Field Book Project

National Penmanship Day : And the Award Goes to…

By Sonoe Nakasone, Field Book Project

Both this image and the one below come from Stevan J. Arnold's journal and field notes, April 1963-September 1965.

I apologize to our readers because an important event occurred without comment on our blog. In addition to being the beginning of the Chinese New Year (Gung Hay Fat Choy!), last Monday was also National Penmanship Day. Where was I?

I was hiding in shame, for my handwriting has always suffered in favor of efficiency. The other girls in my school classes obsessed with achieving straight, perfectly formed letters. Me? “Well, I can read it.” In a CBS Sunday Morning story, one expert claimed that judgments about a child’s intelligence are often based on the quality of his or her handwriting which can affect grades. I can at least partially attest to the expert’s claim; teachers and classmates thought I was lazy, apathetic, and inattentive to detail (and I will neither confirm nor deny these accusations). My real motivation (or lack thereof when it came to neat handwriting) was that with all the important things to do writing cute letters seemed a superfluous concern.

Perhaps that is exactly what many of the collectors whose field notes I’ve cataloged think when they write their notes: with all of the important information to capture – localities, names, descriptions, temperatures – who has time to dot all the “i”s, cross all the “t”s, etc.? “So what if a few extra squiggles find their way into my writing,” they might argue, “as long as I can read it.” The question is can anyone else read it? I’ve even looked back at my own notes and struggled to make sense of them. As someone who reads field notes every working day of the year, I will tell you that reading messy handwriting becomes particularly tricky when trying to decipher the name of a location, for example, in a country you know little about. Thank goodness for the Google Search auto correct feature – “Did you mean: Limon, Costa Rica,” Google asks coyly when I search for what I thought was “Linon, Costa Rica”. I know someone else had problems reading the same collection because the archive’s finding aid reads “Cindad Bolivar, Venezuela” several times instead of the correct “Ciudad Bolivar”.

It was in this seemingly endless stream of the scratches and scribble that one man’s field notes appeared as a life raft pulling me towards the safe banks of legibility. This year’s Field Book Project National Penmanship Day Award goes to that man, Steven J. Arnold (Smithsonian Institution Archives Record Unit 7311). Arnold worked with renowned Entomologist Paul D. Hurd, Jr., collecting and researching carpenter bees in Mexico and various Central American countries. Although not the only nicely written field notes in existence, Arnold’s notes are some of the neatest, most intelligible I’ve had the luck to catalog. The quality of Arnold’s handwriting made his notes faster to catalog and allowed me to be more detailed and accurate in my description of the content and list of geographic names. His penmanship isn’t about beauty; I’ve seen more beautiful, loopy script that is a work of art – but I couldn’t read it! It’s about longevity. Arnold didn’t allow his research to get lost within his own chicken scratch.

As we grow older, good penmanship does sort of become superfluous. We are judged more on our ideas, our actions, and end products than our penmanship. In this age of emails and born digital documents, handwritten documents are often kept to ourselves. For those collectors that still keep handwritten notes, however, consider taking a page out of Steven J. Arnold’s book and remember that few will learn from the words you’ve written if they can’t read what you wrote.

On The Bigger Picture...

Smithsonian Institution Pre Doctoral Fellow, Samantha Muka, shares how three scientists logbooks offered a glimpse into the research activities of the Bureau of Fisheries Division of Inquiry in her article "The Broad Mission of the Division of Inquiry" on The Bigger Picture.

Review : Field Notes on Science & Nature

By Rusty Russell, Co-Investigator, Field Book Project

As a twelve-year-old in southern Indiana, I fell in love with plants while riding my bike all over Brown and Monroe Counties, collecting tree leaves for an 8th grade science project. A boy could do that then and not be viewed as odd in the least. The cornfields appeared to extend to the horizon the minute I pedaled past the Bloomington town line, and limestone quarries and family cemeteries were as common as trolley cars in my original hometown of Baltimore. Stopping to carefully collect and press the leaves of trees about which I knew nothing–osage orange, mulberry, buckeye, catalpa and Kentucky coffeetree–my innate curiosity was raised the way exercise increases endorphin levels. There is, unfortunately, no evidence of these precious childhood memories, nothing to show my children and soon-to-be first grandchild.

