I feel very fortunate to be featured in an article inthe September issue of the Forestry Source, a monthly newspaper through the Society of American Foresters (SAF). The piece is titled "Profile of a Scientist as an Artist," and I got the chance to talk about how I combine science and art. It was such a wonderful experience, and I am so thankful to SAF and to the Forestry Source. Please give it a read! You can view the online version here. Thank you so much!

Here's a peek of the front page, featuring one of my paintings!

I got to do a little interview for my department's webpage as a featured story. How exciting! If you don't know, I am a graduate student in the College of Forestry at Oregon State University, in the department of Forest Ecosystems and Society. Very happy for the chance to talk a little bit about science and art. Please go check it out, here! Thank you!

A couple more little sketches from my Flora of the Pacific Northwest class. The best way to learn something in detail is to tediously replicate it. Gotta love botanizing! : )

In my most recent posts, I have spoken mostly in a candid tone of frustration, hurt, sadness, and disappointment. As I said in my previous post, please: forgive me my gloom. Those are some of the most primary feelings on my mind at present. I hope that changes. I am working hard to change it. It is not what I like to be known for. But it will take time, and my own pace. I feel that, in the past, I have been able to move through things in a way that I cannot do right now. This is partly because things have built up for me, my bitterness and frustration and jealously even. And anger.

Now, because of that, I wanted to take a few moments to share some thoughts on these feelings, and explore them.

Some updates (May, 2016): Fear not, I am improving and my pluck is slowly returning. But, because I believe expressions of frustration have great value, I will leave the original post intact to reflect upon. . .

I have long considered a PhD. In fact, as I was searching for a graduate program prior to my Master's (a process that in and of itself was difficult), you may be aware that I considered the possibility of going directly into my PhD instead of doing a Master's. Ultimately, due to the combination of the funding situation and much thought and uncertainty, benefits and disadvantages either way, I decided to start with my Master's. I wonder often if this was the right choice, as I realized shortly into my Master's that I did feel well-prepared and ready to have been working at a PhD level. Nonetheless, I mostly feel good about the option of choosing my Master's, and that it has been useful. At the very least it has shown me beyond any doubt that I feel and likely am very prepared for my PhD. Though I do think, wistfully sometimes, how I would be half way through my PhD at this point had I chosen that route from the start here at OSU...... This summer, I thought a number of times about the caliber of my research, for example. Well, hopefully it was of a high caliber. Who knows. I have my doubts, of course, but the fact that I had designed most aspects of it, taught myself most of the plant physiology techniques, and managed things alone is certainly encouraging. Contemplating this in and of itself made me realize that, yes, I had likely been ready for my PhD already. But, my Master's degree has allowed me to sharpen myself, and has also allowed me to take some useful (and some not-so-useful) courses, and to work on my skills. That is all valuable. So it is.

In any case, my point is that a PhD has been a goal of mine for a long time, always just on the horizon. Something I've been chasing. In December, my applications were very precious to me even if they were few. I very deeply regret not being able to apply to a broader range of programs -- a regret you will perhaps understand more pointedly as you read -- but had so little time that I really do find it miraculous that I got anything organized at all. Regardless, I chose carefully. I knew there was much risk in building up my aspirations so, for each time I have done so in the past I have inevitably faced painful, stinging road-blocks or rejections. Yet, I have been told by many of my high-level of qualification, the depth of my experiences, and my value as a student. (All very kind words, to be sure, for which I am very honored! Yet, these accolades rarely seem to bear fruit, regrettably, and I am also very hesitant to believe them at this point). So I knew it would be a gamble of how much disappointment I could handle, against the chance of achieving my aspirations. Regardless, I felt some level of value in myself and my worth and my skill. I have worked very hard, and tried to do my best in all that I can. Likewise, I felt some level of confidence that I could be accepted, and I applied to an ambitious program with this confidence. A confidence, which, I truly do not feel is inaccurate or misplaced in myself. Even if I prefer humbleness, I will not deny at this point that I think I am very highly-qualified in my field, and I am proud of the hard work and diligence that has contributed to this. (One would think that confidence is a good thing. In reality, I have found, it mostly just makes things feel more disappointing. Again and again.)

Well, as I have learned, I might have guarded myself a little better against such predictable disappointment.

