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| Excavation of Dinosaur National Monument Quarry, 1923, SIA2011-1419, RU 424 Box 7 Lantern Slide Box 22RU 424 Box 7 Lantern Slide Box 22. |
Friday, 06 April 2012
Wednesday, 04 April 2012
Fishing without a Net: The Journals of Constantine Samuel Rafinesque
By Tad Bennicoff, Reference Archivist, Smithsonian Institution Archives
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.
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.
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.
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 18th century America to the custom made archival box and climate controlled facility where it resides today.
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
Tuesday, 03 April 2012
Friday, 30 March 2012
Cleofe Calderon: Rememberance through Field Notes
By Rusty Russell, Co-Investigator, Field Book Project
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 21st, 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
Monday, 26 March 2012
Mary Agnes Chase goes to Brazil (and Flickr)
By Lesley Parilla, Field Book Project
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.
Friday, 23 March 2012
Reading Sarah McGrath’s May 1834 Herbarium: Botanical Study at Science Hill Female Academy
Jessica C. Linker, University of Connecticut
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Science Hill Female Academy Records, The Filson Historical Society, Louisville, KY. |
I began my professional work – exploring women’s historical relationship to scientific practice – through a quirk of geography; I grew up in the same town as Almira Lincoln Phelps, the famous nineteenth-century botanist, and have spent the last decade chasing her across time and space in order to sate my curiosity. What circumstances had permitted her to become a scientist? Who had taught and encouraged her? At first, Phelps seemed an anomaly. Yet, in tracing Phelps’s teachers and students, I discovered a widespread culture of American women engaged with science. By the time I opened Sarah McGrath’s herbarium at the Filson Historical Society in Kentucky, I knew I wanted to write about the various ways women practiced science between 1720 and 1860. So I have sneezed my way through many volumes of dried plants hoping to reconstruct botanical pedagogy at female academies via a close reading of these documents.
McGrath created her herbarium while attending Science Hill Female Academy, a female boarding school located in Shelbyville, Kentucky. Julia A. Hieronymus Tevis founded the academy in 1825; it became a feeder institution for Wellesley College by the early twentieth century. As may be gleaned from its name, Science Hill offered a cutting-edge program in the natural sciences, which successfully produced hundreds of scientifically-literate graduates before 1860. Typically, coursework consisted of chemistry, botany, and natural philosophy, but Tevis also offered specialized training in rotating topics that complemented scientific lectures held at local universities and lyceums. In the 1840s and 1850s, these topics ranged from ornithology to galvanism.
It is difficult to reconstruct the classroom experience in the absence of explicit commentary, but McGrath’s May 1834 herbarium reveals much about how botany was taught at Science Hill. Field work was encouraged: McGrath collected thirty three specimens of both cultivated and wild plants, all but two of which were identified by class, order, genus and species.
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Rosa parviflora. Science Hill Female Academy Records, The Filson Historical Society, Louisville, KY. |
The recorded classes and orders indicate that McGrath identified her plants using the older, Linnaean taxonomic hierarchies. In contrast to the newer natural system, which structured botanical taxonomy around genetic relationships, the artificial Linnaean system grouped plants by the number of pistils or stamens a flower possessed. It was not uncommon for girls to learn the artificial system before the natural system; Almira Phelps believed the relative simplicity of Linnaean taxonomy made botany more accessible to female students. In lecture, McGrath would have learned plants’ reproductive systems so she could determine class and order by counting plant parts, then would have used a descriptive index to identify the plant’s binomial name, given as Genus species. These indexes required fluency in botanical Latin, a bastardized form of classical Latin invented to create a universal terminology for describing plants. To identify Baptisia tinctoria (Wild Indigo), for example, McGrath needed to pick out the following description from all the others listed in class Diandria, order Monogynia by comparing them to her dried specimen:
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Baptisia tinctoria – transcription of botanical description appears below. Science Hill Female Academy Records, The Filson Historical Society, Louisville, KY. |
"Very glabrous and branching: leaves ternate, subsessile; leaflets wedge obovate, round obtuse stipules obsolete, oblong, acute much shorter than petioles; racemes terminal, legumes ovate, long stiped."
