Getting ready for Botany 2015!

I'm heading off to Edmonton this weekend for Botany 2015. This conference is co-hosted by a handful of professional societies, a few for which I've maintained membership for several years (Botanical Society of America and American Society of Plant Taxonomists). I'm excited to be returning to this conference after attending Evolution for several years. My dance card is very full for this conference, but I'm looking forward to each part:

1. Ecological niche modeling workshop: A few of my undergraduate researchers are pursuing some projects involving species distributions and niche modeling. Pam Soltis (who was on sabbatical at NESCent when I was there) is hosting a workshop on this very topic, and I'm elated to have some time to sit down and formally learn methods using QGIS, an open-source modeling tool.
2. Oral presentation: I'll be presenting preliminary results from my characterization of transposable elements in Agavoideae (agave/tequila, yucca, etc). I'm really excited for this collaboration with two other early career scientists, Michael McKain and Alexandros Bousios, to finally come to fruition. You can read my presentation abstract here, and I'll be posted the slides to SlideShare after the presentation. 
3. PLANTS mentor: The Botanical Society of America sponsors undergraduates from under-represented groups to attend their annual meeting, and I'll be acting as a mentor for one of these students during the conference. He'll be giving a talk on palm evolution that sounds great! I'm looking forward to meeting him this weekend.
4. Student career luncheon: I've been invited to speak at a luncheon for student conference attendees about careers in botany. This sounds like a great way to share my experiences in my path to research and teaching. My short talk will be followed by "speed dating," where students will be able to interact with professionals.
5. Professional society service: I have some additional obligations to serve a professional society during the conference, which makes me feel like a Very Adult Scientist but also will keep me pretty busy!

Geeking out about acorns on the local news.

My university has a pretty decent relationship with the local news. Reporters fairly frequently contact the public relations office, seeking out an authority (i.e., professor) on the topic of the story they're preparing. A few folks in my department appear in news stories on a semi-regular basis, mostly offering facts and opinions on issues tangentially related to their areas of expertise.

I wasn't entirely surprised, therefore, when I got a phone call from the public relations office a few days ago, asking if I'd be willing to talk to a reporter. I was initially apprehensive, as I'm still trying to get my bearings in my new home state and wasn't sure I wanted to be put on the spot if asked about something controversial. I had no need for fear, though: I'd been recommended as someone who could talk about why it was there seemed to be such a large acorn crop this year.

"Heck yeah!" I thought, and calmly agreed to meet with the reporter that afternoon. I spent a few minutes doing a quick literature search. As I suspected, there's a decent amount of literature on that very topic. I made a list of talking points, including a few general notes about plant biology/ecology:

1. Acorns are the fruit of the oak tree, created by the fertilization of a female flower by pollen from a male flower.
2. Multiple factors can affect the development of an acorn, including how many flowers of each type are produced, effectiveness of pollination, and whether the tree has resources to dedicate to developing lots of fruits.
3. The factors above are, in turn, dependent on temperature, amount of sunlight, and levels of precipitation.
4. Acorn production (masting) also varies temporally (through years), spatially (across geography), and by species (some oak species produce more/larger acorns).
5. This summer has been particularly cool and wet compared to the past (I checked average temperature and precipitation for the month of July for 2011-2014), so perhaps those conditions favor more acorn production.
6. Trees are large and can't move, so resource allocations from previous years can affect acorn production in subsequent years.

The interview took about 15 minutes. We went outside and stood near some conveniently located oaks near my building. Of course, the talking points I had planned were shuffled around and reframed depending on the questions he asked, but I think I covered everything listed above and more (acorns are food for wildlife, they do eventually grow into trees, etc). Then the reporter grabbed a totally awkward shot of me walking down a path looking at leaves.

It's totally cringe worthy, but I know at least my dad will want the link, so you can see how my talking points above translated into the final story here: KLTV News, Why so many acorns this fall?