It has been some time since I have written or posted of my thoughts. In truth, graduate school has been very consuming these past months, perhaps no surprise. My research over the summer took quite a bit out of me, as I pushed myself very hard, and in many respects I am still seeking ways to recover. The summer was filled with learning and growth, to be sure, but often of the form that comes from pulling yourself doggedly, persistently, exhaustingly through a difficult situation. In the end, I think, I was able to complete some very in depth, very interesting research -- and in many ways, certainly, that has been very rewarding. I am not un-proud of my accomplishments, nor would I diminish that growth and opportunity. See, for example, how happy I look (to the left) measuring "fluorescence" after teaching myself how to assemble the machine, and teaching myself how to take said measurements. Certainly, there were exciting aspects of my summer. Perhaps, as I continue the daunting task of sifting through my results, I will write more on what I learned, what I found, and explain more of the tree physiology and science aspects of it. In fact, I am sure I will write such a post, because despite the rather down-beat tone of what I will express in this post, there are many exciting things to share about the summer and my beautiful, darling seedlings, and what they taught me. (And, as I realize now, I have not yet fully explained my research and my experiment, and just what I was doing. So I shall save the long story for another time, because in my plant-loving opinion, it is very interesting! Short story: I was researching drought tolerance and drought acclimation of Douglas-fir and loblolly pine in my experiment, as described in my post from back in June. I used plant physiology techniques, many of which I taught myself or which I, thankfully, had used in past experiences and was able to brush up on my own. Which came in handy, because I was pretty darn independent for my experiment.)

      However, I often cannot fully mask my grimace when I think over the past months. I found that I faced frustration, perceived unfairness, and often faced what, to me, seemed to a string of entirely needless challenges, (but also due to the somewhat self-induced scope of my research experiment). I sometimes questioned whether I was being a little misused. That sounds rather harsh, and I do not mean it to be quite so. On the spectrum of unfairness, certainly, I have been spared graduate school situations that could be far worse and I have no illusions about that. I have grown greatly from my time in graduate school, and value many of my experiences, truly and deeply. This past summer was a part of that growth. Nonetheless, I began to increasingly question the lack of support I encountered this summer (which occurred for a number of reasons, most of them totally unintentionally). As I noted, it was all very independent: from designing the experiment, to carrying it out, I feel rather confident in saying it was a lot of my own ambitions. In fact, that is perhaps a double-edged sword: despite whatever frustrations I mean to express, I do genuinely feel pride in the fact that, as a Master's student, I was given the chance to carry out my own predominantly self-directed research, and I do feel huge gratitude for that opportunity, to be in charge of myself and so much of my investigation. My advisor puts a lot of confidence in my abilities, and I value that immensely (she is often very encouraging). However, my research escalated during July, August, and September into endless 80 to 90 hour work weeks, during which I had quite literally not a single day fully off from my experiment and was never away from the greenhouse where my experiment was housed. I felt, a number of times, to be mistreated. I felt guilty if I did not work constantly, and guilted as well on multiple occasions. I became exhausted. I felt a tiredness seep into my bones stronger then almost ever before. I was drained to an extent that I have rarely, if ever, experienced both physically and mentally. Now, I would say right here that I never expected my research to be easy, nor for graduate school to be easy. The stories I hear from other graduate students past and present indicate that I am not at all alone in feeling stretched and overworked. And I would say that I put in my time, that I worked hard. Very hard. I have always worked hard. Yet this was something beyond what even I could, truly, handle without the loss of my happiness and health. Not so much because of the work, but because of the endlessness, the stress, the anxiety, the uncertainty, the needless disappointments, the lack of any moment to catch my breath, the sometimes strained relationship with my professor because of both of our stress, how other experiments seemed (to me,  in my biased state) to cause such unnecessary added stress, and the number of times I had to figure things out so entirely on my own, relying on my limited though diligent wit and my deep capacity for gritting my teeth and striding onward. The number of times I had to pretend everything was okay, that I was doing fine, and to carry on without respite, because the alternative was giving up. The alternative was to make moot all of what I had already worked so hard for to that point. It felt very much like an endless losing battle, with no real hope for victory, but darn it, I was going to try for a draw at least.

