Erin Southerland

December 14, 2021 by Erin Southerland

Carnegie’s Water Fountains

by Albert D. Kollar

Potable Water Sources

Access to drinking water from a water fountain seems to be passé today with the ubiquitous availability of plastic water bottles from vending machines. In 2018, as an effort to ‘change the culture’ in the use of plastic water bottles by museum staff and patrons, the Oakland museums, Carnegie Museum of Natural History, and Carnegie Museum of Art (respectively CMNH and CMOA), installed filling stations for reusable water bottles. These eco-friendly “fountains” are located adjacent to the Fossil Fuels Cafeteria in CMNH, and in the rest room lobby of CMOA¹ (Fig. 1), and their rapid and wide acceptance invites a deeper consideration of drinking water as an amenity in a public facility.

gray and silver water fountain — Fig. 1.

The public water supply in the massive Oakland building comes from the Pittsburgh Water and Sewer Authority’s Herron Hill Reservoir, which in turn draws its supply from the Highland Park Reservoir in the city’s East End¹. The water, which is initially sourced from the Allegheny River, undergoes several treatments before it is pumped to the reservoir.

The geologic perspective on our water supply also bears mention here. The glacial melt waters of the Pleistocene Epoch filled the potable aquifers of western Pennsylvania²(Fig. 2 red arrows). With population growth in the 20^th Century, water demands for agricultural, industrial, and residential uses led to the depletion of these aquifers within the Allegheny River Basin. Today potable waters stored in reservoirs are principally drawn from the three rivers of Pittsburgh, waterways replenished to a significant degree by rain fall and snow melt.

chart looking at glacial outwash in the Allegheny River Basin in the Pleistocene and at present — Fig. 2

A myth in the minds of many Pittsburghers is the city’s Fourth River. According to a 2016 publication by John Harper²,the Fourth River does not exist as underground caves, fissures, or cavities under any of the three rivers. As shown in Fig. 2, (red arrows) glacial outwash and Holocene alluvium comprise thick deposits of sediment within the river valleys, and tiny interconnected pore spaces between sand grains and pebbles allow water from the rivers and their adjoining floodplains and riverbanks, to move slowly but freely through this sediment. At some locations this subterranean flow is accessed by artesian wells, the most prominent example being the fountain in Point State Park.

Carnegie’s Water Fountains

Presentation is important, especially for something as vital as drinking water, and within the halls and hallways of the Carnegie building complex in Oakland, carved stone is frequently part of the refreshment package. Visitors encounter three types of water fountains. In the 1907 Carnegie Institute Extension, a Beaux-Arts masterpiece designed by architects Alden and Harlow, water fountains are plumbed through either white Carrara Marble from Italy or yellow Hauteville fossil limestone of France. In the Museum of Art wing built in 1974, thirsty patrons are served by chrome water fountains (Fig. 3).

Carrara Marble was created during the Cenozoic Era when limestones formed during the Triassic or early Jurassic age limestones underwent metamorphosis.⁴The locations of the eighteen Carrara Marble fountains in the 1907 building include the engine room, basement hallways, the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh first floor lobby (Fig. 4), Carnegie Music Hall vestibule hallway, the Carnegie Lecture Hall, and exhibit halls on the second and third floors of Carnegie Museum of Natural History.³Although the Carrara Marble fountains originally had red brass fixtures (Fig. 4), some now operate with replacement fixtures of chrome¹.

There are three Hauteville limestone fountains along the walls of the three floors in the Grand Staircase Hall. These neo-Baroque fountains feature carvings that represent a diverse group of invertebrate fossils and an allegory human face (Fig. 5). The fountains are surrounded by the Hauteville limestone wall panels with Cretaceous age snail Nerinea (Fig. 6) visible in many Hauteville floor tiles, walls, door framing, and pedestals.⁵ Some 350 tons of Hauteville limestone were used for the interior stone in the Grand Staircase and throughout the Carnegie Institute Extension.⁶The Hauteville fountains also originally used red brass fixtures, and now function with chrome replacements.

