Field Book Project

Something Fishy

By Sonoe Nakasone, Field Book Project

Blunt-nosed Sucker, July 28th, 1886, Verde, Arizona.  SIA RU 7184. Courtesy of the Division of Fishes, National Musem of Natural History.

It seems I’ve already said quite a bit about Edgar Alexander Mearns (1856-1916), the naturalist who collected birds, mammals, plants—you name it—throughout  the US, Philippines, northern Mexico, and Kenya.  My article on the Brachypteryx and last year’s Father’s Day post presented glimpses of Mearns as both a collector and person.  But Mearns was so prolific a naturalist, so fascinating a person, that I can’t help but return to his collections.  This time, let’s talk about fish.

Mearns’s notes seem to crop up everywhere, so I wasn’t surprised to see his familiar name written across a box in the Division of Fish this summer.  I greeted the box with the familiarity of an old friend, but upon opening it, was met with the cold grip of a stranger, for in the box was something completely new to me: fish tracings.  According to Jeff Williams, Collections Manager (Division of Fish, NMNH), tracing fish was not a standard protocol before, during, or after Mearns’s time.  So what prompted Mearns to step outside the box?

Traced dorsal anterior. 1886?  SIA RU 7184. Courtesy of the Division of Fishes.

Before attempting to answer this question, let me tell you more about these fish tracings.  There are 12 tracings of fish included in this collection.  It seems Mearns plopped a fish down, outlined it, and then filled in a few details like big round eyes that make the traced mouths look like cartoonish smiles.   An impressive detail included is the accurate rendering of the fishes’ tails and fins, which it seems he obtained by covering these parts with ink and stamping them onto the fish outline.  Clever, Mearns, very clever.  And creative.  The result of this tracing and stamping is a rudimentary, yet accurate “sketch” of a fish.

Brook trout from Camp Douglass, Jun, August 20, 1890.  SIA RU 7184. Courtesy of the Division of Fishes.

We’ve explored the importance of drawings and sketches of specimens in field notes, especially for fish, on this blog before.  We’ve learned from my colleague, Lesley Parilla, that color sketches of fish in the field are particularly important because the fish’s color fades soon after it dies.  Some fish sketches, therefore, have a more “finished” look than one might expect from a field sketch.  Similarly, I wondered if Mearns’s hasty trace and stamp job captured information lost after his fish were preserved.

Williams thinks it’s likely that Mearns traced his fish in order to obtain a quick measurement of the fish.  Accompanying Mearns’s tracings are many pages of detailed fish measurements of every kind.  These measurements, however, were most likely taken from preserved specimens.  Williams notes that although shrinkage varies by species, preserving fish in alcohol can see a 1-10% decrease in size from the time the specimen was alive.  The difference is notable in the length measurement, perhaps several millimeters in difference.  It’s possible Mearns’s tracings were a means to ascertain an exact measurement before his specimens shrunk.

Richardsonius gibbosus.  Circa July 2 (no year), Cedar Creek, Arizona.  SIA RU 7184. Courtesy of the Division of Fishes.

What about the tail and fin stamps?  What purpose would that have served when the specimens' tails and fins were to be preserved?  Unfortunately, I have no real answer to this question, although my uneducated guess is that it served as a quick reference for tail and fin patterns.  As for what inspired Mearns in the first place, one clue may come from Japanese Gyotaku, which as Jeff Williams notes, bears similarities to the stamping aspect of Mearns's tracings.  Although Gyotaku eventually developed into an art form, it originated as tool for fishermen to document the size and physical attributes of their day's catch.  Could Mearns have been emulating the methods of Japanese fishermen? 

It is said that necessity is the mother of invention.  Although Mearns did not invent the technique of tracing fish, Mearns’s fish tracings may serve as a testament to his creativity and resourcefulness in solving the problem of quickly and accurately obtaining measurements and pattern information of fresh fish.  Ah, Mearns, is there anything you can’t do?!

 

Thanks to Kris Murphy and Jeff Williams for their assistance with this article.

National Handwriting Day: The Results Are In!

Thank you to all who voted for the 2013 Field Book Handwriting Award! We received 76 votes in the short time the survey was posted, and the handwriting sample of Martin M. Moynihan emerged as the clear winner! See more examples of Moynihan’s lovely cursive writing below.

Best in Show: Martin H. Moynihan

#6 Martin H. Moynihan. Moynihan’s field notes include behavioral observations of Cyanerpes, Panama, 1958. Read more about Moynihan here. From Acc. 01-096. SIA2012-1880.

From Acc. 01-096. SIA2012-1914.	From Acc. 01-096. SIA2012-1929.

Second place went to the elegant 19^th century script of Frederick Kreutzfeldt.  Arthur Stelfox’s neat printing came in third. A sizeable group of scribblers stood in solidarity with the messy hand of Waldo Schmitt.

You can see all of the contenders here. Thanks again for your participation and Happy National Handwriting Day!

Cast Your Vote for the 2013 Field Book Handwriting Award

By Emily Hunter, Field Book Project

Break out your quills! As you may (or may not) know, National Handwriting Day is quickly approaching on January 23rd. Sonoe Nakasone posted last year at this time about this important national holiday, selecting Steven J. Arnold as the recipient of the Field Book Project 2012 penmanship award. This year, I’d like to introduce you to a few types of handwriting that we come across in field books. We’ve narrowed down to a few selections to represent each category. However, we invite YOU to help us choose a Best in Show.

The Graceful Script

The graceful script hearkens back to a day when beautiful penmanship was respected. We appreciate the time it took these collectors to dip their quills and make those even, careful loops and dips. Both of our candidates were chosen because their script is not just visually interesting, but also legible.

#1  E. A. Goldman.  Goldman’s pretty cursive hand in cyan ink is just delightful in this field book from Mexico, describing mammals and birds he collected there in 1893. From SIA RU 007364. SIA 2012-1441. [click image for larger view]

#2  Frederick Kreutzfeldt. Kreutzfeldt’s penmanship didn’t suffer even while recording in less-than-ideal circumstances. This account was made during his participation in the Survey of the Northwest Boundary along the 38th and 39th Parallels, 1853, and may be the last entry before he died (read more about that in a previous blog post). We admire his perfect line spacing and delicate calligraphic slant. From SIA RU 007157. SIA2011-2257. [click image for larger view]

The Utilitarian Print

What a relief to the tired eyes of a cataloger, to view the nice clean text of a hand-printed field book entry. So easy to read! We chose the two candidates below for being so meticulous and neat.

#3 James A. Peters. Peters, a herpetologist, has a contemporary petite all-caps printing style. The entry above is from Peters’s collecting trip to Mexico in 1949. Read more about the field notes of James A. Peters in a previous blog post here. From SIA RU007175.  SIA2012-6213. [click image for larger view]

#4  Arthur Stelfox.  Nice printing in this index by Arthur Stelfox, from his field notes on mollusca, 1911. From SIA RU 007379 . SIA2012-1436. [click image for larger view]

The Highly Stylized

This type of writing is always a treat to read, as it always seems to reveal something of the creator’s personality. The highly stylized hand can be full of over-the-top flourishes and exaggerated slants (either left or right). Some are round and bulbous, others are jaunty, others long and lean. Overall, we appreciate the variety of this category.

#5 Edward Palmer. Ethnobotanist Edward Palmer has a heavy calligraphic hand, with larger-than-average sized letters and some interesting flourishes. Read more about Palmer in a previous blog post here. From SIA Acc. 12-346. No negative number. [click image for larger view]

#6 Martin H. Moynihan. Moynihan’s writing is quite lyrical with an interesting take on lowercase y's and f's and uppercase T's. Moynihan’s field notes include behavioral observations of Cyanerpes, Panama, 1958. Read more about Moynihan here. From Acc. 01-096. SIA2012-1880. [click image for larger view]

The Nearly Illegible

Let’s be honest. These collectors had bigger fish to fry than neatly writing in their field books. They didn’t waste time dotting i’s and crossing t’s—they got the information down! Whether they were atop a camel, in a helicopter, or off-roading, their handwriting records the necessary information in a way that they (and maybe only they) can read later.

#7 Cleofé E. Calderon. Calderon’s books are full of important contributions to the field of Botany, but they take some skill to decipher. This entry comes from botanical field work in Brazil, 1976. Read more about Cleofé Calderon’s field notes here. From SIA Acc. 12-005. SIA 2012-7486. [click image for larger view]

#8 Waldo LaSalle Schmitt. Schmitt’s field books are fascinating, and yet some of the most difficult to decipher. View photographs from Schmitt’s field work in French Polynesia, Antarctica, and Alaska, 1940-1963, on Flickr. From SIA RU007231. No negative number. [click image for larger view]

Vote for the Field Book Project 2013 Handwriting Award!

As you can see, different handwriting styles can certainly yield different outcomes, and directly affect our own appreciation of the content. We might romanticize the script writing, we can easily read the utilitarian print, we make estimations about the content of those written in the “illegible” style. How can one choose a best in show, when comparing apples to oranges? So, we’d like to open it up to you, dear readers. What do you think? Please cast your vote for one of the field book handwriting samples above, via our Google survey. We’ll share the results via Twitter on National Handwriting Day, January 23, 2013. Thank you for voting!

Vote for your favorite penmanship sample!

New Year's Resolutions

By Emily Hunter, Field Book Project

Page from F. A. McClure's Diary Record, January 1, 1941. SIA Acc. T90028, Box 9. No negative number.

Happy New Year from all of us here at the Field Book Project! As people who are constantly reading field notes, it’s hard for us to let a holiday pass without imagining what it was like for scientists who spent their holidays in the field, away from family, continuing to collect and study the specimens they so enjoyed.

New Year’s Day, for many of us, is filled with promise—a new start, a new dream, new resolve to finish our projects, perfect our character flaws, strive to be better human beings. Even field scientists felt this way; they looked up from pressing plants, packing fish, and taking field notes, and resolved to better themselves.

In 1941, Floyd Alonso McClure wrote in his diary,

I started the day off rather badly, considering that it is ‘New Years,’ and that I still consider that I could and should do everything better than I do.

Who hasn’t felt this way about a New Year? He continues,

As I look at this page, it seems that even my handwriting lacks character that statement however, cannot be true, for handwriting surely reveals character—or habit—to a certain extent, at least. Perhaps mine reveals my character more clearly as it is than it would if it were more regular. I believe, however, that the practice of a particular style of writing would have a beneficial effect… I must write more by hand.

As catalogers who spend a good deal of time trying to decipher handwriting, we can’t scoff at that resolution! (As an aside, McClure was being a little rough on himself—his handwriting was not even close to the worst that we’ve seen.) A lighter and simpler resolution might also be a good direction to go. Like this one, that McClure penned on the first day of 1925:

As for New Year’s resolutions, we read at the table at noon the list of twenty which I made out for myself at Nodoa, in Hainan, on the eve of the end of 1921. They still seem to cover the ground fairly well and so we let them stand. In short our resolution is ‘To make the most of life’.

Here we are, over 90 years later, and McClure’s resolution to “make the most of life” still sounds like a good one. We’ll toast to that one. Happy 2013 everyone!

Happy Holidays from the Field Book Project!

By Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project

In honor of this holiday season, we'd like to share some of the unusual content we've found in field  books: recipes from our specimen collectors.  Enjoy our virtual holiday card to you; we hope it provides some inspiration for your holiday celebrations. Recipes include: chocolate creams, orange lemon drops, molasses candy, neapolitan creams, tomas barrera cocktail, and rum and maracuyá (passion fruit). If you try one, please be sure to let us know what you think! Happy Holidays to all! 

 

Field Book Project Holiday Card 2012 

You can also download as a PDF from here.

The Diaries of Floyd Alonzo McClure

By Emily Hunter, Field Book Project

Floyd Alonzo McClure conducting field work, possibly in China, circa 1919-1950. SIA Acc. T90028. Box 7 Folder 15. No negative number.

We get to know some interesting characters by reading field notes. Floyd Alonzo McClure (1897-1970) was one of these characters that I had the pleasure of learning about while cataloging SIA collection T90028.

McClure was a bamboo guy. (We really get familiar with these collectors, don’t we?) To put it another way, he studied Bambusoideae, a large group of genera in the grass family (Poaceae), for the majority of his career. His major work was the publication “The Bamboos, a Fresh Perspective,” which was published in 1966. McClure’s connection to the Smithsonian began in 1940s, when he joined the National Museum of Natural History as an Honorary Research Associate. But let’s start a little earlier.

China

McClure was born in 1897 in Shelby County, Ohio. He attended Ohio State University where he earned a BS in Agriculture in 1919. That year, McClure took a position in China teaching Economic Botany at Canton Christian College (later Lingnan University), a move that would define much of his life and career and lead him to spend 24 years in that country.

McClure found a lot to learn about in China beyond just bamboo. He studied Chinese language and culture. He was interested in the land, the people, and the local customs. As a botanist, these interests served him well. Navigating the country, speaking with farmers, and learning local uses for bamboo plants certainly must have informed his career in economic botany.

McClure’s diary from Hainan, China, 1921.  SIA Acc. T90028. Box 8 Folder 24. No negative number.

McClure lived in Canton, China and went on collecting expeditions throughout Hainan province in 1921, 1922, 1929, and 1932. He collected bamboo specimens mainly, but occasionally other grasses, orchids, and other higher plants. He wrote about his daily experiences and observations in his diaries. While reading through, I found his reflections on the people and cultures he observed respectful and thoughtful. He made “tentative” observations, and allowed for differences in perspective and opinion. McClure was a humble man. His field notes made it very clear that even though he was a teacher, he enjoyed learning from others around him. The Japanese invasion of China in 1941 forced McClure to return to the United States where he would spend the rest of his life.

Family

It’s easy to get lost in McClure’s diaries. They speak of his day-to-day life, a blend of family and botanizing. Amidst teaching and conducting botanical work in the lab, McClure went on bicycle rides with his wife Ruth, and spent a great deal of time with his two young daughters, Sophie Louise and Janet (or “Bunny”).

His entries depict a loving and dedicated husband and father. McClure’s family did, indeed, seem to become enmeshed in his professional life. The first and strongest example is the fact that McClure brought his new wife to Canton where they spent the first decades of married life together and raised two children. When McClure took trips, his wife and children sometimes came along. In 1959, Ruth became his research assistant, working with him daily until he passed away.

McClure with his wife Ruth and daughters, circa 1937. SIA Acc. T90028. Box 7 Folder 15. No negative number.

Economic Botany

McClure saw the connections between studying plants and thinking about how they can contribute to a society, reinforce culture, and even take a role during war times.

In 1943 McClure was recruited for his knowledge of bamboo by the U.S. military. If that sentence sounds odd to you, you are not alone—I also was surprised to learn this! During World War II, the National Defense Research Committee was looking for someone with a deep knowledge of bamboo to research options for making ski poles for troops in extreme northern climates. At the time, wood was expensive and increasingly in demand. Bamboo was practical and fairly cheap. McClure was their man. McClure traveled to Central American locations to research and conduct experiments on bamboo species that could be used to make ski poles. I haven’t found a great deal of information on the result of these efforts, but I certainly hope that U.S. troops benefited from McClure’s knowledge of safe, sturdy bamboo species.

Often, interesting tidbits like this one are wrapped up in the field notes. It’s what makes field notes so unique; they are rarely cut and dry, and more often than not, include all sorts of information beyond just lists of specimens collected. McClure’s diaries can give us a wealth of information on culture, wartime activities, family life, and the man behind the books.

 

References:

Meyer, F. G. (1972). Floyd Alonzo McClure (1897–1970) — A Tribute. Economic Botany, 26(1), 1-12.

Walker, E. H. & Archer, W. A. (1971). Floyd Alonzo McClure (1897-1970). Taxon, 20(5/6), 777-784.

How to Run an Expedition

By Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project

Cover of Edmund Heller’s notebook for National Geographic Society Yale University Peruvian Expedition, 1915. Image courtesy of Division of Mammals, National Museum of Natural History.

Many of the collections I’ve cataloged have had extensive correspondence and other types of materials documenting the planning of expeditions. I have sometimes found a year’s worth of materials covering negotiations between institutions, companies, and nations. These types of materials do not fall into the scope of what we catalog, but they can be helpful to us for understanding information we find in field books from a collecting trip. They often include details about where collecting occurred, what circumstances affected collecting, and where documenting materials reside.

"Narciso and Tomas," Peruvian guides and helpers packing the mules to go. The photo was taken by Edmund Heller while on the Peruvian Expedition of 1914-15, which was sponsored by Yale University and The National Geographic Society. Smithsonian Institution Archives. 94-12224.

We often know a lot about the planning before a collecting event, but frequently the more mundane details like meal planning, day-to-day accommodations, and such are not documented except in archival materials created during an expedition. These types of logistics are usually discussed in collector journals or correspondence about shipping specimens to home institutions.

So I was very surprised to find a bound and embossed notebook from the National Geographic Society Yale University Peruvian Expedition, 1915, with information and directions for participants during the trip. The notebook contains official circulars for the expedition, covering almost all aspects of the expedition preparation and execution. Some are instructions for personnel (including local dentistry options), care and purchase of equipment (including mules), weekly menus with recipes, procedures, expedition updates, contact information, and examples of types of pottery discovered. Circulars are numbered and sometimes dated. Some are even in Spanish for the local staff.

Page providing instructions to expedition members for keeping their journals.	Page discussing daily menus from expedition.

Unfortunately this notebook contains no original documentation about specimens collected, so it is not cataloged, but it a fascinating example of supplementary materials that sometimes exist alongside the field books. It struck me as akin to a modern travel guide. Like many of the materials we find, I don’t know the entire history of the item such as whether members had to update their own copies with new memos or if there was even more than one copy. But, it is a fascinating example of how to handle the day-to-day logistics of an expedition. I find this notebook especially fascinating because it seems so unusual compared to the documentation I’ve found for expeditions of the same time period. The kind of consistency of participant documentation it promotes and the wide range of local information it contains seems to correlate with major collecting efforts I’ve cataloged from the 1960s.

Portion of the notebook providing advice about dentistry.

I have not found the documents instructing participants for the collecting trips of the 1960s, I’ve only seen the results. The similarity in field book and catalog content from projects like Smithsonian African Mammal Project and Smithsonian Venezuela Project indicate that the projects had explicit instructions about the type of information to be collected and how it should be recorded.

It seems that if documents covering day-to-day logistics exist for collecting events, they are not frequently retained; yet these types of materials provide much needed information about what participants look for and what they are to document. They provide details about daily life in the field that in inspire imagination, and I love the glimpse back in time that this expedition guide represents. Besides, if it were not for these documents, I might never have learned about erbswurst (that’s a hint to read the daily menu!).

A Recipe for Specimen Collecting

By Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project

Portion of A. C. Risser’s field journal (page 89) discussing ingredients for bait. Note in margin defines “ghee.” Housed in Division of Mammals, National Museum of Natural History. Image number risser_a_c_196504-196508-89b.

Last Thanksgiving, I discussed the range of food references we have found in collectors’ field notes. I think food makes a great topic given the traditions of the holiday. This year a new aspect of food presented itself as a topic: bait.

The field notes we catalog frequently include details about collecting methods. If the collector is using traps, they might record the types, quantity, and location of traps in a given collecting area. Sometimes collectors even include hand drawn maps of trap placement or detailed sketches about their construction. Collectors also sometimes discuss the type of bait they use.

My curiosity with this topic was born the day I read the following entry by Caleb Kennerly in Puget Sound with the Northwest Boundary Survey, 1857-1861:

13. Starfish and mouse. Steilacoom, WJ. July 4. The former taken with hook in ten fathoms of water, and it had swallowed the small piece of fresh mutton with which the hook was baited.

I have no idea how he came to use mutton as bait, but I made sure to keep my eye out for more information about bait in field books. I found a few references here and there; the information was often sparse, and what little I did find left me intrigued and confused. A few collectors made notes. Alexander Wetmore listed a recipe for bee bait in his field book for August 1902 - April 1903 when he lived in North Freedom, Wisconsin. Frederick True and Daniel Prentiss, Jr., wrote that they used bait composed of anise, oatmeal, and bacon during summer of 1897 in Hancock County, Maine. So now I had references to using mutton and anise, two ingredients I’ve never associated with bait.

I didn’t find any consistent listings or descriptions of bait until I began cataloging in the Division of Mammals. I found a lot of information in field books on bait choices, especially for two projects during the 1960’s: Smithsonian Venezuela Project (SVP) and Smithsonian African Mammal Project (AMP). After working on these two collections I came up with two theories to explain the mutton and anise.

My first theory is that collectors often use whatever is readily available. I found several references in AMP field books to purchasing bait ingredients at local markets. This might explain Kennerly’s use of mutton to catch a starfish. The second theory developed because, unlike the entries in nineteenth century field books, entries from the 1960’s I have read tend be more expansive about what bait ingredients are used and why.

Choices usually seem to involve some sort of grain, fruit, and/or protein. During AMP, collectors of mammals used combinations like: sundried fish; rice-oatmeal mixture, flavored with sardine sauce; banana; or rice and banana mixture. Frederick True and Daniel Prentiss, Jr., were using the same kind of combination; however their listing of anise probably related to anise oil. A SVP participant listed using fresh ripe banana on some old peanut butter, oats, and anise oil as bait.

Now that I’ve laid the background, below are some bait recipes I’ve found. A lot of these remind me of breakfast. As of yet I have not found one involving desserts, but I’m holding out hope.

