Real Job, Real Issues: Aliens, ethnocentrism, and my new job cutting trees

One of my most memorable visitors from my time as a ranger was the guy who didn’t believe any of the Ice Ages had happened (because the earth is only a few thousand years old). That was...interesting. So were the people who can only be described as *born-again-new-age* who couldn't wait to "commune" with the mounds.  Now I can add to that list a person who asked if there was an “extra-terrestrial” explanation for the effigy mounds built by American Indians thousands of years ago.

Ellison Orr's map of Marching Bear Mound Group in Effigy Mounds
National Monument.  Just because you can see something from the sky,
doesn't mean aliens made or inspired it. Photo courtesy NPS.

I don’t think my jaw dropped, but I do know there was a bit of awed silence usually reserved for those moments when I see someone wearing hot pants or glitter on their eyes. All my instincts scream at me to freeze and to make no sudden movements.

Perhaps it’s a little unfair to the poor person who asked me that. I understand that such un-testable statements exist and capture the imagination (perhaps due to the hyper active agency detection that I think might go a long way in explaining some of our more bizarre behavior and rituals), but when it comes to choosing explanations of our world I put my faith in empirically tested hypotheses. Aliens? Show me your evidence.

Here’s why I go red in the face, scoff, and huff and puff at you when you posit such a statement. First, that’s embarrassing, but not because of the implausibility and enormous lack of hard evidence for the presence of aliens, but because of what such a statement reveals about your attitude towards other cultures. By stating (or inquiring) that beings from another planet had a role in the construction of prehistoric monuments implies that you don’t think the people living here at that time were mentally or physically capable of such works. Second, it was precisely that line of reasoning that justified the mass extermination of Indians from the North and South American continents five hundred years ago. If someone is not capable, then they are not fully human, and therefore don’t deserve the land on which they are residing (because they don’t know or understand how to “properly” use it).

Now for the tricky part: How do you tell people that their question is dangerously teetering on the edge of ethnocentrism while still encouraging them to continue through the monument and educate themselves a bit?

I copped out, and gave one of the standard answers one uses when the crazies come through and you don’t want to hurt their feelings. Especially when they mean no harm, and are simply more interested in alien conspiracies than humans.

“There are some who think the mounds may have had some kind of celestial or astronomical significance, but because of so many of the mounds were destroyed we’ll never know if there was a pattern; there just aren’t enough of the pieces left to figure out the puzzle of meaning.”

Which translates into “I’ll let you keep believing whatever you want.”

Smiles were exchanged and everyone moved on with their day.

In other news, I’ve been lucky enough to get an extension of sorts at the park I’ve been working at. Extra work hours were given to all the state parks and since our maintenance guy is nearing his yearly limit on hours, I get all the leftovers. Hooray! No real difference in what I’ll be doing, except working in the Store an extra day a week, still doing programs here and there, and…here’s the exciting part: invasive removal.

Which means I got to learn how to use a chainsaw.

I'm clearly angry that this maple is threatening biodiversity with
its weedy tendencies.  And yes, I'm aware of how cool those orange
chaps are.

Super fun, and I can now say I’ve actually “done the work” when it comes to restoration (we’re removing the army of maples that have quickly taken over previously open areas or oak savannah). The one snag? My pitiful upper body strength. First day, I couldn’t start the stupid chainsaw and always had to have someone else get it going for me. BUT, today was the second time out and I figured out a way to start it all by myself! Sure I have to put it on the ground and use a foot and an arm to stabilize it, but I was still rewarded with that satisfying rumbling growl of chainsaw.

Now I just have to get images of Fern Gully out of my mind when I’m out there. I keep saying to myself ‘I’m saving the oaks, I’m saving the oaks,' or, 'I’m saving the prairie, I’m saving the prairie...’

Crysta and Magi would be so mad at me if I accidentally released Hexxus
again.  But I'm pretty sure all of the maple saplings I've cut down are too
small to house such a terrible shadow-diesel-nightmare-beast.

