Field work is a doorway to unique experiences you’ll never be able to recreate.
May through October in Northern Rockiest all four seasons present themselves. It snows in the mountains in May, the flowers bloom in June and July, the fires burn hot in August, the colors change in September, then the snow returns in October. Working in the Flathead National Forest for the last six months I got to witness all these seasonal transition and an incredible variety of experiences throughout them.
I’ll never forget
wondering the forest in search of rare orchids
seeing whole wet meadows full carnivorous sundew plants
trudging through the the brush in search of creeks that harbor endangered species
holding bumble bees in my bare hands
identifying tiny moonworts hidden under ferns
scouring the road sides for our rare native flowering plants
and the pure beauty of Montana’s northern forest the will inspire me for years to come
Scientific illustration of a few rare plants of Porcupine Fen, Epipactis gigantea, Drosera rotundifolia and Sphagnum angustiflolium. Made for the botany crew of Flathead National Forest.
Before this internship, I spent the last three years working as an artist and scientific illustrator. Working outside almost everyday and seeing so many different ecosystems and rare plants I’ve never seen before has really inspired me.
Not only will I be using the photos I took as inspiration this winter, I was able to use my skills as an artist to enhance some herbarium vouchers for the Flathead National Forest Herbarium through painting the flower heads and bracts of certain species that wilted a lot after being collected.
Herbarium vouchers of Eurybia conspicua (showy aster) (right) for Flathead National Forest Herbarium with illustrations I made of the flower heads and bracts (left). Symphytrichum laeve, Agastache utricifolia and Monarda fistulosa Herbarium vouchers for Flathead National Forest Herbarium.
Creating herbarium vouchers felt like an art project in itself, it was a very relaxing and fun aspect of botany that I enjoyed doing at the end of the season.
Among many things, field work is a doorway to unique experiences you’ll never be able to recreate. The snow in the mountains on a sunny day. The moose splashing through the creek that makes your heart stop. Hiking a dozen miles gaining 2000ft of elevation just to find that plant you were looking eaten by herbivores at the top. Every summer, every mountain, every valley, every crew is a completely different.
I am extremely grateful for Chicago Botanic Garden and the crew that I had the opportunity to be a part. This was my first season back in the field since 2020 and it was so amazing to have the skills and knowledge I learned so many years ago be brought back to the surface. The encouragement from for the team at the Chicago Botanic Garden and the Flathead National Forest Botany crew has given me the confidence, motivation and connections I needed to pursue the next steps in my education and go to graduate school. I will be taking the knowledge I learned from this internship with me into my graduate project. Including but not limited to specimen collection, herbarium voucher creation, site data collection, data management and reporting.
The ending of a field season is always bittersweet. I am grateful that I live in Montana and don’t have to leave these Mountains behind, but I will miss this internship and will carry it with me into my next adventures as I hope to many more seasons of rare experiences.
Flathead National Forest Botany Crew (from left to right) Chris, Sierra, Grace, Bailey, Erynn, Ryan
against the harsh rock peak, the delicate glass and wood of the lookout’s cabin stands defiant in the wind, a beacon in a sea of mountains
to lie down is to touch two of the four log walls
a dry bear grass bed on the wood slat floor
two chairs, one for the lookout and another for the ranger when he visits
instruments to measure fire direction and a man and the telephone line to bear witness
mules haul soda + yeast for the morning pancakes and letters to remember the world by
lard + milk and some ivory soap
a dozen candles to keep a flame to watch for fire by
streams seldom flow uphill; the smokechaser wakes at dawn break to fill his water bag miles below
upon the ascent, towards the top of the world, the world gets smaller
the alpine climate, above the tree line, the church spire tops of sub-alpine firs bow down to a forest in miniature
dwarf willows and mushrooms the size of fingernails and fairy spoons keep close to the ground in that windswept place
in the evening, the dispatchers open the telephone lines between the lookouts
they talk with the phones hung around their necks and call out checker moves, the hands free to play for two
* * *
and at night, the lightning
there is a smell to lightning, and a transmutative quality in its anticipation
coyote yips sound like human cries and then all is the crash of clouds
the wind washes you clean, sleeping in the slipstream
and that smell of static in the air, like mother drying clothes, of oxygen split to ozone
blind and searching, the blue energy seeks contact
lightning came in on the telephone line
the pathway of least resistance through the wire and then the water body
storm paths recorded faithfully by the earthbound
but with every added observation, reality looms larger and faith in prediction faulters
the recorder turned conductor and split asunder by his very own nature
the spirit may be displaced for some period, the forest of neurons lit momentarily by an alien fire
freeing of space again and maybe we return, and maybe the rolling clouds wash us clean
“lightning may do no damage to the wire, or it may burn the telephone wire completely”
mountain goats clamor back to the peaks
man sits at the telephone, about to speak
a dial tone, contact missed a beat
— Grace D.