• September 4, 1962 – Madagascar: traps baited with sun-dried fish
• November 7, 1962 – Madagascar: traps baited with a rice-oatmeal mixture, flavored with sardine sauce.
• January 31, 1963 – Mauritius: traps baited with banana
• April 4, 1963 – Madagascar: traps baited with rice and banana mixture
• July 3, 1965 – West Pakistan: trap baited with white oats, 2 eggs, ghee, parmesan cheese and water. [The collector stated in his journal that he used this combination because he couldn’t find any bananas.]

Whatever food graces your table this year, all of us at the Field Book Project wish you a Happy Thanksgiving!

Enjoy the Journey

By Tad Bennicoff, Reference Archivist, Smithsonian Institution Archives

James A. Peters field notes, Mexico, 1949: Notes on Eleutherodactylus occidentalis specimen. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 7175, Box 49, Folder 4, Image SIA2012-6364.

 One of the joys (and perhaps frustrations!) of conducting historical research is the mystery of what might be found upon reviewing original, archival materials.  Quite often, one enters into such research with anticipation, hope, and a level of expectation regarding the information being sought.  If the focus of consulting a particular historical resource lies solely in unearthing details to further one’s own theory, or confirm an expectation, it can become easy to overlook the fascinating materials encountered along the way, and the destination becomes more important than the journey.  Such was the case as I commenced with this article. 

My experience working with the Smithsonian’s collection of field books is rather limited, as I am not assigned to the Field Book Project, but rather am a Reference Archivist at the Smithsonian Institution Archives.  My chief responsibility is to reply to the inquiries we receive related to our holdings.  Thus, I do not have the luxury of becoming intimate with a particular collection and spend considerable time breezing past materials that may be of personal interest, but unrelated to a specific research request.  This very “businesslike” approach is similar to James A. Peters's style of note taking found in Record Unit 7175: James A. Peters Papers, and Records of the Division of Reptiles and Amphibians, 1927-1973 (Papers), 1927-1966 (Records).

James A. Peters field notes, Mexico, 1949: Tracing of Hyla smaragdina specimen. Note the source of the tracing is cited. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 7175, Box 49, Folder 4, Image SIA2012-6426.

James Arthur Peters (1922-1972) was trained as a biologist.  He spent time as a member of the Brown University faculty (1952-1958) and served as Professor of Biology at San Fernando State College (1959-1964) prior to accepting the position Associate Curator in the Division of Reptiles and Amphibians at the United States National Museum (now the National Museum of Natural History) in 1964.  He became “supervisor and curator” of the division in 1967, a title which he held until his untimely passing in 1972.  His field notes are very professional, his handwriting quite legible.  Each entry includes careful details, such as the date, location, and circumstances under which a specimen was observed.  It is obvious that Dr. Peters valued his field notes, as he added typed pages expressing conclusions formed after extensive observations in the field.  His field notes also include tracings of specimens from published works wth citations.   Upon reviewing just a few pages, it becomes clear that the field notes of James Arthur Peters would be a valuable resource for an aspiring or established Herpetologist. 

Conducting research on another’s behalf can be challenging, especially when you happen upon interesting or curious materials unrelated to the request.  This happens quite frequently, as it did upon preparing this post.  I was reviewing the field notes of George Sprague Myers (Record Unit 7317: George Sprague Myers Papers, circa 1903-1986 and undated,) a Herpetologist, Ichthyologist, and former Assistant Curator in Charge, Division of Fishes, United States National Museum.  Professor Myers left the United States National Museum in 1936 to accept a professorship at his alma mater, Stanford University.  Myers was a prolific writer and educator, with more than 600 published papers to his credit (a well-written memorial resolution for George Sprague Myers is available online.) 

High School notebook of George Sprague Myers. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 7317, Box 57, Folder 1.	High School notebook of George Sprague Myers. Pages containing History notes, as well as drawings of fish. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 7317, Box 57, Folder 1.

The Myers Papers are rich with correspondence, research notes, and scientific manuscripts.  Included among his papers is a notebook labeled “Period 4 English, Room 307, D.H.S.” (Box 57, Folder 1: High School Notebook).  It sparked my curiosity, so I had to have a look.  The notebook contains Myers notes on Homer’s Odyssey, long a standard study of a high school English class.  Flipping through the pages you will find notes on Greek gods and characters represented in the epic, as well as notes on fish!  Adjacent to a page full of notes on the Helvetians (Myers must have used this notebook for a History class one particular day) are drawings of fish!  There are similar notes and drawings present throughout the notebook.  Thus, even in high school, while others were daydreaming of summer vacation or perhaps their Friday evening hangout, Myers, who had found his calling as an Ichthyologist, was daydreaming of fish!

The field books held by the Smithsonian Institution may be viewed as a microcosm of the Institution itself; there is a little something for everyone, whether it be the seasoned scientist seeking very specific data, a student of history interested in reviewing primary sources, or a researcher hoping to develop a human profile of a field book author who seemingly gathered and processed data with machine-like precision.  One of the goals of the Field Book Project is to digitize many of the field books and make them available with only a few strokes of your keyboard.  If you are interested, and take the time to review the pages and enjoy the journey, I believe you will find the field books to be much like the totality of the Smithsonian Institution: Seriously Amazing!

More James A. Peters field notes on our blog

More herpetology field notes on our blog

Why Are You Cataloging in Rare Books?

By Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project

Smithsonian Institution Libraries. Online exhibit, "The Art of African Exploration".

Last year, I cataloged part of a unique collection at the Joseph F. Cullman 3rd Library of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution Libraries—the Russell E. Train Africana Collection. This blog post was inspired by a series of conversations about descriptions of the collection materials that already existed and how Field Book Project catalog records would utilize and add to them. If you have the chance to look at the Train Collection exhibition website, “The Art of African Exploration”, you might ask the question I used to entitle this post. If the materials are already described, why was I there cataloging them? When I first looked at the existing item descriptions, I began to wonder. However, when I started looking at the items themselves, I realized that the way we catalog would indeed add new descriptive information to what already existed.

A collection like this, which includes archival materials, objects, and print materials, is a challenge for any institution to house and catalog. Each of these types of materials is usually associated with a specific type of institution. Primary documents usually go to archives, objects to museums, and published materials to libraries. Each type of item comes with its own challenges for description and housing; each type of institution has developed their own ways of meeting these challenges.

Cover page of Sir John Kirk’s “Butterflies collected in the Shire Valley, East Africa.” Russell E. Train Africana Collection at the Joseph F. Cullman 3rd Library of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

Four types of descriptions for items within the Train collection existed before I began cataloging.

1. Book description: tailored to published works, this describes items as self-contained, stand alone works.
2. Archival description: developed specifically for unpublished works, this emphasizes contextual information and relationships among parts of the collection.
3. Conservation description: intended for items in need of conservation, this notes physical deterioration and possible conservation treatments.
4. Booksellers description: created to sell items, this focuses on physical description, history (historical significance), and value.

Verso of page 22 from Volume 2 of the 8 journal set by N. C. Cockburn. Part of the Russell E. Train Africana Collection.	Page 23, volume 2

Given these four types of descriptions you’re probably wondering what my cataloging added to the mix. The Field Book Project cataloging structure is a mixture of library and archival approaches, which fits well with some of the cataloging challenges in the Train collection. In addition, we include information specific to natural history researcher needs.

Portion of page 80, discussing Cockburn journals, from catalog compiled for Russell E. Train. Courtesy of Joseph F. Cullman 3rd Library of Natural History.

For many of the items I cataloged, I started by using portions of existing descriptions to which I added relevant information. Here is where an example probably helps. Above is a description taken from page 80 of the catalog compiled for Russell E. Train. It describes the 8 volume set of journals written by N. C. Cockburn. Below is the bookseller’s description for the same set of journals.

Bookseller’s description of Cockburn text. Courtesy of Joseph F. Cullman 3rd Library of Natural History.

When I catalog, I focus on the following:

• reason the person is at a location
• type of collecting
• dates of the collecting event
• types of information recorded about the collecting event (e.g. weather, terrain, vegetation, collecting method)

Often the pre-existing descriptions include limited or no information like that types listed above, thus being enhanced by the field book specific cataloging methods I used.

The field notes within the Train collection are a good illustration of the inspirations and challenges for the Field Book Project. The wide variety of field book materials means they can be described as library materials or as archival collections. In the case of the Train collection, the field books had descriptions that were not specific to researcher needs. Our Project has worked with museum and archive professionals to develop a cataloging system to address the wide variety of formats and diverse information field books document.

Discovering the Artistry in Field Notes: Intersection of Art and Science

By Emily Hunter, Field Book Project

Recently, I had the opportunity to present on visual field notes at Revealing Hidden Treasures: the Smithsonian’s Archives Fair 2012, a day inspired by the month of October--American Archives Month. In case you missed it, here’s a recap:

Heteropogon near Masaya, Nicaragua. SIA Acc. 11-093, Box 1, Mary Agnes Chase Photograph Album 1898-1903. SIA2012-4623.

We’ve talked quite a bit on our blog about the variety of formats that field books may take, including photographs, sketches, maps, correspondence, journals, specimen lists, and more. I wanted to take a moment to discuss why visual field notes are important. Lists and diaries contain information like collector numbers, geographical names, specimen binomials, and all sorts of information for which it’s easy to see the use potential. They can be cross-referenced with the actual specimen labels, or offer missing or supplemental information. But what about visual materials? What can they offer that is useful or unique? Among other things, they can tell us specifically about specimens, the environment, and the collecting event.

Specimens

Photographs and sketches can give us important information about specimens that were collected or observed in the field. Together, words and sketches can give a fuller, richer description of specimens. As mentioned in a previous blog post, specimens, especially fish, can lose color and pattern information shortly after they are preserved—sketches can relate those details to us.  Similarly, images of live or just-collected plants can give us information about the living individual that pressed plants can not. In a world before photography, sketches were critical for illustrating specimens (and also field work and the environment). When photography became more popular, it also became a tool for capturing this information.

Environment

Sketch of Kanab Canyon by Charles D. Walcott during his field work for the US Geological Survey, October 15 - November 3, 1879. Smithsonian Institution Archives. RU007004, Box 32, Folder 1. SIA SIA2012-9643.

Sketches, photographs, and maps can give us important information about the environment surrounding a collecting site; they can, quite literally, paint us a picture of a certain place as it existed at a certain time. We can use photographs and drawings from the field to answer questions such as:

What did the landscape look like?

What species were thriving?

What was missing or scarce?

How has this location changed?

Maps can also give us clues as to what the world looked like at a past time. They can illustrate old routes that existed before modern roads did, and indicate locations where specimens were observed or collected. Some maps preserve information about a past landscape or historical political borders. In a past blog post, Eleonore Dixon-Roche discussed how the landscape has changed since Joseph Rock visited and created his hand drawn maps.

Constantine S. Rafinesque's Notes N. 17, pages 86 and 87, 1818. Smithsonian Institution Archives. RU 007250, Box 1, Folder 3. SIA2012-6086.

Collecting event

Vernon Orlando Bailey on horseback in Rabbit Hole Basin, Nevada, 1898. Smithsonian Institution Archives. RU 007267, Box 5, Folder 12. SIA2011-1382.

Visual field notes can illustrate fieldwork for us in a way that textual documents simply cannot. Photographs show us what fieldwork looked like. We begin to see things like who was there, how a specimen was obtained, how it was transported, and the cultural context surrounding the collection.

Through images, we get a sense of what it might have been like to be a part of an historical expedition. Images like these speak to us; they illustrate scientific explorations, and communicate to us in a very human way so that we can relate to these past stories. They make it real!

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Slides of this presentation are available on Slide Share. You may see a webcast of the presentation on YouTube.

New Uses for Old Books

By Sonoe Nakasone, Field Book Project

 

U.S.S. Albatross logbook June 26, 1909, 4am.  Smithsonian Institution Archives, RU7184, box 1, folder 24. No neg number.

This summer was filled with milestones, not only for our Project, but for others as well.  The exciting news in July that Old Weather, a crowd-sourcing transcription project we admire, completed transcriptions for thousands of ships logs made me reflect on our own logbook collections, particularly the Albatross logbooks, which I am currently cataloging.  The Albatross logbooks are part of the United States Bureau of Fisheries Records, circa 1877-1948 (Smithsonian Institution Archives RU7184).  Although often seemingly sparse with information, these items contain valuable records of marine collecting, weather conditions, and history.

The Smithsonian obtained the Albatross (and other famous research vessel) logbooks through its close relationship with the United States Commission of Fish and Fisheries (later the Bureau of Fisheries, and still later, the Fish and Wildlife Service) established in 1871 by Congress.  Congress appointed then Assistant Secretary of the Smithsonian, Spencer Fullerton Baird, as the new agency’s Commissioner.  The Smithsonian became the depository  for specimens collected by the commission, and with the specimens came the logbooks.  The Albatross, built in 1882 as a United States Bureau of Fisheries vessel, became the first large ship specifically designed for marine research.  During a nearly 40 year career, the ship carried out numerous expeditions, most notably in the Arctic, Galapagos Islands, Philippines, Hawaiian Islands, and the West and Pacific Northwest of North America, greatly increasing the natural history collections at the Smithsonian.

R/V Fish Hawk excerpt, 1880. Smithsonian Institution Archives, RU7184, box 9, folder 3. No neg number.

One obvious use for the Albatross logbooks is the marine specimen information recorded within.  Although not all Albatross logbooks contain notes about what was collected, a large number of them do.  Quick notes about the quantities and types of specimens collected, including fish and a variety of marine invertebrates, were often recorded.  Over extended periods of time, such information has the potential to help researchers notice patterns, compare marine populations of the past to present populations, and perhaps predict future trends.  Such a use for information within logbooks is suggested by Poul Holm in his article “Where are the big fish?”, which discusses the declining populations of big fish evidenced by hundreds of years of fisherman’s logs and archival records.

R/V Fish Hawk logbook excerpt, August 7, 1880. Smithsonian Institution Archives, RU7184, box 9, folder 3. No neg number.

Another promising aspect of the Albatross logbooks is its record of temperature and weather information.  Water temperatures at various depths were recorded as well as air temperature, wind, clouds, state of the sea, weather (rain, fog, etc.), direction and force of current, tide, and barometer reading.  Daily weather data over long time periods can be useful for understanding past environments, for making predictions, and for understanding the impact of weather on biodiversity.  The Old Weather project saw these potential uses of weather information within the Royal Navy logbooks they transcribed, as explained on their blog in the article “The Royal Navy as Weather Observers.”

Logbooks can also be useful records of historical events, which I learned early on when cataloging the Allan Bé Papers.  These daily notes contain incredible historic value because they document the precise activities of organizations (i.e. institutions and research vessels) and people (i.e. expedition staff).  In this way, logbooks can potentially reconstruct the biography of a research vessel or the people who traveled and collected aboard it.  Old Weather noted this potential for regaining historical context, too, in "An Historical Perspective."

There is untold potential for researchers to use the information within the Albatross and other ships’ logbooks to discover patterns and linkages within marine ecosystems and also to fill in gaps of our historical knowledge.  When looking at the various uses for the important specimen, weather, and historical information within these logbooks, I look forward to being able to emulate the success of projects like Old Weather in order to unlock more of these data in logbooks and other field books.

 

Atomic Age Field Notes Across Collections

By Emily Hunter, Field Book Project

The Field Book Project was launched in 2010 to build an online registry of field book content. The Registry, which is now under development, will be a resource to bring together field books (within and from outside of the Smithsonian Institution) into one online location. For those of you who have followed our progress over the past couple of years, this is old news. But the need for this kind of resource continues to reveal itself. Recently, it was exemplified for me when cataloging the field notes of Leonard P. Schultz.

“Able Day” atomic bomb blast, Operation Crossroads, Bikini Atoll, Marshall Islands, 1946. Photograph is in the public domain. On Wikimedia Commons: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Able_crossroads.jpg

Operation Crossroads

Ichthyologist Leonard P. Schultz (1901-1986) worked on the classification of fishes and studied shark attacks. He came to work at the United States National Museum (now known as the National Museum of Natural History) in 1936 and remained there until his death in 1986. Among the many projects and expeditions that Schultz took part in was Operation Crossroads, a U.S. Navy project that sent scientists to the Marshall Islands to record observations before and after the infamous Bikini Atoll atomic bomb tests of 1946. Schultz worked as an ichthyologist on Operation Crossroads, collecting fish and observing the effects of the blast on the local fauna.

Entry and sketch from field book of Leonard P. Schultz aboard the U.S.S. Bowditch, on “Able Day,” July 1, 1946, Marshall Islands. RU07222, Box 23, Folder 1. 2010-0901.

Over the summer, I cataloged field notes that are part of the Leonard Peter Schultz Papers, circa 1915-1970, with related papers from 1899 (Record Unit 7222), at the Smithsonian Institution Archives. The field notes themselves are provocative and very interesting, especially for me, as someone who did not live through that time when the world was just discovering the destructive powers of nuclear energy.

One entry, written on “Able Day” (the day of the first atomic blast test at Bikini Atoll) describes Schultz’s experience of watching the mushroom cloud and even feeling the heat on his face. His observations pre- and post-blast are emotionally stirring, but also scientifically significant—they provide a detailed record of the environment before and after the explosions.

All in all, 14 of Schultz’s field books from this time period, and the 1947 re-survey, are part of the collection at the Smithsonian Institution Archives. The materials include his logbook, field notes, annotated maps, photographs, negatives, and 16mm films.

Meanwhile, at Division of Fishes…

Soon after I finished cataloging that collection, I trekked over to the Museum Support Center where the NMNH Division of Fishes field notes are held. Summer Cataloging Intern Alice Doolittle had cataloged almost all of the Fishes field notes, leaving off at the letter “S”. I went to finish up cataloging those notes. Surprised was I to find even more field notes of Leonard P. Schultz—including notes from Operation Crossroads!

The book below includes Schultz’s notes on fishes surveyed before the atomic blast, and includes color sketches of the specimens. As mentioned in a previous blog post, color field sketches are an important information recording tool for ichthyologists; since specimens lose their color quickly, the sketches can give an idea of the colors and patterns observed on the fish right at the time it was collected.

Entry with color sketches of fish, Leonard P. Schultz, April 1, 1946, Marshall Islands. National Museum of Natural History Division of Fishes. RU7220. Photograph by Emily Hunter, 2012.

The Division of Fishes has three items of Schultz’s from his work on Operation Crossroads: an itinerary of his trip, the field book shown above, and field data. These books were kept in succession with the ones that are held at Smithsonian Institution Archives, and together they give a broader, richer, and more complete set of valuable data, observations, and other information.

Bringing it all together

I’d venture to say that the problem of “split collections” is not altogether uncommon, here at the Smithsonian, or other institutions. Related field notes are often split up, either intentionally or unintentionally. Before the launch of the Field Book Project years ago, Co-Principle Investigator Rusty Russell ran into several obstacles while trying to access field notes of the United States Exploring Expedition (1838-1842). His search brought him to 11 (yes, eleven!) separate institutions. That frustration and recognition of the need for increased accessibility and control led to the formation of The Field Book Project.

Beyond just connecting the field notes of one collector from a specific date, the Registry also allows connections to be made between items from the same Expedition or project, and even similar subjects, across collections.

For example, if you want to access field notes for the Marshall Islands (or even more specifically, Bikini Atoll), you could search by location. Currently the Field Book Registry has 71 field books from the Marshall Islands, providing a trove of information on the biodiversity of this location. And if you wanted to find more field notes on Operation Crossroads, you would find that there were actually two Smithsonian scientists who took part in that project—the other being malacologist Joseph P. E. Morrison. In fact, field notes related to Operation Crossroads or other surveys before and after atomic bomb testing exist in various collections outside of the Smithsonian Institution as well (some light internet research turns up articles, photographs, videos, and more).

Our goal, eventually, is to bring all of those materials into one online location so that it’s easier to find. Schultz's Operation Crossroads field notes are yet another example that shows the importance of linking these related collections so that users may find all relevant materials. Through the descriptive work that we do, important relationships are maintained, and—at least virtually—the information co-located.

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More information on Operation Crossroads can be found here: http://www.mnh.si.edu/onehundredyears/expeditions/bikini.html

Transportation in the Field: Planes and a Change of Perspective

By Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project

Image from P. A. Glick’s publication Collecting Insects by Airplane in Southern Texas in 1957.  Image is Public Domain from Google eBooks.

Aviation has had significant effects on the nature of field work. It has changed not only how the collectors get to a site, but also how they see and collected, resulting in wide-ranging consequences.

By the mid-twentieth century, commercial aviation was dramatically changing the speed of travel; collectors, up to that time, would commonly travel long distances via train or boat. With commercial aviation, a weeklong boat trip to Africa became a multi-hour long flight. During the 1960’s when commercial air travel became more widespread, there was an influx of major surveys by Smithsonian departments involving large numbers of staff that would have proven far more logistically complicated prior to commercial aviation. The speed and ease of commercial air travel meant collectors could spend significantly less time getting to their sites and more time on-site. With the time they saved, collectors could spend longer at one location or visit additional ones.

The advent of planes also affected collecting by changing collectors’ perspectives. Collectors could see the environments they studied from an entirely new vantage, hundreds or thousands of feet in the air. Some scientists even took it a step further and used aviation as a way to collect the specimens. Perry A. Glick, an entomologist with the US Department of Agriculture’s Agricultural Research Service, used nets that attached to planes, enabling insect collecting in air to study the altitudinal distribution of insects. He produced several publications about this during the 1950’s and 1960’s.

