I was on the news! The experimental forest where I work in north MN (Anishinaabe land) was highlighted by Kare11 News. They visited me at my field sites! Quite a surprise! I feel very grateful and excited! The video/article focus on changes facing northern Minnesota under climate change. My field site is at the Adaptive Silviculture for Climate Change (ASCC) experiment, exploring different forest management strategies to support future forests. My own work centers on drought and stress responses, and whether these management strategies are helping to reduce seedling stress.

Check out the ASCC experiment, my sites and forest science at Kare11 News here: “Climate may change MN’s iconic north woods.”

Important context: 
1) The report/video emphasizes the “iconic MN northwoods” and fails to acknowledge that this is Indigenous Land and Aninisinaabe Land, specifically Leech Lake Band of Ojibwe. When the reporter interviewed me, I told them this many times but it was not included. Please when you think of this area, its past and its future, remember that it is Indigenous Land and home since time immemorial to Native Nations. Climate change and forest management must acknowledge and respect Tribal sovereignty, wishes, knowledge, and goals (which is also the aim of my work).
2) The report frames the ASCC experiment from the angle of its most dramatic “transition” treatment. However, the goal of ASCC is to explore many possible directions for supporting future forests. The somewhat controversial idea of “assisted migration” is only one of four strategies being explored.
3) Please respect and care for the land. I have seen responses that deny climate change, and this continues to be saddening. To that, I will say that when asked why I do the work that I do, my reply is that I have a responsibility. So please, in what ways you can, remember your responsibility to this beautiful world.
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Hello all! I've been hard at work in the forest for most of the spring/summer thus far. So I am far behind in updating. But I am excited to say that last month I was highlighted by the Northeast Climate Adaptation Science Center (NE CASC), where I am a Graduate Fellow. Please take a look! Thank you so much!

I got to do a little interview for my department's webpage as a featured story. How exciting! If you don't know, I am a graduate student in the College of Forestry at Oregon State University, in the department of Forest Ecosystems and Society. Very happy for the chance to talk a little bit about science and art. Please go check it out, here! Thank you!

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.

It has been quite some time since I've written any of my thoughts down. I've been busy, and when not busy it has been a challenge to sit my brain down and make it work or write. But there have many experiences in the past few months worth mentioning, and worth reflecting upon. In part that is because I have just completed my first year of graduate school working towards my masters degree in forestry. To say forestry is, perhaps, a bit miss-leading because my area of focus is tree (and plant) ecophysiology, physiology, climate change, and ecology. Ecophysiology, to clarify the term, is concerned with the interaction between plants and their environment, and how environmental conditions affect the physiology (biochemistry, growth, and health) of the plant. I have gained considerable research experience since graduating from St. Olaf College in 2012 -- living in Hokkaido (Japan) from 2012-13 studying elevated CO2 and forest science, and then going to Australia for a few more months of ecophysiology research. During those research experiences, I was searching for a graduate program. So forest science, and at a broader scale ecology and ecophysiology, is something that has been of interest and relevance in my life for a while now.

To be completely truthful, much of this interest stems not from "scientific" curiosity, but from a love, reverence, fascination, and respect for life, the earth, and the experience of it all. I have less interest in many of the bi-products of Western-centric science that tend to ignore the integrity of non-human living things, such as non-human animals and plants. I also have less of an interest in greenhouse studies of plants and life, which co-opt those lives for the purposes of research rather than observe free and growing organisms (ironically, my own research is precisely what I dislike -- a greenhouse "drought" study that will ultimately harm and kill my subjects). Admittedly, I have struggled with this during my first year in graduate school. My perspective is rather different from many "scientists." That being said, reflecting on a year in graduate school, it has been immensely refreshing to learn. I can never emphasize enough what a gift it is, to be told "your job is to learn, that is why you are here." Sometimes, it is hard to believe. And for that, I am immensely, profoundly grateful. That is my job -- to learn about forests, and ecosystems, and plants, and to improve myself (and hopefully, from that investment, help to protect and improve the world even if it is only in some small way.)  I have taken a wealth of courses, some of them better than others, but some of them very captivating. Among my favorites was a course in photosynthesis and photobiology (fascinating!), forest health, and soil biology. I also completed two terms of statistics, with high marks. This is an achievement I am proud of. It is a not-so-secret secret of mine that I struggle with mathematics and more quantitative reasoning. At one time, I very much enjoyed them but reached my peak of ability early, and despite a long-lasting curiosity and enjoyment of those fields, math has little love of me. Knowing that I felt uncomfortable with my statistical background, it was one of my most important goals to improve. An understanding of statistics is necessary in scientific fields, in order to explain, present, and communicate results. I have not seen the last of statistics (I am still not great, and plan to take a few more courses) but I am pleased with my hard work and improvement. Likewise, from my other courses, I have learned a huge amount (and look forward to learning more next year).