Lessons learned: keep makeup and a blazer in my office, to prepare for next time. Be a more careful about preparing appropriate sound-bites. I was also surprised to learn how much trouble the reporter had getting someone to talk to him about this; a number of arborists in town completely blew him off. I thought it was super cool! That's probably a good thing, because the public relations representative said at the end of the interview, "Great! I can add you to the list to talk about plant stuff!"

Great, indeed. Let's call this "service to the university." 

When a computational biologist yearns for the field/lab/greenhouse.

A darling little rose bush.

I'm a sucker for cute little plants on sale at the grocery store. I saw these delightful miniature rose bushes when I first started shopping, and waffled for the next 15 minutes as I circulated the store about whether to take one home with me. I ultimately relented, because I decided that it was a small price to pay to feel more connected to my new home city (Tyler has a thing for roses, including a pretty nice rose garden!).

My compulsion to surround myself with plants started during my undergraduate education after taking plant taxonomy and beginning to work in a molecular systematics of plants lab. I enjoyed working in the field, but realized during graduate school I was more suited to computational work. After three years as a NESCent postdoc, during which my work was exclusively computer-based, I found myself yearning to physically get my hands on some live organisms (hence the compulsive purchases of houseplants).

Happy Commelinaceae in the greenhouse.

The problem is that I've been hired as the resident bioinformatics/genomics person, which brings with it certain expectations about how I spend my time (mostly, analyzing data that other people collect). As a scientist, though, I think it's important to still maintain a connection to my study organisms. My plants a source of inspiration and wonder, as well as a resource for future research questions, and I'm loathe to permanently pigeonhole myself as a "computer person." How do I balance these opposing expectations?

My research mindset right now is one of nearly infinite possibility. I want (and need) to be productive as a scientist, but it's up to my discretion exactly how to make that happen. I work at a small, regional university, which means I may need to be creative (financially and with other resources) about how to set up research projects for my students in the future. I have some of my Commelinaceae living collection growing quite happily in the greenhouse here in town, and access to growth chambers on campus if I want to do hybridization or selection experiments.  Even though I don't have immediate research plans for my plant and DNA collections, I'll keep them as long as I can to keep my options open.

From a teaching perspective, I'm really excited about designing courses which capitalize on either computers or live organisms. I've already written about the bioinformatics course I'll be teaching next semester, and I'm considering offering a class on plants of Texas (taxonomy and systematics). I helped teach plant systematics as a graduate student, and find myself really excited at the prospect of getting back into the business of instructing students about the local flora.

Ultimately, I know trying to balance these opposing forces are making my life at least a little harder. It's more work to figure out effective pedagogy for classes based in the field and on computers. Oddly enough, my educational and work experience has set me up for precisely these tasks (see references to my experiences above), and there are quite a few other academics who successfully split responsibilities between different projects. What's the main reason that I remain committed to being a jack-of-(plant and computer)-trades? It makes me happy, of course.

Returning to my old stomping grounds.

I mentioned in my semester overview that I was doing a bit of traveling this fall. Last week I made the long drive from east Texas to Central Missouri to visit University of Missouri. My Ph.D. advisor, Chris Pires, was incredibly kind to store some research materials for me while I was working in North Carolina as a postdoc. Now that I'm starting my own lab, it seemed appropriate to resume custody of my plants and DNA stocks that were taking up valuable real estate in the greenhouse and freezer.

Lots of plants...the backseat was full, too!

Major life transitions (like moving halfway across the country and starting a new job) make me a bit nostalgic, so the drive back to Missouri was surprisingly emotional for me. I drove through the Ozarks several times as a graduate student as I collected plants from Arkansas, Texas, and Mexico for my dissertation research. This time, instead of returning to MU with a truck full of plants, I was leaving there with my Kia Soul packed with Commelinaceae goodness. Maintaining a living collection of plants takes a lot of time and energy, and I'm happy to see that so many of them survived. While my new university doesn't have a greenhouse on site, Tyler Junior College has a beautiful conservatory and have offered to house and maintain my collection. I'm looking forward to having my plants nearby again as I start thinking about developing them for research and/or teaching.

