Many of the mountainsides around the Lolo NF have turned to a shade of golden yellow as the larches turn and the weather towards the cold of winter. The Western Larch has become one of my new favorite trees, and I am so glad that I was able to watch this magnificent change of the seasons in such a beautiful place. It has been a successful season on the Lolo National Forest and although it is a bittersweet feeling to leave, I know I can leave this season behind feeling accomplished and full of new knowledge to take with me to my next destination.

Since seed collection is mostly complete, I have been able to spend some time helping out with different departments around the forest. The Botany/Weeds crew collaborated on a seed collection day for the hydrology department, collecting alder cones for a stream restoration project on a superfund site. We spent the day walking decommissioned roads where alder loves to grow, talking restoration and the joys of seed collecting. We also got to check out some completed restoration projects that the hydrology crew had worked on. It was cool to spend designated time exploring and appreciating interdepartmental restoration efforts. Another exciting part of the October agenda was being able to go out on a few days of work with the wildlife department. I was lucky enough to tag along with Luke, one of the wildlife techs on this forest. We did gate and barrier checks on roads that lead into modeled Grizzly habitat. While checking gates, we got to hike up to two different lookouts on the forest. I have become a lookout enthusiast, and hope to hike to many more next season.

The absolute highlight of October was my participation in the release of Northern Saw-whet Owls. The Owl Research Institute allows visitors to come and watch the process of owl banding once a week at the Flathead Lake Biological Station. I attended with a few co-workers, and we got to watch six owls get banded and measured for data. I even got to release an owl, which was a dream come true.

A little bit of information about these adorable owls: The Northern Saw-whet Owl (Aegolius acadicus) is one of the smallest owls in North America. They are known to nest in a large variety of wooded habitats, but prefer conifers with good cover. They hunt mostly small rodents and shrews, but have been know to prey on insects, songbirds and other small owl species during migration. They can be identified by their small size, round head, lack of ear tufts and bright yellow/orange eyes. A fun fact about these owls is that their age can be determined by a pattern on the under side of their wings. A UV light is shown onto the feathers and the pattern that appears correlates to the age of the bird.

Being a truly nocturnal owl, little was known about the migratory habits of these birds until around 1990 when project Owlnet was founded. This project includes more than 100 banding sites, capturing migrating owls and banding them for future ID. More information about these owls, the ORI and Owlnet project can be found here:

https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Northern_Saw-whet_Owl/overview

https://serc.si.edu/citizen-science/projects/project-owlnet-0

https://www.owlresearchinstitute.org/current-research-projects

Now there is snow on the ground here in the Missoula Valley, time to say goodbye to Western Montana and head back East!

I had a teacher once who told me “seeds are everywhere.” They just don’t take root everywhere.

Working on the Tongass, living on Lingít Aaní (Tlingit, pronounced “KLING-it”, Land) has meant many things. I have witnessed how deeply rooted harvesting and foraging is in Alaskan culture. I collected seeds and learned that this ancient practice is one that joins science and art. I grew to understand how variable a plant’s phenology can be — how unpredictable and essential an act it is to pass on genotypes, pass on restoration, pass on seeds through generations.

Seed collection is an intimate act. Over the past months, I worked largely on the microscopic level — leaning through understory to discover the smallest of berries or fixing my eyes on the ground to notice the smallest of flowers, straining my eyes through a hand lens or cleaning seeds by hand invites you to zoom in even closer. With some plants, like the pungent and prickly Oplopanax horridus (Devil’s Club), this intimacy is difficult to achieve, often requiring two people to get close to the plant — one to climb up high and bow the toppling head of berries down near enough for the second person to reach up through the spikes to strip the berries into a bucket. Days collecting Devil’s Club left us with torn clothing and smelling of celery and rainforest. We took, and so did they.

This intimacy extends beyond the collection and into the entire process. During the planning and scouting phases, we paid multiple visits to the populations we anticipated collecting from, tracking their phenology and guessing when they would go to seed. Many times, we thought we had it planned and predicated exactly right, that we were tuned into their growth and timeline. Then when we arrived to collect from them, they’d fooled us — gone to seed within a span of a few days or a week. Their seeds were not for us.