I also had a chance to present some interdisciplinary work at the OSU Arts and Humanities Graduate Conference in April. The purpose of the conference was to share work by researchers and graduate students in the arts and humanities, and especially those doing interdisciplinary work. The organizer found out about me through my professor. You may know that I am rather interdisciplinary. Sometimes, I feel a little like a chameleon, blending into science despite being a humanities person, and then sneaking back into the humanities. History was my first academic love, and it remains an important part of me. And then there is art, and writing both of which I continue to practice. Ideally, I will one day combine them all. I have been doing some philosophical/historical work on my own on the rare occasions that I had a bit of time to spare it. During the winter, I wrote a brief piece called "The Problem with Nature." This piece summarizes many of my thoughts about the use of the common word "nature" to vaguely describe the earth and life, and why I find this dangerous. My goal is to write more extensively about this topic, and to delve into greater historical research on the development of that mentality. I was actually originally asked if I wanted to participate in this conference, however, because of my art work and because they sought artists to share some of their pieces. I happily agreed, but wanted to work in this other research and so formulated my research around that scholarship, and some of its overlaps with my art work. That is because, most of what I do is connected. Most of my thoughts tie together, and whether they are expressed through scientific inquiry, paintings, history, writing, they are likely to have a similar theme. My art work often focuses on the earth, on plants or landscapes or people in them. I love to depict "beauty", or things that I find "beautiful." But I would be troubled if you said that I paint or depict "nature." (My above-mentioned essay can give you more of that background.) So I used my artwork as a platform to dissect the problems with "nature", and the ideas of my essay and hopeful further research. I have also posted the power point of that presentation here on my website. It was a spectacular experience. I was so glad to dust off my humanities work and step back amongst some like-minded folks. Despite being a shy person, I also paradoxically like presenting and public speaking, so that was also a very enjoyable opportunity.

As an aside, this past year has also brought a number of visitors out to Oregon to see me. Among them, my dear friends Lisa, Maddie, and Stuart. Lisa and Maddie are friends from St. Olaf. It is unbelievable to me that I have such wonderful people in my life, to fly out to spend time with me and explore a bit of Oregon. Prior to my friends' visit, my beloved aunt Diane ("Didi") was the inaugural visitor, which was also wonderful. My college teammate Laurel would be next, visiting for a running race, and eventually my dad and little brother.

Although I now have one year of coursework under my belt and it is summertime, I will unfortunately not be going home to Minnesota for summer "break." And when I say break, I say it somewhat sarcastically. That is because all of my field work will be occurring during the months of June (now passed), July, August, and September. My goal is to finish my "field" work (also being sarcastic, because a greenhouse is a far-cry from "field" work to me) before the start of the academic year on September 24th. This means that while I no longer have coursework, at least for the summer, I have a lot of other work before me. My research involves loblolly pine seedlings and Douglas-fir seedlings, with three provenances of each. Douglas-fir is the dominant timber species, and probably tree species in general, in the Pacific Northwest. Loblolly pine is the dominant timber species in the Southeast. A provenance is essentially a "seed source" -- a geographic location. In this case, those provenances, or locations, are a coastal source of each species, an "inland" source, and a disjunct or extreme source. These sources are correlated with low, moderate, and high drought tolerance, which I will be testing experimentally by subjecting them to two consecutive droughts. The "disjunct" or extreme sources of loblolly and Douglas-fir are locations that exhibit extreme dry conditions. I am interested in whether or not the seedling's source and environmental/evolutionary history is of greatest importance or whether the experienced conditions of the seedling during its (short) lifetime is of greatest importance in determining drought tolerance and drought susceptibility. I am also interested in what physiological characteristics are correlated with drought tolerance and drought susceptibility. This work will be done in the coming weeks and months, in the greenhouses here at Oregon State University where the seedlings are now housed. I say "now" housed because getting them here was an ordeal in itself. Normally, you would probably grow your seedlings in the greenhouse that will be their permanent home. In my case, my seedlings were sown and transplanted by myself and others about 3 hours north in Washington back in April. Up until last week, that is where they were living and being taken care of. So, I had to figure out how to get them to Oregon State University. By the way, there are 4,000 of them. This is approximately 185 square feet of seedlings. In the end, the process involved driving a 26 foot U-Haul -- with the floor packed with seedlings -- and then making a second trip a few days later to retrieve the remainder in a 6-wheel covered truck combined with a trailer. Then unloading them tray by tray into the OSU greenhouses. Phew. I must say, I am pretty darn pleased with myself for figuring out how to perform that logistical feat. And I did it without dropping a single seedling. And with some help from my dad, sister, and little brother. Actually, a great dose of help from my dad. The "Great Move" as I shall dub the ordeal occurred while my dad and little brother were visiting, which helped make things smoother. When I started graduate school, little did I know I would be learning how to operate gigantic trucks on the interstate.

Now, I am in the throes of finalizing the experimental design and perhaps sooner than I would like will be beginning the experiment itself. Yes, all that work of growing and transporting the seedlings was only the prep. I will be spending many, many, many hours this summer in the greenhouse with those seedlings using various scientific equipment to measure soil moisture, photosynthesis, plant water use and hydraulic characteristics, sugar storage, and fluorescence (often an indicator of stress). I dream of field studies -- where I am out in the woods, or prairie, or even some backyard -- observing life instead of torturing it. But my hope is that my research will yield important information about tree health in drought, how trees might survive, and how they might not. Out here in Oregon and all across the West Coast, drought has been a major concern to say the least. In will, likely, continue to increase in intensity and frequency in many parts of the world. This will have serious consequences for plants, and for forests. Still, I feel sorrow with the knowledge that my research will ultimately lead to deaths, to the (all too likely unnecessary) taking of 4,000 lives. This is, truthfully, against my ethics. I love all life, and see no living thing as greater than any other. I dislike the idea of tampering with life, and believe more scientists need to question their research practices and the justifications for their decisions. Greater caution should be met when an experiment will tamper with life (despite my acknowledgement that much has been learned from some such experiments) and for me there is no reason this caution should not extend to plants. Therefore, I remind myself to respect the lives and integrity of each seedling. And I feel gratitude to them, for what I receive. 

