Snowmageddon 2010

I know I have been ignoring the blog, but Facebook and Ravelry are so absorbing. I will try to be better. I have been told by one of my two readers to get a post up, so here goes...

Western Pa has definitely been slammed with the same snowmageddon that is hitting the rest of the mid-Atlantic.


I don't think we will be dining on the deck anytime soon.

Or grilling for that matter. Funny thing is, DH grilled a hamburger on this very grill just last Friday... before the snow arrived.

While walking out to feed the chickens today Duncan decided he couldn't be more than 6 inches behind me. This is all well and good when we are just walking, not so great when we are trudging through thigh high snow. He went down while I brought my foot up and off came my boot, to be buried in the 2 1/2 feet of virgin snow. The chickens are in a part of the garden that doesn't see the plow so the snow is very deep and fluffy. Needless to say my boot was lost in the abyss. So now I am down on my hands knees searching for the the blasted boot. Duncan thinks mom is playing a wonderful new game and wants to help. Pouncing, pouncing, pouncing is fun, mom. Found the boot and of course it is full of snow. Bang the boot on the feed bucket and try to squeeze my snow encased foot into the boot. Thank goodness for handknit wool socks. My foot never got cold or even a little wet. Got to make me some more of these socks.

In the build up to the Olympics I got the hair brained idea to knit myself the Norwegian Ski Team's Olympic sweater before the Vancouver games begin. So I could wear it for the opening ceremonies. Crazy, I know...

I didn't want to use the Dale yarn so I have substituted some gorgeous Rauma Finnulgarn in colors that are close to the ones in the original.

So far the body is finished and the sleeves are almost ready for the color work. Doesn't look like I will be making the opening ceremonies but I hope to be wearing this little gem during the games. I also made it a cardigan. Finding cardigans more to my liking these days. So will have to think about how I would like the front bands to look. Maybe some more X's and O's.

I will be demonstrating crochet steeks and cutting your steeks at the Pittsburgh Knit and Crochet Festival this Saturday, so I thought I would leave the neck steek closed until the festival. It is short and will be easy to crochet and then cut open on an actual sweater. I have also been knitting lots of plain swatches for attendees to crochet and cut on their own.

Not too thrilled with how uneven the stitches are on this sweater. The color work is OK but the plain stockinette looks for yuck. I am hopeful a trip through some warm water will make the yarn bloom and all will be right with the world.

I have a long queue of knitting to start but have some secret knitting that has priority right now, so the knitting will be a little spotty for a while.

Hope there won't be anymore snow pictures to share either.

If you are in the Pittsburgh area and can dig yourself out try to make it to the Pittsburgh Knit and Crochet Festival. I will be near the Knit One booth on Saturday afternoon. Stop by and say hi.

Forgive me for being sappy, but...

BY: KAITLIN IN AUSTRALIA

Let’s recap my Australian experience thus far:

I’m seeing things I didn’t think were possible. I’m pushing my body and my mind past every former exertion and inhibition. And as my program in Australia winds down, I’m finding it harder and harder to say goodbye to this place.

A mere two weeks remain until I’ve got to say my final adieu, and I’m determined to make the most of it. More and more, I’m learning I’ve got to make the smallest things holy. I’ve got to consecrate the small things that make up a whole life, the unsung moments that make life worth living and remembering:

Markets with rows upon rows of fresh, fresh fruit.

A tip of a hat from a genial and soft-spoken farmer.


A truly ridiculous amount of cookie dough, made and eaten.

A particularly transcendent sunrise.

A peaceful boat ride into the misty mangroves of Australia.

These last two photographs are from when we went camping in the Daintree, a sleepy place where the rain is constant and the air is thick with its warm humidity. It’s advertised as the place where the rainforest meets the Great Barrier Reef, and it is a place of misty, unreal beauty.

To see the thick greenery come right up against the sandy shores? There are some times when all I really want to do is give Mother Nature a hug and explain to her how totally awesome she is. (Happy Earth Day on this past Wednesday, girl!)

Upon our return to the field station, we’ve been inundated with exams and fieldwork. I’m doing directed research on vines, more specifically on how invasive species of vines might prove to be more drought-tolerant than endemic species. I’m an ecology nerd admittedly, so I’ll understand if none of you come clamoring to read my final paper.

