Showing posts with label forestry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label forestry. Show all posts
22 February 2010
Day 53
Today was a good day. I met a man named Trinidad. He was about the color and girth of a tree trunk. He introduced himself as a landscape architect working for the Forest Service. He inquired if I was a Forestry major. I think it was my boots that were a dead give-away.
04 February 2010
Day 35
Just got back from the Forestry Club Bean Feed, that most sacred of monthly rituals. The high priestesses and priests of Forestry descend from on high, bearing pots of chili and bottles of honeydew, that the peasantry might rejoice in the passage of another month, and herald the beginning of another. The hot beans and a cold brew were a welcome change from the nightly marathon homework sessions.
Last night I made my way through the first hundred pages of John Steinbeck's East of Eden, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I like the wandering passages that aren't in a hurry to go anywhere in particular.
Last night I made my way through the first hundred pages of John Steinbeck's East of Eden, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I like the wandering passages that aren't in a hurry to go anywhere in particular.
05 December 2009
The Out-of-Doors
I'm pretty happy that I've been getting to go outside more these days. There were times earlier in the semester when I was worried that I might start to suffer from nature deficit disorder if I spent one more glorious afternoon in the library.
But luckily, I just got back from my first ever Christmas tree cut with the Cal Forestry Club. The experience was a very new (and fun) one. We left Friday afternoon and spent the night at Blodgett, one of UC Berkeley's four research forests in the Sierras. Anyway, there were cabins for us (about 20) to spend the night in. Highlights: eating homemade pizza (and vegan carrot soup), winning at Apples to Apples, and singing the Cal drinking song (among others) with a room full of foresters.
The next day (today), I got to be a lumberjack (or the closest I'll ever get). I got up at dawn, put on my longjohns and flannel, and ate some flapjacks before heading out to the timeberlot to cut down some white fir. I'm surprised that the whole process didn't make a beard spontaneously sprout out of my face. I'm rubbing my chin right now just to make sure. All told, we filled a U-Haul with 214 trees, anywhere from 3-20 feet tall.
It was some good fun.
Unrelated (except perhaps tangentially), two weeks before the tree cut, I had another outdoor adventure, except it was through my work. I never thought I'd ever get paid to go backpacking, but sometimes you find yourself living the dream (which is a bit of a shame, since reality doesn't quite always measure up to one's fantasies).
I got this opportunity because I was lucky enough to work with the Junior Rangers (JRs) in the month of November. The way it works at my job as an Interpretive Student Aide in Tilden Park is that we get our work assignments on a monthly basis, so our work schedules have a good deal of flexibility (and unpredictability). The JR program is for kids aged 9-13, with additional spots for high schoolers, who bear the auspicious title of "JR Aide."
Most months, the JRs go on an overnight camping/backpacking trip. To be honest, it was the lure of backpacking that drew me in; kids be damned. In comparison to JRs, my Boy Scout troop was a well-oiled military machine. Maybe it was the saluting.
But I digress. There's a point I want to get to. The most surreal moment of the trip came at night, as the campfire was still going strong in the large structure we were all staying inside of, and everyone was asleep in their bags. It was only 11pm, but it had been dark since 5. Surveying the room, I got to see a cross section of childhood, from age 9 to 16. By the light of the fire, I could barely make out the lumps scattered across the cement floor, so mostly I stared at the fire, thinking.
I thought about the day, how it had gone, all the JRs I had met, the impressions I had of them. Collin never stop talking about liopleuridons, these badass aquatic reptiles from the Jurassic. I thought about the teenagers flirting with each other off in the corner, their heads clumped, their sleeping bags radiating out.
As I looked around the room, I had the feeling as if I could put myself into each person's head. There were the two best buddies, side by side, who earlier were talking about the relative merits of their favorite computer games. There was the boy who admitted to the nighttime anxiety he often felt as he fell asleep. There were the awkward teens with braces whose sleeping bags rustled together in the hush of the fire. I felt like I was experiencing, for the first time, that moment from the point of view of everyone in the room simultaneously. Maybe it's just that I'm getting older. The next morning, they guessed that I was 20.
But luckily, I just got back from my first ever Christmas tree cut with the Cal Forestry Club. The experience was a very new (and fun) one. We left Friday afternoon and spent the night at Blodgett, one of UC Berkeley's four research forests in the Sierras. Anyway, there were cabins for us (about 20) to spend the night in. Highlights: eating homemade pizza (and vegan carrot soup), winning at Apples to Apples, and singing the Cal drinking song (among others) with a room full of foresters.
The next day (today), I got to be a lumberjack (or the closest I'll ever get). I got up at dawn, put on my longjohns and flannel, and ate some flapjacks before heading out to the timeberlot to cut down some white fir. I'm surprised that the whole process didn't make a beard spontaneously sprout out of my face. I'm rubbing my chin right now just to make sure. All told, we filled a U-Haul with 214 trees, anywhere from 3-20 feet tall.
It was some good fun.
Unrelated (except perhaps tangentially), two weeks before the tree cut, I had another outdoor adventure, except it was through my work. I never thought I'd ever get paid to go backpacking, but sometimes you find yourself living the dream (which is a bit of a shame, since reality doesn't quite always measure up to one's fantasies).
I got this opportunity because I was lucky enough to work with the Junior Rangers (JRs) in the month of November. The way it works at my job as an Interpretive Student Aide in Tilden Park is that we get our work assignments on a monthly basis, so our work schedules have a good deal of flexibility (and unpredictability). The JR program is for kids aged 9-13, with additional spots for high schoolers, who bear the auspicious title of "JR Aide."
Most months, the JRs go on an overnight camping/backpacking trip. To be honest, it was the lure of backpacking that drew me in; kids be damned. In comparison to JRs, my Boy Scout troop was a well-oiled military machine. Maybe it was the saluting.
But I digress. There's a point I want to get to. The most surreal moment of the trip came at night, as the campfire was still going strong in the large structure we were all staying inside of, and everyone was asleep in their bags. It was only 11pm, but it had been dark since 5. Surveying the room, I got to see a cross section of childhood, from age 9 to 16. By the light of the fire, I could barely make out the lumps scattered across the cement floor, so mostly I stared at the fire, thinking.
I thought about the day, how it had gone, all the JRs I had met, the impressions I had of them. Collin never stop talking about liopleuridons, these badass aquatic reptiles from the Jurassic. I thought about the teenagers flirting with each other off in the corner, their heads clumped, their sleeping bags radiating out.
As I looked around the room, I had the feeling as if I could put myself into each person's head. There were the two best buddies, side by side, who earlier were talking about the relative merits of their favorite computer games. There was the boy who admitted to the nighttime anxiety he often felt as he fell asleep. There were the awkward teens with braces whose sleeping bags rustled together in the hush of the fire. I felt like I was experiencing, for the first time, that moment from the point of view of everyone in the room simultaneously. Maybe it's just that I'm getting older. The next morning, they guessed that I was 20.
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