Perhaps more important than obtaining plants and DNA was the mental recharge I experienced by seeing some familiar faces and getting a much-needed pep talk from Chris. More pondering on reframing my mindset as a professor will assuredly occur over the next few weeks as I continue to develop my master plan (cue comically ominous chortling and cackling).

Monocot sightings in Tyler Rose Garden

Evidence that there were, in fact, roses.

My mother visiting me for the first time here in Texas was a prime opportunity to indulge myself in some idle plant gazing. Tyler has the nickname of "Rose Capital of the World," due in part to Tyler Rose Garden. Despite being late in the season after a summer of odd weather (cooler than usual, and comparatively wet), there were still quite a few roses in bloom. I even managed to stop for a moment to smell one and snap a picture.

Rain lilies, or Zephyranthes
(maybe?)

Leave it to me to go to a garden specializing in roses, which are eudicots, and pay the most attention to a few flowering monocots. Hence, the rest of my gratuitous plant pictures are a few exemplars of the diversity of late summer flowering monocots.

Onions, glorious blooming onions!

I found all of these plants in the IDEA garden, sponsored and maintained by Smith County master gardeners, so they certainly accomplished their mission of inspiring visitors.

Side-by side comparison of monkey grass varieties.

As an ardent admirer of plant diversity, I was delighted to find no fewer than four varieties of Liriope (monkey grass) growing in close proximity. Here you can see variation in leaf color (green, variegated, dark purple), leaf morphology (long, leggy vs short, compact leaves), and growth habit (clumping vs spreading).

Several varieties of agave

Given all the rose bushes in sight, it was a pleasant surprise to come across a xeric rock garden with several interesting varieties of agave. I'm working on a computational project with agave right now, so it's nice to be inspired by seeing the plants growing. I know there are lots of other resources in Texas for these and related species!

Even among big trees, I stare at the ground.

I flew out to California a few weeks back to meet my sister and mom for a road trip up to Reno for my brother's graduation. First off, congrats to Dr. Thomas J. Hertweck for completing his PhD in English (Literature and Environment) from the University of Nevada, Reno! I was pleased to be able to meet some of the other fantastic folks in his department, and am hoping to be able to collaborate on some Hertweck & Hertweck publications in the future. Although Tom professes to be "traditional" and eschews official obligations to social media, I know he still frequently lurks the interwebs…so good job, big bro.

Sequoia sempervirens, or redwood trees

While out west, I convinced my family to traipse around a few parks so I could fit in a little botanizing. The highlight was Calaveras Big Tree State Park. You're probably not surprised that there were some pretty big trees. There is only one species of sequoia (a commonly used name in the vernacular), which belongs to the genus Sequoia, and is also known as coastal redwood or just redwood. Redwoods belong to the sequoia subfamily of the cypress family. There are lots of other species of cypress, but redwoods are the only sequoias…other related species are long extinct.

Glad to get the tree taxonomy off my chest! Turns out this trip was a good way to torment educate my family about botany.


Come to find out, even when I'm walking in a forest with some of the tallest trees around, I still tend to look down. Sometimes it's because a downward gaze lets you appreciate the size of these trees. 

Mostly, though, I'm looking nearer towards the ground because I get distracted by flowers. Sometimes they're pretty similar to the plants I see back east. I've placed some tentative species names with the pictures below, but it's really half-assed botanizing at best (hey, I was on vacation).

Dicentra formosa, Pacific bleeding heart. Bleeding hearts are found all over the place, but this local species had nice pink flowers (I'm a sucker for them)

Trillium chloropetalum, giant wakerobin (indeed, it was quite large, the size of a dinner plate!)

Smilacina stellata, false Solomon's seal (widespread, the same one I see on the east coast!)

I'll admit it…I really don't care about identifying trees from Rosaceae.

Corallorhiza striata, an orchid (!)

And sometimes I come across really cool saprophytic plants! Saprophtyes are plants which obtain their nutrients from dead and decaying material on a forest floor. Here's a pretty nice explanation of them (with more gratuitous plant pics) from a carnivorous plant website (because weird plants gotta stick together, ya know?). These types of plants are particularly near and dear to my heart because I talk about them in a manuscript I'm currently revising for publication. Really cool evolutionary stuff!

