The pandemic has disrupted everyone’s life, some more so than others; some have lost their livelihoods and I’m sensitive to that. Like so many others, I have been working from home for the past six months, but I also recognize that it’s a luxury to have been able to. There are so many that are out in the public day in and day out, exposing themselves to potential infection and not knowing if their exposure could spread to others, if they will even know if they have been exposed, if they will have no symptoms, few symptoms, or if their exposure could be one of the ones that go particularly badly.
I’ve been back to the office several times over the past months, to pick up some papers, or a box of books, or to take a work vehicle home for some field work. Not the usual amount of field work though, because 90% of it is not going to happen this year. The field programs themselves are still happening, but they are happening without the usual level of direct involvement of those who are not critical hands, people like me. We can be helpful, but we aren’t “necessary” on site in a great many of the cases.
But the field work is about more than just going to the sites – the site staff don’t need to babysit the office-types. In addition to being useful when visiting a site, building relationships for open dialogue, and being accessible are what I think are critical functions of what the support staff are there for.
When I visit sites I want to ensure that my visit brings some value; I’m not there for fun, but the fact that there is often some fun involved is an added bonus.
But all of that feels like it’s gone this fall. I feel like I’ve had part of the core of my fall work peeled away; email, text chats, and phone calls don’t fill the gap. The field visits ground me in what I am here for and why. It makes the other meetings bearable because it keeps everything in context. There are those that rarely (or never) visit the facilities and field sites where the work actually takes place. They rarely (if ever) lend a hand to get a feel for the scope of the effort involved in the programs. Those same too-few then make sweeping asks without understanding what they are really asking because they just don’t have a solid grasp of what unravels when one thread is pulled. After 15 years of association with the programs, I am still learning something new every time I involve myself. One person can simply never grasp all that these projects involve.
Sitting behind a computer isn’t sufficient, because it doesn’t provide context and it doesn’t provide a strong connection with the importance (or, in some cases, a lack thereof) and value of both the program, and the projects.
I am grieving some of my field work this year, particularly some annual trips to three of the sites I work with that are more geographically disconnected, and therefore at greater risk from outside visitors – it feels too irresponsible to travel to these places this year. I will deeply miss the conversations that happen on the rivers, they are always an opportunity to discuss fish, fish health, fish biology, fish culture. They are opportunities for informal education, and that education is bidirectional. Not only do I have an opportunity to answer questions that people have been holding onto until I visit, but I have the opportunity to hear questions that I don’t have answers to or have never thought of before, and which pique my curiosity to learn something new. I miss learning about the people working in the programs, about their goals, their experiences; they teach me about the environment they live and work in and my life is richer for the connections.
I am sure that things will get back on track next year and that this is just a hiccup. Knowing that makes it a little bit easier to put it on a shelf for a season.
So this one program, close to home, that asked me to help out on a river collection, two days out of five, felt like a bit of a lifeline to keep me grounded and help me make it through the fall. Maybe things will go differently, maybe there will be some other opportunity to do some hands on work but, given that the majority of my facilities involve travel and overnight stays somewhere, it seems unlikely and, in some cases, irresponsible.
Day two on the Pitt felt good, and the air, although blisteringly hot on the gravel bar and carrying the acrid reek of ammonia from decaying fish, was still sweet to breathe because it was outside, on the river, with dedicated people doing work that connects us to the environment and the surrounding ecosystem. Quite the September day though; ice on the puddles in the shade in the morning at arrival…and 32C with nothing to hide under on the gravel bar by the time we left. The cool air on the water as we made the long trip back down the lake was welcome.
I always try to arrive at the meeting site early so that I have a bit of time alone in the early morning beauty of the Lower Pitt. The lake is tidal and when the marshy edge of the lake and river are exposed there is a magic to the area. Sometimes there is fog, sometimes a heron sits on the dolphin, but it always feels peaceful whether it’s sunny, foggy, or raining.
Even in the middle of a pandemic, there are things to be grateful for.
