From Plant Press, Vol. 19, No. 2, April 2016.
Continuing what I hope is a temporary transition, or detail in government speak, from field and herbarium botanist to manager, I find myself occasionally reflecting on what I learned earlier in my career, which I now realize with nostalgia and regret involved considerably more time outdoors than it does now. When I catch myself daydreaming I am surprised that I do not spend as much of my reverie thinking about science per se but rather more esoteric things related to science, especially those things that one tends not to write down. Scientific ideas and insights sooner or later get folded into published articles and books, and some of the knowledge I have gained about certain plants is best conveyed via annotations on specimens. Impressions of fellow botanists or insights into how one manages to overcome obstacles while traveling and in the field tend, however, to be conveyed in conversation. More often than not these glimpses into the secret life of Botanists are only shared among our fraternity and only after pouring a libation or two.
A few of the lessons I have learned can be distilled as maxims or aphorisms for the field botanist. I have struggled to grasp the distinction between these two words: both maxims and aphorisms generally are considered to be short pithy statements conveying some general truth. Examples of the former are well-known and include such famous maxims as Poor Richard’s “a penny saved is a penny earned” (actually “a penny saved is two pence clear”). The definition of aphorism scarcely differs except that a secondary dictionary definition suggests that unlike a maxim an aphorism can also be a concise statement of a scientific principle, especially by an ancient classical author. Interestingly, Botany has a long tradition of aphorisms.
In the Fundamenta Botanica (1736) Linnaeus reduced his theory of Botany to 365 aphorisms. The full title of this book is Fundamenta botanica, quae majorum operum prodromi instar theoriam scientiae botanicas per breves aphorismas tradunt. This early treatise eventually morphed into his Philosophia Botanica (1751). I have discovered nothing about field work in the Philosophia, which focuses on Linnaeus’s “philosophy” regarding naming plants, but there are occasional aphoristic gems that relate to herbaria such as: “A herbarium is better than any illustration; every botanist should make one” (as quoted in Stafleu, Linnaeus and the Linnaeans, p. 38). Linnaeus is famous for his Lapland journey undertaken in 1732 and which was clearly influential in ordering his career. It is a shame he did not share with us what principles he learned about field work. Nonetheless, having traveled a few miles over three continents in search of plants I can attest to having learned a few pithy things about how to conduct oneself in the field. Unlike Linnaeus I do not have an aphorism for each day, but I offer the following brief selection with commentary.
My first aphorism for the field botanist is: “When there is food eat because you never know when you will have food again.” This of course does not imply that I ever faced starvation although I do remember being very, very hungry a few times, and very, very thirsty a few other times. In the bush or in the mountains there are no supermarkets and few grocery stores and it can be a long time and a long way before you get to eat your next meal. One of my sons learned this lesson the hard way when we were in the Andes of Venezuela exploring the Páramo de Guirigay in Trujillo state. He did not like what was served in camp for dinner: spaghetti with mayonnaise sauce. He opted not to eat and that was that. Someone else ate his portion of food and there was nothing else to be had until breakfast twelve hours later. He went hungry, complained vociferously, and learned never to make that choice again. Alas, my clever field aphorism was anticipated by Poor Richard who observed much more succinctly that “Hunger never saw bad bread.”
For some inexplicable reason I have also spent a good portion of my field time driving or riding in vehicles that if they had been horses would have been put out to pasture. My first extended trip in Madagascar took us from the capital Antananarivo west across the Tampoketsan d’Ankazobe to Ankarafantsika and then on to the port of Mahajunga. We had borrowed an old and tired, but mechanically sound Toyota Land Cruiser from the late Elwyn Simons (1930–2016), who was then director of the Duke Primate Center, and between flat tires (eleven), cyclones (one), burst dikes (one), and other minor trials and tribulations we had enough misadventure to last a life time. The most difficult challenge was on our return leg home when our otherwise skillful driver Saturnin (see photograph) got us stuck above the axles in a mud hole on the main highway. Our vehicle lacked a winch and even though there were five of us who put our shoulders to the task we could not push the Land Cruiser out of this deep hole. However, when the next vehicle on the road, a taxi brousse, caught up to us we were blocking the highway and it could not pass. Consequently the dozen passengers and driver who had been stuffed into a tiny little Peugeot had no choice but to get out, pitch in, and help us push our vehicle out of the mud so that they could be on their way. The lesson (or aphorism) is obvious: “If you break down on the road, break down and block it because then the next person who comes along has to help you.” Here I think I have Poor Richard beat. In searching his Almanacks (1732–1758) for key words such as road, path, wagon, and horse, I cannot find an analogous maxim or aphorism.
Anyone who has spent any time in the field also will appreciate: “Do not go looking for trouble, enough trouble will find you.” I am sure that many of you could tell more harrowing tales than I can but I do remember once in a well-known South American capital looking for a store that sold an item that I desperately needed for the field. As my wife and I turned a corner in an unfamiliar neighborhood we saw a group of people throwing stones at an armored vehicle. Before we were able to process what we were witnessing we heard the pow, pow, pow of tear gas canisters being fired in our general direction. This was definitely someone else’s trouble and we were not interested in learning exactly what it involved so we turned and ran. We did not get the full measure of the riot experience but enough to learn that tear gas is not pleasant and should be avoided. Ben Franklin (aka Richard Saunders or Poor Richard) witnessed his share of political unrest but inasmuch as his Almanack (1732–1758) had run its course well before our War of Independence he provides us no pithy advice on how to avoid trouble while conducting field work (or revolutions).
Ending my brief musings I wonder whether or not being an administrator will provide me with some of the same insight into human nature as did field work. Will I invent suitable managerial maxims or aphorisms to distill this experience? Probably, and if I remember I will detail at some future date the lessons learned while overseeing this Circus Maximus known as Botany and the U.S. National Herbarium.
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