By the 1940’s, there are examples of scientists attempting to integrate the aviation into their field work observations and collecting. Some of these attempts proved less than successful, while others helped demonstrate aviation’s value to field work. I found a reference to an unsuccessful attempt with a helicopter in a journal of C. O. Handley, Jr. Judging from the results, I am assuming they did not try it again.

[Thule, Greenland, 1948] The way it turned out he flew in the helicopter instead and spent the afternoon trying to fish from that. On the water, with its rotors off, the plane blows about like a kite even in a small breeze. Thus no matter where they would land, they would soon drift in to the beach. Another disadvantage was that when the helicopter starts on the water after its rotor has been dead, the whole thing spins with the rotor until the latter attains sufficient speed to stabilize the plane.

Though the helicopter proved less than useful over water, it yielded results over land. The journal includes hand drawn maps that indicate that survey results were successful, as seen in recorded observation taken via helicopter and on foot.

 

Example of F. Raymond Fosberg’s observations from an airplane. Photographed by Emily Hunter.

A more successful example of aerial observations is the work of F. Raymond Fosberg, (discussed in the February 24, 2012 article by Emily Hunter), who recognized the benefits of aerial observations alongside ground observations for his field of botany. Several of his field books include extended aerial observations of sites where he collected botanical specimens. Fosberg even published articles promoting the use of aerial photographs for surveying and studying botanical distribution. He proposed using military aerial photographs (that were taken during World War II) for this purpose. I have not been able to determine whether his hopes for these photographs came to fruition, but there are now a considerable number of examples of aerial photography being used for this type of botanical study.

  Botany was not the only other field to make use of aviation. Harry S. Ladd used aerial observations in his field of paleontology and geology. Field notes document his observations via helicopter, noting the shape and character of reefs in Fiji, as seen below in a journal excerpt.

May 7, 1968 Tues - By Hill helicopter from Heron Id to Gladstone [Fiji]. Flying over reefs confirms impressions obtained on ground – i.e. if lee reefs and lagoons. Reefs appear to be more saw-toothed on lee than on windward. No suggestion of lithothamnion(?) ridge to windward – only what looks like a low marinol bulge (of debris?). Lagoon of Wistari(?) appears to have small ring-like structure-comparable to that seen yesterday in Heron lagoon plus irregular.

Since the 1960’s, the use of aviation and aerial photographs has spun off in a myriad of directions. Aircraft and aerial photographs are now used for monitoring and management wildlife habitat, locating and analyzing archaeological sites, and studying plant ecology. Scientists and even the National Park Service are beginning to utilize unmanned aerial vehicles.

All of the forms of transportation discussed in our transportation series have helped shape the research recorded by the field notes we document. Sometimes they present challenges to the collectors, sometimes a new advantage or perspective. For me, it demonstrates the flexibility and ingenuity of our collectors to see and to use opportunities as they present themselves. Field work often seems to be journey of the unexpected; I can’t wait to see what comes next.

Poo (II): Territorial Expansion and a Nation at War…

by Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project

So where do poo, our field books, and the history of our nation meet? I found two connections: Alexander Wetmore during his work in the Pacific islands for the US Department of Agriculture (USDA) and Vernon Bailey during work in Mammoth Cave, Kentucky, for the US Biological Survey.

Laysan Island before the introduction of rabbits, 1902. Smithsonian Institution Archives, RU 7006, Alexander Wetmore Collection, Box 143, Folder 3. SIA 2011-0839.

One of the first collections I cataloged was that of Alexander Wetmore. Wetmore was an ornithologist (all-around great guy) who worked for the USDA and was later Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution. He took part in the Tanager Expedition (1923); my blog post on this expedition discusses the ramifications of the guano industry in the Hawaiian Islands, but it wasn’t until after I wrote the article that I learned about the Guano Act of 1856.

Pelagic birds migrating across the Pacific Ocean return each year to the Hawaiian Islands and leave their guano behind. Guano, at one time, could be found multiple feet in depth. Harvesting bird guano from these islands was a major industry during the late nineteenth century. In fact, the US Congress passed the United States Guano Act of 1856 that allowed a US citizen who,

Discovers a deposit of guano on any island, rock, or key, not within the lawful jurisdiction of any other government, and not occupied by the citizens of any other government, and takes peaceable possession thereof, and occupies the same, such island, rock, or key may, at the discretion of the President, be considered as appertaining to the United States. (R.S. Sec. 5570 derived from act Aug. 18, 1856, ch. 164, Sec. 1, 11 Stat. 119.  Taken from the Office of the Law Revision Counsel, US House of Representatives)

Through this law, citizens could legally take possession of “unclaimed” islands on behalf of the United States. Islands like Midway, Howland, Baker, and Jarvis Islands, among others became part of the Unites States in this way. Alexander Wetmore’s notes, maps, and materials from the Tanager Expedition give a graphic depiction of the inadvertent environmental aftermath of human activities of these islands.

Collecting Guano, Laysan Island.  Image is taken from Walter Rothschild's The Avifauna of Laysan and the neighbouring islands with a complete history to date of the birds of the Hawaiian possession (London: R.H. Porter, 1893-1900). It is part of the Smithsonian Institution Library's Digital Collection 2003. SIL6-3-007a.

If you want to know more about the history of Laysan Island and its guano industry, Smithsonian Institution Archives also has the family journals of Maximillian Joseph August Schlemmer who worked with the North Pacific Phosphate and Fertilizer Company, which mined guano. During his time on Laysan Island, Max introduced rabbits as a food source. These rabbits later populated at such a fast rate that they decimated the island flora and fauna over the next twenty years. Ironically, Wetmore recruited Max's son Eric to be part of the Tanager Expedition in 1923, during which expedition participants were finally able to successfully eradicate the rabbit population and allow the island ecosystem to recover.

Back on the mainland…

Interest in the uses of guano was not just in the Pacific. There are references to its uses in some of Vernon Bailey’s field notes for the Biological Survey. Bailey studied bats across the United States, documenting populations, habitat, and interviewing local inhabitants about their observations of bat populations and utilization of guano. While in the southwest United States investigating bat populations in 1924, interviewing locals about bat roosts etc., he wrote:

Dr. Campbell says he gets about 2 tons a year of guano from this roost and give it to his wife for pin money. She sells it in 10lb bags at $1 a bag to florists, gardeners, etc.

Vernon Bailey spent time studying bats in Mammoth Cave in Kentucky in 1929. He also published about his time in Kentucky, giving some great background and history on the caves. This is how I found the connection to guano that helped make Mammoth Cave famous. Bat guano does not just make for a great fertilizer; it is also a source of saltpeter, an important ingredient in gun powder. Mammoth Cave was an important source of this ingredient during the War of 1812. To learn more about it, check out the National Park Service website.

Poo, for all its less than pleasant characteristics, can be a powerful tool for natural history study, agriculture, and (at one time) national defense. Its importance to the world economy may have changed, but it has influenced world history in significant ways, and will continue to be a source of new and important information about the natural world.

Between Rock and a Hard Place

By Emmie Miller

Even having studied history in college, it is difficult to chase away the ennui of seemingly dead-end research, particularly when you imagine divulging exciting facts and uncovering lost secrets. For me, research possesses the allure of sleuthing a mystery. Spontaneous discoveries do not exist outside the realm of possibility, but more often than not, making difficult sources pliant requires context and focus. My experience with the Smithsonian Field Book Project exemplifies this process of making your search an informed one. When told I could write about almost anything pertaining to the field books, my question was, “Where to start?”! Eager as I was, I was at a bit of a loss.

Annotation from Chase field notebook #3, "Who is Ramon Corral?" SIA Acc. 11-093, National Museum of Natural History, Department of Botany. Photograph by Emmie Miller.

Then I found an ink-etched scrawl in a seam between pages of Agnes Chase’s field book: “Who is Ramón Corral?” This was my spontaneous discovery! Never having heard the name, I asked the same question. Who was Ramón Corral? A quick search explained that Corral was vice president of Mexico from 1904-1911. Corral resigned from his post as incumbent president in light of revolutionary uprisings against the government of Porfirio Diaz. Diaz and Corral’s deposition began the Mexican Revolution that made Pancho Villa and Emilio Zapata famous rebel leaders. This gave me context to understand one small mystery buried in Chase’s scientific notes.

Uncovering Corral’s identity also supplied me with the focus for this blog post. While Chase’s quick scrawl may have been a passing thought that was never answered, her presence in Mexico at this time subjected her to precarious situation, including growing revolutionary sentiments. Her exposure to this tension may have prompted her thought on Corral’s identity. Unfortunately, however, there was no other obvious record of conflict in her notes.

Full page spread of Chase field notebook; note the comment on Corral on the left page. SIA Acc. 11-093, National Museum of Natural History, Department of Botany. Photograph by Emmie Miller.

So began my hunt for other botanists with similar experiences represented in the field books. Some botanists used wartime as an opportunity for collecting, like Edward Palmer. As a Union soldier during the Civil War, his command sent him west to Colorado, a new biological landscape for him to explore; his field notes document his collecting during this time. Another botanist, Egbert Walker, received specimens mailed from American servicemen all around the globe during World War II after establishing the Servicemen’s Collecting Program, giving him access to diverse ecosystems. But the most intriguing botanical character to pursue life-threatening field work was Joseph Rock.

Rock was perhaps more an adventurer than a botanist. He spent his life collecting in Asia and studying Chinese and Tibetan indigenous cultures. Rock’s frequent use of Chinese characters in his field books demonstrates the degree to which Rock studied Chinese culture. He journaled his ambivalent feelings about China, criticizing the culture from his very Western perspective, though he often felt at home there. Context is pivotal here in explaining Rock’s experiences: Rock continually returned to China despite the five occasions on which violence interrupted or destroyed his work. This makes his field books more valuable, as Rock had, at times, poor luck preserving his scholarship. To understand the risk of his returns, you must understand Rock’s departures.

Sample page from Rock's field notes with visible Chinese characters amid his specimen descriptions. SIA Acc. 11-094, National Museum of Natural History, Department of Botany. Photo by Emmie Miller.	Message from Joseph Rock to William Maxon, sent from Yunnan, China (1922). SIA Acc. 11-094, National Museum of Natural History, Department of Botany. Photo by Emmie Miller.

One of Rock’s 1922 field books gives a cursory glance at the difficulties of working in China. In a note to Smithsonian botanist William Maxon, he says, “I will mail [my field book] to you from China if I find a post office in Yunnan.” At what point he found a post office is hard to say, but presumably the note and the field book were sent together, reaching the Smithsonian safely.

Rock’s early years in China are well-documented, and while he botanized, he experienced localized tribal conflict. In one instance he’d made preparations for the precipitous journey to a mountain pass for collecting, but fighting between Chinese Muslims and Tibetan Buddhists jeopardized the expedition and it was called off.  World War II further challenged Rock’s studies. When the Japanese invaded China in 1937, Rock fled to modern-day Vietnam. 1944 found Rock evacuated to the United States as WWII intensified in the Pacific. In 1949, Rock fled China for the last time during the Chinese Revolution.

The context surrounding Rocks’ exploits explains why my article’s focus is important: scientists often find themselves in dangerous regions in dangerous times. Rock’s location in the early twentieth century posed challenges due to the dangers and inconveniences of the politically unstable region. Like the other determined and ambitious botanists mentioned in this article, Rock would not be stopped.

Resources

Beaty, Janice. Plants in a Pack: A Life of Edward Palmer, Adventurous Botanist and Collector. New York: Pantheon Books, 1964.

Chase, Mary Agnes. Field Notes, Natural History Library (1906-1959).

Jowett, Philip S. The Mexican Revolution, 1910-20. Oxford: Osprey Printing, Limited, 2006.

Palmer, Edward. Field Notes, Natural History Library (1861-1914).

Rock, Joseph F. Field Notes. Natural History Library (1920-1924).

Smithsonian Institution Archives. SIA RU007270, Walker, Egbert H (Egbert Hamilton) 1899-1991, Egbert Hamilton Walker Papers, 1923-1987. Finding Aid. Smithsonian Institution Archives. 21 September 2012. http://siarchives.si.edu/collections/siris_arc_217427?back=%2Fsearch%2Fsia_search_findingaids%2Fegbert%2520walker. 11 July 2011.

Sutton, Stephanne Barry. In China’s Border Provinces: The Turbulent Career of Joseph Rock, Botanist-Explorer. New York: Hastings House, 1974.

Transportation in the Field: How Trains Shape Field Work

By Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project

The relationship between railroads and field collecting is a story of expediency and access. Prior to air travel and the interstate system, collectors often found the easiest way to travel within the vicinity of their home institutions or long distances was by train. When cataloging field books I learned that where trains went and even how railroad lines were constructed helped shape the collections of the Smithsonian.

Railroad Station in Huigra, Ecuador, taken by A. S. Hitchcock, 1923-1924. Smithsonian Institution Archives. RU229, Box 19, Folder 2. SIA2009-2925.

I first saw this in the collection of Bohumil Shimek. He spent a lot of time collecting and observing along railroads in Iowa. Shimek had an unusual perspective on natural history. He studied a combination of geology, paleontology, and botany, often in reference to erosion. Railroad lines provided an ideal environment for his work. As the railroads were built in the countryside, engineers made cuts into the terrain, which gave Shimek easy access to study the geological structure alongside surrounding vegetation. When reading Shimek’s field books, one can often follow long portions of railroad lines.

Initially I thought the use of railroads was unique to the study of geology and paleontology; it fit with the trend I saw in geologists’ and paleontologists’ field books of looking for already exposed strata (they often observed and collected in mines and eroded banks of waterways). As I looked through catalog records and talked with some of the Smithsonian scientists, I learned that railroad lines affect many other disciplines because collecting often occurs enroute.

Train in Puerto Pinasco, Paraguay during Wetmore's field work, September 4, 1920. Smithsonian Institution Archives. RU007006, Box 170, Album I. SIA2012-0858.

Selecting a collecting site is not always a formal process. Although official investigations or expeditions might be organized to target specific localities, frequently specimen collecting occurs when a collector finds an opportunity. What does this mean? Scientists collect during lunch breaks, at home, and enroute to major collecting sites. This informal collecting style is one reason the Smithsonian has such a strong collection of specimens from the Washington DC / Baltimore area, often along old railroads that have since been removed.

During the nineteenth and early twentieth century, railroads were a major form of transportation on the east coast. Many collectors from the Smithsonian traveled by rail. While traveling, they recorded observations of terrain and vegetation; when the train stopped at intermediate points, collectors exited to collect in the vicinity. Travel by rail influenced the collecting of plant, mammal, and bird specimens. Below is just a sample of some of the collectors who utilized railroad lines during their collecting.

• Charles D. Walcott recorded his observations of the Rocky Mountains in British Columbia and Alberta, Canada along the route of the Canadian Pacific Railroad, 1907-1916.
• Alexander Wetmore collected in Wyoming in 1910 along the Union Pacific Railroad line.
• Fielding Meek worked along railroads during 1862 in Maryland, Delaware, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey.
• Sheldon surveyed the plants, mineral deposits and other natural resources of the mountains of Oregon lying between the Snake River and the Oregon Short Line Railroad, 1897 for the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA).
• Edmund Heller travelled by foot and collected along railroad tracks during the American Museum of Natural History China Expedition, 1916-1917.
• Harold Elmer Anthony collected birds and mammals, often found along railroads, for the USDA, while in Wyoming, 1911.
• Vernon Orlando Bailey collected mammal and bird specimens in 1890 through the western United States, frequently identifying collecting sites by railroad line.

Now that I see the trend, it makes sense. Railroad lines made travel across long distances much easier. It seems only logical that scientists would take advantage of the railway system by collecting along its established routes. It makes me wonder, will I be able to write a similar post someday about the birth of the US interstate system?

Trial and Error: Experiments in the Field and at Home

By Sonoe Nakasone, Field Book Project

Recipe for a pesticide containing kerosene, water, and condensed milk. This page was in between the entries dated October 21 and 22, 1881. Smithsonian Institution Archives, RU007107, box 1, folder 10.  SIA2012-2212.

As a child, I spent years developing my own cheesecake recipe.  I experimented with multiple baking methods, varying amounts and types of ingredients, and other details until I finally had several perfect recipes.  This years-long trial and error process was none other than a (less rigorous) form of the Scientific Method, which required me to

 

1) hypothesize (cakes become denser when more dense ingredients are added),

2) predict (if I add more cheese, which is dense, the cake will become denser),

3) experiment, and finally

4) evaluate (slight improvement; add more cheese? subtract lighter ingredients? use denser cheese?).

I usually associate the scientific method with lab (or kitchen) work, but science experiments can and often do also occur in the field.  When they do, the notes from those experiments are field notes—see where this is going?

Over a year ago, I cataloged field notes by Henry Guernsey Hubbard, horticulturist, botanist, and entomologist for the U.S. Geological Survey (Smithsonian Institution Archives RU7107).  Perhaps Hubbard’s blend of professional knowledge specially equipped him to perform his series of field experiments in the 1880s to develop a pesticide for parasitic insects damaging orange trees.  He tested several pesticides, emulsions concocted from varying amounts of kerosene and condensed milk.  The recipes, included in his field notes, are accompanied by observations on the effectiveness of each emulsion. 

Observations of orange trees infested with lepidoptera larvae, spiders, and scales, September 27, 1881.  Smithsonian Institution Archives, RU007107, box 1, folder 10.  SIA2012-2210.	Examination of orange trees infested with scales and other insect pests and results of experiment no. 10, October 21, 1881.  Smithsonian Institution Archives, RU007107, box 1, folder 10.  SIA2012-2211.	Results of experiment from emulsion no. 3, November 17, 1881.  Smithsonian Institution Archives, RU007107, box 1, folder 10.  SIA2012-2214.

Hubbard’s recipes spoke to me.  The thought of Hubbard mixing up a strange concoction of kerosene and condensed milk, like some mystical apothecary, made me want to test his pesticide recipes.   Beyond the childish desire to mix up odd potions, I was curious to know how effective his solution would be on pests I’ve encountered. 

DON’T WORRY!  Spraying kerosene on plants in the 1880s might have been acceptable, but in the 21^st century, the use of such a pesticide seems environmentally irresponsible and ecologically cruel.  Instead, I looked for a mild and environmentally sound alternative to test on my basil.  Last summer, my basil was nibbled to pieces.  This summer, I took a note from Hubbard and experimented with the effectiveness of a simple pepper spray pesticide.  Unlike Hubbard, I only had the time and attention span to test one solution.  My hypothesis and prediction: insects would find very spicy substances repelling, so by creating a strong pepper spray, I could prevent them from eating or even being around my basil.  My recipe was basic:

Boil 1 jalapeño, sliced and retaining seeds, with 2-4 cups of water for 20 minutes or more.

The water boiled down to a spicy 8oz, which I poured into a spray bottle.  I bought two basil plants, drenching the leaves of one plant with my new pesticide and leaving the other unsprayed.  Both were planted. 

Basil plant without pesticide before experiment, Summer 2012.  By Sonoe Nakasone with Ipod camera.	Basil plant with pesticide before experiment, Summer 2012.  By Sonoe Nakasone with Ipod camera.

Unfortunately for me and for my readers, I didn’t do a great job at two key elements of the scientific process: the experiment and the evaluation.  I was inconsistent about spraying the test plant each day and inconsistent in observing and note taking.  I did, however, take before and after pictures.  Although these grainy photos show very little, I hope you’re able to see that the recipe seemed successful.  The plant with the pesticide received less damage than the one without.  My evaluation and conclusion: this stuff works, but would probably produce better results if implemented more consistently. 

Basil plant without pesticide after experiment, Summer 2012.  By Sonoe Nakasone with Ipod camera.	Basil plant with pesticide after experiment, Summer 2012.  By Sonoe Nakasone with Ipod camera.

Hubbard’s field notes are an excellent example of scientific experimentation.  The ingredients in Hubbard’s recipes sparked my imagination as readily as the witches’ potion in Macbeth and ignited my desire to conduct my own field experiment.  So, from Hubbard to me, from me to you: try a field experiment, and see how you do.  And as always, please share your experiences with us.

Butterfly Vision: Robert E. Silberglied’s Photographic Explorations

By Emily Hunter, Field Book Project

Portrait of Silberglied with a camera, photographer unknown, July 1971. SIA RU7316, Box 17, Folder 11. SIA2012-7948.

In a recent blog post on entomologist Robert E. Silberglied, I touched on the creativity evident in Silberglied’s mixed-media field books. In addition to all of the graphs, sketches, maps, and textual entries, were a plethora of photographic prints and negatives. Some of the images were clearly intended as quick documentation. Others, like the photograph of the butterfly below, are quite beautiful. Was there anything Silberglied couldn’t do?

Photograph of Anartia jatrophae (Nymphalidae) in the midst of expanding its wings after exiting the pupa, the remains of which can be seen next to the butterfly. Robert E. Silberglied, undated (circa 1970s). SIA RU7316, Box 17, Folder 5. SIA2012-7947.

Photography and cinematography were integral to Silberglied’s scientific investigations for two main reasons:

1. Photography allowed Silberglied to document his field work and experiments with butterflies. Still photographs taken in quick succession could freeze butterflies mid-flight (or mid-courtship). Silberglied could then study those fleeting moments.

