Mixing it up in Madison, Wisconsin

Madison, Wisconsin town square and farmer's market

Sept 4-7

There are many reasons to like Wisconsin. The majority of the state is lush, green and with a decidedly lower ratio of mono-crops to woods compared to its neighbor, Minnesota. The landscape is dotted with picturesque farmhouses and barns that look as if they've been plucked from a Grandma Moses painting. Its capital, Madison, is a town that loves football---I have never seen such citywide celebration for a minor weekend college match up. Madison has a beautiful, vibrant downtown and one of the best farmer's markets I've ever seen (especially if you're fond of cheese, which I am).

Cheese shop in Madison complete with samples.
Yes, I stole some for Harry.

While Wisconsin struggles with its political identity, it most often votes blue, with considerable help, I suspect, from the academic environment of its capital city. There are lakes and ponds and meadows and many pathways meandering between them on which you need never emerge from beneath the trees. But the thing I like the most about Madison, Wisconsin is that it’s home to Bridget.

Bridget has been my friend since she first arrived in Cambria to help us track sea otters back in the days of the first central coast research project in 2002. I was crew leader back then, living in a giant, 3-story house and desperately in need of a housemate. Bridget, having spent a little too much time in rugged field houses while tracking condors in Big Sur, was looking for an alternative to the project’s Piedras Blancas Lighthouse field station. And this was the inception of a perfect housemate match up that was to last through five years, two towns, three different houses and dozens (hundreds?) of tagged sea otters.

Bridget and Gena at Adak in 2005 (photo by Christine Alfano)

It was Bridget's aspiration to become a veterinarian that brought her from California to Madison and the veterinary school at the University of Wisconsin. After surviving the academic boot camp that is vet school and achieving her DVM, she has settled comfortably in Madison with her wife, Tracie, and their daughter, Evie, in a neighborhood tucked deferentially amidst the high oaks, elms, ashes and chestnuts. I guided Pagoo through the forested narrow streets to the doorstep of our home for the next three days, where I was able to hug my dear friend for the first time in six years.

Gena, Bridget and Harry at the Madison farmer's market

Over the course of three days, I was shown the best of Madison: breakfast of cheese curds (yes, they really do squeak when they're fresh!) and fresh baked spicy-cheesy bread at the farmer's market, walks through neighborhoods and parks on the many bicycle paths and, best of all, a visit to the International Crane Foundation in nearby Baraboo. I have been wanting to visit ICF since my days at Wildlife Safari where I worked with a number of crane species. They have all of the world's 15 crane species at the center and have done extensive work with captive propagation and reintroduction of our rarest of North American crane species, the magnificent whooping crane.

Male whooping crane a the International Crane Foundation
in Baraboo, WI

Graceful fence post detail at the ICF center

Demoiselle crane pair displaying

Demoiselle crane male portrait

The largest of the world's crane species is the saurus crane (Grus antigone) of India, which happens to be a favorite of mine as they were part of the collections of several of the zoos at which I was a keeper. The center has a pair of saurus cranes whose union has been arranged via the Species Survival Plan or SSP, a zoo program aimed at maintaining healthy, genetically diverse breeding populations in zoo collections. In accordance with the SSP studbook (yes, studbook), a May/December romance was arranged for this crane pair in which the male, Manju, is 51 years old (my age, coincidentally) and the female, Chandini, in only 12. ICF has been trying to get a successful breeding from this pair since 2005, but apparently Manju, considered old with perhaps a touch of dementia, kept breaking their eggs. Recently, ICF tried artificially inseminating Chandini and keeping poor, senile Manju away from the nest. This strategy resulted in this:

Chandini with her chick, hatched August 18.

Poor Manju paced anxiously on the other side of the fence, relegated in old age to a sperm production machine. We saw 14 of the 15 species of cranes that day (the Eurasian crane was shy), as well as plants and animals of the mid-west prairies as ICF works to restore their acquired acreage from corn and soybean fields to native grasslands.

Monarch caterpillar peekaboo behind milkweed leaf lunch.

There was a fun interactive display showcasing the African crowned crane habitat. It allowed me to recreate my single greatest lingering nightmare from my days as an ungulate keeper at Wildlife Safari. In case you don't know, hippos are f***ing terrifying.

Death by hippo (and this is a mini hippo)

The following day, Harry got to test out Dr.Bridget's skills and bedside manner first hand with a quick exam to and treatment for his allergies. We were both impressed with the quality of care!

"Please don't use the rectal thermometer!"

Back at their Madison home, Bridget, Tracie and I discuss what it's like to uphold an ethic of environmental consciousness in the mid-west, where it may not be as evolved or as deeply ingrained as we find it in California. This is not to say that awareness of environmental issues vanishes as one travels away from a coastline, but it certainly seems to, if not diminish, become less seamlessly integrated into daily life and less supported by the community infrastructure. As parents of a young girl, Bridget and Tracie are faced with continually defending and reinforcing their strongly held ethics regarding material consumption, nutrition and awareness of how each of our everyday choices has an impact at a level beyond our own doorstep. They are accused by other parents of being overly strict when trying to discourage their daughter from accumulating the massive quantities of plastic junk offered children at schools and parties, labeled inflexible when limiting consumption of junk food, or called crazy for opposing a local, school-sponsored balloon release. "Are we crazy?" Bridget asks for reassurance. They consider moving somewhere where the task of raising an environmentally responsible child is met with less opposition. But I wonder if this is a battle from which any of us can (or should) escape. Look, I know I have been reared in a liberal "bubble". I grew up in Laguna Beach (when it was still a hippie town an art colony in which artists actually lived) and have spent most of my life in a comforting bubble bath of my shared worldview in places like Portland,  Hawaii, San Francisco and Santa Cruz. My forays outside of this comfort zone have been illuminating, scary, challenging and ultimately inspiring. The world is a complex place, and every person in it has a valid reason for believing in their own stories, their unique version of how things are, however much we may disagree. As I've driven from state to state, there is a physically palpable shift in the monster of a force called Political Climate, but I've felt that shift less so in individuals. On occasion, I've felt uncomfortable in my status as a California liberal as I am so clearly labeled by my vehicle, dress, accent (more on that in a future blog) and bumper stickers. I recognize that some people might resent me for what I represent without even knowing who I am or where I've been. I might do the same. But maybe the road to change in our divided nation is paved with one new moment of empathy at a time. As much as I want my dear friend back in California, I hope Bridget, Tracie and Evie stick it out in Madison for a while, fighting for what they believe in and continuing to share the reasons for their ethic with others. We all need to spend a little more time sharing and listening and less time judging, whichever side of the judgement coin you may find yourself on. It can't hurt to have absorbed even the smallest taste of another person's perspective.

Carl Sagan's blue dot