Womanhood. No one
warns you of its surprises, its hardships, its nuisances. No one tells you that there will be bad days,
days where you feel the urge to sing James Brown’s “It’s a Man’s World” loudly…
and spitefully. No one prepares you for
that day in the workplace when you are made to feel smaller. Similarly, no one prepares you for the good
days, the days you celebrate being a woman.
The days in the office, where people want to listen to you and gain
insight from you perspective. The days
you love wearing that hot red dress. All
of us as women benefit from knowing other women and men in our life, who help
us grow and help us find strength in the very gifts that make us who we are. I have grown with the help of many wonderful
women in my life. I have women, who have
helped me develop my adventurous self -- with whom I have chased windmills in
the Spanish countryside and with whom I have climbed canyons. I have women, who have helped heal my broken
heart – who have held me when the tears of heartbreak have made waterfalls of
my face. I have women, who have helped
me find a truer version of myself, who have helped me find God in a desert and
truth in philosophical conversations on a Georgia back porch. I have women, who have helped me realize
strength I never knew I had, women, who have loved me through my failures and
have helped me love myself a little more.
To all the women in my life, who have helped me more graciously embrace
womanhood. Thank you. You are my rocks, my sunshine, and my
strength. I love you.
Although I have “binders of women” in my life, and although
I could write an entire book about stories with all of them… I write this essay
about one woman in my past. Ultimately, however, I hope that
this essay serves as a tribute to all the lovely women, who have helped me
along my path.
I met the Alligator Woman at a research station in South
Georgia, where I worked as a summer research assistant. The research station was set far back in the
woods, situated on a longleaf pine preserve. The longleaf pine forests, which
once covered the expanse of the Southeast U.S., are now relegated to small
preserves and state parks, and this special research station in South Georgia is
one of its most magnificent strongholds - longleaf pine stands for miles,
broken up only by the occasional wetland or the Flint River to its East. The nearest town with a grocery store was
Colquitt 20 miles away. And the nearest coffee shop was in Albany was 40 miles
away. This place was the essence of
“country” living and your best chance at entertainment was making friends with
the people in your closest proximity.
Luckily, the research station was also hub of graduate students and
scientists, ready-made friends within close reach. I was assigned to live in a house with the
Alligator Woman and, let’s call her, the Fox Woman. The Armadillo Man and the Coyote Man lived
next door. We had frequent visits that
summer from the Rattlesnake Woman and the Frog Woman. I lived in a house of many lovely badass
women, and I felt like the luckiest girl alive.
My main duty that summer was to help maintain some plots on
site at the research station that were planted in longleaf pine forest
flora. However, I also floated around to
other labs helping with tasks where needed.
I did field work with the wetland lab, the wildlife biology lab, as well
as the herpetology lab. Everyday was an
adventure, and I was thrilled to be working with so many brilliant minds. I went out armadillo tracking at night,
helped set alligator traps, was an observer of a rattlesnake tracker implant
surgery, and waded through wetlands collecting microbial data.
Of all my many adventures, however, there was one I will
remember most. It involved a canoe ride
down the Flint River with the Alligator Woman.
The trip was part research, part relaxation. We needed to check a few alligator traps, but
it was also a beautiful Saturday for a leisurely canoe ride. At the time I had not yet helped the
Alligator Woman with her research in the field. So I was mildly alarmed when we approached one
of her traps on the river. The trap
included a large mass of hanging raw meat dangling just feet from the shore’s
surface. I felt a strange mix of
emotions. For when we rounded the bend
and neared the meat trap, it seemed as though the very meat itself was afire with
butterflies. A mass of swallowtail
butterflies had almost entirely covered the meat and the ground beneath
it. Later I discovered such a phenomenon
was not abnormal. Often insects,
including Lepidoptera (butterflies and moths), will gather around carrion, as
well as mud puddles and other areas, that are nutrient rich with sodium and
amino acids. Butterflies, in particular,
can use these supplemental nutrients for sustenance and reproduction. How amazing I thought, as I stared at the
large mass of rotting carrion with a thousand wings, how something that
otherwise would evoke a sense of fear and dread can also somehow be
beautiful. This lesson of nature’s
double-faced reality was one of many I would learn from the Alligator Woman
that summer. Not many weeks after the
canoe ride I was out checking traps with the Alligator Woman when we came upon
a surprise. Off in the distance we
spotted a rather large alligator, possibly the “Mother of all Alligators” known
at the research station. This was the
legend, the 10-ft alligator that lurked in the shadows of your worst
nightmares. I watched as the Alligator
Woman observed wistfully through her binoculars. Later she told me a story about a recent day
she had in the field. She was in a
wetland alone setting a trap, and although she never sighted the alligator, she
was fairly confident one of the larger alligators was in the wetland with her…
watching. I cringed and made some kind
of corny joke that masked my nervousness.
She quickly turned to me with a look of seriousness on her face. For the Alligator Woman being in the presence
of these creatures conjured emotions that bordered the line of fear and awe,
death and life. For the Alligator Woman
these moments were possibly spiritual, a rare chance to be one with nature. I never made a corny joke on the matter ever
again.
After checking traps on the river that day, we commenced our
leisurely canoe ride down the Flint River.
The sun was warm, the breeze just right, and the water our open
road. Our small cooler held a few PBR’s,
some orange cream soda, and a couple of sandwiches, the appropriate fuel for a
day canoe ride. Nothing spectacular
happened that day. No 10-ft alligators
surfaced, no surprises welcomed us from the river. Even the fish were lazy. I suppose the thing that made that canoe ride
so special was learning about womanhood from the perspective of a woman, who I greatly
admired – a woman who embodied all that had ever been badass and cool. The Alligator Woman told me tales of her
adventures, her love stories, her triumphs and failures. She told me about what it was to be a woman
and a scientist. She explained to me
that there were many paths to womanhood, and I could choose whichever path I
wanted. She also told me that I could
take pride in being a woman. I had
nothing for which to be ashamed. For
much of my life I secretly envied men.
At 19, it seemed men had more leisure to focus on their careers and do
great things. I also envied men, because
they were not burdened by pesky lady hormones that played tricks on their
emotions. However, the Alligator Woman
told me there was wisdom to be learned from my emotions, strength to be gained
from my experiences, and hope to be gathered from my dreams. Being a life-full woman was not for the weak
hearted. After the canoe ride that day
womanhood became something to be both feared and revered. Somehow in that moment, all the Alligator
Woman’s talk about being in a wetland alone with a 10ft alligator made
sense. I was both utterly petrified and
thrilled about the path of womanhood ahead of me.
I often go back to that day on the Flint River in my mind
when I feel weak and tired. On days when
I feel like the woman victim, or on days I feel as if the plight of lady
emotions is just too much to bare, I remember the Alligator Woman. I remember that the road to womanhood is long
but it can be an adventure. I remember
that this path is not easy, but I am strong.
Years later another woman mentor told me that I should always go into interviews
and presentations with “boobs out.”
Okay, not literally boobs out.
She meant that I should stand tall and embrace my womanhood despite both
the earth’s gravity and my own self-doubt. And so as I write these last lines, on one of
those weak and tired days, I tell myself:
“Boobs out, Sarah.
That’s what the Alligator Woman would do.”
