Immersion - Eric Milliken

When I was seventeen I participated in my organizations first Alaskan backpacking expedition, forty two days in the furthest north mountain range in the world. It was forty two days of only seeing my group, a float plane pilot, and two days in a Nunavut community. It was the hardest thing I had ever done, the isolation, the sheer length of our endeavor, the mosquitoes, coming face to face with a well fed Grizzly… When I look back on it, almost nine years later, I don’t remember the stress, or the homesickness, I remember the most rugged, beautiful, amazing experience of my life.

Immediately after returning home, I began making plans for thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail. I have wanted to do it since I was five, and my first wilderness experience in the Boundary Waters. However, as my ideals confronted reality, my AT plans became week long backpacking trips around my new home in Bozeman. I came to accept that my “Great Alaskan Adventure” will probably be the most remote, intense wilderness experience of my life.

Then came the summer of 2009; I was working in an unrewarding, high paying job. I took a couple weeks off in the end of May and drove to the southwest. After spending too much time in Las Vegas, I decided to get in my car and I drove to Yosemite for the first time.

I was out of my car in Yosemite for about one hour.

When telling this trip’s story to friends I either omit that part, or justify it by saying I needed to be in San Francisco the next day. The truth is I had totally lost connection with what I used to love. I was also too out of shape to enjoy hiking in the mountains. I went to San Francisco, caught a giants game, then started driving home up to Sacramento. I caught the sunset at Lake Tahoe. I was overwhelmed. I was saddened, that I had never been to such a beautiful place so close to Bozeman, and that I no longer did what I used to find so important and fulfilling.

When we were in Alaska we flew up from Minneapolis with a female group from a competing program. They where going to the Arctic National Wildlife Reserve we were going to Gates of the Arctic. They executed the long practiced tradition of “stealthing”, that is hiding stuff in our food or group gear that we won’t find until we are in the wilderness and cannot get rid of it. They hid about 8 different colors of nail polish. We had a quote that kept getting repeated throughout our trip, “Through challenge I find growth, Through growth I find myself” . We ended up using that nail polish to paint our bear proof canisters. That quote ended up on one of them, along with our addendum Through Uno we waste time.

I was sitting on the shore of Lake Tahoe, remembering that quote, and realized that I needed to effect positive change in my life. I drove the last eight hours or so to Bozeman while making grandiose AT and PCT plans, that had no root in reality. I finally told myself that at least when I got home I would look in to outdoor jobs and apply to at least one. So in that sleep deprived morning around 6 am I found MCC on the internet and filled out an application. When I woke up that afternoon I had an email from Jen asking for an interview time, and a day or two later I was hired.

I spent last summer working and living in the mountains. I was working an eight on six off Yellowstone schedule. Every free day I had, I spent on backpacking trips in the Beartooths, Wind Rivers, and Tetons. The first month or so was hard for me, my body was not in shape for the demands I was placing on it. But I was still mentally tough and I got through it. I went from getting heat cramps every day, to actually enjoying the ten hour work day and spent the rest of the season in a very pure form of happiness.

I have come a long way since that late night in Tahoe. I again get to participate in a first for a program. I am going to be co-leading Greater Yellowstone’s first wilderness immersion crew. We are going into the Frank Church Wilderness in Idaho, which is the biggest wilderness unit in the lower 48. We will be out for 70 days, off for a week and then back in for 56 more. After this summer, the longest trip of my life will barely make the podium.

After finding a comfort again with the wilderness, MCC has given me a way to connect again with the outdoors. My emotions have ranged from excited, to terrified, and everything in between. The list of things to do is piling up and the amount of time to accomplish it is now under a month. But I have a solid foundation and an amazing co-leader.

I don’t expect our season to be smooth or easy. In fact I expect conflict, hot weather, and long days. But the amazing thing is when you go into something knowing it will be hard, and you do it anyways, the rewards will be immense.

It is one of my goals to document our season through a crew blog with as many voices as want to participate. Although it will be hand written, and the mailed entries won’t make it on the internet for months, I think it will be valuable both as a reflection tool for us, and as a way to find the good in every situation.

With more to follow soon(ish)

Disturb the land the way it would disturb itself - Alisa Hoven

Over the last month and a half, a handful of MCC leaders from Eastern Wildlands have set out to get their hands dirty and their minds full of new ideas. Yes, this is in addition to the daily dedication we have made to MCC. Our strong work ethic and good attitude have been given freely to Danly Farms, the only organic farm in Yellowstone County. The farmers, Mary and Barbara, have opened up their land for us to continue our commitment to service and community outside of the MCC world, even if it’s just in Laurel…..a close 20 mile drive from downtown Billings. With just under five acres, the well designed farm produces vegetables, grapes, hops and even enough space for an old boxcar full of chickens.

