This past weekend, I had the very exciting opportunity to participate in an art festival for the first time, the Corvallis Fall Festival! When I moved to Corvallis to begin graduate school at OSU two year's past, and attended the Corvallis Fall Festival, I began to hope that I could participate in a future year. An art festival is something that has hovered in my aspirations for years, though I never imagined it could come to fruition. It was always a lofty goal that seemed out of reach. Growing up in Minneapolis, ever since I was very young I would attend the Uptown Art Fair each year and marvel at the amazing artwork. So it seemed impossible that my art could ever compare! Or that I would ever be accepted, having never done a show before.

I have such huge gratitude to the Corvallis Fall Festival, and especially to its directors, for allowing me this opportunity! They helped me so much. It was truly a life-long goal of mine, and they were so supportive of me. As a young and aspiring artist, it is such a huge step to have had this experience and so I will always remain grateful. Thank you so much!!

I also have huge gratitude to my aunt Diane, who flew all the way from Minnesota out to Oregon to be my helper. She was really amazing support to me. She is by far one of my biggest fans, and has given me endless love and support over the years. I'd also like to thank my Master's advisor, who has always been so enthusiastic and supportive of my art. As well as all the friends who stopped by!

As this was my very first experience doing an art festival, I was quite nervous! Especially about setting up a booth! It takes a lot of work! And many weeks of preparation and fervid painting. Trying to figure out the panels, getting enough art produced, displaying it properly, setting up the tent... it all seemed so intimidating! But fortunately, it all came together. I was so pleased.

I had really hoped that I might sell a few paintings. Unfortunately, it was not to be, though I did sell some postcard packets highlighting my paintings. However, it was so amazing to hear the kind words and compliments that folks gave. It was quite surreal that I was in the place of those artists I've spent my life admiring!! That my work seemed to stand up! My favorite moments were when people would drift by, look up, and say "wow" or "look at that!" "beautiful!". I remember one woman stopping and exclaiming wow! Many people drifted by, or looked in. Not as many people came up to look closely at my paintings as I might have wished -- but a few did. And that is always one of the biggest compliments one can give me. Most of my life and childhood, I would go up to look closely at art, wondering how it was painting, inspired by it, enjoying the painting. A couple of kids and young people did this with my art! That made me very happy.

Another favorite moment was in the morning, just before the second day of the festival was about to start. An amazing watercolor artist, whose work I have admired both years I've visited the Fall Festival, came up to my booth and chatted with me, and complimented my work! He complimented my style, told me that it is very unique, and complimented the paintings. Wow! Wow! I was so thrilled!! It was so kind of him.

Although preparing for the Fall Festival and the festival weekend itself took a LOT of work and energy, I learned a lot. I learned how to perhaps better set up my booth in the future if I do other events, and got some lovely feedback from festival-goers and artists, as well as many kind friends who came to see my booth. I want to thank the Corvallis Fall Festival, and particularly its directors (especially its executive director and assistant director, who are both such fantastic people!!!). Thank you for taking a chance on me! I hope I get to do another art festival, or another art show, in the future!

A couple more little sketches from my Flora of the Pacific Northwest class. The best way to learn something in detail is to tediously replicate it. Gotta love botanizing! : )

In my most recent posts, I have spoken mostly in a candid tone of frustration, hurt, sadness, and disappointment. As I said in my previous post, please: forgive me my gloom. Those are some of the most primary feelings on my mind at present. I hope that changes. I am working hard to change it. It is not what I like to be known for. But it will take time, and my own pace. I feel that, in the past, I have been able to move through things in a way that I cannot do right now. This is partly because things have built up for me, my bitterness and frustration and jealously even. And anger.

Now, because of that, I wanted to take a few moments to share some thoughts on these feelings, and explore them.

Some updates (May, 2016): Fear not, I am improving and my pluck is slowly returning. But, because I believe expressions of frustration have great value, I will leave the original post intact to reflect upon. . .

I have long considered a PhD. In fact, as I was searching for a graduate program prior to my Master's (a process that in and of itself was difficult), you may be aware that I considered the possibility of going directly into my PhD instead of doing a Master's. Ultimately, due to the combination of the funding situation and much thought and uncertainty, benefits and disadvantages either way, I decided to start with my Master's. I wonder often if this was the right choice, as I realized shortly into my Master's that I did feel well-prepared and ready to have been working at a PhD level. Nonetheless, I mostly feel good about the option of choosing my Master's, and that it has been useful. At the very least it has shown me beyond any doubt that I feel and likely am very prepared for my PhD. Though I do think, wistfully sometimes, how I would be half way through my PhD at this point had I chosen that route from the start here at OSU...... This summer, I thought a number of times about the caliber of my research, for example. Well, hopefully it was of a high caliber. Who knows. I have my doubts, of course, but the fact that I had designed most aspects of it, taught myself most of the plant physiology techniques, and managed things alone is certainly encouraging. Contemplating this in and of itself made me realize that, yes, I had likely been ready for my PhD already. But, my Master's degree has allowed me to sharpen myself, and has also allowed me to take some useful (and some not-so-useful) courses, and to work on my skills. That is all valuable. So it is.

In any case, my point is that a PhD has been a goal of mine for a long time, always just on the horizon. Something I've been chasing. In December, my applications were very precious to me even if they were few. I very deeply regret not being able to apply to a broader range of programs -- a regret you will perhaps understand more pointedly as you read -- but had so little time that I really do find it miraculous that I got anything organized at all. Regardless, I chose carefully. I knew there was much risk in building up my aspirations so, for each time I have done so in the past I have inevitably faced painful, stinging road-blocks or rejections. Yet, I have been told by many of my high-level of qualification, the depth of my experiences, and my value as a student. (All very kind words, to be sure, for which I am very honored! Yet, these accolades rarely seem to bear fruit, regrettably, and I am also very hesitant to believe them at this point). So I knew it would be a gamble of how much disappointment I could handle, against the chance of achieving my aspirations. Regardless, I felt some level of value in myself and my worth and my skill. I have worked very hard, and tried to do my best in all that I can. Likewise, I felt some level of confidence that I could be accepted, and I applied to an ambitious program with this confidence. A confidence, which, I truly do not feel is inaccurate or misplaced in myself. Even if I prefer humbleness, I will not deny at this point that I think I am very highly-qualified in my field, and I am proud of the hard work and diligence that has contributed to this. (One would think that confidence is a good thing. In reality, I have found, it mostly just makes things feel more disappointing. Again and again.)

Well, as I have learned, I might have guarded myself a little better against such predictable disappointment.

