5,318 miles and Two Double-Double Animal Styles

I thought I'd show off a little bit of my favorite plants. Here are my finds, in no particular order.

Abronia turbinata, Washington City, UT. At least I think it's A. turbinata. I had mis-identified it last year. (Not a new population)


Abronia turbinata. Riverside, NV. (Not a new pop and nearly an exterminated pop due to roadside grading)

Abronia elliptica near Hanksville, UT. (New pop)


White-flowered Abronia villosa, Lake Los Angeles, CA. (Uncommon) (New pop)

Purple-flowered Abronia villosa. Palm Springs, CA. (Common) (New pop)


Abronia latifolia (yellow) and Abronia umbellata (purple) grow in sympatry in Montana de Oro State Park. In all likelihood, they hybridize there as well. (Not a new pop) Interestingly enough, Abronia umbellata and Abronia villosa form a species complex that has perplexed Abronia researchers for quite some time. I guess it's up to me to unravel the mystery.

Abronia fragrans. I think anyway. Amarillo, TX. Note the woody caudex. I'm guessing these are perennial. (New pop)

Tripterocalyx micranthus. Riverside, NV. (Not a new pop)

Abronia pogonantha. I think. Near Twentynine Palms, CA. (New pop)


Abronia pogonantha. I think. Near El Mirage, CA. (New pop)


Abronia pogonantha, Lake Los Angeles, CA. (Not a new pop)

Abronia pogonantha, near Baker, CA. (New pop)

From a professional standpoint, it was a fairly productive two weeks. I found six new populations of my plants. I found all the species I had hoped to find and a few extras I hadn't planned on. Amazingly enough, I didn't take a single photo of A. maritima. I have plenty from last year and the two populations I visited weren't new to me, but I do find it interesting that I failed to take a single pic. After all, we are talking about me. So anyway, here's one from last year.

Lessons from the Road

I believe on each trip you learn something about yourself. Here's a quick run down of somethings I've learned about me.

1. I CAN find Abronia without Liv or Jack.
2. Not only that, I can find Abronia on the side of the road while going 65 miles an hour after dusk.
3. I am not cut out for California driving.
4. I am content to travel alone.
5. I am not a camp cook. I try to care about food on the road, but I don't. Apparently, my fixation with food is simply a hobby that I dabble in during idle hours in my every day life. Cold spaghetti from a can sounds better than dirtying a ton of camp dishes.
6. I will consider myself acclimated to the elevation when I stop losing blood through my nose.
7. Motel 6 is pet friendly and perfectly fine if the wind, cold, or quivering dogs threaten your sleep and sanity.
8. I am much more cognizant of other people's needs and feelings than they are of mine.
9. There are times when it is good that I am out of constant contact with my everyday life.
10. Ultimately, I am the only one upon whom I can depend.
11. My bullshit meter really is full up.

Bonus. During a few tense moments in the field and on the road, I have learned that I am fully prepared to harm someone who tries to harm me.

The Drive By Rockies

Although I know how you people live for my pictures of roadside Abronia, there is more to life than great smelling, fantastically happy, moth-laden research systems such as these. While Abronia may grow in the ugliest of places, if you just turn around, you are usually rewarded with one of the world's most spectacular vistas. Such is the life of Abronia. The habit of a vagabond, the outlook of a king.

But today was a driving day. And though I know Bin would not approve, I thought I'd give you a taste of my drive-by shooting. If it is any consolation, I merely hold up the camera in the general direction and click the button. I get what I get. Sometimes I get a picture up my nostrils. Sometimes I get a picture of the dashboard. Sometimes, nothing but road. And keep in mind, I am cognizant of traffic at all times.






Here we go:

Jake likes snow

Since there is no way for me to put things up in order, I'll just offer this nice video of Jake at 9600 feet or so and this fine photo of me. =]

Sick, Tired, and Windblown

I guess it was bound to happen. I'm sick. And not just sick of driving...although I am. And not just sick of grad school....although I am. I'm honest to goodness sick. I don't know if it is a mild case of food poisoning, or really, really bad indigestion, or a serious case of stress, but Whoa doggies! In any event, I've become adept at finding the <$40 hotel rooms in California. Thank god for internal plumbing. But food poisoning/indigestion/stress or no, the road show that is field research must go on. I went to the beach today hoping to be able to take daytime scent off A. latifolia. That didn't happen. I didn't trust the bags to stay on the plants in that wind. I worried about what sand hitting those expensive air pumps would do to their internal gizmos. And I wasn't entirely sure that I could handle sitting in that wind myself for 2 hours.