In the last weeks, we have helped in various projects; laying out the lining for the onion beds, building a compost pile, digging a trench for an irrigation system, anchoring down 25 ash trees, preparing mini metal greenhouses for the fields and weeding the many nooks and crannies where weeds are most resilient. The MCC crew leaders have gained a lot more than a signed volunteer form; we have gained a valuable relationship with two wise women who have shared so freely their philosophy and love for the land.

As they neared retirement age, Mary and Barbara decided to live their passions fully and learn to grow their own food in a natural way. They expressed that the organic food movement may be the most important issue surrounding the sustainability of both the earth and our bodies. When I asked these farmers what their philosophy of the land was, they replied with “Disturb the land the way it would disturb itself.” That means working with the land, taking care of it so that it can decide its own natural development. So, these farmers spend a lot of time weeding and growing their patience as they do to their vegetable beds.

Through their philosophy, I am reminded of our own commitment to the land so that it continues to grow stronger. We have been given so many opportunities this season to look at the landscape before us and determine our impact on it. We might build a trail so others can enjoy it without getting lost, or we might sand down a boardwalk so people can go see a famous signature on an old rock (without getting a splinter in their finger). Or we might cut down burned up trees from a backyard so the fire, when it comes again, doesn’t do as much damage as it has in the past. We might dig a latrine so that our “mark” on the land is a little less visible and available to plant and wildlife. We might inspire youth to pick up trash or rather pick up a backpack and enter the woods.

Regardless, through our work with MCC, we are always asked to explore our impact, physically and emotionally on the landscape of this great state of Montana. Examining our impact on this earth is not just something MCC asks of us, it is what we should be asking of ourselves on a daily basis through our personal relationships. Spending time with these two inspirational women has given me a better understanding how the organic movement can be a part of that process. I understand what it takes to stand firmly behind this movement, even if you are actually on your knees weeding out the asparagus patch all afternoon.

Reunion - Adam Tew

After a week of unendurable separation the field crew leaders of Northern Rockies returned to Kalispell for a reunion and a week of trails training in nearby Herron State Park. Adding to the significance of the occasion was the presence of Clifford Kipp, head honcho of the Northern Rockies region, who stepped away from the office for a brief moment to demonstrate, despite all other indication and popular belief, that he is able to swing a tool (and well?). Following a quick recovery from collective shock and succinct instruction by regional staff the field crew leaders quickly set to cutting new trail designed to replace an unsustainable user-created trail that had quadrupled in width in less than five years. Four day later after scarifying the soil and piling slash on the corridor the decommissioning of the old trail was finished and the overall reroute project met its final completion.
Our second week brought another round of separation as the other field crew leaders (Laurent, Sarah(s), Paul, Elaine, Casey) traveled to Glacier National Park for work in a greenhouse. While they were sheltered from the elements we returned to Herron Park for more trail construction under the leadership of Daniel “The Law” Ward and Hanna Hopkins, our co-leading pair of the week. Weather was inclement following a cloudy Monday, not truly breaking until Friday offered a reprieve from the precipitation and gusting wind. But accompanying us for the (not so) pleasant weather earlier in the week were the field crew leader from Central Divide, a quality group of guys and gals that helped us knock out the almost half-mile of newly constructed trail. The crew progressed well in terms of our trail building abilities despite the challenges presented by the muddy, sloppy conditions. Additionally, any slip in morale or crew productivity was quickly dashed against the rock that is Daniel “The Law” Ward. Frequently during our stint in Herron Park, users on the trails expressed an appreciation for our work that seemed almost disproportionate to the labor we provided, a poignant reminder of how contributory our work for the community can really be.