A World-Famous Fountain In Rome And More

If there’s a place in a discussion of fountains to consider the top of the scale, an Italian reference belongs here. One of the most famous water fountains in the world is the Baroque Trevi Fountain (Nicola Salvi, Giuseppe Pannini, architects) that opened in 1762 in Rome⁷. The fountain had its moments in classic movies such as, Federico Fellini’s La Dolce Vita (1960) with Marcello Mastroianni and Anita Ekberg in the leads⁸ (Fig. 7, image by Hernán Piñera).

Around 19 BC, aqueducts were constructed in ancient Rome to bring pure water to the city from mountains 13 km (8.1 mi) from Rome⁹. Roman citizens enjoyed the function of a fountain not only as a source of clean water but as a gathering place.

The Trevi Fountain is made of travertine, a sedimentary limestone (calcium carbonate) quarried in the Italian village of Bogni di Tivoli¹⁰. The village is noted for travertine quarries that produced the exterior stone for the Roman Amphitheater opened in 80 AD¹¹ and the building of the Getty Museum in Los Angeles, California (1997).

Travertine forms when ground water combines with carbon dioxide in the soils to form carbonic acid waters that then dissolve subsurface limestone. As these calcium carbonate-concentrated waters flow through the cracks in the bedrock they eventually precipitate a new rock called travertine.

An excellent example of travertine formation can be observed at Mammoth Hot Springs in Yellowstone National Park. High above the Hot Springs, rainwater seeps into the buried Cretaceous age limestone where it mixes with carbon dioxide gas that rises from a subterranean magma chamber dissolving the calcium carbonate that is carried along in the underground streams through fractures in the overlying strata. Once the water exits the bedrock, travertine terraces start to build as the carbon dioxide gas escapes, leaving behind the calcium carbonate mineral.

Travertine in Oakland: In an abandoned sandstone quarry behind Phipps Conservancy in Schenley Park travertine deposits is preserved on the exterior of the quarry rock¹². The site is no longer open for visitors.

Albert D. Kollar is the Collection Manager for the Section of Invertebrate Paleontology. Museum employees are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

References

Young, T. Carnegie Museum of Pittsburgh Facilities.
Harper, J. A. 2016. The Geological Evolution of Pittsburgh’s Three River. PAlS Publication 21.
Kollar et al. 2020. Connemara Marble at the Carnegie Institute Extension. ACM, 86, 207-2
Price, M. T. 2007. The Sourcebook of Decorative Stone: An Illustrated identification guide. 287 pp.
Kollar, A. D. 2020. https://carnegiemnh.org/carnegie-museum-grand-staircase/
Kollar, A. D. 2021 DE L’ÉCHAILLON À L’ANNEXE DU CARNEGIE INSTITUTE DE PITTSBURGH Saint-Quentin-sur-Isère, 18 Septembre 2021.
Pinto, J. A. 1986. The Trevi Fountain. Yale University Press. 326 pp.
Fellini, F. 1960. La Dolce Vita. The Criterion Collection, Paramount Home Entertainment
Beard, M. 2015. SPOR A History of Ancient Rome. Liveright Publishing Corporation. 606 pp.
Hirt, A. M. 2010. Imperial Mines and Quarries in the Roman World Organizational Aspects 27 BC-AD 235. Oxford Press, 551 pp.
Acocella, A. 2013. Travertine, An Italian Stone. Journal ARCHITETTURA DI PIETRA.
Kollar, A. D. The Geology of Oakland, in manuscript.

Climate Change Never Takes A Holiday: The Phenomenon of the Pizzly Bear

by Nicholas Sauer

three polar bears in the snow — Polar bears. Photo by Hans-Jurgen Mager on Unsplash

At this time of year, you’re apt see TV commercials in which cuddly and good-natured polar bears share delicious colas with one another in the spirit of the season. However, neither the mythology nor reality surrounding polar bears—nor bears in general—are quite so idyllic. Even their scientific names possess an element of menace and foreboding. Ursus arctos horribilis—the grizzly—speaks for itself. Ursus maritimus—the polar bear—hints that this predator is as much at home hunting its prey in water as it is on the Arctic ice. In fact, polar bears can swim for several days without stopping.