* * *
A lightning strike my uncle caught on camera
This poem is inspired by recent events and old stories. While researching the Hungry Horse Dam for my last blog post, I came across two histories of the Flathead National Forest: The Flathead Story by Charlie Shaw and Trails of the Past by Kathryn McKay. Both histories are extensive and cover many aspects of early forest service happenings and 19th and 20th century life in the area. I was particularly drawn to the sections on fire lookout life and lightning. The quoted section in the poem, “lightning may do no damage to the wire, or it may burn the telephone wire completely” is quoted directly from Shaw’s chapter on lightning (The Flathead Story (Chapter 26)). The details in the poem concerning food rations and daily lookout life are also inspired by descriptions from both histories. I was moved by a tragedy that occurred near Pagoda Lookout involving two men maintaining a telephone line during a lightning storm. If you wish to read about this event, the story is in the last paragraph of Shaw’s chapter on lightning (The Flathead Story (Chapter 26)).
“Robert’s Lookout” still standing today in Eureka, MT. The original lookout was a “crows nest” style, built in 1920. The structure seen here was built in 1920 and originally stood at Roberts Mtn west of Fortine, MT. Ross “Shorty” Young was stationed here from 1924 to 1943.
Last week I attended a local short film festival in Missoula, MT. One film that stuck with me was “The Lookout.” The film is not (yet?) available online, but if you are interested in details regarding the actors and the director, there is a profile on IMDb (The Lookout (Short 2024) – IMDb). Stay tuned for eventual public release of this film. The film opens on a lone lookout and his simple life. Strange, foreboding signs start to haunt him, bringing into question both his true nature and the environment’s true nature. People are not what they seem, and nature reclaims what was once believed separate. A still from the film of pancake batter dripping off a fire pit and clear secretions running from the lookout’s nose reveal an unknown, lurking presence. In the midst of all this creeping horror, there is great beauty in the landscapes and the natural world. I thought of this film, too, while writing this poem about the wonder and the terror of being outside, exposed to the elements.
A break in the storm on a hike near Trapper Peak in the Bitterroot National Forest; I only spent about fifteen minutes at the lake because of the foreboding clouds. On the way up to the lake rain came down in buckets.
The smell of lightening is very real, and it appears to be the smell of ozone (Cappucci 2018). For myself, lightning strikes a primal fear in me, and I have rushed down several trails to get away from a high alpine lake as dark clouds gathered around the peaks. On our drive back from delivering seed to the Coeur D’Alene Seed Nursery, my co-intern and I listened to a talk with Cathy Cripps, an alpine mycologist (Ep. 113: Mushrooms of the Rocky Mountains and Arctic Alpine Biome (fea – Mushroom Hour). She talked about her work in alpine climates and the world in miniature up there. She studied short willow forests and their mycorrhizal associations with alpine fungi and her pioneering work with mycorrhizal fungi in white bark pine restoration.
The rock I hunkered under while the storm dumped rain and lightning crackled.
I discovered many things about the world and about myself this season. Thank you to the Flathead National Forest botany department, my co-intern Erynn, and many others who made this season so wonderful.
A slow portion of the Flathead River, only a few minutes down the road from where I stayed in Kalispell this summer.
References
Cappucci, Matthey. “Lighting Has a Smell, and the Science Behind it is Beautiful.” The Washington Post. (2018). https://www.sciencealert.com/here-s-why-you-can-actually-smell-lightning
McKay, Kathryn L. “Trails of the Past: Historical Overview of the Flathead National Forest, Montana, 1800–1960.” Flathead National Forest. (1994). http://www.npshistory.com/publications/usfs/region/1/flathead/history/#:~:text=TRAILS%20OF%20THE%20PAST:%20Historical%20Overview
Shaw, Charlie. “The Flathead Story.” USDA Forest Service, Flathead National Forest. (1967) http://www.npshistory.com/publications/usfs/region/1/flathead/story/index.htm#:~:text=THE%20FLATHEAD%20STORY.%20By.%20Charlie%20Shaw.