Sarcodes sanguinea, snow plant, a saprophyte from the heath/blueberry family

I'm not gonna lie. I always feel pretty special when I see a saprophytic plant in the wild, and I think it's mostly just because they're so weird. Not green? Not a problem! Still a plant. I'm sure I'll wax philosophical about these and other topics again in the near future.

Knitting and Science: Plants!

There's a long tradition of incorporating botanical designs into knitting, including many lace patterns inspired by and named after flowers/gardens, and entire books of patterns for creating flowers. Like all other knitted objects, these range from abstractly inspired by plants to fairly realistic representations.

Flower bouquet, Ravelry project

Let's start with the most realistic flowers: in this case, calla lilies and some campanula-style bellflowers. I strove for ease in knitting and aesthetic appeal more than botanical realism, hence the calla lily's paltry spadix and the incredibly droopy, non-differentiated sex organs in the bellflower.

Elodea socks, Ravelry project

Then there are patterns which are inspired by plants. They may or may not actually resemble said plant, but I'm a sucker for inclusion of scientific names into knitting patterns.

Lace stockings with flower motif; Ravelry project

There are plant motifs which occur in lace knitting, often featuring leaves or flowers.  

My Little Flower, Ravelry project

Finally, it's not surprising there are knitters that have contrived disgustingly cute little anthropomorphic flower-people as toys for kids.

I'm looking forward to sharing other plant-related fiber art posts with you soon, including plant-derived yarns and fiber dyes made from native plants!

Other posts in the Knitting and Science series: 

Animals

Dreary weather getting you down? Have a picture of a rose.

You're welcome.

Monocots at Monocots!

I couldn't very well travel to the 5th International Conference on Comparative Biology of Monocotyledons and not post pictures of monocots, could I? I figured most of the other conference attendees would be covering the New York Botanical Gardens, so I took the opportunity to document monocots in the gardens at The Cloisters, a portion of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.






The Cloisters' gardens feature a variety of plants relevant to the medieval theme of the annex, including a wide range of plants used for food and medicine. Not a lot was blooming at the time of my visit, but I managed to snag a few shots of particular plants of interest. Shown here: Paris (above), Hemerocallis (right), and Allium (bottom).

I appreciated the museum's transparency in which plants were poisonous (something often overlooked by horticulturists), as well as notes in some portions of the garden about which plants were new additions and how the particular cultivars grew best.

Monocots at Evolution 2013!

Given my tendency to stalk plants wherever I go, including conferences and college campuses, it should be no surprise that I took some time photographing the most interesting monocots (to me) here at Evolution 2013 in Snowbird, Utah. First up (right) are some lovely irises, which are likely ornamental but more petite than those I'm used to seeing in the southeast United States.

Next (left) is a (rather blurry) false Solomon's seal, featuring the characteristic spray of white flowers at the tip.

I'm not one to normally get excited about grasses and relatives, but sedges are really adorable and this small one (right) was in full bloom.

My personal favorite (left) is this lovely onion in full bloom. My old labmate, Erica Wheeler, would know the species, but I just like the magenta color.

Then finally, I have an enigma (right). These vegetative stalks stood over two feet tall, and not a single flower bud was visible. Obviously I'm not very good at western United States/Rocky Mountain flora.

Sadly, no Commelinaceae, but still plenty of monocots to keep me entertained.

Commelinaceae haunts me...

Old habits die hard. During my dissertation I spent lots of time traveling all over the United States and Mexico collecting species in the plant family Commelinaceae (wandering jews, spiderworts). I've mentioned in passing my propensity to continuously stalk wandering jews maintained as ornamental plants inside buildings. Tradescantia pallida (picture to the left) is frequently planted as ground cover outside in the summer. Despite its perennial growth habit, it was replanted each summer back in Missouri as the winters were too harsh for it to survive freezing. This picture was taken recently on Duke's campus, where it seems to overwinter quite happily and persist in random patches.