Regardless, it’s been a lot of work in the last couple of days, and it will be a long stretch of work ahead of me. It’ll be easy to get caught in trivialities and stress, but if I’ve learned anything from this whole experience, I’ll remember the good things—the golden memories that reach out and hold me in a friend's embrace.

All my love,
Kaitlin

Next time: I'm finally going snorkeling in Australia's finest treasure, the Great Barrier Reef.

My Village Stays

BY: AURORA FROM SENEGAL

Hello all! I would just like to offer my apologies for leaving Kaitlin alone on this blog. But she's doing a great job, and I believe she keeps all of our readers very entertained. But seeing as I have found a nice little café with WiFi (!!)- pronounced wee-fee here- I will use this time to give you all a flash update on my village stays.


Kedougou:

My group traveled 20 hellish hours on a bumpy road to reach Kedougou, a region in southeast Senegal. We got 3 flat tires on the way there, and 3 flat tires on the way back. Apparently, luck was not on our side. Anyways, this is the poorest regions of Senegal, as well as the hottest. There I stayed in a village called Boundi Kodi with people of the Peul Bande ethnic group. I speak no Peul, they spoke no French or Wolof- needless to say I couldn't communicate. I stayed with the village chief, Mamadou Diallo, and his 4 wives, I didn't get all of their names. There, my days consisted of eating breakfast, helping shell peanuts, eating lunch (Maffé- rice with peanut sauce), pounding millet,taking a nap, getting my hair braided, eating dinner by the moonlight (no electricity), having a dance party with the children, and sleeping at 4am (when the breeze kicks in) because I couldn't stand the heat. Although it was about 104 degrees everyday, I was more overwhelmed with the level of interest in my person. After the village stay, we enjoyed the sites of Kedougou, including an amazing waterfall and a village upon a mountain.

Keur Sedaro:

For 3 days my name was Oumi Mbaye. I stayed in the Wolof village of Keur Sedaro with my mother Djoro Diouf, and father Magurom Mbaye. They were lovely, hysterical people. There I helped with the cooking, carried babies on my back, and helped fetch the water from the water pump. My family had a dog named Vivian, like the president's wife- they hate the president. This was a constant joke they made: "Oh look it's Wade's wife!" as they pointed at the poor flea-ridden mutt. These jokes were all in Wolof, a language that I have gotten used to, but by no means am I fluent; I also had trouble with communication. There, I functioned as America's cultural encyclopedia. I was asked if there was coffee, tomatoes, carrots, dogs, cows, donkeys, and finally black people in America. I also had to explain what being Latin American was. People just thought that one of my parents was black. They were very (I'm fighting the urge to use très) confused when I explained that both of my parents looked like me. "Oh, they are another type of people," they concluded. Multicultural experiences.

I will also give a brief Wolof lesson (just for you Apolline)

Jaay fondé- (literally means "to see millet") also, a big derrière.
ex. Wow, you have a jaay fondé.

Waaw - yes; it will be hard to not use this in the states.

deedet -no; very cute way to avoid people

Mangi lekk -I eat

sopp na - I like

sur na - I am full

Amuma xaalis - I don't have money

Am naa jeker/far - I have a husband/boyfried; used often

Duma chinois - I am not Chinese; we have a Korean friend here

Jerejef - thank you


Ci (chi) digga-digga - really; can be sarcastic if used correctly

Ba beneen yoon - until next time

With that said, ba beneen yoon

The World My Wilderness...

BY: KAITLIN IN AUSTRALIA

We’re a wholesome bunch here: We have hearty breakfasts of eggs and toast. We hydrate copiously with ice-cool water. We go through crates of apples and buckets of peanut butter like nobody's business. We get at least eight hours of sleep a night. And as you might be able to tell from past posts of mine, we love a good hike.

Someone once told me that hiking was basically consisted of three things: climbing uphill for hours, taking pictures at the top, and then walking back down. Truth be told, that’s a fairly accurate depiction of what can happen, but it hardly describes the incredible swooshing rush you get at the top of a mountain and the intense satisfaction you find at the bottom.

