Gene Stratton-Porter and the end of Limberlost Swamp

Smithsonian's Collections Search Center turns up intriguing results for Gene Stratton-Porter– images from the Art Inventories Catalog of Smithsonian's American Art Museum, a natural history text, and a book on travel through the "Hoosier state" from Smithsonian Libraries.  These only hint at her fascinating life.  I first learned about Stratton-Porter when Smithsonian Libraries digitized one of her natural history texts, contributed to Biodiversity Heritage Library (BHL).  Looking at her books on BHL, one finds texts that describe birds, bugs, and her birthplace—the state of Indiana.

Gene Stratton-Porter (1863-1924) expressed a deep connection with her home state in the form of nature photography and illustration, writing, and environmental activism.  In each of these endeavors, she studied, documented, referenced, or advocated for the places in Indiana she knew personally.

Title page of Stratton-Porter’s best known novel, A Girl of the Limberlost. Source: Wikipedia.

She is best known for her twelve novels, which gained her national and international fame during her lifetime. At her peak of popularity in the 1910’s, Stratton-Porter had an estimated 50 million readers.  One of her best-known novels, A Girl of the Limberlost, takes place in Limberlost swamp, located near her home “Limberlost Cabin” in Geneva, Indiana.  Limberlost swamp was also where she spent most of her time and effort documenting natural history.

Stratton-Porter’s accomplishments are impressive, especially when one remembers she was born in the midst of the American Civil War.  There is an appealing boldness to how she lived her life.  In a time when women did not consider home and career, she dared to not only pursue writing, but to also believe she could balance it with her home life. Her daughter later quoted her mother’s thoughts on career, family, and the tension that resulted. 

Then I took a bold step, the first in my self-emancipation. Money was beginning to come in, and I had some in my purse of my very own that I had earned when no one knew I was working. I argued that if I kept my family so comfortable that they missed nothing from my usual routine, I had a right to do what I could toward furthering my personal ambitions . . . until I could earn money enough to hire capable people to take my place. 

It speaks not only to her belief that there could be balance in home and work, but to her confidence in her capacity to earn substantial income from a career she learned on her own.

She pursued her natural history fieldwork with the same boldness.  In Tales You Won’t Believe, Stratton-Porter described how she collected and transported specimens in her car: 

There were long boxes for each of the running boards and frequently I threw coffee sacking over the engine hood and loaded it with swamp mosses and bulbous plants, with pitcher plant and rosemary, as high as I could stack it and allow space for the driver to see over. 

When one of her books was adapted into a movie and she disliked the resulting film, Stratton-Parker started her own movie company and became one of the first women movie producers in Hollywood. She wrote to a correspondent, “every dollar of money that went into this picture I earned myself, most of it in the fields and woods and in the swamps.”

Page 11, Moths of the Limberlost, with water color and photographic illustrations from life. Source Biodiversity Heritage Library (Smithsonian Libraries contribution)

When reading about her life, I was particularly interested in a reference to her conservation work for Limberlost swamp.  Too many Hollywood endings made me assume that her writing and natural history documentation might have saved it from development.

Reading more in-depth, I learned this was not the case. In 1910, the swamp that inspired her natural history study and popular writing was drained and developed for agricultural use. After the loss of Limberlost swamp, Stratton-Baker became active in the conservation movement. She fought for the Indiana state government to repeal legislation that would drain wetland in additional counties. The law was repealed; unfortunately, the swamps were still eventually drained. Indiana’s drive to drain wetlands went well beyond Limberlost and neighboring counties; from the time of the state was settled by pioneers, Indiana lost an estimated 4.85 million acres of wetland. According to Indiana in Transition (1968) by 1919, “Indiana had the largest percentage of farms under drainage in the nation.” Stratton-Porter bought another property in 1912, selling the home in Geneva in 1923. 

There is a poignancy to Gene Stratton-Porter’s life, when one considers how her strong connection to Indiana influenced her writing and its popularity. Stratton-Porter moved from Geneva to Sylvan Lake in Indiana, partly because of the property’s resemblance to Limberlost swamp. By 1919, her popularity grew significantly, and the family started having issues with fans trespassing. The increasing lack of privacy was one of the reasons Stratton-Parker moved from Indiana to California in 1919.

Poster from a 1938 movie adaptation of “A Girl of Limberlost”. The book was also adapted in 1924, 1934, 1945, and 1990. Source: Wikipedia

Despite lacking the happy conclusion I envisioned for Limberlost swamp, her natural history legacy endures. Stratton-Porter’s natural history writing documents the lost Indiana wetland of Limberlost, now available on Biodiversity Heritage Library.  Stratton-Porter’s writing eventually inspired the state of Indiana to turn her two homes into state historic sites that support environmental education -- Limberlost Cabin and Cabin at Wildflower Woods.

