Point Reyes National Seashore

I spent the last three days out in Point Reyes with my co-worker Hazel. She'd never been backpacking before, and I was glad to introduce her to my favorite pasttime. She's a bit older than me, and enlightened me a good deal on things like work, writing, good books, and the foster care system. Otherwise, we spent a lot of time in our own mental spaces.

I guess when you only go backpacking with one other person, the experience is much more personal than communal. I feel like we're trained to fear silence in a conversation, that it's the end of the world when we run out of sensible things say. But in some settings, living to that standard only distracts from fully absorbing the surrounding beauty. Sometimes, the sensory, rather than the social experience is more important. It's nice to have someone there to share that with, but ultimately, the thoughts we have in reaction to that beauty are a deeply personal experience.

So here are some images of things that left me in rapture, the experience of which I can't ever fully share.


Morning dew.


Succulents.


Sea cliffs.

Richmond Field Station

Today I got to go out into the field and play Restoration Ecologist. Tromping through fields of invasive grasses, with steno notepad and camera in hand, I had a great time learning to identify native and invasive plant species.

I can't believe how much I miss working outside; I'd forgotten the power of hands-on learning. This is going to be a fun summer.

Juncus phaeocephalus in bloom.

Blue-eyed grass

Killdeer egg.

The City.

Day 60

Today I was exploring a part of campus known as Observatory Hill, where the ruins of a century-old observatory remain (a few bricks from the foundation and some boards that are now a beehive are all that's left). It's nice there, full of shade and oak trees and tranquility. I must have spent a good fifteen or twenty minutes during my break just watching the birds and squirrels going about their business in the oak grove. There was a really high density of life in there. The sensory of all the activity and commotion was almost overwhelming at times. There was the jay at the top of the canopy working on its nest. There was a woodpecker that stayed to watch. There was the chirping of chicks in the nest. There were the robins rooting around in the grass for grubby things to eat, and occasionally they'd squabble over territory. One bird would make an alarm call, all the birds would go quiet, and an accipiter (1) would pass overhead. There were the cute, little, round, sparrow/finch-type birds looking for seeds. There were the tree squirrels doing acrobatics in the branches. And then there were all the birds chasing each other around because it is spring and that is what birds do when it is spring.

I found a nice spot to take a nap and I woke to the sound of the Campanile's bells tolling on the hour.

Koyaanisqatsi

I just watched Koyaanisqatsi, and I must say that I couldn't stop once I started. Not only because the pause button wasn't working, but also because I was transfixed to the screen at times. I've seen clips/parodies of this film before, but it was something else entirely to watch the entire thing.

I've never noticed this before, but the movie lulled me into what I could describe as a drugged state. My consciousness was very much altered as I stared/listened in rapture at a screen of pure audiovisual stimulus to the point of almost feeling overwhelmed.

Watch Koyaanisqatsi on google video (no ads, low resolution).

Watch Koyaanisqatsi on youtube (annoying ads completely contrary to meaning of film, high resolution).

You might not want to watch this if it's a weekday night and you have work. But, if like me, you are procrastinating on a weekend and feel a little bit off color (under the weather), you should have the 86 minutes needed to be transported into a world where everything is timelapse, and the only sounds are Philip Glass's orchestration.