Throughout history these creatures have inspired fear in the heart of many a human. Members of the Lewis and Clark Expedition were shocked that none of their party were devoured by grizzlies in the Pacific Northwest. Some Renaissance cartographers labeled the mysterious Arctic realms: hic sunt ursi albi, or “here be white bears” (dragons are overrated anyway). Other Europeans of that era drew polar bears as if they were enormous white wolves with serpentine tails.

The stark whiteness of the polar bear fascinated Ishmael, the narrator of Herman Melville’s 1851 classic Moby Dick: “The irresponsible ferociousness of the creature stands invested in the fleece of celestial innocence and love; and hence, by bringing together two such opposite emotions in our minds, the Polar bear frightens us with so unnatural a contrast.” The white whale of the novel is terrifying in much same way—that such a beast should be the hue of angelic robes is overwhelming to Ishmael. Coincidently, try thinking of Moby Dick as a creature feature, and I bet you won’t find it as intimidating and esoteric a read (it worked for me).

Grizzly and polar bears have often been misinterpreted and sensationalized by their human neighbors. However, the scientific community in recent decades has begun to regard these two species of bear as complex and vulnerable creatures of great power. Indigenous populations in North America have long understood this. Specifically, the Inuit revere the polar bear for its human-like traits. For instance, both species hunt with patience and intelligence, are capable of play, and demonstrate maternal devotion to cubs.

Climate Change and Pizzly Bears

Regrettably, climate change is rapidly altering the Arctic ecosystem, putting the polar bears’ long-term future in jeopardy. Polar bears have a highly specialized diet, consisting mainly of seals. Sea ice has long provided the bears with a seal hunting platform, and its late formation and early melt creates progressively more difficult conditions for these bears to hunt their favorite blubbery menu item. Diminished ice cover has forced them to search out other food sources including garbage left behind by humans. In their quest for food, polar bears have come into increased contact with Inuit communities, sometimes resulting in human fatalities. In addition to these confrontations, polar bears are increasingly crossing paths with grizzly bears within the expanding overlap of each species’ geographic range. Polar bears and grizzlies are not so genetically distant from each other to preclude hybridization, and in 2006 the scientific community found that the bears do breed together in the wild. Their shared progeny are known as pizzlies, or grolar bears (which name do you like better?).

Grizzly bear. Image by Princess Lodges via Flickr.

Grizzly bears dominate the territory that they share with polar bears because they are better adapted to the varied climate, terrain, and available food sources. Unlike polar bears, grizzlies follow an opportunistic diet that includes plant tubers and carrion in addition to live prey. Paleontologist Larisa DeSantis of Vanderbilt University posits that the hybrid pizzlies may possess modified skulls and teeth that could plausibly allow them to adopt the indiscriminate feeding habits of the grizzly bear. However, DeSantis points out that the hybrid bears also lose some of the abilities of their parents; for example, pizzlies are not as adept at swimming as their polar bear forbears.

The twin fear among scientists is that 1) the number of polar bears will dwindle, and 2) hybridization will increase to such an extreme that polar bears will be one day be subsumed into the general grizzly population. The polar bear may face extinction over the next century if nothing is done to conserve the species. Much remains to be discovered about the hybridization of polar bears and grizzlies. What we do know for sure is that pizzlies are a product of profound environmental instability and crisis. Polar bears may star in heartwarming commercials during the holidays—but these creatures and their ecosystem are in grave danger of a different kind of warming, one associated with climate change.

Nicholas Sauer is a Gallery Experience Presenter in CMNH’s Life Long Learning Department. Museum staff, volunteers, and interns are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

References

“Bears on the Lewis and Clark Expedition.” America’s Library. Accessed 29 Sept. 2021. <http://www.americaslibrary.gov/aa/lewisandclark/aa_lewisandclark_bears_2.html>.

Casselman, Anne. “Longest Polar Bear Swim Recorded—426 Miles Straight.” National Geographic. 22 July 2011. <https://www.nationalgeographic.com/science/article/110720- polar-bears-global-warming-sea-ice-science-environment>.