Lesley Parilla, Cataloging and Bibliographic Access Librarian
Smithsonian Libraries

To learn more about Gene Stratton-Porter:

• “Gene Stratton-Porter” in The Indiana Historian (1996) http://www.in.gov/history/files/genestrattonporter.pdf 
• The Lady of the Limberlost: The Life and Letters of Gene Stratton-Porter: biography by her daughter Jeannette (Porter) Meehan: https://archive.org/details/lifelettersofgen00meeh
• Gene Stratton-Porter: A Little Story of the Life and Work and Ideals of “the Bird Woman”: http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/stratton/gene/gene.html
• Biodiversity Heritage Library: https://www.biodiversitylibrary.org/search?searchTerm=stratton-porter#/titles
• Gene Stratton-Porter Society: http://www.genestratton-porter.com/about-gene
• Indiana Historical Society: https://indianahistory.org/education/educator-resources/famous-hoosiers/gene-stratton-porter/
• Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gene_Stratton-Porter
• Internet Archive:  https://archive.org/search.php?query=creator%3A%28stratton-porter%2C%20gene%29&and[]=creator%3A%22stratton-porter%2C+gene%2C+1863-1924%22 

Tribulus Troubles: Wildflowers in the Edward Palmer Papers at the National Anthropological Archives

Although archives are best known for their well-organized and carefully-described materials, this TV-ready appearance belies a wealth of intellectual and physical labor by archivists. Behind the scenes are records which defy description, papers for which no particular order seems better than another, collections of questionable or wholly unknown provenance. Archives are full of trouble. So it's no surprise that archival records for a flower which was once categorized as part of the genus Tribulus - deriving its name from spiky weapons and multi-pronged threshing boards - should provide some poetic archival entertainment.

Image by Max Licher,
courtesy of SEINet Arizona-New Mexico Chapter.

Kallstroemia grandiflora, the plant formerly known as Tribulus grandiflorus and commonly referred to as the "Arizona poppy," is a low, creeping plant with a show of bright orange flowers during and after the monsoon in the Sonoran desert. Samples of K. grandiflora were collected on behalf of the Smithsonian Institution in the late 19th and early 20th centuries by self-trained ethnobotanist Edward Palmer. Many of Edward Palmer's papers were retained by William E. Safford, who wrote a biography on Palmer, and William Andrew Archer, a former chair of the National Museum of Natural History's (NMNH) Department of Botany. Documents by Palmer, Archer, and Safford coalesced and were eventually transferred to the National Anthropological Archives (NAA) as the "Edward Palmer Papers."

Other materials by Palmer exist elsewhere in the archives, including photographs, maps, and vocabularies. William Safford was himself a US Naval officer who collected for the U.S. National Museum, and some of his photographs were donated to the NAA by his wife. Within the Palmer collection are folders which contain both handwritten notes by Palmer and typewritten duplicates of Palmer's notes by Safford or Archer - sometimes with additional unsigned, handwritten corrections or queries. In the end, at least five individuals contributed content to the collection, representing a confluence of interests, careers, and experiences among many people and across many decades at NMNH. From among this particular multi-vocal tangle emerges K. grandiflora.

Palmer's earliest sample of K. grandiflora still within the NMNH Botany Department holdings comes from the city of Guaymas, Sonora in the year 1887 - Palmer Sample 177(1),(2). Yet Palmer's notes from that year are scant and make no mention of this plant, despite noting the bloom times of chrysanthemum, rose, and tuberose in the region (3). His 1887 specimen of K. grandiflora finally reappears over 60 years later when William Andrew Archer compiled Palmer's collection notes into a series of index cards.

Notecard for Tribulus grandiflorus, 1887, Edward Palmer Papers 1869-1920,
Box 11, National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution. 

The unsigned handwritten corrections point to ongoing name confusion. The plant is commonly referred to in English as "Arizona poppy," despite not being part of the poppy family Papaveraceae but rather the caltrop family Zygophyllaceae. In the Mexican Spanish spoken during Palmer's time, the plant was referred to as "mal de ojo" (in English, “the evil eye”) or "abrojos" but these two terms can also refer to two other plants: desert globemallow (Sphaerlacea ambigua) and puncture vine (Tribulus terrestris) - the latter plant being known for distributing its thorns into passersby's clothes, shoes, and - most painfully - feet (5),(6).

Notecard for Kallstroemia grandiflora, 1898. Edward Palmer Papers 1869-1920.
Box 11, National Anthropological Archives, ,Smithsonian Insitution.

Yet the lack of original documentation for Palmer Sample 177 is actually fitting for a plant sample: emphasis on sample. K. grandiflora produces flowers which are likely cross-pollinated by a regional wasp, Campsoscolia octomaculata (7). Later, the flowers become self-pollinating. In either case, another agent becomes involved: C. octomaculata, the vibrations from another insect shaking the pollen onto the stigma, or even wind moving the plants around and shaking pollen onto the stigma. Beyond pollination, K. grandiflora is part of a larger ecosystem. The plant roots itself in sandy, alkali soils which are unacceptable to many plants and absorbs monsoon floodwaters. For two other non-pollinating wasps (Bembix u-scripta and Myzinum Navajo) K. grandiflora provides a source of nectar. As Archer mentions on a notecard for a later sample of the plant, residents of Saltillo used the tops of the plants to treat rheumatism and K. grandiflora is often spotted in 'wasteland' (8). Using the documentation in the Edward Palmer papers, the plant can be seen as a part of our bodies, our economies, our visual landscape, and our understanding of space.