Prior to my first professional collecting trip in 1976, as a field assistant in Brazil for the world renowned bamboo specialist, Tom Soderstrom, I was advised by F. Raymond Fosberg, another eminent 20th century Smithsonian botanist, to take careful notes and record my observations. He was adamant. I didn’t. Sure, the collections survive in the United States National Herbarium as testament to the ten weeks we spent collecting bamboo in Bahia, an excursion that resulted in many new species and two new genera. And, sure, it wasn’t technically my responsibility to take notes. But not having embraced the opportunity to record the impressions of a 22 year-old neophyte during what was a pivotal moment in my career has become one of my greatest regrets.

Maybe these subconscious shadows inspired the creation of the Field Book Project. But these two stories have been actively haunting me since reading Michael Canfield’s history and “how-to” of scientific note-taking, Field Notes on Science & Nature (Harvard University Press). What Mike and his contributing authors have accomplished is to thoughtfully merge the clinical with the emotional, to value precision and passion side-by-side, and to provide each reader with that sense of awe, curiosity and wonder that I recall from childhood. However, they also make clear that there is a responsibility on the part of the traveler to not only collect, measure, and describe but to interpret, imagine and communicate ideas forward. The importance of this last point is well conveyed by contributing author Kay Behrensmeyer, a Smithsonian paleobiologist, in her chapter entitled Linking Researchers Across Generations. “You may have no idea about the future significance of these experiences when they are happening, and it is far better to assume that they will be of interest to someone in the future ….” Why is it that, while we value the writing of past field workers, we don’t think that our notes and musings will be considered important in the future? If you can get over that, the next time you find yourself caught up in the inspired beauty of a walk through the woods, you’ll pick up a pen (permanent ink, please) or pencil and start writing (on good paper, of course).

However, the manner by which we record information is changing. Piotr Nasrecki, a colleague of Canfield’s at Harvard and the developer of software to aid field work, describes the efficiencies of electronic data capture in the field in his chapter Note-taking for Pencilophobes–I’m certain that last is not a word. Is this development an improvement over hand-written notes? Nasrecki thinks so. Certainly there is improved data consistency and time efficiency to be realized. But contributor Jim Reveal, my botany teacher at the University of Maryland, worries that a computer-based field book “lacks anything personal about the writer (and doesn’t encourage or accommodate other notes …).” But I suspect, as with anything else, a smart field worker will incorporate both options.

Beyond the chapter content that describes experiences in the field, beyond the sometimes tedious explanations of how notes should be taken, beyond the intriguing inclusion of contributors’ actual field book pages (with diagrams, sketches, photos, maps, and personal notes), and beyond attempts to answer such broadly stated questions as “Why Keep a Field Notebook?” (Erick Greene), “What is the value of these journals?” (Roger Kitching), “Why Sketch?” (Jenny Keller), and “What is the Field?” (Michael Canfield), the most compelling pieces to these contributions are reminiscences of childhood. For it is here that, like me, so many careers began in curious wonderment of the natural world.

Two statements jumped out at me as witness to the dedicated efforts in which Field Book Project staff members are engaged–one from a mentor, the other from a hero. Again from Jim Reveal, “… the fate of original field books often is less certain … all naturalists should recognize that such books are vital records capable of providing significant information to future researchers.”. I couldn’t have paid him for a clearer expression of concern for these one-of-a-kind objects. And from the Forward by E.O. Wilson, one of my Dad’s and my personal heroes for all that he has meant to our appreciation of nature, “If there is a heaven, and I am allowed entrance … I will carry with me an inexhaustible supply of notebooks, from which I can send back reports to the more sedentary spirits (mostly molecular and cell biologists).” Ha!

