Sericocarpus rigidus, the last species to count this summer.

Since starting at the BLM here in Eugene in April, the majority of my time has been spent doing various forms of vegetation monitoring. I’ve spent many weeks counting and documenting the number of individuals in a particular population of rare plants to help the BLM better understand the trajectory of these species and to continue or make changes to existing management protocols. As of today, we have completed the very last of our rare plant surveys. My feelings are mixed. I guess I’m not exactly sure what my main focus will be for the next few months and worry that my future holds a lot of data entry… which, as it turns out, I am terrible at. With a little luck I’ll figure out a way to get in the field with a machete and an weed whacker and hammer on some wetland prairie invaders, like prickly pear and blackberry.

One thing that I’ve realized after two botany-related internships over the past year and a half is that being outside and working with plants is only part of what I want for my future. Oddly enough I yearn for daily struggles, problems with open-ended solutions, and the ability to adapt my actions to meet these challenges. To me this confirms my desire to work in restoration. Before studying habitat restoration, the term adaptive management was unknown to me. Now that I’ve seen a variety of restoration and research projects aimed at supporting native plant populations, it has become my creed. Oddly, the notion that I could spend the rest of my life working to unlock the best possible way to restore native plant communities… and never truly find that answer… is one of the most appealing aspects of becoming a restoration practitioner. Unending challenge and the constant need to adapt, re-think, and start over, sounds like a lot of fun. Field work detached from that thought process will never hold my interest for more than the short term. Although positions like I find myself in now are not my ultimate end-goal, I am comforted that it will take me one step closer. As I get older (I’m 31 now), I often wonder if I’ll know when I’m at that jumping-off point, that moment when the next chapter starts. Will I recognize that moment when it’s time to quit that last safe job and launch full force into a risky but rewarding career? I’m not sure how long or what it will take for me to get to that point, but I’m hoping that starting graduate school this fall at OSU will bring me closer.