I am sure there will be more to tell of my research as time continues. Next, I want to talk about running!

As some know, I spent February, March, and April as a research fellow at the Hawkesbury Institute for the Environment in Richmond, Australia. At this point, I have to admit that I am woefully and hopelessly behind in writing about my experiences, and unfortunately doubt that I will be able to encapsulate much in the limited time I have. But I'll do my best! During the first month, I was getting settled in and used to the surroundings. I spent my first full weekend in Australia very ambitiously. While I frequently feel that I can be lazy and desire to have calm days painting, writing, etc. I also feel a very strong sense that I must use time to its fullest. (That being said, I still slip into wasting obscene amounts of time accomplishing little to nothing, but oh well). Therefore, faced with two "work free" days,  I headed to the Blue Mountains on the first Saturday to a popular little town called Katoomba. There was even a ukelele festival going on when I arrived! So a very curious experience from the start! My goal was to do a hike to the Three Sisters rock formations (which turned out to look nothing like I had imagined from the pictures, as is usually the case). This was my very first experience hiking in Australian "bush." It was immediately vastly different from any experience I had heretofore with forests. The predominant trees (and sometimes the only trees!) and eucalypts. These can very considerably between genotypes, but are nonetheless very different from the broadleaves of my home. Even the leaf color, and the sway of the forest with the wind felt different. I felt foreign in a way I had not felt anywhere else. I felt more foreign in the forests and lands of Australia than I had anytime in Japan, because I did not have an immediate connection to the land in Australia. I fumbled with establishing such a connection during much of my three months there. I often found myself saying to others that even the colors did not resonate with me. I did not know this land. I did not know its ways or its stories. I believe strongly that culture and land are intertwined, and I was painfully aware that I knew next to nothing about the diverse indigenous cultures of Australia. So much of that culture, like in the United States, is "covered up" by western culture through the process of colonization, and I initially felt lost. Nonetheless, the Blue Mountains are quite incredible. They are different from what I know, but they are so beautiful in their own right. Now, as I think back on them, I miss them in ways I would not have guessed. I think this is because, at the last moment and unexpectedly, the connection was suddenly there. Ironically, this came from traveling to the "outback" at the very end of my three months. As someone who loves deep green, who loves streams and lakes, and rich forest, I thought that I would probably not especially enjoy the outback. It turns out, I loved it. So I wish that I could have spent more than a couple days there. Anyways, I am jumping ahead of myself already. After going to Katoomba on Saturday, hiked the Three Sisters rock formation and through the gullies, then back alllll the way back up. I was quite exhausted, and feeling especially out of shape, after being particularly lazy and and not at all diligent about my running in the previous wintry months. I was also unedge because I was still hyper-sensitive to the many warnings of deadly snakes and spiders, ubiquitous throughout Australia. If it's in Australia, it's probably deadly. So all tall grass and low vegetation was embarrassingly suspicious to me at the start of my time there. While hiking, I did hear a rustle on the forest floor, and looked to see a beautiful lyre bird (of course, I did not know this is what it was at the time). They are about the size of peacocks, with a tale that curves like a lyre but to me at the time was strikingly like a feathery fox tail . It continued peacefully on its way. All manner of small colorful birds can be found flitting around in Australia, and of course the croaking flocks of white crested cockatoos. I spent the night in their wonderful hostel (it had taken me 4 hours to reach Katoomba from Richmond by train, even though it is a mere 45 minute drive. This is because the line for Richmond must back-track to reach the Blue Mountains line. Then someone got hit by a train and we were transferred to buses, then back to trains. An ordeal, in my typical style, for my first time on Australian trains. My housemates had also encouraged me that the hostel was very nice and I would probably enjoy my time more if I spent the night). The next day, I came back to the house in the morning by train, dropped off my bag, and then hopped back on the train this time in to Sydney. I was quite intimidated after reaching Central station and trying to navigate towards the Opera House area. I became a bit lost, but after getting a free pocket map from a tourist shop, I was actually quite proud of myself for navigating all day by myself. I stumbled into the "chinatown" area completely by accident, and serendipitously found a genuine Japanese bakery!! How long it had been since I had eaten my favorite, an-pan (red bean bun). I was so astounded and so happy and so nostalgic all at once. Sydney is a really interesting city to me. Very international, and very diverse, with a lot to offer. I walked to Darling Harbor, and was really in awe by the beauty of the area. A really great place. Then I walked along towards the Opera House, took an obligatory picture, and then went to the Botanical Gardens. Now these are simply amazing. Just so incredibly beautiful. I've never seen a "european" style botanical garden before, so I was very much in awe. It is so huge, there are so many plants, statues, flowers, lovely buildings, etc. Sydney is the closest experience I have to anything "european", oddly enough. I was really intrigued by the british style buildings and architecture. I had finally reached the botanical gardens by the late afternoon, and by that time I was admittedly tired (both from the heat, the sun and impending sun burn, the walking, and the not-being-able-to-afford-food -- an issue I will perhaps broach later). When I got back to Richmond, my housemates were impressed by how much I had packed into one weekend.