Cockburn, Harry. “Climate crisis pushing polar bears to mate with grizzlies, producing hybrid ‘pizzly’ bears.” The Independent. 15 April 2021. <https://www.independent.co.uk/climate-change/news/pizzly-bear-polar-grizzly-hybrid-b1831847.html>.

Engelhard, Michael. “How Polar Bears Became the Dragons of the North.” Smithsonian Magazine. 31 May 2017. <https://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/polar-bears- dragons-of-the-north-180963502/>.

Melville, Herman. Moby-Dick; or The Whale. 1851. Project Gutenberg. Accessed 29 Sept. 2021. <https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2701/2701-h/2701-h.htm#link2HCH0042>.

“Polar Bear Figurine.” Bristol’s Free Museums and Historic Houses. Accessed 29 Sept. 2021. <https://museums.bristol.gov.uk/narratives.php?irn=11245>.

Strong, Walter. “It’s no surprise for Inuit — Baffin Bay polar bears defy past assumptions with stable population.” CBC. 3 March 2020. <https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/north/baffin-bay-polar-bears-nunavut-1.5472492>.

Tien, Caroline. “Polar Bear-Grizzly Bear Hybrids Likely to Become More Common Thanks to Climate Change.” Newsweek. 29 April 2021. <https://www.newsweek.com/polar-bear-grizzly-bear-hybrids-likely-become-more-common-thanks-climate-change-1587568>.

Ruthie the Red-Nosed Reindeer: The Natural History Behind Some Classic Christmas Carols

by Shelby Wyzykowski

We all know Dasher and Dasher and Prancer and Vixen, Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen. But do you recall the most famous reindeer of all? It’s Ruthie the red-nosed reindeer of course! No, that definitely does not sound quite right, does it. There is no Ruthie in the traditional song that we all know and love. The lead reindeer that guides Santa’s sleigh on that foggy Christmas Eve should be Rudolph, a boy, not Ruthie, a girl. Or so the song says. There are several widely known Christmas carols that incorporate animals into their lyrical stories. They are songs that many people know by heart and faithfully sing year after year. But have you ever taken the time to stop and really think about the ways in which wildlife are portrayed in these melodic tales? Are these stories scientifically accurate accounts that hold true to the realities of the natural world? Or are they simply lyrical flights of holiday fancy?

The Twelve Days of Christmas

“The Twelve Days of Christmas”, first published in England in 1780, is a carol that documents a very long list of gifts that a true love gives to their sweetheart over a period of twelve days. By the end of the ballad, the lucky giftee receives 184 birds, more than enough to open their own aviary. The large, feathered flock of six different avian species includes a partridge in a pear tree (twelve times over).

gray partridge on snowy ground — Gray Partridge. Image by Ekaterina Chernetsova (Papchinskaya) via Flickr.

A partridge in a pear tree would not be the most ideal gift since, not only would gift wrapping be a challenge, but it might not be possible to find such a gift. Do partridges even roost in pear trees? Though the iconic image of a treed fowl paints a pretty yuletide picture, it is not a natural occurrence in the real world. In North America, two species of partridge introduced as game birds have well-established populations. The Gray Partridge (Perdix perdix), a native of Europe, can be found in northern prairies, where it roosts and forages mostly on the ground, at the bases of shrubs, and, during winter, on the snow. The Chukar Partridge (Alectoris chukar), a native of Eurasia, inhabits the arid American West, where it roosts beneath sagebrush, under juniper trees, in rock outcrops, or in open rocky areas. Not only do both species build their nests exclusively on the ground, they are also both primarily seed-eaters (but they do enjoy the occasional leaf or insect). So, pears as a food source are of no real interest to either type of partridge.

swan on the water — Mute Swan. Image by Charles J. Sharp, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

