The Lincoln National Forest is home to an amazing array of endemic species, and we have had the opportunity to see many of them in their natural habitat. In fact, Penstemon neomexicanus is our top priority species as it serves as the main nectar source for the endemic/endangered Sacramento Mountain Checkerspot Butterfly. Other endemic species we have encountered include the Sacramento Mountain Thistle (Cirsium vinaceum) which I have lovingly dubbed “The Goth Thistle” due to its dark colors and nodding heads, as well as a recently discovered species of geranium which was thought to have possibly disappeared but one of our crew members spotted it on one of the craziest hikes I’ve ever been on. We also participated in prickly poppy surveys, another plant endemic to the area (just picture a thistle with the flowers of a poppy).

Being in an area so full of rare species and getting to learn about and support them feels very special, and I am excited for each new opportunity. But at the same time, it is often a sad reality that the majority of these rare, endemic species are on the brink of extinction. Every time we conduct a survey we hear that there are lower numbers each year despite increasing efforts to protect and foster their growth. The only thing we can do is try our best now to support what we have, but it can sometimes be disheartening. I try to appreciate the fact that I get to experience these species on a regular basis, and see individuals as happy and heathy in environments we are trying so hard to protect and restore. Experiencing the conditions that these species have already lived through innumerable times myself, such as fire and extreme flooding for the area, and then happening upon vigorous populations (even if small) gives me hope that these amazing species can live on.

Selfishly, more than anything, being part of these restoration efforts makes me feel better about my own place in the world. It’s easy to get knocked down by all the bad news we hear every day and sometimes buying the eco-friendly option or recycling doesn’t feel like enough. But knowing that even if it is small, the work  I get to do with my time in Lincoln is in fact, making a difference. Having a chance to be part of the conservation efforts I love to hear about and support has dramatically changed my outlook on the future.

Hello again from Umpqua National Forest!

August has been a month focused primarily on seed collection, as many plants have begun to dry out and complete their life cycles. We’ve broadened our collection this month to include several new species: nettle-leaf giant hyssop, celebrated for its aromatic foliage and striking spikes of purple flowers (the fragrance of which lingers on your hands long after you touch it); cow parsnip, with its towering, umbrella-like clusters of white blooms that almost look like something from a prehistoric landscape; aspen fleabane, a delicate wildflower resembling a daisy; and Rydberg’s penstemon, whose vibrant tubular flowers act like a neon “open” sign for pollinators.

The mornings here are starting to feel notably cooler, hinting at the gradual onset of the fall season. The crisp air is a refreshing reminder of the changing times and the approaching end of our busy fieldwork season. With the cold also comes the ceremonial layering of jackets and sweaters, only to strip them off by noon because the day heats up again—a constant guessing game with the weather.

Our botany team has also evolved this month. We’ve gone from nine members to five, as some colleagues have left to return to school for the academic year. It feels a bit like losing key players in a big game, but I’m committed to making the best of it and continuing our work with the same dedication and enthusiasm. Another development this month has been the gradual improvement in fire conditions. Earlier, wildfires limited our access to many regions, with heavy smoke reducing visibility. Now, as some of the fires subside, air quality has noticeably improved, and previously closed areas are becoming accessible once more. Overall, August has been a month of transition and discovery.

Each day feels like a new chapter in this ongoing adventure, filled with stunning views, unexpected encounters, and the ever-present reminder that nature’s beauty is both resilient and ever-changing.

August is a month of change here in Alaska. August is still very much summer in most parts of the United States. In Alaska, the fireweed starts shifting from its beautiful blossoms and green leaves to its wispy seeds and fire-red foliage in August. Fireweed is our seasonal calendar up here. You can tell how much summer you have remaining by the location of the blooming flowers. Once the last flower blooms on the top, fall is imminent. Once the leaves turn red, autumn has begun.

Although the end of summer is a time of grieving the salmon harvesting season, sunshine and warmth, with it comes an abundance of harvestable berries, mushrooms, and seeds! We have entered go mode this month, harvesting 11 species! The joy of harvesting Lupinus nootkatensis, Rhinanthus minor, Carex mertensii, Hordeum brachyantherum, Calamagrostis canadensis, Angelica lucida, Heracleum maximum, Erythranthe guttata, Luzula parviflora, Eriophorum angustifolium, and Geum macrophyllum is a stark contrast to the scouting and monitoring of June and July. Although both are enjoyable, one involves a LOT of keying and hiking, while the other involves more bending and stationary time while outdoors.