For the first month (February), I did most of my work with measuring gas exchange, specifically respiration and dark respiration, in the cotton plants that were being grown in the glass house under elevated and ambient temperatures. This was an intense learning process, coming to master the Li-Cors. I am very grateful to the visiting researcher that I was helping, for all that she did to teach me! So needless to say, I spent a ridiculous amount of time in the glasshouses, and then in the evenings did what I could to figure out data analysis for the respiration data, creating temperature curves. Data analysis is one of my definite weaknesses, so although it was challenging to do, it was an amazing learning opportunity and so rewarding. I tried to really make the best contribution I could, and work my hardest. I have no doubt that, at least during my first month, I probably spent about 60 hours during the work week on the cotton drought experiment (some 40 hours on gas exchange measurements with the Li-Cors, and then the rest on data analysis at home). Like I said, this might have been challenging, but it was absolutely worth it in the amount that I learned. As I said in my previous post, I wanted to express my extreme gratitude for the opportunity I was given, and not to squander the faith that my host professor had generously given me. Then, on the weekends when possible I tried to see what I could and travel around. I think that I accomplished a huge amount in both research and experiencing Australia, in a relatively short time! I helped to wrap up three different experiments on drought and temperature stress (in cotton, peanuts, and eucalypts) and collect quite a lot of data. I very much hope that I was a help-- and my host professor was really diligent about making sure I knew I was appreciated, so this was truly wonderful. Ah, I learned so much and gained so much confidence. I feel so lucky for the in-depth research I was allowed to participate in and the great community of researchers and technicians I was able to meet at the Hawkesbury Institute. And I couldn't believe it, but in March my dear Professor Koike from Hokkaido University came to visit the Hawkesbury Institute for a whirlwind couple of days to try to arrange a bilateral agreement between the universities. Although the visit itself was for business, I cannot begin to express how joyful I was to have such an unexpected chance to meet Koike-sensei. I very much miss him and Hokkaido University. Approximately one year ago to that date, I had helped to escort my host professor (Professor Tissue) from the Hawkesbury Institute around Hokkaido University -- now, in a a surreal twist, I was escorting Koike-sensei around the Hawkesbury Institute

I hope that someday I can write more about my time in Australia, but for now I will keep things more brief except to describe a few additional highlights that I should not neglect. The major highlight was that I made it to the Great Barrier Reef!!!! It was quite an ordeal to reach, involving two 6AM flights, a traumatizing 2AM night bus from Richmond to Sydney with drunkards and reaching Sydney alone in the dead of night to hail a taxi,  and only being able to be in the Cairns area for literally two days. I would do it all over again to see the reef. I knew that this was something that I could not let myself miss, so I brushed aside all the other difficulties. It sure is tough to be poor and to travel though! I'm only able to accomplish it because of my willingness to sacrifice all reason (meaning that I don't eat, don't really sleep, and walk everywhere in order to pay for it. Still worth it.) I think that, had the research institute been in Cairns, I might have had a vastly smoother transition to Australia, just because of the richness of the environment there. But I'm just glad I got there. Cairns itself is a town fueled and made purely for tourists. There were wealthy people everywhere. I was equal parts appalled and amused by them, and my rag-tag self felt out of place as usual. After arriving early in the morning, I checked in at a hostel, then walked quite a few miles in the hot sun to reach the only hiking loop within foot-distance (a.k.a "all I can afford"). These are the Red Arrow and Blue Arrow loops, ironically near to the airport so I was actually backtracking. The loops themselves are perhaps a mile, and 8 miles respectively (perhaps shorter or longer, can't remember.) I completed both, was exhausted from not eating or sleeping but proud to cover so much ground. The forests there did begin to intrigue me, which gave me hope. I also met my first goanna! These are giant monitor lizards -- like Joanna from the Rescuers Down Under. It was entirely unexpected. As I was nearing the last stretch of the Blue Arrow trail, which is a dirt trail as opposed to paved, I looked ahead and there he (or she) was across the path. We both stared at each other in surprise, perhaps wondering who would move, and then off he went into the underbrush. This gave me a smile. I hiked around the botantical gardens area, through some of the older growth forest boardwalks, and very much enjoyed the area. After completing the more remote hiking loops during the early morning, and then emerging towards the afternoon, there were increasingly more people in the gardens. I continued to push myself to see everything and all that I could. It was in the 90s, and sunny, and by the end I was definitely feeling tired as I made my seemingly endless trek over hot sidewalks and passed by cars and buses, back towards the hostel. In total, I know I covered at least 18 miles in that days and likely more, with no sleep and not much sustenance to speak of. When I reached the shopping center near the hostel, I was parched and probably pretty ridiculous looking. I ate three mcdonalds icecream cones, which at 30 cents each were just about all I could afford for dinner anyways. The next morning, I woke up early for snorkeling. It is a couple hours boat-ride out to the outer reef. We went to Michaelmas Cay and Hastings Reef. I had been initially overwhelmed to chose a snorkeling tour company, because there are so many companies, but I was very satisfied with the smaller, family-owned SeaStar company. I'm also glad that I chose snorkeling over scuba diving (I couldn't really afford scuba diving either, but I had been sorely tempted). Snorkeling gave me the freedom to swim and dive all over the place. Whereas when I had snorkeled in Okinawa and had not really been allowed to go off on my own (and everyone even had to wear life vests!), this time I was free to dive as deep as I wished and explore all I wanted! I especially enjoyed diving down to where the scuba divers were and circling around, reaffirming that snorkeling is more for me than scuba diving would have been. At both sites we had about 2 hours of swimming time, and I used every single second. Others went back to the boat after getting tired, but I floated and swam around and admired for as long as they would let me stay in the water, even though by the end I was very tired and probably senseless from continuously diving down as deep as I could. I was the very last one back to the boat. The reef itself was not as bright and colorful as I might have expected, but there were so many fish and coral and other creatures. I kept diving down as far as I could to the wall's edges and other overhangs, in search of reef sharks who apparently can sometimes be found there, but no luck. I was absolutely enthralled, even so, to meet sea turtles! And to be able to swim right up to them. (They just continued about their business, putting up with me as I ogled them). In the afternoon, I explored the esplanade area, stumbled into an amazing indigenous/aboriginal art gallery (I cannot begin to express how amazing these paintings were, some of them as large as walls), and as the sunset went for a little jog . The sunset and moonrise (a full moon! Bright and silvery and shining above the shadowed hills and ocean) were breathtaking -- yet again I found myself in a situation I could not believe I was living. Flying foxes swooped in the sky above me. I ate another ice cream cone, went to bed, woke up around 4AM to get to the airport, and then I was back to Sydney.