That didn't stop me from getting some great photos today. Almost all taken from the front seat of the car. By the way, the wind nearly ripped my car door off more than once today. So I hope you appreciate the challenges I have faced for your viewing pleasure. =)

Enjoy. I'm off in search of Pepto.


By the way, Jake hates the ocean. And wind. And rain. And thunder. And wind. He really, really hates the howling wind we are having out here. He is not having fun. This is his "I'm not having fun" pose.

Bovinus roadsidus var udderiferous. Seen more than one of these.


And can anyone guess where these two pics were taken?


This one was later, but I just thought it looked like someone had poked a stick in some dough.

Some dreams die hard...very hard

After my ex tried to kill me for the second time, I figured it was time for a change. After my boss had fucked me over for the umpteenth time, I knew it was time. I decided I wanted to become a professor. Oh, how naive I was in thinking it was just a matter of a few years in school.

As I sit in a hotel room chasing research that I am funding with my own money, I realize that I am paying a greater price than just the money pit that is graduate school. I am being changed by this process and I don't think this is a good thing. Let me explain.

I wanted to become a professor. I wanted to teach botany. I love plants. I wanted to pass on that excitement to others. I wanted to inspire in the way nature inspired me. I wanted to do research, to make some small contribution to science. I chose to go into "basic science" because at the time I started, the scientific community was saying over and over and over again that it's greatest need was for "basic"science. For systematists and taxonomists. So off I went secure in the idea that there would be plenty of funding and plenty of job opportunities awaiting me when I got out. If you think about it, I was doing a sort of civic duty for the scientific community.

After visiting a number of universities and getting a feel for their programs and approach, I picked this one. My criteria for selection was based primarily on a reputation for good science and an atmosphere that seemed low key and low stress. I'm too old to give a shit about competiting with my fellow graduate students. Hell, I'm older than most of the faculty. Some programs seemed intent on having students live in fear. I don't know how to explain this except to say that I've survived two attempts on my life. Professors can't scare me.

And then, I got to graduate school. And basic science fell out of favor. Like overnight. Everything is all global warming. No one cares about basic science. Funding dried up faster than my sex life. Not even top researchers in our department are able to get funding in systematics. My advisor told me, point blank, that mine was the last project she was taking on involving systematics.

Excuse me while I feel left out to dry.

I have written more than 20 grants in support of my research. The only funding I have received was a merit-based fellowship that came at the end of my fourth year. From the sounds of it, my department chair doesn't want me to be able to take full advantage of the two years of the fellowship because that will make me a 6th year graduate student. He wants me to graduate at the end of the fifth year. Despite the fact that this is the first funding I've had to do my project. The stress of all of this is crushing me. So, for now, I'm paying for my own research. I'm out in the field driving around looking for my plants with my own money. And it's not going well. It's time consuming, frustrating, and expensive. And it's all borrowed money. Money borrowed on the promise of a Ph.D. that is feeling more and more improbable, and a job that may or may not exist for me when I get out.

And this on top of being made to feel as though I don't measure up because my project has failed to garner funding. Every single day I enter my building, I feel a weight settle in on me. A big boulder I carry through my day that reminds me I am failing. That I'm not doing enough. I'm not good enough. I'm not a real researcher. Half the time, I wonder if professors pass me in the hall and think to themselves, "well, she didn't turn out as promising as we thought." There are days I dread waking up in the morning.

Sometimes, I wonder if my lack of "fear" of faculty makes it worse on me. I think some professors confuse respect with deference. Failure to fear the all powerful Oz equals a lack of respect to some.

