There was this summer where I kind of lost my mind with regard to matters practical, tasks in the oval labeled “you got this,” options for the consumption of time and all things worth doing with eyes open. I signed up for some classes at UNC. Lots of classes. My crash landing in the fluffy field of biology. Boom. Intro to Bio and Principles of Ecology that first summer, more time in the lab than at my job.
The reward for all that prep came in the form of Local Flora and Plant Taxonomy, two unassuming courses taught over in Coker Hall. I was fortunate enough to study with Dr. Jim Massey, then curator of the UNC Herbarium, grower of superlative daylilies and collector of folk art way before it was hip to even consider that as a thing, back in the fading light of the 20th century. These were great courses taught by an enthusiastic, engaged and thoroughly interesting human. These excellent courses set me firmly into contact with the soil that would grow my sometimes interest into a full-out career. I continued with coursework at UNC, eventually taking both courses a second time under Dr. Massey’s successor, Dr. Alan Weakley, arguably the hardest-working and most deeply talented botanist in the Southeastern United States today. No idle flattery, just honest opinion from someone who gets/got to be there.
So, you say, what? Well, the superpower that was revealed to me in those unassuming classrooms under those unflattering fluorescents was that I could learn the names of those plants! How about that? And that carried me away from a perfectly serviceable float through pools of low-wage, high-stress average into more interesting and, frankly, above-average swirls and eddies, even the occasional rill. I became a plant person.
I’m a plant person now
Now I find myself meeting new friends everywhere I go, recognizing familiar forms. There is a tremendous comfort in that, in the knowing. A world replete with a crayon box full of colors but lacking identity suddenly opening up to me in a new way. I learned the names of some of my fellow guests — familiar heads, shoulders, knees and toes that have been in the same party with me for decades. A myopia clearing. Pretty neat. A little study, some observation, and careful use of the tools at hand. That’s where I find myself now, sauntering with similarly curious folks through the woods on a Sunday afternoon, looking at the trees…