The Silver Flute: Valley of the Shadow

"Don't you build your life around a man, honey." I can't count the number of times some motherly figure told me that, but it wasn't enough. I still did it. I was faced with two choices the month before graduation.

Journal VI: 9.3.2022

"When my SIP applications all got rejected, I scrambled to find something to do with myself over the summer. Pam pointed me to a job as a field tech in her lab working with the grad student she and the other Dr P share. Mom saw a listing for an invasive species intern at the national wildlife refuge close to home. I applied to both, got accepted to both, and had to choose. I made a detailed list comparing each, and I pondered over it for days."

What tipped the scale was proximity to a certain Boy. True, the pay was better with USFWS, it was a longer job, and it came with a certificate that's supposed to help you get a federal job, but none of that would have swayed me in the end of he had been in Huntington. I told Pam my choice-- I could tell she was disappointed-- but she agreed it was the smart thing for me to do (not for the Boy, obviously, for the actual practical things.) How benevolent that the universe makes all stupid decisions work out in the end. It worked out, but I suffered plenty.

6.30.2022

"Aurora had already called to me, and I came to her-- to the mountains whom I have promised my bones, to the schoolyard empty of my classmates, to a house too big for my mother to keep up with, to a fat, arthritic dog who should probably be put down, to the church that mocks me with its flashing red sign."

First, I finally caught COVID the week before I was supposed to start. My new boss told me I could come to work after day 5 of testing positive with a mask. I didn't feel up to it, but I went all-in anyway. I didn't want to look weak-- I could tell Dawn was a badass, and her new biotech wasn't about to disappoint her. Fatigue like I've never felt before kicked my ass that first month, and it didn't let up. I dragged myself and my gear up and down mountains day and night. I was already woefully unprepared for the reality of working in land management: long, grueling hours when the weather was good, busy work on floating desks in the grey office when it wasn't. Long COVID, and the fact that I never gave myself time to recover, made everything worse.

The fatigue didn't go away. Every day of manual labor drained me, and it never got easier.

The Boy pretended I didn't exist. I texted first, and he ended it with a dry response. I texted again anyway, and he left me on read. I wasn't worth a one-word reply on a dying app. When I saw him in public, he dove into conversation with someone else or walked the other direction. I knew where he lived, worked, worshipped-- I could have confronted him-- I wanted to-- but I didn't. It was humiliating enough to be ghosted in a town too small to avoid regular run-ins. My sister found him on a dating app, looking for attention from any girl but me, apparently.

So much for the promise of waiting for me to come back home.

The rejection didn't pair well with physical exhaustion. I did exactly what was asked of me at work, nothing more. I drove home, checked for ticks in the shower, and crawled into bed with some batch meal to watch Little House on the Prairie until I fell asleep. I hated all of the choices I'd made to get there: a trailer with four roommates forty minutes from my hometown, paid for by a manual labor job. All of my childhood friends had moved away, become hateful Trump supporters, or been caught up with a new marriage and house. What was I even doing?

Mix herbicide. Load herbicide. Wear herbicide. Spray herbicide. Clean up after herbicide. Bitch at the undergrad boys I worked with to wash their damn hands after handling herbicide.

It was my most miserable summer yet. I kept careful count of the days until my term ended.

6.30.2022

"I don't know who I am or what I want. Only that I want my own house and garden in Appalachia and at least one cat. All the other cards can fall where they may."

By August, I was ready to switch career fields completely. I Googled library science programs during a staff meeting one week. Maybe I could use my herbarium skills as an archivist, or work as a children's librarian. I have a bachelor's degree and a pulse, so I should be qualified to teach if I have to. Anything but this.

A miracle happened in the fall: I liked my job. It turns out I don't hate field biology. I hate treating invasive species. By September, all the summer interns were gone and everything was much quieter. I got to focus on biology surveys that are actually enjoyable: salamander surveys, woodcock tracking, saw whet owl mist netting, water quality, "checking invasive treatment effectiveness" (hiking.) It was like setting out on a little quest every day with my map, my lunch in my backpack, and my new Salomon boots. (I think 1/3 of my summer misery was due to being near trench foot every time it rained-- my old boots weren't waterproof.)

I spent more time in the living room with my coworkers and discovered they were my friends. "I'm so glad I found out you're funny," said one after six months of living together. We sat in on forest management planning meetings with partner organizations, and I learned so much about biology. The passion was back. I loved my field again.

The refuge had extra money at the end of the year, and my term got extended. I was happy where I was.

Journal VII: 10.3.2022

"My room here is finally beginning to feel like my own... a good thing, indeed, because my term has been extended through February. I will be here, cozy and close to home, through the heart of my favorite season, granted three more months to come up with a plan [for what to do next]."

10.18.2022

"Good things come in threes: the first snow, the fact that we're allowed to foster kittens at the bunkhouse now, and...?"