I now have crushing educational debt. If I don't get the Ph.D., I fear that I won't be able to find a job that will allow me to pay off that debt. So I can't walk away. But with each passing day, I have less faith that it will happen. When I think about my committee, I don't think about a group of people working to help me. I see a very large obstacle standing between me and my dream. I thought a committee was a group of people helping to train you to a profession. I'm afraid to say anything to anyone about my concerns for fear that, if I do, they will actively work against me. That a PhD won't come at any cost. Graduate school is the only place I have ever encountered where you have no friends, no allies, no help, no hope, and no promise that anything, ever, will get any better. There seems to be a promise that all things will, in fact, get worse. Things happen TO you. You have no recourse. You just have to take it. Perhaps, it is some combination of people and circumstances and my own mental health that has brought me to this point. This point of hopelessness. This point of having no idea what to do next.

I see now why so few single people survive this process. It takes a team to prop up the one running the gauntlet.

I can't believe that this is what it takes to be a college professor. I can't believe this is the process. All I wanted to do was inspire some kids. Make some small contribution to a field that I loved. The job requires a Ph.D. The people who hold those keys don't seem inclined to help me anymore. I'm not really sure what happened, but I don't think it's all me. I don't think I deserve, or any graduate student deserves, the life-sucking, spirit-crushing process that is graduate school. I don't think I'll ever get beyond this. I don't think I have the ability to take on a student and put them through this process as well.

I want the person I was back. I don't like this person I've become.

What Comes Around Goes Around

Two things are ubiquitous in the west. Sand and wind. It has been a wild day. I headed to Morro, only to find the winds gusting up to 60 mph. I didn't think that was possible without a hurricane. In any event, I don't suspect I'll be finding any moths out tonight. Excuse my finger in front of the camera. I was hanging onto it for dear life.



Funny thing. The room I am in right now is pictured somewhere in the header of my blog. I'm in another $40 hotel room. The closed the campground at Montana de Oro due to winds and falling limbs. That's okay. I've realized it's not the cold that gets to me, it's the wind. It just wears me down. But no loss. I'm working on not having a mental breakdown anyway. This helps.



Thank god for Jake. That's all I have to say.

The Three Caballeros and the $40 hotel room

So I was standing by the side of the road doing research, when three cabaelleros came riding up.



Jake did not find the episode as interesting as I did. Funniest thing, I think, is that when I returned in the evening to collect scent again, here came the fellows on their way home. They thought I had been there all day.

And if you are wondering what I am doing posting all these blog entries today...I have a $40 hotel room and I'm doing laundry. I'm going to take my second 30-minute shower in just a few. FYI, Motel 6 is very dog friendly and they don't charge a $10 pet fee.

What a Difference a Day Makes

If my trip had only lasted 24 hours, even that would have been something.

It started off at Saddleback State Park. I set up camp, but immediately headed off to collect scent. You see, I had found these little beauties.












So I waited til the sun went down.And I went out and looked for pollinators and took some scent.

And the next morning.... (P.S., I hope Liv is suitably impressed that I have so many sunrise pics.)


I decided to fix breakfast.

And everyone knows that oatmeal is so much better with a little bloodletting and dog hair. Plan B. Search for adventure.

I found some wary friends.I found a black man and his three sisters.

I found some happy flowers.
I climbed a mountain of sand.


All this before lunch even! Wait til you see what the evening held.

Big Ethel files for divorce

Well, I've pissed off my newest flame. Big Agnes Ethel, the 0-degree-rated, $200 down sleeping bag with $100, 15-degree-rated pad remains disturbingly unused in the trunk of my car. Turns out there is a paucity of tent camping places in the Albuquerque area. I found 3 RV parks, none of which allow tent camping, and one real campground that doesn't open until May 1.

Thus, I am staying at the Days Inn in Moriarty, NM. Right next to the Fireworks warehouse. Jake doesn't care. He got to explore a garbage dumpster and some prairie dog holes. Life is good.

Yesterday, I swung up north of Amarillo to a site at the Canadian River that Liv and I explored last year. Only I was new at this instead of finding Abronia I found Rumex and mistook the former for the latter. Which means...yes, I admit it...that I did all the measurements, etc. on a plant not remotely related to the genus of interest. Well, that sandy spot seemed to me to be the bees knees, Abronia speaking, so I gave it another shot. Took me about 3 minutes to locate the Abronia. I believe it is fragrans, so I collected some leaves, took some pics, and like a rusty field worker, forgot to take a voucher specimen. I'm not too woried, the advisor is bound to visit her home turf again eventually.