2. Photography (and cinematography) allowed Silberglied to capture ultraviolet (UV) information otherwise invisible to the human eye. In other words, he attempted to see what a butterfly sees.

A major part of Silberglied’s work with butterflies, was on UV reflectance. I felt completely lost on this topic, until coming across a small field book (Costa Rica, 1972) with what looks like a handwritten presentation that Silberglied gave on “UV Colors in Butterflies.” The draft (written in pen with many cross-outs and corrections) is eloquent and interesting, and most importantly, understandable! Somehow, Silberglied was able to communicate to me (a total novice) an extremely complex concept. In it, Silberglied describes the differences between human and insect vision. UV patterns that are invisible to the human eye assist butterflies with camouflage, finding nectar in a flower, communicating, and attracting a mate. Silberglied became fascinated with translating the invisible UV patterns to human visible images—via photography and cinematography.

On March 2, 1972, Silberglied wrote a letter to the Eastman Kodak Company, asking for recommendations for ultraviolet films. He explains,

I am presently designing a device for simultaneous color, and 300-400nm ultraviolet, 16mm cinematography of living subjects (mostly flying butterflies, closeup) under natural light…

Silberglied goes on to describe his invention that includes two 35mm lenses that have been attached to 16mm motion picture cameras (one recording color film, the other recording UV).

In a letter dated April 24, 1972, Martin L. Scott of the Eastman Kodak Company replied to Silberglied’s interesting question. He praised Silberglied’s inventiveness stating, “Your project seems well-planned, and your equipment seems well-thought out.” He goes on, “I think perhaps some practical experience is needed next.”

The book is full of things a bit out of my range of expertise including a graph of “diachronic beamsplitter transmission curves” (say what?). Also included are carefully recorded UV exposure data, recording focus, exposure, sequence, fps (frames per second), f-stop, and distances of the color and UV lenses.

Photograph depicting a magnified butterfly wing, undated, by Robert Silberglied. SIA RU7316, Box 16, Folder 15. SIA2012-7946.

Silberglied made fascinating use of photography in his field work, and who knows what he would have accomplished today with the abundance of new imaging technologies, as well as advances in sound recording, molecular techniques, and sophisticated methods of tracking individual butterflies. Of course, we don’t have the capacity to really experience the world as a butterfly does, but Silberglied’s work takes us a step closer.

---

The author would like to thank Annette Aiello for sharing her knowledge and expertise. Annette worked closely with Bob Silbeglied at the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute before his tragic death and continues to work on Lepidoptera at STRI. Thanks also to David Furth and Robert Robbins in the National Museum of Natural History, Department of Entomology.

More information on butterflies, UV reflectance, and photography, can be found in the following resources:

Folsom, W. (2000). Art and Science of Butterfly Photography. Google Books.

Silberglied, R. Communication in the Ultraviolet. Annual Review of Ecology and Systematics , Vol. 10, (1979), pp. 373-398. http://www.jstor.org/stable/2096797

Transportation in the Field: Collectors Go to Sea, Ahoy!

By Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project

Expedition vessel as seen from shore of Tahiti in Papeete, during Smithsonian-Bredin Society Expedition, 1957. Smithsonian Institution Archives. RU007231, Box 134, Folder "SI-Bredin Society Island Expedition, 1957". SIA2012-0653.

I’ve recently been on a mission to blog about modes of transportation. I love this seemingly random theme because once I delved into it, I began to see the ways transportation methods could affect collecting efforts. 

This time, I investigate collecting by boat. A fair portion of disciplines require collecting via boat, and collectors with the Smithsonian have been collecting at sea since the United States Exploring Expedition (1838 – 1842).  So how does traveling by water affect specimen collecting? There are three important aspects that immediately become apparent in field notes – space, speed, and access.

 

No. 40. Crew member preparing plant specimens for Smithsonian on deck of the Effie M. Morrissey, off the east coast of Greenland, 1939. Smithsonian Institution Archives, RU007231, Box 74, Folder 15. SIA2012-0660.

Space

On the water, space is at a premium. Ships take advantage of every crevice. Often spaces serve multiple purposes. Depending on the time of day, a seating area may become a sleeping berth, dining area, or a specimen preparation zone. Many of the vessels referenced in the field books were constructed as commercial or recreational vessels, not for scientific work. Many collectors in the early twentieth century and prior struggled with vessel designs that did not suit their needs for work space or storage of specimens (live and prepared) and supplies. Waldo Schmitt, Curator of Invertebrate Zoology at the National Museum of Natural History (and frequent blog topic) exemplified this challenge in a note he left for readers of his field book for work in the Society Islands [1957] on the sailing vessel Mureva:

Whoever reads these mixed up notes must realize that I scarcely had time to write any, and some done at 2 a.m. only time and place to write. [?]’s bunk space in bow of ship. Jack Randall sleeps in dining alcove bunk so no table available. Captain in pilot house with [?] on “floor” (deck) and Chuck and Tom in state room. No place to write, less to spread papers out.

Making due was necessary until organizations like the US Bureau of Fisheries started constructing vessels specifically for scientific work, the first of which was the Albatross. Vessels like the Albatross could store supplies and personnel efficiently and had dedicated lab space. The Albatross proved so well suited to scientific collecting that it was used for decades and was referenced in scientific literature. It even has its own Library of Congress Subject Heading.

The Albatross. Photo source: Tanner, Z. L. 1897. Bulletin of the U.S. Fish Commission, v. 16, plate I.	Interior Science Room (C) of the U.S. Bureau of Fisheries Steamer Albatross, c. 1900. Smithsonian Institution Archives, RU007620, Box 6, Folder 3. SIA2009-3216.

Speed

Traveling by boat may be the best travel option for some collectors, but every vessel must contend with winds and prevailing currents. In one of the more humorous accounts, Waldo Schmitt wrote about the lack of forward progress through the West Indies in 1937:

Last evening it was getting windier and windier and with tide, current, wind and waves against us, the Captain was for taking in the sails and proceeding under power alone, saying we could make better headway. Hunt likes to sail and wants to. There was some talk back and forth, and I put in my oar. “If you save time here, you’ll have more later.” Hunt then said to the Captain, “if you furl the sails and got with the engine, we’ll have to call this cruise ‘Gone without the Wind’”. It would be a good title for a book on our experiences […].

The Esperanza. Captained by Lee H. Parish and used by Watson M. Perrygo on the Parish-Smithsonian Expedition to Haiti in 1930. Watson M. Perrygo Oral History Interviews. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 9516, Box 1. 84-8054.

Access

If the boat must stop and find an anchorage to gain access to a collecting site, the boat will be limited by water depth and underwater terrain. When finding a place to anchor a ship, you must be cognizant of the water depth (too shallow and the vessel can run aground at low tide), how well sheltered the area is from winds and currents, and challenges of undersea terrain like reefs or rocky bottom that will not allow the anchor to attain a good hold. Watson Perrygo mentioned some of these challenges during the Parish-Smithsonian Expedition to Haiti, 1930.

[February 16 ] […] Anchored in a small cove surrounded by reefs. Had been in bed a short time when the storm hit us with a terrific force. Our anchor started to drag so the engine was started to get enough slack in the anchor chain to take up the anchor. We then went out about fifty (50) yards and dropped the anchor.

[February 17] About three (3) pm we pulled up the anchor and started on. The heavy sea soon made us wish we had stayed anchored behind the reefs at Gun Cay.

Space, speed, and access are just a few of the factors that have affected collectors going out to sea. Unfortunately, we don’t have time to address the more pleasant aspects of collecting at sea like the sunsets on the water, cocktails, and the fresh seafood. Each type of travel brings its own unique benefits and challenges; just wait until next time when we take a look at trains.

Transportation in the Field: Collectors and Their Cars

By Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project

Fiat with collecting net in place, taken by Edward A Chapin while collecting at Hope Gardens, Jamaica, 1937. SIA Acc. 12-446, box 1, envelope 51. SIA2012-9625. Department of Entomology, National Museum of Natural History.	Reverse side of photograph, “Jamaica: automobile with collecting net in place. With this net we took more than 25,000 specimens.” SIA2012-9626.

Most people have strong opinions about their cars. Deciding factors are often fuel efficiency or comfort since most of us drive paved roads like Interstate 495. Like commuters, collectors in the field depend on their mode of transportation to get them where they need to go. Unlike a typical driver in the US, collectors face difficult and often unknown terrain. A dependable car is indispensible. The right car can even become a collecting tool, as seen in the photograph above. The field journals we catalog frequently describe travel details, notes on arrangements, and challenges in the field – including information about the vehicles driven.

Geologist and paleontologist G. Arthur Cooper named some of his cars. Above is the "Scarlet Harlot" in 1973 [86-498]. Smithsonian Institution Archives.	Above is G. A. Cooper's “Emerald Queen” in 1961 [85-16956]. Smithsonian Institution Archives.

Sometimes these references are short; they may only state that the collector rented a car from the airport. However, some collectors develop strong preferences and even a noted affection for the cars they use. One of the first references like this I found was in the field notes of Alexander Wetmore. He collected in Panama nearly every year during the 1940’s and 1950’s. When he would visit, he utilized staff and equipment at US military bases like Albrook Air Force base. He routinely used the same jeep in the Air Force car pool. In honor of this, the Air Force staff stenciled a Smithsonian designation on the jeep, which can be seen in the photograph below. Wetmore took several photographs of himself with the jeep.

A. Wetmore and F. Arosamena, La Honda, Panama, March 15, 1948. Alexander Wetmore papers, Smithsonian Institution Archives, SIA RU007006. SIA2008-3201.

Numerous references to cars can also be found in the journals of the Smithsonian African Mammal Project, housed in the Division of Mammals, Natural Museum of Natural History. Within these journals were frequent lists of needed repairs for various Land Rovers and other cars used. Below is an example of some of the issues that transpired during the Project. Entries are from the field book of D. E. Harvey in Mauritania.

8 December 1966: “…Wired Washington for parts and sent letter to Hank explaining that Ford was not built for this country and that we need another vehicle (Landrover [sic]). There are parts for Landrovers here and with lighter load Ford might be okay…I talked with mechanic today and he said that although the road to Fort Gouraud is bad, roads to the E. are worse. He had had no trouble with Landrovers on these roads. Internationals are ok also but you can’t get parts. Dodge Powerwagon [sic] engine no good.”

21 January 1967: “Did get about 40 km from Fort Gouraud this day. Truck got stuck in sand 15 times. Slept in truck tonight.”

22 January 1967: “Left for Nouakchott but didn’t get past Atar, driver had to sleep and sell his load of salt…”

23 January 1967: “Driver didn’t sell his load of salt yet so I took another truck to Nouakchott. Truck with axel will arrive 25 January…”

25 January 1967: “No parts had arrived. Tie-rod had arrived but customs officers had lost exoneration paper… [mechanic] will have to make a new stud axel & axel shaft…”

Over a month later…

27 February 1967: “Embassy got the axel for truck released from Customs today…”

These types of entries can be found throughout field books, especially in challenging terrain of Africa. The ability to get to a location affects how well and how often it can be a collecting site. Luckily for us, collectors are often willing to deal with a myriad of difficulties to get to their sites. They adapt and make do with what is available.

So you might be asking yourself, how do collectors get to locations that are not accessible by car? What about locations only accessible by air or water? Watch for upcoming blog posts discussing collectors and other modes of transportation.

Poo in Field Books

By Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project

 

Example of animal tracks from Vernon Bailey's notes, 1890 - 1891. Smithsonian Institution Archives SIA RU 007267, Box, Folder. Portion of SIA2011-1410

Waste, feces, poop, guano, skat, droppings--English has a plethora of words for a topic about which most of us do not want to think. However, a friend recently received a new family addition, so I’ve been thinking about it in a more childlike sense. I’ve also been cataloging the journals of Vernon Bailey in Division of Mammals recently, and have come across some interesting references to skat in the field books.

Whatever you choose to call this substance, it can be a great source of information about presence, population, and behaviors of animals. Much like animal prints, it enables scientists to learn about frequented habitat, population, as well as health and diet through non-invasive means. This an important source for ongoing research by organizations like National Zoological Park.

The topic of skat in literature is not a new one. In fact Field Notes on Science & Nature, edited by Michael R. Canfield has a chapter that talks about scientists studying skat of pandas to monitor populations and behavior in Sichuan, China. The scientists were rarely able to directly observe the animals, so they were reliant on indirect evidence such as the location and content of their droppings. I was especially fascinated by the defecation mapping.

I found similar types of references recently in the journals of Vernon Bailey, who worked for the US Biological Survey. Bailey spent a significant amount of time in the American west (e.g. Montana, Oregon, California, Grand Canyon) studying coyote populations. Part of the research included the collection and dissection of coyote skat. Collecting it didn’t surprise me, but then I found a curious quote from November 27, 1930, when Vernon Bailey was in Oregon.

 

“Thanksgiving Day, Finished my writing. Repacked baggage for trip. Went to Jewetts for Thanksgiving dinner. Packed two cans of coyote droppings to go by mail.”

 

Bailey was probably sending the feces samples to Bureau of Biological Survey (BBS) Food Habits Division in Washington, DC. Field books from several different disciplines commonly use stomach contents to determine diet of collected specimens. Somewhere around the beginning of the twentieth century, it appears skat became part of the study as well. The determination and monitoring food and habitat became so important that the Biological Survey established Denver Laboratory of Food Habits Research (the Food Habits Laboratory) under Charles C. Sperry in 1932. Its focus was “food habits and economic impact of predators, other mammals, and birds in the Western United States.”

 

Members of a Survey Team with the United States Biological Survey, c. 1920s/1930s. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record United 7174, Box 6, Folder 2. SIA2005-4686

You might think the topic possibilities for this blog would end with pure scientific investigation of droppings; but there is also a commercial side. These don’t involve some of the more novel applications that have lately appeared in the press (often to raise money for environmental causes) like the Panda droppings being used for fermenting tea and making paper; this commercial application is pretty main stream...and involves the history our nation’s battle for freedom.

But that part of the story will have to wait for next time.

 

Addicted to Plants

By Sonoe Nakasone, Field Book Project

Images of Platanthera (Habenaria) orbiculata, 1914. Page 35. RU7375, image SIA2012-8776, Smithsonian Institution Archives.

When I travel to a new place, I often keep a journal.  Although my journals are self-indulgent—how I feel, what I think, what something means to me (yawn)—I can’t help but fall into a pattern of recording, by text or image, the subjects I find most compelling.  Street signs, billboards, food carts, rusted out gas stations and convenience stores, dusty streets, and people, strange and interesting people, fill my camera and notebooks.  I usually end up tossing out half of it a year later.  But old habits die hard.  The next trip, there I go again: the same rust, the same dust, the same neon signs, the same crooked smiles and haggard eyes.

That’s why I’m not surprised about Killip.  Elsworth P. Killip (1890-1968), Head Curator of the U.S. National Herbarium from 1946 to 1950 and expert on South American phanerogams, kept a travelogue of a fun filled canoe trip down the Adirondack rivers.  This travelogue is available for reference within the Smithsonian Institution Archives collection, Ellsworth Paine Killip Papers, 1914-1950.  Like me, Killip couldn’t resist his habits, turning the travelogue of his vacation into part field book of observation and documentation.  Although I didn’t find any evidence in the travelogue that Killip collected anything during his canoe trip, his record of the flora in the Adirondack Mountains in the summer of 1914 provides a portal through which modern researchers can observe perhaps a bygone habitat.

“M. R. W. [Milton E. Woodams] on the Summit of Marcy” and “E. P. K. [Killip] on the Summit of Marcy,” 1914. Page 62. RU7375, image SIA2012-8804, Smithsonian Institution Archives.	“Mountain Pond” and “Cooking at Mountain Pond,” 1914. Page 20. RU7375, image SIA2012-8761, Smithsonian Institution Archives.

 

It’s rather clear throughout the travelogue that Killip is on vacation.  The titles (“An Account of My Canoe Trip through the Adirondacks: My First Travelogue” or “Camping in the Adirondacks”), the entries on the trials and triumphs of canoeing, and the goofy pictures of Killip staring strangely into the camera, all illustrate this well.  Soon after the first few pages, however, Killip begins switching back and forth between my-summer-vacation entries and scientific recording.  Killip logged the various plants he observed and included general descriptions of the flora in localities he visited.  When I found photos of plants with identifications, I knew his habits had taken hold.  Killip was turning his vacation into a field trip, as we have seen with so many of these darn scientists.  Even in an unsuspecting image of “Mountain Pond,” the subject seems suspiciously (and purposefully) obscured by the foliage on the edge of the pond.

I don’t think there is much skepticism among our readers that such observations can be extremely useful, especially when coupled with dates and accurate locality information (but I’m still going to talk about it).  Because Killip’s journal is foremost a travelogue, every location he visits is well documented.  At the end of his journal, Killip even includes an itinerary of travel.  That’s right Killip; go crazy and record every single plant you see if you want to.  Each observation of plant life you form, Killip, is clearly associated with a date and locality.  Thank goodness.

Map of Cold River and Raquette River intersection, 1914. Page 73. RU7375, image SIA2012-8818, Smithsonian Institution Archives.	Map of Cold River and Raquette River intersection, 1914. Page 73. RU7375, image SIA2012-8818, Smithsonian Institution Archives.

If after reading Killip’s travelogue there is any doubt that Killip’s hobby, habit, obsession—whatever you want to call it—became a large part of his trip, one need only look at the three page list of plants observed that is included in a sort of appendix.

For Killip and many other scientists at the Smithsonian (dead and living), this habit of field booking seems more like a compulsion because it shows up during times you’d expect these people to just RELAX.  Knowing this, however, a scientist’s personal travelogues or diaries should not be immediately discounted from containing useful scientific information.  When the record of a scientist’s travels are available, it might be worth taking a few minutes to see if they couldn’t help but record some field observations.  Along with finding a unique personal narrative, you may be unlocking untapped biodiversity information. 

The Mixed-Media Field Books of Robert E. Silberglied

By Emily Hunter, Field Book Project

Portrait of Robert E. Silberglied, circa 1975. RU 007316, Box 16, folder 7. SIA2012-7932.

After cataloging field books from the Department of Botany for the past 7 months, it was both exciting and daunting to tackle the Robert E. Silberglied Papers collection (RU007316) in the Smithsonian Institution Archives. Silberglied was an entomologist, with a passion for Lepidoptera (butterflies). He collected butterflies and other insects in the United States and abroad from about 1960 to 1984 and had a particular interest in UV reflectivity of butterfly wings, insect vision, and insect behavior. While working as a professor at Harvard University, Silberglied spent summers at the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute (STRI) in Panama, making collections and conducting experiments.

I found out early in my research that Robert E. Silberglied died quite young—a mere 36 years old--in the tragic Air Florida plane crash of 1982. I wonder what more he could have contributed if he had not been taken at such a young age.

Robert E. Silberglied field notes, showing maps of Galápagos Islands, circa 1967-1971. RU 007316, Box 13, folder 27. SIA2012-9757.

Silberglied’s field books span 10 years (1965-1975), from when he was just 19 years old until he was 29. The notes seem to incorporate the variety of media that fall into our definition of field books—journals, field data, hand-drawn maps, sketches, photographs, charts. Some of his field books cross the fine line between personal diaries and scientific data books, with entries on parties he attended and opinions of people he met residing alongside tables of data on insects that he observed or collected in the field.

It’s hard to relate just how interesting Silberglied’s books are with a few photos. None of the pages are extraordinary on their own, but together they feel like a scrapbook of an entire collecting trip. Narrative, visual diagrams, renderings, and collected objects (including postcards and a few Mexican beer labels) are all compiled in a single volume.

Robert E. Silberglied field notes with sketches of insect nests, Galápagos Islands, 1970. RU 007316, Box 13, Folder 27. SIA2012-9949.	Robert E. Silberglied field notes with drawings of boat, Galápagos Islands, 1970. RU 007316, Box 13, Folder 28. SIA2012-9801.

I have a notion that Silberglied was a bit of an artist, though I can’t find any evidence of formal artistic training in his past. Besides utilizing color in his field books in a variety of ways, he also sketches to document his field observations and lab experiments. In looking through the materials in the collection (both field book and other materials) I found something that seemed to confirm my belief—a folder of tiny stamps depicting a butterfly, a beetle, and other insects. Silberglied carved these stamps out of regular (think Pink Pearl) erasers, with impressive detail and technique. The largest stamp is only about 1 inch square. I’m unsure of what Silberglied used these stamps for, or if he made them simply for fun.

Silberglied was also a talented and inventive photographer. Silberglied’s relationship to photography is so fascinating, in fact, that I will have to promise another blog post dedicated entirely to that topic.

Photograph of Colias on plant by Robert E. Silberglied, 1971. RU 007316, Box 16, folder 14. SIA2012-7945.	Weather data chart from Robert E. Silberglied field notes, Galápagos Islands, 1970. RU 007316, Box 13, Folder 28. SIA2012-9972.

I can’t help but admire Silberglied’s seamless integration of science and creativity. He was obviously a visual soul and an avid observer and documenter. Certainly, the blend makes for an interesting person, an accomplished scientist, and some very cool field notes.

