Well, it's midterms here at the University of Idaho. As a graduate student, this means realizing my conceived research schedule is deteriorating and I'm starting to pull my hair out. Maybe this is a result of shock at being in school for the first time in over a year; acting as a teaching/research assistant for 20 hours a week; and trying to balance writing, analysis, and keeping it real in what always ends up being a very short week. Midterms also means cold weather outside, and the shock of discovering it is indeed fall at school and not summer in Yellowstone.
Alas, my hard earned tan, good posture, and muscular bod from summer in Yellowstone are wilting away. As a graduate student, my office is a windowless box in the basement of (ironically) the College of Natural Resources. And, since I'm a graduate student, try as I might, I spend entirely too much time in the office and too little time breathing the fresh fall air. As a result, I am slowly turning into a wraith-student - one of those pale, huchbacked, squinty-eyed, skeptical graduate students.
But, I try to keep it real by busting out work at the coffee shop, doing yoga in the mornings at the Yoga Center, climbing, and going to the gym. It's my attempt to keep my posture from overly-eroding, my muscles from shriveling, and my mind from deteriorating into the matrix of mathematics. I think it's working.
With that, it's back to life at the fast pace in a slow paced town: spssspssspssspssspssspssspssspssspss (aka: statistical analysis).
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Another Iowan
Moscow is a pretty small world. Since it's a small, hip, liberal town in "no where" Idaho, it draws all sorts of people. And all those sorts of people seem to know someone who knew someone who was buddies with someone who decided to go to school here and found out it was a cool place and told someone to come too, who told someone else to come, who spread the word and suggested to someone else to also came to Moscow. Follow that? It's full of people from the same place who may or may not realize they actually know each other when they really do.
While walking around with my friend, Anne, who just moved here from Colorado, we discovered that our friend Caroline is one and the same. Not only that, but Caroline and Anne went to college in Tennessee together. And their moms went to school together too. And now Caroline and Anne both live in Idaho. This small world connection was made even more acute by the fact that Caroline is dating Russ, who is one of Brian's friends from growing up in Rapid City. And Russ' sister, Emily, and I have been friends since I first moved here in 2002. We all knew each other without knowing we knew each other until this fall. To top it all off, Anne and I were both talking about the same Caroline who was sponsoring a party with Russ and Emily that just happened to be the same circus party. Now, even in a town like Moscow, circus parties are pretty rare, but this was quite the circle of coincidences.
Well, today, I was sitting in the coffee shop, and this girl looked at me and said, "I think I know you. You're Nancy, right?" Yes, I am indeed Nancy. Then she said, "We used to work together in Barnes and Noble." Well, that took me back about nine years ago to working in Barnes and Noble Coffee Shop in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, which was then the height of cool. She said she's Suzy, and then I remembered her. And I remembered the fact that at Barnes and Noble, I not only worked with Suzy but I also worked with her brother, Zach, who is still, apparently, friends with my brother, Dan. And what's even weirder is that I have only met one other Iowan in Moscow, but never someone from CEDAR RAPIDS, my home town. What a small world.
And then, later today, I met another Iowan. We, Midwesterners, are flooding the west.
While walking around with my friend, Anne, who just moved here from Colorado, we discovered that our friend Caroline is one and the same. Not only that, but Caroline and Anne went to college in Tennessee together. And their moms went to school together too. And now Caroline and Anne both live in Idaho. This small world connection was made even more acute by the fact that Caroline is dating Russ, who is one of Brian's friends from growing up in Rapid City. And Russ' sister, Emily, and I have been friends since I first moved here in 2002. We all knew each other without knowing we knew each other until this fall. To top it all off, Anne and I were both talking about the same Caroline who was sponsoring a party with Russ and Emily that just happened to be the same circus party. Now, even in a town like Moscow, circus parties are pretty rare, but this was quite the circle of coincidences.
