Sam Trail, PhD student in the FAU Marine Lab wrote about the lesser known mess of field work and the joy it brings her. The following story was submitted to the third annual Arnold Kosoff Pen-to-Paper Writing Contest where it received the graduate student 1st runner-up designation. Enjoy learning a little bit about the sand in her passenger seat!
My dad prides himself on the cleanliness of his car – a spotless vehicle, vacuumed at the slightest sign of accumulating debris. In contrast, there is a pile of sand riding shotgun in my passenger seat. That particular sand mass mirrors the amount that has also collected on the floor mats, back seat cover, and trunk bed. Unlike my dad, that accrued beach rubble brings me joy.
To me, the mounds of sand in my car represent a childhood dream manifested. In elementary school, my ideal “grown-up” job description likely included: walking on the beach, digging in the sand, and playing with turtles. Though a bit more regulated than that depiction would let on, that summary of duties isn’t too far off! As a graduate researcher, I spend the entirety of my field season monitoring turtle nests in the sand. This particular sand is from the same beach where I used to walk with my grandpa to watch the sunrise. As if by fate, noticing the turtle tracks on this stretch of beach over 20 years ago is one of the first memories I have affirming my fascination with nature and science.
When I look at those piles of sand today, I am reminded of many other times – much to my father’s dismay – the grime inside my set of wheels has made me smile. Before pursuing research, I was a middle school teacher. When a motivated group of students wanted to start a recycling program at our school, but we didn’t have the funding for pickup every week, I volunteered my vehicle for the job. Every Tuesday and Thursday, my car was loaded up with the school’s worth of recycling. With many trips and many pounds of recycled materials, there were also many spills. My nose also quickly learned when milk containers hadn’t been completely rinsed before their deposition into the classroom bins. The smell of souring milk for a brief recycle drop-off jaunt always made me laugh (and made my dad gag, the few times he was privy to its distinct stench).
Also while teaching, we got notice from the county about invasive weeds growing on the school grounds that required removal. I organized a mitigation event that had students and their family’s learning about the encroaching mullein, how to recognize it, how to eliminate it, and how to collect data as citizen scientists to help researchers estimate its coverage. The success of our eradication efforts far exceeded my expectations and equally surpassed the capacity of our dumpsters! As you might guess, my car was immediately filled to the brim with the 3- to 5-foot weed stalk surplus.
Aside from their disheveled nature and car-commuter status, the weed stalks have another linkage to the sand riding with me today. Immediately following the mullein mitigation event, without time to find another dumpster, I headed to a community testing center to take the GRE (Graduate Record Examination), a test that students take prior to applying for graduate schools in the United States of America. My scores on that standardized test – taken with a car full of plucked perennials – were some of the qualifiers that allowed me to end up here, at FAU, achieving my childhood dreams.
I respect my dad’s immaculate car, but I find more joy and reward in my bedraggled one. With the passage of time, like an hourglass on wheels, eventually all the sand in this vessel will escape. I eagerly await the mundane debris that will litter my car in its place next and why.
