Look at the stars

"I lie under starlit sky

And the seasons change in the blink of an eye

I watch as the planets turn

And the old stars die and the young stars burn"

- "Lonesome Dreams" by Lord Huron

Well, here I am again, friends, measuring time in goodbye parties. Tonight, I bid farewell to my good friend, Laurel. Sure, I've said goodbye to plenty of friends and acquaintances in Coos Bay, but this departure was not just standard procedure. It marked the end of an era.  

My Coos Bay girls at a Napa Valley winery in June 2013;
Laurel is on the right. One of the ankle bracelets I wear is
for the community I shared with these women.

Laurel was one of my first friends in Coos Bay. When I started at OIMB, she was the senior grad student, so she was one of the people I looked to for a definition of the institute. She introduced me to tidepooling and mushrooming and all the biodiversity in southern Oregon. More than that, though, Laurel became a close personal friend. She was one of four girls that were my home base during my first year here, and she was my solid rock when everyone else moved away. 

During my second year at OIMB, I would pull into the parking lot on Saturday afternoons and find Laurel's car already there. I'd go into her lab to check on her, and we'd spend a good hour complaining to each other and not actually getting anything done. She was my sounding board during my worst year yet. We know each other's theses inside and out, not because our projects have anything to do with each other, but because we spent so many hours talking about them.

Cruise participants with Laurel at her farewell party

When I left for Norway in August 2014, I was worried that Laurel would be gone by the time I got back. She was pretty close to finishing her Ph.D., and even though she did successfully graduate while I was away, she stuck around OIMB for several months afterward. I was glad for it, because it meant we got to go on the Atlantis cruise together this past summer. She was one of my cabinmates, and we would routinely stay up way too late, lying in our bunks, talking each other through the events of the day. 

OIMB is going to feel different without Laurel around, but she's bound for a much greater opportunity - a post-doctoral fellowship abroad. Her one-way flight is just days away, so tonight, a group gathered in OIMB's Boathouse Auditorium to see her off. With the chairs cleared away and tiny lights strung between the beams, the Boathouse was transformed into a cozy gathering place. Folk music wafted softly out of a pair of speakers; long tables held potluck dishes with typical Oregon ingredients - mushrooms, cranberries, blackberries, Dungeness crab. We ate seated on the floor, barefoot or in socks, chatting about everything possible except how much we would miss her.

Farewell gathering in the Boathouse

As the gathering drew to a close, several of us stayed around, slowly cleaning up, not ready to leave the departed-to-be. I think it's a testament to Laurel's impact on the institute that none of us wanted to go. At least to me, Laurel embodies everything that is the best about OIMB: curiosity, passion, knowledge of natural history and a love of invertebrates, not to mention friendship, community, and a genuine willingness to help. I was actually talking with one of the faculty members over dinner about the importance of maintaining the OIMB culture. When I first started, I looked to older grad students to define the institute for me, and now that I've reached the rank of a senior grad student, it's my job to pass on all the positive attributes of the institute to those just beginning their degrees.

With the night finally ended, only three of us remained. We shut off the Boathouse lights, locked the door, and stepped outside. Laurel glanced upwards and immediately exclaimed "Look at the stars!"

We paused for a moment, gazing up at the dark sky, where white specks shone brightly in distinct formations. The stars were certainly beautiful tonight. 

And so we remained, peering into the night. Feeling the cold November wind as it ushered in the season's first storm. Remarking at how fast the darkness can deepen as the sun sinks toward the other side of the world. Noticing the constellations. Watching old stars move on and young stars be born. Thinking about the past, the future, the present. Seeing our dear friend drive away, but also feeling the pull of the next generation. Looking at the stars.