From the Sierras
An unwavering wall of flames was rapidly moving toward my crouching body, now less than 10 meters away. I was frantically burying sensory equipment in holes I’d helped dig about a week prior and couldn’t distinguish whether I was soaking in stress or heat sweat, likely both. It was only two months after my first anniversary of living in California, and already I’d found myself in the midst of an actively burning forest. This was once a fear I had to come to terms with when I chose to move to the west coast, though at the time I figured the probability of finding myself in a burning forest was quite low. However, it had now become something I bravely faced in the name of science.
Graduate school, for me, was an opportunity to shift my focus to environmental microbiology and engage in work that could one day result in tangible applications to cure environmental woes. I was also thrilled by the notion of incorporating fieldwork into my research; what I had not expected was that I would literally end up playing with fire as a crucial aspect of my dissertation work. My interests led me to a undertake a unique project in a relatively new area of research within the scope of microbial ecology. More specifically, we — my post-doctoral mentor and expert mycologist, Dr. Monika Fischer and I — are interested in the bacteria and fungi that survive and thrive after a wildfire. These microbes play an important role in eliminating toxic compounds from the soil after the fire disturbance and help with forest restoration.
Upon moving to California, where fire seasons seem to grow longer and more devastating each year, I found microbial ecology to be both interesting and extremely relevant. Deciphering the role(s) and identities of post-fire soil microbial communities will help us understand how fire-affected ecosystems recover over time and aide in the development of restoration measures. We are particularly interested in understanding the relationship between fire intensity, microbial community composition, and long-term recovery. These research questions have provided many opportunities to venture into the field: from a one-time sampling hike in Yosemite National Park—in an area that has experienced decades of lightning-ignited wildfires—to a prescribed burn at our long-term study sites in Blodgett Forest Research Station.
The prescribed burns conducted at Blodgett Forest are primarily for scientific research. The burns’ impact is investigated to better understand management of land, wildfire prevention, wildland restoration, and scientific research. Dr. Fischer and I worked closely with experienced researchers, Cal Fire and inmate firefighters to conduct burns for our research. The purpose of our work is to more precisely investigate how varying fire severities affect soil chemistry and how the microbial communities respond over the course of a year and longer. This research is motivated by previous work revealing a massive reduction in overall microbial biomass. These studies show that during a wildfire, a large fraction of carbon is trapped in the soil in complex compounds referred to as pyrolyzed organic matter (PyOM), many of which are toxic to most living organisms. While PyOM in fire-affected soil hinders the swift recovery of native plant communities, these compounds are easily utilized and metabolized by microbes. Over time, as microbes begin to recover and recolonize the fire-affected soil, their metabolic activities break down these complex pyrolyzed compounds and release the trapped carbon back into the global carbon cycle. However, we don’t quite understand how all these processes happen over time: are the microbes involved present after the fire or do they arrive later? To what extent they are degrading or modifying PyOM? Hence the importance of identifying these microbial players after fire disturbances.
In order to understand how burn intensity affects post-fire microbial communities, we choose three experimental plots that we burned at varying heat intensities, along with a no-burn control plot. Prior to the prescribed burn, we set up 10-meter sampling lines and collected pre-burn soil cores. These samples will be used to determine the pre-burn microbial community composition for comparison. To measure heat intensity during a burn, we dug 3-foot-deep holes in each plot and bury our temperature sensors with the corresponding data logger before each burn. These sensors contain a series of probes that collect temperature data at 1, 2, 4, 6, and 10 centimeters below the soil surface and allow us to accurately determine the severity of each burn—a crucial aspect of our experimental work.
Burn days were always a treat, even on our most spontaneous and enthralling burn on October 25, 2018, when we received a green light at the crack of dawn to begin burning shortly after sunrise that very day. Monika and I raced to Blodgett, a two-and-a-half-hour drive from Berkeley. We quickly found ourselves on our knees in the shrub, less than 10 meters from a rapidly moving line of fire, frantically (and precisely) burying our temperature sensors and dataloggers. We managed to get our equipment in the ground and buried in the nick of time and joined the others to help “hold the line”— simply keep watch for spot fires and put them out by smacking the flames with a shovel or whatever tool you had in hand. As the adrenaline was wearing off, our resident “Taco Lady,” an extremely kind partner of one of the researchers at Blodgett Forest, had her taco truck set up for lunch. There is no taco more delicious than a homemade taco accompanied by the warmth and smokiness of an actively burning forest.
