in the time famine. Last week during Thanksgiving break I experienced such a break. I actually spent most of the break working on projects for classes, but it became a feast of sorts. After living in a schedule where there never seems to be enough time to take things as far as I would like to, I jumped at this chance. For example, instead of just reading the short story I was supposed to analyze once while taking notes, I read it once without stopping, read it a second time writing notes in the margins, and read it a third time while transferring my notes to the computer and adding thought about my thoughts. I started that analysis the Wednesday before Thanksgiving and worked on that paper everyday except Sunday, yet I still ended up staying up very late to finalize it the night before. This time, instead of being up late because of lack of time, I was up late because the incredibly wholesome process I went through in analyzing the story resulted in many more observations and conjectures about the piece that could actually fit in the paper. It became a process of figuring out what was most important to write about and sadly not mentioning some of the awesome details that didn't relate as much to the main point. Even so, when I got done with the paper, I was extremely pleased. I think it was the cause for yesterday's extreme "I love Bowdoin" day. Logically I should have been grumpy yesterday due to my whopping 4 hours of sleep, but I was genuinely perky and cheerful all day. Of course, there were many other reasons to be happy about Bowdoin as well, but normally lack of sleep trumps all, there was something about that in depth process.
Imagine what we could do if we could fix the time famine! As I discussed previously, there are various ways to make more time in one's life, such as reducing extracurriculars or the more system-wide reduction of work load, but such a suggestion is problematic. In sacrificing quantity of coverage on a topic in attempt to reach more depth, I imagine most students would fill that extra time with another passion or more of what they already do, rather than committing it to digging deeper into an academic subject. Although I would love to have more time to dig deeper, I don't even know if I would always utilize that time properly. In the end, there may not be a widespread fix to our time famine, but perhaps that is what makes us appreciate the breaks more. For those breaks during the semester, the time can be seized for engaging more with the academics, if desired. And for the break between semesters to recharge and to explore new areas.
As we progress into the holiday season many will be feasting on the typical holiday fare. I, however, will be feasting on time. Like in the preparation of the feast, there are many ways to use the ingredients. My break is lined up to play with time in a multiple ways. What recipe will you create with your time?