A profound force through the evolution of human society has been the domestication of animals.

Cooperative living arrangements between Homo sapiens and other animal species have provided labor and nutrition for nomadic herding as well as settled agricultural human groups in far more substantial and efficient ways than hunting and gathering. Domesticating certain wild animals has been shaping us in ways that have enabled and directed the development of what we call “civilization.”

My introduction to the ramifications of animal domestication (such as eventual global conquest by Europeans) as well as its mysteries (why aren’t there domesticated zebras?) was in the pages of Jared Diamond‘s mind-bendingly important Pultizer prize winner, Guns, Germs, & Steel. This past winter, I was happy to notice one of my students reading a paperback copy, and enjoyed several conversations with him about Diamond’s rich view of history.

Devon, one of my most talented digital imaging students this year, graduated from college this week and is now determined to be a farmer. He’s worked internships around the world on farms that emphasize local, sustainable agricultural practices, and he’s part of a growing trend among college students to face the challenges of food production in hands-on ways.

Because of these interests, Devon was especially drawn to Diamond’s sections about agriculture and animal domestication, and I was able to recommend other reading for him on the topic. He drew from this independent research to complete the below class project, shared here on my blog with Devon’s permission.

The assignment was to choose a subject of scientific interest, research it, and design a visual communication around the findings. Devon’s choice to present contemporary industrial textures and colors as the context for an ancient timeline of animal domestication makes this a beautiful as well as interesting project.

Click the below images for a closer look.

 Please note that these images are copyright © Devon Martin. Please contact me through this blog for permissions to use them.

Brett Amy Thelen, Salamander Pal; photo by Russ Cobb

Brett Amy Thelen is Program Director for  Ashuelot Valley Environmental Observatory (AVEO), a project of the Harris Center for Conservation Education, a land trust & conservation education organization in the Monadnock Region of southwest New Hampshire. Yesterday I posted part 1 of an interview with Brett about the Salamander Crossing Brigade she coordinates each Spring. This is because of her dedicated promotion of citizen science, which she explains in today’s post. Below is the conclusion of the interview…

Could you give a thumbnail sketch of what is citizen science, and offer an example or two of citizen science projects that you have enjoyed?

“Citizen science” is a trendy, relatively new term for something people have been doing for decades, which is: scientific research in which trained volunteers collect part or all of the data.  (Water quality monitoring is a citizen science classic!)

Volunteers sample macroinvertebrates in the Ashuelot River in Hinsdale, NH; photo from flickr.com/photos/aveo

The term “citizen science” means different things to different people, and encompasses projects of all shapes and sizes, from the continent-wide Backyard Bird Count organized by Audubon & the Cornell Lab of Ornithology (in which volunteer birders recorded observations of over 17 million individual birds throughout Canada & the US over the course of four days this spring!) to the AVEO projects I coordinate, which are smaller and more local in scale.

My first experience with a citizen science project – the thing that really got me hooked on field biology – was as a volunteer on a horseshoe crab spawning survey conducted by the Massachusetts Audubon Society out on Cape Cod in 2001.  (That particular citizen science initiative was part of a larger research project aimed at assessing horseshoe crab numbers on the outer Cape, in response to concerns about declining horseshoe crab populations.)

I had never participated in field research before.  Our task was to visit certain Wellfleet Bay beaches at high tide, close to the full & new moons, lay out a series of quadrats, and count the crabs in a very systematic way.  I loved getting a glimpse into the world of those ancient, mysterious creatures, and the fact that they were “my” study organisms helped me feel connected to them in a much deeper way.  Sometimes, the high tide rolled in at 2 am, which gave the whole thing an air of mystery and excitement.

I decided to go on for a graduate degree in Conservation Biology in part because of that experience, and I still take students back to that wildlife sanctuary to participate in horseshoe crab study, as part of an undergraduate coastal field ecology course that I teach for a nearby university; it never ceases to thrill them.

Harris Center-sponsored owl banding demonstration. Horatio Colony Nature Preserve, Keene, NH; photo from flickr.com/photos/aveo

Now that I coordinate citizen science projects of my own, I have a few favorites:

The Salamander Crossing Brigades are always great fun, though predicting the amphibian migration in time to notify my volunteers (with spring weather becoming increasingly more unpredictable) has its challenges, and the project falls more into the realm of stewardship than of science.  Still, this is by far our most popular citizen science initiative, and with good reason!

I really enjoy our Vernal Pool Projects, in which I train volunteers to identify and document vernal pools, then send them off onto public & conserved lands to collect data on this vital, yet oft-overlooked wildlife habitat.  The ephemeral nature of vernal pools – brimming with life in spring, dry by fall – is truly enchanting, and the data collected by our volunteers have been enthusiastically received by local Conservation Commissions.

I also really dig Project Nighthawk (a collaboration with New Hampshire Audubon) for the novelty of collecting information on the behavior of a state-endangered bird simply by walking around downtown Keene at dusk with a clipboard and my ears.  That project is also fun because I get to use the word “crepuscular” a lot.