Fruit Stamps? A Speculation on One Peculiar Field Book

By Emily Hunter, Field Book Project

D. Griffiths field notes, Texas and Mexico, 1905. SIA Acc. 11-106. Photo by Emily Hunter.

While cataloging the field notes of David Griffiths (1867-1935) I was intrigued to find interesting markings in one book. The book includes Griffiths’s field notes from Texas and Mexico, 1905. It looked as if something wet was stamped on the paper and then outlined in pencil. Upon further investigation, I excitedly formed a theory that remains unproven.

During the time this book was created, Griffiths worked for the USDA, where he studied grasses as well as cacti of the United States southwestern region and northern Mexico. The Department of Botany, National Museum of Natural History, has ten of Griffiths’s field books.

D. Griffiths field notes, Texas and Mexico, 1905. SIA Acc. 11-106. Photo by Emily Hunter.	An image that possibly shows the stamped cross-section of a flower and fruit.

Reading through the 1905 field book, I saw that Griffiths was collecting Opuntia species, focusing especially on fruit. Griffiths’s entries included detailed physical observations of cacti specimens (fruit color, flower color, size, shape, etc.) and notes on the use of fruits as food. Locally, the fruits are called “tuna” and Griffiths includes notes on how Mexicans cut and eat them.

Just from visual observation I could tell the following:

1. The paper is stained darker, forming a particular shape.
2. That shape was outlined in pencil.
3. Some of these images have a light-colored powder on them.
4. Some of the shapes have a small check mark.

Stamp in book showing white powdery surface, possibly mold. D. Griffiths field notes, Texas and Mexico, 1905. SIA Acc. 11-106. Photo by Emily Hunter.

My hypothesis is this: Griffiths cut the fruit lengthwise and pressed the cross section against the paper to record the shape and size of the fruit. He then traced an outline, possibly to indicate the peel or skin of the fruit, and the knobby appearance of the outsides of it. The light-colored powder may be mold from the juices.

I asked Rusty Russell, Collections Manager in the National Museum of Natural History Department of Botany, what insights he could offer. He hadn’t seen anything similar recorded in field books before, but thought that my “cactus fruit stamp” hypothesis sounded plausible.

Tunas (Opuntia stenopetala). Photo by Carlos Velazco, on Flickr (Creative Commons): http://www.flickr.com/photos/aztekium/165808412/in/photostream/

I’m still unsure what the check mark means. I hoped that it meant that the specimen was collected, since collector numbers seem to be included with most entries. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a match between specimens recorded in the field book and the collections in the U.S. National Herbarium, so all of this is still just an educated guess.

I’d love to hear if anyone else has come across this kind of field note recording. I would also be very interested to know if anyone does something similar in their own field notes! Please feel free to comment below.

The Art in Old Science

By Cherie P. Edmonds, Digitization Intern, Smithsonian Institution Archives

Nowadays it is common practice to use photographs to record and track specimens, but before photography became a tool of scientific documentation, field researchers had to develop and use their artistic abilities. As an intern with the Smithsonian Institution Archives Digital Services Division working on the Field Book Project, I have seen the use of artistic illustrations to document specimens in the papers of Fielding Bradford Meek, the resident collaborator in paleontology at the Smithsonian in the mid-1800s. Meek’s correspondences with Timothy Abbot Conrad are the perfect example of how scientists used drawings and sketches to classify and record what they found.

RU7230_B03_F45_004 Timothy Abbot Conrad. Paleontologist. 1904.

T. A. Conrad (1803-1877) was a conchologist and paleontologist at the Smithsonian. He took interest in the natural sciences from an early age, like his father, Solomon White Conrad, a mineralogist and botanist. The younger Conrad followed in his father’s footsteps and became a leader in the field of natural sciences. He was a member of the Academy of Natural Sciences, the American Philosophical Society, and several other societies world-wide.

Throughout his career, Conrad collected and researched shells and discovered several fresh water species. His correspondence with Meek, mostly relating to their collaborative efforts to identify and classify shells, spans nearly two decades (circa 1857-1875) and sometimes includes multiple letters on the same day.

RU7062_B01_F14_485 and 506 Shells Conrad asked Meek to help identify. March 2, year unknown. January 1, year unknown.

In his letters, Conrad mainly drew in black pen or pencil and shaded the sketches to illustrate depth and texture. He accompanied the sketches with detailed descriptions of the shells and where they came from. The drawings and information Conrad provided generally enabled Meek to identify various genera of shells; however, they still had their fair share of debates over whether certain genera were correct.

Conrad was well known for the large number of publications he produced and for his artistic abilities, which he used to illustrate his publications. In Conrad’s biography, Dr. Charles C. Abbott wrote, “His skill in drawing was remarkable and early developed. He not only made his own illustrations, but did considerable for others, as the shells, seaweed, and other small objects on some of Audubon’s plates of birds.”

RU7062_B01_F14_432 “I have seen the muscular impression of this species (No 8) though not in this specimen. It is like the others.” – T.A. Conrad, Date Unknown.

In his first publication, American Marine Conchology, or Descriptions and Colored Figures of the Shells of the Atlantic Coast (1831), Conrad wrote in the preface, “it is designed to supply a deficiency which has long been felt by the cultivators of American natural history.” He included in this volume seventeen plates, which he drew, and his sister colored. His second publication illustrated “new” fresh-water shells of the United States; although later, others laid claim to some of Conrad’s species. This slight hiccup, however, did not deter Conrad. In the Journal of the Philadelphia Academy of Natural Sciences, he published anywhere from one to a dozen articles in each of the first thirty-six volumes. The first four volumes contain eleven of his contributions, “all of which are profusely illustrated” according to Dr. Charles C. Abbott.

Surely Conrad’s artistic contributions to his fields helped in changing the way scientists record information. Conrad’s letters to Meek show how early scientists began documenting specimens they found and collected, and his publications included beautifully detailed illustrations of the shells he classified. Those incredible drawings make one really appreciate the amazing multi-disciplined and multi-talented scientists who developed the fields of study we explore and reference today.

WORKS CITED

Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 7062, Meek, F. B. (Fielding Bradford), 1817-1876, Fielding B. Meek Papers, 1843-1877 and undated, Box 1, Folder 14

Smithsonian Institution Archives Record Unit 7230, United States National Museum, Dept. of Geology Biographical File, 1862-1972 and undated, Box 3, Folder 45

Fish out of Water… and into a Museum

By Alice Doolittle, Cataloging Intern, Field Book Project

A page from the tin tag record for the 1907-1910 cruise of the Albatross in the Philippines. From National Museum of Natural History (U.S.), collected notes, lists, catalogs, illustrations, and records on fishes, circa 1835-1974 and undated, SIA RU007220. Photo: Alice Doolittle.

When I began cataloging field books in the Division of Fishes at the National Museum of Natural History a few weeks ago, one of the first books I pulled off the shelf was a record book of tin tag numbers used on a cruise of the research vessel Albatross in the early 1900s. This kind of log book is really no different from any other field catalog of specimens; it contains a list of unique numbers assigned to individual specimens in the field as they are collected. The catalog usually includes basic collection information, as well, such as where and when the specimen was collected. I was not, however, familiar with tin tags, or their textile counterparts, linen tags and silk tags. In fact, I realized that I didn’t know much about the whole process of collecting and preparing fish specimens, and I wanted to know more.

By now I’ve looked through enough field books to have learned that there are many ways that fish are collected—trawling, seining, hook-and-line fishing, and spearfishing, to name a few. But what happens after that?  Dr. Jeff Williams, Division of Fishes Collection Manager, gave me an insider’s view on collecting fish in the field. Jeff described a typical scene on a research vessel: scores of fish on the deck of a ship, having just been brought on board in a trawl net. The fish are sorted into species right there on deck. They get tagged—Jeff uses paper tags and a fish tagging gun, like a price tag gun you might see in a clothing store. In the past, collectors tied tin, silk, or linen tags to the fish with string.

A tin tag tied to the tail of a Priacanthus arenatus. Photo: Alice Doolittle.

Along the way, Jeff photographs the fish in a portable tank. It is important to take a photograph when the fish is still fresh, as its colors will start to fade fairly quickly. This would explain why field books I’ve worked with—many of which pre-date portable cameras—sometimes contain colorful sketches of collected fish, or include detailed “color notes” describing the patterns and colors of collected fish. (See “When Are Drawings Field Notes?” for more on this topic.)

The fish are preserved with formaldehyde and shipped in batches to the museum, where they are further processed before becoming fully-fledged museum specimens. The fish then are preserved in alcohol for long-term storage.

The alcohol preservation is done in stages, in an effort to minimize the shrinking that the alcohol causes. Another insight into field notes! Ichthyologists often record fish lengths in their notes, sometimes taking several other size measurements, as well. Now that I know the museum specimen will be a bit smaller than the fish in the wild, I can understand why a collector might want to take field measurements while the fish is still fresh.

Canning jars make pretty good specimen jars for these seahorses (Hippocampus erectus). Photo: Alice Doolittle.

Museum Specialist Kris Murphy took me on a tour of the Smithsonian’s fish collection so that I could see the fruits of all this collecting labor. Like the fish themselves, the jars that house them come in all different shapes and sizes—even canning jars, complete with “Le Parfait” raised lettering on the side. For me, the best part of touring the collection was being able to track down fish whose tin tag numbers I saw while cataloging field books—some collected more than a hundred years ago. Now when I look at a tin tag record book, I don’t just see a list of numbers, but the fish themselves, residing on shelf after shelf in the Smithsonian’s incredible library of biodiversity.

Summer Reading, like a Specimen Collector

 

By Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project

Vernon Bailey in Rabbit Hole Basin, Nevada, in 1898. Smithsonian Institution Archives. RU007267 Box 5 Folder 12. Image SIA2011-1382.

Looking for some summer reading? How about some recommendations from one of the Smithsonian’s field collectors?

Field book content often includes personal and professional details. Some collectors spend so much time in the field that the two merge almost seamlessly in their accounts. Vernon O. Bailey is one of these collectors. Bailey collected primarily for the US Biological Survey under the US Department of Agriculture from 1887 - 1933.  He collected extensively in botany, mammalogy, and ornithology across the United States, Canada, and Mexico. His field notes from 1894 to 1941 have been cataloged by the Field Book Project.

Bailey’s personal and professional life had strong connections. He was in the field nearly every year, from 1894-1941. In addition, several family members worked in the natural sciences. His wife, Florence Merriam Bailey, was a noted ornithologist. His brother-in-law, Clinton Hart Merriam, was the Chief of the newly created Division of Economic Ornithology and Mammalogy, which was later renamed the Bureau of Biological Survey. So perhaps I should not have been surprised to find references in his accounts to interests ranging beyond science.

Jenny Mathias, a summer 2011 intern, cataloged Bailey field books housed at the Smithsonian Institution Archives. She found poems written presumably by Bailey about some of the wildlife he observed. These light hearted rhymes came to mind as I cataloged his field books in the Division of Mammals, National Museum of Natural History, and found several literary references. It appears that Bailey had an affinity for poetry, as evidenced by quotes written on loose inserts or in his notebooks, as well as in his accounts of field outings.  The poets to which he refers were award winning figures of their day, like Juan Ramon Jimenez and Thomas Bailey Aldrich. I found one quote in his notes, the opening stanza to Self-Dependence by Matthew Arnold (1822-1888), particularly moving. These provide intriguing glimpses into Bailey’s mind. Over the days I spent cataloging his field notes, I had noticed his entries could evince a mood with an economy of words. Several times I wished to know more, when he wrote entries like:

[New Hampshire, 1932] On the way home found an airdale dog full of porcupine quills and took him home to Joe Collidge who had pulled quills out of him three times before.

[Utah, 1888] Sister Sidwell killed a lynx in her henhouse last night. It scratched her face and bit her hands. Killed it with an ax.

 

These all give an intriguing view into his interests and personality. Bailey’s own compositions show a true affection for his work. Below, I’ve included Bailey’s poem, which inspired this blog post, found last summer by our intern.

Drawings of animal tracks and poetry related to animal specimen collecting by Vernon Orlando Bailey, 1890-1891. RU 7267 Box 1 Folder 4. Image SIA2011-1410.

 

1. We ever had left the Mt. tops
The valley shrouded lay
And I was hunting Dipodods
Just at the close of day.

2. I was on the wild Nevada plains
A cool November eve
And the number of animals I saw
You never would believe.

3. Some were only common kinds
And not the least bit rare,
Among which yard count the cottontail
And blacktailed Texas hare.

4.  Tamias pictus* frisks about
And climbs the sagebrush tall.
His brother leucurus** never climbs
So never gets a fall.  

I must admit that I even tried my hand at setting Bailey’s composition to music.  I think it would make a great sing-along by a campfire.

* Tamias minimus pictus

** Tamias leucurus has since been reclassified as Ammospermophilus leucurus.

Hilda Hempl Heller, in the Field

By Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project

This is a tale of surprise, discovery, and anticipation—the story of Hilda Hempl Heller. But to get to her story I have to tell you a little about her ex-husband, Edmund.

Bacteriologist Hilda Hempl Heller (b. 1891) worked at the Field Museum of Natural History in Chicago. The photograph was taken by Watson Davis at a scientific meeting in Toronto, Canada, August 1924.   Smithsonian Institution Archives.  Acc. 90-105, Science Service, Records, 1920s-1970s. SIA-SIA2008-3770 .

Edmund Heller is a recurring character in my cataloging life. I’ve run into his materials in three different departments. Smithsonian collections document the majority of his collecting history. Heller and his materials have made an impression on me. Why, you might ask? He traveled extensively and collected for a lot of institutions over his career. Additionally, I have wondered how the Smithsonian ended up with so many materials that were not from his time employed by the Institution. If you want to know about this part of the story, check out my April 23, 2012 blog post.

I’ve worked on the collections of other extensive collectors, but never did I lack a feel for the individual’s personal life as I did with Edmund Heller. Heller recorded a lot of his opinions, observations, and professional interactions in his journals.  I can tell you about local staff he hired, travel challenges, his fascination with local produce -- but I only recently found out he was married and had gone on three expeditions with his wife.

After doing some research on Heller, it became pretty clear that he was very good at his job, but perhaps a challenging personality. His wife was bound to be unusual; Hilda fit the bill.

I found out about Hilda while preparing a blog post for women’s history month. Many of the women whose work we catalog are from early in the twentieth century and lacked access to formal higher education. A colleague mentioned to me that she thought the department had accessioned photographic documentation of Hilda Heller’s participation in Edmund’s field work. Few of the women in Smithsonian's older collections worked in the field, let alone produced images, so I was very excited.

Initially Tammy Peters (Supervisory Archivist at SIA) and I knew very little about his wife, but I had run across the name when researching the locations of Heller’s papers outside the Smithsonian. There is a collection of her and her husband’s photographs from expedition work done for the Field Museum in Chicago. We learned early on that she was a scientist. We were able to locate a digitized news clipping announcing their divorce after ten years of marriage. After some more digging, we found out that not only was she a bacteriologist, having earned her PhD, but she also had taken part in three of her husband’s expeditions before they parted.  One of these is documented by her images at Smithsonian Institution Archives (SIA).

We found that after her divorce, she researched and conducted field work in Peru. Publications about her work and her correspondence are part of the Science Service archives collections at SIA. She was a longtime correspondent and friend of the Science Service founder, Watson Davis.

Science Service Director Watson Davis (1896-1967) was taken in Geneva, Switzerland, at a United Nations conference in 1965 or 1966. Smithsonian Institution Archive Acc. 90-105 - Science Service, Records, 1920s-1970s. SIA2008-0896.

So I’ve covered the surprise and discovery. You might ask, what is the anticipation? The collection that includes her field work images is still in the midst of conservation treatment; there are a lot materials to process, so it will be quite a while before I am able to safely handle and catalog the collection. So I will have to wait. Did I mention I’m not fond of delayed gratification?

New Animals in New Places

By Richard Jerome, Cataloging Intern, Field Book Project

Invasive species have become a serious environmental problem of late. As someone who enjoys swimming in upstate New York lakes, I often have to deal with one such species—zebra mussels. Not only are their shells so sharp that you have to wear water shoes when swimming, zebra mussels can cause more serious problems like the clogging of water filtration pipes and suffocation of other native species. All across New York people try hard to keep these animals away because it seems like once they enter a lake or waterway, it is impossible to get rid of them.

After doing a little research I’ve found that there does not seem to be a solid consensus about exactly how zebra mussels, or many other invasive species, enter new areas. This may be because invasive species are rarely observed at their point of entry—they just tend to start showing up. Of course it is a different story when humans purposely introduce a foreign species for a reason such as pest control, but generally the question of invasive species’ point of entry can be a tricky one.

While I was cataloging a field notebook of Alexander Wetmore, ornithologist and 6th Secretary of the Smithsonian, I came across an amusing anecdote in which, for one species, he found an answer. Wetmore had been observing mockingbirds (more specifically Mimus gilvus tolimensis) in the Canal Zone of Panama during 1956 and wondering how they got there. One night his neighbor E. J. Husted told him a story. Wetmore recounted it in his journal:

Between September and November, 1935 about 200 live mockingbirds in cages were brought from Colombia on a ship that docked at Pier 18 in Balboa, and were disembarked on a baggage truck that Mr. Husted was handling. The birds were intended for sale in the market in Panama, but the authorities demanded a dollar import duty on each bird. As the importer had expected to sell them at $1.50 each he became disgusted, opened the cages, and released the entire lot at Pier 18. [Mr. Husted’s] account is definite in detail and I have no doubt that this is the explanation of the establishment of the species in the Canal Zone.

22c Mockingbird single, 1987, National Postal Museum, http://arago.si.edu/index.asp?con=2&cmd=1&id=35803

 

 The story is not verified by anyone else, but Wetmore has no problem accepting this as the likely solution to his question. If true, it shows how new species can be introduced in surprisingly strange and unpredictable ways. While mockingbirds may not be considered as destructive or as unwanted as zebra mussels, it is hard to imagine anyone being so careless with a foreign species today. Wetmore himself was not troubled to learn of these events; he just seemed satisfied to be able to find an answer. Stories like this are the kind of gems that pop up over and over when reading through old field books. We may fight hard to stop the introduction of non-native species to new areas today, but back in 1956 Wetmore heard this account and his reaction was simply, “Of course! Now it all makes sense.”

 

For more on Alexander Wetmore and field work with invasive species check out the following related blog post: The Dangers of Bunny Rabbits

Sketches from the Field

By Emily Hunter, Field Book Project

Sketch showing behavioral observations of bird, from the field notes of Martin H. Moynihan , 1961. SIA Acc. 01-096. Image: SIA 2012-1914.

While cataloging field books I often come across rough sketches. The sketches usually depict specimens, and are completed quickly and roughly in the field. I love finding sketches. Besides being nice to look at, they illustrate scientific names and collector numbers. For me, they are pretty pictures, but I wondered about the reasons that collectors might make drawings in the field, and what the sketches can tell us.

I met up with Botany Collections Manager and Field Book Project Co-PI Rusty Russell to ask him for a botanist’s perspective on the value of field sketches. Rusty reminded me that to draw something is to really see it. I understood immediately. Before attending library school, I studied art. That single remark spoke directly to my experience drawing from life. To sketch something—to take in all of the lines and planes, colors, shades, textures, and nuances and put them on paper—is to really understand the physical form. Whether it’s a person, a shell, a plant, an insect, or an animal, you have to take time to observe it from all angles. The very act of rendering an object can fix it into your memory. How art and science intersect yet again!

A page with sketches from the field notes of Martin H. Moynihan, 1961. SIA Acc. 01-096. Image: SIA 2012-1899.	Pages showing field notes and sketches of fish, from the journal of Rafinesque, Kentucky, 1818. SIA RU7250. Image: SIA2012-6106

Illustration of a fish collected during the United States Exploring Expedition, 1838-1842. SIA RU7186. Image: SIA2011-1233.

Jenny Keller actually made this same point in her chapter “Why Sketch” in Michael Canfield’s book Field Notes on Science and Nature. Keller asserts that sketching can assist a field biologist with observing and documenting aspects of a specimen that may otherwise go unnoticed or unrecorded. She points out that photography can sometimes miss certain aspects of a specimen: it can only shoot one side at a time and often the color can come out wrong. Keller writes that sketching can ensure that you see and record all observations while you’re still in front of the subject.

I brought some of the field books of botanist T. R. Soderstrom to Rusty’s office so that we could take a look at the sketches together. I was curious why Soderstrom made sketches and measurements of bamboo in the field if he was collecting the specimen anyway. Would a sketch be necessary? Wouldn’t it be easier to take measurements and provide observations back in the comfort of the lab?

Sketches of bamboo from the field book of T. R. Stoderstrom, Laos, 1974. SIA Acc. 12-404. Photo by the Field Book Project.

Rusty explained that a sketch is “a way of collecting data visually that might not be available to you once the collection is made”. In the case of Soderstrom’s sketches, he was recording measurements of internodes (distances between nodes of bamboo) that he wouldn’t be able to take back in the lab. Because the bamboo specimens that Soderstrom was collecting were so large, only portions were collected. Soderstsrom may have wanted to get measurements for the entire specimen, and that was only possible in the field. The sketches are an obvious way to visualize, remember, and understand the data.

So, these are just a few ways that field book sketches are valuable documentation. Keller includes even more reasons for sketching in the field, and I encourage you to read her chapter in Field Notes on Science and Nature. To all collectors: sketch on!

Sketches by unknown creator, undated. SIA Acc. 12-402. Photo by the Field Book Project.

