Junco, Oh how I love thee...

Yes, that is a tattoo of a dark-eyed junco.

I wish I were a ballerina-spy

I was recently told that happiness is when you are satisfied with your life and don't wish you were doing something else. Well I wish I were a ballerina-spy. It's common knowledge that it's the only job I would trade in my life as a field biologist for. I imagine it would be a snow free existence. Well, except for when I was in Russia. When I interviewed here at Indiana and Dr. Butch Brodie, then head of the graduate program at IU, asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up (those were his words) my answer: ballerina-spy. So why am I not a ballerina-spy?!?! Why am I out slogging through ankle deep snow in my pursuit of the seemingly elusive junco? I can't answer that question this week. This week I seriously wish I were a ballerina-spy and I am kicking myself for giving up on that dream for biology. This week as I'm writing yet another grant, which is really an exercise that causes you to question the overall significance of your research and probably the impetus for this blog, I can't help but imagine that life would be SO much easier if I were a ballerina-spy: Wake up, do some dancing, scale a building to steal some government's secrets, some more dancing, and round off the evening trying to extract informants from hostile countries... or something like that.

-1 degrees

I am in the lab today mixing crazy potions in which I will later store small samples of bird blood. Working mind you, but not out catching birds. And yet, the million dollar question today seems to be, "You're not out catching birds?" Um, kids, CNN has called this flesh-searing and skin-burning weather. Why then would I be out there? I already have issues with one toe from my adventures last winter and a recurring numbness problem in my fingers whenever the temperature drops below freezing and you want me to go out when it's minus 1 ?!?! I refuse to kill myself in the name of research. Okay not true, I refuse to freeze to death in the name of research. I'm willing to fall down a mountain side to my death, skid off icy roads in fiery crashes, be eaten by a bear, or shot by a hunter but I draw the line at freezing to death. Besides it would all be in vain, the juncos don't even come out in this weather. Sure you may see a handful at your feeder but my bait piles will be barren. Trust me, I tried this last winter and the winter before that (yes I needed two tries to learn this lesson) and I have learned that when the temps drop in the single digits the juncos disappear.

So the answer to the million dollar question: As my presence in front of you indicates, I'm not out catching birds.

Eat a Duck I Did

So in a step that I would like to think has brought me closer to eating a junco, I ate Balut. For those that don't know, Balut is a fertilized duck egg. Fertilized as in the baby duck has formed in the egg, some 14-21 days of incubation as occured. Fertilized as in you crack it open and if you're with a bunch of scientist into dissection you can see the head and beak and make out wings and legs. It taste like chicken. I wonder if juncos taste like chicken, though when I speculate about eating junco it's usually and adult. You know, song bird on a stick with a bit of barbeque sauce. If I went the young junco route I'd prefer a junco omlet. How many junco eggs would it take to make an omlet?

Some tips on eating Balut:
1. Avoid eating it with a crowd of people standing around. You can thereby avoid exclamations of "Oh! I see it's head!"" Look at it's eye!" and "Are those feathers!" I'm rather heartless, but even I didn't need to notice that or have excessive attention brought to something I could clearly see and was about to put in my mouth.

2. Try to get one freshly out of the pot. Yes it's really hot and you should be careful but when it sits in the pot for too long the yolk over cooks and really the texture of vasculated over cooked yolk is more gross than the texture of developing duck fetus.

3. Chew. And chew it well. You may want to swallow your spoonful whole but really it's just a bit too solid. Trust me when I say a gob of unchewed baby duck hitting the back of your throat really stimulates the gag reflex. Besides if you don't chew you'll miss out on the chicken flavor...

The Day After Tommorrow

"What do you do?"
I'm a biology graduate student.
"Oh, what do you study?"
The effects of global warming on migration (at least that's the short answer).
Scoffing "Global warming doesn't really exist. "

I'll admit that this repeated response has led to my preference of the phrase "climate change." Oddly enough, people who don't believe in global warming belong to two camps: those who are caught up in the meaning of the words "global warming" and those who think the phrase global warming inherently implies that humans are the cause. The first group can usually be persuaded to "believe" in global warming if you use the phrase climate change. ie) Wacky weather everywhere like snow in Nevada and 50 degree temperatures in Indiana the week before Christmas. The latter group can often be assauged with the use of climate change as well and many are even willing to admit outright that they believe in global warming but refuses to think their gas guzzling SUV is a problem. To this group I say fine. That's great. At least you are willing to accept the idea of climate change in addition to insuring that I will be able to study this topic well into my golden years (if we're still around that is). But this latter group is also further subdived into what I have dubbed, "People who hate thier great great great grandchildren." The ones who won't accept that we humans may be playing a role in climate change AND who don't think climate change is that big a deal. The ones who will look me in the eye and say, "I'll be long gone before climate change is really a problem." Um... so it's okay if future generations aka your great great great grandchildren are forced to suffer because of something you could've helped out with but didn't becauses it wasn't going to directly affect you? What?!?!

And this brings me back to my most favoritest movie EVER and the title of this post: The Day After Tommorrow. It's the movie I bring up in these situations because I believe in countering the ridiculous with more ridculousness. Haven't seen the movie? You should. The premise: the scientist were wrong in thier calculations about the effects of climate change. Instead of everything happening gradually it happens over night with ocean levles rising, warming ocean currents causing drastic changes in weather like snow in New Dehli and tornados in LA. Then BOOM! Ice Age. I get that this movie is the epitomy of cheesy over the top drama but I like to throw it out there under two scenarios 1) imagine if the movie were true and tomorrow we were thrust into an ice age and 2) imagine this is what you are wishing on your great great great grandchildren. In either case do you regret any of your actions?

Who's idea was this anyway

On paper all field work looks so easy. Methods: Juncos were captured between December 1st and March 1st at baited mist nets and potter traps. Individuals were weighed, measured, and banded on capture... In reality, field work is far more complex because the essence of field work is what those two sentences aren't saying. In real life they should read: Juncos were captured between December 1st and March 1st in the dead of winter during all sorts of weather except heavy snow, rain, winds greater than 25mph, and temperatures below 15 degrees Fahrenheit at baited mist nets and potter traps that were set up before dawn (ie. when it's still dark outside). Individuals were generally uncooperative, sometimes quite saucy, and pooped all over the place while being weighed, measured, and banded...

Ah glorious field work! Oh sure I complain but the alternative, some desk job, seems far more torturous. I love being able to handle birds, to get to know their personalities. Tiny little chickadees, for example, have a serious complex and think they are big and bad- little balls of hate when you get them in the net. Blue Jays on the other end of the scale are so calm. Besides I swear bird poop is good for the nails. And while my particular brand of field work means I risk losing toes and fingers to the bitter cold (is tingling and soreness in my fingertips a problem?) I will consider all lost fingers a badge of honor: I survived winter field work... okay, MOST of me survived winter field work.