As the frost becomes more frequent in the Chugach, October is filled with bittersweet moments as the season ends. Our final seed collection excursions had an underlying mournfulness. Seeing the fruits (I suppose they’re seeds) of my labor as bags full of seeds after processing and cleaning filled my heart with satisfaction and fulfillment. With that fulfillment came a twinge of sadness, knowing that the season was over and my days romping around the wilderness with my field partner were gone. The end of the season also came with the excitement of fall seed sowing. I delivered seeds to the Anchorage Water and Soil Conservation District for grow out several times, and we got to direct sow Artemisia arctica, Angelica lucida, Heracleum maximum, and Calamagrostis canadensis at the Resurrection Creek restoration site. Through this process, I witnessed how my work this field season will directly impact my home state and the restoration of its natural spaces. (and it was fun!)

By October, we had harvested most of the species on our target species list, but there was one that I couldn’t let evade me: Artemisia tilesii. I noticed significant patches when I scouted for fish with a friend in the Anchorage area on the Bureau of Land Management and Municipality of Anchorage parkland. I had also noticed some at the Anchorage Botanical Garden growing in their wild spaces while on a date (the native plant obsession never pauses, even on a date.) So, I contacted The Bureau of Land Management, the Municipality of Anchorage, and the Anchorage Botanical Garden to gain permission to harvest on their land. All organizations obliged, letters of agreement were drawn, and my field partner and I got to travel to Anchorage for a tilesii collection. Our efforts seemed in vain when I set out to clean the seed during one of my last weeks, though, as they were infested with some weird, goopy sacks we deemed the “Goopy bois.” My mentor researched the mysterious “goopy bois” and discovered they were Trypeta flaveola (fruit fly) eggs. Although they aren’t considered especially harmful pests for the plants, we hesitated to send the infected seed to our grower. I spent hours brainstorming and experimenting with ways to clean the seed from these eggs. Finally, I found a sieve sufficient to separate the two post-cleaning with our mechanical seed cleaner, the “Clipper Office Tester.” Once most eggs were separated, I plucked the rest out with tweezers. Finally, I had my pure collection of Artemisia tilesii seeds ready to grow out for the restoration site. 

An exciting part of the end of the season was mounting our herbarium vouchers. We had carefully and meticulously arranged plants for pressing all season long and finally got to create the final product. Creating the labels came with some headaches, as most data organization tends to, but it resulted in satisfying and beautiful labels for our vouchers. I had never mounted a voucher before this; my closest experience was pressing flowers to glue on construction paper for arts and crafts as a child. It turns out mounting vouchers is essentially the same thing: doing so more mindfully! I found immense joy in mounting the vouchers, even the pesky long, delicate, and abundant graminoids. Each voucher came out like a work of art. Thankfully, my work with vouchers didn’t have to end there. I had two weeks left after my field partner’s season ended because I came to the forest later. Because of this, I got to work on a project I was excited about after tying up all the loose ends from seed collection the week after her departure. My last week was cataloging herbarium vouchers from the Chugach National Forest Herbarium. There are thousands of specimens and no records compiling all of their data. I started the cataloging process by visiting the Herbarium and entering the data for as many specimens as possible. To some, that might sound like a snooze, but for me, there was no better way to cap off the season than to look at plant specimens from 1964 to now and aid in their immortalization by recording their data. (Also, how cool is it that collections I made will be stored for future botanists to reference?!)

It’s challenging to express the depth of my gratitude for this internship and the realization of many of my aspirations. The dream of being a scientist, the dream of working in a National Forest, the dream of contributing to the restoration of natural spaces in my home, and the dream of continuing the native plant legacy in my family – these aspirations have been realized. I went on excursions to monitor wildlife, maintain bird nesting boxes, hike and explore almost daily, harvest native seeds, spread native seeds, and collaborate with other botanists on native seed collection and restoration from different organizations. This experience allowed me to connect with people who share my love for the natural world, and through all of this, I was able to nourish my soul. 