As we began harvesting, I realized I have a mild obsession with efficiency. As we harvest various species, I have experimented with several different harvesting methods to harvest seeds as quickly and effectively as possible while preventing overharvesting and harvesting immature seeds. One of our first species was Rhinanthus minor, which has a “pod” where the seeds are encapsulated. These pods eventually open, and as they dry out, the seed pops out. We started by plucking these pods initially, but I knew there had to be a better way. Plucking the pods resulted in the harvest of some immature seed, and a lower pure live seed percentage. I then experimented with flicking the inflorescence. The flicking method was much more efficient than plucking; however, it resulted in a minor knuckle injury to my pointer finger. Eventually, I got my hands on an old coffee tin. I could knock the inflorescence against the side of the tin, and alas, I had found my preferred method. As I struck them against the inside of the tin, several went flying, and I found gratification in knowing that the seed was being spread as I was also quickly harvesting. 

Harvesting certain species, such as Angelica lucida and Heracleum maximum, is not just a task but a source of incredible gratification. Sitting on top of a tall, flat inflorescence, the seeds can be easily harvested with a good smack or shake above a vessel. This process is quick, easy, and incredibly satisfying, adding a sense of joy and fulfillment to our work.

Toward the end of the month, I got my hands on a saddle belt. This bad boy was a game-changer. The belt has two large bucket-sized pockets to hold the seed as I collect it. I line the pockets with a bag, and then I have two hands free for harvest, no bag or bucket to be moved as I move from individual to individual! This tool boosted my efficiency exponentially. I used it while harvesting Angelica lucida and Calamagrostis canadensis. Both of these species are relatively tall, so the belt worked well. However, the belt may be less valuable when targeting short species, as it may get in the way while positioned in front of the body and hinder the harvesting process, which is a point to consider when using this tool.  

Our seed collection efforts have included preparing the seeds for storage until they can be grown for the restoration site. Our mentor provided us with a stellar setup for drying our seed out. This setup includes bread racks lined with newspaper and a tent equipped with a dehumidifier and fan. We place the seeds on the bread racks, then put those inside the tent. The dehumidifier and fan in the tent create the perfect conditions for drying the seeds, accelerating the process. This operation can take sopping wet cotton grass back to fluff balls overnight! It has been accelerating our progress. 

Another fun tool we have used this month is a ‘Clipper Office Tester’ to clean our seed and separate it from the chaff. This machine does an incredible job of separating the seed from any other material. The machine has two screens, one which vibrates to allow the seed and smaller material to fall through while the other material is discarded. The smaller material and seed then go to another screen to be sorted further, and then all of the remaining material is sent to a fan that blows lightweight chaff up into a compartment to be discarded, and the seed falls below into a tray. Configuring the machine with the correct screens and airflow for each species is a fun challenge, and I enjoy that part of the process; it’s like a puzzle. Although this machine is incredibly effective, it is not perfect. We have spent quite some time sorting worms from our seed, as they were about the same size and weight as the seed. 

With the change in season has come a welcomed shift in workflow in my position. I’ve experimented with different harvesting, cleaning, and drying methods while watching the salmon and plants around me change form. I will miss the summer sunshine and warmth, but with autumn arrives abundance as the summer and the summer things slowly approach their annual expiration.

“Touching grass”— Leaving our little digital bubbles and getting in contact with the natural world around us. It’s usually part of a joke when this phrase is typed out on the internet, but what it implies about our human need for connection with the plant world is real. As someone who’s been touching grass professionally for the last two and a half months, I think I’d do well to ponder it for a while. 

I had the wonderful opportunity late this August to attend a presentation at the local “food forest” by a Northern Cheyenne elder and his son. They are both ethnobotanists and spend their time learning about and sharing the stories of the Cheyenne’s traditional way of life and relationship with the plants of the region. They spoke of a people whose lives were intertwined with native plants not only out of necessity, but also voluntarily due to affection and desire for kinship with these spirits that surrounded them.  

