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Ecw Press - Helen Humphreys

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118 pages

English

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'Award-winning and beloved author Helen Humphreys discovers her local herbarium and realizes we need to look for beauty in whatever nature we have left no matter how diminished Award-winning poet and novelist Helen Humphreys returns to her series of nature meditations in this gorgeously written and illustrated book that takes a deep look at the forgotten world of herbariums and the people who amassed collections of plant specimens in the 19th and 20th centuries. From Emily Dickinson s and Henry David Thoreau s collections to the amateur naturalists whose names are forgotten but whose collections still grace our world, herbariums are the records of the often-humble plants that are still with us and those that are lost. Over the course of a year, Humphreys considers life and loss and the importance of finding solace in nature. Illustrated throughout with images of herbarium specimens, Humphreys s own botanical drawings, and archival photographs, this will be

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Publié par	Ecw Press
Date de parution	30 septembre 2021
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781773057767
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

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Field Study Meditations on a Year at the Herbarium
Helen Humphreys

Contents Author’s Note Dedication Epigraphs Introduction Part One: Winter 1: The Herbarium 2: Ferns 3: Pines 4: Grasses 5: Lilies Part Two: Spring 6: Trees 7: Accidentals 8: The Rose Family Part Three: Summer 9: Chicory 10: Trailing Plants Part Four: Autumn 11: Spurges & Worts 12: Evolutionary Logic 13: Algae &Fungi 14: On Thoreau Notes Winter Spring Summer Autumn Epilogue Acknowledgements Selected Bibliography Image Credits About the Author Copyright

Author’s Note
This book was researched and written on the traditional territory of the Anishinaabe and Haudenosaunee peoples. I am grateful for their long and vital relationship with the plant life that inhabits this region.

Dedication
For KW

Epigraphs
“Herbarium specimens are the physical vouchers for the world as it was.”
Deb Metsger, curator of the Royal Ontario Museum Green Plant Herbarium
“There are days we live as if death were nowhere in the background; from joy to joy to joy, from wing to wing, from blossom to blossom to impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.”
Li-Young Lee, “From Blossoms”

Introduction

American Pasqueflower ( Pulsatilla nuttalliana ) Henry David Thoreau
The autumn leaves floating down over the field look like brightly coloured birds falling to earth. We have just left the pine wood and are on the path that my walking companion calls Carnage Alley, because there are often feathers, or blood, or bits of dead animal on this route. The victims of coyotes, perhaps, or the owls that hunt above this field at dusk. Easier to catch something in the open than in the tangled wrack of forest trees, and even now there is a northern harrier skimming the tops of the asters and milkweed. We always consider it lucky to see the harrier, so we stop to watch its low, silent glide. It seems otherworldly, an owl’s head on a hawk’s body, the elegant drift of its hunger.
This place of woods and meadow and marsh is paradise. My paradise. Where I walk every day, all through the seasons. It always seems to be teeming with wildlife and plant life, but things have changed even in the handful of years I have been coming here. Now there are deer ticks on all the forest paths and in the open fields. The toxic wild parsnip is creeping through the meadows, and an invasive feathery reed, phragmites, is choking out the wetlands. The bobolinks and meadowlarks, who used to be plentiful every summer, are now virtually non-existent.
Habitat loss, pollution, climate change, human overpopulation and encroachment — these are some of the main reasons for the decline and changes to ecosystems. Much of the damage is irreversible, and the prognosis for the future is grim. And yet, I believe there is still a profound need within human beings to connect to the natural world.
How to reconcile these two things?
Increasingly, this morning walk I take through the woods and fields with my dog and a friend has become crucial to my physical and mental health. Without it, I have difficulty handling all the stresses of this world, and all the losses that have occurred in my own life.
I am interested in exploring this relationship, to write from a place that doesn’t look away from the environmental changes wrought by humankind and that also celebrates the connections that still exist between people and nature.
To do this, I have chosen to concentrate on the phenomenon of the herbarium. These libraries of dried plant specimens — some hundreds of years old — seem the perfect crucible in which to examine the intersection of human beings and the natural world through time. Each herbarium specimen is mounted on a sheet of paper with a label affixed by the collector, providing details of the plant and the location where it was found, but also including information about the person who preserved the plant. In this way the herbarium becomes a place, a landscape if you will, where the experience of people connecting with nature is revealed. I cannot think of another place where it is possible to look into the past and see the moment an orchid was plucked from the forest floor or a willow frond was cut from a branch. A visit to the herbarium is an exquisite kind of time travel. And by learning more about the intersection of people and nature in the past, I hope to gain some understanding of where we can go from here.

