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Sam, an old friend visiting from London, and I went to stay with Jurek an hour out of DC in what can technically be called the country. They have eagles there, heron, red-tailed hawks, and osprey, (though apparently they are visiting Argentina at the moment, it being lovely this time of the year). These are four of the big five, the huge majestic birds that grace this fair district.
The fifth have a bum deal. There is nothing like spotting the shadow of a large bird and tracing it’s path into the skies, becoming excited at it’s size and proximity, it’s magnificent wing span and graceful flight, shouting "there there!" to Jurek like two five year olds "what’s that?!" and hearing "that’s a turkey buzzard". It’s possibly one of the most anticlimactic moments in bird spotting history. (A narrative that I accept is probably not in the top ten most exhilarating things to do with your life but still, it has its appeal).
Aside from bird spotting, the weekend in the countryside was spent swinging in hammocks resting my leg and simultaneously feeling guilty and smug about the fact that I was unable to do anything for myself and needed waiting on hand and foot. To mix up the heady lifestyle a little, I occasionally would apply myself to studying the ten different species of spider roaming around the deck or poke at a cicada shell, or learn from Jurek the accepted manner in which one decants the flesh from a blue shelled maryland crab. An exercise which also carried its fair share of guilt. I’m not used to looking at something square in the eye, exactly as it was when alive and then picking it to pieces until it is (bad pun) literally a shell of its former self.
This weekend has been an experience in two changes of pace, one due to the environment and one due to my leg. Having crutches heightens (or in my case only highlights the need for) ones sense of forward planning. There is nothing more frustrating than making it halfway up a flight of stairs, one step at a time, left foot first, lean on crutch, bring up right foot, only to realise that you’ve left your lifeline, (my mobile phone), on the sofa. Those moments are the ones in which you develop a strong belief in the power of your will, moments when ten minutes later your flatmate will catch you standing still halfway up the stairs, concentrating hard, hand stretched out towards the phone muttering "size matters not".
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