But the truth ran often through my mind: my experiment required far more (wo)manpower than myself alone, and if it were not for the help and sympathy of my sister (who volunteered quite a few times when I reached desperate straits) I would not have been able to accomplish very much in depth, even despite some help from a few student workers who were largely shared with a different experiment. To make up for that lack of (wo)manpower, I strained myself -- to take multiple measurements at once, staying late into the evening until there was no more light to work, and then going home and taking more measurements. I slept very little, and when I did it was never restful and always plagued by thoughts of measurements, my mind cycling through my anxieties and seemingly endless list of "to do's." I felt anger, also, because I knew well what was being sacrificed in terms of the quality of what my experiment could have been in better situations, anger at myself for not being able to do more, anger at others, anger at the situation. I felt jaded, resentful, uncertain. I felt trapped too, and though my advisor is in many respects very kind, nonetheless it felt to me that they often alternated between hard-to-read, sparse, and guilting, and then (when my exhaustion became clear) sporadically sympathetic but generally un-alleviating. Moreover, some of the complexity that was causing me such duress was my own, and I knew it, though I knew also that it should be feasible. And my advisor was grappling with many stresses herself. (Perhaps the seedlings were having their revenge upon us, for stressing them out with our studies!) Finally and nearly too late I gained at least one student worker to help me specifically, but the endlessness did not seem to diminish. And such tiredness I felt. In that exhaustion, I am sure, my thoughts regarding the situation and that time were and perhaps are still often biased by these feelings. I also dislike to complain, or to sound ungrateful, and I do not mean to be so in sharing these thoughts. I recognize that these are, largely, perhaps, trivial issues and I deeply value the opportunities I have had, but I also recognize the effect these past months have had on me, which has not been wholly trivial. I have tried hard, in the past, to remain positive and cheerful and to hide my discontent. To make the best of things, if I can. This time, it got the better of me, and I can hear it in my words even when I try to hide it. So, better to be honest about it, I think.   

      The work for my experiment continued on into the fall, and this, in the end, was in greatest part due to my own stubbornness to do things well and to do things right and to honor the experiment, and the work, as well as my own high expectations and the expectations I perceived of me. I wanted to do the best I could. The greenhouse portion of my experiment, thankfully, blessedly, ended in mid-October, at which point I was finally able to learn a new technique with clear instruction, and I proceeded with measurements in the lab. Yet, I had stepped from full-throttle, 80-90 hour weeks directly into classes, continuing still with measurements and long days. I had never had a chance to catch my breath, as though the finish to a marathon had been moved beyond sight into the distance, and all water with it. There was no denying the way this drained me. Unlike in the past, where I have been able to pick myself up and stride onward with some resilience after facing difficulty, I found that I could barely pull myself forward. I did not have the energy anymore, nor, perhaps, the will. I had not had chance to recover, and now I felt damaged. Like a tire, punctured too many times and now un-patchable, such that any movement whatsoever came at great (sometimes insurmountable) physical and mental effort. As the summer and fall had progressed, I had also gotten to run less and less, rarely got to be outdoors, rarely got to do anything that was not research or stress. It came to the point that I was lucky to run once a week, an opportunity that was no longer enjoyable but exhausting and anxious and discouraging, as my body was worn down, and losing fitness. If you know me, I am someone who generally runs at least a handful of days a week, so running once or not at all in a week is always a clear sign that I am not doing well. So that certainly affected me. I felt so worn, and disappointed, and unhealthy, and torn between obligations and work and stress -- all the while wanting nothing more than to disappear. I wanted everyone and everything to leave. me. alone., but of course that never seemed to happen, and I continued to be worn away until I felt a despondent shell of myself.