GNP Centennial - Zoe Zulakis

Glacier National Park was not born in 1910. Some billion to million years ago it was covered by inland seas, and romped by dinosaurs. It was thrust upward by what we theorize today to be a collision with a micro continent that no longer exists and then carved away by the meticulous fingers of icy glaciers. Glacier National park was not born in 1910. It was the spiritual home of the many people who came before the US government drew its lines; the Blackfeet, the Salish, the Kootenai, the Pend Oreille. Glacier National Park was not born in 1910. 1910 is merely a year that happened 100 years ago. This incredible parcel of land will itself rise and fall with the tide of the tectonic plates. In the great epics and eras that this world has yet to see, our title to 100 years of ownership, will not be long remembered.
So at the centennial celebration of plotted lines, we must clear our mind of entitlement. We are stewards of this beautiful place, the crown of this great continent where we live, but which is not ours. So we must take stock of our role as caretakers of the land. When the conservationists, Gifford Pinchot, and Teddy Roosevelt, secured 180 million acres of land in the famous “midnight reserves,” of 1906, their impetus was not to secure timber harvests from our national forests. When William Howard Taft signed legislation, on May 11, 1910, protecting Glacier National Park, it was not to carve dizzying roads, through the hearts of our National Parks. It was to “ensure that the people in 2010 would have a country of clean water, healthy forests, and open land…” (The Big Burn, Eagan, p. 138). It was for the future, so that tomorrow could appreciate a brief glimpse of what yesterday had, untouched and undamaged.
In the 100 years since, our woods have been eaten away by acid rain; our water systems damaged by toxic wastes of abandoned mines; our bodies corrupted by exposure to chemical and nuclear wastes; our glaciers (125 of them in Glacier National Park alone) disappearing. On the day in the very near future, when Glacier National Park runs out of Glaciers, the world will know. And assuming that the oil spill will no longer be at the forefront of the nation’s attention, this new (or not so new) crisis will hold us captive. So, are we doing our job? Are we being good stewards of the land? Are we proud?
One hundred years ago, Glacier National Park was not born. It was, however, put aside as one of the last remaining gems of this country. We will never own Glacier National Park, we will never own any parcel of land. It will never be ours to keep. It belongs to the past, and it belongs to the future. We have a responsibility to both. We owe it to our predecessors to keep fighting, as Pinchot would have described it, “the alliance between business and politics…the snake that we must kill.” We owe it to our future- the land, the animals, the water, the trees, the people- to make it seem as though we have never been here; to disappear quietly, just as the majestic mountains sink into the humble valleys.

Sleep

I am not a morning person. Through my high school and college days, I would wake up about fifteen minutes before class started, roll out of bed, keep the same clothes on that I fell asleep in the night before, and show up. I was pretty consistent when it came to grumbling about hunger, rearing a smile in hopes that my cheeks would wrinkle away an encrypted bed face, and zoning out for the first five minutes of class on the prison paste blue walls. I never really savored the superimposed ideal of rising with bitter coffee, a freshly prepared breakfast, or dedicating patience for yoga. My last roommate did all that jazz, but after living with me for less than a month, that changed. He too became at ease with a stop motion morning. It just seemed logical to suck the very last minute of a night’s rest for all it was worth, even if it was to hit the snooze and watch the red lines adjust five more digits.
My life as an Undergrad ended about four weeks ago, with a piece of paper that promised my degree would be in the mail, and since then my life has been a smudge of birth, states, and sunsets. I returned home to welcome my twenty-second year, drove across the country with my dad to settle on a place to live, and started work with the MCC. I was overwhelmed. So much had changed in my life that my mind simply could not process or reflect upon all of the movements. I felt the world passing as if riding in a car with the windows down. The wind flickers over eyelids, barely open, just enough to take everything in, but still the images come in waves. There’s so much to look forward to, but so much to absorb at the same time.
The first day of work with the MCC was May 24th and that is when my polished concept of a morning started to mold into something new. I could not fall asleep for two hours after laying down and I woke up a half hour before my alarm, on top of the four or five times I woke up during the in between. At first, I figured I was just jittery about being on time and making a good first impression, so for the first day, this behavior was understandable. However, it has been like that everyday since, even on the weekends. The only plausible reason I can trace this to would be just pure excitement about work and what’s to come. I have definitely had my fair share of jobs and most of them have been awesome experiences, but this is radically different from anything I have ever been a part of.
My first event of real camping was this past week when the whole Central Divide Region went up to Sluice Boxes State Park for our first overnight. I’ve been camping before, but most of which on a hotspot rock overlook in eastern Kentucky. We would climb up at sunset, stare for hours as the stars formed the Milky Way, and fall asleep amongst the silhouettes of Appalachia. After the first night of sleeping out by myself in a tent at Sluice Boxes, I lay awake and wondered if the reason we went up to the overlook was for the view or the state of mind. There’s something about being outdoors that provides a sense of relief, a cleansing that cannot be replicated. Again, I found myself jolting awake several times in fear of being late for our first breakfast as a crew. When I crawled out of my tent I had plenty of time to spare. I stood up for my vertical stretch of the morning, only to collapse in the rising sun. The gold slipped through the breeze, the parting of trees, and rigid crevasses only to become part of the waking world. As the cliffs’ shadows chased away, the birds’ commentary revealed that this is morning. Perhaps this is what my body has been longing for, the dawn to a fresh state of mind and the opportunity to greet each morning in awe. Maybe we’re all here for the same morning wake up with this new life as part of the Montana Conservation Corps. We’re all stretching, welcoming the break of day with each other. I may not be a morning person now, but I can already feel that starting to change inside of me.