Among the many other birds this carol features are the “swans a-swimming”. If your beloved happens to be an avian enthusiast, the Mute Swan just could be the most fitting of gifts on the seventh day of Christmas. These birds have traditionally been associated with romance because of their graceful swimming and their long and beautifully curved S-shaped necks. They also mate for life, and paired couples tend to charmingly swim side by side. Native to Europe and parts of Asia, Mute Swans were brought to the United States as pond ornaments for private estates and have since gained a foothold in this country. Mute Swans, being very territorial, usually do not migrate and may be present at the same location all year round. They are very content living in icy cold weather if there is an abundant supply of food at hand. But can they swim in the blustery, inhospitable conditions of December, as this song claims? Surprisingly, the answer is yes. You would imagine that swimming in frigid waters would unmercifully freeze the feet of waterfowl, but swans and other waterfowl avoid this frosty fate by utilizing an intricate heat-exchange system called counter-current circulation. Through an intertwining of arteries and veins, the circulation system in the legs of these birds functions as a natural radiator. When arterial blood moving from the body to the feet passes alongside the venous blood returning from the feet to the body, heat is transferred from the warm arteries to the cool veins. This process keep’s the swan’s body at the right temperature while the extremities are still just warm enough to avoid tissue damage. There’s no doubt that if humans were gifted with this same circulatory trick, many a day of snow shoveling, and car cleaning would be made much more bearable!

Walking in a Winter Wonderland

One of the time-honored favorites of the season is “Walking in a Winter Wonderland,” the 1934 classic song about a couple’s romance during the holiday season. Though a snowman plays a prominent part in this tune, two types of bird are also mentioned.

bluebird on a branch — Eastern Bluebird. Image by Kelly Colgan Azar via Flickr.

The first is introduced into the musical story with the line “gone away is the bluebird.” This bluebird might symbolize the sadness that comes with being parted from a loved one. Or could it just literally mean that the songbird has left the wintry weather for warmer climes? Feathered with eye-catching plumage of bright azure and rust, the Eastern Bluebird (Sialia sialis) is found in many parts of our country during much of the year. However, as winter approaches, much of the population migrates to the southern U.S., with some members of the species flying as far south as Central America. Though they are occasionally seen in wintry weather, most do not return north again until February or March. So, if your own personal Winter Wonderland happens to be somewhere in the northern United States, the lyrics “gone away is the bluebird” are fairly accurate.

But what about the mysterious “new bird” that’s “here to stay” and sings a love song as the happy couple goes along? Some song aficionados suppose that the “new bird” represents the elation that two people share when starting their new life together. Others suggest that the unnamed bird is actually the stork, ready and waiting to eventually deliver a little bundle of joy. But storks cannot sing, can they? Well, no, not really. The Wood Stork is the only stork native to North America. It is a very large, heavy-billed bird that wades in the shallows of southern swamps, marshes, ponds, and lagoons. Adult storks are mostly silent except for the occasional hissing. They also can be heard bill clappering, which is when they make a loud, clattering sound by quickly opening and snapping shut their bills. But young storks do have a musical repertoire of sorts. Within stork breeding colonies, which are usually located in stands of tall cypress, nestlings will make a noisy ruckus as they beg for food. Their loud calls sound a bit nasally, kind of like a braying donkey. If the wood stork is in fact the “new bird”, his attempt at singing a love song would not be considered particularly romantic by many, unless you happen to be a lovesick donkey in search of a mate (as a side note, both male and female donkeys use bray vocalization during courtship).

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer

Now let’s get back to the catchy 1949 jingle about the gutsy hooved hero whose red nose saved Christmas. The surprising truth about “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” is that these animals can actually have red noses! Reindeer have densely packed arrays of capillaries in their noses, which can sometimes cause them to appear pink. An excess flow of blood to their nose warms the air that they breathe in and can also help regulate their body temperature under extreme environmental conditions. To avoid overheating while running (or, in Rudolph’s case, flying) for long periods of time, large volumes of blood are brought to the nose where the excess heat can radiate out into the air.

