As other CLM folks will likely attest to, the first month of interning with the forest service can be quite shocking. New challenges present themselves often and in interesting ways. Working with a botany crew will show you how much you really do not know about plants. Having your sleeping bag break on a cold night will show you how little prepared you are to take on a Bear Grylls style survival situation. And yet, even though the challenge persists, you get better at handling it as the days go by. You’ll find yourself saying crazy things like “You see those palmate leaves? Obviouslyyy a lupine”. Or not so crazy things like “We should probably pack an extra sleeping bag.”

Luckily, just as challenges present themselves, wonderful examples of how to face them also do. When I feel overwhelmed about being far from home, I think of my courageous cat Skateboard, who braved the journey from West Virginia to Montana, taking in all the smells on the way. I also think of the wise advice given by our crew lead Riley, who reminds us not to expect ourselves to know everything right away. Instead, she says to take our time, try our best, and enjoy the challenge.

Between seed collection and botany fieldwork, there have been a plethora of opportunities to nerd out and learn as much as possible. So far, some of my favorite projects have been rare plant monitoring in Big Hole National Park and nonlethal bee collection for the Montana Bee Atlas Project. I’ve learned so much from our botany crew, including our entomology intern, who taught me how to set up beetle traps this week! The list of plants I can reliably identify in the field grows (slowly) every day. I’m excited to see how much I have learned by the next blog post. Until then, I’ll take things one day at a time.

Deb day. Tuesday June 18th. Fourth day on the job.

I had been hearing about Deb, this mysterious woman who had decades of Botany experience in the Bitterroot National Forest. She was going to be taking us out into the field today and schooling us on the ways of the plants. Li, a Montana Conservation Corps fellow, had arrived in Montana a few weeks before and already had a “Deb Day.” She talked highly of Deb’s teachings, specifically her tips on how to scale the steep slopes.

We piled into the truck and rumbled along towards the forest. As we turned into the cover of the trees she began to point out various birds and plants, and talked about the geological history of the Bitterroots. Winding up the West Fork, we squeezed by branches and bumped over holes and rocks. Eventually, we came to an opening at the base of a steep hill where two sensitive species grow.

Deb had been a seasonal botany technician for 17 seasons, and when she talked about plants it was clear she had invaluable botanical wisdom. She pointed out plants as we went along, showing us how we could distinguish serviceberry from spirea by the curve of the leaf veins, but also elk sedge from pinegrass by running our fingers along the leaves. I ran my hand along the elk sedge and it felt wiry and stiff, and the pinegrass was fine and smooth. Once I did this, their similar looking leaves seemed less confusing.

As we made our way up the hill we spotted some brilliant red among the green. It was one of our rare plants: Castilleja covilliana, or Coville’s Indian Paintbrush. Deb showed us how C. covilliana’s leaves are spidery and thin, compared to the thicker leaves of its more common counterpart, C. hispida. There was one individual, the one in the picture below, that looked totally covilliana-y to my new Montana-botany eyes, but there were other individuals around that I would have thought were C. hispida. Deb talked about how these plants are very plastic, meaning their features can vary a lot depending on the environment they live in. Leaves in particular are plastic, which is unfortunate considering leaves are an important distinguisher between C. covilliana and C. hispida. This all made me feel very confused.

I also learned later that Castillejas can hybridize, meaning two individuals from different species can “break the rules” and mate, forming a plant that is neither C. covilliana nor C. hispida. So not only are the leaves plastic, they might also genuinely be a mix of the two species. So I imagine the entire season I will be asking myself “are these leaves spidery enough to be C. covilliana?”

Deb then announced that we were looking for Allium parvum, or small onion. We scoured the rocky ground for the onion. I would take a few steps, then scan, take a few steps, then scan. I saw nothing. After awhile, Deb announced that she found one. We scrambled over to her, and I looked around on the ground, and saw nothing. Then she pointed to a tiny, pale wisp on the tan gravel. It was nearly the same color as the rocks around it, was less than an inch wide, and had detached from any leaves. I thought to myself that there was no way I would be able to spot this by myself.