I found that small acts of intimacy were present all over the Tongass, including interactions between strangers in town. The District Office here sits on the rock cliffs above Bar Harbor, along with the bunkhouse. I spent many evenings on these docks, growing accustomed to the wobbly walk and coming to know the names of certain resident boats and fishermen. One evening, a stranger handed me a bouquet of fresh herbs — English thyme, rosemary, Japanese kale. He reached down to collect the herbs for this spontaneous gift from the variety of potted plants trailing off the side of his boat as he paired down his deck garden for the colder months. We exchanged smiles as the plants passed from one hand to the other. I shared my gratitude.

This is not the first time I am writing about gifts during this internship. In an earlier post, I spoke about the delight of seeds, how they are like small gifts from the earth. In my first post, I wrote about abundance. I have found both here on the Tongass — gifts and abundance.

Yet this season’s seed collection comes at a time where native plants and their seeds are growing increasingly scarce, removed from the land by people, infrastructure, hot and widespread wildfire, eroding streams and drying wetlands. I witness abundance; I also think about the gradual loss of habitat and native plants on this planet.

This is why we collect. Native seeds are gifts for the future.

I was introduced to so many plants while I was here. Many were strangers who I gradually developed a relationship with. I tracked their phenology, gathered their fruits, cleaned their seeds. They signaled cues of growth, gave up juicy berries that painted my jeans in smears of red and purple, offered their seeds.

We collected 1,577,772 seeds, that is, 17 pounds of seed from 17 species and 23 populations, ranging across southeast Alaska’s rainforest, lakeside, alpine, and muskeg ecosystems. Six of these populations will be stored locally at Ketchikan Misty Fjords Ranger District. The remaining 17 we labeled, packaged and shipped to Bend Seed Extractory.

We were able to restore and recover 2 miles of salmon habitat on two streams. Some of the seeds we collected this season will return to those stream banks in years to come. It feels good to know where a handful of the seeds we collected are going.

We collaborated with other departments, expanding our experience beyond Botany and seed collection. With Timber, we visited micro- and macro- timber harvest areas and surveyed for rare plants. With Recreation, we hiked-in wooden planks to repair a bridge and helped maintain local trails. With Fish and Wildlife and Ketchikan Indian Community, we dug trenches and hauled logs into stream beds with winches, blocks, and tackles. With Archeology and Landscaping, we hiked into cabin-building sites and assessed the area for archeological evidence, probing the ground for charcoal and remnants from the past.

This exposure to other specialties in the Forest Service was eye opening and so much fun. It also interested me to think about the diversity of habitats and species seed collection will impact. Sometimes it is seed that will go into the soil of a major bird migration route or a seed mix specifically formulated for riparian areas (one of the goals through seed collection here on the Tongass). Sometimes it is seed going into steam banks, supporting soil stabilization and spawning salmon. Other times, the seed goes toward grouse habitat, maybe even city parks.

Seeds will be everywhere.

Alaska, I love your silvery blue mornings. Your fog and rain. I love the smell of red cedar. I love watching the shore pines bathe in the wideness of your sky. I love your islands shrouded in clouds that break up the ocean’s vastness. The bouncing, soft ground of moss beneath my feet. The eagles, bears, salmon, deer. How the people here live closely to the land — hunting, foraging, fishing, gathering. The pace of life in Ketchikan slows over winter and expands in the summer. Locals almost hibernate, before spending their summers out at sea or, in our case, in the forest.

I have learned, while being here that humans can live in pace with the seasons. And some of our greatest teachers in this lesson are extraordinary adapters: the plants. Their chance of survival is so slim, conditions are varied, places are packed, and so many of our current land practices adversely impact their ability to take root.

Seed are everywhere. And sometimes they do take root. They are small, but meaningful. And so, we collect.

I have completely fallen in love with the process, the plants, and the people.

Thank you, Alaska, for your many lessons. I will carry your seeds with me, everywhere.

The past 5 months working at the San Bernardino National Forest have been filled with so many amazing new experiences. While I didn’t move states away (or relocate at all really) for this internship, this summer has allowed me to meet these familiar mountains in a whole new way.

On the very first week working here, I realized that the team I was becoming a part of was filled with so many knowledgeable people ready and eager to share their knowledge with us. From botanical and wildlife knowledge to some of the forest’s best views and swim holes, everyone we worked with opened up to us and made us part of the team. It’s hard to encapsulate all of the things we learned this season and it would be impossible to mention all of the great moments we’ve had. So here are some parts that stand out to me:

Rare Plants!

Early on in the season, we got to do a lot of T&E plant surveys! While a lot of the plants that we worked didn’t have the big showy flowers that many people think of when they’re talking about cool flowers (except maybe Lillium paryi), the plants we worked with had a subtle beauty and unique characteristics you might miss if you aren’t looking for them.