During my last month (April), I was also very lucky to go to Wentworth Falls in the Blue Mountains, to the Port Stephens area and sand dunes,  and to do the Royal National Park Coastal walk which is near Sydney. This is about 15 miles or so, which I was invited to tag along for with a group of lovely researchers. We walked the first day through forest, camped in a beautiful grassy valley near the ocean (in an afternoon rainstorm, of course, but you know), then did about 12 miles of it the second day: across beaches, up steep cliffs climbs, then along the ridge itself. I wish I would have had more time to go at a slower pace and enjoy the incredible variety of ecosystems along this whole stretch. The change throughout is a marvel itself, and a good way to throw a whole bunch of environments into one experience. Even saw some bounding wallabies in the forested section! Another major highlight for me was to go to Muru Mittigar, the aboriginal (and especially Darug) cultural center about ten miles from where I was in Richmond. I biked there, through back-country roads, and spent the day with some of their staff as they lead me through their set of activities. Their staff member, Paul, gave me a great talk about some of the history of colonization-- brief, but informative even if I had by this point managed to learn more about the history -- but even more meaningful to me was to hear some of his own opinions and experiences. He also showed me through their gardens, and taught me about some of the amazing uses for so many plants. Then during the second half of the day, their resident artist Uncle John Boney gave me painting instructions, and painted with me. (Uncle is a polite term for an older man or elder, and Aunty for women) I was sheepish about admitting that I actually do a lot of painting myself, so what he showed me was a very basic introduction tailored to the huge groups of people he typically has come in. Usually, groups of around 50 or 100 people come in! Somehow, I was there on a day where it was JUST me! AH, I felt so immensely happy and fortunate. This was perhaps my best experience in my whole time there. I think that he was interested by my attention to his paintings and (maybe I'm just being facetious) my ability to follow his painting instructions, and he even offered to teach me to paint! He said I could keep coming back and he would teach me! When I showed him one of my business cards with watercolor work, he really liked it, and said that he wanted to learn watercolor and we could teach each other what we know. Goodness, few people know how touched I was by this and how dearly I wished to accept his incredible offer. A dream come true for me, really -- to do art and to learn from such a talented artist. Alas that it was my last few days in Australia (for now) and I would be leaving the next week. I heave a heavy sigh whenever I think about this. But I do hope to return. And I've painted him a watercolor piece, in his style, which I hope to send to him. Maybe he will like it and remember me.

My final hurrah was traveling to the outback during my very last week in Australia. In fact, I told Uncle John (the painter I had met at Muru Mittigar) of this plan when he asked if I intended to do any traveling before I left. He was surprised when I said I would be going to visit Bourke (literally the middle of nowhere), and I was just as surprised to learn that he grew up in that area. A group of seven of Phd students, technicians, and myself rented a big car, sardined ourselves in, then drove 9 hours to arrive at 1AM in the desolate town of Bourke -- known as the unofficial "start" of the outback, hence the Australian colloquialism "back of Bourke." Bourke on its own was an experience. A very tiny town, with at least ten closed down and boarded up hotels, in the north west of New South Wales. It is rather isolated, and has a bit of a rough feel around the edges. It is also in the midst of an 8 year long drought, I believe. There is, apparently, a reputation for the area and the outback for crime. Part of this may be true, but part of it I do not doubt is stereotype -- in particular, stereotypes about aboriginal people, many of whom live in the outback (for a host of reasons, many of them socio-economic and which is another topic in itself that I will not go into here, but will write more about perhaps). We did a hike in Gundabooka National Park, red and hot and dry, but also surprising in the amount of vegetation there was. Here I saw the greatest variety of well-known Australian animals during my whole trip, tons of emus and kangaroos and even a bearded lizard. It was as if everything clicked -- suddenly, the connection was there, and I loved this land, different as it was.