It has been some time since I have written or posted of my thoughts. In truth, graduate school has been very consuming these past months, perhaps no surprise. My research over the summer took quite a bit out of me, as I pushed myself very hard, and in many respects I am still seeking ways to recover. The summer was filled with learning and growth, to be sure, but often of the form that comes from pulling yourself doggedly, persistently, exhaustingly through a difficult situation. In the end, I think, I was able to complete some very in depth, very interesting research -- and in many ways, certainly, that has been very rewarding. I am not un-proud of my accomplishments, nor would I diminish that growth and opportunity. See, for example, how happy I look (to the left) measuring "fluorescence" after teaching myself how to assemble the machine, and teaching myself how to take said measurements. Certainly, there were exciting aspects of my summer. Perhaps, as I continue the daunting task of sifting through my results, I will write more on what I learned, what I found, and explain more of the tree physiology and science aspects of it. In fact, I am sure I will write such a post, because despite the rather down-beat tone of what I will express in this post, there are many exciting things to share about the summer and my beautiful, darling seedlings, and what they taught me. (And, as I realize now, I have not yet fully explained my research and my experiment, and just what I was doing. So I shall save the long story for another time, because in my plant-loving opinion, it is very interesting! Short story: I was researching drought tolerance and drought acclimation of Douglas-fir and loblolly pine in my experiment, as described in my post from back in June. I used plant physiology techniques, many of which I taught myself or which I, thankfully, had used in past experiences and was able to brush up on my own. Which came in handy, because I was pretty darn independent for my experiment.)

      However, I often cannot fully mask my grimace when I think over the past months. I found that I faced frustration, perceived unfairness, and often faced what, to me, seemed to a string of entirely needless challenges, (but also due to the somewhat self-induced scope of my research experiment). I sometimes questioned whether I was being a little misused. That sounds rather harsh, and I do not mean it to be quite so. On the spectrum of unfairness, certainly, I have been spared graduate school situations that could be far worse and I have no illusions about that. I have grown greatly from my time in graduate school, and value many of my experiences, truly and deeply. This past summer was a part of that growth. Nonetheless, I began to increasingly question the lack of support I encountered this summer (which occurred for a number of reasons, most of them totally unintentionally). As I noted, it was all very independent: from designing the experiment, to carrying it out, I feel rather confident in saying it was a lot of my own ambitions. In fact, that is perhaps a double-edged sword: despite whatever frustrations I mean to express, I do genuinely feel pride in the fact that, as a Master's student, I was given the chance to carry out my own predominantly self-directed research, and I do feel huge gratitude for that opportunity, to be in charge of myself and so much of my investigation. My advisor puts a lot of confidence in my abilities, and I value that immensely (she is often very encouraging). However, my research escalated during July, August, and September into endless 80 to 90 hour work weeks, during which I had quite literally not a single day fully off from my experiment and was never away from the greenhouse where my experiment was housed. I felt, a number of times, to be mistreated. I felt guilty if I did not work constantly, and guilted as well on multiple occasions. I became exhausted. I felt a tiredness seep into my bones stronger then almost ever before. I was drained to an extent that I have rarely, if ever, experienced both physically and mentally. Now, I would say right here that I never expected my research to be easy, nor for graduate school to be easy. The stories I hear from other graduate students past and present indicate that I am not at all alone in feeling stretched and overworked. And I would say that I put in my time, that I worked hard. Very hard. I have always worked hard. Yet this was something beyond what even I could, truly, handle without the loss of my happiness and health. Not so much because of the work, but because of the endlessness, the stress, the anxiety, the uncertainty, the needless disappointments, the lack of any moment to catch my breath, the sometimes strained relationship with my professor because of both of our stress, how other experiments seemed (to me,  in my biased state) to cause such unnecessary added stress, and the number of times I had to figure things out so entirely on my own, relying on my limited though diligent wit and my deep capacity for gritting my teeth and striding onward. The number of times I had to pretend everything was okay, that I was doing fine, and to carry on without respite, because the alternative was giving up. The alternative was to make moot all of what I had already worked so hard for to that point. It felt very much like an endless losing battle, with no real hope for victory, but darn it, I was going to try for a draw at least.

But the truth ran often through my mind: my experiment required far more (wo)manpower than myself alone, and if it were not for the help and sympathy of my sister (who volunteered quite a few times when I reached desperate straits) I would not have been able to accomplish very much in depth, even despite some help from a few student workers who were largely shared with a different experiment. To make up for that lack of (wo)manpower, I strained myself -- to take multiple measurements at once, staying late into the evening until there was no more light to work, and then going home and taking more measurements. I slept very little, and when I did it was never restful and always plagued by thoughts of measurements, my mind cycling through my anxieties and seemingly endless list of "to do's." I felt anger, also, because I knew well what was being sacrificed in terms of the quality of what my experiment could have been in better situations, anger at myself for not being able to do more, anger at others, anger at the situation. I felt jaded, resentful, uncertain. I felt trapped too, and though my advisor is in many respects very kind, nonetheless it felt to me that they often alternated between hard-to-read, sparse, and guilting, and then (when my exhaustion became clear) sporadically sympathetic but generally un-alleviating. Moreover, some of the complexity that was causing me such duress was my own, and I knew it, though I knew also that it should be feasible. And my advisor was grappling with many stresses herself. (Perhaps the seedlings were having their revenge upon us, for stressing them out with our studies!) Finally and nearly too late I gained at least one student worker to help me specifically, but the endlessness did not seem to diminish. And such tiredness I felt. In that exhaustion, I am sure, my thoughts regarding the situation and that time were and perhaps are still often biased by these feelings. I also dislike to complain, or to sound ungrateful, and I do not mean to be so in sharing these thoughts. I recognize that these are, largely, perhaps, trivial issues and I deeply value the opportunities I have had, but I also recognize the effect these past months have had on me, which has not been wholly trivial. I have tried hard, in the past, to remain positive and cheerful and to hide my discontent. To make the best of things, if I can. This time, it got the better of me, and I can hear it in my words even when I try to hide it. So, better to be honest about it, I think.   