 At the same time, I was able to take a class that, possibly more than anything else, saved me. It may sound silly, but as someone outdoorsy, and someone who loves (and studies!) trees, the chance to take a course in tree-climbing as part of my graduate education was something absolutely joyous for me. Courses such as this remind me of some of the benefits of a forestry program. When I had learned about this course shortly after beginning my Master's, I had made it a goal to take it. As it is only offered in fall terms, this was my chance, and tiredness and lack of time aside, I was not going to lose that chance. It was challenging, to be sure, given my limited remaining mental and physical capacities, combined with a memory that has really never been especially strong (making knot memorization for the class tricky!). Some of the gear and set up did not come naturally to me, but my stubbornness aided me again, and my unrelenting stubbornness alone seems to have stayed with me in great force and more intact than my other capacities. I took a particular liking to the climbing techniques that used minimal technology, and though these techniques were slower and required more muscling than grace on my part, they were rewarding. If you are not familiar with tree-climbing, it is often used by arborists, and often involves ropes (similar to rock-climbing set ups) and depending on the technique usually uses some form of "ascender" which allows the climber to ascend with minimal physical effort. (And there are also spur climbing techniques) Even so, I found myself drawn most of the time towards the traditional techniques techniques, using foot locks or body thrusts to move up the rope and up the trunk of the tree. Although I was very un-confident in myself, and frequently felt embarrassed for the slowness of my learning abilities (slow to begin with in most cases, but absolutely hampered during that time out of my consuming stress). Yet, I made it a strategy to be amusing and persistent, if I could not be talented. I greatly appreciated the enthusiastic spirit of the instructors, and their willingness to provide climbing opportunities. I got to join them for a tree-job on a weekend, creating snags out of very tall Douglas-fir trees, during which time I learned how to use a chainsaw and a hand saw. Snags are trees that are left standing, usually with limbs removed to some degree, in order to encourage birds and wildlife to inhabit it. They are sometimes created for this purpose by landowners or left in plantation stands, but also occur naturally after fires, storms, or the natural death of a tree that remains upright. Myself and one of my friends/fellow students got to spur climb and limb one of these large trees with handsaws. It was almost comical, because I suspect we were sent up the tree to keep us occupied and largely forgotten about as we climbed ever higher, limbing the tree, quite far up! It is a good memory, perched by our boots with my friend, looking out into the expansive view of the forest and valley below and joking (with some nervousness, of course) about our spurs kicking out (i.e. slipping) and how we had inadvertently created many perfect, spear-like cut branches upon which we should try our best not to impale ourselves. Spur climbing, by the way, is not commonly done anymore except in cases where the tree is to be removed or is dead. This is because the spurs, attached to the heals of your boots, stab into the trunk of the tree an inch or so and this can cause wounds in the tree that could result in infection or disease. It was more prevalent in the past, especially for felling and timber operations. That said, it is pretty fun, and I was glad for the chance to practice it. It was one of the techniques that I really enjoyed, because it is relatively simple, and muscle helps you out.

      This course was very liberating, in so many ways, despite the challenge and frequent uncertainty or lack of confidence that came with it. I had been trapped inside a greenhouse all summer. I had not gotten to be outdoors at all, where my heart is. This had been so draining for me, so disheartening, so frustrating. I had even grown a sickly pale as the summer had passed, since I was rarely in natural sunlight. (My greenhouse was very dim, as I realized pointedly, since I was measuring light levels all summer! So I know exactly how dim it was, at intervals of 5 minutes everyday through the duration  of the summer!) If you know me, you will know how important it is for me to be outdoors. So through this course, I got to be outdoors. Indeed, I had to be outdoors! We got to climb a 90 or so meter Doug-fir, all the way to the tip-top on one particular day. I have, of course, never in my life gotten to be held by such high-up branches of a tree. Looking out upon the forest, clinging to the crown of this old tree, up above the canopy. As one of my fellow graduate students, who climbs such trees for her research, has told me before: through climbing you must get to know the tree, to form a relationship with it, to trust it, to learn its form. I will admit, I held very tightly to that tree! I am not too frightened by heights, except when I am responsible for keeping myself from falling or when switching ropes, but I was not about to let go of that branch. On the climb up, I had to slip and scramble in between tight gaps between branches, and so it was scrambling and weaving my way down, covered in resin and needles. Although the course ended with the start of winter, I am very much hoping to, at some point, get my own tree-climbing ropes and gear and perfect at least one of the techniques. The course has given me a good base, and if I keep working, maybe one day I can get certified. Or, perhaps even better, incorporate tree climbing into my future work or research. Oh, you need a measurement from the top of the tree? No problem! I'll just climb up there!