What’s the future of citizen science initiatives like the ones you’re involved with? Will we see more of these in the future, or do you perceive people becoming less connected and concerned with the ecosystems they’re part of?

There’s a reason we’re all hearing more and more about citizen science, and that’s because it’s growing in popularity.  Traditional scientific institutions recognize the value of building support for their work by inviting the public to participate in it, and nature enthusiasts get a lot out of knowing that someone actually cares about their observations.  I am concerned about our growing cultural disconnection with the natural world, but it really only takes one magical moment – that first glimpse of a spotted salamander’s serene smile, or the tracks of a horseshoe crab gliding along on her ancient rounds – to help folks re-engage with the wild world.

A young Salamander Crossing Guard helps a spotted salamander across Old New Ipswich Road in Rindge, NH; photo: Bruce Boyer

Brett Amy Thelen, Salamander Pal; photo: Russ Cobb

The person at AVEO responsible for their flickr stream is their Program Director, Brett Amy Thelen. As AVEO’s coordinator of “citizen science” initiatives (more on that later), Brett has one of the coolest jobs in the world. She described her work to me like this:

Over the years, we’ve coordinated a broad spectrum of volunteer-based conservation research & monitoring projects in our neck of the woods – everything from invasive plant surveys to aquatic macroinvertebrate sampling to monitoring a state-endangered bird that nests on city roofs – but we’re probably best known for our “Salamander Crossing Brigades.”

I love the idea of a Crossing Brigade, and want to share this work on my blog. Brett generously agreed to an interview. Part 1 of our e-mail exchange is presented here today, part 2 will be posted tomorrow.

What is happening in the salamander world that makes Salamander Crossing Brigade necessary?

First, a bit of relevant natural history: every spring, as the earth thaws and spring rains drench the Northeast, thousands upon thousands of spotted salamanders, Jefferson salamanders, wood frogs, and spring peepers make their way to vernal pools in warm, evening rains to breed.   This is known as “explosive breeding” and, in some years, when weather conditions align just so, it happens in just one or two “Big Nights.”  Some of these species are quite long-lived (spotted salamanders can live up to 30 years!) and return, year after year, to the same vernal pool to breed; in many cases, it’s the very pool where they themselves were born.

These days, their journeys often take them across busy roads, and roadkill has become a significant conservation concern, especially for amphibians and reptiles.  (One study in western & central Massachusetts found that roadkill rates commonly found on even relatively quiet roads could be high enough to lead to local extinction of spotted salamander populations in as few as 25 years.  Another study found that 50-100% of salamanders attempting to cross a paved rural road in upstate New York didn’t make it.  This is scary stuff!)

What is a crossing brigade, and what do brigadiers dedicated to salamander crossings do?

Salamander Crossing Guard Mark Rebillard helping a spotted salamander across the road on Route 63, Spofford, NH; photo: Myra Dideles

AVEO trains Salamander Crossing Brigade volunteers to count migrating amphibians and to safely usher the critters across roads during one or several “Big Nights” each spring.  Our Salamander Crossing Brigadiers also help us find new-to-us amphibian road crossings, which we add to an online map of known amphibian crossing sites throughout the Monadnock Region.  In the last five years alone, AVEO’s Salamander Crossing Brigade volunteers have crossed nearly 12,000 amphibians!

Why do volunteers get involved in this project? What do they get out of it?

Spotted salamanders spend 95% of their lives underground, only venturing above the forest floor this one time each year.  They are also highly charismatic creatures, with a smile that could melt an iceberg.  So, the road crossings aren’t just about reducing the impact of roads on local wildlife; they’re also a pretty thrilling opportunity for wildlife observation.   Here are some of the more memorable letters sent to me over the last few years, by Salamander Crossing Brigade folks who had an amazing time out there on the wet streets of southwest New Hampshire:

I hear a gazillion peepers and think that some of those out there would not be singing if it weren’t for people like you and the volunteers who helped them in their passage. In a world filled with negativity and sad stories, it is a small, but beautiful bit of light. – Diane G., Chesterfield, NH

[Your message about the salamander crossing] got to the heart of why we keep doing field work in sometimes miserable conditions:  It’s important for the earth; it feels really good to be doing something positive; and it’s a hoot to know there are other slimy-fingered loonies out there in the middle of the night sharing the thrills and the heartaches. – Mary W., Gilsum, NH

I did crossing guard last night in Winchester-it was AWESOME! This is the most fun I have had in a long time! I have never been so wet since I was kid and splashed in puddles! — Yvonne W., Winchester, NH

My son and I wouldn’t miss it…It is a wonderful night.  It’s like stepping into another world.
At the end of the night, we were frozen, wet, and happy. – Pam S., Rindge, NH

[Check back with the blog tomorrow for part 2 of this interview and more of Brett Amy Thelen's cool work in conservation through citizen science!]