Also, according to the song, male reindeers at the North Pole sport their antlers well into the darkest days of winter. But outside the boundaries of Santa’s domain, males begin to shed their antlers in late autumn after the fighting of rutting season has ended. Females retain their antlers well into the spring when their calves are born. Access to food is critical during their winter pregnancy, so they must use their antlers to defend patches of vegetation in small areas of cleared snow. Also, during the colder months, females are in better physical condition than males because they have much larger stores of energy. Females enter winter with about fifty percent body fat, whereas the fat percentage of males can dip as low as five percent. So, although there don’t seem to be any females helping to pull Santa’s heavy, gift-laden sleigh, rest assured that these ladies would be more than capable of taking on the task!

Natural History of Christmas Songs

So now we know the true story behind some of our favorite Christmas ditties. Storks don’t sing sweet songs of love. And you’ll never see a partridge anywhere near a pear tree, not at Christmas or at any other time of the year. Yet despite the scientific inaccuracies of these traditional holiday songs, we still unconditionally adore them for what they represent…the joyous and hopeful spirit of the season. But what about Rudolph? If the reindeer rules of winter favor females, how can we account for our red-nosed friend and all of the other males that make up Santa’s team? Well, perhaps we can attribute it to a little bit of Christmas magic at work. Maybe some seasonal miracle allows these reindeer to hang on to their antlers for just long enough so that they can take part in that worldwide flight on the big night. We can only guess, since it seems to be a closely guarded secret between Santa and his crew. They’re the only ones that know the whole story. But that’s okay, because, during the holiday season, do we always need to know why things happen the way that they happen? Probably not. Sometimes, it’s perfectly fine just to wonder and imagine and not know all the answers.

Because, sometimes, just believing is enough.

Shelby Wyzykowski is a Gallery Experience Presenter in CMNH’s Life Long Learning Department. Museum staff, volunteers, and interns are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

How to Talk with an Extra-Terrestrial Alien? Practice with an Octopus

by Timothy A. Pearce

Despite typical depictions of outer space creatures in movies and on TV, the chance that extra-terrestrial aliens will look like us is vanishingly small, and they are also likely to think and communicate very differently than we do. Most species on Earth communicate with smells (note that most animal species on Earth are insects), while fewer species, including humans, communicate primarily with sight and sound. As far as I know, humans are the only ones on Earth using radio waves to communicate, although radio transmitters and receivers are external to our biological bodies. (Nerds will point out that radio waves and light waves are all part of the electromagnetic spectrum, just pulses of the same phenomenon at different frequencies.)

illustration of a green creature with big black eyes

If we humans actually made contact with extra-terrestrial alien intelligence, how would we communicate with them? Extra-terrestrial organisms, likely being completely separate instances of life, and potentially evolving under dramatically different temperatures and chemical environments (think cold moons of Jupiter or Saturn where the solvent of life could be liquid hydrocarbons instead of water), might not use smell, sight, or sound as Earth creatures do. They might have very different ways of conveying information.

I suggest if we want to practice communicating with space aliens, we should look no further than our 8-legged ocean intelligence: the octopus. The octopus is evolutionarily the most different of all the intelligences on Earth. Here, I include in the “intelligence club” organisms such as primates (including humans), cetaceans (dolphins and whales), certain birds (parrots, jays, and crows), and cephalopods (particularly octopus). If you’d like to include other favorite creatures capable of acquiring and applying knowledge, such as elephants, dogs, and horses, well sure, we can include them in the intelligence club. What I want you to notice is that all of them except the cephalopods are vertebrate animals, and all but the birds are mammals.

The cephalopods are the most different of all those intelligences. The cephalopod and vertebrate lineages split from each other more than half a billion years ago. Although the common ancestors of the different vertebrate lineages were not likely highly intelligent, something about the vertebrate body plan might have been a precursor for intelligence. If this is the case, we might expect similarities in the different instances of vertebrate intelligence. On the other hand, because cephalopods and their intelligence came from a very different ancient ancestor, it is as different an intelligence as we can find on Earth. To appreciate how different, look up the fundamental difference between protostomes (including octopus) and deuterostomes (including vertebrates).

I suggest that our best chance to practice communicating with space aliens is to practice communicating with octopuses.