As I write this, we’re all groaning a bit; we’ve just hiked the highest part of Lambs Head (also known as Kahlpahlim Rock), and we all ache. It was a full day walk, and we hiked for seven straight hours. Our sore calf and butt muscles curse us with every step, but reader, it was so worth it!

The day started in darkness, as we had to leave the field station at six o’clock. When you leave the field station at six o’clock, that means you have to wake up even earlier to make your eggs and toast, in addition to packing a lunch for later.

Along with fruit and a turkey sandwich, I brought a ridiculous amount of gorp (good ole raisins and peanuts) to tide me over. Over the course of the hike, I probably ate my weight in gorp.

Bleary-eyed and stumbling, we climbed into the vans that would take us to Lambs Head. Naturally, we immediately fell asleep, lulled by the gentle rocking of those valiant and decrepit vans.

We all collectively woke up when the vans hit dirt road, jiggling us across a mountainous landscape. Soon enough, we were standing around at the start of the trail, adjusting pack straps and double-checking supplies of water (3 liters necessary, at the very least).

And then the hike began!

There’s something so meditative about hiking: it’s like the very act purifies your thoughts. Away with the small and large sins of yesterday, away with the plaguing guilt over tasks done and undone. It’s just you and the mountain.

Even though I was hiking with a small group of six, it was still easy to isolate myself mentally. The person in front of me? Just a pair of legs and a torso moving ahead.

I have a bad tendency of looking down when I’m hiking—mainly because I need to be careful with my footing. (My clumsiness should be nothing new.) Usually, I stare at the ground looking for any obstacles, like random logs or thorny shrubs. This time, though, I tried hard to look at my surroundings.

At the start of the hike, there was a multitude of grasses and lantana weeds, along with sparsely spaced eucalyptus trees. This progressed into more thickly situated deciduous trees with a multitude of feather palms, until you reached mossy boulders and huge trees. The hike up was steep and reminiscent of a Stairmaster exercise.


Like I said, we all ache now.

But we prevailed, and it was worth it. At the top, there were five lookouts, and they were all overwhelming in their span and beauty:


We had lunch at the fourth lookout, and there’s probably nothing better than a mustard, cheese, and turkey sandwich when you’re smack on the side of the mountain. We took a rest, which looks a little like this:

(That's my lovely friend, Laura, taking a well-deserved nap.)

We traveled on to the fifth lookout, where I took the requisite top-of-the-mountain picture:

And then we started on our way back down. The way down (much like the way up) was steep, and much of the time we were basically running down hills, meaning that we made it down in record time.

When we reached the foot of the mountain, we ransacked leftover supplies of gorp and water before lying back and looking up into the blue, blue sky.

Back safe and sound at the field station, we carry the remnants of the day—sunburn, soreness, and general tiredness. Another hike well-hiked, another wholly perfect day in Australia.

I’ve got a book of Walt Whitman here, and I’ll leave you with a stanza I’ve underlined in soft pencil:

This then is life,
Here is what has come to the surface after so many throes and convulsions

How curious! How real!
Underfoot the divine soil, overhead the sun.

All my love,
Kaitlin

Next time: We’re going camping in the Daintree, where the rainforest meets the Great Barrier Reef.

Our koalas don't take baths...

BY: KAITLIN IN AUSTRALIA

Contrary to popular belief, koalas are not everywhere in Australia. I only say this because I had the following classic conversation with my beloved sister a while go.

Chrissy: Do koala bears climb into your bathtub? That is so cool! Why don't you take pictures of cute koala bears?
Me: There are no koala bears in this area. So, no, koala bears do not climb into my bath tub.
Chrissy: Really? You should just let your windows open.
Me: But there are no koala bears in this area.
Chrissy: But don't you take baths?
Me: No, we take showers
Chrissy: So the koala bears take showers?

(Don’t worry. My sister is super smart and she was just, as the Aussies say, havin’ a go. Happy 27th birthday today, Chrissy!)

But last Friday, a merry group of us students headed down the eastern coast to a house on Magnetic Island for three wonderful days of hiking and swimming. And on one of those days, I finally saw and held my first koala at an animal sanctuary. Just so you know, koalas don't wash themselves; the smellier they are, the more attractive they are to the opposite sex.

(His name was Dexter; how awesome is that?!)