      The work for my experiment continued on into the fall, and this, in the end, was in greatest part due to my own stubbornness to do things well and to do things right and to honor the experiment, and the work, as well as my own high expectations and the expectations I perceived of me. I wanted to do the best I could. The greenhouse portion of my experiment, thankfully, blessedly, ended in mid-October, at which point I was finally able to learn a new technique with clear instruction, and I proceeded with measurements in the lab. Yet, I had stepped from full-throttle, 80-90 hour weeks directly into classes, continuing still with measurements and long days. I had never had a chance to catch my breath, as though the finish to a marathon had been moved beyond sight into the distance, and all water with it. There was no denying the way this drained me. Unlike in the past, where I have been able to pick myself up and stride onward with some resilience after facing difficulty, I found that I could barely pull myself forward. I did not have the energy anymore, nor, perhaps, the will. I had not had chance to recover, and now I felt damaged. Like a tire, punctured too many times and now un-patchable, such that any movement whatsoever came at great (sometimes insurmountable) physical and mental effort. As the summer and fall had progressed, I had also gotten to run less and less, rarely got to be outdoors, rarely got to do anything that was not research or stress. It came to the point that I was lucky to run once a week, an opportunity that was no longer enjoyable but exhausting and anxious and discouraging, as my body was worn down, and losing fitness. If you know me, I am someone who generally runs at least a handful of days a week, so running once or not at all in a week is always a clear sign that I am not doing well. So that certainly affected me. I felt so worn, and disappointed, and unhealthy, and torn between obligations and work and stress -- all the while wanting nothing more than to disappear. I wanted everyone and everything to leave. me. alone., but of course that never seemed to happen, and I continued to be worn away until I felt a despondent shell of myself.

 At the same time, I was able to take a class that, possibly more than anything else, saved me. It may sound silly, but as someone outdoorsy, and someone who loves (and studies!) trees, the chance to take a course in tree-climbing as part of my graduate education was something absolutely joyous for me. Courses such as this remind me of some of the benefits of a forestry program. When I had learned about this course shortly after beginning my Master's, I had made it a goal to take it. As it is only offered in fall terms, this was my chance, and tiredness and lack of time aside, I was not going to lose that chance. It was challenging, to be sure, given my limited remaining mental and physical capacities, combined with a memory that has really never been especially strong (making knot memorization for the class tricky!). Some of the gear and set up did not come naturally to me, but my stubbornness aided me again, and my unrelenting stubbornness alone seems to have stayed with me in great force and more intact than my other capacities. I took a particular liking to the climbing techniques that used minimal technology, and though these techniques were slower and required more muscling than grace on my part, they were rewarding. If you are not familiar with tree-climbing, it is often used by arborists, and often involves ropes (similar to rock-climbing set ups) and depending on the technique usually uses some form of "ascender" which allows the climber to ascend with minimal physical effort. (And there are also spur climbing techniques) Even so, I found myself drawn most of the time towards the traditional techniques techniques, using foot locks or body thrusts to move up the rope and up the trunk of the tree. Although I was very un-confident in myself, and frequently felt embarrassed for the slowness of my learning abilities (slow to begin with in most cases, but absolutely hampered during that time out of my consuming stress). Yet, I made it a strategy to be amusing and persistent, if I could not be talented. I greatly appreciated the enthusiastic spirit of the instructors, and their willingness to provide climbing opportunities. I got to join them for a tree-job on a weekend, creating snags out of very tall Douglas-fir trees, during which time I learned how to use a chainsaw and a hand saw. Snags are trees that are left standing, usually with limbs removed to some degree, in order to encourage birds and wildlife to inhabit it. They are sometimes created for this purpose by landowners or left in plantation stands, but also occur naturally after fires, storms, or the natural death of a tree that remains upright. Myself and one of my friends/fellow students got to spur climb and limb one of these large trees with handsaws. It was almost comical, because I suspect we were sent up the tree to keep us occupied and largely forgotten about as we climbed ever higher, limbing the tree, quite far up! It is a good memory, perched by our boots with my friend, looking out into the expansive view of the forest and valley below and joking (with some nervousness, of course) about our spurs kicking out (i.e. slipping) and how we had inadvertently created many perfect, spear-like cut branches upon which we should try our best not to impale ourselves. Spur climbing, by the way, is not commonly done anymore except in cases where the tree is to be removed or is dead. This is because the spurs, attached to the heals of your boots, stab into the trunk of the tree an inch or so and this can cause wounds in the tree that could result in infection or disease. It was more prevalent in the past, especially for felling and timber operations. That said, it is pretty fun, and I was glad for the chance to practice it. It was one of the techniques that I really enjoyed, because it is relatively simple, and muscle helps you out.

      This course was very liberating, in so many ways, despite the challenge and frequent uncertainty or lack of confidence that came with it. I had been trapped inside a greenhouse all summer. I had not gotten to be outdoors at all, where my heart is. This had been so draining for me, so disheartening, so frustrating. I had even grown a sickly pale as the summer had passed, since I was rarely in natural sunlight. (My greenhouse was very dim, as I realized pointedly, since I was measuring light levels all summer! So I know exactly how dim it was, at intervals of 5 minutes everyday through the duration  of the summer!) If you know me, you will know how important it is for me to be outdoors. So through this course, I got to be outdoors. Indeed, I had to be outdoors! We got to climb a 90 or so meter Doug-fir, all the way to the tip-top on one particular day. I have, of course, never in my life gotten to be held by such high-up branches of a tree. Looking out upon the forest, clinging to the crown of this old tree, up above the canopy. As one of my fellow graduate students, who climbs such trees for her research, has told me before: through climbing you must get to know the tree, to form a relationship with it, to trust it, to learn its form. I will admit, I held very tightly to that tree! I am not too frightened by heights, except when I am responsible for keeping myself from falling or when switching ropes, but I was not about to let go of that branch. On the climb up, I had to slip and scramble in between tight gaps between branches, and so it was scrambling and weaving my way down, covered in resin and needles. Although the course ended with the start of winter, I am very much hoping to, at some point, get my own tree-climbing ropes and gear and perfect at least one of the techniques. The course has given me a good base, and if I keep working, maybe one day I can get certified. Or, perhaps even better, incorporate tree climbing into my future work or research. Oh, you need a measurement from the top of the tree? No problem! I'll just climb up there!

