Buck brush, Deer Brush, Green Leaf Manzanita, Whitethorn, Mariposa Manzanita, logs that turn to dust, stumps that turn to dust, needle duff mats on steep slopes, bear clover, invisible holes and sticks that lie hidden beneath bear clover, rattle snakes, ticks, vicious ermines, bears that look cute, rabid squirrels, coworkers with sleep deprivation, forgotten hardhats, forgotten lunches, forgotten coffee, and of course poison oak plantations; these are a few of my favorite job hazards. I just found out that I will be taking part in the yearly "Fen" Survey. This means my work schedule is changing dramatically, with my work-weeks being put back to back. I'll have three eight day "tours" with six days off in between. Me and one other guy will be hiking into the Emigrant Wilderness and staying out there for eight days ... read more

Lost is not only the name of a forest in Southeastern Oregon. It was five hours on dirt "roads", alfalfa fields, private property, burning straw bales, sage brush plantations, and barbed wire fences, making the trip a solid eleven hours. With one side-view mirror less, our heads full of intriguing Christian literature, and a number of fits of hysterical anger and cackling, the early van of mammalogists made it to the research area, invigorated and excited to get to work. By day, mammals were observed, among other things. By night, we shared in deep sober discussions around the fire, burning of legally obtained wood. Just to name a few things, we saw a crack in the ground, a porcupine latrine, a few thunderstorms, a one legged BLM volunteer on a 4-wheeler, a pair of rainbows, and ... read more

I sleep in a teepee in the French Alps. There is a totem pole not too far away. Lying awake, sometime near 7 AM, I listen to the ring of cowbells, eight cowbells, and the snorting of three hungry pigs who await their winter slaughter. The cheese ages in silence. Thirteen hungry cats meow. If I lay here long enough, I will be reawaken by the bellow of the bull as someone separates him from his harem. It is an angry cry, but it echoes down the valley and returns with despair. A frightening sadness. I no longer fear the bull, though twice I've watched him bluff charges at others. He likes to watch me split wood. From behind the fence, he eyes me as I sweat and swear. I sense he respects this work, that ... read more

I have found a computer. I arrive at the next farm this afternoon. Well It seems my last two blog entries were lost in a server crash. Maybe its for the best? I have readded some of the pictures.... and a summary: Crazy, long lost brother-uncle-cousin Steve lands in Geneva, Switzerland in an intense delerium, returns to his french family, drools into his fondu and mumbles unintelligibly. He is forced into slave labor picking fruit in the Alps. thats about it, steve ... read more

Who needs a Pooper Scooper? Well surely not our good friends in France. Dog shit on a paris sidewalk(every sidewalk) is like a star in the sky, untrampled, untouched, and perfectly formed. Like the rest of Paris, even the dog shit is romantic and ornate as if it were placed with great care by the "hand" of god, yet you know it was not. I formed constellations in my mind as I watched my step, though it was difficult with my eyes constantly distracted by some gargantuan piece of architecture at every turn. After Pamplona, I met up with a friend in Bordeaux and we made our way to Paris, mostly by train. We rode up along the coast through the Medoc wine region and crossed Gironde River by Ferry. From Sainte we took the train ... read more