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!)
Some of the seeds to be directly sown to the Resurrection Creek restoration site. One of our last collections. Calamagrostis canadensis.Sanguisorba stipulataSecond round of seeds delivered to Anchorage Water and Soil Conservation District for grow out.Direct sowing seeds at Resurrection Creek restoration site.Some of our seeds.Little clip of me direct sowing Heracleum maximum.
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.
Artemisia tilesii Goopy boi.So many Goopy bois.Clean Artemisia tilesii
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.
My first excursion with the Timber and Ecology crews.Contents of a Duck nesting box. My partner in collection and I. This is what peak field botanist form looks like.On a rafting trip with some of the FS Dormmates.On the way to check bird boxes.
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.
Cleaning seeds using the Clipper Office Tester.Seeds on their drying rack out of their drying tent.Rainbow 🙂Twin flower – Linnaea borealis vinesJuncus castaneus seedsHarvesting Carex aquatilis.Muskeg. This is what peat bog performance looks like. My mentor using a harvester to collect Calamagrostis canadensis.Spooky cool mushroom.Assisting Fungus Fair set up. Got to meet mycologists.Just some of the seed we collected this year.Plants grown out from last year’s interns that ended up planted at the restoration site.
After 6 months here at the HLC NF, it’s all finally coming to an end. It still doesn’t feel real to me as I’m typing this, but in just a few days I’ll be heading back to Pennsylvania to prepare for my next big move. This all a bit bittersweet for me. I’m overall excited to bring the skills I have gained through this program into whatever endeavor I decide to pursue next, but there are a few things that I am really going to miss about this place.
For starters: the view. It is unlike anything else I have seen before and it has been an absolute privilege to call this forest my home. I mean just look at this! It’s absolutely breathtaking!
I’m also going to miss the people that I have spent so much time with over the summer. A part of not living near a lot of people is naturally getting closer to the people who are near you. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the people I met through this internship.
I’m not sure if anyone considering this position will read this, but in the slight chance that someone in that exact position comes across I will offer up a bit of advice:
Don’t pass this up. There is so much that you will learn from a season in the program and you’ll be able to see different parts of the country that you haven’t been to yet.
As I sit here writing this post, the end of my season is rapidly approaching. It is as if the weather knows that endings are coming, giving us cold days and dark mornings. The station has grown quite quiet as our numbers rapidly dwindle. Our team of seven is now just a team of three. The mice are invading our house to escape the cold and our heater makes our house sing a rumbling lullaby.
I have always found the changing of the seasons to be an apt metaphor for times of transition. The cyclical nature of the seasons mirrors the way each ending is a beginning. As summer leaves us and fall prepares us for the cold winter ahead, I can’t help but look back on how much my life has changed in the last six months.
I started this job having just finished my undergraduate degree. I was filled with the fear of not knowing what is ahead, like it was too dark to see what was right in front of my face. Now I am faced again with not knowing, but I feel ready to free fall into the darkness.
When I started this job I was full of excitement and nerves, I had no idea what to expect. Throughout college my passion for plants grew like a vine spreading to every part of my life. Now I feel as though that passion has blossomed leaving me with a sense of sureness about what I want to do with my life. I love plants. I love the way they grow. I love the way they cope with every changing conditions. I love learning what each plant is and what makes it unique. I love what we can learn about life and death from plants.
I am so grateful to have spent this season doing work about something I am so passionate about. I have learned so much and yet it is only the beginning of what is a long and twisting road ahead of me. I sit here not knowing what is next in my life, but there is a sort of comfort in the unknown. The only constant I will ever find in my life is change and I welcome that. The choices are all mine and there is no right or wrong choice, only the choice I make.
I will miss Montana, but my East Coast heart aches for the place I have always called home. I will soon say my sorrowful goodbyes to this big and beautiful state. I am ready to return to Massachusetts where the people are unfriendly and cold, but where my heart feels so warm. I will stare out at the vastness of the ocean and think of Montana and the wide open spaces.
Nearly all the plants have dropped their seeds reflecting the ending that is just a whisper away. When I first arrived everything was in bloom and the hope of spring was all around us. As the season has gone on and the plants have fruited and seeded changing the environment around us I couldn’t help but feel as though I was growing and changing with them. Now as the trees and perennials begin their dormancy for winter, I too prepare for the next cycle of my life.