     With December and the winter came "winter break." During this time, I was fortunate to be able to come home to Minnesota, to see my family and my little brother, my aunt Didi, celebrate my 26th birthday, and to see some very good friends. Also during December, I would like to note, I was finally able to visit one of my oldest friends, Sara, who is living in New York City. She has lived out there for a number of years now, and although we have been friends since elementary school, I had not seen her in possibly a couple years! I had begun to feel this separation increasingly, and to worry, and to miss her. I decided, spuriously and perhaps financially irresponsibly, that to heck with it I would go to New York and visit her. Sara came to visit me back when I was in Japan, and that was one of the last times we had spent much time together. I had never yet been to visit her in New York in return, and I felt it was time. I am no fan of big cities, and have never had a desire to see one of the world's largest and busiest. But if Sara was out there, and staying out there so long, then gosh-darn-it I would go there to see her. Deciding to make such a trip definitely, definitely did not help alleviate my stress levels or to help me in my endeavor to catch up on seemingly endless work, but I a deeply glad that I did it. There are reasons, I think, Sara and I have been friends for so long and I value that friendship very profoundly. Old friends seem to slip into old ways very easily and naturally, and it feels so comfortable to be around a dear friend. I have missed her, and we have both probably changed, but my fears that we had wholly drifted were abated. I very much cherished the handful of days I got to spend with her, and was also very grateful to her for showing me patiently around New York. I was just happy to get to see her. And, as it turns out, New York City isn't so intimidating. (Central Park is very nice, and has some very lovely trees, especially the sycamores.) I also felt very fortunate to spend time during December with another of my oldest friends, Carolyn, who I have known since middle school, and her beautiful family. To pay my respects to Wendy, her mom. And to sled (and smack into a tree) with two fellow St. Olaf alums, Maddie and Lisa, to have lunch with Lisa and her wonderful boyfriend Stuart, and to visit a dear track team mate, Gina. So these were all experiences I was very grateful for.

     However, I never seemed to find "rest" during December, and although it was allegedly "winter break" it never felt like a "break" from anything. Just rushing from one thing to another. This is, partly, because December is the time that graduate school applications are due. I had a lot of work to catch up on, and the first part of December was a whirlwind of anxiousness and application writing. Throughout the fall, in addition to my remaining measurements, my courses, and a grant proposal application, I had been trying hard to sort out the possibilities for my future -- for my PhD. I had wanted to consider more programs than I was able to, but could only muster time to research a few, and to prepare those applications. I feel, looking back, that it is somewhat of a miracle I was able to summon this energy at all, and to submit anything anywhere. Nonetheless, I feel the regret keenly, that I was not able to look into more programs -- programs that, as I continue to learn more about options (which takes time),  seem as though they might have been great fits for me.  Even so, I summoned all the energy I could, I gathered all the focus I could muster, all the persistence and hard work I could, into sculpting these applications. I poured my hopes, my aspirations, my ambition, all of this into my applications. Recently, I faced some rather significant discouragement in this regard, which I will perhaps write about in the next post.

       At the moment, I am reminding myself to take a deep breath, and be grateful. It is becoming, sometimes, easier and my mind and body are becoming, sometimes, happier which hopefully will continue to be the case. That mentality, of taking deep breaths, of seeking gratitude, has oftentimes helped to sustain me in the past, when I have encountered difficulty or struggled with myself. A form of centering myself. These days, the combination of many forces, present and over the years -- my fatigue and tiredness from the summer and graduate school, long-pent up issues related to my family and their various situations, as well as family relationships in general, emotional struggles, sadnesses, regrets, grief, guilts, anxiety, depression -- finally got the better of me. Finally, likely due to my research frustrations and anxieties and ceaseless grind wearing me down at last, it became such that I could not re-center myself for a time with any methods. I felt, towards the end of the fall and into the winter, feelings of such strong depression and anxiety that I, nearly, could not overcome. For one of the first times, I was fully swept away, and grappled to regain control. I generally keep such things very secret, because I never wish to worry or burden others. Yet, if I am honest, what I imagine must be some form of depression, and likely some form of anxiety, has haunted me for some time, likely since high school, and probably stemming from a number of sources. I remember being asked this question by a classmate once in high school, to which I responded that no, I just have a sad looking face but I'm fine! In college, my coach once asked me if I had considered that I may be depressed. I always denied it, to myself as well as to others. I also imagine that the truth has been more apparent to others than I might wish, but it may also be a surprise to some. I try very, very hard to mask things, to mask struggle or unhappiness or discontent. I suppose I probably fail at that fairly often.

