Beware the Jabberduck

I’ve never really been a nature lover or fauna-phile (wow that’s about five different kinds of wrong), but as you are most likely deprived of field and garden guides, I thought I might fill you in. Aside from a passing nod to student boppers and the (very) odd early-morning falcon, we’ve as yet had no mention of the local wildlife. The Bodlean Library gets one copy of every – and I mean every – publication in the UK, so I should be able to do at least a little enlightening research on this topic.

So I started – and ended – my fieldwork at the duck pond. Don’t judge me…I’m no Costa Rican (Brianna) and I’m not about to go dig for spiders. The duck pond is about two minutes walking distance from college, closer if you are able to leap across the River Cherwell, which I am not. While walking to the park, I saw some dogs. They were big and shaggy. Perhaps they were laboradors or retrievers…mhmmm…are those the same? Whichever, I am interested in wildlife, not domesticated animals. Moving past the four-legged beasties and their aged two-legged poo-toting servants, I approached some ominous black birds. Research has just indicated that they were most likely not blackbirds de facto, but instead some type of crows – members of the Corvidae family. Like, a raven. Or crow. Or jackdaw! Or even a rook, but I hope not, because those things seem scary, according to Wikipedia.

Anyway, the birds in question ended up not being too scary, as they flapped away upon the approach of some fluffy little squirrels. Squirrels in the UK appear to be much cuter than they are in the States; they’re grey and fat and small with big bushy tails and they basically look just like Beatrix Potter’s squirrels. (Riveting stuff, this is. Also, I’m starting to think that I should stick to brains.) Also, these squirrels are really bold and don’t run up trees if you come near them, and I think I could probably catch one if I tried, but I won’t because I’m not that stupid.

And we have reached the duck pond!

I brought some stale bread along as bait – Sainsbury’s sells these delicious olive bread rolls that are four for a quid, but you have to eat them all in a day or they get a bit dry. The ducks didn’t seem to mind, though. I made friends with a mallard, although I didn’t catch his name. A smallish white bird along the lines of a gull (sorry, no clue) thought the best way to get food from me would be to hover about two feet in front of my face. Actually, that method is surprisingly effective…terror works. Some other British waterfowl spotted at the duckpond included: swans, some kind of mini duck, and some red-beaked blackish birds with freaky long toes.

I hear there have been hedgehog spottings in the grounds behind LMH, and I personally witnessed a pheasant messing about in the underbrush, but other than that, nothing. England appears only to have birds and rodents. I haven’t even seen much evidence for insect and arachnoid life, which I think is wonderful (although I guess the naturalists would have something to say about that. Maybe I’m not digging in the right places). Oh, I also observed some sheep when I was in/around Wales. Still, generally I think I’m right – this country is a small and cultivated island, and nature programs will back me up when I say that there are no wild predators in England. All lions, tigers, bears, and yes, even cougars are imported, and the most wild thing you’ll find in Oxford will be the common pubcrawler.

Writing about Writing: an English Problem

While I was Stateside – reading, eating, relaxing, watching my favorite shows on DVD, and generally acting like an old crazy lady while wishing that my friends would come home (or, alternatively, that someone would come and spirit me off to Oxford), I had a lot of time to reflect on time spent abroad. Yes, dangerous stuff. But I’m not going to write too much about my reflections; instead, I’m going to make a New Year’s resolution, and that is: no more navel-gazing blog entries. I keep harping on about how they’re tedious and self-obsessive and disorganized, how the Aix days were better, and how I don’t like what I write, so now I’m just going to shut it and get back to more thematic posts.

And we all know how well these resolutions go. I realize that in writing about how I’m not going to write a certain way, I started circling about that very way. Damn. So, to ease into the new year and new style, I think I’ll discuss why I think I found it easier to write about France than about the UK (wait!), how Oxford differs from Aix (and Pittsburgh and Richmond), and how I might go about remedying my problem. Oh good we’ve fallen into the thesis statement already. I think I’m overcompensating.

Also, this looks pretty ambitious.

When I stepped off the plane and into France, I was an alien in a foreign country. I think, as much as I was able to discuss lack of culture shock and ease of acclimation, I was a tourist, and my experiences and outlook were those of a tourist. The culture, the countryside, the language were all so exotic and opposite to what I’d experienced before in Pittsburgh (and, even more, in Richmond) that I wasn’t afraid to draw thick black lines between what I knew and what I was experienced. Everything was Different (we’re doing anthropology, so…Other). Oxford, as you know, has been another matter. I don’t feel like a tourist or an outsider, either in England or in the University, the latter of which is a relatively international place. Because I’m not (or don’t want to be) an outsider, I hesitate to select events out of my day and wedge them into an essay about “why the people here are this” or “why the country is like this” in the same way that I did in Aix. While in France, everything was novel and exotic, but here in Oxford, I think I’ve developed a block against using those kinds of words…things can’t always be quaint or stunning, and I hesitate to even say “they.” Maybe I’m kidding myself here. Regardless, right or wrong, generalizations and simplifications have begun to make me uncomfortable.

In thinking very long and hard about life in France and life in the UK, I think I’ve discovered both the reason why I feel myself at one place and not the other, and also the reason why I’m afraid to write about one place and not the other. And that reason would be: people. After all, it’s not the language or the weather or the food that gives a sense of belonging – it’s the company. Also, everyone here reads English and might find my blog, realize that I’m twisting history to my own ends, and object to what I’m writing about them. But focusing on that former thought. I could tell literally hundreds of stories about friends at Oxford (while having extreme difficulties relating them to a larger picture), but instead I’ll use more recent events to illustrate my point. Just after New Years’, my family and I spent five days with our oldest friends in the English countryside. This British family is almost definitely the catalyst that has brought my parents care so much for the UK. This year, we’ve finally all acknowledged that (well, roughly), and instead of touring castles, cathedrals, and cities, the Ruzichs broke out of standard vacation mode and just relaxed: playing cards, eating, chatting, seeing a show, watching TV, discussing our homes, our heartaches, our humor. I don’t think anyone regretted it at all…in my opinion, it was one of the better holidays we’ve had. And that is roughly how it is for me at LMH – the cutthroat, pretentious students never materialized, and instead I’ve been surrounded simply by good people who make me feel a part of something.

So. Here’s my plan. I’m going to get over my nerves about people reading what I’ve written while they were there to experience it. Also, I’m going to write slightly fewer entries in an effort to combat the burnout of writing…with over one academic essay a week, I’m going to have to cut down on blogging. It’s either one detailed entry every other week or so, or a single exquisite sentence every other day. No Mom, don’t you dare choose the sentence option. And, as promised, I’m going to be more thematic. Which is where you, my adoring public, come in…anybody with a suggestion, a question, or a comment, please let me know and I’ll do a bit of amateur sleuthing and write an entry just for you. I know you all love being involved.

Okay – must go for now! Love you all and Happy New Year.