FIELD NOTES:
~ by Jim Eagleman
My very first introduction to science, at least what I recall, was to watch a crude, table top model of the solar system. In 7 th grade, we cranked the earth around in a circle, the sun at the center. Little chains rotated each differently painted planet in their approximate orbits. We lined up the little moon when we learned about eclipses. In high school chemistry, we mixed different liquids in a glass beaker, then placed it over a burner to watch the color slowly change. Down the hall in the physics lab, little wooden carts with varying weights ran on inclined tracks. My limited world was soon to be explained with tables and graphs, as we learned the scientific method. It was not such an easy way to look at things, I thought, but a good one.
Later at the Alice J. Kibbe Life Science Field Station on the Mississippi River, operated by the biology staff at Western Illinois University, more science was explained to us wildlife students. We learned that most of what we observed in nature right there on the property was to be documented and recorded if we wanted to know what was happening. Equally importantly, it could be expressed mathematically. Symbols substituted for individual birds or mammals. Variables in weather, time of year, or age of an individual had to be considered
50 Our Brown County May / June 2017
and entered into equations. For someone challenged in math, I always wondered, why transpose the main characters? Couldn’ t we simply explain what happens without an equation separated by an equal sign?
In an ichthyology class one summer to learn the freshwater fishes of rivers and lakes, my professor could see I was slightly overwhelmed with the academics. Among other things, he suggested I use flashcards to identify the many family, genus and species names of the fish we brought back to the classroom each day. It helped and my pile of cards grew as I added other names to memorize, from local flora, mammalogy, and ornithology classes. The dynamics of population trends, genetics, even an explanation of how we get oxygen from trees, was also scribbled on one side of a card, the symbols defined on the other. For me, this is how the foreign language of science finally seeped in, took hold, and made an impression.
One morning, while students loaded the boat, I was instructed to go over to some fishermen that had just returned from an all-night trip. The professor told us they were not the usual sportsmen we observed, but subsistence fishermen.“ They are the resource users that we basically work for. What we gather as data helps us learn more about fish. But it helps them be better fishermen.” After visiting and asking a few questions, one friendly fellow, intrigued at the thought of students actually studying fish, invited the entire class over to his house that evening.
He wanted to show how he prepared carp by smoking the meat, a specie not usually favored but still usable. He told me he feeds his family all types of river fish, and couldn’ t simply discard the food wastefully. Checking for approval, we took him up on his invitation.
Affectionately called“ river rats,” he told us, he and his neighbors fish all through the year, share recipes, and help with repairs to boats, nets, and motors. In his backyard, a wood stove pipe ran into an old fridge that was filled with fillets on each shelf; dried wood chips gave the fish different flavors. Fresh produce from the garden, mushrooms, and honey helped supplement a wonderful meal of smoked carp, catfish, and bluegill. We came away with an added appreciation for the river and the fish he utilized. Afterwards, he renewed his subscription to the field station newsletter.“ I always like to learn what you guys are doing,” he smiled.
Back on campus for the fall term, I occasionally stopped in my professor’ s office to say hello and visit. He always was interested in how I was doing, could he help, and what did I like about my current classes. At graduation, I thanked
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