I don't get much time with plants now that my research is exclusively computational, so it's nice when ornamentals remind me of how attractive my selected species appear (so pretty, in fact, that I obtained a tattoo of one such flower). Therefore, I'm veritably overflowing with glee when I stumble across a member of Commelinaceae in the wild. I visited a friend's farm this past weekend and came across a really nice population of Callisia graminea (right) growing quite happily in the middle of their property. I spent a summer collecting this species with the intention of looking at range expansion of polyploids compared to their diploid progenitors, and hope to get back to this project someday.

I'm even more tickled when I travel someplace I've never been and see plants unknown to me but clearly Commelinaceae. I came across a number of exemplars from Aneilema and Commelina in Kenya last spring. Even though I don't research those particular genera, I still insisted on pulling the van over so I could take a few photos.

Regardless of where I go, wandering jews follow me. I didn't purposely pick a plant family to research that grows in all sorts of exotic, tropical locations. That's just a bonus!

Accidental irises.

My boyfriend, Matt, needed to purchase a new cell phone a few weeks back, and asked if I could accompany him to a shopping mall while we ran errands one Saturday. I agreed, careful to tamp back my utter disinterest and anxiety in patronizing that bastion of teenage angst and commercialization on the busiest day of the week.

We arrived at the mall and greeted my fears: scores of teenagers, families with young children, and the occasional lone adult wandering with a shell-shocked expression on their face. We started walking towards the store possessing new phones (indeed, the ticket to my delivery from this monstrosity and ultimate salvation) and my eyes were met with a surprising vista.

A group of tables had been set up in one of the mall's open areas, on which were displayed an amazing array of irises. The Eastern North Carolina Iris Society was showing its award winning exemplars that weekend! Tall, short, bearded, and unbearded were all represented, with a stunning array of colors to boot. Matt indulged me while I wandered through the displays, pausing to examine some particularly lovely coloration or remarking on the cultivar names (botanists are never-endingly creative, see this blog post for some examples).

Looking at irises for a few moments was a welcome reprieve from what would otherwise be a tiresome shopping trip. I was gratified to experience growing excitement in...well, growing things again, as my current job doesn't include the greenhouse and field work to which I'd become accustomed during my graduate work. I was ultimately pleased I had the opportunity to accompany Matt, and was reminded that, just in like science, it's sometimes the serendipitous encounters which yield the biggest rewards.

Today's reason plants are amazing

While walking to the bus stop last week, I happened upon this lovely example of a wicked cool plant breeding system. Allium (onion) undergoes a form of vegetative apomixis (reproduction without sex) in which little plantlets form where flowers have bloomed. The picture shows an onion growing wild on a North Carolina roadside. The long squiggly line on the bottom right is the scape, or stem which supports the inflorescence (group of flowers). I'm holding the inflorescence, which has a few small and one REALLY BIG plantlet growing out of it. These can become individual plants. Remember that in the case of onion, there are bulbs growing below ground which are also producing little bulblets, which is another form of vegetative reproduction.

Just your normal azalea appreciation post.

The azalea bush planted outside my childhood home in Indiana was always in full bloom the week of my brother's birthday (in early May). The nice part about living further south is the earlier arrival of azaleas, as well as greater variety in floral morphology. I love bushes loaded with blossoms, which can almost completely obscure the leaves hiding beneath.

Shown below are three examples of lovely southern azaleas:

First, small white blossoms in full bloom today on Duke's campus.

Next, medium-sized light pink blossoms with really interesting dark pink nectar guides, also from Duke's campus,

Finally, some huge, shockingly pink blossoms I saw weeks ago while traveling for spring break. Leave it to New Orleans to have the showiest of flowers.

Bursting heart.

I spotted a lovely specimen of Euonymous americanus, or strawberry bush, alongside a path on Duke's campus earlier this week.

In proper botanical romanticism style, I tend to prefer the whimsical common name of bursting heart.

I'm primarily a monocot girl, but these are the prettiest plant displays right now (at least until the naked ladies get going soon...I've seen a few already!).