One other non-vertebrate I can think of that might be considered for the intelligence club is the jumping spider (family Salticidae, particularly genus Portia), whose intelligent hunting behaviors indicate they can reason and learn. And hey, they have eight legs, just like the octopus. Coincidence? What do you think?

Timothy A. Pearce, PhD, is the head of the mollusks section at Carnegie Museum of Natural History. Museum employees are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

Collected on this Day in 1930: Native…or Not?

by Mason Heberling

Though the supercontinent Pangea broke apart many millions of years ago, the Anthropocene is marked by a new kind of Pangea. The globalization of human activities has brought species from around the world into contact which otherwise would never interact. Though the seven continents as they are today may not be physically connected into a single landmass, they are perhaps more connected than they have ever been.

Some species are intentionally moved from one continent to another, such as the plants in gardens, while other introductions are accidental, mere unintentional passengers of humans increasingly global activities. Introduced species can fundamentally alter the landscape and are regarded as one of the top threats to native biodiversity.

Invasive species are those introduced species which are non-native and spread without human intervention. Many invasive species alter ecosystem functioning and change regional biodiversity. Invasive plant species have become a common part of our landscape. Some were brought over hundreds of years ago by European colonists. Others have arrived much more recently.

In Pennsylvania, the invasion of some plant species is obvious – that is, a unique species arrives, thrives, and become abundant. These invasive species have no record of being in the area and can spread rapidly, sometimes over the course of a human lifetime or shorter. Many invasive species are still actively spreading across the landscape. For instance, garlic mustard (Alliaria petiolata) is a well-known forest herb from Europe introduced to North America in the mid-1800s. After more than a century, the plant is now common across Pennsylvania’s forests. Another obvious example is giant knotweed (Reynoutria sachalinensis), a native to parts of East Asia, first recorded in western Pennsylvania in the 1920s, and since spread to line many of Pennsylvania’s rivers and streams. You can’t go far in the Pittsburgh region without seeing invasive knotweed.

Other species invasions are less obvious. These so called “cryptic invasions” are the introductions of very closely related species or subspecies which originated elsewhere.

specimen of common reed on an herbarium sheet

This specimen of common reed (Phragmites australis) tells the tale of a widespread cryptic invasion. The specimen was collected by Carnegie Museum botany curator Otto Jennings on November 2, 1930 along the shores of Lake Erie at Presque Isle, Pennsylvania. Common reed is a major problematic invasive species, crowding out native species in this unique habitat at Presque Isle. When this specimen was collected over 90 years ago, it was not nearly as abundant as it is now.

common reed plants with trees outside — A large stand of *Phragmites* at Presque Isle State Park, August 2019.

But is it non-native? Common reed, or often simply called Phragmites, has a very widespread distribution, found in wetlands and shores across all continents except Antarctica. It is even a common site along wet areas near highways. Common reed is among the most widely distributed plants in the world.

Reed is non-native to the United States…well, mostly. In the 1800s, botanists considered Phragmites to be a relatively uncommon plant. Evidence from fossils and paleoecological research show that the species has indeed been in North America for many thousands of years. However, it didn’t start to become abundant until the early 1900s and after. Some botanists suggested the sudden success of the species could be due to human disturbance. A pioneering herbarium-based study from 2002 published in PNAS by Dr. Kristin Saltonstall sequenced DNA from herbarium specimens collected before 1910 and recent collections to show that the spread of Phragmites in the United States was due to the introduction of a non-native strain of the species that originated from Europe.

Pretty cool, huh? And this finding was made possible with herbarium specimens.

So, is this particular specimen native or not? I don’t actually know, but with expert examination and genetic analysis, we could find out!

Find this specimen and 149 more in the Carnegie Museum herbarium here.

Check back for more! Botanists at the Carnegie Museum of Natural History share digital specimens from the herbarium on dates they were collected. These scientists are in the midst of a three-year project to digitize nearly 190,000 plant specimens collected in the region, making images and other data publicly available online. This effort is part of the Mid-Atlantic Megalopolis Project (mamdigitization.org), a network of thirteen herbaria spanning the densely populated urban corridor from Washington, D.C. to New York City to achieve a greater understanding of our urban areas, including the unique industrial and environmental history of the greater Pittsburgh region. This project is made possible by the National Science Foundation under grant no. 1801022.

