Visiting the University & Jepson Herbaria

Back in April, I had a neat opportunity to visit the University and Jepson Herbaria at UC Berkeley as part of a public tour. A herbarium is a collection of preserved plant specimens that have been organized and documented in ways that facilitate all different kinds of research and study. The University Herbarium consists of plants from all over the world, while the Jepson Herbarium focuses on plants from California. Collectively, the two herbaria (which are housed in the same place) contain over 2 million specimens!

Lupinus variicolor, collected in 1929 by Katharine Brandegee

Alcohol is another preservation method!

Part of where the more than 2 million specimens are kept

The tour was given by three wonderful curators who specialize in different kinds of herbarium collections: vascular plants, seaweed, and lichen, mosses, and fungi. Each curator prepared a tabletop display of specimens that highlighted various topics of interest. For instance, while we were looking at vascular plants from the Jepson collection, we learned about female botanists such as Katharine Brandegee and Alice Eastwood who made significant contributions to the study and conservation of California flora from the late 19th century onward. At the lichen, moss, and fungi table, we saw that it is often necessary to collect not only the specimen but the substrate it grows on, which can range from a twig to an animal bone(!). At the seaweed table, we found out that seaweeds are classified by color (red, green, and brown) and that they are fairly easy to prepare for archiving because they exude a gel-like substance that helps “glue” the specimen to the paper.

Herbarium specimens and the accompanying field data are useful in so many different ways. They can help determine the distribution patterns and population trends of a species, which is especially important if a plant is threatened or rare. Or they can be used in research around phenology (the study of seasonal patterns and phenomena), for instance, when a certain plant used to bloom in the past compared to the present. And these days, samples from specimens are often part of genetic research that is helping scientists more accurately understand the evolutionary lineages and relationships between various varieties, species, families, etc.—pretty amazing what can be learned from a tiny piece of leaf or stem!

Now called Amphilophium crucigerum, a vine with medicinal properties that ranges from Mexico through most of South America

The lichen, moss, and fungi part of the tour

Giant Kelp (Macrocystis pyrifera) is a brown seaweed

Chrysymenia pseudodichotoma is a red seaweed

Green Rope (Acrosiphonia coalita) is a green seaweed

Claudea elegans is also a red seaweed

Unexpectedly, visiting the herbaria also raised a lot of different emotions and thoughts. On one hand, I felt very encouraged that there are super smart and dedicated people facilitating research into the breadth of the earth’s (and California’s) plant biodiversity. This was accompanied by a sadness and anger that soon, many species may only exist as a dried sample in a storage cabinet due to the effects of climate change and the continued destruction of ecosystems. It also made me pause to think about the educational and cultural assumptions I’ve accumulated that frame collecting and cataloging as the most “rigorous” way to study the natural world. Over the past couple years, I have been trying to get to know plants not just through visual ID but also by using the four other senses, observing their growth over time, delving into how they relate to surrounding plant and wildlife communities, and learning about how integral they are to Indigenous lifeways and narratives. More and more, I marvel at not only the plants themselves but the diversity of ways in which to know them, including herbarium specimens as well as those ways of knowing that have been historically repressed or discounted.

Finally, visiting this repository of knowledge reminded me that it is important to reflect on the “why” behind the desire to learn and document. Sometimes I take it as a given that most people want to learn about plants in order to help them survive and thrive, but that hasn’t always been (and often still isn’t) the case. For example, some of the most significant botanizing in California happened as part of government and railroad land surveys as well as military expeditions around the time what we now call California became a part of the United States. In these cases, botanical inquiry was an integral part of a larger power exercise that ultimately led to large-scale environmental alteration and devastation, in tandem with the attempted eradication of Indigenous peoples whose lives were intimately entwined with plants and place. Scientific archives hold vital knowledge for the future, and some of the origins of said knowledge are troubling and violent—both things can be true at once. What I find hopeful is that now more than ever, it seems like many institutions, organizations, and individuals are holding honest discussions, learning from underappreciated perspectives and approaches, and working toward true collaboration to face a host of complex challenges.