Reference:

Canfield, M. (2011). Field notes from science and nature. (1st ed.). Boston, MA: Harvard University Press.

(I Get by) With a Little Help from the Department of Paleobiology

By Sonoe Nakasone, Field Book Project

If you’ve been reading our blog and viewing our Flickr sets, there should be no doubt in your mind the important role photographs have played in the field.

My most recent example of photographs documenting field research is found in the Charles Lewis Gazin Papers (Smithsonian Institution Archives Record Unit 7314). The “field books” (the textual records that we most often think of as field notes) corresponding to these photos are currently housed in the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History.

There is something to learn from each captivating image in Gazin’s collection. Both the mysterious nature of some of these photos and the difficulty of providing an accurate description prompted me to ask first myself, and later staff from the Department of Paleobiology, questions about what these images depicted. I share these photos, questions, and answers with you below.

Collecting localities

Wyoming, 1941, Gazin, SIA 2012-3630, Box 18, Folder 16, Smithsonian Institution Archives.

Wyoming, 1941, Gazin, SIA 2012-3654, Box 18, Folder 16, Smithsonian Institution Archives.

Wyoming, 1941, Gazin, SIA 2012-3292, Box 18, Folder 16, Smithsonian Institution Archives.

Wide angle photographs like those above are common in many of the field note collections the Field Book Project has catalog from various fields of biology. I wondered, however, if these images had particular significance for paleobiologists; could information about a location’s geology be ascertained from a photograph, for example? As Department of Paleobiology Fossil Preparator Steve Jabo told me, these beautiful images do serve a practical purpose. As with similar images in field notes for other disciplines, these images contain geographic data. “Besides the “wow” factor of seeing your campsite / locality in the context of the regional geology,” Steve says, “these photos are handy for re-finding your locality,” especially years later. Steve explains, “even though you put a dot on a topographic map, it’s not always easy to find the exact spot again.”

Finding fossils in the field

Uncovered specimen, 1959, Gazin, SIA 2012-3460, Box 19, Folder 16, Smithsonian Institution Archives.

The question when I saw this image was simple: “What’s going on?” My initial guess was that the person in this photograph was cleaning the dirt off of the specimen, but as I learned from Steve, the fragile fossil was actually being protected. The substance in the jar was painted onto the bones. When the substance dried, it kept the fossil and surrounding rock intact as they were excavated.

Not your 5th grader’s paper maché

Creating field jacket, 1951, Gazin, SIA 2012-7646, Box 19, Folder 4, Smithsonian Institution Archives.

Creating field jacket, Panama, Gazin, SIA 2012-7645, Box 19, Folder 4, Smithsonian Institution Archives.

Row of field jackets, Panama, 1951, Gazin, SIA 2012-7644, Box 19, Folder 4, Smithsonian Institution Archives.

Some of my favorite images from this collection are above. I assumed that the people depicted in these photographs were creating molds of the fossils, and was amused to see that the process looked similar to the paper maché many of us made as kids. The idea of molds inspired more questions. Why make molds in the field? What was the purpose? Rather than continue this guesswork, I emailed FossiLab Manager Abby Telfer and learned that these were not molds at all, but field jackets. Because fossils are fragile they are often encapsulated in “jackets” typically made from plaster and burlap. Abby also noted that during the time of these photos, it was not unusual for paleontologists to use bandages instead of burlap. An image of an opened field jacket can be seen in Abby’s article Fossil Hunting under the Watchful Eyes of Lions on the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History blog.

As someone from a library and archival background, I found that cataloging these particular photos provided an unexpected yet fascinating way to gain a deeper understanding of field work and techniques used by paleontologists. Thanks to help from Steve and Abby, Gazin’s images have now lost their air of mystery to me, but they will always remain spectacular examples of visual field notes of events and the places they occurred.

Remembering Summers in Maine

By Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project

Clearing after September Gale--Maine Coast, ca. 1924. Howard Russell Butler. 1944. 11.1. Smithsonian American Art Museum.

Friends recently informed me they are going to Maine this June. I have very fond memories of summers there; I hoped to find an excuse to do some reminiscing. Since many of the loveliest destinations in Maine are natural wonders, and I spend most of my time cataloging field work, it seemed appropriate to take a look at what kinds of field work we have documented in the Pine Tree State.

Summer is a prime time of year for tourists in New England as well as for specimen collectors. The states’ woods and coastlines attract many visitors for their natural beauty and have provided “fertile ground” for decades of collecting. We have cataloged 43 field books relating to the state. A substantial amount of that was in the vicinity of popular coastal destinations. So, I thought I would include some details about the field work done along some of my favorite routes in Maine.

Much of the field work I uncovered relates to applied science, completed by the Bureau of Fisheries, to investigate the health of the marine life off the New England coast. Other types included studies of fossils and geological formations (much of the Midcoast region’s terrain is defined by Ice Age glaciers) relating to the US National Museum and in conjunction with the US Geological Survey. Other fieldwork looked in to the flora and fauna towards the interior of the state.

Below is a map indicating some highlights of field work locations.

 
View Maine fieldwork in a larger map 

• April to June 1889 -- Gilbert Van Ingen (under the direction of H. S. Williams) studied paleontology near Moosehead Lake.
• Summer of 1897 -- Frederick True and Daniel Prentiss, Jr., studied in Hancock County -- Brooklin, Walker Pond, and Blue Hill.
• June to August 1899 -- J.  B. Henderson studied mollusks in Bar Harbor.
• June 1911 -- Florence Bailey studied birds in Fryeburg Harbor and North Waterford.
• March to May 1913 -- William W. Welsh studied haddock and fish off the coast of Portland.
• May to July 1915 – Welsh studied fishing in Boothbay Harbor and Blue Hill Bay.
• c. 1916 --Isaac Ginsberg studied fishing of the coast of Boothbay Harbor.
• May and December 1955 -- F. R. Fosberg studied plants at Mt. Blue State Park.
• 1943-1947 -- Louis Hutchins studied marine life as part of the United States Navy Buoy Fouling Survey in Portland, Casco Bay, Penobscot, Mt. Desert, and Boone Island.

Hopefully the list above will inspire you to think about your own summer destinations in a new light.

Want to learn more about Maine and the Smithsonian? Check out the Maine Geological Survey page on Maine geology specimens in the Smithsonian. 

Also check out Smithsonian Magazine's blog post on oyster middens along the Damariscotta River.

André Goeldi Flickr Set: The Journey from 1920 to 2012

By Emily Hunter, Field Book Project

24. Calytrocarya [sic]. Photograph by André Goeldi, circa 1913-1920. SIA Acc. 12-045, Image SIA 2012-3890.

In January, I began cataloging field books in the Department of Botany. In my first week, I came across a box of materials related to the botanist André Goeldi. These materials had a note from our conservator that read “Extremely brittle!” Carefully, I opened the folder and gasped as I saw the contents--black and white photographs of botanical specimens, mostly grasses. Each one was stunning. The photographs themselves were “silvering” (also called silver mirroring)--something that happens to older black and white gelatin prints, in which the silver particles begin to oxidize, producing a blue-ish metallic look. Although a conservation problem, the silver mirroring gave the images an otherworldly glow.

The photographs depicted specimens, set upon a black background, with a tape measure in many of the images to indicate scale. The photographs were clearly taken to document Goeldi’s specimen collection, but it’s hard to deny their aesthetic merit as well. Grass is something usually taken for granted as common, but seeing the variety of grasses depicted in these 36 photographs made me think twice about the familiar plant family. Isolated clumps shown on the dark background gave focus to the form, while highlighting the elegance (and the occasionally tangled chaos) of some of these plants.

Man standing in a field with grasses and trees, possibly André Goeldi in Brazil, circa 1913-1920. SIA Acc. 12-045, Image: SIA 2012-3935.

I examined the contents of the folder for clues about the materials and their creator. A letter included with the photographs indicated that the images were sent to Albert Spear Hitchcock in 1920. Hitchcock was an expert on grasses, and presumably he and Goeldi corresponded regarding the identification or perhaps the exchange of the specimens. Also included with the photographs were specimen lists, with entries in Portuguese. These lists, handwritten on an extremely acidic paper, were even more brittle than the photographs. Some of the information had even crumbled away from the edges. After consulting with our conservator, I digitized the entire contents of the Goeldi box. This way, the information is captured digitally in case the physical objects wear down and lose additional information. From these images, I selected several of the most interesting to make up the flickr set.

List of grasses sent with photographs by André Goeldi to A. S. Hitchcock in 1920. SIA Acc. 12-045.

I was interested to find out who André Goeldi was. My initial research returned few results. I knew that André Goeldi was working in Pará, Brazil circa 1913 to 1920, and that he was not the same person as Emílio A. Goeldi, first director of the Museu Paraense Emílio Goeldi. I dug into the archives and also reached out to the Museu Goeldi to see if they had additional information. To my delight, Dr. Nelson Sanjad, researcher, History of Science at the Museu Paraense Emílio Goeldi, responded to my email and offered additional details on Goeldi’s life. Dr. Sanjad helped to fill in many of the gaps, informing me that Goeldi (name variation Andréas Goeldi) was born in Switzerland in 1872 and immigrated to Brazil in 1893. He worked at the Museu Paraense Emílio Goeldi from 1901 to 1906 and then at the experimental farm Estação Agrícola de Peixe Boi. Dr. Sanjad also informed me that Emílio and André were cousins. The correspondence with A. S. Hitchcock dated 1920 may be the last documented mention of André Goeldi’s activities, so perhaps he died shortly after.

This set of field documentation serves as an example of how materials from all over the world end up in the care of the Smithsonian Institution. Curating this set of images sparked an interesting journey for me, and required the collaboration of colleagues across various fields at home at the Smithsonian as well as abroad. The collaborative and interdisciplinary nature of the Field Book Project was something that initially attracted me to apply as an intern over a year ago. I hope that you enjoy learning about the process of bringing these images to the public sphere, and I encourage you to share any comments or additional information on the man behind these photographs.

View the full flickr set here.

Acknowledgements:

Thank you very much to the following people for their assistance with various aspects of this project: Dr. Nelson Sanjad, Museu Paraense Emílio Goeldi, Pará, Brazil; Anna Friedman and the conservation staff at Smithsonian Institution Archives; Tad Bennicoff and reference team at Smithsonian Institution Archives; Kira Cherrix and the digitization staff at Smithsonian Institution Archives; and all of my colleagues at the Field Book Project.

Like Son, Like Father; Like Father, Like Son

Edgar A. Mearns, c. 1900. NHB-21452, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 95, Box 17, Folder 1.

 

 

Edgar A. Mearns: Explorer

 

Edgar A. Mearns: Naturalist

 

Edgar A. Mearns: Doctor

 

Edgar A. Mearns: Daddy                                                              

 

 

By Sonoe Nakasone, The Field Book Project

Although little is available on the free web on the relationship between Edgar Alexander Mearns and his son, Louis di Zerega Mearns, there is evidence through Mearns’s field notes that the two were close.  The small amount of literature I’ve found on the internet seems to confirm this, but you may judge for yourself. 

Louis’s name appears many times within the over 200 field books from the Edgar Alexander Mearns Papers, circa 1871-1916, 1934 and undated (Smithsonian Institution Archives Record Unit 7083) housed at SIA and the Division of Birds.  It is clear that much of his early years were spent in the company of his father, travelling and collecting as a family.  Five of Edgar Mearns’s field books contain notes from Louis.  Like his father, Louis’s interests in collecting ranged widely from various zoological disciplines to botany.  These field books date from 1891 to 1903, meaning that Louis began collecting with his father as early as 5 years (possibly earlier).  These dates, very roughly correspond to the dates of Louis’s publications, the first of which he published in 1897 at the tender age of 11, and the last in 1903, at age 16 or 17.  Mearns’s collection also includes eight notebooks belonging to Louis and containing notes that were probably the basis for many of his publications.

Both pages are from "Field notes on mammals, birds, reptiles, fish, etc., observed at Fort Clark, Texas, June 14, 1898, to Fort Snelling, Minnesota, April 4, 1903".  National Museum of Natural History, Division of Birds, Edgar Alexander Mearns field books, Box 9, folder 10.	The image on the left is the title page Mearns provided for this field notebook.  As you can see, the notebook belonged to Edgar Mearns.  Yet, Edgar includes notes on specimens recorded by his son, who is at this time 12-17 years old.

Although I cannot read between the lines of the scientific notes in Edgar Mearns’s  notebooks, I felt there was an aura of closeness between father and son.  Interesting details culled from publications have strengthened this impression.

A memoir written by Charles W. Richmond published in the January 1918 issue of The Auk, reveals that Mearns was a kind, sympathetic, loyal friend with a serene temperament.  This promotes my impression of Mearns as a doting father.  Richmond exposes other interesting facts.  Like his son, Edgar himself was intrigued by natural science from a young age.  Alexander Mearns, Edgar’s father, encouraged his son’s interests, purchasing a large illustrated book on native birds when Edgar was three.  Furthermore, just as Edgar would one day traverse the familiar east coast and expanding western frontiers with his son close at hand, Alexander enjoyed many a collecting adventure with his son Edgar.  Richmond writes, “[Edgar and his father] would shoulder their arms and wander through the fields together, close companions.”  It is the similarity between Edgar Mearns and his son as children and Alexander Mearns and his son as fathers that convince me Edgar and Louis were close kin and colleagues in the field.

Mearns with woman and child, probably wife Ella and son Louis, during the Mexican Boundary Survey, 1892-1894.  This is just one example of the field trips on which Louis accompanied his father.  SIA2012-7705, Smithsonian Institution Archives, RU007083, Box 4, Folder 5.

In the April 1915 issue of The Auk, Edgar eulogized Louis, who had died young of dyptheria in 1912.  In the article, Edgar expresses profound respect and admiration for his son’s achievements, praising him in part thusly:

His observations were recorded with fedility [sic] and clearness.  In the field he was a delightful companion, an accurate and quick shot with shotgun or rifle, and a clever and successful mammal trapper.

Above, Edgar's reference to his son as a "delightful companion" sums up the kind of bond the two seemed to share.

Speculation alert!

Mearns seems to have proved that “the child is the father of the man,” although that’s perhaps not what Wordsworth meant.  I like to think that as an adult, Edgar was still able to relate to his experiences from youth.  I like to think that is what made him a great father.      

 

References

Mearns, E. (April, 1915). Notes and news. The Auk, 32(2), 268-269. Retrieved from

http://www.jstor.org/stable/4072474.

Richmond, C. W. (January, 1918). The Auk, 35(1), 1-18. In Memoriam: Edgar Alexander Mearns.

Retrieved from http://elibrary.unm.edu/sora/Auk/v035n01/p0001-p0018.pdf .

In Good Spirits

by Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project

As summer vacations begin, I’ve been thinking about how our collectors relaxed in the field. For me, this usually involves good food and drink. Luckily, this is also true for many collectors. Some have been kind enough to record details about their leisure time. Most references discuss food, but we have come across several relating to beverages. These have been found in the journals of collectors in the Caribbean from the early twentieth century, the age of the cocktail. Most of the drinks described are now well-known, like the daiquiri. However, we came across an original recipe in the journal of Paul Bartsch.

Photograph of Mollusks Exhibit, Conference on Future, with Paul Bartsch in foreground, 1927. Smithsonian Institution Archives, RU 000046, Negative No. 17887-E.

In honor of all our intrepid collectors, I have included the recipe below, so our readers can get a peak at the more relaxed side of field work. Paul Bartsch recorded it in the journal he kept during the Tomas Barrera Cuban Expedition,  May 1914 (mentioned in my April 2012 post). According to the diary, the drink was an original concoction by locally hired staff, and greatly enjoyed by the participants. The recipe is intriguing in how specific several of the ingredients are, seeming to indicate not just the name, but also the location where it was made. Ironically, even with that level of specificity, I have not been able to determine the identity of all the ingredients. Maybe you’ll have better luck than me. Enjoy!

1 ½ glass of Agua diente

1 ½ glass Hector Cubana (Chapparra M. negreira Sen. C Habana)

½ glass Italian Vermouth

½ glass Dry Gordon Gin

2 glasses Water

Sugar to taste

2 Eggs

Pinch of lemon peel

Shake with ice, and, like my beverage, consume with a receptive mind, to say nothing about the tummy. It may be added here that a bandage for the head in the morning would not be out of place, and an ice cap comes in mighty handy.

Page 19 of Paul Bartsch’s journal from the Tomas Barrera Cuban Expedition, 1914. Smithsonian Institution Archives, SIA2012-1778.

Field Books Through the Ages: A Visual Timeline

By Emily Hunter, Field Book Project

Often, when I describe what I do as a field book cataloger, I get a few questions. Following the usual “So what are field books?” comes the question, “What are they like?” After some explanations back and forth I usually get to the heart of the question: What do field books look like? This is a great question, and it’s usually hard to fully explain in a few sentences. Field books are defined by their content (they document field activities) and not their form, and therefore they come in a variety of physical manifestations. Often, field books are traditional codices--bound books that scientists carried with them on collecting trips and expeditions. Other times, field books are unbound typewritten notes, correspondence, drawings, maps, still photographs, and films.

The Field Book Project has cataloged over 4,500 field books to date, ranging in years from approximately 1800 through 2008. To give a visual sampling of the field books cataloged by myself or my colleagues at the Smithsonian Institution, I’ve compiled a timeline:

1810s

1860s

1890s

1900s

1910s

1920s

1930s

1940s

1950s

1960s

1970s

1980s

1990s – 2000s

I love to see the changing form of something as simple as the classic notebook—government-issued notebooks, the marble notebook, steno pads, books purchased abroad. Furthermore, materials used to record notes have evolved--from quill and ink to ballpoint pen and sharpie, although it seems pencil has always remained a classic choice.

It’s hard not to imagine what comes next for the field book. The way that scientists record information and document their activities has changed drastically, and who knows what forms they may take in the future. Will field notes be all 1s and 0s? How will we preserve, catalog, and provide access for them? Interesting to ponder as I look back, and anticipate what lies ahead.

---

Image Key

1810s - Field book by Constantine Samuel Rafinesque, 1818. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 7250, Box 1, Folder 3, Image SIA2012-6042 (left), Image SIA2012-6107 (right).

1860s - I. I. Hayes plant list, 1861.

1890s - Top: Field book by Jesse Herman Holmes, 1890; Bottom: field books by Paul Carpenter Standley, 1897; Vernon Orlando Bailey's field notes, 1890.

1900s - Left to right: U.S. Bureau of Fisheries field book, 1901, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 7184, Box 16 Folder 8; Hand-painted lantern slide documenting the Smithsonian-Roosevelt African Expedition of 1909, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Acc. 11-096, Box 1 Folder 1, Image SIA2011-1412; Edward Palmer field book, 1906.

1910s - A. S. Hitchcock field book, 1919.

1920s - Top row, left to right: Field books by Frederick Coville, 1924; Erik Ekman, circa 1924-1930. Bottom row, left to right: Lantern slide documenting the excavation of Dinosaur National Monument Quarry, 1923, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 424, Box 7 Lantern Slide Box 22, Image SIA2011-1424; Ellsworth Killip field book, 1922;  A. S. Hitchcock photograph album, volume 2, 1921-1923, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 229, Image 2011-0576.

1930s - Field book by J. F. Joyner, 1937.

1940s - Left to right: field books by Henry S. Kernan, Cinchona Project, 1944, James A. Peters 1949, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 7175, Box 49, Folder 4, Image SIA2012-6318; E. P. Killip, 1941.

1950s - Top: Field books by Killip, 1950s;  Martin Moynihan field notes, 1958, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Acc. 01-096, Image SIA2012-1880. Bottom: Stereoscope from Smithsonian-Bredin Expedition to the Belgian Congo, 1955, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 7231, Image SIA2012-0404.

1960s - Left to right: field books by Doris Cochran, 1962-1963; C. V. Morton, 1967; photograph taken during Waldo Schmitt's collecting work with Palmer Peninsula Survey, 1962-1963, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 7231, Box 140, Image SIA2012-0662.

1970s - Field books by T. R. Soderstrom, 1970s.

1980s - Left to right: field books by David K. Edelman, 1987, 1984-1985; field books by T. R. Soderstrom, 1983-1984.

1990s-2000s - Field books by E. E. Terrell, 1990-2008.

The Art in Field Books

By Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project

Cover page of Sir John Kirk’s Butterflies collected in the Shire Valley, East Africa, part of the Russell E. Train Africana Collection at the Joseph F. Cullman 3rd Library of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

I recently had the opportunity to spend a week cataloging items from the Russell E. Train Africana collection housed at the Joseph F. Cullman 3rd Library in the National Museum of Natural History. The collection, which became part of the Library holdings in 2004 (see Smithsonian Library’s blog from 2010), is a unique combination of books, objects, and archival material documenting expeditions and people of note that worked in Africa during the nineteenth and twentieth century.  Several of the diaries, maps, photographs, and sketches document the work of big game hunters whose specimen collections were later accessioned by collecting institutions across the United Kingdom. These were the types of materials I cataloged. Among these was a rare find for me: a field book that contains entomological specimens. The book in question was assembled by Sir John Kirk.

Page from Sir John Kirk’s text. Each butterfly specimen has a protective layer of material between it and the adjacent page. Specimen caption: “Cleopatra very rapid in flight. Caterpillars green, 4 spikes on head like coronet.”

Detail of butterfly in page above. Identified as “Charaxes Pollusc [sic]."