Salamander Crossing Guards on North Lincoln Street, Keene, NH; photo: Tim Garceau

The biophilia principle, which hypothesizes that humans are happier outdoors near trees or grass or other natural forms, has made me a trail runner. I’m fortunate to live near the trailhead of an extensive network of footpaths wending through acres of temperate mixed forest. During my years as a runner I’ve become increasingly physically active in, and emotionally attached to, the woods.

Even when I’m not on the trail with a runner neighbor or friend, I’m rarely alone. The forest is home to uncountable species of other animals, specifically an animal I’ve seen a lot more of lately: the humble Red Eft.

All efts (pronounced: “efts”) are on a strange journey. They’re traveling through land and through time in ways that are rare among vertebrates.

Everyone is awed by (or at least they should be!) the amphibian life transformation called “metamorphosis.” Amphibians, such as salamanders, begin life as eggs (like bugs) and then hatch into a juvenile developing form called the “larval” or “nymph” stage (also like bugs) which eventually grow up to be adults (again, bug-like). It’s an incredible process of change as they reorganize their body plans and biochemistry to progress from from water-living to land-cruising critter.

The Eastern Newt lives a variation on this theme by achieving adulthood in the water rather than on land. Other salamanders do this. But Newts have an additional developmental stage between larva and adult, a stage that is lived on land. These are the Red Efts with me out on the trails. Newts progress from aquatic egg, to aquatic nymph, then to land-roving eft, then back to the water as a fully grown adult.

I’m personally glad for this odd middle period on land, because I often run when the efts are marching around in the path where I can easily see (and step over) them. I enjoy their company, and they don’t care who notices them. They wear flaming bright orange-red coloration, and take their time moseying along in the open – unlike other terrestrial salamanders who insist on privacy by burying themselves under logs and rocks.

Sure, if you get close to an eft, she’ll look up at you with a worried expression and make a half hearted scurry toward cover. But they never seem that serious about it. They’re soft-bodied with no teeth or claws, but they meander through the undergrowth, exposed and uncaring, confident in their one defensive attribute, which is a significant one: their brilliant orange skin is made of poison.

An eft’s viridian color is a warning flag to snacking predators. Most salamanders taste horrible, but toxins in an eft will hurt you if ingested. Some garter snakes seem to be evolving some immunity to the toxin, and sometimes a very hungry raccoon will wash the skin by scrubbing in a creek before chowing. But most predators avoid them. So they seem content to openly join me on the trail. I like thinking of us together out there on our respective journeys, enjoying the morning, roving the land in an amazing process of travel and change.

Today I finally got around to generating another grid, this time accumulating amphibian feet. What will be the next grid? Amphibian smiles? Nostrils? Butts? Who can say?

Some fancy amphibian footwork

Last October's ocular celebration

Steve's original salamander skin texture mosaic, © Steven David Johnson, all rights reserved

This Spring, I’ve added to my reading list Richard Louv’s relentlessly cited book, Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder, which applies principles of biophilia to child development. As someone intentionally cultivating biophilia in my own life, and as the parent of a 5 year old, I’m looking forward to Louv’s insights.

I’ll be sure to reflect here on the blog about what I read and what I experience in the woods where I live. If anyone else has read Louv’s book and has their own ideas to share, the comments section is open!

This is set loose onto the Internet with a Creative Commons license under these terms: give me credit, don’t change it, and don’t use it for commercial purposes. And also please send me a message to let me know if you use it for anything! I’m always interested in where my art ends up. dave-dot-huth-at-yahoo-dot-com!

Reason #1: Some amphibians change their sex… because they can!

This has got to be the ultimate in amphibian bold ideas in self determination. Get this. If you’re like some amphibians, and you’re a lady, and there’s too many ladies around, sometimes you just can’t get a boyfriend. Too much competition. What’s a frog girl to do? Easy. Be a guy! That’s it. Man up. For real! How do they do it? They decide to. They’re built for it! No expensive surgeries. No lifetime of hormone treatments. No weirding out your Uncle Henry at Thanksgiving. You just decide, and BOOM… you’re male. Sure, mate with the females, go for it, father a million babies. No problem ! And sometimes it works in the other direction, too.

When everyone reads this series of posts and realizes the glory of amphibians, everyone will sing amphibians a song. Everyone will give amphibians a nickel to spend however they’d like. Everyone will know that amphibians are doing the best they can under difficult circumstances.

Reason #2: Amphibians regenerate.

You know what “regenerate” means? It means if you cut off a salamander’s tail it will grow back! And not just tails. Also legs, jaws, and internal organs. Listen to this: ALSO EYEBALLS! Are they magic?! Did they make a deal with the devil?! No, they are simply awesome. Some salamanders are so good at this, they CUT OFF THEIR OWN TAILS by FLEXING THEIR MUSCLES REALLY HARD. That’s right, if something wants to eat them, they pinch off their own tail and drop it in front of what wants to eat them, just to freak them out, and let them know they are messing with a regenerative rock star who should not be messed with.