This past Thursday was the American tradition of Thanksgiving or, as my Parisian friend calls it, “the day when you welcome the English to your colonies.” Or, as another non-IES friend summarized “ the feast where for dessert they had pumpkin pies and smallpox blankets.”  While I miss my family (and the Zimbabwean family we normally celebrate with – including my aunt’s famous performance of “The Stanky Leg” African style) I must admit that this year was the best Thanksgiving I’ve ever had.

My dad’s side of the family is somewhat Scottish. I never really understood it until I went to visit Edinburgh, Scotland this past weekend.

Scottish culture is heavily rooted in these things called clans. It’s a way of tracing ancestry into smaller familial groups and labeling them in a cohesive manner. My family is part of the Boyd clan – Boyd being my great grandmother’s maiden name and the middle name of every man on my father’s side, including my brother.

My final day of classes ended last Friday. It was a profound, bittersweet moment. Don’t get me wrong, though, there’s still work to be done. We have a performance project to rehearse and put up this coming Friday, and then a Christmas concert on the 13th to rehearse for. But no more classes, no more tap dance, no more voice lessons, no more acting class… if I keep going, I’ll start getting emotional.

The following is a photographic field journal from the week my botany class spent on Santa Cruz Island.

Reserva Pájaro Brujo is an 80-hectare farm, owned by National Geographic and run by FUNDAR. High-schoolers with machetes and cattle are clearing the invasive elephant grass and guava trees patch by patch. Notice the giant tortoises on the right!

Thanksgiving 2013 has come and gone. It wasn’t my first time away from home during this glorious holiday; in fact, I haven’t been home for Thanksgiving since high school. But this year was different. There was no Macy’s Day Parade, no sweet potato casserole, and no plopping in front of the TV for an afternoon football game.  There were classes and essays and baguettes, but in the end there was some turkey, too.