Sir John Kirk, born 1832, explored and worked in East Africa during the latter half of the nineteenth century in a number of capacities. He was trained in the field of medicine, but gained prominence for his work in diplomacy in East Africa and for his work with David Livingstone. He had strong interests in botany and zoology, a fact that is documented in his notes throughout his time on the continent.

His book is unique for a number of reasons. Most of us working on the Field Book Project have come across specimens in field books. These are usually dried, pressed plants, though I have found a molted snake skin. The specimens are sometimes pinned but often left loose in the notebooks. Kirk took extreme care when organizing and adhering these specimens.

Sir John Kirk’s work is also an amalgam of illustration and specimen. He collected butterflies, then removed the wings, pasted them to the book, and drew in the missing anatomy with ink, ameliorating any specimen color loss with paint. This combination of drawing and specimen may seem odd, until you see the result: a book that is far more art book than field book, and yet meets the definitions of both.

As seen below, his specimens look like hand painted illustrations.

Page of Sir John Kirk’s field book. Text on page states “A large family of these. Exceedingly beautiful. The colour [sic] on the tips should be mauve but no blue will pint(?) so only one of the colours that compose it is represented__blue added wd[sic] make mauve.”

Detail images of butterflies from text above.

The book includes varying levels of information, including binomial and genus names of identified butterflies, as well as descriptions explaining where they were found, population abundance, and information about appearance.

Interested in seeing the book yourself? The Joseph F. Cullman 3rd Library of Natural History is located at the National Museum of Natural History in Washington, DC. For information on hours and access, check out their website at: http://www.sil.si.edu/libraries/cullman/using.cfm.

One of the Most Elusive Birds

C21_3411 White-browed shortwing (Brachypteryx montana), 2012, by Naturelly, Retrieved from Flickr (The Commons): http://www.flickr.com/photos/51995830@N02/7062972975/

By Sonoe Nakasone, Field Book Project

Deep within the forests of Luzon, Philippines, lives the Brachypteryx, a bird so wily that even an experienced naturalist like Edgar A. Mearns (1856-1916) named it “one of the most elusive birds that I have met with”.  Although Mearns generally refers to this bird as Brachypteryx in his field book from July-August 1907, he was possibly describing Brachypteryx montana poliogyna, a sub-species noted throughout the volume.  What made this bird so elusive?

Cover, Field notes, September 29, 1906 - August 4, 1907 : volume 6, National Museum of Natural History, Division of Birds, SIA RU007083.

Mearns conducted extensive field work in the Philippines from 1903 to 1907 while serving in the Military.  According to this website, Mearns described two of the 14 species of Brachypteryx montana (malindangensis and mindanensis), which he found in the Philippines.  The Brachypteryx montana poliogyna, however, had already been described by William Robert Ogilvie-Grant (1895). 

Before reading what Mearns had to say about Brachypteryx, I did a quick internet search on “Brachypteryx,” “Brachypteryx montana,” and “Brachypteryx montana poliogyna.”  Most of the initial search results retrieved little information other than taxonomic hierarchy and records of bird sightings.  The best resource I found during my brief search was the Encyclopedia of Life (EOL) page for the Brachypteryx montana. From EOL I learned that the Brachypteryx montana is found in various parts of Asia, inhabiting high elevation montane forests, and often living and traveling on the forest ground.  I also learned what typical Brachypteryx montana poliogyna males and females look like.

When I finally read Mearns’s notes on Brachypteryx, I was delighted by his playful and informative description.  Mearns writes:

One will dart across the trail and alight in one of the tangles of brushwood and fallen timber that it delights to inhabit.  The instant it alights it hops to a lower level where its flitting tail appears for an instant like the parting twitch of a prarrie [sic] dog’s tail as it changes end and salutes as it disappears into its burrow.  One awaits in vain its reappearance; for the chances are in favor of its being far down the hillside inspecting the hollow of some decayed stump.  Most of my specimen have been taken in small traps baited for mammals with a [pinch?] of [?] usually placed in hollows of decayed trees or among cavities of rocks.  It is crepuscular, its sweet high notes shrilling up and down the scale at dusk, when it is much more apt to appear abroad than during the hours of sunshine.  I have never seen one more than a yard above the ground, on which it runs at an amazing pace.

Notes on Brachypterx, 1907, National Museum of Natural History, Division of Birds, SIA RU007083.	Specimen list of birds collected, 1907, National Museum of Natural History, Division of Birds, SIA RU007083.

Although briefer than the description EOL provides, this account contains a more colorful illustration of the Brachypterx’s tendancy to live and travel on the ground, a fact that is further highlighted when Mearns explains the necessity to use small mammal traps to capture specimens.  These notes also told me something I didn’t find in my internet searches:  the Brachypteryx is crepuscular—a creature most active in the twilight hours of dusk and dawn.  Finally, Mearns’s description of the Brachypteryx’s song motivated me to find this example.

Mearns lived another nine years after he granted Brachypterx the honor of being one of the most elusive birds. Did Mearns meet with other birds during his remaining years that presented him with even greater challenges?  Then there is also a question that begs to be asked—if Brachypterx was one of the most elusive birds, which was the most elusive?  Will we ever know which bird holds this highest honor?  If I find the answer, I’ll tell it to you.

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

By Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project

Near view of native vegetation on sand-steppe near Heidesheim, Germany, taken by Bohumil Shimek, 1914. Photograph documents geological and botanical observations. The children are not identified. SIA2012-3229.

 

 Anyone reading my blog posts has probably noticed I tend to include more photographs from the field books than images of text. I choose photographs because they often have more visual impact when I give an overview of a collection’s contents. Blogs are so short that I rely on the ability of a photograph to inspire an emotional reaction from the reader.

Photographs commonly straddle the line between the personal and profession side of the scientist. Usually the majority of detailed scientific content comes from the text, and photographs augment. To this end, I try to catalog the images in a collection last, so that I will have in mind locations and circumstances the photographer is documenting. In the case of Bohumil Shimek, I wish I had done the images first.

Shimek is an anomaly for me in several ways. He did not work at the Smithsonian; his specimens and field books came to the Institution after his demise. Also, Shimek recorded everything in his field books. Most scientists I’ve cataloged limited details to scientific documentation and personal observations, since field books were usually being sent back to the departments of Natural History. They would not usually include information about other pursuits. Shimek includes details about his other interests and other jobs in midst of his field work documentation. This meant finding notes about repairs for area elementary schools, land survey notes, and details about meetings relating to immigration rights, between details of observed geological formations and related vegetation. Given Shimek’s background in geology, zoology, and botany, his field notes make for fascinating snapshots of biodiversity, but they scattered among a lot of information that is not within the parameters of the Field Book Project.

Q macrocarpa var. depressa. Prairie border. S.W. corner of Lyon county, Iowa. SIA2012-3228.

His personal and professional focuses became a bit muddled for me. Ironically, his photographs are the most consistently, scientifically focused part of his collection. Most of his photographs are in one of four boxes, in groupings of eight, most with a description of the location, vegetation, and geology. I can’t begin to tell you how clear his work became when I started cataloging these!

[59] Wind gauge and unidentified field equipment on hillside. SIA2012-3232.

There is another reason I love these photographs so much. I grew up where Shimek did much of his field work. During my childhood, my family routinely drove 8 to 12 hours through the Midwest. I spent lot of time staring out the window of the car, looking at the landscape between Iowa and Missouri. My main focus was trying to determine how close we were to our destination, and save my mother from another “are we there yet.” I watched for any variation, including the groves of trees that dot the landscape foretelling of farm complexes, wind breaks, or rivers and creeks, as well as formations like the bluffs along the Missouri river or exposed limestone along the interstate heading to Kansas City. I never really had a good notion of why these changes occurred. Lo and behold many years later, working at the Smithsonian, I cataloged a scientist that studied and documented these very topics. And, in the course of it, I learned the geography of my childhood.

The Art of Describing What You See

By Emily Hunter, Field Book Project

Cover of Edward Palmer's field book from Durango, Mexico, 1906, Edward Palmer field notes from the Department of Botany, SIA Acc. 12-346.

As a field book cataloger, there are two types of field materials that I tend to come across the most: specimen lists and narrative field notes. Specimen lists are just that—lists of specimens collected in the field. I’m currently working on cataloging field books from the Department of Botany, so these include lists of plants collected in the field, usually with collector numbers (numbers assigned in the field by the collector) as well as name (scientific, if known at the time, or common if the specimen is to be identified later). Other information may be included as well, including the habitat the plant was found in, locality, date of collection, altitude, etc. Specimen lists are informative--they are the original source materials for catalog records of specimens.

Narrative field notes, however, are my favorite to catalog. They tend to be descriptive, allowing botany novices (such as myself) to get a visual picture of the collecting trip conditions, the route taken, the landscape and location, and the plants collected. Sometimes they read like diaries or journal entries; they describe daily activities and include reflections, thoughts, and opinions. I’ve found some collectors possess a real power of description. It seems to me, there is an art of using the English language to paint a visual picture and convey information to others or even to oneself (to remember at a later date).

As an undergraduate studying art history, the skill of written description was invaluable for relating the look and feel of a work of art. But this skill translates to the sciences as well. As we mentioned in a recent blog post on John Muir, detailed habitat descriptions can be invaluable for conservation efforts such as habitat reconstruction.

Two entries in Edward Palmer's field book from Durango, Mexico, 1906, Edward Palmer field notes from the Department of Botany, SIA Acc. 12-346.

Edward Palmer was particularly adept at description. Palmer was an ethnobotanist, who collected both plants and anthropological objects in Mexico, circa 1890-1910. While his handwriting was unique and his spelling and grammar a bit, ahem, unusual (punctuation was rare), his real talent was describing what he saw. Take, for example, this entry describing a plant on a trip to Durango, Mexico in 1906:

145. One of the finest blooming plants Grows in dence [sic] shade, base of mountain several long stems hanging about other plants at base some are two or three inches diameter + 25 or more feet long, flowers are cream at first then by age change to a mixture of snuff and orange the inside has bands of purple with light purple shading on each side

Can you picture it? It’s a brief entry, but Palmer hits on size, color, shape, maturity. He even throws in a mention of the plant’s superlative beauty. With a little help from the Smithsonian’s NMNH Department of Botany staff, I was able to read the determination written on the entry as Solandra guttata. I also found an image of the living plant, to compare to Palmer’s description. Check out the picture below!

Solandra guttata (Solanaceae) [Synonym: Swartzia guttata]. Photographer: Howard, R.A. Copyright Department of Botany, NMNH, Smithsonian Institution

Pretty good, huh? I think my old Art History professor would be proud.

For more on Edward Palmer, check out this site hosted by the National Museum of Natural History Department of Botany, and Smithsonian Institution Archives Record Unit 7442.

Who was Mrs. William Owen?

By Emily Hunter, Field Book Project

I recently cataloged a small field book by a “Mrs. William Owen”. I found this book unusual (and very interesting) for several reasons. First of all, the diminutive book contains entries on only 16 collected specimens, but the entries are incredibly rich and descriptive; I can almost hear her thoughts as she wrote them. Secondly, no years are included. No specific localities (beyond Guatemala) are written. And for the life of me, I could not find biographical information on this woman! Thirdly, her entries include a wealth of information on the native names and uses of plants. Uses of plants range from medicinal, to culinary, to bases for useful products and tools.

Title page and entries of field book by Mrs. Wm. Owen, Mrs. William Owen Field Notes from the Department of Botany, undated, SIA Acc. 12-345.

Take, for example, this entry:

Chu-che’ [Indian] This tree has no Spanish name. Its Indian name Chu-Che means bad smelling (Chu) tree (che’), because the branches when broken emit a strong pungent odor. The leaves of this tree after being wilted over embers are burned to the temples to relieve neuralgia. It grows like bamboo or cane putting up shoots from the root until 3 or 4 years old, when it becomes a gnarled and unattractive tree. Of the long straight shoots of the young tree the Indian makes his blow gun (pub-che’).

What a great deal of information Owen has provided in a short paragraph! She gives a detailed physical description of the plant, including how it looks at varying stages. Even more interesting is the information she includes regarding the use of the plants by native Guatemalans. No Latin name is given for this plant, but she has indicated the local language name. I especially love the fact that this tree is used for a blowgun.

Plant specimen entries by Mrs. Wm. Owen, Mrs. William Owen Field Notes from the Department of Botany, undated, SIA Acc. 12-345.

I wish I could find more information on this woman. Was she a botanist? Plant enthusiast? Ethnographer? What years did she work? (Her materials don’t have dates!) What brought her to Guatemala (assuming she emigrated there)?

When searching for biographical information on a “Mrs. William Owen” I found some materials on someone who studied Guatemalan folklore, and was married to Captain William Owen—Mrs. Mary Owen. There isn’t enough evidence to be sure it is the same person, but this is my favorite (unfounded) theory.

So, I will put this out there for all. Do you know who Mrs. William Owen was? Comment below!

Where are Heller's Field Books

By Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project

Taken during the Paul J. Rainey Expedition to British East Africa, 1911. Smithsonian Institution Archives. RU7179_Box6_F3_Heller09.

I recently cataloged the papers of Edmund Heller. He fascinated me from the beginning, partly because his range of travel rivaled my favorite invertebrate zoologist, Waldo Schmitt. When I started to work on his papers, I found characteristics that left me baffled. The contents and locations of his field books are scattered and compiled in places I did not expect. The longer I worked, the more his materials seemed a great example of the inspiration for the Field Book Project.

Who was Edmund Heller?

Heller was a naturalist who worked on expeditions for Stanford University, National Museum of Natural History, American Museum of Natural History, National Geographic Society, Yale University, and the Field Museum of Natural History in Chicago where he worked as a curator in zoology. He was later director of zoos in Milwaukee and San Francisco. He rarely spent more than a few years with any one institution and took part in several well publicized and popular expeditions at beginning of the twentieth century.

Taken during the Lincoln Ellsworth Expedition to Alberta and British Columbia in 1914, for which the Bureau of Biological Survey. Smithsonian Institution Archives. 1665_Image_RU7179_Box7_Hellers-15.

Edmund Heller at the Smithsonian

He first worked with the Smithsonian in 1909 when chosen as a naturalist for large mammals on the Smithsonian African Expedition under the command of Theodore Roosevelt. He went on several other expeditions representing the Smithsonian, including the Rainey African Expedition of 1911-1912 and the Smithsonian Cape-to-Cairo Expedition of 1919-1920.

"Narciso and Tomas," Peruvian guides and helpers packing the mules to go. The photo was taken by Edmund Heller while on the Peruvian Expedition of 1914-15, which was sponsored by Yale University and the National Geographic Society. Smithsonian Institution Archives. 94-12224.

Heller’s field books

Heller collected for a lot of different institutions, but nearly all of his resulting field books appear to be in departments of the Smithsonian. These include Heller’s field books from expeditions in Alaska with the Biological Survey; in Peru with Yale University and the National Geographic Society; in China with the American Museum of Natural History; in Russia with Paul J. Rainey; and possibly in Galapagos with Stanford University.

Heller’s expedition colleagues appear to have commonly given their field books to the institution the funded an expedition. Heller did not follow this pattern. He is a classic example of items-not-going-where-one-would-expect. I decided to do a little research to see where I found his field books compared to where I expected them to be. As you can see in the chart below, in many cases his field books’ homes do not correspond with the institution that houses the specimens collected.

Expedition Osgood Expedition Field Museum's African Expedition   Peru Expedition China Expedition Baja California Expedition

Expected Location Biological Survey    Field Museum Yale or National Geographic AMNH Field Museum

Location of notes UC Berkley Field Museum & SI SI SI & AMNH UC San Diego

As you can see, materials end up in unexpected places. The Field Book Project is creating a registry that will enable related materials in different repositories to, like the field books of Edmund Heller, be united online.

Happy Birthday to John Muir!

By Emily Hunter and Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project

John Muir with cane, by Francis M. Fritz [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Happy 174th Birthday, John Muir! The Field Book Project team is celebrating a day early; conservationist John Muir was born on April 21, 1838.

Who was John Muir? Muir was perhaps the most influential conservationist in the United States. Muir is credited by the National Park Service, Sierra Club, and many other sources with being the father of the U.S. National Parks. Have you ever enjoyed the natural splendor of Yosemite National Park or Sequoia National Park? If so, you’ve experienced one of the national treasures we have as a direct result of Muir’s efforts. John Muir campaigned tirelessly to establish national parks in order to preserve the pristine beauty of our country. He’s also the founding president of the Sierra Club.

In the spirit of Muir, we would like to take a moment to discuss conservation, and the role that field notes may be able to play in research on conserving and sustaining our natural environment.

Field notes often include an amazing variety of information that does not get reported in resulting publications. Over the last few years, historic field work and field books have been increasingly used by researchers for a number of conservation efforts including tracking changes in climate and bird migrations.

• Richard B. Primack, Professor of Biology at Boston University, is using information from a variety of sources including the journals of Henry David Thoreau, along with current field research, to reflect and predict changes in climate and biodiversity in the northeastern United States.
• The Christmas Bird Count, one of the longest running citizen science programs which collects and records individuals’ observations of wildlife, has been used to predict changes in bird migrations.
• Researchers at the Benthic Ecology Lab at Smithsonian Environmental Research Center (SERC) have used documentation of a biological survey along the coast of Woods Hole, Massachusetts (1911), to create a map showing the geographical distribution of species and habitats.

The Grizzly Giant, Mariposa Grove, Yosemite, California , 1861/printed after 1875, by Carleton E. Watkins, Smithsonian American Art Museum Museum, 1994.91.278

What about the field books that we are cataloging? The potential is there to use them in conservation work. According to Rusty Russell, Field Book Project Co-PI, the value may be in the descriptions and first hand observations that the field notes provide.

John Muir spent significant time documenting the natural wonders of Yosemite, including Mariposa Grove. His published words help the general reader visualize the beloved national park as seen in this quote from Our National Parks.

The more famous and better known Mariposa Grove, belonging to the state, lies near the southwest corner of the park, a few miles above Wawona. The sugar pine (Pinus Lambertiana) is first met in the park in open, sunny, flowery woods, at an elevation of about thirty-five hundred feet above the sea, attains full development at a height between five and six thousand feet, and vanishes at the level of eight thousand feet. In many places, especially on the northern slopes of the main ridges between the rivers, it forms the bulk of the forest, but mostly it is intimately associated with its noble companions, above which it towers in glorious majesty on every hill, ridge, and plateau from one extremity of the range to the other, a distance of five hundred miles, the largest, noblest, and most beautiful of all the seventy or eighty species of pine trees in the world, and of all the conifers second only to King Sequoia (page 109).

A field book of F. Raymond Fosberg documents the same locations but for a specialized audience. Take this entry, for example, which covers the same territory as Muir’s quote above.

Fosberg’s field notes, Yosemite National Park, 1969. From Raymond F. Fosberg field notes from the Department of Botany, SIA Acc. 12-040.

Here Fosberg is documenting what he sees. What looks like a list of plants is actually a source of valuable data. Fosberg is creating associations between specimens, and linking them to a specific date and time. Rusty Russell says, “he’s not just creating a relationship, he’s painting the picture.”

That kind of picture could be invaluable. Russell says that one way that field book information could be used is in planning habitat reconstruction. So, we at the Field Book Project wondered, “How else could this information be used”?

We are actively seeking examples of how field book notes are used in various types of research, including conservation. If you’d like to share how you use field work documentation, please leave a comment below or email Carolyn Sheffield at SheffieldC@si.edu.

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References:

Audubon Society. What are the Birds Telling Us About Global Warming? Retrieved April 9, 2012 from http://chapterservices.audubon.org/what-are-birds-telling-us-about-global-warming

Environmental Research Center. The 1911 Database. Retrieved April 9, 2012 from http://www.serc.si.edu/labs/benthic_ecology/community_ecology/accessdata.aspx

Muir, J. (1901). Our National Parks. Boston, New York : Houghton, Mifflin and Company. Retrieved April 18, 2012 from http://archive.org/details/nationalparksour00muirrich

Primack, R. B., & Miller-Rushing, A. J. (February 2012). Uncovering, Collecting, and Analyzing Records to Investigate the Ecological Impacts of Climate Change: A Template from Thoreau's Concord. BioScience. Vol. 62, No. 2. University of California Press. Retrieved April 9, 2012 from http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1525/bio.2012.62.2.10

Sierra Club. John Muir: A Brief Biography. Retrieved April 11, 2012 from http://www.sierraclub.org/john_muir_exhibit/life/muir_biography.aspx Smithsonian

 

Fosberg’s field notes, Yosemite National Park, 1969. From Raymond F. Fosberg field notes from the Department of Botany, SIA Acc. 12-040.

He Stands Out

By Sonoe Nakasone, Field Book Project

James A. Peters field notes, Mexico, 1949: notes on Pelamis platurus specimen.  Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 7175, Box 49, Folder 4, Image SIA2012-6407

 When I talk to others about the rich information within field notes, I am thinking of the field notes of James A. Peters.  As it happens, Peters’s field notes (Smithsonian Institution Archives RU007175) were one of the first collections I cataloged back in 2010.  Why has it taken me so long to write about Peters then?  “Why” indeed. 

Mostly narrative and diary-like, these notebooks contain overflowing accounts of specimen collecting, travel, and landscapes.  If you can get past my silly subheadings, you might begin to understand why these notes are exceptional.

