Chapter 24 Professor Montgomery
Back in New York, I dive right back into the wood thrush project.
I’m thrilled to use my very basic Excel skills to make improvements to the tracking spreadsheet.
I introduce color coding that applies red, yellow or green automatically based on the final outcome of the nest. Professor Montgomery didn’t think it was necessary, but even he starts referring to the green nests when we review the findings.
I find organizing and analyzing data is a lot like getting ready to make a recipe at the bakery.
You need to organize all the ingredients before you mix things together.
Then you put all the things together and create something new and different.
Professor Montgomery says I have a knack for this type of work.
Today he drops a sheet of paper on my desk while I’m transferring data into the spreadsheet.
“These are the classes I would recommend you try out next semester,” he says.
Without looking up, I shake my head and state simply, “I can’t.”
I don’t want to tell him I need to save all my money for my bleak future that is bearing down on me; that is my secret. Never mind I have no idea if I’ll even be able to make it to classes in the coming months.
“Emma, you know the expression ‘A mind is a terrible thing to waste’?” He pauses. “You can do great things. And you should take advantage of all the perks Columbia provides, as I know they aren’t paying you very well.”
“Perks? What do you mean perks?”
“The courses are free to anyone who works at the university. Didn’t I tell you this when I hired you?
Uhh, maybe I didn’t. I guess I didn’t expect a model’s assistant to last the semester.
My bad. Well, you better sign up before I find your tragic flaw and decide I must fire you. ” Professor Montgomery grins.
In disbelief I ask, “So, I can take classes for free because I work for you?”
He nods.
Scooping up the paper, I scan the list of classes, asking him several questions about each of them.
They all sound very intimidating, but Professor Montgomery distills them down to simple explanations, and I put notes next to each one on the list. I circle Introduction to Natural Resource Conservation; Ornithology Studies; The Early Days of Bird Studies; and Conservation of Populations and Ecosystems. They sound fascinating and scary.
But as I now know, that is life—and I don’t want to stop living until I have to.
Sighing, I go back to working, keying in the latest reports, but keep the list on my desk where I steal a glance at it periodically. A possible future lies in those classes.
“These classes sound amazing,” I muse aloud after a few minutes of working. “I wonder what the early days of birding were like. I never thought about that.”
Professor Montgomery looks over his computer.
“Oh yes, that one may be a tough course for you. The early days were barbaric. Those first birders had no other tools except for a gun; no bins, no cameras, no nothing. So, if they wanted to study a bird, they shot it, stuffed it, and then studied it. Can’t blame ’em but sometimes I scratch my head.
Did they have to kill so many to study them?
Most were collectors too, and if they could collect one, they wanted a hundred.
They didn’t realize the impact, but it really is shameful.
These so-called early birders more than likely caused the demise of the ivory-billed or at least contributed to their downfall. ”
I sit quietly digesting this and quickly cross out the Early Day’s class from the list.
A few hours later, one report includes a picture of a nest in a bird box that has a plexiglass side, just like the one we had in fourth grade.
Remembering his promise to tell me how he got into birding and since I’m too keyed up to fill in one more tracker, I peek over at Professor Montgomery.
He is getting up to get another cup of coffee.
“Professor, you never told me your, er did you call it a spark story? You know what got you interested in birds. Is now a good time?”
He turns and smiles, “Oh, I wondered if you remembered that.” He shakes his head. “Well, this is no sweet baby bluebird story like yours.”
He refills his mug and sits back down at his desk.
“Here goes.” He waves his hand dramatically, “I was eleven and with my family at the beach on Cape Cod for our annual summer vacation. Growing up, we would spend a week each year enjoying the beaches, exploring the marshes, and walking the tidal flats. It was getting toward four or five o’clock, and the beach was emptying out.
My parents loved the beach in the evening.
We’d been there all day, and I was kind of bored, so I started goofing around and hunting the seagulls.
The seagulls were getting bolder and bolder as the beach emptied.
” He gives me a stern look. “To be clear, at the time, I referred to them as seagulls like everyone else, but you know there is no such thing.”
“Of course.” I nod eagerly. “They are gulls and have different names like herring gull or great black-backed gull, but not a one is called seagull.”
“Exactly!” Professor Montgomery grins. “So, I start by hiding in a little dip in the sand and jumping out and running after them. That proved not overly effective, so I dug a bit of a deeper hole with a wall of sand and stayed in it with a rock in my hand. Now, mind you, I didn’t think this would be any more successful than me chasing after them, but I had nothing better to do so I lay in wait and then popped up and hurled my stone as hard as I could.
It was a million-to-one shot. That rock sailed like it was shot out of a cannon and hit a gull right in its head.
The bird flapped its wings once, took a few wobbly steps, and just tipped over in the sand, right at the edge of the water. I was horrified.”
“Did you kill it?” I ask, covering my mouth with my hand.
“I thought so,” Professor Montgomery says grimly.
“So, I did what any full-blooded American boy would do. I ran and got my mommy. She rushed over to the bird, and I stood behind her staring at that poor gull. Waves were starting to slap at the big bird, so she wrapped it in a towel and brought it up to dry sand, laying it down carefully. I couldn’t believe how big it was up close.
It was huge. I now know it was an adult great black-backed gull.
We retreated and sat down to see what would happen.
You know your little prayers you send up to the big guy throughout the day? ”
I glance up in surprise. I didn’t realize he noticed my crossing and whispered amens. I nod sheepishly.