These are just a few examples of the rare plants we surveyed this year. I don’t know if I’ve ever unknowingly walked past these plants during my past visits to the SBNF, but I’m glad to say I won’t in the future. A huge thank you to Joseph and Katie for sharing so much knowledge with us out in the field, and to Scott Eliason and Drew Farr for being great resources to us whenever we brought back common plants to key out.

Mulch!

Another great part of our season was getting to work at the Green Thumbs restoration events. It’s been so great getting to meet so many people with a passion for working with plants. Our biggest event this year was National Public Land’s Day and it was extra special because of all the prep work. Some of my favorite moments on this forest were actually on the days I spent shoveling mulch with the team! Thanks Koby and Diego for taking us under your wings and always being such a blast to work with :’-)

Seeds!

And of course, the seed collecting. The whole reason we’re here folks! When I learned about the work we’d be doing during our training in Idaho early this year, I was so excited to get out here and be around plants all day. The seed collecting we’ve done this year definitely lived up to my expectations. It’s been so fun being out with Ana Karina and our team collecting seed and working with people who are just as happy to be out there as we are. When I look back at all of the collections we’ve made this year, it makes me think about how quickly the time flew. One minute you’re collecting some of the first seeds of the season (like those of Ericameria linerifolia) and the next you’re on to some of the last of the year!

Beauty all around us

But, overall, some of the most memorable things I’ve done have been to sit in awe at the amazing views our forest has to offer. I didn’t get to capture every moment, but here are some pictures of a few of the best views and places I’ve visited this year.

That’s a wrap on this season! Endings are always so bitter sweet. But, I’m hoping this isn’t a goodbye to the SBNF and more of a “see you next time”. Thanks so much CBG for the great opportunity and for all of the doors it’s opened for me. I couldn’t have asked for anything more out of this experience <3

The past few months on the San Bernardino NF have gone by fast and it has been an absolute pleasure both working and living in the surrounding mountain area. Before this internship I had never seen a forest before or the diverse habitats and species that can be found within. While I’ve been working here for the past 5 months and have increasingly become accustomed to the beauty that surrounds me, I still find myself breathless at the many scenic views that the forest has shown me. From the dramatic sunsets to the towering deep green pines, I am incredibly grateful that I have had the opportunity to experience the mountains beauty firsthand.

While the nature was one highlight, I can’t forget all my coworkers that made the season an absolute blast. I’d like to give a shout out to Kobe Bench and Diego Durand who were excellent mentors in helping us become acquainted in the diverse set of species found throughout the forest. They were incredibly patient in their teachings and taught us a diverse set of skills that we can continue to carry into our future careers. Working with them was always filled with laughter whether we were pounding in posts for fences on hot days, picking up a ridiculous amount of beer cans on OHV roads or shoveling mulch for restoration sites. Days rarely felt slow when working alongside them and I’ll miss being a part of their team. I’d also like to thank Drew Farr for being such a great mentor as well! It’s been awesome learning about the multiple facets that play into creating and executing restoration projects within the forest. All the work put into the greenhouse, the field, and seed shed all become worth it once you see a restoration project come to completion. While a majority of our focus was on botany or restoration, I’d like to acknowledge two other individuals that I learned a lot from, Julie Donnell and Jay Marshall. Karen and I had the honor in accompanying Julie on the 3-spined stickleback fish relocation project that occurred in Big Bear. It was so much fun spending a few days with the Fish and Wildlife teams on this project as we got to help catch the fish for relocation both manually and by using electroshock. While the electroshock method was unsuccessful it was neat to learn about how it works in stunning the fish and the necessary caution needed in the work (While we wore waders for this you could still feel the tingle of the current being put into the water which was rather ticklish!). A thank you to Jay as well who is our forests archeologist! It’s been lovely learning about the Native American history of the Serranos in areas throughout the San Bernardino NF. The times we accompanied him out in the field were always enjoyable as he would often educate us on artifacts, paintings, and metates that could be found in these archeological sites. Lastly, I’d like to give a big shout out to Karen for being such a cool coworker/fellow intern! I’m so glad we were able to meet and work together so well this past season. We’ve had a blast learning and troubleshooting together these past few months on keying species, greenhouse work, and much more. Overall, it’s been a fantastic season and I’ve learned so much from everyone I’ve worked with so far. As the season wraps up to a close, I look forward to my next adventure working as a Biological Science Technician in Nevada with USGS. I see this ending of the internship as not so much a goodbye but more until next time to everyone I’ve met so far! Goodluck to all the other interns in the other national forests! I hope you have had just as lovely as a time as we have!