On being a Whirlwind in the Great American Desert

I am a usurper of astrological systems. Cancer. Ox. And now, using Cherokee wisdom, I have another designation: Whirlwind.

How freakishly fitting.

“Whirlwind moves back and forth, around and about, picking up at one place, dropping off at another…These persons are also blown about like the wind, unpredictable as the weather. They can be as swift and destructive as the tornado that cuts a swath across the prairie…This sign moves in honesty and truth, as guileless and spontaneous as the wind….These are Those who listen to Rocks and hug Trees…” –from some Cherokee astrology book lent to me by my cousin

So here I am, two weeks back in the Driftless after a roam through what was once called The Great American Desert, as the American High Plains was called back in the early days of settlement due to the lack of trees…most likely named as such before the actual deserts in the southwestern portion of the country was found or acquired. But behind the misnomer there is a rather large, furnace-like kernel of truth: It’s hot down there. And in all my travels around the Midwest, I have yet to find a rival to the humidity of Missouri. I once thought Kansas was the winner, but oh no. False. Erroneous.

Oppressive.

But if we are to accept the designation of my home region as a Desert, than I am a desert daughter of my desert mother. I like the heat. I wished for it. I could use another two months of it before I start yearning for fall. I feel like Death and Heat are the great equalizers. Everybody dies, everybody sweats.

So if you really want to get into the following stories, just imagine everything is taking place in 105+ degree heat, and on average a heat index of 110+ with humidity.

For simplicity’s sake, and the realization that you have better things to than sit around all day reading a blog, I’ve divided it up into five events:

Event #1: Wedding with a Hog Roast

Last week I drove down to CoMO to attend the wedding of two wonderful people, and as an added bonus got to see a lot of people I was missing hardcore. It was an outdoor wedding. In July. In Missouri. Hot and sticky. Seriously, I stuck to everything, including other people:

The wedding was beautiful: Vintage, 1940s-ish themed, outdoors on an island pavilion in the middle of a lake in the middle of downtown Columbia. 15-minute ceremony complete with ring-warming and the appearance of a pocket knife. Did I mention how beautiful the bride was? Everyone looked fantastic, despite the sweat running down your neck, back, arms, and legs.

The reception was held in a building with an AC that was a champ. A bunch of us went in together to get a bluegrass band to play. Anthropologists everywhere. How could all that possibly be topped? Easily. We were treated to a huge pig that had been roasted whole and slapped on a table, with sunglasses and a top hat. I will forever compare any pork sandwich I have in the future the sweet melt-in-your-mouth meaty goodness between two hunks of bread I had while surrounded by good friends and an open bar. I think that day is going to be incorporated into my mental construction of heaven.

Of course, all good things must come to end. Kind of. The day after the wedding, we all got a text announcing that the leftover kegs must be finished. “Bring your drinking pants” is a text some can only dream of, especially when what is being offered is a keg of delicious pale ale.

Event #2: Picnic Dinner with Kindred Spirits

But before I could help my newlywed friends in their mission to polish off two kegs, I had a date with two people I absolutely adore. We decided to meet up in one of my favorite places in Columbia - actually it might be THE favorite place - Peace Park. I picked up some sushi from HyVee and soaked the heat as I walked along the familiar path to the park.

I’ve been lucky enough to have a sense of belonging everywhere I’ve lived, and Columbia was no different. But it wasn’t so much the town that I felt so connected to, though that’s not to say it’s not an amazing town that I miss, but the people who shared my life there. To be surrounded by people who dream of sustainable lifestyles, choose fresh/local food over anything else, and with whom you share an intense feeling of camaraderie is what I really miss. To my fellow picnickers, may we one day have hill-homes with living roofs, solar panels, gardens, goats, chickens, and bees (and of course, a flock of kids running around reciting from On the Origin Of Species).