Much like K. grandiflora, the Edward Palmer Papers reflect the involvement of many agents, not all of whom were working at the same time or on the same projects. The 60+ year gap between Palmer’s trip to Sonora and the creation of Archer’s notecards reflects the fits and stops which characterize scientific discovery, and science within a natural history museum. The collection is a snapshot, or a sample, of some of the ongoing processes in the careers of ethnobotanists, the administrative staff behind them, politics, and infinitely deep ecologies around the globe – all at particular times. Upon being transferred to the NAA the records were re-organized, meaning they are also representative of archival theory in practice.

Together, the NMNH Botany collection and Edward Palmer Papers provide us with two complementary samples. While the dried sample of K. grandiflora can give us structural information on the species, it tells us little about the ecology from which it emerged and can only tell so much about the collector. For instance, Palmer's existing 1887 notes touch on other interests which took up his time: local market offerings, politics, racial ideologies, and a woodpecker pecking on a tin can. Without the archival records we're left with an incomplete picture of how the sample arrived at the Smithsonian and how it fit into Palmer’s complete life in Guaymas. Without Palmer Sample 177, we have no way to experience the materiality and physicality of K. grandiflora in Guaymas 130 years ago. Palmer’s missing notes remind us that no record is complete within itself, which is why interconnected collections – like those found at the Smithsonian Institution – are so invaluable. While this kind of documentary 'trouble' might not be what most researchers hope for, it hints at the complexity of all archival collections and the ways that botanical and archival collections are involved in one another.

Dani Stuchel, Reference Intern
National Anthropological Archives

Sources 

(1) "Palmer Sample 177" is only meant to indicate that this was the 177th sample from Guayamas in 1887, not that it was the 177th sample from Palmer's career or the year 1887.

(2) Kallstroemia grandiflora. Catalog number 14164. Botany Department, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution. EZID: http://n2t.net/ark:/65665/363a7966f-bf47-414f-83a9-196d5a305bd8.

(3) Notes on Plants from Guaymas 1887, Journal Notes 1880-1889, Box 3, Edward Palmer Papers 1869-1920, National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution.

(4) Notecard for Tribulus grandifloria, 1887. Box 11. Edward Palmer Papers 1869-1920, National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution.

(5) Wolf, M. and B. Evancho. 2016. Plant Guide for desert globemallow (Sphaeralcea ambigua A. Gray). USDA-NaturalResources Conservation Service, Tucson Plant Materials Center. Tucson, AZ. 

(6) Washington State University Extension Office. Control de abrojo o cadillo. URL: http://www.nwcb.wa.gov/pdfs/puncturevine_spanish.pdf

(7) O'Neill, Kevin M. Pollen foraging and pollination, in Solitary Wasps: Behavior and Natural History. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. 2001.

(8) Notecard for Kallstroemia grandifloria, 1898. Box 11. Edward Palmer Papers 1869-1920, National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution.

Donald J. Ortner: Physical Anthropologist, Museum Curator, Paleopathologist

How does tuberculosis leave its mark on a human skeleton? What is the significance of changing ankle stability in an ancient culture? What do skeletons tell us? Donald J. Ortner (1938-2012), a biological anthropologist in the National Museum of Natural History, explored questions such as these. Many of his projects focused on paleopathological studies of human skeletons; essentially Ortner researched the visible effects of ancient diseases on bone.

Donald J. Ortner at the base of a shaft tomb at the Bâb edh-Dhrâ cemetery site in Jordan, circa 1977, Box 64, Donald J. Ortner Papers, National Anthropological Archives, Smithsonian Institution.

The photograph above portrays Ortner in the midst of one of the larger paleopathological projects of his career: Bâb edh-Dhrâ. East of the Dead Sea in Jordan, the site of Bâb edh-Dhrâ includes an Early Bronze Age town and cemetery. From 1975 to 1983, the archaeological team of the Expedition to the Dead Sea Plain (EDSP), co-directed by Walter Rast and R. Thomas Schaub and comprised of people from an array of different disciplines, carried out excavations of the site. While an extraordinary 373 individual skeletons have been uncovered, it is estimated that the cemetery consists of 37,699 bodies buried in over 2,500 shaft tombs. In general, these shafts are about 4 feet across and 6 feet deep; you can see Ortner standing at the base of one of them in this photograph. At the bottom, hemispherical burial chambers were dug out to the side of the shaft, 3 feet high in the center and 6 feet in diameter. Women, men, young, and old were buried together in these chambers with an average of about 5 people per chamber.

During Ortner’s first field season at the Bâb edh-Dhrâ site in 1977, he was given the honor of opening the first excavated burial chamber, A78. The following excerpt from Ortner’s article “Cultural Change in Bronze Age” (Smithsonian Magazine, 1978) describes Ortner’s reaction to opening the chamber:

“I shall never forget the exhilaration. Covered with dust, perspiration rolling off me in the 100-degree-plus heat, I pulled away the stone blocking the north chamber and saw revealed for the first time in 5,000 years the human skeletons and exquisite pottery inside.” 