     With December and the winter came "winter break." During this time, I was fortunate to be able to come home to Minnesota, to see my family and my little brother, my aunt Didi, celebrate my 26th birthday, and to see some very good friends. Also during December, I would like to note, I was finally able to visit one of my oldest friends, Sara, who is living in New York City. She has lived out there for a number of years now, and although we have been friends since elementary school, I had not seen her in possibly a couple years! I had begun to feel this separation increasingly, and to worry, and to miss her. I decided, spuriously and perhaps financially irresponsibly, that to heck with it I would go to New York and visit her. Sara came to visit me back when I was in Japan, and that was one of the last times we had spent much time together. I had never yet been to visit her in New York in return, and I felt it was time. I am no fan of big cities, and have never had a desire to see one of the world's largest and busiest. But if Sara was out there, and staying out there so long, then gosh-darn-it I would go there to see her. Deciding to make such a trip definitely, definitely did not help alleviate my stress levels or to help me in my endeavor to catch up on seemingly endless work, but I a deeply glad that I did it. There are reasons, I think, Sara and I have been friends for so long and I value that friendship very profoundly. Old friends seem to slip into old ways very easily and naturally, and it feels so comfortable to be around a dear friend. I have missed her, and we have both probably changed, but my fears that we had wholly drifted were abated. I very much cherished the handful of days I got to spend with her, and was also very grateful to her for showing me patiently around New York. I was just happy to get to see her. And, as it turns out, New York City isn't so intimidating. (Central Park is very nice, and has some very lovely trees, especially the sycamores.) I also felt very fortunate to spend time during December with another of my oldest friends, Carolyn, who I have known since middle school, and her beautiful family. To pay my respects to Wendy, her mom. And to sled (and smack into a tree) with two fellow St. Olaf alums, Maddie and Lisa, to have lunch with Lisa and her wonderful boyfriend Stuart, and to visit a dear track team mate, Gina. So these were all experiences I was very grateful for.

     However, I never seemed to find "rest" during December, and although it was allegedly "winter break" it never felt like a "break" from anything. Just rushing from one thing to another. This is, partly, because December is the time that graduate school applications are due. I had a lot of work to catch up on, and the first part of December was a whirlwind of anxiousness and application writing. Throughout the fall, in addition to my remaining measurements, my courses, and a grant proposal application, I had been trying hard to sort out the possibilities for my future -- for my PhD. I had wanted to consider more programs than I was able to, but could only muster time to research a few, and to prepare those applications. I feel, looking back, that it is somewhat of a miracle I was able to summon this energy at all, and to submit anything anywhere. Nonetheless, I feel the regret keenly, that I was not able to look into more programs -- programs that, as I continue to learn more about options (which takes time),  seem as though they might have been great fits for me.  Even so, I summoned all the energy I could, I gathered all the focus I could muster, all the persistence and hard work I could, into sculpting these applications. I poured my hopes, my aspirations, my ambition, all of this into my applications. Recently, I faced some rather significant discouragement in this regard, which I will perhaps write about in the next post.

       At the moment, I am reminding myself to take a deep breath, and be grateful. It is becoming, sometimes, easier and my mind and body are becoming, sometimes, happier which hopefully will continue to be the case. That mentality, of taking deep breaths, of seeking gratitude, has oftentimes helped to sustain me in the past, when I have encountered difficulty or struggled with myself. A form of centering myself. These days, the combination of many forces, present and over the years -- my fatigue and tiredness from the summer and graduate school, long-pent up issues related to my family and their various situations, as well as family relationships in general, emotional struggles, sadnesses, regrets, grief, guilts, anxiety, depression -- finally got the better of me. Finally, likely due to my research frustrations and anxieties and ceaseless grind wearing me down at last, it became such that I could not re-center myself for a time with any methods. I felt, towards the end of the fall and into the winter, feelings of such strong depression and anxiety that I, nearly, could not overcome. For one of the first times, I was fully swept away, and grappled to regain control. I generally keep such things very secret, because I never wish to worry or burden others. Yet, if I am honest, what I imagine must be some form of depression, and likely some form of anxiety, has haunted me for some time, likely since high school, and probably stemming from a number of sources. I remember being asked this question by a classmate once in high school, to which I responded that no, I just have a sad looking face but I'm fine! In college, my coach once asked me if I had considered that I may be depressed. I always denied it, to myself as well as to others. I also imagine that the truth has been more apparent to others than I might wish, but it may also be a surprise to some. I try very, very hard to mask things, to mask struggle or unhappiness or discontent. I suppose I probably fail at that fairly often.

     Generally, however,  I have been able to keep myself under control, or to keep such feelings at bay and keep going. To move forward, and often to find genuine happiness. Usually, such unhappiness or discontent or sadness, whatever feeling it is, is rather small, and only a minor hamperment.  Something that is there, in the back of my mind due to any combination of past and/or present issues, but, if I am in a good situation or kept motivated, it shrinks or is pushed away and is less troublesome or almost forgotten. Sometimes in my life, it has been rather strong, and sometimes I did not recognize what it likely is. During some periods of my life, maybe, it has even abated altogether. It is only in the past couple years that I ever let myself consider that it might be the case, that maybe that would explain things. It almost felt to be a relief, to make that admission to myself.  But over the past 6 months it has been especially strong, those feelings depression and anxiety, and I have little doubt my graduate school situation played a part. I found that I lacked all will, that I wanted desperately to disappear. To be gone. In the past, when I have become especially overwhelmed with these feelings, I have been able to move forward with deep breaths. To remember the immense gift of being alive, of breathing, of a beating heart, the feel of the wind, or earth, or the wonder of the stars, and the trees, and the birds. Reasons for sticking around and reasons to smile or to be happy are many, and I could encourage myself in these small ways. That was generally enough. So, I have usually been able to find focus, and move forwards, to summon a passion for things that are good in this world, or to dedicate myself to some goal or ambition. This time, it seemed to hurt, which has only ever happened once or twice before and never to such a prolonged degree. To hang on me heavily and unrelentingly. I could not pull myself out of it. I found that my brain was very affected as well -- I could hardly think, many days, and could not accomplish very much without great effort. I worked hard to hide this, but it more often than not felt as though I was drifting about, and fumbling to grasp what I could.

     It has taken quite a bit more work than usual, this time, but somehow, things seem to be improving. Some of that weight has lifted. I think that, as the days grow longer, this has helped. I am also quite affected by the sun and by daylight, and the winter in the Pacific Northwest becomes very grey and rainy. Beautiful, in many ways (especially the lichens this year, which were breathtaking). But it can be oppressive sometimes, too. Especially when sunshine is something that helps to center you, and you aren't especially fond of cold raindrops, and are worn out. Deep focus and thought and quiet perseverance have also helped, as well as moving on from disappointments and letting go of some expectations. Additionally, I am a very introverted person, and I have allowed myself to protect my solitude more so than I might have in the past, growing to recognize how vital solitude is to help me recharge myself. Time alone, in peace and calm, is often most restful and healing to me. I yearn for it, throughout the week. Yearn for the chance to be on my own, for my thoughts to be, briefly, my own, and to be relieved of the stress of functioning among others. Active things like running or hiking are also generally healing for me, though they take quite a bit of motivation to do sometimes. And these activities can sometimes be more healing with a friend, and sometimes more healing on my own. At present, my brain still feels as though it is working on empty, or that it has turned off and I'm searching for the right switch to get it functioning again. Even so, it is improving. With the spring arriving quickly here in Oregon, and the daffodils and crocuses poking up, the buds bursting like emeralds on spindly branches, and the rain breaking more and more with occasional sun, I am also finding encouragement and energy. Oregon, as I am experiencing more and more, is a spectacularly beautiful place. It has made its way into my heart, the scent of its air, the fascinating complexities of its forests. It is incredible, and I feel very fortunate to be here.