I bleed for my thesis: Part I

No, really. Throughout the course of research for my dissertation, I have endured a wide variety of physical maladies, ranging from mild to fairly serious, all directly related to teaching, field work, greenhouse maintenance, etc. As I can now see the light at the end of the tunnel for my dissertation, I'm going to record all of these events for posterity. Here I will begin with the first, and perhaps most notable, experience.

------

My second field season turned out to be far more exciting than I intended. I had done some plant collecting in southern Missouri and was meandering around central Arkansas looking for spiderworts. I found and collected from an absolutely amazing population in the middle of nowhere and got back in my truck to head to a nearby campground. I was driving down a narrow rural highway, dropped a wheel off the side of the road, and it blew out. I spun all the way around in the road and turned over upside down in the ditch on the other side (better than the alternative, which was a fairly steep, long hill).

You know the theory about drunk people not getting hurt in an accident because they don't have fast enough reactions to tense up and cause skeletal damage? My incredulity at having caused such a horrible accident likely kept me from getting hurt in much the same way. I remember the truck spinning, my shoulder slamming against the door, and my world turning upside down. It was only

when I hung there, wondering why the airbags didn't deploy, that I realized the full extent of my predicament. The week old camper shell on the truck apparently saved my life, as the cab was barely compressed. I unbuckled my seatbelt and fell to the glass-littered bottom/ceiling of the cab. I crawled out of the passenger side window and emerged into the sunshine, feeling like I had been reborn.

The pickup following a half mile behind me pulled over to help. The family didn't quite believe I was alone in the truck; apparently my collection and camping gear was far too much for one person. I grabbed my purse out of the pile of glass at the bottom of the ditch and found my cell phone. Although I was assured no signal would be available, I managed to reach emergency services and they dispatched a state police officer and ambulance.

After several more attempts to connect, despite crappy cell coverage, I finally talked with my boyfriend at the time. Nearly 6 pm, and he was hungover and at work. All I told him is that I was in a car accident, and that he should get in his car and start driving to central Arkansas. I was in the process of attempting to contact a few additional friends and family when I realized I was standing in a fire ant nest. I extricated myself from that travesty, and started picking the glass out of my arms and legs a safe distance from the domiciles of any biting insects.

The emergency contacts took their sweet time getting there. I apparently should have specified more about the severity of the incident. I refused medical treatment, and supervised the tow truck as it pulled my vehicle and possessions out of the ditch. I stared dispassionately at the mess, and contemplated pitching a tent in the adjoining field to stash my gear. I glanced down and spotted a flash of purple amid the small chunks of glass. My mother had given me a chunk of amethyst to keep in my car "for protection," and it sparkled poetically amidst the wreckage of my vehicle. I plucked it up off the ground and pocketed it, not sure if it had done its job, but instead hoping to reclaim everything possible.

A nice woman who volunteered for emergency services and lived a mile up the highway came by and offered to transfer me and my belongings to a hotel in nearby Glenwood, Arkansas. At that point, I had collected nearly 50 live plants, each of which were ensconced in their own large ziplock bag and placed carefully in huge tupperware boxes. My new friend stared at the jumble of plants in the ditch and said, "You're gonna have to go back and pick all your pretty flowers again." Yes, indeed. We loaded up all non-plant materials in her car and placed the plant tubs in the back of the sadly crumbled truck.

We stopped off at my friend's house to feed her dog, a dachshund aptly named Pecker. She then dropped me at a hotel in town, where I spent the next few hours shaking all of my belongings free from glass and grass. I touched base with my mother, father, and a few of my best friends while I periodically directed my boyfriend to the speck of a town I inhabited. He made the eight hour drive in record time, ending up at the hotel in the wee hours of the morning.

We slept a few hours, stopped by the tow yard to claim the rest of my belongings, and made the drive back. The boyfriend humored me by stopping to collect some plants near Joplin, Missouri. I tallied the final damage when I got back home. Truck was totaled. My shoulder was bruised, and my pride even more so. I had to cancel a professional presentation about my research to a university along my collecting path, and the rest of my collection trip was delayed. My arms and knees had numerous small cuts, and my legs had fire ant bites. But none of my equipment, including my laptop, was damaged, and all of my plant collections were salvageable.