Well, today, I was sitting in the coffee shop, and this girl looked at me and said, "I think I know you. You're Nancy, right?" Yes, I am indeed Nancy. Then she said, "We used to work together in Barnes and Noble." Well, that took me back about nine years ago to working in Barnes and Noble Coffee Shop in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, which was then the height of cool. She said she's Suzy, and then I remembered her. And I remembered the fact that at Barnes and Noble, I not only worked with Suzy but I also worked with her brother, Zach, who is still, apparently, friends with my brother, Dan. And what's even weirder is that I have only met one other Iowan in Moscow, but never someone from CEDAR RAPIDS, my home town. What a small world.
And then, later today, I met another Iowan. We, Midwesterners, are flooding the west.
I Know This Is Good for Me
"Okay, all you do is edge your front leg forward, your back leg backward, until you can put you back leg on the ground. You can use a brick for support. Then, brace your body and lift up. Ta dah! You're in the splits. Your turn, chop chop!" said Erika enthusiastically at our 7:00 am yoga practice.
I edged my body into this awkward leg opener exercise. "Okay, I edge my front leg forward, my back leg backward and ta dah! God, this hurts!" I thought to myself. Edge the legs apart, Nancy! The splits are good for you!
But, man, I've never been one for ballet, and this was one stereotypical ballet move. I imagined myself graceful, elegant, preparing to dance the "Nutcracker," being a piece of elastic, being water in a river. "I am fluid. I am elastic. I can do the splits. I KNOW THIS IS GOOD FOR ME!
"Okay, now do it three times each side at your own pace," called Erika's voice. Was she serious? Three more times on each side!? My legs already felt like they were about to snap off. But, low and behold, after three more times on each side, my legs did feel elastic, rubbery, like water in a river. And, I could do Dog pose with my heels down. Huh, it must have been good for me after all.
I edged my body into this awkward leg opener exercise. "Okay, I edge my front leg forward, my back leg backward and ta dah! God, this hurts!" I thought to myself. Edge the legs apart, Nancy! The splits are good for you!
But, man, I've never been one for ballet, and this was one stereotypical ballet move. I imagined myself graceful, elegant, preparing to dance the "Nutcracker," being a piece of elastic, being water in a river. "I am fluid. I am elastic. I can do the splits. I KNOW THIS IS GOOD FOR ME!
"Okay, now do it three times each side at your own pace," called Erika's voice. Was she serious? Three more times on each side!? My legs already felt like they were about to snap off. But, low and behold, after three more times on each side, my legs did feel elastic, rubbery, like water in a river. And, I could do Dog pose with my heels down. Huh, it must have been good for me after all.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Number 6 Is in the House
We went away for the weekend to see Willie Nelson play in Red Lodge. It was a great show and included a trip across the Beartooth Mountains. When we came back on Saturday, the first report I received about life in Mammoth was that Number 6 was in town. Both Chris and Amanda immediately told me he was there.
Number 6 is a big-old bull elk. Huge. Six point. Massive. He towers over the female elk as he clusters them into harems. This elk has been thrashing trees by Lava Creek as he strips his antlers of velvet and goes ape with hormones. He is the elk of elk.
On Saturday I walked Kelci the dog down through Lower Mammoth. On the return journey we heard the characteristic high pitched bugle of a male elk. The first call this summer. Number 6 was in the house! We walked up to view 50 elk clustered around the Administration Building, about 6 buildings from my home. I dropped Kelci off and rushed to my house as the elk stampede began. The whole herd started migrating towards my house.
Mike and I stood watching them as we waited for Chris to pick us up to watch the Olympics. Finally, I called him and reported the elk status. "Can I still get to your house?" he asked worriedly. "If you come quickly," I responded. He made it just as Number 6 was walking, full rack, straight towards our houses.
We made it safely to watch the Olympics and on return to Mammoth, a thought of the elk mob flickered thorugh my head. The elk were everywhere around the Fort, laying seige to the buildings. Cows, calves, and Number Six were representing! And they were surrounding Kelci the dog's house! How was I to get in?
