June 19, 2024
Field Notes on Science & Nature is a book by Michael R. Canfield. It is a collection of reflections from field biologists, anthropologists and other researchers that exist in that realm. I found it quite beautiful, and wholesome, and it left me with some analogies to capture the potential of well-curated knowledge. In a digital age, perfecting whatever that means could be easier than ever. Still, we run towards speed and accessibility but likely skimp out on some important things. What are those things that we will miss? This book helped me articulate that too.
I have listed some key learnings below. This list is short and not all-encompassing. The rest of this post will be responses to some of my highlights.
Take notes. This is obvious. But ornithologists scout out birds. These birds are in the wild. For one of the scientists, keeping this important practice meant having a pamphlet of paper in his pocket at all times and a pencil stub. We have phones.
I think this is interesting because I find myself only taking notes when it's socially acceptable to do so. Typing on my phone while someone is talking is discreet but rude. Note-taking while someone is talking is open, but weird. I did go to this program and there weren't many note-takers, but I did anyway. I asked better questions and was more present than I would have been otherwise. This is not the norm for me but it probably should be.
A physical journal is good because sketching is good. A sheet of paper can let you draw things, show maps, etc. You can do this on an iPad, but you lose the extra detail of having separate sheets, flipping behind things, and glancing at past work. When you have a clear order in mind you can organize, but post hoc narrative-making with your notes is still difficult.
Redundancy is okay. Often I will write things down again, not with that much intention. I just lose papers often and kind of just enjoy physically writing things down. Redundancy is a feature and not a bug. For one, at least when writing things down physically, this is a form of securing your archive–making multiple copies. It helps cement things in your mind. When making corrections–and maybe this is where the digital medium fails–you have references of your progress towards a "final" product.
Write for your future-self, and write for others. You care about posterity, and you should care about usefulness. This is a good heuristic to capture both.
Perrine and Patton write: "Second, compose your notes as if you were writing a letter to some- one a century in the future. Writing for an external audience requires you to be more explicit in your descriptions and to take less knowledge for granted."
Capture geography. Where did you write these notes? This is something that our phones can do with precision. It's also interesting from a memory perspective, which might warrant manually noting these things, even if your Notes app can do it too.
Perrine and Patton also write: "At the end of the day, I transcribe the notes into my Grinnellian journal as if I were writing a letter to a colleague. For my catalog, I write directly into the Grinnellian notebook as I prepare my specimens."
Keep your notebook like a journal, or have both. It's nice to have your research notes, but also take higher-level observations about how the research is going, the time it is taking to do certain tasks, how you feel doing them, etc. Perhaps, you find that you felt weird on a random Tuesday, and there is a reason for that, that somehow affected your research.
"Personal opinions on nonbiological topics were generally not appropriate in the field notes and are rare for most of the field researchers, but Grinnell himself was not above recording occasional expressions of withering disdain."
I also remember another reason why I found this book so cool: when I was getting into data provenance, I was reading Margo Seltzer’s work. She is a professor who speared a lot of research in the area. Listed as a co-author on one of her papers was Aaron Ellison—a now-retired professor at Harvard Forest. Yes, that's right, Harvard Forest. I was confused and didn't really get it at first, but it turns out that ecologists were thinking about data collection and curation long before computer scientists, bringing maturity and insight.
Canfield writes: "Darwin’s field notes, for instance, proved indispensable for the information they contained, but did they also force him to reconsider previously formed ideas?"
He also writes: "In contrast to these seemingly timeless dilemmas about the value of records, other challenges have presented themselves with the rise of technological solutions for collecting information in the field. The use of many kinds of digital media have made keeping field notes both easier and more complex. Computer sensors, handheld devices, and digital cameras and microphones can all capture huge quantities of information in seconds, but these volumes of unstructured information are not cohesive field notes, though they may provide a false sense of completeness. Such data are not naturally integrated, and are often scattered among multiple devices, each requiring specific technology to access. The raw information lacks both a narrative and a record of how and where in- formation was recorded. Providing this record is the role of field notes. When deciding how to record work in the field, consider this: Are there documents that explain what, how, and where things happened that are accessible to an independent reader?"
Naskrechi writes on the digital medium and what that means for field notes: "The fact that the amount of knowledge and data that once required a roomful of books and filing cabinets can now be stored on a memory stick the size of your thumb is both exciting and somewhat sad. Instant availability and portability of data make research in the field infinitely easier for scientists, but what is lost is the feeling of slow accumulation of knowledge and the physical evidence of one’s scientific prestige—the extensive shelves of important-looking volumes and journals."
Schaller writes: "I also keep a personal journal, separate from my scientific one. It is a daily record of impressions, ideas, concerns, and complaints."
He also writes: "A machine loses data too easily; it has to be maintained under rugged conditions; it is yet another item to carry; it tempts thieves."
Heinrich, an anthropologist writes: "As I have searched for answers to biological questions that popped into my mind as I was watching birds or insects, I have meticulously documented my observations, and this documentation has made the difference between simply being a witness to nature and being one who identifies themes and questions."
He also writes: "The notebook allows for spontaneity, a counterbalance to my ideal of orderly scientific objectivity."
And: "I’ve been keeping journals of one sort or another since I was a teenager, and if there is one thing I can now confidently say about all this scribbling and note-taking, it is that if it wasn’t written down, it didn’t happen."
And: "Note-taking helped transform me from a young boy on barefoot runs who passively observed the tangled bank of the Maine woods into a naturalist-scientist who is an active participant in unraveling the mysteries of the natural world."