This opportunity has transformed me from a native plant enthusiast to a full-on botany nerd. Before this position, I enjoyed foraging for berries and a few native plant species greens, but I never imagined I would memorize the Latin names of so many species. Now, I find myself knowing some species only by their scientific names, most by several common names and their scientific names. As I stroll through nature, I mutter the names of the plants around me and eagerly share the information I’ve gathered this summer with anyone who is with me (and willing to listen.) This behavior might not be entirely new for me, as I spent years guiding at a remote lodge and created a plant tour on a muskeg full of ethnobotanical facts. However, now, the information I get to share is far more in-depth and spread across a plethora of new species. The joy of sharing this knowledge is as fulfilling as the knowledge itself. Before this experience, I was still determining my career path. I knew I wanted to work in ecology, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to focus more on wildlife or botany. Now, I know that botany is the route I would love to pursue. Part of me wishes this was a permanent position and that I could explore the wilderness and harvest native seeds every field season, but I know that future CLM interns will have life-changing experiences like mine, and I am so excited for them to experience it. I was nervous at the beginning of this season, knowing I had no formal botany education, but passion and curiosity quickly propelled me to gain the knowledge I needed not only to succeed but to flourish in this position.

October may be the spooky season, but September is emo in the Chugach National Forest. The landscape takes on a darker, more introspective tone. Everything becomes adorned in dark colors, the sun shows itself less and less every day, and the scent of fermentation and decay fills your nose. Blood red reigns over the dwarf resin birch leaves, a striking contrast against the darkening landscape. The fireweed transforms from red to maroon to a brown so deep that it almost appears black, with a captivating, fiery center. The once pure white yarrow takes on a new dark persona, claiming, “It’s not a phase, Mom.” Though seeming ghostly as it hangs after the consistent rains, the soggy cottongrass adds an ethereal beauty to the red and brown autumn muskeg. In its final act, False hellebore is bored of it all and dramatically falls to the ground, taking its neighbors with it. The once vibrant green sphagnum moss dons its red dress for September, a stunning transformation amid decay.

Clouds shroud the sky in gloom. Fog rolls through the mountains, engulfing you in its blanket of comfort. Bright reds and oranges glow from the few sunsets and sunrises you witness. Mushrooms appear in immense volumes as their mycelium works to decompose the organisms that weren’t metal enough to survive the changing season. Salmon move slowly in the streams, taking their last breath as their friends rot around them.

Yet, amidst all the death and decay, some seasonal species persist with a stubborn resilience. Even though the snow is imminent, many graminoid species seeds are taking their time ripening, staying green even as their leaves brown. Their green rebellion is the most punk of all. Inconvenient for a seed collector? Yes. An admirable and inspiring message to go against the norm regardless of the world’s pressures? Also yes.

Move over October. September, ruled by the colors black and red and the spectrum between them, is the most emo month I know. Green Day might say to wake them up when September Ends, but I was an emo kid. Keep me up until September ends.

Like most Alaskan summers, July has been jam-packed with exploration and new experiences. Many things were learned, and many places were visited. 

At the beginning of the month, I spent a week getting lost in graminoids and taking deep dives into grass morphology to improve my identification skills. On the first day of my self-guided grass class, I went out to find some grasses to practice keying, and I stumbled upon a grass I had encountered during my first week in this position. Its name was a mystery to me, but he immediately received a loving nickname—fuzzy boi—a name well earned due to its incredibly soft pubescent culm and leaves. Fuzzy Boi feels like velvet but is not velvet grass (Holcus lanatus), so I needed to give him a suitable nickname so as not to confuse the two. I spent quite a bit of my grass intensive attempting to identify this special grass. 

Despite the challenge, the process of identifying grass species was a rewarding experience. After numerous attempts and some hair-pulling, I was overjoyed to correctly identify ‘fuzzy boi’ as Trisetum Spicatum alaskanum, also known as spike trisetum or spike false-oat. (Be on the lookout for my petition to change its name to Fuzzi boi.) This was a significant milestone in my learning journey. 