As Li made her way over to us she spotted another onion. This one was slightly more conspicuous: still connected to the ground, connected to its leaves, and less dried out. It was a cute little thing, but still seemed hard to spot with its somewhat transparent petals and tiny stature.

After the Allium, we made our way back down the hill, ate lunch in the bed of the truck, and then headed to a second site. Again, we wound up curvy gravel roads, with steep drop-offs that made me feel a little dizzy. The next site was a hill of coarse granite pebbles. But gorgeous blue and purple flowers poked from the gravel. This was Penstemon lemhiensis, the rare penstemon. It has bigger flowers than its lookalike Penstemon albertinus, and has a white mid-vein on its leaves. This one was my favorite of the day: easily spotted, no confusing leaf evaluations, and flowers that seemed to glow in the sunlight.

I was surprised to learn that these rare/sensitive species tend to be on seemingly inhospitable slopes. I imagined the all the sensitive species being in hidden oases with crystal-clear water, not on harsh, gravel slopes. But I’ve seen them and they are there!

As we ended the day with Deb, I remembered how good it feels to be able to know and recognize the plants around me. Coming to Montana was a bit of a botanical shock, in the sense that I went from knowing a good portion of the plants in St. Louis, to knowing almost none. While I still have a lot of learning to do, it has been rewarding to feel myself getting familiar with the Montana flora.

Until next time,

Cicely

My journey to the Umpqua National Forest began in Tucson, Arizona, just as summer temperatures were beginning to soar above 100°F—truly perfect timing. As I traversed through Nevada, the landscape stretched out into endless desert, a stark contrast to the lush greenery that awaited me in northern California and Oregon. Having lived my entire life amidst the color palette of earthy reds, oranges, and browns of southern Arizona, the sudden transition to Oregon’s verdant scenery felt like stepping into another world entirely. Towering trees and dense foliage surrounded me upon my arrival, hiding rivers, lakes, and waterfalls within their depths. Mosses, ferns, and wildflowers thrive beneath the canopy, painting the forest floor with bursts of color.

My experience thus far working in the Umpqua National Forest has been both magical and educational. Coming into this internship with limited knowledge of plant physiology and identification, I initially felt a bit nervous. However, any uncertainty quickly dissipated when I met my coworkers and incredible supervisor. Working alongside such kind and knowledgeable botanists who patiently answer my questions has not only allowed me to learn a wealth of new information in just two weeks but has also been an absolute delight. The sense of community and welcoming atmosphere here is truly remarkable. I deeply appreciate the effort they put into planning group gatherings and events, especially for those of us who are far from home and may feel a bit lonely during this internship.

During my short time here, I’ve learned to identify numerous native species that call this forest home, some of which we will later collect seeds from. I’ve also been sharpening my hiking, navigation, and mapping skills. Furthermore, I’ve been gaining valuable experience in restoration work, including identifying and properly removing invasive species.

In the past few weeks, I’ve seen some of the most breathtaking sights and more stunning wildflowers and vegetation than I have in my entire life. It’s still surreal to me that I get to spend my summer in this beautiful place, and I’m eagerly looking forward to embarking on new adventures and absorbing more knowledge each day!

The field season has just begun and there is so much to be done. We have had the opportunity to participate in a few field surveys with the botanist crew on our forest, during which time we have been scouting for potential seed collection populations. Last week in particular, we scouted along the way to a botanist survey that needed to be completed alongside the dam of a small mountain lake. That’s how I learned that the word “road” is used very loosely by forest service folk. Personally, I think the term “rocky hill of death” might be more applicable for this particular instance, but hey, what do I know? I’m just an intern.

The following week, after we gave our internal organs time to settle back into their rightful places, we pursued some coordinates for potential seed collection populations. These we obtained from looking at local herbarium records. We were able to track down a population of Penstemon eatonii. This was particularly exciting because at least 100 times before we had enthusiastically announced that we spotted populations of Penstemon eatonii from the car, only to find upon exiting the car that they were actually Scarlet Star Gilia. Unfortunately, the Penstemon eatonii population was too small for seed collection, but it was a productive trip, nonetheless.