After a week of exams and writing papers, I was fully ready for a little rest and recreation, and Magnetic Island proved generous with both. Aside from holding Dexter at the koala sanctuary, we hiked an old track full of World War II forts. The views were amazing naturally, but I also felt some residual sadness for those brave old soldiers, who must have held these same tranquil blue waters with some amount of trepidation—nothing like us carefree sorts, goofing around on boulders and taking pictures like this:


No more sadness, readers! Because I have to say, the real highlight of my trip was on the second day, when we finally broke down and rented scooters.

I know! Kaitlin on a scooter! What are the chances?

Here’s a little proof for the non-believers:

(My schooter’s name was Geoffrey; how awesome is that?)

I feel like most of my blog entries deal with the verbally indescribable, and the experience of racing around a tiny, mountainous mountain on a scooter certainly falls under the same category. It was sublime. There’s just no other word.

The feeling of the sun on your back? The feeling of the racing down a curve at 55 kilometers per hour? Just sublime. You’ll just have to trust me on this.

As you can imagine, we were quite the sensation—six scooters rolling around at top speed. And we used those scooters as much as possible, motoring up and down that beautiful shoreline. We’d stop at particularly beautiful bays and jump into the salty waters, shrieking and laughing the whole way.

We eventually made our way back to the house, where we grilled up a meal for a king—Australian lamb burgers and sausages, eaten on a sandy picnic table.

That night, with the salt of the sea still on our skin and hair, we went for one last scooter ride. It was pitch dark, except for the light of our lone headlights. The island is pretty deserted since Australia’s moving into autumn, and tourists are scarce. Scooting in one arcing lineup, I felt like a part of some biker gang (albeit slightly less fierce because of our silly grins) as we motored recklessly past a moving landscape.

The next morning, as we left the island on a lumbering ferry back to the mainland, it was impossible to feel anything except gratitude—gratitude for a bounty of beautiful landscapes, gratitude for a raucous time spent among friends, gratitude for the wind against my face as we raced against the night.


Here’s to Dexter, Geoffrey, and the burning, bright brilliance of youth.

Next time: We're climbing the highest point of the Lambshead range! So ready yourself for pictures of a sweaty and beatific crew.

All my love,
Kaitlin

P.S. I've uploaded a bunch of pictures on my Facebook account—a smattering of my Australian experience—so definitely check those out!

Wade in the water...

BY: KAITLIN IN AUSTRALIA

The theme of this post will be water, since I spent most of the last few days in and around it.

Isn’t water something else? I’m a Pisces myself; my element is water. Maybe I’m not the strongest swimmer, but I love it anyways.

The weekend started with some of the most perfect swimming I’ve ever had—all at the Josephine Falls in Queensland, Australia. This nook would be easy to miss, with only a rather drab sign to announce it. You hike for a tiny bit, and then you hear it—ever stronger and stronger—the sublime noise of rushing water.

The sight was something else—a waterfall structured around boulders so huge and massive they must have been the playthings of the gods. And here’s the most glorious thing: a slanting rock with cool, clear water flowing over it. In other words, a natural water slide.

Of course, we will be young and foolish, and that means we are a little drunk with our own invincible recklessness. Right away, we began racing right down the face of the slippery rock. One of the guys’ secret for winning so consistently? Pulling down his shorts a little to expose his derriere. Priceless.


In other news, I guess you won’t be surprised to know I fell straight on my back at the top of the slide. My legs flew straight out from under me, and I hit my head on the face of that smooth, dark rock. The “slide” was covered with a filmy mucus that’s common on a lot of river stones, and combined with my natural clumsiness, I now have a rather largish lump on my head. But as the Aussies love to say, “No worries, mate!” I wasn’t too hurt, and it certainly didn’t stop me from sliding down three more times.

Tired out from racing, we all sat back on the huge rocks and sunbathed—the perfect finish to any day.

That night, we stayed at a hostel in Cairns, a little tourist trap of a city. It reminds me of Miami, a city of which I’ve never been a fan. Too many tacky bistros, too many bleached blondes, too many souvenir shops hocking the same wares. Typical tourist fare. Maybe I’ve spent too much time in the rainforest amongst a different sort of people, but regardless, the city was a little much for me to handle.