Oh yes, and I also managed to hop over to the south island of New Zealand with my sister in April. How could I forget. ; ) How could I possibly come so close to New Zealand and NOT fanangle my way there. I'll share some thoughts about that next.

Well, there are many things I am forgetting or have left out for lack of time, but I hope that gives some idea of what I did over three months and with luck I will add more. I had my share of disagreements with Australia, but also a whole lot of incredible experiences as well. During this whole time, I was struggling immensely with decisions over graduate school. In the end, I was choosing between a PhD at the Hawkesbury Institute and a masters at Oregon State University. They were both very different offers, with advantages and disadvantages of their own which in the end balanced them evenly. I wavered back and forth for months, feeling so overwhelmed. In the end, I have decided on Oregon State, because I felt I could not sacrifice being so far from family. In doing so, as my head began to clear once back in Minnesota for a time, I realized that I should have been brave and chosen Australia. But I will make the most of it, and it is certainly not a bad place to be, and it will still work out.

Here is a quick summary of my first few days in Australia. I left Minnesota on Saturday, Feb 1st for my long, long journey by air:

It has been very busy immediately since arriving here. I landed at the airport (after what felt like a very long journey--mostly as a result of having to change planes twice in seattle/los angeles) at 6:20am and went through customs. (I'll note that my characteristic streak of luck did not spare me on the flight...the plane had some malfunction with the emergency lights so all 13 hours of the overnight flight were as bright as day. I wore my hat over my face.). Customs used sniffer dogs, a cute little beagle in this case. Then I had to figure out how to contact the driver who was supposed to be picking me up. I ended up purchasing a cheap track phone at the airport with a couple hours worth of minutes (which the worker installed incorrectly resulting in my not actually being able to use the phone for two days and defeating the purpose of having a phone, ugh). I had to borrow a phone, but contacted the driver. A rather gruff and odd man, who asked me multiple times if I was sure I was Jamie Mosel. Maybe he was expecting a guy? Anyways, I had no real idea of how far the drive would be, only a rough idea of where the university is outside of Sydney. The drive must have been about 45 minutes to an hour. I was really nervous during the drive and perhaps a bit stunned by the whole process that it had taken to reach Australia.

When we reached the campus (in what I would describe and others have described as a "redneckish" town), the driver pulled up to the administrative building and said "here you go" and pointed to a back door which ended up being locked. He left, and I was standing outside of the building confused. Luckily, a grad student walked past outside and unlocked the door for me--although in a pinch I could have gone around the front once I figured it out. I literally stepped through the elevator doors and there was my host professor walking up the stairs. So that was a very fortuitous meeting. Literally five minutes later (after dumping all my luggage in the professor's office) I was pulled into the meeting of visiting international researchers. This was at 8am or so, which felt much later to me than to everyone else! I was still wearing my Olaf sweatshirt, jeans, and boots and it was 91 degrees. Ha. I told them I wanted to appear as Minnesotan as possible. We were all supposed to introduce ourselves and I had to go first. I felt intimidated by the end and uncertain of how to describe myself. There are perhaps ten visiting researchers, a mix of primarily established professors, as well as some post-docs. Boy do I feel inexperienced!! I tried to piece together "how exactly to I fit in here? I'm no professor, and no post-doc...I barely even know what research I'll be helping with!"

Afterwards, I was shown to the offices for bit, signed a few papers, then my host professor gave me a quick tour of the immense research sites they have here. Extremely sophisticated, extremely complex, extremely expensive. Then he offered all the visiting researchers to go out to lunch. Apparently Thai food is really popular here, so even though we are in a tiny town there was a Thai restaurant. After lunch (around 1:30) my professor handed me off to the Canadian married couple who I am staying with. It turns out that the room in the grad student house was given to an international student from England and so plans were re-arranged--this I learned in a whirlwind upon arrival.

The Canadians are very Canadian. And so extremely kind. They must be in their thirties. Ironically, they are both vegetarians and both run. So I am lucky, as I am both a vegetarian and a runner! And hopefully, maybe, one day I can go running with them. The woman, named Jen, apparently likes to trail run over hiking routes and has run a 50 mile race before!! She is also a fungi researcher at the Hawkesbury Institute for the Environment where I am. Here husband, Corey, is an airplane engineer. They live in a house that is in town and about a 20 minute walk from campus. Surprisingly, I was able to navigate my way back from campus without getting lost. Now THAT is an accomplishment. They have been very helpful!