Ortner and his team used analyses of the specimens and tombs to examine how the transition from a nomadic way of life to an urban one affected burial practices. He also discovered information about the health of these Early Bronze Age people, finding indications of arthritis, brucellosis, and tuberculosis on the bones. Ortner continued his study of specimens over a period 30 years, fascinated by and perhaps even admiring of a group of people so troubled by infectious diseases, yet “surviving and even thriving” (Ortner and Frohlich: 368).

Aside from his work at Bâb edh-Dhrâ, Ortner pursued several other projects related to the history and evolution of human infectious diseases. Throughout his 49 years (1963-2012) in the Department of Anthropology in the NMNH, Ortner was a well-respected colleague and mentor; he filled many positions from Museum Technician to Curator to Acting Director of the Museum.
The Donald J. Ortner Papers are now open for research at the National Anthropological Archives. The National Anthropological Film Collection, formerly the Human Studies Film Archives (HSFA), holds films that document Ortner’s work in Bâb edh-Dhrâ. An appointment is required to view the materials.

Alice Griffin, Contract Processing Archivist
National Anthropological Archives


Sources consulted: 
Ortner, Donald J. “Cultural Change in Bronze Age.” Smithsonian Magazine (1978): 82-87.

Ortner, D. J., and Bruno Frohlich. “The EB IA Tombs and Burials of Bâb edh-Dhrâ, Jordan: A Bioarchaeological Perspective on the People.” International Journal of Osteoarchaeology 17 (2007): 358-368.

Change the Station, Change the Noise: Space for the Inner Self in Wild Places

When one is alone at night in the depths of these woods, the stillness is at once awful and sublime. Every leaf seems to speak.

~ John of the Mountains: The Unpublished Journals of John Muir (1938) 

Our world is a huge ball of constant connection, be it from phones to tablets to computers. We are bombarded with noise; the noise of voices, opinions, statistics, and 24 hour news cycles. It was not so different at the turn of the 20th century. Communications were being invented and exploding around the world. Newspapers were the twitter of this era. Letter writing was texting. Phones were still in their infant stages of growth. There was a new kind of noise, and people were feeling just as overwhelmed by it as people today feel by their phones and online presence.

Yellowstone by Thomas Moran, Cooper Hewitt Smithsonian Design Museum

It was around this time that people, such as John Muir and Aldo Leopold, were taking up the cause to save open spaces and to escape from the 'noise' of the modern world. Sounds familiar doesn't it? Many were doing the “Grand Tour” of Yellowstone, among them were Teddy Roosevelt and even Rudyard Kipling. Kipling visited Yellowstone in 1889, he wrote in his journals that he encountered “The Wonderland” one has only read about in books. Art collector, businessman, and founder of the Freer | Sackler Museum, Charles Lang Freer, was among the many Americans who discovered the beauty and peace in the natural wonders of the United States wilderness.

Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us, or we find it not. 

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Freer often went hiking with Frederick Stuart Church, an artist, with whom Freer had become great friends. In the 1880s, Freer started building his renowned print collection and he was soon elected chair of the Detroit Club, which had been founded by prominent Detroit citizens to open an art museum. It was through this organization that Freer became friends with several leading American painters including Church, Gari Melchers, Dwight William Tryon, and Charles A. Platt.

Charles Lang Freer in the Catskills, Freer | Sackler Archives

Freer and Church often hiked and camped out throughout the famous Catskills Mountains. The Catskills are a famous refuge for outdoors seekers, hikers, and artists. The area has been made famous through stories and artwork by such illustrious people as Washing Irving and Thomas Cole.


Falls at Catskill by Thomas Cole, Smithsonian American Art Museum

Freer viewed traveling into nature as a means of finding balance in a world overrun by industry and competition. As he wrote to Frank Hecker in 1892, "We spend nearly all of our hours outdoors and like the springs of these mountains we have a feverish desire to keep in constant motion. The springs minister to our refreshment, the air invigorates us…" Through Freer’s receptiveness to the power of wallowing in the natural world, he gained an abiding appreciation of landscape painting. Painter Dwight Tryon was just beginning to get recognized in 1889 when Freer bought his landscape, The Rising Moon: Autumn right off the easel in Tryon's studio.


The Rising Moon: Autumn by Dwight William Tryon,
Freer | Sackler Smithsonian's Museums of Asian Art

I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in. ~ John Muir








So it seems even the important personages of the early 20th century were looking for "down time" and "disconnection" from modern communications and noise.  It was a way to not only connect back to the physical world around them, but to reconnect with themselves and one another.  Perhaps we all need this sacred space to reconnect with the inner most chambers of ourselves? 


4c Forest Conservation Single,
National Postal Museum Collection

Teddy Roosevelt ended up being one of great advocates for creating National Parks, he became known at the "conservationist president." Yellowstone, the first National Park was created by Ulysses S. Grant in 1872. Roosevelt toured Yosemite with John Muir in 1903 and ushered in the National Monuments Acts Act in 1906, which helped to create many preserves and parks. On August 25th, 1916, The National Park Service, was finally created and is celebrating its 100th anniversary today. We have always needed the land, not just for sustenance, but for the wild places that can replenish our inner selves, so they run over with renewed inspiration for living. Not all wild places need be far away, it can be as simple as taking the time to visit your local park. Looking at the clouds, the trees, observing the dappling light play through the trees, jumping in a lake. Be in the moment, be in a different type of noise. Oliver Sacks may have phrased it best in these modern times, “We seek ... a more intense sense of the here and now, the beauty and value of the world we live in." Choose a day and just wander down your local streets, free of everything, but your moving legs and open ears.