When I read Mike Canfield’s blog contribution on this blog last May, about the gift his great grandfather created for posterity, I finally understood The Field Book Project. As scientists we get all academical–I’m sure that’s not a word either– in mining these objects of history for the data, descriptions, and scholarly content found between their covers. But their legacy is more than that. Field books are personal. They are, regardless of the age of the scribe, simply a reflection of the time spent roaming the world in search of those feelings we first experienced as youngsters. And, in the absence of my notes from Indiana and Brazil, the Field Book Project is my gift to my children, their children, and their children ….

Flash! Narciso and Tomas

"Narciso and Tomas," Peruvian guides and helpers packing the mules to go.  (SIA RU 7179).

 

“[May 3, 1915] Packed mules with part of my outfit leaving tent and one chest below at Torontoy.  Three of the mules got thru o.k. but the 3 last were shoved off the trail by their aparejos catching against jutting rocks.  These three slid down thru a steep cornfield into the creek and lost their cargoes on the way.  They were cut up about the head and eyes, but no limbs were broken.  The men patched the loads the remaining 200 yards to the edge of the Montamya where we made camp.” 

--Edmund Heller

Flash! Mora

Botanist Albert Hitchcock's image of the base of a mora tree in Tumatumari, Guyana.
Genus: Mora       Family: Fabaceae 

Defining Where You Are…

by Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project

 

(1)Map of Michigan, United States Geological Survey.

Geography is an important element for cataloging field books. We are mindful that geographic information needs to be entered accurately and in a predictable manner to assure expected search results in the future. For this reason, I began to wonder about the geographical descriptions of the Lawrence Walkinshaw’s materials (Smithsonian Institution Archive Acc. 93-079). Walkinshaw was an ornithologist who did the majority of his field work in Michigan, in the Upper Peninsula. His manner of indicating locations initially left me at a loss.

Most collectors I’ve cataloged record location with country, state, town, or places like mountain ranges and national parks. In more challenging cases they may refer to territorial boundaries that are no longer used, or list a property owner. Walkinshaw was the first in my experience to consistently refer to county. Initially I considered this to be an idiosyncrasy, something not uncommon in archival materials. I have since learned of several examples of this type of location recording.

Paleontologist G.A. Cooper often listed counties in New York State because he organized his findings by “quadrangles”. Similarly paleontologist Charles Elmer Resser noted locations by county when working in the Rocky Mountain region. This practice, however, is not limited to paleontologists, nor is it limited to a particular region. But as I mentioned earlier, this was my first run in with this occurrence.

Scientists’ recording methods are often unique to them. Field books are usually meant for the creator’s own use, so information can vary in its detail and completeness. Some notes are extremely precise. When cataloging the field notes of Ichthyologist Isaac Ginsberg (SIA RU 7187), he recorded streams and bridges I could identify through our geographical authorities, finding places like Bohemia Bridge in Cecil County, Maryland. In others, we struggle to narrow down what and where a location is. Behaviorist M. Moynihan (SIA Acc. 01-096) worked at Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute (STRI) and throughout South America during his career. He was wonderful about listing locations at the top of each entry. Unfortunately he did not always specify enough for me to determine the location with assurance. He once listed only “Santa Rosa”; a name like this could be a town, province, mountain range, and in one of several countries.

But back to my original thought…

Walkinshaw listed most locations in Michigan by county, and then sometimes specified the corresponding town. This habit had me confused for a while, thinking it was peculiar to him. Eventually I came up with a more likely theory.

Much of his work was completed on the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. This area is similar to locations near where I’ve lived, places like Aroostook County in Maine (known as “the county”) with very low population density and economies built around agriculture or forest management. Towns can be so small that it proves infeasible to manage services at the town level, and thus government services are taken on by the county or state. Because of this, people may find it more useful to identify location by county than would be the habit of individuals from denser population centers. Residents of large cities like New York City may be more likely to refer to their neighborhood than their town.