These technical terms would have been explained in class, but if McGrath forgot their meanings, she could check definitions in her text book, which was carried afield with her. The specific language of the Baptisia tinctoria description indicates that McGrath probably used an early edition of Amos Eaton’s Manual of Botany or Almira Phelps’s Familiar Lectures on Botany to identify her plants.
In addition to taxonomy, students were taught how to preserve their specimens. Once collected, plants were stored between sheets of absorbent paper as they dried; drying time depended on the thickness and moistness of the plant. Flowers were opened to expose pistils and stamens before being pressed, such that descriptive identification could be verified by the dried specimen. McGrath used a simple mounting method: she cut slits in her album’s pages to form loops that would hold each plant’s stem in place. Blossoms were ephemeral, so seeking specific specimens required time to search and foreknowledge of a plant’s preferred environment. Plants needed to be pressed within a small window of time to prevent withering, or uprooted and carried home in a wet bladder or sphagnum moss.
To summarize: collecting, identifying and preserving specimens could be incredibly time consuming. Creating even a small volume of plants required both dedication and training. My plea as a historian would be this: do not dismiss women’s herbaria as decorative albums of pressed plants or mere hobby. They are, in fact, concrete evidence of women’s long-standing interest and skill in botany.
The author would like to thank the Filson Historical Society for the use of their images.
Monday, 19 March 2012
Women & Botany
By Emily Hunter, Field Book Project
For women interested in science in the 19th and early 20th centuries, botany was the most accessible field to enter, but by no means was it easy. The waning Victorian period had placed an emphasis on women’s role at the center of the home, precluding most scientific pursuits. As an endeavor related to natural theology, however, the study of plants was viewed as an acceptable hobby for Victorian (and Christian) young women.
Botanical field work was also more open to women because, unlike in zoology, it could be conducted without handling weapons or killing animals (seen as a male domain). Views of the female sex may have limited chances for engaging in robust field work or traveling abroad, but women found opportunities to collect plants in their own backyards.
Many women pursued botany in this way. They started in-home herbariums, educated children on botany, and even joined professional associations.
As botany became more professionalized (about the mid 1800s) though, it became increasingly male-dominated. Because women were less likely to receive a formal education, they had a difficult time gaining professional employment and recognition.
While researching for this post, I was disappointed that I couldn’t find comprehensive (or sometimes any) biographical information for the women in our field book collections. Collecting under a male colleague or husband’s name may be to blame, or it may be that precious little is written about them. Still harder was finding images for many female botanists.
Here is what I did find. The Field Book Project is working to catalog the field notes of at least eight women botanists, including those highlighted below.
Josephine Milligan, collected circa 1889
Josephine M. Milligan’s Catalog of Plants, undated.
Josephine Mason Milligan collected throughout the United States, but particularly in her home state of Illinois. She kept a home herbarium of wildflowers of Central Illinois which she later donated to the Smithsonian Institution after her death in 1911. She was an active member of numerous professional societies, including the Jacksonville Natural History Society and the Microscopical Society. She was a founding member of the Jacksonville Sorosis, a society of women who studied and discussed literature, science, and contemporary issues.
M. Alice Cornman, collected circa 1917-1918
M. Alice Cornman’s work with ferns began with writing descriptions and copying data for botanist Ellsworth P. Killip. Eventually, this led to collecting plants herself in Panama and Guatemala. Modestly discussing her own work, Cornman writes, “…while my descriptions often lacked scientific terms, they were descriptive.”
Reading her (probably unpublished) essay, “Collecting Ferns in Panama,” I was taken by Cornman’s humble account of her own budding appreciation for plants. She begins,
“I want to tell you a little of how I became interested in ferns, scientifically, for of course I had always loved ferns just as ferns, but the little brown spots on the under side of the frons, you have probably noticed them, did not appeal to me, they seemed to detract from the beauty of the ferns.”
Approaching the plants at first with an aesthetic eye, Cornman learned through her assistance to Killip that the “little brown dots” were sori, with complex patterns and functions. Thus was the beginning of her fascination with botany.
Velva Elaine Rudd, collected circa 1949-1999
Velva E. Rudd served as a curator in the Department of Botany, U.S. National Herbarium from 1959 to 1973. A legume specialist, she researched and published extensively on various tropical species of Fabaceae. The Mexican legume genus Ruddia is named for her.
