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.

I am a data vulture.

Heather Piwowar was one of the iEvoBio keynote speakers last week. I tweeted directly after her talk that she'd lit a fire under my ass to start advocating for open access/science/data, so immediately started my own ImpactStory profile and began meticulously analyzing my professional life.

I've long been sold on open science, and have gradually implemented practices to bring my daily professional life in line with that philosophy. In her talk, Heather spent time discussing issues hindering open science. Most of these were familiar arguments, such as current or future research being "scooped" by data being publicly available. Sometimes I'm personally hindered by technology, time, preferences of collaborators, or even just my own ignorance. I acknowledge, however, that my research here at NESCent is dependent on open access to data and analytical tools, and am hoping to continue this type of research for the rest of my career.

Starting at slide 98, Heather began relating some of the more visceral reactions to scientists opposed to providing open access to their data. I was a bit shocked at the rhetoric surrounding their claims: fear of "armchair ecologists" and "data vultures" reaping the benefit of analyzing data without having to set foot in the field.

I sat back in surprise at the realization that I am a data vulture. I literally feed my research on the carrion of discarded genomic sequencing projects, digging through the trash of the repetitive genomic fraction. I've always liked the mental image of digging through genomic junk. I use pictures of Oscar the Grouch or photos of myself digging through trash cans (right) in my professional presentations. Suddenly, though, those cute metaphors were starting to seem like a betrayal of "real" science.

Heather related the words of another respondent to her questions who was disinclined to share data: "we bleed for each data point." I nearly laughed at the rhetoric, recognizing how similar it was to a post I wrote over two years back: I bleed for my thesis: Part 1. I've literally been that scientist before.

I've sat on both sides of the metaphorical data collection fence. I know how much time, money, and energy it takes to do field/lab/greenhouse work, and I appreciate the desire to make the most of that investment with thorough data analysis. I know the work of data collection isn't always rewarded in our current academic climate. However, I'm not afraid of others knowing about my research. I gladly welcome collaborators, and am happy to foist off projects on other folks. I have enough ideas for research to last several lifetimes and will gladly share them.

What to do about my existential crisis? I suppose I'd rather spend my time really owning the label "data vulture" than worry about keeping my research secret. In my mind, the benefits of sharing data and research far outweigh the potential risks. I'll tarry onward with my perhaps idealistic view of science research and think about knitting a vulture costume...because that would be an even better visual gag for presentations, right?

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.

Making the most of your conference experience.

I sat next to an undergrad on the shuttle from the airport to the meeting site for Evolution 2013 this afternoon. My first Evolution meeting was in 2003 in lovely Chico, California, and I've attended this meeting nearly every year since (I've been to Botany and Ecology on occasion, too). I'm acutely aware now how much my conference experience has changed over the years. It's overwhelming at times to sort through the myriad talks offered concurrently, and the undergrad with whom I spoke was appreciative to hear a few ways to think about strategizing his conference experience.

My post yesterday mentioned three basic goals for any conference as instructed by my PhD advisor. In case you're interested in more, here you go: conference philosophy and practice.

1. I spent approximately half of my first Evolution meeting running between buildings to try and catch talks in different sessions. That was a practice which quickly fell away. Now I pick one session in each time block, arrive a bit early, and sit through the whole thing (this is also in part because I knit and sometimes use my laptop to take notes, as I've mentioned before). 
2. How do you choose which sessions? Sometimes it's obvious, and sometimes it's not. If you have a few friends with similar interests, I like division of labor: go to different sessions and compare notes later.
3. Choosing sessions part 2: Go to talks given by people you know (but see #4 below). Going to someone's talk, especially if they're a new friend, can be an effective way to show interest in their research. Sometimes grad students and undergrads appreciate having friendly faces in the audience, so it is a nice show of support.
4. Choosing sessions part 3: Albert Meier, one of my undergraduate mentors, told me you shouldn't go to a talk given by someone with whom you work (or have worked in the past). Basically, you should probably already know about their research, or feel comfortable asking them about it. Use your time to seek out folks unknown to you, or people you would like to meet. (Note: I prefer this strategy to #3)
5. Pace yourself. I've dealt with social anxiety at various points of time over the last decade, and sometimes I can't handle too much socializing with new people. I make sure I can retreat to a corner of the venue, take a walk outside, visit my room, or otherwise recharge.
6. Use technology and informal events to your advantage. There are often announcements or informal gatherings organized on the fly. Also check the job/announcement bulletin boards for opportunities to score field trip/banquet tickets, etc.

There's lots more I could write, including many issues related to large-scale conventions (for an example, see this entry on con crud). As with anything, your personal preferences may vary.

I think I'm supposed to be doing something with a conference somewhere RIGHT NOW, though...

A prelude to Evolution 2013

I'm heading to Snowbird, Utah tomorrow for Evolution 2013. I've been attending these meetings for over a decade now, and always look forward to the breadth of science discussed. Here are the activities with which I'm involved this year:

1. My talk is on Saturday, 4:15 pm in Cotton D/Snowbird Center: "Genome-wide transposable element insertion frequencies change with selection for accelerated development." It's the first time I'm not talking about plants at an Evolution meeting! I'll be talking about a pretty sweet side project (collaboration with other NESCent and UC Irvine folks) about population genomics of TEs from an experimental evolution study in Drosophila.
2. My poster is on Sunday, number P240003: "Transposable element proliferation and genome size evolution in Asparagales." This is my main NESCent project and the subject of my recent paper from Genome.
3. I'm co-hosting NESCent's Evolution Film Festival on Sunday night in the Ballroom. I've watched the entries and am impressed by the variety of topics and approaches.
4. I'm participating as a mentor for the Undergraduate Diversity Program, and am looking forward to meeting with budding young scientists.
5. I'll be hanging out at the NESCent booth at various times during the conference.
6. Looking forward to attending iEvoBio on Tuesday and Wednesday!

Definitely a busy schedule, but that's the way I like it! In terms of continuing activities at the conference:

1. I'll likely be knitting during talks (the hows and whys are worthy of another post altogether, but I assure you I'm still paying attention).
2. I'll be typing furiously on my laptop and/or iPhone by tweeting (as @k8hert, using #evol2013 for the main conference and likely another for iEvoBio) and taking notes using Evernote.
3. I'll be following my PhD advisor Chris Pires' advice for conferences: "Meet someone older than you, someone younger than you, and watch a talk that changes how you think about things."

See you at the conference!

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.