Charles Lang Freer in the Catskills, Freer | Sackler Archives

Only one who wanders finds new paths. ~ Norwegian proverb

Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer's day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time. 

 -  John Lubbock



The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone by Thomas Moran, Smithsonian American Art Museum

Lara Amrod, Archivist
Freer | Sackler Archives



References
Avery, Kevin J. Hudson River School. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, American Wing, 2004.

Kipling, Rudyard. From Sea to Sea and Other Sketches, Letters of Travel (Cambridge Library Collection - Literary Studies). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011.

Lawton, Thomas and Merrill, Linda. Freer: A Legacy of Art. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution, Freer Gallery of Art, 1993.

National Park Service. Theodore Roosevelt and Conservation.

National Park Service. Yellowstone: A History of the First National Park. 2009.

From the Mountains to the Sea: Vin Hoeman and POBSP

The Division of Birds in the National Museum of Natural History holds an extensive collection of field books that are part of Smithsonian Institution Archives Record Unit 000245, and contain the notes of researchers who worked for the Pacific Ocean Biological Survey Program (POBSP). A significant portion of my internship has involved finding out more about the people who were involved with POBSP, and creating biographical profiles for these researchers. While many of the researchers who worked on POBSP went on to careers as botanists, entomologists, ornithologists, and zoologists for the Smithsonian and other academic institutions, there were a few that went in other directions. One especially notable example was John Vincent “Vin” Hoeman.

Vin worked with POBSP in 1964 and 1965, but his path to working with birds was somewhat unorthodox. He earned his B.S. from Colorado State University in Forest Management, and later moved to Alaska, where he did graduate work in zoology and worked for the Arctic Health Research Center in Anchorage. Life in the outdoors, especially mountaineering, had been an important part of Vin’s life from an early age, so it is not surprising that he was interested in working on these types of projects. Although he had no formal training in ornithology, his detailed notes for the field books indicate his keen interest in studying birds and other wildlife. Vin worked as a research assistant for POBSP, participating in six at-sea expeditions, as well conducting research on the main Hawaiian islands while not at sea. His main duties involved bird banding, taking blood samples, and general wildlife observation.

An example of bird banding data

Vin’s field notes come across as thoughtful and intelligent, even poetic at times. After his arrival in Hawaii to begin work with POBSP, he writes, “the steady stream of thoughts kept sleep from reaching me.” (SIA RU000245, Series 60, Volume 57) Notes about interactions with fellow crew members frequently included details about family and physical descriptions. He was also in Hawaii at the time of the April 1964 Alaskan earthquake, the second most powerful earthquake in recorded history. The field notes show Vin’s internal monologue, worrying about his friends in Anchorage, and debating the pros and cons of leaving POBSP to help with the recovery efforts:

Tell Pat when I get back, waking him to do so. “Do you think it’s that serious?” he says. I tell him I think the lives of my friends are of importance. He later agrees and would’ve let me go on my own. I’d thought of doing so, of course, but told myself that would be irresponsible. After all I’m unauthorized and probably not needed. Civil defense and the Army will have things under control. What matters that I’m a member of ARG [Alaska Rescue Group]. I’d just be another mouth to feed. If I was any good or a first aid instructor my pupils will save lives.
I hope these were my foremost thoughts rather than the cost of fare I’d have to bear, the possibility of losing my job, the fact that I’d have to buy arctic gear in Seattle before going up; the threat of prolonged discomfort. (SIA RU000245, Series 60, Volume 57)

Destruction on 4th Avenue in Anchorage after the April 1964 earthquake. On the left, Mac's Foto (mentioned in Vin's notes) is visible as one of the damaged businesses (https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:AlaskaQuake-FourthAve.jpg)

 When Vin finally visited Anchorage as he prepared for a POBSP expedition in the Aleutian and Pribilof Islands in June of 1964, he saw a city that had been devastated, making note of a “rubble-pile and a terrific fault full of sunken houses.” Despite this (or perhaps because of this), he also tries to find humor in the situation: “Walk up to 4th Ave., and look at the gap where all those bars, Mac’s Photo, Dendi Theater and Hautbrau used to be. Urban renewal I call it – a fine view.” (SIA RU000245, Series 60, Volume 57)

Mountaineering was never far from Vin’s mind, even when he was out at sea. His field notes from March 5, 1965 give some insight into his plans for after his work with POBSP was finished, saying “If I’m going to be a great anything it’ll be [a] mountaineer and mtn. writer I think.” (SIA RU000245, Series 60, Volume 57) Vin did end up returning to Alaska, and became a mountain climber of some renown. Among his many “firsts”, one that stands out is his accomplishment of being the first person to reach the summit of all 50 states. He was also part of the team that became the first to cross the Harding Icefield on the Kenai Peninsula. Sadly, Vin was killed in an avalanche during a climbing expedition on Dhaulagiri, a peak in the Himalayas, in 1969, leaving behind his wife Grace, as well as many family members and friends.