Casey Simpson – Central Divide

1st two weeks

Before I came out to Montana, I told myself over and over that I was not joining the MCC to make friends. I was here to work hard in a field I hoped to make my career, and to develop personally as well as professionally. I intended to focus the whole of my energy on the work at hand while doing something I loved- living in backcountry while swinging a pulaski. Working closely with crewmembers was a consequence of this work, and becoming close to them was necessary to effectively complete the projects before me. It didn't take two people to hold an ax.
When I finally met my fellow crewmembers, I was intimidated- I knew that they had come out here for the same reasons; to develop commitment, personal and professional discipline, to grow as individuals. They didn't need me, I- like the pulaski- was a tool for building trails, for development and preservation. I was intimidated simply by the fact that they were here to work- because I had never worked as hard as I expected my crewmembers would be working, and I would have to match my strength to theirs. I was scared that I would be unable to do this, and that I would be alone in the woods, trying to figure out how to be as strong as these people.
However, my outlook changed once I learned the story of the pulaski tool. Pulaski was a wilderness firefighter whose crew had been caught in such an intense fire that they had to retreat to a cave, with no reliable exit through the burning woods. He had to not only held his crew at gunpoint in the cave to keep them safe, but he had to invent a tool in order to make a safe passage for himself and his crew. It was in the very fire that held them captive in which he forged the tool to take them to safety.
I heard this and immediately I saw that the people surrounding me, though I did not yet know them, were the closest friends I had. I knew that beyond being tools to my development, they were the support system and instruments of learning that I would use to not only build trails, but connections with my community. In fact, they were my community. They had, indeed, joined the MCC for the same reasons I had- to do a service, to relinquish ego and selfish pride and to work. No, they did not need me to do the work, but without me, the work would be nearly impossible, impassable. I did not need them- but if I wanted to become a good worker, an effective citizen and community member, I needed a community and fellow citizens. We all came here to do work- and we all came here to work together.
I knew that we were here now to build the paths that would lead us to each other. We would be developing trails to our futures, and pathways into each others lives, as both comrades in arms for preservation, but also the very teachers who would help me learn who I was, by being the mirror, the example, the citizens whose common goals would bring us together tighter than friends. The fires of apathy and fear had sequestered us together, and we were now forced to forge the tools to help each other find the path. Without this fear, without this necessity, we would have never found each other, we would never learn, never grow as individuals, and escape the darkness of uncertainty. We were all here to do the same work, and without one another, this work can not get done. Without the bond of crewmembers, we cannot grow as individuals. It is in the challenge and support of these individuals that I would find the strength to do this work. Without their example, without their knowledge, I would not be able to find my path, because it is the same path we are all on. One of us has the flashlight, one has the batteries, one has the pulaski, another, the mcloud. It is in darkness and fire that we found each other, and it is as a result of this darkness and fire we are forced to come together to build the path. And it is this common path, this common journey that will build a more valuable connection than the connection to ourselves- it is in the compassion to ourselves that we decide to let go of fear and come together and find compassion for others.
-H Israel Ziskind, MCC Corpsmember 2010

Dear Montana - Andrea Martin, EW YCL

Dear Montana,

I want to preface this note with the request that you please, please stop snowing. It is May. In my home state of Oregon it is most likely raining, but I'm sure I wouldn't need to scrape my windshield at 9am.

That said, I am grateful for the fact that you are always unpredictable, as well as those (rare) gorgeous days when your big blue sky seems to take over everything. It is those moments when I am so, so thankful that I decided to be poor with few possessions in Billings. There are of course the moments when the wind gusts reach 60 mph, and I wake up to snow and ice and the promise of 10 days of tech training and freezing in my tent. Oh, Montana. In addition to keeping me on my toes weather-wise, my last 2 months with you have taught me a lot.