Warm regards,

Ana Karina Andrade <3

I had no specific expectations clouding my view of what life might be like in Tonasket, working on the Colville National Forest. What I did have were expectations of how doing so might make me feel. When I wasn’t immediately satisfied by my work, happy with my living situation, good at every task assigned to me, there was disappointment. I was honestly confused by the feeling because I didn’t have some glamourous image of what it’d be like to live in a farming community with a population hovering around 1000, but it persisted.

The last place I resided was a small, liberal city with a population of 30,000, excluding the 20,000 seasonal college student residents. Before that, I grew up in a dense, liberal, suburb of Boston, where people lived in 1900s split-family homes, within walking distance of two Dunkin Donuts locations. So really, I had no point of reference for what life is like in rural Washington, and each day this season I discovered something new. Friends have asked me what it’s like, what’s different, and aside from the obvious, it’s hard to pinpoint the difference in attitude or collective belief structure here versus the sub/urban Northeast, but it’s immense. I think it may be something that has to be felt rather than described, so I won’t go into too much detail trying.

I appreciate what I’ve learned about the differences between the lives I’ve lived before and the one I lived this summer, and my belief has been affirmed that there are infinite possibilities in this world, and I’ve only scratched the surface of experience. I’m proud of myself for getting through the disappointment to a place where I can appreciate my days, and I’m proud of the work that David and I, along with the other Tonasket botany techs, have accomplished this season. To sum up those days, I’ve included some pictures for your viewing pleasure below.

There are moments of beauty, nuggets of magic inside each path life takes, like finding a Botrychium in a sea of moss and wetland grass.

Although there aren’t many people in Tonasket, I did make one friend outside of work that I’ll be sad to say goodbye to forever. His name is Lucifer, but he’s more of an angel than a devil.

We may not have seen the widest diversity of wildlife this season, but we certainly met our fair share of these guys.

You never know what you’re going to find while bush whacking through what feels like an overgrown jungle. Sometimes it’s a rare plant, but sometimes it’s a decrepit ammunition crate that looks like it’s been there for 50 years.

I think my version of “amber waves of grain” is now “golden waves of Carex”.

Before this season, I was very afraid of getting lost in the woods (or maybe, the mist). By now, all my coworkers and I have been lost and found again enough times that it no longer feels like a fate to worry about.

Sometimes when you’re pressing herbarium vouchers, you will find something you didn’t know you were looking for.

Once spanning over 170 million acres of the continent, Illinois was one state among many that hosted tallgrass prairie. Within this greater ecosystem was a mosaic of smaller habitats ranging from dolomitic pavements, sand hills, and wetlands. 

Its rapid destruction by drain tile and plow, however, has made it one of the most endangered ecosystems in North America. In less than two generations, over 95% of the tallgrass prairie was destroyed and replaced primarily by commercial agriculture. 

There are just twenty designated National Grasslands in the United States — all located west of the Mississippi River. Just 60 miles south of Chicago, however, Midewin is the country’s first and only “National Tallgrass Prairie.” Other nearby natural areas, like The Nature Conservancy’s Indian Boundary Prairies, are located even closer to city limits. 

During a visit to Paintbrush Prairie Nature Preserve, the site manager & entomologist explained how many insects and plants alike may be classified as “remnant-dependent.” And with less than 4% of remnant tallgrass prairie remaining, these sensitive species are at risk for extinction. 

Days not spent collecting seed were often used to monitor rare species with the Chicago Botanic Garden’s Plants of Concern program, such as the state-endangered Buffalo Clover (Trifolium reflexum).This species thrives on disturbed sites, and is believed to have gotten its name from its tendency to grow in buffalo wallows. 

Field days always presented new opportunities, such as accompanying the Wildlife & Range crews for robel pole monitoring and cover board surveys; or floristic quality inventory assessments and meander surveys with the Botany team. And because all seed is processed in-house at Midewin, we also got hands-on experience in native plant horticulture.

My summer spent as a Conservation and Land Management intern was the perfect chance to explore an early career in botany, right in my own backyard.

And although I wasn’t camping in Californian deserts or collecting high-altitude plant species in the Rocky Mountains, Midewin’s unique locale offered relevant experience for an aspiring land manager. 