We drove to the back, where the elk lay 20 feet from the door. Chris drove me to the front, where the screen door was locked with no key. Finally, he took me back around the back, where the light of his headlights illuminated the massive frame and full rack of the bull standing 15 feet from the door. "Good lord, I am not letting you out of this car!" Chris exclaimed before driving to my house and letting me out there. But the dog! I thought.
All fussed out, I went inside, took a shower, and thought about my strategy to return to Kelci's house. What to do, oh, what to do? I heard No. 6 bugle, and it sounded like it was south of the houses. Could luck have turned my direction? Commando style, I crepted from the house and ran to my car, which I drove right to the front door of Kelci the dog's house. No Number 6. Phew! I quickly opened the house door and lept inside, safely avoiding the elk!
All night Number 6 bugled outside. I imagined he was singing, "Looking for some hot stuff, baby, this evening! Looking for some hot stuff, baby, tonight!"
The madness has begun.
Number 6 is a big-old bull elk. Huge. Six point. Massive. He towers over the female elk as he clusters them into harems. This elk has been thrashing trees by Lava Creek as he strips his antlers of velvet and goes ape with hormones. He is the elk of elk.
On Saturday I walked Kelci the dog down through Lower Mammoth. On the return journey we heard the characteristic high pitched bugle of a male elk. The first call this summer. Number 6 was in the house! We walked up to view 50 elk clustered around the Administration Building, about 6 buildings from my home. I dropped Kelci off and rushed to my house as the elk stampede began. The whole herd started migrating towards my house.
Mike and I stood watching them as we waited for Chris to pick us up to watch the Olympics. Finally, I called him and reported the elk status. "Can I still get to your house?" he asked worriedly. "If you come quickly," I responded. He made it just as Number 6 was walking, full rack, straight towards our houses.
We made it safely to watch the Olympics and on return to Mammoth, a thought of the elk mob flickered thorugh my head. The elk were everywhere around the Fort, laying seige to the buildings. Cows, calves, and Number Six were representing! And they were surrounding Kelci the dog's house! How was I to get in?
We drove to the back, where the elk lay 20 feet from the door. Chris drove me to the front, where the screen door was locked with no key. Finally, he took me back around the back, where the light of his headlights illuminated the massive frame and full rack of the bull standing 15 feet from the door. "Good lord, I am not letting you out of this car!" Chris exclaimed before driving to my house and letting me out there. But the dog! I thought.
All fussed out, I went inside, took a shower, and thought about my strategy to return to Kelci's house. What to do, oh, what to do? I heard No. 6 bugle, and it sounded like it was south of the houses. Could luck have turned my direction? Commando style, I crepted from the house and ran to my car, which I drove right to the front door of Kelci the dog's house. No Number 6. Phew! I quickly opened the house door and lept inside, safely avoiding the elk!
All night Number 6 bugled outside. I imagined he was singing, "Looking for some hot stuff, baby, this evening! Looking for some hot stuff, baby, tonight!"
The madness has begun.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Indian Creek Nature Center, Cedar Rapids, Iowa, Flood Recovery Effort. My Birthday Wish
On July 27, 1983, in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, my parents gave birth to me. It was the hottest day of the year.
The summer of my 10th birthday, 1993, Cedar Rapids experienced severe flooding. The Cedar River crested at 19 feet. I remember flood waters level with the highway bridges. Yet, immediately afterwards, people developed the flood plain, destroying the land’s ability to soak in swollen waters.
This year, 2008, I am turning a quarter of a century old. My hometown is flooded. This June, Cedar Rapids, Iowa, experienced the worst flooding in its recorded history. The Cedar River crested at 31 feet, 12 feet higher than in 1993.
Images of homes submerged in water, stories of destroyed belongings, and NPR sound clips about Cedar Rapids have flooded my mind for the last month. Over 25,000 people lost their homes, 1,300 city blocks were inundated, and 9 miles of the city flooded. Despite all that, people are pitching in to help their neighbors survive this trauma.