While cataloging field books, we strive to be consistent in our methods, but still record the information in a way that accurately reflects the type of information in the field book. So if you were taking field notes, how would you define where you are?

New Staff Member Joins the Field Book Project

 

The Field Book Project welcomes back Emily Hunter, one of our summer 2011 interns, as a full time Cataloger.  This summer Emily cataloged 382 field books related to the Pacific Ocean Biological Survey Program, on which her article "Life in the Field: a Reflection on Cataloging Field Notes in the Pacific Ocean Biological Survey Program" and Flickr set are based. 

Emily holds an MLS from the University of Maryland's iSchool and a BA in Visual Arts and American Studies from University of Maryland Baltimore County.

Hats off to collectors in the field

By Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project. 

In honor of National Hat Day (January 15)

89-13384[1]. William Mann on a camel, Sinai Peninsula, 1914. 79-11666, William and Lucile Mann in British Guiana on a collecting trip for the National Zoological Park, SIA RU 7293.

While cataloging I’ve come across a lot of pictures of collectors in tropical climates wearing the ubiquitous pith helmet. These enjoyable images seemed to deserve some sort of recognition. Besides being utilitarian and utterly fashionable, pith helmets have actually been used to document field work, as described below.

SIA2011-0232a. Portion of field book page with photograph taken by Edward Chapin of carton nest of Nasutitermes with pith helmet in Jamaica, 1937.

The Field Book Project includes a sizable number of photographs documenting field work. These images include a wide range of content, but one of my favorite themes has been how collectors choose to demonstrate the size of the photographed subjects. One might think that scientists would bring measuring devices with them to put in photographs, but often they use readily available objects placed next to the item photographed to indicate size.

Full page with photograph taken by Edward Chapin of carton nest of Nasutitermes with pith helmet in Jamaica, 1937.

Often scientists utilize colleagues or tools at hand. When William Foshag (Smithsonian Institution Archives Record Unit 7281) was studying the eruption of Paricutín Volcano in the 1940’s, he would place a hammer next to examples of volcanic bombs [fragments of rock sent aloft by an erupting volcano]. Naturalist Edmund Heller (SIA RU 7179), while in Peru in the 1910’s, had a colleague hold a snake specimen to demonstrate its length.

Entomologist Edward Chapin, Curator at the United States National Museum from 1934-1954, used this method of size demonstration several times during field work to the Carribean and South America. He produced some of my favorite examples of this type of photograph, one of which is the pith helmet seen above. Though he worked primarily on insects, his field books include a fair number of images documenting local vegetation.

The photograph above comes from a collection of three note books (SIA Accession 11-085) documenting his work in Cuba and Jamaica in 1937 as well as Colombia in the 1940’s. There are several photographs with object used to demonstrate size in these field books.  I've included some of my favorites below, and hope you enjoy them as much as I have.

SIA2011-0224. Portion of field book page with photograph of Silk wood tree photographed with a colleague by Edward Chapin, 1937.

SIA2011-0403. Portion of field book page with photograph by Edward Chapin, in Guasca, Colombia, 1942.

A behaviorist in Panama

By Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project

SIA2008-2981. Martin Moynihan in the field while studying Gulls (Laridae) in United Kingdom (date unknown).

Martin Moynihan (SIA Acc. 01-096) was a behaviorist that studied behavioral evolutionary biology. He covered a wide range of fauna during his career, including primates, squid, and birds. Moynihan’s collection cataloged by the Field Book Project through his association with the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute. He worked at the Barro Colorado Island research facility as a Resident Naturalist in 1957, and became the founding Director when the research facilities were consolidated as the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute in 1966. He played a pivotal role in its growth, 1966-1974.

SIA 2008-2977.  Martin Moynihan in the field while studying Gulls, United Kingdom, (date unknown).