Dade Bradley

Midewin National Tallgrass Prairie

Many blog posts will mention the bittersweet feeling of finishing their internship, and mine is no exception. It feels like just yesterday I arrived in Illinois, getting comfortable, and now I’m preparing to head back home. This transition is undeniably bittersweet, but I’m also genuinely excited about what the future holds. This experience has added another valuable chapter to my life.

Not only was the work I undertook here rewarding and filled with meaning, but I also had the privilege of meeting many remarkable people. They all had a deep passion for their work, which was always my hope, and I was delighted to discover that the restoration team at Midewin embodied this passion. The field is fortunate to have dedicated individuals who genuinely care about their work and the people who join them in their mission. The team at Midewin has been inclusive, patient, and highly supportive of us interns, guiding us every step of the way as we embarked on our field season.

Midewin is truly a special place, a hidden gem amidst the sea of soybeans and corn that dominate the Midwest landscape. In a region where agriculture and development have wreaked havoc on the natural habitat, leaving few intact ecosystems behind, Midewin stands out. It’s unique not only because it was the site of the former Joliet army ammunition factory but also because of its dedicated focus on restoring prairies from what were once fallow fields. Restoration is a time-consuming, costly, and labor-intensive endeavor, but Midewin serves as a shining example for the entire Prairie State and beyond.

The prairie, eastern deciduous forest, and savanna ecosystems have endured decades of logging, agriculture, and land-use changes, taking a toll on their plant communities. Restoring these ecosystems is a monumental task, and Midewin is taking significant steps to make it happen.

The most encouraging experiences always leave you with a bittersweet taste in your mouth. Like the first time you ever had a sour patch kid. It’s a new exciting time you can barely hold in your laughter of joy. You’ve heard the jingles : “First they’re sour, then they’re sweet” and “Sour Patch Kids: Sour, Sweet, Gone”. Yet in the head of a five year old, these words don’t hold much meaning. All you know is there is a handful of brightly colored, sugar-coated candies in your hands waiting to be in your mouth!

The first taste shocks you and your whole system, bringing a hard realization of panic to your brain. 

“What have I done?! Why do people like these?!”

It floods all of your senses with a sharp ping. In rare situations, even shocking your lower jaw into a tightening, almost stinging pain.

My first days as a CLM intern at Midewin National Tallgrass Prairie brought on a similar shock to my system. Taking a botany internship with the Federal Government is already an unnerving experience. Stack on top of the fact that I have had little formal training on the plant sciences thus far, I felt way over my head. People were throwing out plant names left and right that I had not even heard of before. How was I going to figure out all of these species in 5 months? 

Our first week we learned about Brassicaceae and Rosaceae with an in field lesson on how to identify the different species in each Genus. To tell the truth… it was extremely overwhelming. Sure I had used a dichotomous key before, but these people just knew what they were looking at were different features. I hadn’t even seen the plant before let alone its unique features. I felt like a shock of 100 sour patch kids fully coated in sour sugar into my mouth!

But here’s the funny part about sour patch kids. When the initial shock of sour subsides, they leave a sweet gooey candy that fills your mouth with rich flavors of blue raspberry, watermelon, strawberry, and lemon! Your young five year old heart swells with joy from the burst of sugar on your tongue. Your eyes widen as you grin ear to ear. Finally, the sweetness has shown its cards at last!

As I continued my work on the prairie it got easier. The ugly sourness of fear and intimidation faded away as I bonded with my co-interns (Shout out our 20 hour flights to Boise, ID), worked more with the technicians, and learned to identify my prairie plants. The people here made my experience so sweet. Whether it was monitoring rare plant species in a dolomite prairie with thick sun rays beating your back. Planting Sporobolus heterolepis for a mycorrhizal experiment in the rain, or kissing a bunch of snakes as they tried to slither away in your hands, the days were always eventful.

We as a team have keyed our unknown species of plants, pursued trivia, built retention walls, trudged through dirty streams, and of course, collected seeds. We’ve sworn, yelled, complained, hugged, laughed, and celebrated together through it all. Working together we have done as much for the prairie as it has done for us and we hope it was enough.

The funny thing is about bittersweet endings is you would give anything to go back to that first day. Those sour first days when it all felt like too much because you know how sweet of an experience it will turn out to be. Then it’s all done, just a blip in time to be remembered but never repeated. 

Almost like the company knew what they were doing when they wrote the slogan for sour patch kids:

“Sour Patch Kids: Sour, Sweet, Gone”