One of those places is the Indian Creek Nature Center. When I was growing up, the Indian Creek Nature Center, where my dad is director, was my second home. The Nature Center is where I first tapped maple trees and fixed trails, restored wetlands and prairies, and learned about our wild world. It is because of the Nature Center that I am an interpretive ranger in Yellowstone today.
The Nature Center sits on the banks of Indian Creek, which flows into the Cedar River. It has never flooded before. When the river crested, a foot of water flooded the main floor of the Nature Center. After gutting the building and tossing handmade displays, staff estimated damage at $100,000. Yet, despite that figure, they are optimistic, working together to take hold of the opportunity offered by this disaster to improve the Center’s design.
An innovator in sustainability, wild land restoration, and non-profit development, the Indian Creek Nature Center will use this disaster to improve hands-on exhibits for children to explore their natural home. This optimism gives me hope in our resilience. Even through difficulty and strife, disaster and grief, my home town is working to improve itself. Always a leader, the Indian Creek Nature Center is projecting its hope for a better future to the Cedar Rapids community.
I am almost 25 years old. This birthday there is no possession I need or want. There is only one thing I desire: that my family and friends help the Nature Center achieve its goal to continue educating our community about the importance of sustainable development, resource protection, and environmental awareness.
Please, for my birthday gift, make a contribution to the Indian Creek Nature Center, in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, to help them recover from the 2008 floods.
Thank you,
Nancy Patterson
Send checks to:
Indian Creek Nature Center
6664 Otis Road
Cedar Rapids, Iowa, 52403
(319) 364-0664 (phone is still out due to flood)
http://www.indiancreeknaturecenter.org/
For images of the flood:
The Gazette Newspaper: http://www.gazetteonline.com/
Creepy Sleepy Media: http://creepysleepy.com/
Talk Radio News Service: http://talkradionews.com/tag/flood/
The summer of my 10th birthday, 1993, Cedar Rapids experienced severe flooding. The Cedar River crested at 19 feet. I remember flood waters level with the highway bridges. Yet, immediately afterwards, people developed the flood plain, destroying the land’s ability to soak in swollen waters.
This year, 2008, I am turning a quarter of a century old. My hometown is flooded. This June, Cedar Rapids, Iowa, experienced the worst flooding in its recorded history. The Cedar River crested at 31 feet, 12 feet higher than in 1993.
Images of homes submerged in water, stories of destroyed belongings, and NPR sound clips about Cedar Rapids have flooded my mind for the last month. Over 25,000 people lost their homes, 1,300 city blocks were inundated, and 9 miles of the city flooded. Despite all that, people are pitching in to help their neighbors survive this trauma.
One of those places is the Indian Creek Nature Center. When I was growing up, the Indian Creek Nature Center, where my dad is director, was my second home. The Nature Center is where I first tapped maple trees and fixed trails, restored wetlands and prairies, and learned about our wild world. It is because of the Nature Center that I am an interpretive ranger in Yellowstone today.
The Nature Center sits on the banks of Indian Creek, which flows into the Cedar River. It has never flooded before. When the river crested, a foot of water flooded the main floor of the Nature Center. After gutting the building and tossing handmade displays, staff estimated damage at $100,000. Yet, despite that figure, they are optimistic, working together to take hold of the opportunity offered by this disaster to improve the Center’s design.
An innovator in sustainability, wild land restoration, and non-profit development, the Indian Creek Nature Center will use this disaster to improve hands-on exhibits for children to explore their natural home. This optimism gives me hope in our resilience. Even through difficulty and strife, disaster and grief, my home town is working to improve itself. Always a leader, the Indian Creek Nature Center is projecting its hope for a better future to the Cedar Rapids community.
I am almost 25 years old. This birthday there is no possession I need or want. There is only one thing I desire: that my family and friends help the Nature Center achieve its goal to continue educating our community about the importance of sustainable development, resource protection, and environmental awareness.
Please, for my birthday gift, make a contribution to the Indian Creek Nature Center, in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, to help them recover from the 2008 floods.