The next day I came to campus for a 9am meeting and then to hear brief presentations by the researchers at 10am. After the presentations, my host professor originally said that I could head home to settle in a bit more--I think he is very busy this week and stretched for time, so I was glad for a chance not to bother him. But I told him that I am happy to help with any and all projects, and I had gathered during the meetings that all the visiting professors might need help. I also wanted to make sure that he knew that I wanted to work hard and didn't want to seem as though he needed to hesitate about putting me to work. Just at that moment a visiting professor from Texas wanted to install some infrared heat sensors (well, really, to put AA batteries in them and hang them from bungee cords tied to sticks over some potted peanuts...but that doesn't sound as sophisticated). I got to tag along instead of going home to settle in immediately. After it was done, I admitted that I have some experience with Li-Cors (photosynthetic gas exchange measuring machines...beasts, expensive, and complicated). The visiting professor saw this as an opportunity to sign me up for taking some measurements for him, and asked my host professor later about it. So I might be helping with that. Word spread quickly that I can run those machines, and so today from 9am to 5pm I helped another visiting prof from toronto/duke university to collect data. Light curves, specifically. I could pretend to explain to you what they are but...I'm not entirely certain myself. They are photosynthesis as a product of light over time, in a sense. Towards the end she asked me if I could also do the analysis~! I said of course (glad for a chance to learn), but informed her that she would have to show me how. So this evening I didn't get back to the house until after dark, about 8:30PM. So an 11 hour day? That's pretty good. I've made some 48 graphs in one day. I have no clear idea of how to describe them, other than that they show light and dark respiration in plants, so don't ask for now! We were doing the measurements on potted cotton plants grown in a greenhouse under elevated and ambient co2 and high/ambient temps.

On another interesting note, there are white cockatoos flocking in trees and in the skies like crows. And there are crows as well, but they sound ridiculous and nothing like normal crows. There are apparently deadly snakes everywhere to be found, as well as poisonous spiders. I have yet to see any, although apparently there is a lethal spider that lives under a bench in the backyard of the house and there was a giant snakeskin near the entrance to the greenhouse. Terrifying. The first day, as I mentioned, it was 91 degrees. But yesterday it rained and misted (of course), so the weather has cooled to the mind 60s and 70s. Not as cold as home, but a surprise.

Well, there you go. There's a bit of what's been going on here. I pretty much jumped straight into things! From the moment I stepped foot on campus! People kept asking me when I arrived if I was tired. Nope! I'm pretty resilient, I would say! I've been going to bed around 10pm and waking up around 7am. It still feels a little bit intimidating for me to know how under-qualified I am compared to all these experienced and established researchers. But I keep telling them: "I have the least experience, but the most time available! So ask me to help!" Unlike in Japan, that offer has been accepted wholeheartedly and I've so far been put to work with the short-term visiting profs. It will be interesting to see when and if and what sort of other work I will be given on the projects that I was originally proposed to work on (elevated co2 and eucalypts). The professor is extremely nice, though. Although so busy, constantly running here and there. So I hope eventually he will have more time for me but until then, or at least for a few days, I have been given lots to do.

As some of you know, I am now back in Minnesota. On September 16th, I met the day that I dreaded--my last day in Sapporo. I had spent the past week trying and failing many times to pack all of my belongings and take apart the room that had become my home. After the first attempt, I panicked, found a night bus to the peninsula of Shiretoko (the most uninhabited part of Japan) on the eastern side of Hokkaido, and fled. It left at 12:30AM, drove through the night, and I arrived with a vague plan to climb the mountain known as Rausu dake. I arrived at about 6AM, to learn--as I had roughly anticipated--that there were scant buses into the Shiretoko national park. To my great fortune, two French travelers had also disembarked with me, and after asking them if they knew of any buses and learning that they were simply going to hoof it (about 3 miles), they invited me along! I spent the rest of the day hiking along the roadside, seeing a bear within the first few hours, reaching the mountain hut, helping the two French travelers translate, climbing Rausu with them, spending the night with them, and hiking part of the next morning with them. Although I had planned on traveling alone, it was really a welcome and wonderful experience to hike with them. They were so friendly! I hope that our paths will cross again. My mind was often clouded by my dread about my upcoming departure from Japan, but for a time in Shiretoko I found calm. I swell with gratitude every time I think of the beautiful land of Ainu Mosir (Hokkaido). I was only in Shiretoko for one night and two days, so I could not do the entire traverse of the mountains. Coming back into the town of Rausu in the afternoon, I managed to catch the last boat tour. I was left in awe. I had not realized how high and incredible the cliffs around the coast were, or the deep admiration I held for the ocean as we glided through the waves. I was honored to see another bear and her cub eating salmon. I could have cried, gazing out at the rocks and trees--dwarfed by the the magnitude of the cliffs--and the seabirds swirling in the skies above each precipice. I thought to myself, what need have we of fantasy? This world is more fantastical than even the most creative human imagination could ever conjure. I am so grateful to live in this world, on this earth.