“Every plant has its own story”, they said. On the table in front of them were many plants that I have seen on the forest this summer—Artemisia frigida “Woman’s sage” and Artemisia ludoviciana “Man’s sage”, ceremonial gifts; Ratibida columnifera “Rattlesnake medicine”, which reduces the effects of rattlesnake venom when chewed into a poultice and placed on an incision near the bite; Prunus virginiana “Chokecherry”, which Cheyenne would harvest in the late summer and fall to be crushed and dried into patties that would feed hungry mouths through the long winter.  

Their relationship to plants doesn’t end with the products that the plants provide; It extends to the inter-plant-personal—living being to living being. The elder and his son told about grandmothers laying out hearty meals at the feet of trees for them to enjoy, about how complimenting a particular patch of poison ivy on its beautiful sheen persuaded it to hold back with its itchy attacks, and always they imparted that we, humans and plants and even the soil, are all spirits connected through community as part of creation. 

I’m cheating a little with this blog post by merely recounting what I’ve heard (but that’s what stories are for, anyway). Here’s a bit about seed collecting. 

An attendee at one of the elder’s presentations once asked permission to take home some seed, so he told the attendee “you don’t need to take any seed—all you need to do is to touch the tree”. He told us, “plants have a way of following us home. There’s a magic about them. They’ll spring up in your yard”. I’ll take his word for it—there’s been many a day when the seeds of needlegrass burrow deep into the hem of my pants and spill onto the floor when I take my boots off at home. That said, I won’t be altering the protocol when we’re out in the field. We can’t count on enough needlegrass following us home to satisfy what we need for this project. We do need to actively harvest.  

It’s a different kind of relationship that we have with plants as seed collectors this summer, but I’d say it’s still one based on respect and mutual good will. We leave plants be when the population isn’t large enough or healthy enough to withstand the stress. We collect no more than one fifth of the seed to leave plenty for the seed bank in the soil. Some members of the botany crew have even told me that they say thank you to the plants when they collect seed or take a specimen. What we’re doing, while perhaps reparative and necessary only due to our own impact on plant life through development and contribution to increasing wildfire risk, is an act of love and care for the plants and for the world community that they are vital to. And we benefit greatly from their fruits and the fruits of our labor through the maintenance of the vitality and beauty of our public lands, which are nourishing to people in many ways. 

“When they are upset after being punished, children run and climb up high in a tree, not to come down until suppertime. Just touching the plant calms us down and takes away the bad feelings. When the child comes down and goes home, everything is alright again.” 

Like I said before, we’ve been touching a lot of grass, and other plants for that matter. We can be in a field for hours on end, stripping seed from heads of grass, inhabiting quiet save for the sigh of wind and the chirping of crickets. For me, it’s time with brain empty. We’ve had other people from the office come collect with us, and they describe it in a nicer way: “meditative”. Either way, all this grass touching does something for us. The same way that working in the garden, or walking through the woods keeps us grounded. It’s an inter-plant-personal relationship that we’re all lucky enough to enjoy this summer. Whether I’ve got my nose in the wild mint while at work, or my toes in the lawn playing corn hole on the weekend, I’m glad to have a connection with plants. I hope they’re happy too. 

This past month was one full of learning and growth…and missed seeds. August has been the most hectic month by far. I was able to collect from populations of Eriogonum heracleoides and umbellatum in the beginning of the month before heading off to Manchester, England for a week long conference.

While grateful for the opportunity, that meant leaving my seed collecting partner behind to harvest populations on her own. Not that she isn’t capable, it’s just a lot of work!

Working out in the field took a bit of readjusting, fortunately I somehow made it happen. As we became more comfortable and confident with using the tablets we got better and quicker at tracking our previously scouted populations and collecting the data we needed for the FS. I’ve used ArcoPro, ArcMaps and Esri before but, this forest views their data through the USFS ArcGIS Online program. It’s been an adjustment but, I’m grateful I had the opportunity to learn and become familiar with a wider variety of GIS programs. This forest has a lot of mapping planned for the future and it’s rewarding to feel like we get to contribute to a future forest vegetation layer!