Thank you,
Nancy Patterson
Send checks to:
Indian Creek Nature Center
6664 Otis Road
Cedar Rapids, Iowa, 52403
(319) 364-0664 (phone is still out due to flood)
http://www.indiancreeknaturecenter.org/
For images of the flood:
The Gazette Newspaper: http://www.gazetteonline.com/
Creepy Sleepy Media: http://creepysleepy.com/
Talk Radio News Service: http://talkradionews.com/tag/flood/
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Junior Ranger Question
Today I gave a twenty minute talk about Early Explorers of Yellowstone. The talk starts with information on Native Americans, then fur trappers, and then expeditions into the park. I conclude with a little environmental talk and tell everyone they're explorers too. It normally makes people feel good.
During the trapper section, I talk about how mountain men were looking for beaver pelts. The reason for this was that men in Europe and in the Eastern part of the USA liked to wear beaver felt hats. A kid's hand shot in the air.
I also talked about Jim Bridger, the tall-telling mountain man. He told a story about Yellowstone that goes like this:
Out there in Yellowstone Country there's a place called Petrified Tree. Jim Bridger swears the place was cursed by a Crow shaman. Well, he came upon it one day and noticed it seemed very strange. The grass crunched under his feet as he walked. The air was still and all was silent. He noticed a bird up in the tree and he said, "I'm going to shoot that bird." So, he pulled out his shot gun and shot the bird. It cracked in two. He thought, "Well, that's odd. I'm going to chop down this here tree." So, he pulled out his axe and started to chop the tree. His axe blade broke! He looked around and noticed the tree was made of stone! The grass was stone. The bird was stone. Everything was stone! And at night the air was so heavy it felt like obsidian pressing down upon him. No one could believe this story it was so tall! How could a place be so magnificent!? But, Jim Bridger's stories helped open America's eyes to the wonders of Yellowstone.
At the end of this another kid's hand shot in the air. I waved at both to hang on until the end of the presentation. And at the end of the presentation, these Junior Rangers had some astounding questions. Here goes:
Jr Ranger I: "Is Indiana Jones' hat made out of a beaver pelt?"
Me: "It's a leather hat, probably made from a cow."
Jr. Ranger II: "Is the petrified tree frozen?"
Me: "It's made of stone. It's a stone tree. Everything was stone."
Jr. Ranger III: "Yeah, but, in that story, wouldn't the bird have flown away faster than it could have been turned to stone?"
Me: "Jim Bridger said the place was cursed by a Crow Shaman that had turned everything into stone. So, everything was stone when he came upon it."
Jr Ranger III: "Yeah, but it would have flown away."
Jr Ranger II: "I think it's all frozen."
Me: "I'll be happy to sign Jr. Ranger papers now."
Apparently that story really left an impact on the kids. Not the explorers or wonder or theme, just Jim Bridger. Just goes to show, he really did open people's eyes to the wonders of Yellowstone.
During the trapper section, I talk about how mountain men were looking for beaver pelts. The reason for this was that men in Europe and in the Eastern part of the USA liked to wear beaver felt hats. A kid's hand shot in the air.
I also talked about Jim Bridger, the tall-telling mountain man. He told a story about Yellowstone that goes like this:
Out there in Yellowstone Country there's a place called Petrified Tree. Jim Bridger swears the place was cursed by a Crow shaman. Well, he came upon it one day and noticed it seemed very strange. The grass crunched under his feet as he walked. The air was still and all was silent. He noticed a bird up in the tree and he said, "I'm going to shoot that bird." So, he pulled out his shot gun and shot the bird. It cracked in two. He thought, "Well, that's odd. I'm going to chop down this here tree." So, he pulled out his axe and started to chop the tree. His axe blade broke! He looked around and noticed the tree was made of stone! The grass was stone. The bird was stone. Everything was stone! And at night the air was so heavy it felt like obsidian pressing down upon him. No one could believe this story it was so tall! How could a place be so magnificent!? But, Jim Bridger's stories helped open America's eyes to the wonders of Yellowstone.