We awoke bright and early the next morning and boarded a bus to the Tully River. It was here we’d spend another epic day—whitewater rafting down the Tully.

I’ve only been whitewater rafting once before, and it was on Class II rapids. The Tully Tiver, in contrast, is full of Class III and Class IV rapids. In other words, the rapids have high waves, dangerous rocks, and difficult passages. Nothing to scoff at.

I was scared stiff, but our guide, Renee, was extremely calm and sweet. I think she was used to high-strung passengers because she hardly noticed my nervous laughter and chatter.

But soon enough, my high-pitched giggles (so well known to friends and family) turned into shrieks of sheer excitement. Whitewater rafting is another thing that I find impossible to describe in words. But I know people who’ve also whitewater rafted will know what I mean. There’s nothing quite as life-affirming as when you look over your shoulder and realize that you just came through a dangerous and steep rapid over jagged and angry-looking rocks. You think to yourself, “Did I really do that? And how soon can I do it again?”

First row: Cass, Terry (poor guy, he was the only stranger and male on our raft), Elyse, our awesome guide Renee, and Nichole

Second row: Laura and me

The only part of the trip that I was truly frightened was when rafters were allowed to swim directly through a rapid. I had no idea what I was in for. I thought it might be some calm waters that a current would carry me through. But it wasn’t.

These rapids were the real thing: fast-moving and dangerous. With only a life-jacket, I was buffeted about in the breaking waves. I kept breathing at the wrong time, and each time I opened my mouth, I swallowed more and more water. And I would see a huge wave, taller than me, coming right at me.

Panic abounded.

I thought I was going to die. I’m not even just saying that, I was scared. I even started waving my hands, hoping to God that someone would see my frantic gesturing. Along the way, I picked up this little beaut of a bruise on my knee:

(I guess the other theme of this post could have been "Just how clumsy is Kaitlin?")

But all of a sudden, the waters suddenly slowed, and with a huge amount of relief, I saw my fellow rafters, contentedly bobbing in more placid waters. My heart was pounding, and then the exhilaration of having survived a particularly fearsome danger set in.

After that particular thrill, the daylong rafting trip was almost over, and I was ready for the long bus ride back. These days, I’m using any excuse to catch some extra sleep, and in no time at all, lulled by the drone of the engine and wheels, I was out.

We got back to Cairns just in time for a late dinner of some of the best pizza I’ve ever had—crispy and cheesy and all the other wonderful things that pizza can be.

The long and tiring day ended with me and a good friend (Laura from the above photo) looking out from the Cairns marina—my first view from the opposite side of the Pacific Ocean.

I squinted my eyes all I could. I thought of shouting out. For a second, it really seemed like if I tried hard enough, maybe I could make you hear me all the way from sunny, beautiful Australia. But instead of yelling, I stayed quiet. I closed my eyes. I thought hard. And I wished you all the precious gift of water—so perilous and humbling, so cleansing and sweet.

All my love,
Kaitlin

Next time: I’ll be going to the Chillagoe Outback on a three-day camping excursion, exploring caves and jumping off rocks. Wish me luck!

Take a hike, my friend.

BY: KAITLIN IN AUSTRALIA

Today is my birthday! And I’m in Australia! Could things get any better?

Actually, if I can be honest, things could have been a little better. We were scheduled to go up to Lambs Head on an all-day hike, but we can’t because of (what else) a rainstorm. That’s okay, though, because seriously, let’s put things in perspective—I’m in Australia, and it’s beautiful. Even in all its rainy glory.

I know this will sound tired and prosaic, but I feel very lucky to be here. Most days I wake up at six o’clock in the morning (what a difference from mornings at Swarthmore), and I just lay there for a while, listening to the rain and the birds. By now, I can identify some of these birds, and it makes me feel a little more welcome in this big, vast rainforest.

And, reader, I feel happy. That’s pretty rare for any human being to achieve, and I’ve been feeling it a majority of the time here. Even in sessions of intense paper writing, it's hard not to enjoy the beautiful surroundings. I mean, really—how could anyone be stressed when face-to-face with a bullheaded and foolish brush turkey, intent on stealing your lunch?