Among our many populations to keep an eye on, we also worked on shipping our collected seeds as well as completing and submitting the mid-season report. It was a bit more difficult than we wanted it to be at first but, once we got rolling, wrapped it up and had many takeaways from the tasks. It was a great way to evaluate ourselves and see the work that was getting done. It also gave us an opportunity to reassess our action plan and what needed to be done moving forward.

Although we had some lows due to populations being missed due to absences or everything seemingly seeding and naturally dispersing everywhere all at once, we’ve also had our highs – both literally and figuratively. We’ve experienced the excitement of electrofishing in a collaborative project with fisheries and wildlife for an invasive species monitoring. Apparently this particular trip was unusual in that we caught many more fish than usual. I’ve never felt more like an animal crossing character lugging around my net than in that moment.

Just a heads up, no one looks cool walking uphill against a stream. We all will look like we belong in a cartoon, trudging around in waders and boots that feel like weights tied to your feet. Slipping and falling is truly a matter of when, not if. Unfortunately, I don’t have pictures showing the measuring and weighing process of the temporarily stunned fish since my hands were full of fish or was out following the “electro-cutioner” with an anxious and ready net.

The literal part of the highs previously mentioned involved collecting seeded populations of Lomatium triternatum from Tony Grove and Mountain mahogany on the ridges of Card Canyon. Nothing brought me more joy than getting to what I thought was the top of the population, only to find 50+ more individuals at every potential peak.

Here’s a picture of one of our gloriously crafted nets…we just got back from electrofishing the week prior…how we didn’t think to ask to borrow their nets…Cassidie and I still don’t know but, it got the job done! Go seed collection crew!

September ready or not, (but hopefully ready) here we come.

It seemed telling, that the first day I went to check on a lupine population we planned to harvest from, the aspens announced the arrival of fall. It was early August, and thus, to me, unexpected. As I drove up the road towards the lupine patch, I passed the baby swan that we see every time we pass by Tern Lake. The baby has grown a bit larger every time we pass it, marking fast growth in a quickly moving season. When I arrived at the trailhead, I didn’t have to walk very far before I was in the aspen patch where a dense population of Nootka Lupine, the native variety of Lupine on the Kenai Peninsular, resides. I found the pods had turned from a bright green to a deep black. Some had popped open and released their seeds already. Above me the wind rustled the aspen leaves in waves, with the occasional unexpected, deep, swirling breath that signifies the onset of autumn. Suddenly the seeds were ready and fall had arrived, seemingly before the summer had arrived. Time, and thus seed development, happens in a strange and sudden, almost nonlinear, progression here and it’s been keeping us keen and on our toes, ready to harvest on any given day or moment.

The next week we went back to that lupine patch with a couple extra helpers to harvest our first seeds of the season. After weeks of learning, mapping, and monitoring plants, it was surprisingly gratifying to finally pluck the first fruits of our labor and bring them back for processing. In a few hours we had harvested what culminated to about 30,000 lupine seeds. Harvesting seeds from a wild plant makes you notice things about that species and their ecosystem that prior to, you might not. For instance, when lupine pods dry, they spiral. And when they dry out enough, the pop. As we were harvesting the lupine pods, we could hear them popping, spreading their seeds, as they naturally do. Our goal then, was to catch the pods after they had dried but before they had popped, a tall feat in a quickly moving season. Sometimes this window seems to only last a day.

Another thing we noticed about nootka lupine in its natural habitat is that a certain type of small worm thoroughly enjoys its seeds. After popping open a pod, we would often find multiple worms inside of them who had made evident munching holes through several of the seeds. Thankfully there were enough pods and seeds that were worm-free to be very worth continuing to harvest and keep these seeds. Initially, these worms struck me as a bad sign. As one would relate to a food crop being full of worms, they instinctually sent a wave of disgust and dread through my body. But after finding various insects, worms, and spiders in subsequent harvests of different seeds, I began to realize that there was something very natural and right about worms being present in these pods. These seeds were not grown for us, they were not grown for our restoration project, or the ease of our ability to process these seeds for storage and propagation. They were grown for the plants, the place, and the ecology in which they reside. And, though my initial reaction to the presence of these worms was negative, I later realized that bearing witness to interspecies relationships while harvesting a native plant within it’s natural ecosystem was most likely a sign of a healthy and balanced ecosystem. And so although the worms were a bit of a hassle to extract from the seeds while processing them, and while the seed viability of our harvested population decreased slightly because some of them had worm holes through them, my perspective on the presence of worms and insects within the native seeds we were harvesting changed over the last month by normalizing their presence and beginning to question their ecological role and relationship with these native seeds.