As I did my silent victory dance before the microscope, I knew I needed confirmation to celebrate genuinely. If I was correct, I had found one of our tricky target grass species for seed collection! Later that week, I went over the grasses I had keyed out with my mentor Peter, and much to my astonishment, I had correctly keyed out several of the species, including fuzzy boi. Finally, I was sure of his real name! Developing the ability to use and understand a dichotomous key in the short period since our training in Chicago, I became astounded by how rapidly the skills I am cultivating in this internship are coming to fruition. 

I have written a series of Haikus in honor of my newfound favorite grass; enjoy.

-An Ode to the Fuzziest of Boys- 

Hairy bluish-green,

Silvery sheen to your fuzz,

Culm soft to the touch, 

Who are you?

Softer than an otter pelt, 

You are most unique,

I am drawn to you, 

Named Trisetum spicatum?

No, my Fuzzy boi. 

Throughout July, I have realized that I am innately drawn to species of plants that possess some type of fuzz. I have always felt pulled to the fluffy cotton grasses and spikey drosera varieties growing in muskeg habitats. Cotton grasses are especially amusing, as they look like the Truffula trees in the Lorax. The several varieties of cotton grass species belong to the Eriophorum and Trichophorum genera within the Cyperaceae family. A fact that surprised me to learn, as I would have expected them to all fit into the same genus. 

Since several cotton grass species grow in muskeg, they are classified as wetland species. Due to the restoration project that most of our seeds will be going to a riparian habitat, we can explore any species in the Army Corps of Engineers list of wetland species as an option for seed collection. My love of Eriophorum angustifolium (tall cotton grass) resulted in my advocating for it to be added to our target species list this month. We have added several of my beloved muskeg species to our list, including Fritillaria camschatcensis (Chocolate lily), Comarum palustris (Marsh cinquefoil), and Mentanthes trifolia (Buckbean). 

The same week as my grass intensive, I was lucky enough to tag along with the wildlife ecology and spruce beetle timber crews in search of a rare grass species, Festuca occidentallis, in two units within our forest. On this excursion, I was lucky enough to pick the brains of several incredibly knowledgeable people about local botany. Through that experience, I was able to practice ID with confirmations from more experienced botanists while getting to ask endless questions about the species around us. My favorite answer to my questions was, “You can tell because of the way it is.”  This excursion occurred in a unit ripe with dense populations of many of our target species, enabling me to map out several potential collection populations while rapidly gaining knowledge!

Unfortunately, the week following my deep dive into grasses was a week away from the excitement of the Chugach National Forest, as I had to travel across the country for family matters. I was worried I would lose all of the knowledge I had obtained thus far in my time away. I found myself looking for familiar faces (plants) on the east coast and keeping up on my graminoid morphology. 

Upon returning to the Chugach, I quickly realized how much information was preserved in my mind and how useful my notes would be for any information I lost to the Atlantic Ocean. The week of my return brought scouting mission after scouting mission. It was one of the most exciting and fun weeks of work in my life! We met several of the last few species on our target list in person, found some juicy pockets full of large populations of several species to monitor for collection, and had some insane views. My co-intern Maggie and I sought to find as many potential seed collection populations as possible. This mission brought us to some gorgeous locations, many of which were full of dense populations of target species such as Menanthes trifoliata, Eriophorum angustifolium, Mertensia paniculata, Polemonium acutiflorum, Rhinanthus minor, and many more. The most fruitful of all locations was beside a rest stop I had visited many times, the Turnagain Pass rest area. It is a common stop for travelers heading south from the Anchorage area to anywhere on the Kenai Peninsula. Although this area holds a slight significance to me, I hadn’t considered the immense biodiversity of the meadows below the mountains before this internship. I had always been focused on the mountains as I passed by. In fact, Turnagain Pass is where I fell in love with mountains in an epiphany at 14 years old.

Through this internship, I have often been reminded of how valuable it is to look into the small things. It is easy to overlook the beauty that is right in front of you, whether that beauty is in the form of a biodiverse meadow being overshadowed by towering mountains, the tiny little stigmas within the floret of grass, or the soft and fuzzy culm of a grass you never noticed before. Don’t forget to take a moment to appreciate the little things.