Event #3: Bloggers Have Birthdays, Too

I have a rule. Well, I have several rules, but this one is probably THE most important one: Spend my birthday someplace different every year. I started this when I was 20, and I was just realizing how much wanderlust was running through my veins. Twenty was the last birthday I had in my hometown in Kansas, twenty-one was in Manhattan, KS where I went to school, twenty-two was in southwestern Colorado the day before my family and I hiked up Mt. Elbert, twenty-three was up here in the Driftless, twenty-four was Lawrence, KS, and twenty-five was in Fort McMurray, Alberta while doing fieldwork. By now, enough personal information has leaked out for you, the faceless internet void, to ascertain that I am, indeed, 26 years of age. This year, it turned out to be quite convenient for me to stay in CoMO for a an extra day in order to celebrate the passing of another year at one of my favorite places: Café Berlin. The epitome of what I love about Columbia – local, organic, cool vibe (it was once a gas station), and satisfying portions. My favorite is the Clifton “Butch” Jones, a small pancake burrito containing local eggs and bacon smothered with apples and sausage in a sweet-spicy-maple concoction that has me drooling even now. That combined with some Lakota coffee got my day off to a solid start. After breakfast, I meandered over to Swallow Hall, home of the Department of Anthropology to surprise my advisor/mentor with a visit. I also wanted to check out the Museum of Anthropology Gift Shop for any fair trade goodies I could take home with me.

That’s right, the original home. A return visit to my birthplace was on the agenda. I figured that while I’m down in the plains, I might as well swing the journey across state lines into the motherland. So another tank of gas and a 5-Hour Energy later, and I was heading back to where it all began.

Sometimes I see signs I’m on the right path. All the way home dust devils sprang up on the side of the roads as if the wind itself had decided to go home with me. Unfortunately, even the wind couldn’t ease the heat. About 30 miles from home, my car had had enough of the 109 air temperature and stalled, sputtered, and expired. Through some kind of car magic, I was able to turn the car off, then on again just fine, called home, and was off again at a blistering 50 mph with no AC. To wrap up this story, something was replaced in my car (fuel pump? Fuel filter? Something to do with getting the fuel to the engine) and I was urged caution in using the AC on such brutally hot roadtrip days.

This would later result in an epic 11.5 hr roadtrip across Kansas and Iowa to my current Driftless home sans AC. Tough, but with Emmylou Harris in the player and more 5-Hour Energy in the console I made it just fine.

Event #4: Reflections on Life While in Kansas

It’s nice being home. So nice, in fact, that one begins to wonder why she left in the first place. But I know why; it’s that incessant, unrelenting need to always be heading somewhere. I don’t even like applying for permanent jobs (but I do, because I need employment) because there’s so much I want to see and experience.

But dreams change. My older sister told me that once when she moved back to our hometown. I didn’t understand her back then, but now that it’s been a few years away I can feel it. Every once in awhile, images of my own home, yard, chickens, goats, bee hives, garden, dogs will pop unexpectedly into my head. When I’m home, that seems to happen more often. When I’m home, I can’t help but think how easy it would be to just…stay. Live in that happiness bubble forever, close to my family, close to my childhood friends, close to all the things that made me who I am. A part of me is jealous of my older sister, because she has the things that I do not. A stable career that she loves, a house and family of her own, medical insurance, a dog…it’s that stability that I’m envious of, that ability and courage to find a place and put down those metaphorical roots.

But then I spy the folded maps in my car and I start thinking about all the possibilities and my deep, dark, secret dream/fear of stability and commitment goes flying out the window. And I want to get moving. To anywhere.

My advisor asked me how it felt being back on campus as an alum. It’s weird. I don’t think enough time has passed for me to become super nostalgic towards Mizzou. Everything is still too fresh in my mind that I experienced no flood of memories, all the memories are still very much on the surface. It was only as I was leaving town that I realized I’m not sure when the next time I’ll be back is. And that thought does make me sad, because it was such a happy time and place for me (most of the time). But it’s a place that was home, which means I’ll find my way back periodically. Even the wind has a direction.

Event #5: Back in the Groove

So as July wrapped itself up, I found myself in something resembling a rush to get projects, visits, and such completed before I head to my next destination. Which, in all honesty, I have no idea where that will be. And I kind of like it that way. At least for now.