The specimen is the thing

I have seen many examples of field notes with abundant specimen detail, yet Peters’s notes still rank among the most impressive.  For some entries, Peters goes so far as to include traced illustrations of species from cited publications accompanied by descriptions of a specimen collected.  Also typical of Peters are entries like this one from 28 February 1949:

I found three sceloporus under a single piece of bark on a large log about 3 feet above ground [...]. The center of the belly is light orange in 2, greenish in the 3^rd.  This light area is bordered in all 3 by a very bright orange.  The sides are black with greenish spots and strips.  They have more or less defined green dorsocatgal lines.

Above, Peters not only records information about the habitat of the specimens by noting exactly where they were found, he also very precisely notes colors and distinguishing marks.

James A. Peters field notes, Mexico, 1949: notes on Ctenosaura pectinata.  Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 7175, Box 49, Folder 4, Image SIA2012-6318	James A. Peters field notes, Mexico, 1949: traced illustration with description.  Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 7175, Box 49, Folder 4, Image SIA2012-6279.

Location, location, location

By including locality information at the head of nearly every journal entry, Peters instilled unrealistic expectations in me; I soon realized many other collectors were not so meticulous.  Further (often more granular) locality information was also available within the journal entry.  His entry for 31 July 1950 is an excellent example of this:  “Coalcoman, Michaocan” is included at the head of the entry; within the body, Peters writes, “shot one [Ctenosaura pectinata] at foot of Sierra de Guzman, about ½ mi SE of Coalcoman.”  Peters must have understood the value of locality information to be so exact.  One of his books even contains a Gazetteer of localities with brief descriptions.

Seeing the forests and the trees

Recording information about the surrounding environment during field work is important for understanding the types of habitats in which specimens live and thrive and can provide future generations with a historic picture of that landscape. Many of Peters’s field notes include such observations. On 27 June 1950, Peters writes:

The thorn scrub begins about 50-75 feet back of the beach line, and continues wherever it has been allowed to survive clear back to the town of Coahuayana, which is quite low.  I walked west of C. as far as the river which is about 4-5 kilometers, […] it is all this same type of scrub.  There are a few fig trees, quite a bit of organ pipe cactus and also a lot of the flat, round cactus, which was in bloom (ocotillo?).

The use of distance measurements and lists of vegetation above paints a vivid image of this locality.  Although Peters was a herpetologist, he even attempts to identify one type of cactus.  This flowing account continues for nearly three pages before any mention of a herpetological specimen.

Adding to his rich descriptions of environment, Peters also often includes information on elevation, weather, air temperatures, and water temperatures, so that an accurate idea of the condition in which specimens were collected is known. 

James A. Peters running notes, Mexico: description, 27 and 28 February 1949.  Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 7175, Box 49, Folder 4, Image SIA2012-6213

After nearly two years working for this Project, Peters remains one of my favorites to use as an example of field notes.  His patience and diligence in recording so many useful details of his collecting trip are impressive, and I hope that young naturalists can not only benefit from the data Peters recorded, but also learn from his comprehensive style of note taking.

UNLUCKY: Disasters in the Field

By Emily Hunter, Field Book Project

On this Friday the 13th, I would like to bring your attention to some of the very unlucky circumstances that have afflicted scientists collecting in the field.

Field work can be exhilarating for the committed collector, but sometimes a series of unfortunate events can shake even the strongest of wills. Bugs, heat, cold, earthquakes, volcanoes, fires, flood, illness, and (unexpected) animals have all been known to color collecting trips. Field work can range from a bit uncomfortable to downright dangerous.

Ellsworth Paine Killip’s field notes from 1929 in Peru tell of an incident when the house he was boarding in caught on fire. He writes,

“Sun. July 7. While I was working, the arriero watching me, we heard a roar like a blast furnace door being opened. Rushed into the bedroom there where the presses were and found everything in flames, the fire creeping up the bamboo wall. The whole house was of bamboo, it should be said. Fortunately, there was a big bucket of water in the kitchen and this we poured on the fire, children bringing up additional water from a stream some distance away. Soon we had it under control but what a mess our plants were! Straps, ropes, curtains, and press-ends all burnt.”

Fortunately, most of the specimens came out ok, as did Killip himself.

Killip's field notes, July 6-7, 1929, Ellsworth Paine Killip field notes from the Department of Botany, SIA Acc. 12-053.

Alice M. Cornman describes a scene in which flooding rains caused her and fellow scientists and assistants to spend a wet and unprepared night (with no supplies!) in the Panamanian rain forest. They had been so caught up in collecting ferns they didn’t realize how hard it was raining. Once the group reached the river, they found it impassable. Cornman writes, 

"…we tried several times to cross, wading into water above our waists, all holding hands, but the current was too swift, and we were finally convinced that a night in the jungle was a lesser of two evils.”

It gets worse! She continues,  

“The sand-flies and mosquitoes were so numerous that we could not have slept, even if we had been comfortable.”

Edward Palmer had an unfortunate accident in 1906 while attempting to collect a succulent plant in Mexico. The entry for this specimen (Echeveria, collector number 248) reads:

“4 plants from holes in the side of box canon [sic]…broke from plant in the effort to secure it I fell and received several contusions and am injured [+ sprained] with left hand.”

It certainly takes fortitude to scale a canyon in pursuit of a plant (though echeveria are a favorite of mine). Palmer doesn’t add any other details of his injury, though it can be assumed he recovered quickly as he made several other collections soon after.

Edward Palmer's field notes, Mexico, 1906. Edward Palmer field notes from the Department of Botany, SIA Acc. 12-346.

Perhaps, unluckiest of all was William Ashbrook Kellerman, who was infected with Malaria while collecting in Guatemala in 1908. The trip ended up being his last, as he died from the illness upon returning to the United States. The Smithsonian has the last field book Kellerman kept on that fateful trip.

So there you have it. I know that I’m guilty of romanticizing the exotic trips of scientists collecting specimens in the field, but it’s no simple feat. It takes a lot of work, and perhaps, a bit of luck.

High Spirits on the High Seas

By Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project

Cover of J. B. Henderson's book discussing the Tomas Barrera Cuban Expedition, 1914.  The book is available through Biodiversity Heritage Library and Interet Archive.

 

 

I am always happy when I can find a published text about an expedition I am cataloging. These often help clarify spellings and handwriting legibility issues with locations or types of specimens collected. One might wonder why we catalog the field books if there are published texts. The published texts may tell the stories of expeditions and travels, but archives hold the unedited, “behind the scenes” accounts. This usually means a plethora of details that are summarized or glossed over in the published version.  Sometimes this includes discussions of relationships between the expedition participants.

A while back I cataloged the Henderson Family Papers, 1868-1923, (RU 7075) which includes a journal from the Tomas Barrera Cuban Expedition (1914). The expedition was relatively short in duration and focused on collecting birds and marine life including mollusks. The journal was written by J.B. Henderson, Jr., who was an assistant on the voyage. His account vividly describes interactions and disagreements between expedition participants. Field books sometimes touch on personal exchanges, observations of contemporary events; Henderson’s were particularly candid. In the first few pages of the log book he wrote:

 “The ferocious conversations of all, especially of the “fish expert” [Manuel Lesmes], is amusing if one is feeling well, but if not, it is irritating. The most violent conversations and heated arguments are started at once by a reference to sharks or to amphibians or snakes which awaken memories of terrible tragedies in the mind of the fish man. He is an ignorant ass whose knowledge of natural history is based upon the teachings of the newspapers and whose arguments are founded wholly upon the hearsay of the superstitious.”

Henderson published an account the voyage, The cruise of the Tomas Barrera; the narrative of a scientific expedition to western Cuba and the Colorados reefs, with observations on the geology, fauna, and flora of the region (1916). The text provided an interesting juxtaposition of his personal thoughts and public account. His comments are not much different in tone.

“The subject of sharks was one that always could be relied upon to precipitate a discussion on board that assumed as it progressed all the outward signs of an anarchistic rally. Men of the Latin race enter upon arguments with an earnestness and amount of feeling that perplexes the Anglo-Saxon. Is it not likely, he asks aside, that these men will do each other violence?

 Our fish expert (Lesmes) cherished gruesome memories of sharks and he was positive that they are always very dangerous. His eyes gleam with apparent rage; with quick threatening gesture he suddenly approaches his disputant and hurls at him an argument like canister hot from the cannon's mouth. The other staggers, but recovering from the charge and reinforced by others who rush into the wordy affray, he delivers back an argumentative broadside and the battle is on. We of the north glance at each other apprehensively. Something really should be done to quell this riot before our fine crew is destroyed or we ourselves, as innocent bystanders, shall be injured. Then the cook announces that coffee is ready and the dove of peace flutters in and the shark swims out.” (p. 48)

 Throughout each account of the expedition, there is a humorous if frustrated tone. Expeditions, especially at sea, can be intense experiences depending on the combination of personalities. This expedition appears to have been just that, though with some humorous moments.

For those of you looking for some new reading material, Henderson’s published account has been digitized and is available through the Internet Archive.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fishing without a Net: The Journals of Constantine Samuel Rafinesque

By Tad Bennicoff, Reference Archivist, Smithsonian Institution Archives

Cover of journal kept by Rafinesque on his trip from Philadelphia to Kentucky, 1818. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 7250, Box 1, Folder 3, Image SIA2012-6042

When the folks involved with the Field Book Project http://www.mnh.si.edu/rc/fieldbooks/ asked me to contribute to this blog, I was uncertain of how to approach the task.  The study of science and its many disciplines have never been one of my strengths.  My background is in History, which has led me into a much enjoyed career as a Reference Archivist.  Thus, I resolved to focus on the historic significance of the field notes held by the National Museum of Natural History and the Smithsonian Institution Archives. One of the frustrations of a Reference Archivist, especially one who has the good fortune of being surrounded by collections as diverse as those held by the Smithsonian, is that there is little opportunity to really immerse one’s self into a particular collection.  The upside of course is the variety of topics and research I am permitted to pursue.  Such research, however, is almost entirely dictated by the questions we receive from the public.  To this end, I was recently tasked with reviewing Record Unit 7250: C. S. (Constantine Samuel) Rafinesque Papers, 1815-1834 and undated; the finding aid for this collection is available online. 

Constantine Samuel Rafinesque was a Naturalist and Philologist born on October 22, 1783, in Constantinople (a brief biography is available on the University of Evansville faculty webpage).  In the autumn of 1818 Rafinesque undertook a trip from Philadelphia to Kentucky, where he stayed with John James Audubon for eight days.  During his travels south, Rafinesque kept a journal of his plant and animal observations.  This journal is part of Record Unit 7250, and it is remarkable.  Nearly two hundred years old, the journal is composed of notes (in French) and sketches of plants, shells, fish, and mammals. The sketches are not of Audubonian quality, but then again, they presumably were completed in the field and essentially are a snapshot of select specimens. 

Rafinesque’s drawings of tortoises observed along the Ohio River, 1818. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 7250, Box 1, Folder 3, Image SIA2012-6075.

Upon applying white cotton gloves to my hands and opening Rafinesque’s leather bound journal, carefully turning each weathered page, I began to contemplate, historically, the nature of Rafinesque’s travels.  There were of course no automobiles, so transportation must have been either by horse, perhaps a horse drawn carriage, or by foot.  Furthermore, there were few roads and presumably even fewer maps.  In fact, Rafinesque drafted his own maps, some of which are noted in the journal. 

Map drawn by Rafinesque during his travels from Philadelphia to Kentucky, 1818. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 7250, Box 1, Folder 3, Image SIA2012-6086.

Technology that we so easily take for granted was absent.  There were no cameras to document observations, no laptop or tablet computers to record thoughts, no cell phones, no ballpoint pens, no electric lights, no water resistant rain gear, etc.  I can only image that such scientific research was indeed laborious. 

Rafinesque’s drawings of fish observed during trip from Philadelphia to Kentucky, 1818. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 7250, Box 1, Folder 3, Image SIA2012-6107.

Frankly, I find the lack of our modern technology in the Rafinesque journal to be quite appealing, for if there had been digital cameras and iPads, we almost certainly would not have Rafinesque’s hand-written notes and sketches.  Historical documents have a way of transporting the reader to the moment in time in which they were created, and as I studied the journal, I marveled not only at its contents, but also the journey it has traveled from the untamed wilderness of 18^th century America to the custom made archival box and climate controlled facility where it resides today.

Inner cover of journal kept by Rafinesque on his trip from Philadelphia to Kentucky, 1818. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Record Unit 7250, Box 1, Folder 3, Image SIA2012-6043.

The Rafinesque notebooks continue to be consulted by researchers and scholars, a testament to the significance of their contents.  The particular journal described in this post is in the process of being digitized, and may soon be available for researchers to consult through the wonders of technology Rafinesque never could have imagined.  Based upon the time, effort, and care Rafinesque invested in recording his observations, I suspect he would applaud not only that his research continues to be valued by scholars, but also it may soon be available to researchers around the globe.

Other Field Book Project articles on Rafinesque:

http://nmnh.typepad.com/fieldbooks/2011/10/the-hoax.html

http://nmnh.typepad.com/fieldbooks/2011/10/trick-or-treat.html

Cleofe Calderon: Rememberance through Field Notes

By Rusty Russell, Co-Investigator, Field Book Project

Calderon journal entry for April 21, 1976, Department of Botany, Natural Museum of Natural History. from SIA Acc. 12-005.

Two of the most dynamic words in the history of science are “explore” and “discover”.  Whether in the field or in the lab, exploration begets discovery, both of which feed the powerful drive of scientists to learn.  So it was with Cleofé E. Calderon.

In 1851, the French botanist Adolphe- Théodore Brongniart described a new genus and species of bambusoid grass, Anomochloa marantoidea, from a specimen being grown in a Paris garden.  The seeds from which this plant was raised had an uncertain origin, but were believed to have been collected in coastal Brazil.  Although additional plants were cultivated from the original, this species was never again seen in the wild for 125 years.  However in 1976, after an earlier but fruitless attempt to relocate this rarity, Smithsonian botanist Cleo Calderon and her Brazilian colleague Talmon S. dos Santos were foraging the understory of cacao plants in the eastern state of Bahia when they encountered the elusive Anomochloa. I am intimately familiar with this story for reasons I’ll explain shortly so, in honor of Women’s History Month, I wanted to tell this tale.

In the months preceding the U.S. Bicentennial celebration, Tom Soderstrom, Cleo Calderon and I set out on a ten-week journey to study and collect bamboo in the mata Atlantica of eastern Brazil, an historic refugium and, therefore, a rich and diverse region for bamboo species.  Operating out of CEPEC, a cacao research center between the towns of Ilheus and Itabuna, it was decided to form two teams in order to maximize our coverage of the area.  Tom, I and two CEPEC assistants would go one way, while Cleo, Talmon and two others would proceed elsewhere. The makeup of these teams was not a surprise to me because, upon beginning my career at the Smithsonian a year earlier, I immediately found myself in Cleo’s bad graces for assuming that her role was more clerical than scientific. Suffice to say that I paid for this error.  It was an unforgiveable mistake, so … she never forgave me (sigh). But we maintained a cordial relationship involving minimal conversation.  However, I came to greatly respect her research diligence, her work ethic, and her tremendous contribution to Botany through her collecting and publication record.  The grass genus Calderonella and many grass species are named in her honor.

Back in Brazil, each foray lasted about ten days after which we would reconvene at CEPEC to share our bounty, and return to our hotel in Itabuna to share our stories.  Anomochloa was always in the back of our mind as we searched for and collected hundreds of bamboos and smaller bambusoid grasses. On this trip, Cleo was inexaustible according to Talmon, himself a big strapping field veteran.  Cleo had stopped smoking the year before and commented often about her improved ability to tromp through the field and climb hills without losing her breath. Then, at the end of our penultimate trip, Tom and I were relaxing at the hotel having returned a day early (I’m sure there was cerveza nearby), when we recognized the beat up black jeep roaring into town with horns blaring.  Tom understood immediately.

When I learned that Ana Tkabladze, an intern on the Field Book Project, was digitizing Cleo’s field books, I got curious about her record of that trip and, specifically, that historic discovery.  First of all, Cleo was fluent in Spanish, her native language as a full-bred, soccer-loving Argentinian, as well as English and Portuguese.  Most Brazilians did not even recognize her accent.  So, as I began to read her 1976 journal, I was struck with how seamlessly she moved through all three languages, sometimes in the same daily entry.  Navigating her field book is, therefore, a bit of a challenge.  I thumbed ahead to April 21^st, anxious to read her account of the rediscovery of Anomochloa, expecting to find multiple exclamation marks, asterisks or smiley faces.  Nope.  Collector No. 2381, date, location, distances from landmarks, elevation, and photo numbers, all faithfully recorded per usual.  Only one thing distinguished this record.  Cleo indicated (n.sp.?) the possibility of this being a new species.  Ha!  She didn’t assume that she had rediscovered A. marantoidea, but considered the possibility that it was a second, unknown species.  She had kept an open mind.

Cleo passed away in 2007.  Her research relationship with Tom Soderstrom was such that, shortly before he died in 1987, she had left the Smithsonian, never to collect or publish again.  But like so many other stories of exploration and discovery, Cleo Calderon’s exploits live on through her collections and field notes.  And in our memory.

For a picture of Cleofe Calderon, see her obituary in this issue of Bamboo Science & Culture: http://www.bamboo.org/publications/e107_files/downloads/ABSJournal-vol21.pdf

Mary Agnes Chase goes to Brazil (and Flickr)

By Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project

SIA2009-4227. Photograph taken during Mary Agnes Chase’s field work on Pico das Agulhas Negras in Itatiaia National Park [Parque Nacional de Itatiáia], in Brazil.

The Field Book Project has made of a point of posting quarterly flickr sets, to highlight some of the great hidden treasures we catalog. In the honor of Women’s History Month, I would like to announce our newest set, featuring images of Mary Agnes Chase and her field work.

During the 1920’s and 30’s Mary Agnes Chase conducted field work in the mountains of Brazil collecting grasses now housed in the Department of Botany Herbarium, National Museum of Natural History. Much of her time in the field is documented in correspondence to A. S. Hitchcock and photograph albums she compiled that are now part of Smithsonian Institution Archives Record Unit 229 and Mary Agnes Chase Field Books, 1906-1959 in the National Museum of Natural History, Department of Botany. During her time in Brazil, Chase wrote to Hitchcock discussing challenges, progress, and observations of local life. Chase was a woman of strong opinions and wit, as you will see in the quotes shared below.

 SIA2009-4229. Photograph taken during Mary Agnes Chase’s field work in the mountains of Brazil.

 The first quotes are from Chase’s chronicle of her excursion to Serra do Caparaó (November 19, 1929).  During the trip, the trail and overnight camping were made more difficult by persistent rain.

 “We were to camp in at a cave. We reached it about 4:30. It looked very inviting at first, being dry, until the guide commented on the pulgas (fleas) then I saw that the dusty earth was alive. I got back into the rain and began to collect while the guide burned dry palm leaves over the ground. I went back and warned Mrs. M as they came up. It was raining hard and I supposed we would have to stand the surviving fleas.”(page 7)

 “Serra de Gramina [sic] which I climbed with the Rolfs was the only rain forest I had seen before. Everything was covered with ferns, from little filmies(?) to tree ferns. It was wonderfully lovely in spite of the discomfort and weariness. The trail had not been used for two years, the guide said, and he had to do a lot of cutting.” (page 9)

 

SIA2012-3336a. Photograph taken by Mary Agnes Chase, while climbing Itatiáia in Brazil.

Chase goes on to describe preparations for the trip up Caparaó, and her struggles to find local guides and staff, recounting the men who refused to assist, stating their belief that if the trip was difficult for men they knew, it would be impossible for women. Chase was a woman of unusual energy and endurance. Despite being in her fifties at the time of her ascent, she climbed several of Brazil’s peaks during her field work throughout the decade. The field work proved challenging, but she persevered with good humor, as shown in the recounting below when she and a female participant reached one the campsites during the climb.

 “We struggled out of the bamboo and saw the men resting on the camps. I shouted for joy and old Antonio grinned and said something about “muito(?) courageus” for senhoras to make that ascent. He said no women had ever done it before and very few men.” (page 11)

 The last quote I’d like to share exemplifies the humor that was typical of Chase. It was taken from Chase’s letter to A.S. Hitchcock, from Brazil in December 21, 1929:

“The summit was almost as rough and finding nothing up there I hadn’t found climbing up I stepped and slid downward to the more open campo near the base, getting in a drop on saccharoides group, not saccharoides itself and a few other things. Knowing my capacity for getting lost I told myself I could not get lost this time with the mountains ridge on one hand and river on the other.”

 Publications about Mary Agnes Chase over the decades have often focused on her dedication to her work, sometimes overshadowing her many other qualities and interests. Late in her life a story was commonly written in several articles about her. The story said that when meeting new people, she would ask "and what grasses do you work on?" If the person didn’t answer in the affirmative, the conversation came to an abrupt end. Chase’s ability to laugh at herself sharply contradicts the characterization of Chase as a serious woman only interested in her botanical specimens. It is this and many other qualities that make Chase a fascinating subject.

To see more of Chase’s images, see her Flickr set.

 Sherwood, John. (January 12, 1977). “Notes on Gentle People and Their Honest Love. “ The Washington Star.

 National Museum of Natural History. (1978). The Magnificent Foragers :  Smithsonian Explorations in the Natural Sciences.  Smithsonian Institution, Washington DC. p. 24.