In my last days, I bid farewell to my lab and Koike-sensei. Saying goodbye to Koike-sensei was perhaps the most difficult thing I had to do. Afterwards, when I was alone and biking back, I immediately broke into tears. Koike-sensei has acted with such generosity towards me. I think of him much like a father! He has taught me, helped me, and supported me selflessly. I have learned so much from him and his dedication and hard work will always inspire me. I desperately hope that I will have the chance to meet him and the many lovely lab members and post-doc students who helped me.  I hope in some way I can return his kindness in the future. I also said goodbye to the wonderful professor Jeff Gayman, whose trust, kindness, and continued assistance opened so many doors for me to meet and learn from Ainu communities. I owe him greatly for this gift. The last few months that I was in Hokkaido were absolutely brightened by these experiences. I will always send my strength to the many Ainu people working hard to find ways to revive and protect their culture. Iyairaykere. Iyairaykere. Iyairaykere. ('Thank you'). Lastly, over my last few days the Hokkaido University track and field members gave me so much joy and so many smiles. The middle distance/distance girls took me out to a desserts buffet for lunch, and then a couple days later a group of sprinters took me to a cake buffet! Needless to say, I had quite a few sweets over my last week. I was absolutely touched. I appreciate it so much. I am generally a shy and quiet person, and so I am often surprised by such warm acts of friendship. On my very last day in Sapporo, it poured all day. I frantically wrapped up my last bits of packing, mailed my last packages, tied up my last ends. My fellow Fulbrighter Becca and my friend Kotaro ate Hara (tofu flour) donuts with me one last time, and then I went to the train gates at 6:30PM...where half of the track and field team was waiting for me!!! I laughed and smiled talking with them all, then they all bought 100yen tickets and came out to the platform with me!!!!! I was shocked! Before the train arrived, we all circled up, arms interlaced over shoulders, and they sang the school song to me. When they finished, eyes turned to me, and I did my best to string together the heartfelt thank you, friendship, and deep gratitude I felt for them all without breaking into tears. A few tears slipped out, and my voice wavered, but I was surprised by my own ability over my last days to hold together. I will never ever forget their kindness. They turned the day I had dreaded most into one of my dearest memories.

Once the train doors closed, the tears began, but they were tears of both happiness and sorrow. At the airport as I sat waiting for my (2 hour delayed) flight, tears fell unabashedly down my face. Because of a typhoon, my flight was extremely late and I finally reached Tokyo around 1AM. Then waited in a literal 2 hour line for a taxi (since it was so late that there was no other form of transportation) to a hotel were I slept a few hours (from 3:30 AM~6:30AM). On the morning of September 17th, I ate my last Japanese breakfast, ran for my last time in Japan in the same place I had run for the first time 1 year before, went to the Fulbright office to say goodbye and thank you, then to Meiji Jingu shrine to give thanks once more. Although my last day in Sapporo had been grey and a downpour--of course brightened by the kindness of others but wet nonetheless!--my very last day in Japan, in Tokyo, was beautiful sunshine. I am grateful to whatever forces conspired to grant that gift. I closed my phone account, and then caught a train to Narita airport. I gazed lovingly out the window at the landscape and cityscape of Japan. I tried to soak in every minute, like the last rays of warm sunshine. At Narita, I picked up my bags, checked them, and went through security with my banjo and backpack, with a deep, deep breath. I was saying goodbye to my home all over again. And it was more painful than before.

On the flight, I was very lucky (thanks to the help of the Japanese airport worker who checked me in for my flight at the kiosk) to have a window seat AND no one sitting next to me! My luck ran out when there was an announcement that there were mechanical problems with the plane's navigation system and after more than an hour of sitting and waiting on the plan as they tried to correct it, we all had to disembark, wait for a NEW plan for another hour or so, and then re-board. At least I still had two seats to myself. My flight had been scheduled to leave at 3:50PM but it was about 7PM by the time we finally started towards the runway. I remember that the sun was setting. I took another deep breath. And then I was in the sky. I watched the lights of Japan's coast until they disappeared. Then steeled myself against my sadness and tried to keep my head held high. I will be happy forever, for that one year in Japan.

While flying, I became more and more encouraged by the thoughts of seeing my family and friends. 12 hours later, gliding over the familiar cityscape of Minneapolis, it felt as if I had hardly left. It felt as if I was waking from a long dream. My family met me at the airport, and I was genuinely happy to see them. But I think I will never be the same, and my heart will always feel torn in two when I think of Japan, and Hokkaido. And it is always on my mind. There is not a day that my thoughts do not wander through the mountains and forests of Hokkaido, the streets of my neighborhood, the Shinkawa river widening out towards the ocean, the climb up Teine and Moiwa mountain , the agriculture building and mainstreet of the university, the shrines and temples of Honshuu, the bright, beautiful sidewalks of Tokyo, the hills of Nara, the cedars of Koya, the trains and stations, and many other places I was fortunate to see. There is not a day that I do not remember.

Now, I am in Minnesota again. And I am certainly glad to see the familiar fields and the city of Minneapolis, to run again around the lakes and to see family and friends. In particular, I am happy to see my dad again. I am struggling to course my future from here. I am planning to reapply to graduate school for forest sciences, but I continue to feel naive and lost when it comes to choosing a program. I also need desperately to find work here in Minnesota, as my student loan payments are a constant worry. BUT, there may be some hope for some excitement and a new chance to learn this year even after the disappointment of not being able to start my graduate school plans at Yale. It is still not certain, but I may be written into a grant by an amazingly generous and kind professor in Australia, where I will be able to help with a climate change research experiment for a few months! I am so indebted to the professor for working with me to create this opportunity. Even if it does not come to fruition, I am so grateful to him!