Science as art

Many people assume that to be a successful scientist you need only to be good at science, and maybe the occasional related field, like math. But the reality is far different. To be successful at science, especially the sort of integrative science that I work on, you have to be able to communicate. So much of our work revolves around being able to convey to others what it is we do and why it is important. Others meaning journal editors (who control when and where we publish which is the currency by which we succeed or fail) and grant readers (who control whether or not we get money to do the research that we want to publish on). But it also means other scientists, the public and students. The ability to write clearly is a hard won skill and not one that we learn very well in high school or even college. Same with presenting our ideas and findings orally. There is an art to being an effective communicator, and there is a minimal level of competence needed to do this job. Of course, many scientist are just barely above this minimum and can only communicate with each other (sometimes that is even a stretch). I think this is a big reason why the general public is skeptical or uninformed about science, i.e. the evolution debate. We, as a group, are just not that good and talking to others, we are as a rule a socially awkward bunch.
I'm currently working as a mentor for a group of undergraduates and that is among the hardest lessons to learn. They understand the concepts, they can do the work. The hard part is putting into words. The above photo shows one of these undergrads and a fellow mentor doing the fun and easy part of science, collecting data.

Is it just me or is that flower sticking it's tongue out at me? This time of year it seems like most things are taunting me. I have a little more than a month left before I leave for the field and sometimes I feel like a hunk of taffy, being pulled in opposite directions constantly. Because the field season is looming I want to spend all of my time preparing for the season. However, I can't really prepare if I don't know what the results were from last summer yet. In order to be successful I really need to get some papers published soon, but if I'm spending my time writing I'm not analyzing last year's data. I also need to need to continue presenting the findings I do have, and applying for grants that allow me to continue to fund my research, but can't do those things at the same time I'm analyzing old data or preparing to collect new stuff.
Consequently, being a grad student is similar to being a short-order cook (I can say this with authority since I worked for a couple of years as a cook). You have to multitask constantly, and if you forget about something, it burns, gets cold, is incorrect, or doesn't get made in the first place. So to be successful, you have to keep a lot of balls in the air. As panicky as I am about how soon the field season will begin, in some ways it will be a relief because once it starts all I do is collect data, there is no real time for much else.

Let's do the time warp

Again, and again. Somehow it is already the end of January. I'm not at all sure how that happened. It always astounds me how fast time goes, and I often have much less to show for it than I would like. In three short months I'll be heading back to the field, probably for the last time during my dissertation years. Before that happens I need to develop a good plan of attack, and that requires knowing what exactly I found out last year. However, given that my data collection patterns are shotgun rather than laser in nature, this takes a bit of work. And the clock is ticking. Time to ratchet down and crunch through a large number of hormone assays, behavioral data, statistics and manuscript preparations. This is not the fun part of the field biologist job, but it can be very exciting when you get the data in hand. The drum rolls, you hold your breathe and do the stats. And then you cry, or more commonly in my case, think to yourself "that is amazing, i must have done the stats wrong, lets try it again". But either way time waits for no biologist, no matter how much we'd like it to.

Hasta

The season starts and you head to the field. You hire a few field assistants to help with the work. You also act as a mentor for a few undergraduates, bright-eyed youngsters interested in becoming field biologist themselves. They all arrive as strangers that you've emailed with briefly or talked to once or twice. Then you eat, sleep, work and play with this small group of people for months, while having very limited contact with the outside world. They share your failures, celebrate your successes and laugh at you and with you through the season. Then, all of a sudden, the season is over and you're saying goodbye to everyone as we all go our separate ways.
I may see a few of them down the road if they stay in the field, it's a very small world. Some you'll get the occasional email from. But most of them, you'll never hear from again. They'll immerse themselves back into their lives while you do the same in your own. At the end you're left with the memories, and you'll tell their stories to the next group the next year, and so it goes. On and on, year after year.

boiling it all down

The end of the season is approaching, fast. For grad students like mean it's time to wrap things up, make sure every i is dotted and t is crossed. You start thinking of the upcoming fall and the tests, assays and such that awaits you before you can really get down to the nitty-gritty and figure out what you learned over the season. However, many grad students spend the season not only doing their own research but also mentoring an undergraduate that has hopes of grad school. Think of it as practice for being a full fledged professor running your own lab. You help them come up with project ideas, design the research, execute it, and finally analyze and present it. I'm currently acting in such a role as part of the National Science Foundation's Research Experience for Undergraduates Program (REU). This is a 10 week program designed to give interested undergrads a taste of what research is really like, the trials, tribulations, exaltations and humiliations. This summer I have been mentoring 2 such students but the program is coming to an end. Consequently, I am helping them compile and analyze their data. So rather than spending all day everyday outside chasing birds, as I usually do, I am locked in the office playing with spreadsheets and statistic programs. Yeah for me. But, fortunately, it looks like we're getting some very cool results. So all the work will pay with interest.

snack time

Looks cute doesn't it. A tiny adorable little ball of fur, cutely stuffing its face.
Now, imagine that it is not peanuts but babies stuffed into its fat little cheeks, bird babies. These maniacal little fiends are devastating the junco (my songbird study species) population this year. Roughly 80% of the nests we manage to locate are eaten before they are old enough to leave the nest. This is usually, but not always, due to chipmunks. Not only is this tough on the juncos, trying over and over again to get a batch of young to independence before they are munched like beer nuts, but it is also tough on the poor, hard-working junco researchers that slave for hours and hours in the field to find these nests for our research. This is just the way it goes though if you study a tasty animal. Juncos are great because they are common and plentiful, but for that same reason there are plenty of other animals out there doing their part to keep the population from exploding out of control. These things go in multiyear cycles. About every five years or so there is a good crop of acorns, which allows a lot of rodents to make it through the winter. The following summer there are rodents everywhere, eating everything. This is one of those years. Lucky me, I get to be here to see it.

Sitting quietly

Amazing things happen when you sit quietly in the woods. All sorts of shy creatures, the type that one rarely sees, emerge and go about their daily business. Generally speaking people, including myself, are too busy getting where they are going to stop and sit long enough to see the forest come alive. We're busy getting to the overlook, the waterfall, the campsite or car. But if you pause and settle yourself somewhere unobtrusive the bashful being that make up the majority of living things around us will gradually poke their heads out. Most of the time I'm trying to get 8 things done at once and have little time to engage in such behavior. But, lately, because of the nature of some of my work, I've had the chance to stop and sit awhile. And it's been lovely. Seeing things most people never see, except on television, goes along way to improving ones outlook on life. I highly recommend it.