Notes from an at sea expedition

Although he was only with POBSP for a few seasons, Vin evidently thought highly enough of his cohorts to send a letter in 1967, informing everyone of what he had been doing since leaving the program. And Vin certainly had a positive impact on POBSP through the data he collected. I believe that this story points to the importance of “citizen scientists” – that no matter what a person’s academic background or training might be, if someone is passionate about a certain topic, they can make a contribution to the world’s understanding of that topic. It also reminds us that behind the data, there are wonderful human stories to be shared. I hope you have enjoyed learning about Vin’s story.


Conal Huetter, Intern
Field Book Project, Smithsonian Institution Libraries

To learn more about the Pacific Ocean Biological Survey Program and its field documentation, check out “Life in the Field: a Reflection on Cataloging Field Notes in the Pacific Ocean Biological Survey Program”  on the Field Book Project Blog, images on Flickr, and field book records on Smithsonian Collections Search Center.

Sources consulted:
Hoeman, J. Vincent. Field Notes. 1964-1965. Series 60, Volume 57. SIA RU000245, National Museum of Natural History (U.S.) Pacific Ocean Biological Survey Program, Records, circa 1961-1973, with data from 1923. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. 15 July 2016.

Gonzales, J. (2014). Project 49: Grace without Vin, a love story without a happy ending. Green and Gold News. Retrieved from http://greenandgold.uaa.alaska.edu/blog/30162/project-49-grace-without-vin-love-story-minus-happy-ending/.

Johnston, D. (1969). John Vincent Hoeman, 1936-1969. American Alpine Journal, 16 (2). Retrieved from http://publications.americanalpineclub.org/articles/12196950100/John-Vincent-Hoeman-1936-1969.

Artists of the Work

One of the great illustrated books of the Renaissance and landmark in botanical and medical history is De historia stirpium commentarii insignes (Notable commentaries on the history of plants). The herbal was written by Leonhart Fuchs of Germany. In commemoration of his work, the genus Fuchsia was named for the author. The publication is also remarkable for its prominent recognition of those who contributed to its production.

Title page and page 897, De historia stirpium commentarii insignes, Smithsonian Libraries

An unusual tribute to the trio of illustrators occupies the recto of the next to last leaf. Following 924 pages of text and 509 woodcuts of plants in the massive folio are portraits of Albrecht Meyer, Heinrich Füllmaurer and Veit Rudolph Specklin (or Speckle). The heading proclaims “Pictores operis.” That is, “Artists of the work.”

Heinrich Füllmaurer and Albrecht Meyer

Meyer, of Basel, the “delineator,” is shown drawing a corn cockle (Agrostemma githago) in a vase. This artist holds a brush attached to a quill, working in either watercolor or pen and ink, sketching the flowers. Occupying the same table and frame is Füllmaurer, of Herrenberg. In a compression of time, he is transferring Meyer’s original image onto the smooth surface of a woodblock from either parchment or paper.

Veit Rudolph Specklin

Specklin, who lived in Strasbourg, is the “sculptor”, the relief engraver or block cutter (“Formschneider”). Appearing a little rough around the edges, he is in a separate portrait, below in the larger and more prominent position, and simply grasps his cloak. Interesting for our modern sensibilities, this artisan, the carver and not the artist, would have been by far the more highly paid.

Specklin would have carefully cut away with a knife all the wood around Füllmaurer’s drawing of Meyer’s image on the block, the lines left in relief. This raised surface would have been carefully inked with a dabber, then a damp piece of paper placed over the surface, before passing through the printing press. It was painstaking work for all involved.

De historia stirpium was printed in Basel at the press of Michael Isingrin, in 1542. The botanical illustrations were created from direct observation, not, as in earlier herbals, based on a long tradition of manuscript images, sometimes far removed from an accurate portrayal. The preface declares the drawings were made from life because “a picture expresses things more surely and fixes them more deeply in the mind than the bare words of text.”

Fuchs at age 41.
The title page verso from the hand-colored copy in the Wellcome Library, London.

The author appears at the beginning of the book, in a full-page portrait on the verso of the title page. Fuchs, dressed in doctor’s robes of a rich brocade and fur collar (perhaps a play on Fuchs’ name, German for fox), is seen as both a scholar with his university hat and an observer with his keen look. He holds germander speedwell (Veronica chamaedrys; also known as birds’ eyes or angels’ eyes). While Fuchs generously acknowledges his skilled craftsman, he was in control of the book. He wrote at the beginning that the artists were not allowed to indulge their whims. The author would have paid their fees, not the publisher. He states in the preface that he did not want shading in the woodcuts of the plants, preferring to emphasize clarity with the fine lines of the woodcuts. Although some copies were hand-colored according to the directions of Isingrin, many, if not the majority, of extant volumes of the herbal are uncolored, not obscuring any botanical details of their portrayals.