Speaking of processing seeds, the above photo illustrates the key tool and method that we have since used to process the native seed that we have harvested. We call it the “Clipper,” and it does a very good job of sorting and winnowing large quantities of native seed. The photo depicts my coworker, Sam, utilizing it to process the lupine seed we gathered. It’s not difficult to use and it greatly increases the efficiency of cleaning seed and sorting out nonviable seed by utilizing a system of different sized screens and fans to filter out the pure seed.

One thing that makes our job interesting is how dynamic it is. Since every native seed that we harvest is drastically different than every other, the harvesting and processing of each seed is unique as well. Thus we must try out the various screens and fan speeds for the clipper with each new species we process. And because this is oftentimes the first time this plant has been harvested for these purposes, we are forced to get creative and figure out the best way to do both process, as well as harvest these seeds.

The inherent diversity of these seeds also means a lot of variability in the signs of readiness of mature seeds between different species. In order to check seed readiness, we perform cut tests under a microscope, to get a clear vision of the structure and state of the inner tissues of the seed. Seeds tend to solidify as they mature, but the exact consistency of the megagametophyte (inner tissue of the seed within the seed coat upon which an embryo feeds) of a mature and ready-to-harvest seed seems to vary between plants. The inner tissue of the lupine seeds were very hard, even to the extent that they were difficult to cut through, whereas the megagametophyte of Carex mertensii (Merten’s Sedge) is much softer than the lupine, though still seemingly mature.

My own discernment of a mature seed from an immature seed is still developing, though I have noticed that it is getting better and better the more seeds at the more stages I observe. For example, we are currently monitoring the seeds of Swamp Cinquefoil (Comarum palustre), for which there is no information available online about how to discern a mature from an immature seed. While the seed is still a bit soft on the inside, after watching the progression and gauging the thickness of the seed coat, we think it is just about ready to harvest. It is important to note that the discernment about the development of a seed in relation to when to harvest it must also be balanced with observing when and how quickly the plant is dispelling the seed from the fruiting body. Oftentimes we have waited because the seed doesn’t seem quite solid and thus developed enough to harvest. But then, the next time we go back to check it, the seed has been expelled as the plant intended, lost (to us) within the soil seed bank, exactly where it wants to be.

While this is a challenge to correctly time, especially when juggling multiple species, all with different schedules (as well as different schedules for the same species in different locations and microclimates), this has been a gratifying skill to hone. It is both science and art. I often find myself and my field partner consciously or unconsciously calling upon our intuition to decide where we need to go on a given day. It’s happened on multiple occasions where we have made a plan of where to go the day before, but when we get to the office something is calling one of us somewhere else. Thankfully we are both generally flexible and often trust the other if they are getting a calling to a particular place on a particular day. More times than once, we have trusted that calling and have both been pleasantly surprised that a certain plant or seed we weren’t even thinking about was ready and needed to be harvested that very day. So that is another aspect of the job that I am enjoying – that it is both a science and an art, and that the more artistic and intuitional aspects of it strengthens and reinforces the depth of connection and integration one has with the ecosystem they are working within, encouraging one to be more in-tune with the land they are working with.

Anyways, since a picture can say a thousand words, I will finish this blog post by sharing many of the photos that I have captured within the last month while out monitoring and harvesting seeds, pairing them with descriptions to give a little bit of an insight into our day to day activities while harvesting native seeds for restoration out in the Chugach National Forest.

The Land We Work Within

Berries Found While Working

The Plants We Work With or Alongside

Seed Harvesting and Processing Procedures

Alaskan Autumn Aesthetics

Now we’ve got to get back to harvesting, for it is high season and by the next blog post I presume none will be left. Stay tuned.