Field notes of Velva E. Rudd.
In addition to these, the Smithsonian also has the field notes of:
- Cleofe Calderon
- Mary Agnes Chase
- Alice Carter Cook
- Mrs. William Owen
- Nina Prey
While I don’t personally know a woman botanist, a few of my closest female friends are scientists. Through listening to their experiences, I have learned that it still requires great fortitude and determination to succeed in a male-dominated discipline. Here’s to women botanists and all women who have fought and continue to fight to do what they love and to contribute to the advancement of knowledge.
This post is part of a series celebrating Women’s History Month. Stay tuned for more, and check out related posts on women in science on The Bigger Picture.
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References:
Bassett, P. D. (1925). The Jacksonville Sorosis organized: Founded November 30th, 1868. Journal of the Illinois State Historical Society (1908-1984), 18(1), 209-212.
Bonta, M. M. (1995). American women afield: Writings by pioneering women naturalists. College Station: Texas A&M University.
Gianquitto, T. (2007). “Good observers of nature”: American women and the scientific study of the natural world, 1820-1885. Athens: University of Georgia Press.
Kohlstedt, S. G. (1978). From the Periphery: American Women in Science, 1830-1880. Signs, 4(1), 81-96.
Wednesday, 14 March 2012
Brief Notes on the Not So Brief Career of Doris Cochran
By Sonoe Nakasone, Field Book Project
Why should Doris Cochran receive only brief notes? One, others have documented her career better than I can here. Two, I wanted to highlight Cochran, but unfortunately, the Smithsonian Institution Archives (SIA) does not have many of Cochran’s field notes. As this blog focuses on field note related topics, the lack of Cochran field notes is problematic; I can only briefly touch on the few materials at SIA regarding Cochran’s field research.
Women have struggled to gain acceptance and equality in the sciences and many other arenas, which is why we celebrate the history of women at least once a year during the month of March. Doris Cochran was no exception to the number of women at the Smithsonian who fought to advance in their careers. “The Clutter Museum” author Leslie M-B carefully documents the difficulties Cochran faced in lobbying for her due status and pay at the Smithsonian in this 2006 article. (Leslie M-B’s article is a must read.)
The SIA collection “Doris Mable Cochran Papers, circa 1891-1968” contains several typescript drafts for publications, correspondence, and notes on specimens that other people collected. Cochran’s long SI career began in 1919 before she completed her Masters in Zoology. There is a lot of other people’s “stuff” in Cochran’s collection, probably because she was first hired as the trusted aid to Leonhard Stejneger, who headed the Division of Reptiles and Batrachians, then Assistant Curator in 1927, Associate Curator in 1942, then acting head of the Division after Stejneger’s death in 1943. I hoped to find field notes from either of her field trips to South America (1935 and 1962-1963) with noted Brazilian herpetologists Adolpho and Bertha (Adolpho’s daughter) Lutz. Fortunately, SIA has a travelogue from her 1962-1963 trip containing natural history notes and references to herpetological specimens collected. Also included are frog photographs from her 1962-3 trip, an essay summarizing her earlier South American collecting trip in 1935, and an essay entitled “Collecting Frogs in Brazil” (ca. 1935).
The 1962-3 travelogue documents Cochran’s National Science Foundation funded trip to visit museums in Brazil and Colombia and collect frog specimens, building on the collections she made in 1935. There’s a slight possibility Cochran did not write the travelogue. The small, leather bound volume was given to Cochran about a month before her trip, but the entries often refer to “Doris”: either Cochran liked to refer to herself in the third person, or the travelogue belonged to someone else. Whether or not the travelogue is Cochran’s, it is invaluable for its itinerary information, event highlights, and descriptions of surrounding flora and fauna. The photos of frogs from this trip, although not labeled with species names, are also valuable documents of Cochran’s field work.
Cochran’s essay about her 1935 trip to South America, although not field notes, contains a first-hand account of a collecting event. The essay provides names of collecting localities, names of accompanying collectors (such as Joaquim Venancio), and notes on the frogs, new genera and species of fish, and other biological specimens collected. In Cochran’s “Collecting Frogs in Brazil,” she delved deeper into the 1935 trip by including names of specific specimens collected and anecdotes describing the circumstances in which the specimens were collected.