At the end of this another kid's hand shot in the air. I waved at both to hang on until the end of the presentation. And at the end of the presentation, these Junior Rangers had some astounding questions. Here goes:
Jr Ranger I: "Is Indiana Jones' hat made out of a beaver pelt?"
Me: "It's a leather hat, probably made from a cow."
Jr. Ranger II: "Is the petrified tree frozen?"
Me: "It's made of stone. It's a stone tree. Everything was stone."
Jr. Ranger III: "Yeah, but, in that story, wouldn't the bird have flown away faster than it could have been turned to stone?"
Me: "Jim Bridger said the place was cursed by a Crow Shaman that had turned everything into stone. So, everything was stone when he came upon it."
Jr Ranger III: "Yeah, but it would have flown away."
Jr Ranger II: "I think it's all frozen."
Me: "I'll be happy to sign Jr. Ranger papers now."
Apparently that story really left an impact on the kids. Not the explorers or wonder or theme, just Jim Bridger. Just goes to show, he really did open people's eyes to the wonders of Yellowstone.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Getting Charged By Elk
It started as a normal, beautiful early June day. I walked happily out my door and headed towards work, proud to be sporting my snappy staw ranger hat. Briskly I made my way down Officer's Row to the Visitor Center.
A body caught my eye. Almost unseen underneath the tall coniferous tree, lay an elk. A female elk. An elk that had recently calved. A psychotic, manic, female elk mama. There is hardly anything worse than coming upon a psychotic, manic, female elk mama. Believe me, underneath that tree lay trouble.
Slowly I inched towards it, maintaining my distance while speaking calmly to it, "it's okay Mama Elk. I just want to walk to the Visitor Center, that's it, Mama Elk. Nothing else." While still over 75 feet away from her, I saw her ears go back in nasty alarm. It's already horsy mouth elongated as a feral snarl seemed ready to explode from her face. She labored to her feet, virtually foaming at the mouth. Her long legs propelled into high speed action.
"Oh, shit!" I exclaimed (in uniform) as I took off at full speed (in boots, might I add) around the limestone house of the Superintendant to get away from the manic female. She came after me like a speeding bullet. Images of crasing hooves went dancing through my head. Imminent death and destruction surrounded me. What a way to go down under the hooves of a crazy female elk.
I careened around the corner of the building and chanced a look behind. No sign of the manic elk. Was I safe? My pace didn't slacken as I reached the Chief Ranger's house. Much to my embarassment, Rick was standing outside (also in full uniform with an orange safety vest on) watching my sprint. He looked at me and said, "I saw that elk bolt and then you run around the corner. Was she attacking you?" "Yes," I replied. He commented, "Nothing like getting your blood running in the morning."
A body caught my eye. Almost unseen underneath the tall coniferous tree, lay an elk. A female elk. An elk that had recently calved. A psychotic, manic, female elk mama. There is hardly anything worse than coming upon a psychotic, manic, female elk mama. Believe me, underneath that tree lay trouble.
Slowly I inched towards it, maintaining my distance while speaking calmly to it, "it's okay Mama Elk. I just want to walk to the Visitor Center, that's it, Mama Elk. Nothing else." While still over 75 feet away from her, I saw her ears go back in nasty alarm. It's already horsy mouth elongated as a feral snarl seemed ready to explode from her face. She labored to her feet, virtually foaming at the mouth. Her long legs propelled into high speed action.
"Oh, shit!" I exclaimed (in uniform) as I took off at full speed (in boots, might I add) around the limestone house of the Superintendant to get away from the manic female. She came after me like a speeding bullet. Images of crasing hooves went dancing through my head. Imminent death and destruction surrounded me. What a way to go down under the hooves of a crazy female elk.
I careened around the corner of the building and chanced a look behind. No sign of the manic elk. Was I safe? My pace didn't slacken as I reached the Chief Ranger's house. Much to my embarassment, Rick was standing outside (also in full uniform with an orange safety vest on) watching my sprint. He looked at me and said, "I saw that elk bolt and then you run around the corner. Was she attacking you?" "Yes," I replied. He commented, "Nothing like getting your blood running in the morning."
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