Just look at that face. We call him Charles.

Anyways, I promised that last time I’d talk about what you need to bring in your pack for hiking in the rainforest, and I’m here to deliver. What you need in the rainforest isn’t too different from what you’d normally need, with a few exceptions:

• Rain jacket: You better make sure this is waterproof. None of your fancy frills, please. Bless you, inventors of Gore-tex. You’ve protected me from many a blustery burst of water, and I love you.

• Rain pants: Before this program, I’d never heard of rain pants. The ones I found look laughably bad on me. They’re size extra-small, but they still balloon out like goofy, horrible jodhpurs. However, they get the job done, which is basically to protect me from leeches and puddles.

• Swiss army knife: Whether you’re slicing open your apple or screwing back together your glasses (don’t laugh at me), I can’t stress the usefulness of this.

• Sunglasses: The Aussies call these sunnies, and when the sun breaks out, like it did last week, they're a necessity.
  

• Sunscreen lotion: You’ll get tan no matter what you do, but I try to avoid it anyways. Wear sunscreen, and avoid the burn. My farmer’s tan is fairly ridiculous by now, so I’m trying to remedy it.

• Bug spray: This is crucial. My legs are the sorriest sight because I neglected to put on some good old DEET two days in a row. There are these huge marsh flies that take a chunk out of your leg and leave you with big old welts. Somehow, I’ve been hit the worse, and of course, I’ve been getting the “It’s because you’ve got such sweet blood!” comments endlessly. Hardy har har.

• Binoculars: Perfect for sighting kookaburras and the other many birds of the rainforest. Also for looking straight-up gangsta.

• Camera: I love my new digital SLR camera, and it’s been getting some serious workouts. It’s huge and ungainly but completely worth the trouble of lugging it around. Where else am I going to get a shot like this?

• Rainboots: Aussies call these gumboots, and we’ve taken to calling them “g boots.” (I know, what sophisticated humor! What enlightened wit!) Anyhow, my “g boots” have protected me from cow pies, mud, and leeches. However, they have not protected me from my own clumsiness. During water testing for a local creek, I fell in, and my poor rainboots overflowed with mucky scumwater. Not pretty.

• Compression bandages: Snakes are everywhere here, and these will help you in case you get bitten. You wrap them around the snake bite area, in order to slow the flow of poison in your bloodstream. Fingers crossed, I won’t ever have to use them.

• Water: Your Nalgene bottle will become a lifeline. It’s easy to get dehydrated when you’re doing a lot and when it’s so hot. I have a friend here who reminds me to drink water because I forget sometimes and then wonder why I feel so dizzy. Plus, is there anything more delicious than ice-cold water?

• Bandana: Effective in mopping a sweaty brow or in tying back sweaty hair. Sweaty sweaty!

• Headlamps: At night, there are no lampposts to guide you back to your cabin. And the darkness can be overwhelming. On my first night here, I walked back alone, and even with the brightness of my headlamp, I felt so frightened. The blackness envelops you, and you imagine all sorts of things. It’s all I can do just to remember that there are no large predators in the Australian rainforest.

• Extra set of clothes: You're going to get dirty so bring extra of everything, especially socks. I have about three extra pairs of hiking socks in my pack at all times. I also keep a swimsuit in there, just in case we have time to stop and swim in a lake. You know how I love a good lake-swim!

• Nibblies: Aussie-speak for snacks, and completely necessary for an overeater such as myself. Preferred nibblies? PB & J, apples, pita and hummus, and chocolate.
  

And of course, don't forget your trusty hiking boots! Mine are actually my sister’s (sorry again, Chrisann!) so they’re comfortable and already broken in.

Apologies for how long this list turned out to be! I’ll understand if you merely skimmed it over. I’ve never realized how much I actually carry in my backpack. Those who’ve known me awhile know that I favor my huge faux leather bag that I just dump things in, but currently, my North Face pack has been, for all intents and purposes, glued to my back. It’s gross and dirty, but these days, so am I!
Also, I have to say this before I sign off: As much as I’m in love with my new surroundings, I miss my family and friends so much. I may be currently infatuated with Australia, but the only real place for me, the place I continue to crave in the midst of all this green, is home with all of you.

All my love,
Kaitlin