My mom helped me locate another pickup within a few days, and my insurance payout covered most of it. The camper shell salesman didn't even bat an eyelash when I was back only a few weeks later with a different truck and a request for another shell. As soon as I was able, I drove straight to Texas to finish collecting plants. My research persevered, and I emerged wiser. The repercussions were relatively mild, all things considered, but there were some interesting side effects in my personal life....but then again, that's a whole other story. Suffice it to say that this was the first time I literally bled for my research.

Cool research questions and applied research

As a graduate student of an advisor that likes to socialize and network, I often find myself meeting with various visiting scientists to chat about research. Over the past few weeks, I've met with three such scientists. All of them are incredibly intelligent and do interesting work on genomics and chromosomal evolution in plants.

I had lunch with the first scientist. Each student or post doc chatted a little about our research. When it was my turn, I described my work (genome evolution in an obscure monocot family, Commelinaceae). He said he was going to ask me a mean, perhaps unfair, question. I was game, said OK. After all....why did I spend so much time competing in speech and debate if it wasn't to field unfair questions? He asked why I worked on plants that didn't have an applied research angle. I provided my standard answer about comparative biology offering a unique and useful approach for understanding biological complexity in the realm of plants not altered by humans, blah blah blah. I felt I was pretty articulate for being ill and doped up on cold medicine. He waited a moment, then said he didn't buy it. Basically, no answer would have worked...he didn't think a plant was worth studying unless people could eat it.

The second meeting with a scientist went much the same. Lunch, talk about science. This scientist was just mystified as to why I would choose to work on an obscure group. He accepted the value of empirical research, but didn't seem to grasp the relevance of working on a non-model system.

I just had a meeting with yet another scientist. This was an individual meeting with no other folks present. I must admit I approached the meeting with a moderate amount of trepidation, as I wasn't really geared up on this lovely Monday morning to defend my research again.

I'm pleased to say I was pleasantly surprised. We had a quite excellent discussion about chromosomal evolution, molecular mechanisms of genome restructuring, and emerging areas for research as technology develops and our knowledge base grows. He had not only heard of my group of plants, but used it as a teaching tool when instructing students in cytogenetics and chromosomal evolution. He helped me develop my conceptual framework for chromosomal evolution and the context in which I place different types of chromosomal information and analysis. It was an inspiring, refreshing, and very nice way to spend 45 minutes this morning.

In light of my new-found enthusiasm for cytogenetics, here's a picture of some painted wheat chromosomes I took a few years ago when learning cytogenetic techniques. The blue blobs are wheat chromosomes. The red dots are centromeres, and the green dots are an unknown genome fragment I was testing. Now if I could only get some Commelinaceae cytogenetic pics this pretty...

Ah, the feeling of being poked by tiny needles...

...and I don't mean after being with my husband! Mwa ha ha...interpret that as you would  like, sorry, I couldn't resist another burn to Bill.

After feeling a little down in the dumps lately, I decided to lift my spirits with a long-neglected, somewhat rebellious side to my psyche...I got another tattoo. 

The story behind this tattoo goes back a few years, to the very first week I was living in Columbia. My boss was trying to convince me to focus my graduate work on Brassica, a genus of plants in the mustard family. I thought about it, but finally told him that I wouldn't work on a plant unless I would consider getting a tattoo of the flower of said plant. And frankly, Brassica wasn't going to cut it (including a myriad of other reasons regarding my research interests and goals for graduate education). When I stumbled upon a lovely little genus of plants  in the monocot family Commelinaceae, Tradescantia, I knew this was a genus I could stand getting inked. When choosing my tattoo, I was inspired by Tradescantia sillamontana, a wonderful Mexican endemic that is fairly common to cultivation that blooms often in my greenhouse (I took this picture there). 

Based on this pic, I sketched a small flower, very botanically correct, and indicated some areas to shade coloring. 