I am finding I can't drive 700-800 mi a day. I'm averaging about 600. This is going to mean I spend more time behind the wheel and less time on foot searching for plants. In any event, I am determined to make it to San Bernardino today. 782 miles. Well hell. Maybe I'll make it there today. I better get on the road. Happy motoring everyone!

Some pictures to tied you over until I get an internet connection again.

Good New on the Medical Front

Chocolate is good for your math skills.

On Delays and my Lack of Patience

I was supposed to leave last Wednesday. Then Jake got a good case of the runs. Lasted about 3 days. So Wednesday was a bust after about Monday. So I said Saturday. And then I decided not to rush it and give myself a good long day to remember EVERYTHING I might possibly have forgotten. Ok, I realize the folly of that thinking, but something was holding me back. Sunday for sure, I said. But sometime late Saturday evening, I had to stop by a store to pick up something for the trip I had forgotten. (See? It WAS a good idea that I delayed a day, else I'd have forgotten a camp shovel.) And that's when it sunk it. I didn't have my bank card.

I searched the car. I searched my purse. Yes, the big one that could hold 3.5 gallons of water. I searched the house. I searched Jake. You never know. He's wily. I wracked my brain. When was the last time I used the card? Friday evening when I got money to go to the fish dinner at the Catholic church. Ugh. I forgot it in the ATM machine. Canceled the card right away.

But that means no cash. No cash for trips isn't very smart. Especially when you have no way of getting any more cash. So I have had to delay my start until Monday after the banks open.

So today, I've been cleaning up my house. Doing the laundry I delayed last night. Put the final touches on the car packing. I'm heading back down to school in a bit to get even more potential site locations. Just in case. Going to reload the GC software on my computer and pick up my chromatograms. Then I'm back here and back to bed early.

Oh, did I mention that it is supposed to be 29 degrees and snowing in Amarillo tomorrow night? With gusts up to 30 mph? I fear my first night will be spent, not in my nice new sleeping bag, but sleeping in the car with the heater running. And to think, I was worried about the air conditioning working.

I hear it's going to be 80 tomorrow in San Diego. I can't get there fast enough.

When Girls Just Aint Good Enough

When I was a kid, I had to listen to a lot of crap. Not just from boastful boys, but also from well meaning adults. Things I remember being told as a child include:

Boys are just _________________ (smarter/faster/better) than girls.
I can't believe your father lets you ________________________ (play baseball/go fishing).
A man needs a son to carry on the family name and daughters to care for him in his old age.
Girls should play with dolls. Boys should play with trucks.
Girls would be hurt badly if they were hit by a baseball (as if boys wouldn't be).

I used to be shooed out of garages and off back stoops were boys and men congregated. I was told that my mother had called to ask me to come home when she hadn't. You can imagine how these things went over for the tomboy that I was as a kid. It didn't help that all the kids in my neighborhood were boys (with the exception of Sheila Arrington, who didn't like to play outdoors at all). I recall being singled out by other parents from within a group of neighborhood boys and asked, "Does your mother know you are out here?" I used to reply, "My mother wants me out of the house", and that usually satisfied them. But there was a spirit-crushing moment when all my friends were off to sign up for Little League and I couldn't join them. It was worse when they showed up with their brand new baseball gloves and bright white uniforms and colored socks and team baseball hats. I just had to make do with my hand-me-down baseball glove and no cap at all. I can't tell you how lonely it was to come out after Saturday morning cartoons and have the entire block be void of children to play with. I couldn't do much about not being allowed to register for Little League, so I signed up to play slow-pitch softball. Only softball didn't have uniforms or hats. We didn't have team sponsors to pay for all that. I had to go down to the sporting goods store and have my own shirt made. We had a rag-tag league, and worst of all, we had softball gloves that were useless for playing baseball on the block. In all the years I played softball, I don't think I ever broke that glove in. Something else I just remembered. My softball coach was black. In all my years hanging around baseball games with my brothers, I never recall seeing a black Little League coach. I am pretty sure that never happened. I liked our coach. He was waaaaaaaay better than having one of the mothers coach. He knew something about playing ball.