As Leslie M-B notes, by the very end of Cochran’s career, she was finally promoted to her desired pay grade, but did not receive the title she lobbied for. Yet, Cochran didn’t seem to let such persistent prejudice affect her work. She continued to work until her forced retirement, one month before her death.
Monday, 12 March 2012
Flash! Lesser Frigate-Bird Egg
Lesser frigate-bird egg, Jarvis Island, circa 1961-1973. SIA2011-1361. Photographer: David L. Pearson, a researcher working with the Pacific Ocean Biological Survey Program.
Wednesday, 07 March 2012
Will it Bend?
By Anna Friedman, Conservator, Field Book Project
My latest treatment was on Louis Forniquet Henderson’s journal from 1895. Over the decades, the original binding on Henderson’s journal began to deteriorate and was sent to be library bound, which provided the notes a very sturdy structure for sitting on a library shelf.
I have no way of knowing when in their 117 year history these volumes were rebound, but when these volumes came to the SIA conservation lab this month, their 117 year old paper had become brittle, and the stiff and sturdy library bindings enclosing them were not flexible, causing the brittle pages to crack when trying to open the book.
Photo of Henderson Library Bound Journal Before Treatment (closed)
Book bindings are a balance between support and flexibility. Bindings need to be strong enough to keep the pages protected, and flexible enough to allow the pages to open. On one side of the spectrum are Asian style bindings, where extremely flexible long-fiber papers are tightly bound with sewing that stabs through the spine edge of the volume, immobilizing the spine of the book entirely. Asian style bindings have zero flexibility in the spine, which is balanced by the flexibility of the paper. That combination allows the Asian style bindings to open. On the opposite end of the spectrum from Asian style bindings are children’s board books where the only thing that flexes is the binding, as the board “pages” do not bend at all.
Here in the United States, we are more familiar with Western-style “codex” bindings. These books have folded groups of pages that are sewn through the fold, the spines coated with adhesive and layers of cloth or paper, and are protected by hard covers. Often, modern bindings are now adhesive bound instead of sewn, but the stresses on the spines of codex bindings are similar. In western bindings, the stress and flexibility are more equally shared between the binding and the pages, as western papers are less flexible than Asian papers, but the spines of western bindings are considerably more flexible than their Asian counterparts.
Photo of Henderson 1895 Open before treatment
In this case, the paper in the journal had become incredibly brittle since it had been rebound. The pages would crack in the middle when even gentle pressure was applied to them. The library binding was too strong and too inflexible to open without causing too much stress on the brittle pages. In addition, there was no way to digitize the bound journal without destroying the brittle pages.
In general, I prefer to retain bound material in a binding, and unbound archival material unbound, so that when a researcher approaches the object, he or she will get the same feeling using the book or file as the original owner did when creating it. In this case, the intellectual content of the manuscript was so much more important than the unremarkable library binding, that it was an easy decision to disbind the journal. I retained the spine label and covers from the library binding as an indication to future users that it had at one point been library bound.
Photo Henderson 1895 Journal After Treatment flat pages
Now that the Journal has been disbound, the pages do not have to bend, and despite being brittle, the paper can be laid flat for digitization. Eventually, having a digital copy of the original will allow many more people to access Henderson’s Journal than would have been able to read the crumbling pages of the original.
Photo of Henderson 1895 Journal in box with spine label.
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Blogs We Love
- THE BIGGER PICTURE, a blog produced by the Smithsonian Institution Archives, presents an inside look at the Smithsonian’s history and invites readers to explore the role of both formal and informal archives in today’s world.
- This Blog brings Archivists, Museum Specialists, and Librarians around the Smithsonian to write about their new collections, current works in progress or whatever catches their eye.
- This blog is the combined effort of a biodiversity scientist and informatician (name: Rob Guralnick) and a data curator (name: Andrea Thomer). The idea of the blog is simple: think screwball comedy meets serious thoughts on digitization. Fast-talking high-trousers of His Girl Friday meets Citizen Kane-level seriousness of Media. Or something.