My wonderful friends Katy and April went with me to Hollywood Rebels here in Columbia. A young but efficient woman named Katy (not the same as above) re-sketched the flower into a more stylized, simpler flower, and although not what I initially expected, is just what I wanted. After all, that's why I go to professionals instead of doing it myself with soot, boot heels, and urine like in Russian prisons (random, yes, but I saw a documentary on it once). 

All in all, this has been a long story for such a little tat. Here's a pic.

It hurt quite a bit more than my first (which I shall blog about later). It's purple, like a traditional Tradescantia here in the Midwest. I was worried about fading, being on the inside of my left foot and all, but I will get touch-ups and additions (yellow for the anthers? more purple? SPATHACEOUS BRACTS characteristic of the genus?!?!) as needed. 

Here's a close-up, complete with hairy ankles (you're welcome), cat scratches (courtesy of Fatticat), and new-tat glossiness.

Another cool thing about this tattoo? The center of the flower indicates where I should start turning the heel when I'm knitting socks from the toe-up. I'm already envisioning my next two...knitting related, and a phylogeny. Yes, I'm a dork.

African violets

I'm going to let my inner botanist geek come out right now, since I had the opportunity yesterday to go to one of my favorite bi-annual events: the Heart of Missouri Africa Violet Club sale. I'm such a fan of these plants that I'm considering throwing away most of my other plants at home in favor of them. I suppose I'll keep my aloe, and definitely my orchids, but I like the compact nature of my pretty little violets (which aren't actually violets, BTW).

The group is comprised of several women that have enormous collections of African violets and relatives. They propagate these plants (because it is SO easy) and sell them for unbelievably low prices (like, $1 for a plant) at their sales. They maintain databases of all the varieties/hybrids in their collections.

Because I think it is so interesting, I'm going to tell you a little bit more about these plants.

There is a group of a few species of plants (the genus Saintpaulia) that are hybridized and cultivated to produce the varieties we grow commercially today. They have awesome names like "Rob's Heebie Jeebie." They are characterized and described by a suite of characteristics, including:

1. Petal color (striated, dual color, etc)
2. Petal type (doubled, curly edges, etc).
3. Leaf color (variegated, green, purple, etc)
4. Leaf shape (curly, depth of veins, etc).
5. Plant size (miniature, semi-mini, etc).
6. Plant growth habit (leaf crown, trailer)

That was a lot of etc. Sorry. I'm sure there are more categories, but these are those I am most familiar with. This also doesn't even touch on the African violet relatives (Nematanthus, etc)

My list of important tips about maintenance of African violets:

1. Only ceramic or plastic pots that are smaller than the size of the leaf crown of the plant.
2. Bottom water. Accomplish this by always using pots with drainage holes, and stick a piece of acrylic yarn or pantyhose in the drainage hole (this will wick water up to the soil).
3. For plants that seem sensitive to temperature, or new plantlets, I use old fishtanks and fishbowls for
4. To propagate plants, use a sharp knife to cut off a large leaf. Place the leaf petiole (stem) into moist soil. Three to seven plantlets will sprout from the cut leaf end. It might take a few months, but separate the plantlets when they have a small crown of leaves (5-7 fairly large leaves).

Minatures and trailers don't like me much, so I don't have any advice about them.



Here's a gratuitous picture of a portion of my collection. I bought this little shelf at a yard sale with Katy yesterday, and it fits some of my planters wonderfully. The plant in the front center is an especially interesting variety, as it is a trailer that has these amazing leaves that are deeply curled.

If you have a hankering for a new little plant, please let me know and I would be happy to accommodate you.

Since Elene wanted some pics of my kitties, here's a nice one of Fatticat being cute.

From Mexico

I've spent a fabulous couple of days in Mexico City and Cuernevaca, but they business of this trip has left little time for blogging! Here's a huge agave outside one of the buildings where we were presenting our research. Right behind it (not shown in the pic, unfortunately) was a flower bed with two species of Commelinaceae in it. In my excitement to see my plants, I cut my hand on this enormous agave. Plants can be dangerous, dude.



More photos and more thoughts to come when there's time...