The Smithsonian Libraries has an uncolored first edition of De historia stirpium, donated by Bern Dibner. It is one of the Dibner Library’s Heralds of science, where is noted that this “celebrated herbal” contains the “first vocabulary of botanical terms.” This copy has been digitized by the Biodiversity Heritage Library (link here and source of all the uncolored illustrations in this post). The portraits of the artists, whose work contributed so much to the success and beauty of the folio, appear opposite page number 896.

Julia Blakely, Special Collectors Cataloger

Smithsonian Libraries 

Notes

The woodcuts are of approximately 400 plants grown in Germany and 100 foreign, five from the New World, including corn (pictured above). This is the first illustration of maize in a printed book although there were earlier written descriptions. Fuchs believed the source of the plant was "Turcicum Frumentum."

Below left is foxglove. Fuchs assigned the name Digitalis purpurea to this medicinal plant because the flower could be fitted over a finger (digit). Its common German name is “fingerhut” (finger hat). Below center, The great Arts and Crafts Movement figure, William Morris, owned a copy of De historia stirpium. It has been said that some of his textile designs were inspired by the herbal such as the feathery leaves of Seseli (center). Below right is the mandrake. The accurate representations of specimens and identifications in both Latin and German were meant as a ready reference tool for medical students, apothecaries and doctors.

French botanist Charles Plumier (1646-1704) was the first to describe Fuchsia, and he named it after his German predecessor, Leonhart Fuchs. Photograph Department of Botany, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian.

Much of the information for this blog post stemmed from a Rare Book School class I recently attended, The Illustrated Scientific Book to 1800, taught by British antiquarian dealer and scholar, Roger Gaskell, assisted by Folger Library curator, Caroline Duroselle-Melish. A primary focus was learning how to describe and analyze images in order to interpret a publication. I was assigned to present a short talk on Fuchs' herbal, preserved in one of my places of work, the Dibner Library. The course was held at the University of Virginia, Charlottesville, with one whole day devoted for visits to the Smithsonian Libraries, hosted by Leslie Overstreet, curator of the Cullman Library, and Lilla Vekerdy, Head of the Special Collections Department. Both librarians are pictured above, presenting a selection from their holdings to the Rare Book School students. Photographs by Roger Gaskell.

In the Pink with the Peony

The herbaceous peony dies back to the ground in the winter.

The Smithsonian’s Material Culture Forum this past May had an intriguing and wide-ranging theme: “Home Grown Healing: Smithsonian Collections Relating to Plants and Healing, Wellness, Ceremony, and Ritual.” As a prelude, attendees were invited to the Cullman Library in the National Museum of Natural History to peruse herbals, medicinal botanies, travel narratives, and other natural history books assembled by curator Leslie Overstreet.

As we viewed the illustrated volumes there was talk of how some plants, once known almost exclusively for medicinal uses, are now predominantly thought of as culinary or ornamental, such as rhubarb, rosemary, rose, dogwood, foxglove, Solomon’s seal, carrot, parsley. Then there is king basil, Ocimum basilicum, long prized for its healing properties, used in religious rituals, considered a source of erotic powers, and valued in the kitchen. Pier Andrea Mattioli (1501-1577), a medical doctor and botanist, born in Siena, provides the delightful contemporary observation that basil was found to be growing in every Italian household, often in a pot placed by a window. Today, it still rules as a favorite herb.

A pot in every kitchen: basil for the windowsill. Woodcut from Johann Prüss’ Ortus sanitatis (Strasbourg, not after 21 October 1497).

It was a cool, long spring in the Washington area this year. The peonies were spectacular and lasted a good while in their typically short season, blooming at the time of this Forum in May. The woodcut of this plant in the Cullman Library’s copy of Mattioli’s great herbal, Commentarii in Sex Libros Pedacii Dioscoridis (1565), got me wondering how this popular bloom, beloved for its beauty and fragrance and the go-to flower of the wedding industry (symbol of good fortune and a happy marriage), was once used. A little research and a scan of a selection of the early herbals in the Smithsonian Libraries found that the Paeonia once reigned as the medicinal plant, a cure-all from antiquity. Indeed, the genus name originates in Greek mythology: Paeon was physician to the Olympian gods.

The Cullman Library’s uncolored copy of the commentaries by Mattioli on the ancient Greek herbal of Dioscorides has been digitized by the Biodiversity Heritage Library (link here). The first illustrated edition appeared in 1554, with small woodcuts. It was soon reprinted many times in a variety of languages; there are several of these editions in the Smithsonian Libraries. This massive folio has large images where the artist filled the entire woodblock.

Antiquity is full of legends about gathering medicinal plants. The mandrake while being pulled out of the ground was said to give a piercing scream that caused death to the harvester so an animal was needed for the task. The sacred basil had to be cut by a person who had undergone purification rites. Peonies, too, presented risks. Theophrastus, in the 9^th century BC in Enquiry into Plants (Greek: Περὶ φυτῶν ἱστορία, Peri phyton historia) notes: “We learn that he who would obtain peony root was advised to dig it up at night, because, if he did the deed in the day-time, and was observed by a woodpecker, he risked the loss of his eye-sight.” The author, however, ridiculed this belief. The perennially grumpy Mattioli was similarly dismissive of most folklore and superstitions.