A chum of mine from grade school located me on Facebook yesterday and we got to reminiscing about the old days at good ol' Charles Russell Elementary. In particular, we remembered the school year that girls were required to stay on a 2500 sf asphalt pad that had nothing but hopscotch games and "balance beams" painted on it, while the boys had the run of the playground including all of the playground equipment (swings, teeter totters, monkey bars, baseball diamond, and basically any area containing dirt). The female teachers who supervised children outdoors following lunch militantly enforced these rules. So not only was there institutional discrimination, but there was also segregation. Girls had no balls or any other playground equipment with which to play. I have no idea why this rule was established suddenly and why it was applied only to girls. But I do recall that after about a month of this, we took matters into our own hands and began to protest. We organized. We got our 12" rulers out of our desks. Attached paper with protest slogans on them, taped up our protest signs and began to chant and march around the perimeter of our imprisonment. We had our own little women's movement. I can't recall now if we were successful. I do recall that we garnered the ire of the teachers and principal. We were told by the teachers to "stop being silly". Our protest signs were confiscated. All the evidence, including our names, were given to the principal. The male principal. Mr. Wheeler. The man was a troll. I remember something else. I remember that as the worst year of my young life.

Is this sinking in now? When I was a kid, denying girls equal opportunity was not just some sports issue solved by Title IX. Denying girls equal opportunity was a way of life. An accepted way of life. An enforced way of life. By everyone. Television showed women thrilled to be in subservient positions. I never understood why those damn girls on Little House on the Prairie always seemed to happy to be reading constantly and playing in a 20' perimeter around the cabin. They only hung on the fence and never went inside to ride ponies or poke cows or examine cow shit. They just hung on the fence and had meaningful conversations with Pa.

That was total bullshit. I hated that show.

Memories are funny things. I expected the sting to lesson with age. It hasn't. I recall a serious justification being made by grown men for excluding girls from Little League baseball surrounded the requirement that all ball players wear a "cup". And vaguely suggestive comments about girls needing bras and what would happen if a ball hit a girl in the chest. Hee hee. Funny, huh? Not.

My parents weren't ground breakers. They weren't stereotype busters. They were average parents who never questioned the rules. Oh, they told me things like "you can be anything you want to be" and didn't seem to mind that I wanted to be things that included the word "first". As in "the first woman president" or "the first woman astronaut" or "the world's first female architect". I think this is why I developed this sense that I was going to be notable or celebrated in some way as an adult. After all, I was going to be "the first". It seemed like everything I wanted to do just to be a well rounded person seemed to include the word "first".

When I went to college the very very first time, I trained to become a draftsman because, you know, girls couldn't actually be architects. And I tried to get out and get a job in the construction field. And no one would hire me. No one. In all that time, I had one interview in which I was informed that I wasn't going to be able to wear dresses to work because I'd have to go out to job sites and there would be mud. I tried for months to get a job and finally had to accept a job as a clerk at a pharmacy. I also had to go back to school. I had wasted 'the first" attempt at a college education.

I encountered similar discrimination in the workplace. If there wasn't overt discrimination against women in supervisory positions, there was the added bonus of the fear of competition wherein female supervisors passed over competent women who might compete with them. Let's face it, I just don't have a personality type that is compatible with second-tier status. I think this is a prime motivation why I am seeking a doctorate. I'm tired of being at the mercy of anyone. Good will and staff development my ass. I am so f'ing done with that. What's next?

Being a girl should be good enough. Someone needs to alert China.

So amusing, it bears repeating

Justice System Gone Wild?

Just a quick note this morning. I've got to get back to it. But a nice little opinion piece by John Farmer on the danger of overreaching by prosecutors and another reason the justice system is broken.

As I mentioned yesterday, the thing I find most disturbing is how far some people are willing to play their power under the mandate of "prosecutorial discretion". As Farmer says,

Above all, Mr. Holder should promote the idea that the prosecutor’s job, understood properly, is an end in itself, not a stepping stone to higher office. The powers to accuse, to arrest and to prosecute are the most fearsome conferred by our society. The abuse of those powers, historically, has been the very definition of tyranny. Accordingly, the attorney general should consider supporting a rule barring prosecutors from seeking higher office for two to five years after their tenure ends.