     Beyond the stress of my research and academic life, I am also very closely involved in social justice issues here in my department and College of Forestry. After taking on many of these duties during the Fall term, at a time when perhaps I was too stretched, I had been especially pulled between obligations. I felt as though there was no time at all for myself, for my own healing, and that is not a wise thing to neglect. It will get you, in the end. At some point, I had to admit to at least one other that I was feeling broken and I could not be relied upon as I might wish. This admission hurt. I do not like letting others down. But it had to be. Since then, I have been working to build myself up again. I have found immense drive through some of my recent activities, coordinating meetings with the college regarding cultural inclusion and the tribes of Oregon in regards to the design of the future forestry building here at Oregon State. This is something profoundly important to me, and an opportunity that I am deeply grateful to be involved in, and a topic about which I have many thoughts. Those thoughts may be for a later date to share. Needless to say, however, the will to do what is right is something that often helps to push me onward. I am also hoping to coordinate, possibly, a speaker series for the next term as well, and feel great excitement over those possibilities.

     So, overall, during the past few months, I have certainly felt challenged (not necessarily in ways that I would like) but continue to grow. I am looking forward to the summer, and hoping to graduate at the end of spring. Wish me luck, in that! I will need it. I have lots and lots of data to sort through and analyze, and a thesis to write. I also await the time when I decide what to do next, regarding my education. That decision is fast approaching. We shall see.

Recently, I wrote about my love of running and being active, and shared some of my positive running experiences. There is another aspect of running, and perhaps generally being a woman, that I did not share at that time and would like to talk about briefly here. It is not so positive. That is catcalling (and worse things), cars, and men. Or, more to the point: men shouting from cars. The summer is particularly plagued by this disgusting, entitled behavior.

Even if you don't run, perhaps you can relate -- really, the issue at hand in this case is not so much running, as what one frequently encounters as a woman who happens to be running. If you can't relate, it is probably good information for you to know. I bring it up spurred by a string of recent and particularly frustrating incidents.

To begin, as you can gather from previous writing, running (and being active) is something I do for myself. To summarize: I like to challenge myself. I enjoy working to become stronger. I'm no all-star, but running is an outlet for me to channel that energy and that ambition, to stay healthy, and to feel strong. Sometimes, it is a method to find peace, and calm. It can of course be discouraging as well, or difficult, but so it is with most endeavors. You keep trying, and pushing yourself to improve. Regardless, it is something that I (usually) enjoy. That I do for me. A way for me to think, to feel good, to use my body in a way that is enjoyable for me. I think many people have similar hobbies or endeavors or activities that we enjoy for similar reasons.

In the summer, it can get hot. It feels nice to wear shorts and a tank top or t-shirt (or sometimes, if it is especially hot and I feel brave, a sports bra and shorts). The touch of warm air, of sunshine, of soft wind on your skin as you run feels good. It can feel liberating, even. When I wear these clothes, typical of someone exercising, it is physically comfortable. It is conducive to a comfortable run. It keeps me cool, it is relaxing, it helps me in the activity at hand. Sometimes, it helps me to celebrate the strength I am working towards, and to utilize what I have achieved. Generally, I run better when I wear clothes meant for exercise. Men run in shorts and shirtless all the time, and I can't quite do that, but I can come close and it usually feels nice.

It can also be terrifying.

Sometimes, I will be running along, feeling great -- feeling smooth, feeling strong, loving the feel of the air, reflecting, going over my own thoughts, and feeling good. Other times, I feel tired, but have pushed myself out the door and am trying my best -- I don't feel smooth, I feel self-conscious, maybe uncomfortable, out of shape, anxious, etc so I am extra vulnerable. But let us start with the first scenario. Perhaps it is sunny out, and the air is just right. The sky is beautiful, there is a slight breeze. I feel fresh, I feel happy, and I am enjoying myself. My steps are light. The leaves on the trees are floating gently, and the sunshine is glancing off of them prettily. Most likely, I have been working all day and this is my chance for a break. I am free.

Then, suddenly, the rush of a large vehicle. Swoosh.

"Suck my dick!"

As quick as that, they are gone. A truck of young men with the windows rolled down.

And my confidence? My peace? My feeling of safety? My hard-won happiness and focus? They are gone too, all in an instant, the turn of a dime, a split second. But the anger, the upset, the sadness, the fear, and frustration, the humiliation and embarrassment, the doubt -- they remain. A whole flood of emotions remain. Depending on the situation, depending on the incident, those emotions can be brushed off. Women usually have to brush off a lot. For me, though, incidents like the one I described are hard to shake off. At best, I can gather myself and salvage the run. I can re-focus and try to forget it. But at worst, depending on what is said or how, or how many times it happens during a run, I can think of nothing else. My run is consumed by that flood of negative and hurt emotions. I get home, not feeling relaxed and happy, but confused. Angry. Furious. Trapped. Defeated. Embarrassed. Used. Unsafe. Sometimes, sick to my stomach, even.

This is not a one-time incident. This is a recurring incident. A weekly, sometimes daily, incident. Myself and many other women hear all sorts of things. There are many other articles by frustrated women who have had similar experiences. Personally, I have gotten a range of catcalls and yells in my time as a runner, and as a woman in general. Sometimes, it is slightly more innocuous, though still upsetting, Things like: whistles, "yeah!", "wooh!", honks, all manner of noise, etc. Sometimes an unwelcome "compliment" or two. And I get that some men and some women consider these to be flattering. But these things, really, are meant to say: yeah, I like what I see. They are meant to say: you as a woman (read: object) are pleasing to me, and I am privileged enough to say so, and I am taking my enjoyment of the sight of you. That is what is at the heart of those statements. Sometimes, I can see it, in their eyes on me, and am disgusted.