Moynihan appears to have been a dramatic and dynamic person. Articles written after his death by colleagues and major newspapers paint quite a picture, even if only a portion is accurate. The New York Times stated:

“He swam along with the reef squid in the warm waters of Atlantic Panama off the San Blas islands, with a waterproof notebook dangling from his belt.”

Neal Griffith Smith, a colleague of 36 years, wrote:

“When I first met him, he looked like Salvador Dali, for he sported an almost 5-inch waxed mustache, wore a Bond street suit, and carried a proper British umbrella. He remained an elegant though less dandy figure for the rest of his life…He had a reputation for rages and sudden changes of mood. In the early years he was always firing off his resignation because things were not going his way. It was pure theater. Martin was a gentleman in the true sense of the word, and perhaps the most intelligent person I ever met.” (p. 758)

 It should come as no surprise that he created detailed, exuberant, and challenging field notes. Each entry is headed with location, date, often with type of fauna being observed. Most of his notes are carefully indexed by type of animal and behavior. Illustrations of animals are throughout the notes, and often lovely drawings. He took great care to highlight text with colored pencil and varying patterns along the left-hand columns, usually indicating a specific animal or couple being observed. Even the page layouts appear pleasing to the eye. When writing observations, Moynihan used a plethora of exclamation points and questions marks. There is no question, Moynihan loved his work.

SIA 2012-1880, SIA2012-1872. Field notes of Martin H. Moynihan on Cyanerpes (Honeycreepers) observed in Barro Colorado, Panama, 1958.

His notes have been some of the most challenging to catalog for this project, both in content and organization. This is not to say that Moynihan’s notes are not organized. They are very well arranged. The challenge came with balancing the kind of information collected for each record, and what to include.

So what were some of the challenges?

•  What materials are cataloged? As a behaviorist, Moynihan’s collection falls in a gray area for the Field Book Registry. He didn’t explicitly collect, but he recorded extensive observations of flora and fauna in locations where a lot of collecting by Smithsonian has since occurred (STRI). We decided to include the majority of his observations of animals not in captivity, since observations of animals in captivity are akin to lab notes. He reorganized his notes without concern about the status of the animals he was observing. Without careful reading, the type of information he collected does not always make clear whether he was observing animals in captivity or the wild.
• How to deal with reorganized field notes? Moynihan recorded the notes chronologically, but every few years would reorganize by type of animal. He would then renumber the pages. This means that folders cover multiple years (with significant gaps) and locations. Sometimes they are not in chronological order. We strive when possible to note dates and location, but often had to limit chronological specificity to a list years because of gaps and cataloging time constraints.
• Where was Moynihan? was a challenge to determine location, because Moynihan worked throughout Central and South America. Normally one would be able to narrow it down to a region based on the geographic names of other locations around the same time period, but most notes are no longer in chronological order.
• How to balance content versus structure? There is so much structure to the field notes, that it can become difficult to balance the amount of structural description in the catalog record versus content. Each record must be able to stand on its own, so structure must be noted, but this cuts in to time for digging through the details of entries.

Over all these are amazing field notes to see. They include photographs, sketches, spectrograms, correspondence, and last but not least, Moynihan’s undeniable passion.

 

Wolfgang Saxon. (December 15, 1996). “Martin H. Moynihan, 68, an Authority on Animal Behavior.” New York Times access on December 1, 2011 at http://www.nytimes.com/1996/12/15/world/martin-h-moynihan-68-an-authority-on-animal-behavior.html

Neal Griffith Smith. (July 1998). “In Memoriam: Martin Humphrey Moynihan, 1928-1996.” American Ornithologist’s Union. Published by University of California Press. Accessed December 1, 2011 at http://www.jstor.org/stable/4089423

Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute. “Highlights: Important events in the history of Barro Colorado.” Accessed December 1, 2011 at (http://www.stri.si.edu/sites/forest_speaks/english/about_forest_speaks/history/index.html