Once the day’s work was done, Monika and I made our way back to Berkeley. We would return to the burn site 48 hours later to retrieve our equipment, analyze the temperature data and collect our first, of many, post-fire soil cores. Our soil samples are transported back to Berkeley and stored in a freezer in our lab for downstream analyses. These soils are key to understanding how fire affects soil properties such as acidity, PyOM production and the overall chemical composition, the combination of which influences the post-fire microbial community response. These microbes essentially help set the stage for post-fire ecosystem recovery, we just don’t understand exactly how these microbes are responding to fire — yet.
We are the first research group to conduct these analyses at this level of time resolution, providing a feature-length film rather than a snapshot. Our final plot, with a conflict - fire, action - who is doing the work when, climax - how they work together and resolution – how they help forest restoration will greatly benefit the field. This research can provide us with numerous insights on how the post-fire soil bacterial and fungal communities contribute to the livelihood and health of the soil and influence the long-term recovery of our forests back to their pre-fire state.
By: Neem J. Patel
Originally Published in The Berkeley Science Review, Spring 2021. Issue 40
I knew when.
by: Neem Patel
I knew when I realized I was capable of being more than a spectator. In all honesty, deep down, tucked away in a small, dark crevice of my subconscious mind, I had always known. Science is my purpose. It is an essence of my existence. My journey to discover this - was achingly long and ironically circular.
I was raised to be a MD. My parents, immigrants from Gujarat, India, adamantly believed this craft marked true success. The most prestigious profession a child can achieve. Perhaps it is then that a child is rewarded with the one phrase they’ve waited their entire, bicultural, life for - “I am proud of you beta.” Any deviation from this path - arts, philosophy, or even the natural sciences - was an abomination, disrespectful and ungrateful. Possessed by the fear of losing their dignity and status within their communities, my parents would accept nothing less of a MD. My adolescence was greatly burdened by these expectations. They had sacrificed so much for my brother and I. As the elder sibling, it was my duty.
With my purpose in mind, I’d prioritized a science-heavy education my entire life. However, it was never with even an ounce of resentment. I found salvation in science, in spite of my parents verdict. I was fascinated with the mitochondria and chloroplasts - microscopic powerhouses which create the currency of life - acquired through friendly cellular cannibalism, or simply endosymbiosis. Organelles that all eukaryotes possess, which were once free-living prokaryotes - whoa. I was captivated with evolutionary radiation events and the complexity of life that exists today. It was all sparked by some small catalytic events in a once, even more, tumultuous world. Unfathomably beautiful. I was enamored with this world. It was my escape, regardless of how I came to find it.
The years passed and I began honing in on the medical aspects of my prescribed education. While in high school, I participated in organizations such as the Health Occupation Students of America and earned certifications as a first aid and CPR provider and a nursing assistant. I landed a job as a nurse at the lab in the local hospital. I was on the right path and would continue on my pre-medical trajectory in university.
It was during my last year of high school that I began to realize that I was not made for the world of medicine. This became more apparent during my first year of university. In this new setting, distanced from the reality of my cultural duties, I felt liberated, my academic world was full of endless opportunities. I guiltlessly enjoyed courses in the arts, social sciences, philosophy and languages. I was so happily distracted with everything that I had always been bullied against, I completely ignored science. I finally rebelled. I began a cycle of self-discovery - what do I want? what am I passionate about? - I “declared” my major four times: art and photography, anthropology, philosophy and finally landed on Italian studies. Despite these dramatic declarations, every semester was always garnished with a science course. My homage to my undying essence.
As I was nearing the end of my Bachelor of Interdisciplinary Studies in Italian Studies, I was becoming increasingly involved in various activist movements. Most significantly, I was organizing and leading a number of environmental activist groups. In April 2010 one of the worst - unnatural - disasters in petroleum history took place, the Deepwater Horizon oil spill.
Times had changed. Instead of organizing, making signs and taking the streets, I knew I could do more. I could lean on my passion for science and make a real contribution. I was moved by my resolution to solve environmental woes. A path I’d secretly been pursuing my entire, academic, life. My experience had taught me that science was more than just a gateway to becoming a MD. It, itself was and is a future. During the Fall of 2010, I joined the lab of Dr. Kuk-Jeong Chin. We studied how anaerobic microbial communities, native to the marsh sediments off the Louisiana coast, utilize biological mechanisms to degrade toxic, crude oil contaminants resulting from the Deepwater Horizon oil spill.
I am now nine years deep - my parents have been on board for about eight years now. I suppose they got over it much quicker than I’d thought. However, I am still waiting for that, one, phrase.
Found among a collection of old essays from a science communication workshop in 2016. An art I aim to pursue more in 2019. The art of science communication, not the art of talking about oneself.
Science and the meteropolis