     Generally, however,  I have been able to keep myself under control, or to keep such feelings at bay and keep going. To move forward, and often to find genuine happiness. Usually, such unhappiness or discontent or sadness, whatever feeling it is, is rather small, and only a minor hamperment.  Something that is there, in the back of my mind due to any combination of past and/or present issues, but, if I am in a good situation or kept motivated, it shrinks or is pushed away and is less troublesome or almost forgotten. Sometimes in my life, it has been rather strong, and sometimes I did not recognize what it likely is. During some periods of my life, maybe, it has even abated altogether. It is only in the past couple years that I ever let myself consider that it might be the case, that maybe that would explain things. It almost felt to be a relief, to make that admission to myself.  But over the past 6 months it has been especially strong, those feelings depression and anxiety, and I have little doubt my graduate school situation played a part. I found that I lacked all will, that I wanted desperately to disappear. To be gone. In the past, when I have become especially overwhelmed with these feelings, I have been able to move forward with deep breaths. To remember the immense gift of being alive, of breathing, of a beating heart, the feel of the wind, or earth, or the wonder of the stars, and the trees, and the birds. Reasons for sticking around and reasons to smile or to be happy are many, and I could encourage myself in these small ways. That was generally enough. So, I have usually been able to find focus, and move forwards, to summon a passion for things that are good in this world, or to dedicate myself to some goal or ambition. This time, it seemed to hurt, which has only ever happened once or twice before and never to such a prolonged degree. To hang on me heavily and unrelentingly. I could not pull myself out of it. I found that my brain was very affected as well -- I could hardly think, many days, and could not accomplish very much without great effort. I worked hard to hide this, but it more often than not felt as though I was drifting about, and fumbling to grasp what I could.

     It has taken quite a bit more work than usual, this time, but somehow, things seem to be improving. Some of that weight has lifted. I think that, as the days grow longer, this has helped. I am also quite affected by the sun and by daylight, and the winter in the Pacific Northwest becomes very grey and rainy. Beautiful, in many ways (especially the lichens this year, which were breathtaking). But it can be oppressive sometimes, too. Especially when sunshine is something that helps to center you, and you aren't especially fond of cold raindrops, and are worn out. Deep focus and thought and quiet perseverance have also helped, as well as moving on from disappointments and letting go of some expectations. Additionally, I am a very introverted person, and I have allowed myself to protect my solitude more so than I might have in the past, growing to recognize how vital solitude is to help me recharge myself. Time alone, in peace and calm, is often most restful and healing to me. I yearn for it, throughout the week. Yearn for the chance to be on my own, for my thoughts to be, briefly, my own, and to be relieved of the stress of functioning among others. Active things like running or hiking are also generally healing for me, though they take quite a bit of motivation to do sometimes. And these activities can sometimes be more healing with a friend, and sometimes more healing on my own. At present, my brain still feels as though it is working on empty, or that it has turned off and I'm searching for the right switch to get it functioning again. Even so, it is improving. With the spring arriving quickly here in Oregon, and the daffodils and crocuses poking up, the buds bursting like emeralds on spindly branches, and the rain breaking more and more with occasional sun, I am also finding encouragement and energy. Oregon, as I am experiencing more and more, is a spectacularly beautiful place. It has made its way into my heart, the scent of its air, the fascinating complexities of its forests. It is incredible, and I feel very fortunate to be here.

     Beyond the stress of my research and academic life, I am also very closely involved in social justice issues here in my department and College of Forestry. After taking on many of these duties during the Fall term, at a time when perhaps I was too stretched, I had been especially pulled between obligations. I felt as though there was no time at all for myself, for my own healing, and that is not a wise thing to neglect. It will get you, in the end. At some point, I had to admit to at least one other that I was feeling broken and I could not be relied upon as I might wish. This admission hurt. I do not like letting others down. But it had to be. Since then, I have been working to build myself up again. I have found immense drive through some of my recent activities, coordinating meetings with the college regarding cultural inclusion and the tribes of Oregon in regards to the design of the future forestry building here at Oregon State. This is something profoundly important to me, and an opportunity that I am deeply grateful to be involved in, and a topic about which I have many thoughts. Those thoughts may be for a later date to share. Needless to say, however, the will to do what is right is something that often helps to push me onward. I am also hoping to coordinate, possibly, a speaker series for the next term as well, and feel great excitement over those possibilities.

     So, overall, during the past few months, I have certainly felt challenged (not necessarily in ways that I would like) but continue to grow. I am looking forward to the summer, and hoping to graduate at the end of spring. Wish me luck, in that! I will need it. I have lots and lots of data to sort through and analyze, and a thesis to write. I also await the time when I decide what to do next, regarding my education. That decision is fast approaching. We shall see.