Sometimes, I suppose, these meaning are subconscious -- although I can only guess, not being a man and never having shouted such things -- and sometimes I am sure the goal is very intentional. And the "compliments"? I want to say in response: who are you, stranger, man on the street, to tell me what is or is not good about my body? To tell me to "work it off"? What right do you have to make that judgement? To speak that judgement? What right do you have to my body? "None!" I would say. . . but then I remember. Then I wake up. In this world, they have every right. That is the right that these men have been allowed. That is the right that our society, and that many societies, continue to grant men. Especially young men, who are rarely punished. Boys will be boys, after all. And they're just complimenting you! Why are you so worked up! People do not always understand why many women do not appreciate such things. (And sure, some women might not mind or might be flattered, but unless they literally ask you to catcall them, you have no business doing it.)

However, very often what is shouted is even more vicious. It is more calculated. It is meant to say: I see you, feeling strong and feeling free, but I am going to put you in your place. That falls into a different category to me. There is no room for doubt in my mind that men who shout things like "suck my dick", "fat floppy tits"(shouted at me when I was 16, and running next to my dad), "fat lady", are doing so out of malicious intent. The whistlers? The "compliments"? These are disgusting, yes, but at the very least there is the slim and perhaps naive chance that such men are unaware of the hurtfulness, the wrongness in their "harmless" or "fun" behavior and that perhaps, if informed, they would change. Unlikely, but possible. Many of them, after all, have been taught, have been indoctrinated to behave that way, to treat women that way. Which does not excuse them -- they could, you know, wake up and think for themselves and have some god damn respect -- but the system in the moment serves them and surrounds them. (Others are just scum, who refuse to learn, to change, to become better people).

But those who yell such things as "suck my dick"? They know exactly what they are doing. I have a deep-seated vehemence for them.

The more I run, the more these incidents occur. It is impossible to avoid. Men are everywhere, both good men and bad men. Scum. And unfortunately, good and bad is not always such an easy line to draw. There are "good" men who have engrained sexist mentalities, too. (Same goes for women, but they don't usually have the same privilege) Furthermore, this has happened to me everywhere. It has happened to me in my hometown of Minneapolis, it has happened to me where I am now in a decent sized town in Oregon, in urban areas, and in rural areas, in Australia, in Japan. Ask a woman, and I would bet she has similar stories.

Here in the U.S., I have found that it is often worse when there are cars involved. Why? My guess is because many of these men are cowards, and they seize the chance as they see it. There is 0 risk of consequence for them as they zoom past, even less than when standing on the street. They can startle me, they can shout what they want, and be on their way. Men on the street may throw a "compliment", but when they are in a car they become even more daring. Roads and cars are everywhere, too. Unavoidable. I do try to avoid busy areas -- and areas where there are likely to be young men, the most frequent offenders -- but that is not my responsibility. I don't like the abrasive noise of traffic anyways, so I naturally try to avoid trafficy roads if I can. Nonetheless, there are some stretches that are simply unavoidable. Roads/streets connect places, and sidewalks usually follow them. Even bike trails often follow roads, or vice versa. Unless I can get onto the forest trails -- which isn't always feasible during the week, and certainly something rarely readily accessible for most running women -- I am stuck with the risk of a car driving past the sidewalk I am on, or driving past as I am desperately attempting to make that stretch of road/street to a trail without incident. Even in the forest, I am not totally safe though I far prefer it. (And there are other fears to plague you, because you are alone, and you don't know who you might meet, and you've been taught your whole life to be careful. I'm not talking about bears or wolves or cougars. I would gladly meet these animals. But humans? Men? They are more deserving of your apprehension, and statistically far more likely to require it.)

The fear stays with you. The sound of a speeding car coming up along side me makes me immediately nervous. I tense. I brace myself for some shout. Then, if there is nothing, I feel a wave of relief. Until the next vehicle. This fear may sound like an overreaction. It is not. It is not unfounded. It is based on experience, for one, but it is also based on reality. I have been fortunate thus far in my life that I have not had to face a major incident. I have been fortunate in my life thus far that these men have left and continued fast on their way. That they have never turned back. That they have never parked and waited for me down the way. That they have (rarely) tried to hit me or to run me off the road. This is the reality that is attached to my anxiety over catcalls and shouts. (If you don't believe me, go look up some data about sexual assault of women. I'm far from a paranoid person, but I am not blind to fact.)

In truth, it is part of what leads me to become apprehensive every time I see a man. Every time I encounter a man when I am on my own, when I run (or walk, for that matter) past a man on the sidewalk or wherever I happen to be. I have a moment of hesitation, of measurement. It is the same reason I am cautious about where I go, and what time. It is the same reason I, unlike most men, cannot go for an early morning run or a nighttime run without that fear stored in the back of my mind, and so avoid those times if I can. Without clenching my fist if I see someone along the way, and I am alone. Without holding my keys sharp side up when it is dark out, and I am unsure. It is for my self-preservation. And as I have stated, this is me speaking as someone who has been very lucky not to have experienced anything severe.

If you are a man reading this, you might not comprehend. (In which case, I might suggest this article) Very often, in conversation with men about trails or places to visit or travel, a woman might ask: "is it safe?" I have asked this. I have asked male acquaintances, male relatives, male friends. Usually, the man will not understand the question. Of course it is safe -- (for a man). You might not even be aware that women do these things out of concern for their safety. They do. And they are smart for doing it, although they should not have to. It is us women who are taught to be careful, that our safety is our own responsibility, and that it is our fault if we misstep and encounter trouble. It is the same reason my dad tells me he wishes I would not run close to evening, the same reason he says he wishes I would not run in the woods on my own. I cannot blame him for worrying, and it is because he loves me that he worries. Still, I feel resentment. Why don't you tell men to leave me alone? Why don't you tell men that a woman running, a woman walking, a woman going about her life should be respected  and left alone. Why should I be restricted? (I read a great article by a young woman about this not long ago, actually). And he does not seem to realize that, frankly, the woods appear the far safer option to me.

A man can run without his shirt, he can run comfortably and enjoy the sun, and not be verbally attacked. Not be ogled. He can be large or out-of-shape, or fit and muscled. Yet, no matter what I wear, there are incidents. No matter what physical shape you are in as a woman, you are likely to encounter shouts or yells or catcalls from men. If you are a larger woman, these can be particularly derisive in nature and I can only imagine the hurt in those situations. You are out working hard and should not have to deal with that! As a woman, I have been bombarded with images and marketing and cultural/societal norms that seem to have it as their goal to cause low self-esteem, and through running I try to find strength and counter that. For me, while I still have my share of confidence issues about my body, an active life style has resulted in a more-or-less conventionally fit looking body (and fitness or contentment should always be the goal, not a size or number fyi). It's not perfect, it is not modelesque. It's pretty average. But it is strong, it is healthy, and for that I am always grateful to it. I love it. I fight with it and for it, I work with it and for it, and it takes me through life. It is me!