Mason Heberling is Assistant Curator of Botany at Carnegie Museum of Natural History. Museum employees are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

60 Years, One Bird at a Time

by Mary Shidel, with special thanks to Pam Curtin, for her detailed history of the Powdermill Bird Banding Program

On June 18, 1961, a small brown bird with hints of blue on its wings and tail left its shrubby perch or perhaps its nest and flew into a soft nylon net. Little did this Indigo Bunting know that she would be the first data point in a long history of bird banding at the Powdermill Nature Reserve. Bob Leberman carefully extracted the bunting from the net, placed it in a bag for transport, then attached a small, almost weightless metal band to her leg, and collected data for age, sex, wing length and mass. Within minutes she was out flitting through the vegetation foraging for food. This same process has continued for 60 years, one bird at a time—capture, band, collect data, and release.

Powdermill Nature Reserve is the biological field station of Carnegie Museum of Natural History. In 1961, Bob Leberman, who had experience banding birds in Erie and near his hometown of Meadville, Pennsylvania, was hired by the museum’s director, Dr. Graham Netting, to establish a banding program at the Nature Reserve. Over the first decade or so the program evolved as Bob experimented with net sizes and placement, and honed skills and techniques for ageing and sexing that are still widely used today. In September 1961, a large pond was constructed and christened “Crisp Pond” after the village that used to exist nearby, and in 1975 two smaller ponds were added with shallower habitat for wading birds.

white building with tall evergreen trees behind it

In the early days, Bob banded from mid-March to mid-November. It wasn’t until 1974, when a permanent residence was established at the reserve for him, that Bob became the first person in the country to band year-round. By 1970, as Bob’s research expanded, a nearby garage and service building were repurposed into a laboratory and office space for the Banding Program.

A 1967 publication of the Carnegie Museum notes that “one of the most valuable assets” of Powdermill Bird Banding is the “considerable effort made to keep data consistent and comparable.” This is still true sixty years later. Just as Bob did in the early days, nets are opened one half hour before sunrise and checked every forty minutes (or adjusted if necessary due to weather conditions). Nets are kept in the same exact location from year to year, and net lanes are trimmed frequently to keep the vegetation surrounding the nets in an early successional state rather than just letting the forest overtake the banding area.

Data consistency and integrity is also still paramount at the banding lab. Over the years, very few people have held the “bander in charge” position, and those collecting the data work closely to calibrate measurements and methods. Amazingly, of the 800,000 records now in the banding database, Bob Leberman, who retired in 2004, collected the data for almost half! In 1983, Bob Mulvihill, whose connection to the banding program began as a volunteer four years earlier, joined Bob Leberman as Powdermill’s second full-time bander. Through the efforts of both “Bobs” the program grew and expanded. In 2004, in a recognition of ongoing research projects beyond the scope of the bird banding program, the lab was renamed “Powdermill Avian research Center,” a name frequently abbreviated as PARC.

The number of people who have supported the banding program in small and great ways over the years is much too vast to name here, but the program could never have grown and flourished without the thousands of volunteer hours and strong support from the staff at both Carnegie Museum of Natural History and Powdermill Nature Reserve. Generous funding from private donors and foundations over the years has extended the influence of PARC both nationally and globally.

Today, PARC is under the direction of Lucas DeGroote, Avian Research Coordinator, with Annie Lindsay, Banding Program Manager, directing day-to-day operations at the Banding Lab. Countless avenues of research focus on finding new ways to help birds. Each banding day, Annie and her staff will be opening nets before sunrise, checking the nets every forty minutes, and safely collecting and measuring the birds, growing the database and avian knowledge, one bird at a time.

And so the tradition continues…

Mary Shidel is a Banding Assistant at Powdermill Nature Reserve, Carnegie Museum of Natural History’s environmental research center. Museum employees blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

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