The most breathtaking and awe-inducing landscapes are usually the ones with dramatic or intriguing changes in elevation. My unofficial observations have led me to believe that this is partially because they photograph well. After six weeks in Flat Land, the team has taken plenty of photos that are quite level, but the gently sloping tundra in the background makes it look as though we can’t be bothered to hold a camera parallel to the horizon. Either way, some would say that we are spending our summers in the most boring landscape on the planet. “Some” have clearly not visited Nebraska. (Nor have I, but I imagine it to be boring.)

We were unceremoniously deposited in this environment on our first field day a month and a half ago. Professor Bob sat us down on the tundra like the little Kindergarten Scientists we were an plucked something (seemingly at random) from the field. “What’s this?” he asked, in the first of hundreds of purposefully shaming questions.

On that first day the tundra looked like it deserved the “boring” label. Interested as I was in all the new and captivating things to look at, a glance at the early-season tundra gave all impressions of a completely monotone and utterly uninteresting field. Plus, the lichens were ugly.

Then, of course, we straight away began spending all our time looking at that same uninteresting, monotone field. The plants became easily distinguishable from one another, and as the season progressed the colors became more different and vibrant as well, particularly in Atqasuk.

Now I quite enjoy the tundra, and, though I dearly love trees, I find the landscape perfectly satisfactory. Certain plants, like BETULA NANA, which I HATE, I could do without, but my favorites (and UNfavorites) are determined more by my personal experiences with them than by any aesthetic value they may or may not have. (For example, I like Eriophorum angustifolium the most because it was the first one I learned from my site, but Salix rotundafolia, the first Barrow plant I learned, can go jump off a cliff for all I care. It is dreadfully confusing. Pedicularus and Ranunculus I enjoy as well [who wouldn't?] but Dupontia and I have a love-hate relationship… that tricky tricky grass.)

I guess my summer should be called Tundra Appreciation for Beginners. I am always amused when we are recording growth measures and we start exclaiming at the dramatic heights the plants are reaching. “Oh boy, this is a big one- eleven point four centimeters!”

Explaining that the richly diverse tundra is really quite a nice place to spend time rather than a barren and frigid wasteland has been on the blog back-burner for some weeks now, but it is suitable that I choose to write about it today, because I am again in a lovely mood, due (in part) to the weather! After the week that included snow in July, a first for me, we were treated to more of my favorite kind of sunshine today… with just the right amount of fog!

The weather, compounded with the fact that the ice blew in again last night, makes for the perfect picturesque opportunity to jump in the ocean. Two girls from San Diego State and a few newcomers took advantage of this, and I accompanied as photographer. Having now watched other people participate in this charming experience, I am moderately embarrassed about how foolish I certainly looked (and how loudly I screamed). Fortunately, the spectators were nice people, though Denver in particular enjoys watching and capturing on camera the suffering of the young researchers.

Oh, and Bob would be quite proud of me for abandoning my initial aversion to lichens- I can now successfully identify approximately half a dozen of them, thanks to the tutelage of Jeremy. (Not bad for the person who spends most of her time with lichens scribbling numbers on a piece of paper.) They seem friendly- more so than the standoffish mosses, anyway.

Unfortunately, Bob would also shake his head in exasperation at my childish delight in… everything.