But it is very troublesome to counter those negative and oppressive societal norms and pressures, and for me when I hear a man shout things like "suck my dick" or call me fat, I have to work extra hard to recover, to reboot my confidence. These men are meaningless in my life, true, yet their maliciousness is a constant reminder of the world as it is nonetheless. Of their very real threat. Of the world that women continue to live in, where they are devalued, and put down, controlled, and derided no matter what they do and especially if they are happy or proud of themselves, or do something for themselves. Or do something well. Or do something poorly. Where they often have to fight very hard to feel comfort, or to feel free. When these men shout at me, whether they realize it or not (and I suspect that they do, and it is a power trip for them), they are trying to take away the freedom that I find in running. The freedom that I find in becoming strong. I have to evaluate in that moment, am I safe? They make me feel humiliated (when I have nothing to be humiliated for!). They make me feel shame for no reason but their own pleasure.

That hard work that is a part of running, or a part of any endeavor, it is not for them. It is for me, or for those that I choose. But society doesn't tell them that. It tells them that what they find attractive is theirs. What they don't find attractive, they can insult. What they don't like, they can quash and control or ignore or mock. If you are a woman and you seem too confident or too certain of your own worth as a human being, they can swoop in and try to snatch that away and make sure you stay where you should. And of course if you are wearing shorts or showing your stomach, or are visible at all, it is for attention.

So these experiences can make me feel trapped and restricted. It makes me seriously consider, on a hot day, if running in a tank top and shorts is worth the risk that day of being shouted at. Or god forbid, a sports bra and shorts. Or any day I go outside in clothes (and I can't go outside without them, so I am told). Or running in certain areas or on certain routes. And will I be safe? Do I feel like I can take it that day? Do I feel like I can handle being shouted at, and brush it off again? Sometimes I can, sometimes I can't, depending on how tough I am that day.

Or should I just deal with the sweat and the heat instead and wear a t-shirt?  But wearing a t-shirt does not stop them, I say -- I have been wearing all sorts of different clothes when it happens, or when I see it happen, or when it happens to friends, or when other women encounter similar incidents. So why even try? What's the point? I can't do anything. It doesn't matter what I do. I am made to feel powerless.

And then I become angry, and think why should I not be free to do this? Why should I not be able to feel comfortable and enjoy running as I want to? I am not hurting anyone! I am just enjoying my body, and enjoying the weather, and enjoying being alive in a way that suits me. So I tell myself to do it. Go ahead, enjoy your run. Be free. Then a voice in my mind reminds me, as I tie my shoes.... Remember what happened last time? Remember? Do you want that? I hesitate. I put something on and cover up. And then I still get shouted at.

Obviously, there are bigger issues than running shorts and tank tops. Still, I think that the implications of this topic are pretty insidious.

These days, as I get older and tougher and continue to encounter these incidents, I become bolder too. Not just in running, but in many aspects of life. Resentment and anger builds up in you, and you have to be vigilant to keep yourself balanced. To find peace, and to embrace compassion, even when there is so much hate and hurt. Still, I have now grown bold enough -- and perhaps foolish enough -- that I no longer stay quiet when these situations arise. I fight back. Maybe it is stupid. Maybe I should stay quiet. They probably don't even hear my furious shouts back. But I do shout back now. I give them the middle finger. Or two. I have come very close to carrying rocks or soft fruit but have had to restrain myself. If you know me, you know that I rarely curse. But I have taken up cursing in these situations. It's all I can do, besides take it. I tell them to go to hell. To F*** themselves, that they are trash. And I wish, I wish, I wish so badly to inflict the same hurt upon them. Yet it is futile, and deep down I know it. I know that even if they hear me, they are laughing. Or that if I do manage to rouse them, they could be dangerous. They could come back.

(In which case, I like to imagine that I could finally give them my two cents. And two swift black eyes, and a swifter kick in the groin. But in actuality, you never know what someone else might try and I might not get the chance to fight back.)

I also know, deep down, that I don't want to be like them. I don't want to hurt people. That I must find it in myself to be better. It just seems like, for once, it would be satisfying to see karma. To see those who are wrong and hurtful experience their ways, and to be defeated. Ideally, to change. To have some fleeting moment of vengeance for all the sexism and misogyny that exists, and which they support with their shouts.

So it seems like a small thing, you may be thinking. You are so upset over shouts and yells? Over meaningless jeers and leers from strangers? Yes. Yes, because it is all-consuming. Because it is inescapable, even when I am most strong and feeling most free. It wears you down, little by little, and sometimes you can't build yourself back up quick enough.

It is not just about running. It is not that simple. It reminds me of everything that is wrong in our society. It reminds you of all the little slights you face as a woman. It reminds you of things you don't want to think about, that you just want a break from, but you can't make that choice because you are forcibly reminded of it. It reminds you of the larger framework of oppression, of the things for which you are made to feel shame and guilt, the way your body is co-opted from you and dissected and controlled and objectified. The way you will never be able to be as free as a man. You will always be worth less than a man despite how you try. It reminds you of your doubts. It reminds you that your confidence, that your belief in your own self-worth and intelligence and strength and beauty are not recognized in this society, or at least they are cheap enough that a man's privilege to shout at you outweighs them. That sexism and misogyny are far from defeated. Not yet, maybe not ever. (Though I certainly hope things change, and I recognize that thank heavens things have improved). So take what activity you like in the place of running, most women probably have similar situations.

Here's the thing, though. I have it good. I live in a country where as a woman I can vote, where I can participate in athletics (even if it still means being derided or judged or insulted or threatened in certain cases), where I was able to finish school and go to college, and graduate school. I have more rights here than I might have in many other parts of the world. I can sometimes express my opinion. And because of the pale color of the skin I happened to be born with, in this country where whiteness is power,  I have no illusions that I have more privileges than those of darker skin who face sexism combined with racism. No, I cannot deny the privileges of my skin color and have no doubt that I am in the category of white woman when it comes to that privilege. While I do not know how it feels to be a woman of color, even so it is very clear that a woman of color is less likely to be helped by the authorities if a situation such as I have described turns dangerous. Women of color are far less likely to be searched for, and many more have gone missing. (Consider, for example, the appalling number of missing indigenous women). Men can prey upon women of color more easily than they can prey upon white women, because of the additional system of racism. If a woman of color is attacked, or retaliates or fights back, there is greater risk to them of harm and less chance of assistance. The patriarchy clamps down hard. Or, for a woman who is trans. Or a woman who is gay. Or poor. This makes me all the more angry. I have this fear and anger and frustration as a white woman -- relatively privileged status, unearned though it is -- so how much more fear and anger and frustration women of color or trans women or marginalized women, who have so often been excluded from feminism, feel I can only imagine. And that system, frankly, sucks.

