Overhead, delicate whisps of unsubstantial clouds dance and disappear on the otherwise unblemished vast infinite blue. Below, wader-clad and bundled, I trudge into the river, inevitably stumbling (a consequence of my ingrained clumsiness) across the slick stony substrate until reaching the border of the Thalweg. As I settle into my footing, the force of the river hugs each submerged leg in a firm but icy embrace, to which I can only covetously peer over at my sampling and service partner, Grace; perched on a convenient lichen swathed rock, warm, dry, and unperturbed as she fills in the associated data sheet.
An audible ‘plop’ sounds as I dunk the first of my white sampling bottles into the tumbling current. The mouth of the bottle bubbles briskly until the water fills to the neck. Once capped and hoisted from the water, I begin shaking its contents enthusiastically, before dumping it in the stretch behind me (a protocol necessary for removing remaining debris from samples past). All the while, I contemplate whether the driver sputtering across the ironclad bridge upstream thinks I am playing air maracas or crafting a signature scientific cocktail (I’m going with the latter). ‘Plop,’ the opaque bottle dives back under the splashing crystalline waters, repeating the process for what seems like a lifetime, until I emerge, three full bottles for sampling, and two hands indefinitely molded to their circumference. I tell myself repeatedly, “it’s all mind over matter,” but my hands, unserviceable and preserved, say otherwise.
While I realize the entirety of this process takes well under 10 minutes, I cannot deny my deficient southern tolerance to the cruel northeast cold. Instead, I divert my attention and look up to absorb the unique sinuosity, pigmentation, biotic assemblage, design, and temperament that contribute to my emergent appreciation for the greater Ossipee watershed. Along the bank, red and white pine guard the glittering river, each one more monstrous, gnarled, and ancient than the last. Among their braided screening of branches an audience of curious Black-capped chickadees gather above to, as Aldo Leopold puts it best, “offer pert commentary on the slowness of our labor.” (Leopold, 81). Now, standing along the craggy bank, I clench and unclench my aching fingers, trying to regain feeling in them long enough to complete the last of the form, before packing out and waddling deliberately back to the car. Site by site the day speeds along, until I find myself back at the house, starved, chapped from the cold, and struggling to keep my eyes open; the unspoken rewards of laborious work.
Despite the impression, not every day of service with the LRCC has entailed working in the field, but I have to admit those have been my favorite days. However, I’ve come to enjoy the small moments of service. From the smiling faces of preschool children as they haphazardly take to their nature related craft, the gossip shared between citizens over apple cider and mounds of natural materials during our Less Plastic craft fair, and even the days where it is just me, my heating pad, and The B-52’s, stuck behind the computer processing data. In other words, I openly admit I am having a blast! Nevertheless, I optimistically look forward to returning to the land (aka. Texas) where the wind doesn’t bite with a mortal capacity, where townsfolk express exuberant gentility, where the expression “y’all” doesn’t demand sidelong glances, where roads aren’t nauseatingly turbulent, and where, when asked for, the tea is served cold and objectionably sweet.
Hailey will be at Green Mountain Conservation Group as the Water Quality Resources Assistant until late August. Learn more about Hailey here!