Ad~van~tures in the Southwestern Springtime

Apr 18

The best adVantures are bumpy ones. They include boots full of burrs, fearsome food poisoning, and broken hearts that cannot mend (places called Pie Town that have no pies.) These mishaps act as a foil to victories like bloody elk jawbones, moonless milky ways, and many fine birds. All of my favorite adVantures feature obstacles to overcome and problems to solve– something is accomplished, lessons are learned, skills are gained and stories are forged. Without the bumps, the story falls flat as a tire on a Santa Fe highway.
On this journey, I wanted to watch wildlife professionals work. As graduation looms, I need to know which way to cast my nets. After a heck of a lot of jobs, I know what sort of work I’m looking for: I want a grown-up summer camp job. I want to be innovative, creative, and useful. I’d prefer to be independent in my work, yet social throughout the day. I need variety in my routine and an aspect of seasonality. Above all, I require something of an adventure, as often as possible.

After filling the hole left by The Great Pie Town Tragedy with gas station Moon Pies, we vanned along to the Sandhill Crane Festival where I once watched ten thousand of these dog-sized dinosaurs descend on the marsh at dusk, their cacophonous calls echoed eerily between the San Juan and the Sangre de Cristo mountain ranges and I tell you what, it was chilling. Their sublime display inspires festival-goers to consider conservation and their charisma sparks conversations that may attract attention to the ecosystems they depend on as they migrate along the Rio Grande.

This valley is one of my favorite spots in Colorado. I’ve already had adventures here (pursued by a porcupine, a flat tire of my own, “bucket rain”) and I certainly wouldn’t mind making more memories. I’ll add it to the “maybe move here” list.

I’ve been thinking that it’s time to leave Colorado though, at least for a spell, but it’s hard to imagine living somewhere else without visiting the place and people watching a while. There are things I think I’d like about the desert (weird wildlife, moody landscapes, dramatic storms) and things I would not like (everything is sharp and usually very hot). I’m suited to small town life as long as the small town is full of good people, and I wonder if an artsy place like Patagonia or somewhere outside Santa Fe might be a nice place to spend a few years. Ideally, I could shack up in a utopia like the Southwestern Research Station where life and work look a lot like they did at summer camp. I wonder if they allow dogs.

Perhaps the most appealing sort of work would involve getting my hands dirty, at least now and again, but ideally more often than not. May I someday make money rummaging for remains, fishing for frogs, or sizing up snakes.

Some folks seem to find a niche. Reptiles, bugs, plants, birds, conservation… they are passionate about a topic and they dive deep. I used to think I lacked focus— my resume looks kinda wishy-washy, I thought. But another way to say wishy washy is multidisciplinary background and I’m beginning to believe that can be a strength. I’m happiest when I feel useful, and I feel like I might be most useful if I’m open to more taxa, more causes, and more places.

Before this little journey I was in danger of discouragment. Classes have been absolutely wonderful, and I’ve felt so confident in my decision to go to school that I forgot to focus on what the heck comes next. Maybe I was even avoiding the subject (I was). Sometimes I worry I’ll make excuses (which I like to call “reasons”) not to jump into this field: “I have a bad knee!” “I am quite old.” “I cannot keep up with the mountain~vibes youths!” But hiking straight up hills, making new friends, and hacking roots out of the ground while getting food poisioned to death reminded me that I am pretty flexible and pretty darn resilient. I’m reminded that I made it through six beautifully hectic seasons of summer camp just fine (mostly fine.)

I’m so nostalgic for the work I did at camp; I miss wrangling goats and fixing everything (everything!) with duct tape. I miss chasing bears away from picnics and taking pictures of people doing what they love. I miss feeling useful and I miss driving vans down dusty roads towards adventure. Up until now I felt like hoping for fulfillment like that was asking too much, but I bet some of the folks we met might feel these things too.

When I got home from driving through that last sleepless night, I ate three waffles and fell asleep face down on the sofa, shoes on, mouth open, but I felt more enthusiastic about this field, more optimistic about my future, and more reassured that my starry-eyed goals—whatever they turn out to be— might just lead me to the lifestyle I’m looking for.