Part One Winter

1 The Herbarium

Specimen Allegheny Monkeyflower ( Mimulus ringens ) Emily Dickinson
The road to my particular herbarium — the Fowler Herbarium — winds through forest, twisting like a river, each turn revealing something new and surprising: a rafter of wild turkeys in the woods; deer browsing on the underbrush; a glittering, icy pond fringed with rushes; and, once, a fox nose down, snouting the snowy furrows of a winter field.
This herbarium originated in the late 1800s under the auspices of the Reverend James Fowler and was once housed in Queen’s University in Kingston, Ontario. It now has its own building at the site of the university’s biological station on the edge of Opinicon Lake: a climate-controlled, metal-clad structure that houses over 140,000 dried plant specimens. I mean to look at each and every one of them.
A couple of hundred years ago, it seems as if literally everyone picked and pressed flowers and plants and made a herbarium. Thoreau had one, as did Emily Dickinson. Botanizing was a popular settler pastime in the nineteenth century, both on a professional and amateur level, with lots of cross-pollination between the two groups. One aspect of colonization was a feverish desire by the incomers to catalogue the flora and fauna of North America, and since the tools required for botanizing were few — a notebook and pencil, magnifying glass, and specimen bag — it became available to rich and poor alike. The abundance of wilderness and the minimal equipment required to explore it was coupled with the notion in the mid- to late 1800s of self-improvement through acquired knowledge. Many people who did not have a formal education were motivated to learn more about the fields and forests that surrounded their towns and villages as a way to better themselves, and in doing so, perhaps better their situation in the larger world. Unfortunately, many plants, including the familiar Lady’s Slipper Orchid ( Cypripedium calceolus ) were driven to the edge of extinction by enthusiastic plant hunters and collectors.

Lady’s Slipper Orchid ( Cypripedium calceolus ) Emily Dickinson
Before field guides, plant specimens were mailed to other botanizers for identification. Many of these experts were men and women with no formal scientific training, people who were simply passionate about a particular species of plant and had become an authority on it. In the twentieth century, this amateur-professional alliance ceded to a model of “science first,” and the opinions of amateur botanists — many of whom had become leading experts in the field — were no longer sought out by the qualified scientists. When these amateur experts died, their collections were distributed among the many institutional herbaria, or destroyed. As a result, the present-day herbaria housed in universities and museums are composed of specimens from a multitude of both amateur and professional collectors, from all over the world. The herbarium has become a memorial to a kind of democracy that no longer exists in the same way in the scientific world, even with the advent of citizen science.

Geranium ( Pelargonium ) Emily Dickinson
Within the Fowler Herbarium the plants are organized sequentially, following a system of evolutionary biology — an order that begins with the oldest plant group, ferns. The specimens, separated into genus and then species, are contained within file folders, and the folders are stored flat and stacked on top of one another within metal cabinets.
Evolutionary biology is one way to organize a herbarium, but there are other methods, and one herbarium is not necessarily categorized in the same manner as another. The collection at Kew in England, for example, which numbers seven million specimens, is arranged by plant family, then genus, and then species. Within a species, the plants are then arranged according to their geographical location. At the Fowler Herbarium, the diverse places where the plants were originally found are mixed together and identified by the colour of file folders — blue for local origin, pink for the U.S., yellow for Europe, green for Greenland. The system put in place when a herbarium began is usually the system that is still being used by the institution where the collection is stored. While there may be a universal cataloguing system for book libraries, there is no such corresponding thing for plant libraries.
Before I start with the specimen cabinets, I look through the collecting notebooks of Roland Beschel, an Austrian botanist and lichenologist who took over the neglected Fowler Herbarium in 1959 and was responsible for renewing the collection, adding tens of thousands of specimens and moving it to a location within Queen’s University. Beschel died suddenly in 1971 at the age of forty-two and the directorship passed to Adele Crowder, a specialist in bogs. Since Crowder’s retirement, the herbarium has been under the charge of Acting Curator A