The Zen of Science (not to be confused with the Science of Zen)

I'm in Oregon now, and it smells so different here--like raw life, unabashed and unafraid, extravagantly green. There are beautiful bell peppers in the fridge, and the sunshine is playful and light. This morning I just wandered around the rooms in my house and in between memories, my cat in my arms. When I buried my nose in his fur he smelled faintly of woodsmoke, just like always.

I left Port Aransas yesterday, and I'm still lingering in that psychological transition state that's neither here nor there, but decidedly in between. Of late my life has seemed to consist of discrete segments: ten weeks at Carleton, eight weeks in Port Aransas, and now exactly a month in Eugene. It feels like the time to lay a giant question mark over the Texas bit.

"Crab Counting and the Controversy of the Canal: A preliminary assessment of larval recruitment in the Aransas Ship Channel." That was the title of my project (I couldn't help but alliterate). I read untold papers, built megalopae collectors, tried to make them catch crablets, counted ocean bugs, taught myself statistical analysis, wrote an abstract, and then gave a 20 minute presentation to real scientists. I read a lot, too, and watched birds. And now I'm home.

?

I can tell you right now that I don't see myself with a future in research. I, personally, would go crazier than I already am if my professional purpose dealt exclusively with middle-phase larval crabs drifting in tidal currents. Nonetheless, something odd transpired in Texas, something valuable, something that I have trouble articulating.

In Leaves of Grass, Whitman mentions a state wherein one is "both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it." This may begin to describe my Texan impressions. I didn't experience unabashed glee, per se, but the last two months of my life were permeated by an inexplicable sense of contentment that was, paradoxically, both distant and entirely present. Even though I can mention several reasons why Port Aransas might have been a hostile Caitlin environment, I could be found swinging my crab-buckets merrily as I hummed through the laboratory, and on certain evenings when I was riding my bicycle I felt as though, somehow, my wheels were perfectly in tune with the earth's orbit. Every day I laughed at myself (or perhaps more appropriately, with myself).

And thus, as ambivalent as I may be about Texas in general, it's a part of me now. I can perfectly imagine the stench of sargassum seaweed on the beach, and I can identify at least ten species of shorebirds in Port A. I have amazing dexterity with tweezers under a dissecting scope, and I dare you to ask me something about Microsoft Power Point that I can't answer. I better understand how scientists think, and I discovered that I can even pull off a research project, but I know now that the niche of pure science is one that I could never fill.

So did the "scientist" shoes leave blisters? No, I don't think so--they were fun to try on. My feet are a little cramped, however, and I'm elated to be running around barefoot for a while.