It has been quite some time since I've written any of my thoughts down. I've been busy, and when not busy it has been a challenge to sit my brain down and make it work or write. But there have many experiences in the past few months worth mentioning, and worth reflecting upon. In part that is because I have just completed my first year of graduate school working towards my masters degree in forestry. To say forestry is, perhaps, a bit miss-leading because my area of focus is tree (and plant) ecophysiology, physiology, climate change, and ecology. Ecophysiology, to clarify the term, is concerned with the interaction between plants and their environment, and how environmental conditions affect the physiology (biochemistry, growth, and health) of the plant. I have gained considerable research experience since graduating from St. Olaf College in 2012 -- living in Hokkaido (Japan) from 2012-13 studying elevated CO2 and forest science, and then going to Australia for a few more months of ecophysiology research. During those research experiences, I was searching for a graduate program. So forest science, and at a broader scale ecology and ecophysiology, is something that has been of interest and relevance in my life for a while now.

To be completely truthful, much of this interest stems not from "scientific" curiosity, but from a love, reverence, fascination, and respect for life, the earth, and the experience of it all. I have less interest in many of the bi-products of Western-centric science that tend to ignore the integrity of non-human living things, such as non-human animals and plants. I also have less of an interest in greenhouse studies of plants and life, which co-opt those lives for the purposes of research rather than observe free and growing organisms (ironically, my own research is precisely what I dislike -- a greenhouse "drought" study that will ultimately harm and kill my subjects). Admittedly, I have struggled with this during my first year in graduate school. My perspective is rather different from many "scientists." That being said, reflecting on a year in graduate school, it has been immensely refreshing to learn. I can never emphasize enough what a gift it is, to be told "your job is to learn, that is why you are here." Sometimes, it is hard to believe. And for that, I am immensely, profoundly grateful. That is my job -- to learn about forests, and ecosystems, and plants, and to improve myself (and hopefully, from that investment, help to protect and improve the world even if it is only in some small way.)  I have taken a wealth of courses, some of them better than others, but some of them very captivating. Among my favorites was a course in photosynthesis and photobiology (fascinating!), forest health, and soil biology. I also completed two terms of statistics, with high marks. This is an achievement I am proud of. It is a not-so-secret secret of mine that I struggle with mathematics and more quantitative reasoning. At one time, I very much enjoyed them but reached my peak of ability early, and despite a long-lasting curiosity and enjoyment of those fields, math has little love of me. Knowing that I felt uncomfortable with my statistical background, it was one of my most important goals to improve. An understanding of statistics is necessary in scientific fields, in order to explain, present, and communicate results. I have not seen the last of statistics (I am still not great, and plan to take a few more courses) but I am pleased with my hard work and improvement. Likewise, from my other courses, I have learned a huge amount (and look forward to learning more next year).

I also had a chance to present some interdisciplinary work at the OSU Arts and Humanities Graduate Conference in April. The purpose of the conference was to share work by researchers and graduate students in the arts and humanities, and especially those doing interdisciplinary work. The organizer found out about me through my professor. You may know that I am rather interdisciplinary. Sometimes, I feel a little like a chameleon, blending into science despite being a humanities person, and then sneaking back into the humanities. History was my first academic love, and it remains an important part of me. And then there is art, and writing both of which I continue to practice. Ideally, I will one day combine them all. I have been doing some philosophical/historical work on my own on the rare occasions that I had a bit of time to spare it. During the winter, I wrote a brief piece called "The Problem with Nature." This piece summarizes many of my thoughts about the use of the common word "nature" to vaguely describe the earth and life, and why I find this dangerous. My goal is to write more extensively about this topic, and to delve into greater historical research on the development of that mentality. I was actually originally asked if I wanted to participate in this conference, however, because of my art work and because they sought artists to share some of their pieces. I happily agreed, but wanted to work in this other research and so formulated my research around that scholarship, and some of its overlaps with my art work. That is because, most of what I do is connected. Most of my thoughts tie together, and whether they are expressed through scientific inquiry, paintings, history, writing, they are likely to have a similar theme. My art work often focuses on the earth, on plants or landscapes or people in them. I love to depict "beauty", or things that I find "beautiful." But I would be troubled if you said that I paint or depict "nature." (My above-mentioned essay can give you more of that background.) So I used my artwork as a platform to dissect the problems with "nature", and the ideas of my essay and hopeful further research. I have also posted the power point of that presentation here on my website. It was a spectacular experience. I was so glad to dust off my humanities work and step back amongst some like-minded folks. Despite being a shy person, I also paradoxically like presenting and public speaking, so that was also a very enjoyable opportunity.

