Day 45: The Last Supper

Day Forty-Five: The Last Supper

7/27/11:

On the whole, I like to think that I am not an overly sentimental or gushy person. I don’t cry during sad movies; I have been known to loudly declare my distaste for babies; and having to buy “meaningful” and “heartfelt” gifts is a total nightmare for me.

And yet, the KNF was doing something to me. During this last day of actual work, I couldn’t shake the strange feeling that this was my forest...and I was going to be leaving it. No matter how many times I ran that over in my head during our survey, I just couldn’t make it sound right.

The rest of the crew was out on fires, which meant that the Grinnell contingency (minus Neil) was at Hat Ranch knoll, some more worse for wear than others (eh, Noah?). Taking pity on my compatriot, I volunteered to drive the nasty forest roads, and we bumped along at five miles per hour, skirting rocks and veritable trenches. Our final day of surveying was more or less as it had always been: lots of walking, some rock clambering, beautiful old junipers and ponderosas abounding, and lunchtime naps stretched out on the grass under the Arizona sun. I found a decently long (and spikey) point from a shed antler and waved it around for a bit before sticking it in my belt loop; there was minor stabbage by an attack cactus (in the ankle, no less); and the day passed like so many before it.

Back at North House with Yelena, the thwacking sounds of an animal trapped behind the glass doors of our fireplace drew my attention. Expecting to free a mouse, I slid the doors open and then hit the ground as a decently sized bird rocketed at my head. The distressed critter (dubbed Franklin) ripped through North House to our (admittedly girly) shrieks, slamming his feathery body into windows. After attempts to shoo him out the open door had failed, I feared for his safety and with Noah’s beloved ultimate Frisbee t-shirt in hand, scooped Franklin from the air. Overcome with panic, Franklin ceased moving and even outside, he sat docilely in my palm for a few moments before alighting in a flurry of wing flaps. Franklin thusly saved, Yelena and I lauded ourselves as loving friends to nature’s creatures both big and small.

We rounded out our final work day with a last supper at Margaret’s house. Sitting with the whole crew in Margaret’s backyard garden in Williams, I could hardly accept that my summer internship was almost over. I remembered that first day on the ranger district and Neil telling us how fast the next two months would go. Of course at the time, worried about everything as I was, I hadn’t believed him. And yet, eight weeks later, here I was.

After dinner, Yelena and I decided to walk the few miles back to the ranger district. The tiny town of Williams looked almost deserted in the warm dusk light and a creeping feeling of nostalgia for the summer was already settling over me.

I’ve always considered my ability to leave as one of the few things I’m truly good at. For better or for worse, I can detach from people and places with startling ease and have done so a number of times over the years.

Yet, joking and laughing with Yelena on that walk home, I felt sick for what I would soon be leaving. It was slowly striking me that Arizona might just break my heart a little.

And even as sentimental (and painful) as that thought was, I couldn’t help but think that missing a place like this wasn’t such a bad thing.

Photos: 1. & 4. KNF Views (photo credit: Noah) 2. Succulents 3. Franklin