1.) Everything Is a Matter of Expectations.
On my first "hitch" with my fellow Youth Crew Leaders in Pompey's Pillar, we were all a little disappointed when our week-long planting project became 1.25 days of planting before running out of plants, and then became, in order, picking up sticks (no joke) installing plastic protective "fences" around our small plants (in time for a huge windstorm that most likely blew them all away...) and then sanding and weatherizing the boardwalk up to the top of the pillar. Eight straight hours of sanding a handrail is even less exciting than it sounds.
However, when you work with incredible, motivated, hard working, fun loving people (which I currently do) nothing is ever so bad. The Eastern Wildlands Youth Crew Leaders came out of a pretty dull project feeling proud of our efforts of give our all (and more) to an unfortunate situation. I suppose always having the expectation to work hard and have fun no matter what will never leave you disappointed.

2.) Acting Like a Child Is Sometimes All it Takes.
While undergoing multiple trainings, discussion about literally everything, challenging partnerships, as well as that feeling that no matter what you'll never really be prepared for the summer, it can be difficult to keep a sense of humor or even your eyes open without 7 cups of coffee. Thank you Americorps, MCC, and whoever and whatever else decided that playing incredibly childish games would be good for people's energy level. I would add that they are good for the soul.
Back in Pompey's Pillar, while waiting for our sponsor in the frigid morning hours, The Greater Yellowstone YCLs introduced my fellow EW YCLs to a new game called Warrior. It may be entirely impossible to explain the game, which involves pretending to be a ninja and screaming like an idiot, but I can say that I have never laughed to hard in my life.

3.) The Hardest Work Can Be Entirely In Your Own Head
Last week, the last week of April, all of MCCs YCLs met up for the second time at Camp Mak-A-Dream to do more leadership training, as well as meet Wild Bill and Lady Louise for 2 days of Wilderness First Aid. While going through leadership training, we discussed teaching styles, dynamics of group development and conflict resolution styles. We also had the opportunity to talk A LOT with our co-leaders about all of these things. During our talks, I got the feeling that all of my styles of doing everything were viewed as the wrong way of acting.
At the end of the week, I simply couldn't discuss what I viewed as "how much I suck at my MCC life" and was exhausted and frustrated. Of course, my frustration with talking, begot more talking, where my co and SYCL were able to point out how much my own insecurities about my styles were coloring my perception of others.
After working with difficult teens in partnerships, doing projects in the snow, wind and rain, and driving from Oregon to Montana in 1 day, I can say the most challenging week of MCC was at Camp Mak-A-Dream, inside my own head.

4.) Food Shopping in Super Wal-Mart Will Make You or Break You
I try not to frequent Wal Mart for multiple reasons, not least of which is that it is always the most crowded place in the entire world. For our Pompey's Pillar hitch, our SYCL, Bre, set us four YCLs loose with $200+ to buy food for the week. We had our list, as well as a calculator, but we had no idea what we were doing. We had unknowingly stepped into the perfect storm of Wal Mart shopping. Not only was it a Saturday, but it was also the first Saturday of April, meaning everyone in the entire city of Billings, MT had just been paid/received food stamps and were out in droves. It took us 10 minutes to find a parking spot in the very back of the massive lot. We then spent the next 2 hours negotiating shopping cart traffic in the store. I have found Montana and Billings to be pretty friendly places, but in Wal Mart it was eat or be eaten. We had to push our way through crowds to get the salsa, canned beans, pasta sauce and goldfish crackers we desperately needed. While pushing the cart I proceeded to have a mini breakdown, Dylan, my co, accidentally cleared the calculator screen, and had a breakdown of his own, Chris, unable to handle the pressure, disappeared for about 10 minutes and came back eating a donut. Alisa was the only one who kept her mental health in check until we reached the check out, loaded up approximately 29 bags of food, and headed out to the rig. With frayed nerves, we all agreed that we were eternally grateful we didn't have to do that alone.

5.) There is Always Room.
Room to improve, room in your day pack for one more thing, room in your stomach for that last scoop of pasta, room on top of the rig to fit 3 wheelbarrows, a chainsaw and dolmar, 7 metal rakes, 8 mcleods, 5 shovels, and 10 pairs of lapers. My spatial reasoning skills need a little work. I still do not have the ability to comprehend how 8 people and their gear, 4 weeks of food, tools for 4 weeks of projects and a positive attitude can fit into one Suburban. Montana, I guess you still have a lot more to teach me. Bring it on.