So that is what I wanted to share. Obviously, there are larger issues to tackle when it comes to feminism. Nonetheless, it is a symptom of said larger issues, of a system of sexism and objectification and inequality, and it is not going away anytime soon (unfortunately) unless people reprimand those who exhibit such disgusting behavior. It is rarely as innocuous as it seems. I also want to encourage men to call out their fellow men when they start rolling down the window.

This summer has gone by far too fast. As some of you know, I spent the past
months at home with my family--in particular hoping to spend time with my little
brother, Paul. It has been so great to see him everyday! This was the first summer since since highschool that I lived at home for the summer. Other than that, I have
also been working on a new illustration project (which I'm very excited about)
and preparing for a year in Japan.

Regarding Japan, there are a few updates. At the beginning of the summer, I did not know where I would live. I am very grateful to Hokkaido University, however, for finding me a home. I will be living in the Hokudai International House Kita 8. I have no idea what exactly the rooms are like, but if I don't like it I'm sure I could look for an apartment elsewhere after a few months. Generally, I'm just happy to have a bed to sleep in! It will be a surprise for when I arrive, I suppose. Speaking of arriving, I will fly from MPLS to Chicago, then a direct flight from Chicago to Tokyo on September 17. That's only 10 days away! The first 2 and a half days are an orientation for the Fulbright in Tokyo. Then I fly (or take the train? I can't decide) to Sapporo, where Hokkaido University is located. I sure am nervous! Its really started to hit me recently that I won't be able to play catch with my little brother or give my family members a hug for a whole year. . . I think that will be very difficult for me. But I know that I will grow from the experience of living in another country, and I am so grateful for this chance.

Well, other than preparing for Japan, I was also fortunate to take a road trip with my Dad, brother and sister. We drove from Minneapolis to San Francisco! The main goal was to see the Red Woods. We left on Sat, Aug 18th and then flew home to MPLS from San Francisco on Fri. Aug 24th. It was so amazing to see the land as we drove. The first leg was MPLS to Bozeman MT (so we drove up to Fargo, then across North Dakota). The next leg was from Bozeman MT to Glacier National Park. Glacier was my favorite. Up until this road trip, I had never seen a mountain before. Goodness, I did not want to leave them! Unfortunately, we only had time to spend a few hours there. One of my highlights was running up a mile at the top of the mountain road in Glacier while cars passed me and thought I was crazy! Next we drove from Glacier to Portland, OR. From Portland, we drove to Crater Lake (a lake formed in a volcanic crater). Then we drove to Crescent City, CA. We arrived in the evening, and drove on highway 101 which goes through Redwood stands. They are simply spectacular. We spend that Wednesday amongst the Redwoods then on Thursday drove to San Francisco--we took the back roads and part of the coast, and goodness it took forever. When we drove into San Francisco on Thursday evening, a huge fog had rolled in. I have never seen fog from the ocean like that! Unfortunately, it meant that we couldn't actually see the city or the Golden Gate Bridge. The next day, we flew home. It was a wonderful, wonderful trip, and the first road trip that I have ever taken.

Well, now. It has been a while indeed. In the past semester, quite a lot has occurred. First of all, I've graduated from St. Olaf College. As many people say, it goes by quickly. I won't summarize all of my thoughts on graduation just yet. I suspect that it may take more time for thought than I've yet acquired. However, in the meantime I would suggest that you read my Senior Reflection piece in the St. Olaf College Biology newsletter, BIOMASS. That reflection can be found here.

I ought to have kept better track of events pre-graduation, but as those who know me will assert, college kept me very busy. This last semester was extremely challenging for me, and I will be honest when I say that I did not sleep overmuch! Nevertheless, for the moment I will list the positives, of which I am glad to say there are quite a few! Besides graduating, I am very excited to say that I achieved Distinction in History for my history major, completing very long research paper titled "Rights for Plants; A Historical Discussion of Plant-Life and Western Thought." Shortly, I will place a copy of my distinction essay here. I worked closely with Professor Laurel Carrington, who acted as my advisor during this process, and I shared many wonderful conversations with her over the course of the past few months. I should say here that I also owe a great debt to the entirety of the St. Olaf history department, for all of their openness and support over the years. There are a handful of professors in particular whose courses I have had the privilege to take, and I hope that they know how much they have contributed to my own development as a critical thinker.

I am also proud to say that I finished my NCAA track and field career with a personal best in the 800m run. I also came in 7th at Outdoor MIACS at Concordia-Moorhead, a feat that (I think) few expected of me, but which I certainly expected of myself--in fact, it was my aim to win, expectations and pragmatics aside, but I will for the moment have to settle. I am hoping to continue running, and perhaps someday even to better my times.

And believe it or not, I've also become a published illustrator! Ms. Lisa Larrive, an Olaf alumna, selected me back in late January as an illustrator for her children's book, titled Grateful for Gluten-Free. Based in part on her own experiences as a celiac, she wrote a story to help children unable to eat gluten containing foods feel special. I would like to thank Lisa for selecting me, and for working with me! Her book is for sale here at Amazon. It contains a set of 20 watercolor illustrations.

Now perhaps for the most exciting news of all. In April I learned that I received the Fulbright grant that I had applied for so long ago in October, way back at the beginning of the academic year. It is an immense honor!! In September I will be headed to Hokkaido University in Sapporo (Hokkaido, Japan) to participate in forest ecology and global warming research. Here is the St. Olaf article. I owe a great deal to the kindness and assistance of Professor Takayoshi Koike of Hokkaido University, who I cannot wait to meet. I also owe a great deal to many professors at St. Olaf who have helped me along the way. I will be certain to write about my time in Japan. I have never traveled outside of the United States (and I have traveled very little even within the U.S.) so it is sure to be an experience, but one that I am certainly looking forward to. I cannot express my gratitude to the Fulbright Program enough; if it were not for this grant, I know that it is very unlikely that I would have the opportunity to see Japan. I cannot wait to see Hokkaido!

More to come, soon!

P.S. Here are some pictures I just can't help but share from track, my truest love!