Upon similar scouting ventures, we were lucky to find many harvestable populations for seed collection. To date, we have harvestable populations for the following species: Lomatium grayi, Lomatium dissectum, Lomatium triternatum, Balsamorhiza sagittate. Artemisia tridentata, Purshia tridentata, Eriogonum umbellatum, and Eriogonum heracleoides. Now that we have scouted the populations, it’s simply a matter of checking up on them periodically so as not to miss the ideal collection period.

Last week, we completed our first seed harvest which was of Lomatium grayi. The collection went well, although it was taxing work because it was so hot that day. The population itself was somewhat small so it only took us a few hours to collect 20% of the available seed. It’s so exciting to have finally harvested. I hope that those little seeds go on to produce many more native seeds to aid in restoration projects across the forest. Currently, the seeds are laid out to dry in our office, gracing us with a fragrant celery-like smell. Thank you Apiaceae.

Perhaps one of my favorite experiences of the internship thus far, came in the form of an element occurrence survey. We were asked to check up on a population of Brownie Lady’s Slippers (Cypripedium fasciculatum) that was put in our GIS system several years ago. The species is on our sensitive species list for the forest. The trip to get there was long and often felt treacherous. Again, I learned that the word “road” is relative around here. Once at the top of the mountain it was only a short hike to the survey location. It was clear that the fuels crew had been working in this area in months past, so we had concerns about being able to find the Lady’s Slippers. However, we were happy to see that the small population is still thriving and that it has migrated up the slope a little. As a budding botanist, finding rare plants feels akin to finding rare gems, and always warrants a photo opt.

Our Lomatium dissectum population should be ready to harvest either this week or next. Until then, we will continue scouting for more populations and monitoring the ones that we already have.

As a lifetime east-coaster, moving across the country to Detroit, Oregon was exciting yet daunting. The Pacific Northwest was only known to me through movies (Twilight) and TV shows (Gravity Falls) – each strange in their own right. Basically to say, my expectations for Oregon were big trees, lots of moss, and maybe a vampire or two. The first two criteria were met quickly upon my arrival. As we entered the forest, I squished my nose against the passenger window trying to see the tops of the reigning conifers that lined the highways. The trees became cities with moss skyscrapers dangling from the branches and sprawling lichen suburbia along the bark. As we took the next turn, I turned to look out the front, only to be met with a landscape of devastation. The lush forest turned into a sea of scorched trees. The tree cities became post-apopalyptic, and only the skeletons of the infrastructure remained.

I knew that the forest I would be working in had experienced huge fires in 2020, but it was difficult to imagine the extent without seeing it. The next couple of weeks working in the Willamette National Forest would be drenched in fire talk. Every explanation and description seemed to be sandwiched in between some version of “before the fire” and “because of the fire.” The district I work in had 46% of its forest burned in 2020. One of the major fires of 2020 happened overnight. The fire started miles away and hit a gust of wind that blew it across the hills in a matter of hours. My coworker told me that no one could have predicted it because the area where it happened had high precipitation and moisture year round. Every model and expert denied a fire of this extent would hit the forest.

I’m usually someone who tries to see the beauty in everything, especially when it comes to nature. However, I’m beginning to question if this philosophy can apply here. Should I be trying to find a silver lining in devastation, or should I take the lack of one as a cautionary tale? During my first week here, I was able to get out into some of the burned areas, or “the black” in technical talk. It’s eerie. For miles all you see is blackened trees and mountains covered in gray sticks. Giant trees lay across the ground, charred on the outside, but the wood inside is still tan (to me they looked like big ol’ hot dogs (vegan friendly!) left over the fire too long… my coworkers did not agree). To an unassuming eye it might just look like a dreary winter landscape, but the pockets of green, lush rainforest are a constant reminder of what this landscape fostered only years ago.