“Well, I sent up some major ones that day. I told the big guy I would never harm another bird or animal as long as I lived, if he let this one live. Well, wouldn’t you know it, after about five minutes, the gull lifted its head, shook it, then stumbled to his feet, shook his head again, walked a couple of feet, flapped his big black wings and took off.
It was truly a miracle. In my infinite wisdom, I figured I needed to do more than just not hurt a bird ever again; I needed to help them.
So, there you have it. That’s why I do what I do.
A pact with God I made when I was eleven. You can’t mess with that.”
I’m not sure if he’s being serious about the God references, but he certainly seems sincere. I picture him as a young boy hiding behind his mother and smile. Professor Montgomery grins back.
Just then a soft knock sounds and Jake pokes his head in.
Professor Montgomery exclaims, “There’s our boy, right on time. Do tell, how is the work coming? Will you ever be done with that thesis?”
Beaming, Jake replies, “Thanks to my fiancée here, I can actually say I’m making good progress. I can think and breathe and turns out that helps a lot with getting those critical thinking juices flowing.”
Professor Montgomery barks out a laugh. “Yes, this one is a real wonder. The wood thrushes will have her to thank if we can turn around their decline. Between your thesis and this project, she will have helped . . .”
“Oh, come on, we’ve got to run.” Jake interjects. He grabs my coat off the hook and hustles me out. I’m glowing at Professor Montgomery’s praise that I’m helping thrushes, and I guess Jake’s future patients. I’m on cloud nine.
After dropping my things and changing at the apartment, I leave Jake to his work and head to yoga.
In class today, I stay up in crow pose for several breaths. Which seems fitting because of my bird infatuation. Yoga doesn’t measure things in counts or minutes. It uses breath as its timer, and I appreciate this.
A girl I see quite often, Robin, is in class today. When Vee introduced us last month, I remember Vee rolling her eyes when I told Robin how I loved her name.
After class when we are both dripping sweat, Robin asks, “How are you?”
I respond energetically, “Doing just great.”
Robin replies, “What do you do for work? Just curious how you get to come to class at two.”
I gush, “Oh, I’m working with a professor at Columbia University on a bird study.
It is so cool. I love it.” Robin beams, “Gee, that’s nice to hear.
Someone who loves their job. So many people around my office just grouse and complain about their job, but they never do anything about it.
I like my job too. I work in human resources and love trying to get people into the right spot and showing them how loving your job makes such a difference. ”
“Wow! That sounds cool, too.”
We walk out together and chat companionably for a few blocks until she turns off and I continue to Vee’s. It’s so nice to have a simple exchange with a person, I take a mental picture of us sweaty and me having a friendly conversation with someone that is genuinely interested in my story.
After settling into bed tonight, Jake and I chat a bit, which is our normal routine.
Soon, he drops off to sleep and I prop myself up on my elbow and work to memorize every angle and plane of his aristocratic face.
His eyebrows are perfect arches above his eyes.
His eyes have long lashes that frame the speckled brown eyes now hidden under his closed lids.
I continue my perusal; I never want to forget what he looks like sleeping next to me.
I’m scrutinizing his bare chest—the sheet is pulled up only to his midsection—when suddenly I hear, “Why don’t you reach out and touch it, instead of just ogling.”
My eyes flash up to Jake’s face and I gasp, “Oh my gosh! Oh, my . . .” I blush furiously.
Jake smirks. “While I do like being ogled by you, I’ve dreamed of you reaching out and touching me one of these times. Come on, you can’t just look.”
I sputter, unable to come up with a retort. He’s known all along that I’ve been staring at him when I thought he was asleep. I’m horrified. My eyes start to tear, which only makes me more mortified.
Jake catches my hand in his. “I’m just teasing you. Don’t be upset. I shouldn’t have said anything. Come here and let’s forget the whole thing.”
He wraps his other arm around me and pulls me alongside him.
Ducking my head into the slight hollow on his chest, I take a deep breath.
I press against the muscles along his side with my knees bent upward, pressing against his thighs.
Melting into him, feeling safe and warm.
His skin feels delicious against my burning cheek.
The now-familiar warmth gathers, and I squirm a little to try to make the discomfort go away.
Jake’s voice near my ear whispers fiercely, “Emma, one more wiggle like that and I’ll make you touch me.”
Gasping, I shift again, moving my hips without thinking.
He chuckles. “This is your fault. I was way too tired to even think about sex until you started with your eyes and now your hips. I’m still very tired, though, so why don’t you climb on and get those hips over here?”
Unsure of what he wants, I freeze. Jake opens a lazy eye and swings me on top of him with one muscled arm. He quickly dispenses with my night shirt and then my panties.
I’m holding my breath; my mind is racing. Oh God, what is happening? But my body takes over, sliding down over him, which feels completely different. How weird. I’m now controlling things; I pull back a little and then work back down a bit further only to pull back again.
Jake groans and I gaze down at him. Groaning again, he says, “Don’t tease, Emma.”
A surge of power fills me, and I lower myself again.
Jake has a look of pure ecstasy on his face.
I move to a primal rhythm. I can’t stop or tease or control anything.
I start to spiral and lift away for a moment; Jake moans my name; the release is heaven.
Collapsing down on Jake’s chest, my breath labored.
I hear Jake’s heart beneath my ear, and I listen to its steady beat.
He stirs, nuzzles and kisses my neck. “Ah, baby, you are killing me.”
With my face against his chest, I recalled seeing Lady Liberty from the plane; it made me realize the world transforms based on one’s viewpoint.
At this moment, I feel like I’m on cloud nine and even though I have much more to discover about the world and life, I believe I have the courage to face it.