2003 was a busy year for ecologist Nalini Nadkarni; she spent three months attending religious services at twelve churches, launched a line of Barbie clothing, designed a set of baseball cards and grew moss with inmates at a Washington state prison. Nalini is not exactly a typical forest canopy researcher.
But that is all a part of her professional methodology, which is to involve people in the study and appreciation of trees using a medium that appeals to them. Today, she'll be bringing her ideas to Tufts at 4 p.m. in Barnum 104.
When she's not working in prisons and elementary schools or teaching at Evergreen State College, Nadkarni spends her time in the tree canopies of Costa Rica and Washington, some 200 feet above the forest floor, where she eats, sleeps and lives alongside the wildlife she researches.
Sometimes referred to as "the last biotic frontier," canopy treetops have only become a viable subject of research over the past few decades as a handful of pioneers — Nadkarni among them — began to develop the technologies necessary to safely elevate humans to the canopy.
"People have been living and working in forest ecosystems forever. But it's been only recently, within the last 30 years, that they've figured out how to get up into the canopies and study them close up," Nadkarni told the Daily. "Once people began applying mountain−climbing techniques to get up into the forest canopies in a safe way, this whole field opened up."
The slow−to−emerge field became an immediate gold mine, though, uncovering previously unknown mini−ecosystems.
"They have a very different microclimate and a huge, diverse group of animals that you just never find on the forest floor. We were finding new species that no one had ever discovered before, seeing pollination systems going on that we had no idea existed," Nadkarni said.
When she was in college, many of Nadkarni's professors cautioned her against a career in canopy research because of the logistical difficulties it poses, but there was only one direction she was interested in: up.
How she gets there is slightly more complicated.
Step one: She shoots a crossbow with a fishing line attached to a two−ounce weight over a branch a couple hundred feet high and waits for the weight to land.
Step two: She ties a thicker cord to the end of the fishing line and reels it back over the branch to replace the line.
Step three: She ties an even thicker climbing rope to the end of the cord to be pulled over the branch, ties one end to a nearby tree and leaves the other dangling, ready to be climbed.
Step four: She gets into a harness and leg loops and attaches them to an ascender, a clamp that can hold up to 2,000 pounds.
Step five: She climbs.
According to George Ellmore, an associate professor of biology at Tufts, Nadkarni's perseverance has led to several major ecological breakthroughs.
"[She's] learned how to climb these 200−foot trees and lived in them and discovered life in them that no one has ever observed from below. She didn't have to look up; she was actually on level with the animals and plants," Ellmore said.
"She's discovered species of birds and insects that no one has ever seen before," he added. "She's seen that many birds live in a horizontal world; they stay on one level, moving right and left rather than up and down, as not to interfere with other species at other levels."
For Nadkarni, though, discovery on its own was never enough. Her objective was to dissolve the gap between humanity and the canopy layer, both physically — by climbing it — and intellectually — by disseminating her canopy research to a general, nonscientific public. With that in mind, she founded the International Canopy Network in 1994, which began as a network for scientists involved with forest canopies. In 2001, while conducting research funded by a Guggenheim Fellowship, Nadkarni realized she needed to spread the word about her work.
Nadkarni's network at first focused on acting as consultants to the media and helping with documentaries and exhibits.
"I thought, what about kids whose parents don't automatically turn on a documentary? How can I reach non−traditional audiences?" Nadkarni said. "I started giving sermons on trees and spirituality. I started working with rap singers to try and get urban kids interested. I started collaborating with prisons in Washington State, planting seeds and bringing nature to the population that is probably most underserved on environmental education."
One of Nadkarni's recent projects, the Research Ambassador Program, aims to provide young scientists with the tools necessary to incorporate outreach into their own work. Another in development, Tree Links, will allow people to "tag" trees on an interactive map online and share the personal significance those trees may hold.
The message behind Nadkari's outreach is simple, Daniel Dennett, professor of cognitive studies, said: One doesn't have to climb 200 feet in order to be connected to trees; as a human, they already are.
"The message is that humans and nature are inextricably entwined," Nadkarni said, echoing Dennett. "We all depend on trees, whether for oxygen, shade or medicine derived from rain forests."
Dennett, who met Nadkarni at a conference hosted by Technology Entertainment and Design, a nonprofit organization devoted to spreading ideas, encouraged her to help bring tree consciousness to Tufts. Her talk will be the first campus event to promote tree appreciation, but Dennett implored students to embrace trees in their personal lives, as well. To get students involved beyond the talk this afternoon, Dennett plans to hold a contest challenging students to find and measure the tallest tree on campus.
According to Ellmore, they should be pleased with what they find along the way.
"While many people are chopping down large, majestic trees and replacing them, for safety reasons, with smaller ones that will never be a fraction of the size, Tufts still has that old forest look about it," Ellmore said. "The sheer size of the trees is very unusual for a college campus. We have full−sized, 120−180−year−old trees here."
The variation of species is also impressive for a New England campus, Ellmore said. Some of the more distinctive trees include a dawn redwood by Goddard Chapel, several large oaks behind Braker Hall, a tulip poplar — the tallest of the North American deciduous trees — by Ballou Hall and a female Gingko — an exceptional rarity, whose fruit taste of shrimp and walnuts — by Miner Hall, he said.
"Our trees provide a huge number of services for us — a place for people to stand in the shade, a place for people to congregate comfortably outside," Ellmore said. "Imagine what this campus would be like with no trees. That's happened on some campuses already."