There are only a handful of natives here that thrive in disturbed areas, but many invasives have been quick to take advantage of the disaster. Since we (myself and my two other coworkers, Ella and Katie) are here to collect native seeds, the number of invasives can be a bit disheartening, especially when you see how much effort goes into eradicating them. Some of them, like scotch broom, Cytisus scoparius, grow like a hydra – you kill a hundred and the next season they seem to only double. A cross section of the soil underneath would reveal the secret of their doubling act – a seed bank. Beneath the surface are horizons of seeds only waiting for their time to grow, and in doing so, they keep us on the defensive. Once the seed bank is established its pretty much impossible to eradicate the species, and it makes it even harder for native plants to become established.

The invasive species and general fire damage provide a constant reminder of why our work is important. The fires and disasters aren’t going to stop, so the more we can prepare, the better we can restore these ecosystems. I look forward to getting to know the forest as we scout and collect native seeds, and, on sunny days, I’m still keeping my eyes peeled for any glittering vampires, hoping (fearing?) they didn’t all burn up in the fire. 

The journey started when I left my sweet college town of Manhattan, Kansas. I packed up my Ford Fusion, filled a bucket of ice to supplement my broken AC, and set off west to Willamette National Forest. As I looked through my rearview mirror, the cornfields faded away behind me, and the forest area that I would call home for the next six months appeared through my window.

Once I got to the town of Detroit, Oregon, I was amazed by how beautiful the forest looked. Driving through the valley, I had an amazing view of Mount Jefferson and the neighboring mountains. When I arrived at the Bunkhouse, I arranged my things, said hi to my roommate Ash, and made a list of things to get from the store the next day with my other roommate, Katie. I realized things were about to be a lot different. The town was an hour away, which required planning for meals and other necessities, something I was not used to. On the way into town, we stopped at the gas station, where we were approached by a man who came up to the car. Katie screamed in fright, as one does, at the man, and that’s how we found out you don’t pump your own gas in Oregon—another thing we both were not familiar with.

Our mentor Heidi took us to the area they call “the black,” where the forest was burnt down. This was an intense sight to see because so much of the forest burned down in 2020. Heidi showed us all the things the fire impacted, such as invasive species that started to grow in the burned areas and take over the once diverse forest landscape. Throughout the week, we did more training and hiking through the forest. We saw many cool sights, including waterfalls, snow on the mountains, and even a bear. Since starting work, we have done lots of reading and learning about the native species in the area so we can be prepared for when we go out and start collecting seed. Oregon has many more different plants and insects than I am familiar with, but it has been fun to learn about all the new species out here!

On our off time Katie, Ash, and I have visited Portland, hiked more around the Willamette, went to Silver Falls, played board games, visited some lakes, and went to the Oregon coast. It’s been an awesome first month getting to travel around with Ash, and Katie and can’t wait for our next adventures!

I am currently 1400 miles away from the place I spent roughly 80% of my life. From northern Minnesota where I was a 3 hour drive to the Canada border to Ruidoso New Mexico, where I’m the same distance to the border of Mexico. It’s been a life changing voyage all packed into such a short time, and one that doesn’t seem to have a specific destination in mind. I’ve stopped for periods of time to work, mostly to gain some skills and knowledge, some to survive, and best of all, for fun. Ultimately I’ve landed on a profession in the great outdoors where the only thing that beats the amazing individuals you’ll meet are the lunch break views.

In my mind, I got lucky. I was just following seasonal jobs that seemed like a fun way to be outdoors and learn a few skills. Up till now I’ve spent the last 2 seasons removing invasive plant species with herbicide and chainsaws. It’s been good hard work but I’ve always thought about what happens after? Are the organizations I’m working for come back and do anything with these areas we’ve impacted? Or are they just left for the next crew the next season to come back and repeat the process. That curiosity lead me to apply for a job as a native seed collector, and I could not be more excited to learn everything related to botany and this new landscape I’m in the middle of. With hundreds of random pictures of unidentified plants, insects and birds maybe I can finally start making a dent on figuring out what’s behind the mysteries in my camera roll. It has already been a very unique experience for me! With flying to Chicago to meet all my fellow interns and see the amazing botanic garden and returning home just to immediately retreat due to wildfire, I think this season will be quite exciting. Although, I think I might have had enough excitement for the season and am very much looking forward to being able to return and keep my head down looking for plant species to collect from.

Evacuation due to a wildfire reaching Ruidoso NM city limits.