[Emphasis mine.] I coudn't have said it better myself. Although I do believe I said something similiar just yesterday.

Robert Powell Resigns

The prick with a badge resigned. Do I feel badly? Nope. Sorry. Not a bit. There is a lot of sympathy for this guy being dispensed on the blog-o-sphere, mostly of the sort that "no one deserves to lose their job over one lapse in judgement."

First, it wasn't his first lapse in judgement and it most certainly wouldn't have been his last. Second, we aren't talking about the guy who screws up your order at McDonald's. We aren't talking about someone giving you a hard time because your credit card payment was processed on Monday instead of Friday. We are talking about someone turning of the power to a hospital because those damn doctor's need to be taught a lesson about following the rules. We are talking about the actions of a peace officer.

Cops are held to a higher standard precisely because we give them authority over just about everyone and under just about every situation imaginable. They carry a deadly weapon strapped to their side. They have the authority to shoot to kill. They can run down a citizen, throw them to the ground, handcuff them and lock them away. Not only that, but we demand that every citizen must submit to this else risk prosecution. That is an extraordinary amount of power and as Spidey-Man says, "with great power comes great responsibility."

You don't give a citizen a gun, a badge, and power like that and set them out on the street unless you know damn well they have the intelligence, training, common sense, and experience to do the job and do it well. It is too much power to risk otherwise. We need to have absolute confidence in the people we put in such positions. We also need to have absolute confidence that the weaknesses, biases, opinions, personality, and attitudes of the people in these positions will not interfere with their execution of the job. Unfortunately, we all know that there are people who thrive on power and authority and are attracted to such jobs, not because they desire to serve the public, but rather because they desire to serve their own egos. Not all police officers are like this, but that a stereotype has emerged indicates that they are out there in great enough numbers to become a parody. Only problem is, this isn't a joke.

Do I hold police officers in high esteem? Absolutely. Do I hold them equally to high standards of conduct? You bet your ass. This guy Powell did not make the cut. I'm glad he resigned. I'm glad he did so under investigation and I'm glad that it will prevent him from returning to the force. He was not up to performing the job to the standards the community demands.

Beyond getting rid of one bad cop is another issue--and that is the discretionary power we grant to the police.

According to Judge C. Victor Lander, the city of Dallas' chief municipal judge, under Texas law a person can be arrested for any Class C misdemeanor citation except speeding and having an open container.

When an officer does decide to make an arrest for a minor traffic offense, it's usually because of how the person behaved during the traffic stop, Lander said."The defense bar refers to it as contempt of cop," Lander said. "If the officer was offended by something the person said or did, they may arrest them."

WTF? In the land of personal liberties, I take offense to the idea that my attitude should matter as to whether or not I am arrested, harassed, lectured, or detained on a minor traffic offense. Anyone who takes someone to jail for a freakin' U-turn needs to seriously review the behavior they find objectionable. (Powell did this, too, and to the wife of another football player. Maybe it isn't minorities he has a problem with. Maybe it's the football team.) Anyway, I don't really give a shit about whether officers are personally offended by the behavior of the people they encounter on the job. I'm personally offended by the behavior of my fellow grad students half the time, but I keep my freakin' mouth shut and realize that it doesn't reflect on me. But saying that it is okay for a cop to detain someone for five hours because they didn't show sufficient deference, respect for authority, or whatever else sort of unspoken offense-o-meter crap they are walking around with is insane. If this is how these cops operate, I think it is time to review whether or not they deserve the power we've granted them. I don't believe anyone ever asked me whether it was ok for an officer to apply a different set of rules to some citizens than others because he's got a bug up his ass one day about something. Or because I've got a bug up my ass one day about something and act a little grumpy about getting pulled over by the po-po.

In any event, I find the party line towed by the justice system to be equally disturbing.

Assistant Chief Floyd Simpson, who oversees the department’s seven patrol divisions, added:

“It’s a judgment thing on the cops at that moment,” Simpson said. “The core of what we do is just discretion, and it needs to be that way.”

Yes it is Assistant Chief Simpson. Yes it is. You need to do some serious soul-searching and a more thorough house cleaning.