As an aside, this past year has also brought a number of visitors out to Oregon to see me. Among them, my dear friends Lisa, Maddie, and Stuart. Lisa and Maddie are friends from St. Olaf. It is unbelievable to me that I have such wonderful people in my life, to fly out to spend time with me and explore a bit of Oregon. Prior to my friends' visit, my beloved aunt Diane ("Didi") was the inaugural visitor, which was also wonderful. My college teammate Laurel would be next, visiting for a running race, and eventually my dad and little brother.

Although I now have one year of coursework under my belt and it is summertime, I will unfortunately not be going home to Minnesota for summer "break." And when I say break, I say it somewhat sarcastically. That is because all of my field work will be occurring during the months of June (now passed), July, August, and September. My goal is to finish my "field" work (also being sarcastic, because a greenhouse is a far-cry from "field" work to me) before the start of the academic year on September 24th. This means that while I no longer have coursework, at least for the summer, I have a lot of other work before me. My research involves loblolly pine seedlings and Douglas-fir seedlings, with three provenances of each. Douglas-fir is the dominant timber species, and probably tree species in general, in the Pacific Northwest. Loblolly pine is the dominant timber species in the Southeast. A provenance is essentially a "seed source" -- a geographic location. In this case, those provenances, or locations, are a coastal source of each species, an "inland" source, and a disjunct or extreme source. These sources are correlated with low, moderate, and high drought tolerance, which I will be testing experimentally by subjecting them to two consecutive droughts. The "disjunct" or extreme sources of loblolly and Douglas-fir are locations that exhibit extreme dry conditions. I am interested in whether or not the seedling's source and environmental/evolutionary history is of greatest importance or whether the experienced conditions of the seedling during its (short) lifetime is of greatest importance in determining drought tolerance and drought susceptibility. I am also interested in what physiological characteristics are correlated with drought tolerance and drought susceptibility. This work will be done in the coming weeks and months, in the greenhouses here at Oregon State University where the seedlings are now housed. I say "now" housed because getting them here was an ordeal in itself. Normally, you would probably grow your seedlings in the greenhouse that will be their permanent home. In my case, my seedlings were sown and transplanted by myself and others about 3 hours north in Washington back in April. Up until last week, that is where they were living and being taken care of. So, I had to figure out how to get them to Oregon State University. By the way, there are 4,000 of them. This is approximately 185 square feet of seedlings. In the end, the process involved driving a 26 foot U-Haul -- with the floor packed with seedlings -- and then making a second trip a few days later to retrieve the remainder in a 6-wheel covered truck combined with a trailer. Then unloading them tray by tray into the OSU greenhouses. Phew. I must say, I am pretty darn pleased with myself for figuring out how to perform that logistical feat. And I did it without dropping a single seedling. And with some help from my dad, sister, and little brother. Actually, a great dose of help from my dad. The "Great Move" as I shall dub the ordeal occurred while my dad and little brother were visiting, which helped make things smoother. When I started graduate school, little did I know I would be learning how to operate gigantic trucks on the interstate.

Now, I am in the throes of finalizing the experimental design and perhaps sooner than I would like will be beginning the experiment itself. Yes, all that work of growing and transporting the seedlings was only the prep. I will be spending many, many, many hours this summer in the greenhouse with those seedlings using various scientific equipment to measure soil moisture, photosynthesis, plant water use and hydraulic characteristics, sugar storage, and fluorescence (often an indicator of stress). I dream of field studies -- where I am out in the woods, or prairie, or even some backyard -- observing life instead of torturing it. But my hope is that my research will yield important information about tree health in drought, how trees might survive, and how they might not. Out here in Oregon and all across the West Coast, drought has been a major concern to say the least. In will, likely, continue to increase in intensity and frequency in many parts of the world. This will have serious consequences for plants, and for forests. Still, I feel sorrow with the knowledge that my research will ultimately lead to deaths, to the (all too likely unnecessary) taking of 4,000 lives. This is, truthfully, against my ethics. I love all life, and see no living thing as greater than any other. I dislike the idea of tampering with life, and believe more scientists need to question their research practices and the justifications for their decisions. Greater caution should be met when an experiment will tamper with life (despite my acknowledgement that much has been learned from some such experiments) and for me there is no reason this caution should not extend to plants. Therefore, I remind myself to respect the lives and integrity of each seedling. And I feel gratitude to them, for what I receive. 

I am sure there will be more to tell of my research as time continues. Next, I want to talk about running!