I will venture to say that this hand-colored woodcut is the earliest representation of the peony in the Smithsonian Libraries (but may well be proven wrong). Gart der Gesundheit (Garden of Health) [Ulm?, 1487?]. This copy lacks several leaves, including any title and colophon. To identify it further research is needed but the text is certainly based on the 1484 Mainz herbal, printed by Peter Schöffer the Elder. Another version, this one in Latin, is below. The copying of illustrations and the re-use of woodblocks was common practice at this time.

The peony in Ortus sanitatis (Garden of Health), printed in Strasbourg in 1497. The Smithsonian Libraries’ copy has been digitized by the Biodiversity Heritage Library. The all-important roots of the peony are emphasized in this woodcut.  

The genus Paeonia has thirty-three species; with the exception of two from North America, all are native to Eurasia (Japan, China, Central Asia, the Caucasus, Turkey, Asia Minor, and Europe) except for two from the west coast of North America. One, Paeonia officinalis, has a long history in both Eastern and Western medicine, used for infantile epileptic seizure, jaundice, stomach-aches, and kidney and bladder problems. There are records of Paeonia officinalis in medieval monastic gardens, the supply precious and carefully preserved in monastery storerooms called “officina,” hence the name.

Inicipit Tractatus devirtutibus herbarum (Venice, 1499). This herbal is a practical, lively little medical book. Unlike the folios of Gerard’s Herbal and the various editions of Mattioli, it fits easily in one’s hands and, despite having been produced in the infancy of printing when books were expensive, appears to have been intended for ready reference. It shows evidence of this by manuscript markings, including a manicula or “little hand” to emphasize portions of the text. The names of the plants, of those commonly found in apothecaries or obtainable from merchants, are in a larger font. They provide the captions for the illustrations, for easy identification. Although the woodcuts are somewhat stylized, typical of early printed books, there is an attempt at naturalism with the depiction of the peony’s roots, represented in black. 

The red peony, native to southern Europe, arrived in England during the 16^th century where it became known as the apothecaries’ peony. John Gerard’s Herball or the Generall Historie of Plants (1597) instructs “the blacke graines (that is the seede) to the number of 15. taken in wine or meade, helpeth the strangling and paines of the matrix or mother, and is a speciall remedie for those that are troubled in the night with the disease called Ephialtes, or the night Mare.” Further, “Syrupe made of the flowers of Peionie helpeth greatly the falling sicknes, likewise the extraction of the rootes doth the same.”

 Many of the woodblocks from a 1590 herbal, published in Frankfurt, were reused for Gerard's Herball. That publication, by Jacobus Theodorus Tabernaemontanus, relied itself on earlier illustrations, including those of Mattioli's. Link here for the Biodiversity Heritage's scan of entire volume in the Peter H. Raven Library of the Missouri Botanical Garden.

John Hill, in his The British herbal (1756), declared that for medicinal purposes the male peony roots were best and warned against fraud (substituting female roots) in the markets. “The best way of giving it is in the powder of the root, fresh dried: twelve grains is a dose, and will do great service in all nervous complaints, headaches, and convulsions.” Along with a range of other skills, Hill was trained as an apothecary and was head of the royal gardens at Kensington Palace.
 

The plates of Hill's volume are dense with illustrations of plants. The Biodiversity Heritage Library has digitized the Peter H. Raven Library of the Missouri Botanical Garden’s copy.

The allegorical frontispiece of Hill’s British herbal shows the Genius of Health receiving tributes. 

In modern medicine, there are at least 120 drugs derived from plants. Given this history of medicinal uses of the peony, I should not have been surprised that the roots and sometimes the seeds and petals of the herbaceous plant are still used in a long list of treatments, some proven, others unsupported. The peony as a supplement even warrants an entry in WebMD. Properties range from sedative, anti-fungal, anti-bacterial, anticoagulant, antioxidant, and anti-inflammatory. It is used for hypertension, muscle cramps, fevers, female reproductive conditions, liver diseases, and skin care, much as it used to be.

It is fascinating to find what is old is new again and to glean recipes for sustenance and health from rare books. Natural remedies are of course desirable. I like ginger tea or cherry juice myself as a sleep aid and basil pesto is the elixir of life. And it’s fun to think of the peony as a drug along with the flower’s overwhelming popularity in the floral industry, the subject of countless Pinterest and Instagram posts and romantic association with ancient cottages and farmhouses. However, there may be considerable risks and side effects from using peonies for medical purposes, including seizures, hazardous interactions with other medications and the herb may be unsafe if taken during pregnancy. As some of the authors of the early herbals knew, great caution was needed in ascribing medicinal virtues to plants. Their power also includes poisonous qualities, threatening life.

To stay in very good health and spirits ˗ in the pink ˗ consult your health care provider before employing the peony in something other than a bouquet.

The author's gardens and photos

By Julia Blakely, Special Collections Cataloger, Smithsonian Libraries 
Leslie Overstreet and Diane Shaw helped with this post.

The tree peony arrived from China to Europe in 1787. The deciduous shrub, imported by Sir Joseph Banks, botanist and president of the Royal Society, was planted in Kew Gardens.