It’s 10 a.m on a Tuesday, and for 8 months out of the year that usually means I’m in class. But this past summer, that meant I was waist-deep in a meadow, so far into the grass that my friend was almost invisible 3 feet to my left. We’re taking our 15 minute break from surveying and treating invasive plants as part of the Vegetation Crew for the Rocky Mountain Conservancy’s Conservation Corps. 

Rocky Mountain Conservancy (RMC) is a non-profit organization partnered with Rocky Mountain National Park (RMNP), contributing millions of dollars per year to fund the Park’s programs and services. The Veg Crew is one of seven crews in the Conservancy’s Conservation Corps, a team of approximately 50 people ages 18-30 serving through AmeriCorps to complete hands-on conservation work in the park and surrounding National Forests. This work can look like trail construction, building maintenance, or–for Veg–invasive species management.

As part of Veg, my Tuesdays (and Mondays and Wednesdays and Thursdays) were spent walking in a line through the meadows and willow exclosures of RMNP. We walked slowly, with up to 3 gallons of herbicide on our backs, scanning for the harmful stems of leafy spurge, orange hawkweed, Canada thistle, and more. When we found them, we pulled out our ghostbusters-esque nozzle and sprayed the offending plants, keeping careful count of how many we were treating in order to upload the data into ArcGIS FieldMaps. These species are rhizomatous, meaning they have stems that grow extensively underground, protecting the plant from damage and allowing them to grow aggressively. Each portion of that stem can potentially sprout a new plant. These traits are fantastic news for plant spread and terrible news for invasive species management; therefore, the park employs chemical spot-treatment for rhizomatous species.

Working 11 hour days, sometimes we returned to the campground and my eyes would still be glued to the ground in search. I was trained to detect noxious plants, but this training also opened my eyes to everything else around me–I was paying close attention to the environment in an entirely new way. Despite living in Colorado my whole life, I had what my friend referred to as “plant blindness:” the condition of being surrounded by flora without being able to name anything you see. We see plants everyday, but how frequently do we actually recognize them?

Suddenly columbine (the state flower) was joined by starwort, little elephant’s head, golden banner, harebell, wild strawberry. The park became one massive scavenger hunt. During work, my crew and I pestered our park ranger coworkers: ‘What’s this one?’  ‘Is this the same type we saw yesterday?’ I have never taken a plant ecology or botany course, but this immersive learning might be even better. It was like my long-time leafy acquaintances were finally becoming true friends; the ecosystems that have always been close to my heart became even closer as I got past the get-to-know you stage. This relationship has been emphasized by my return to Western Mass, a place that I’m very much still getting to know.

Learning plant identification taught me a lot more than just the plants themselves. For one, I feel a lot clearer in my choice to major in Environmental Science and Policy following my experience this summer. It reaffirmed my love of the outdoors and opened up new career potentials. But beyond that, it reminded me how much fun it is to profoundly engage with the natural world; and how important it is that we continue to do so. On a hike mid-summer, I remarked to a friend that I had “never felt more like an environmentalist than I do now.”  It’s easy to get caught up in an academic lens during the year and forget that the point was always to connect with and care for the land we live alongside. Getting out among the grasses reminded me.

I have always wanted to learn plant ID, but it struck me as overwhelming and intimidating. I didn’t know where to start: according to the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew, “There are about 391,000 species of vascular plants currently known to science.” That’s officially a lot. But my mentors in the Parks Service were wonderful and very passionate, and they had such a zest for learning that it made me realize: you just need to want it badly enough. Plant ID is a skill to be honed, and you have to stick with it–after all, the plants can’t introduce themselves. It’s good to meet them through a friend-of-a-friend: mentors, peers, or instructors who already have some experience.

Back at Smith, I’m plant-blind once again. I walk the Mill River trails frequently and rarely encounter a familiar stem; but I have developed some new acquaintances! Just as I’m building deep connections with people here, I want to connect with the plants as well–and I encourage you to do the same.

There are many resources available if you want to learn plant identification but don’t want to stand in a field for 11 hours a day in order to do so. You can purchase a field guide, or use apps like iNaturalist. You can take classes like Plant Ecology or Horticulture in the Landscape (both on my list). You can attend foraging trips at Macleish Field Station, or go to workshops hosted right here at the botanic garden. Or, you can seek out internships and other opportunities, like the Garden’s conservation intern positions or even what I did this summer! Smith truly has so many spaces for learning about plants-127 acres of arboretum, 6-acres of outdoor managed gardens, a 12,000 square foot conservatory, MacLeish Field Station, and beautiful riverside trails that connect right to campus.

I think the most important part of learning plant identification is not getting the names right every time–it’s learning to pay close attention to our leafy neighbors, to greet them with the same observation and care with which we greet one another. So the next time you’re walking to class at 10 a.m on a Tuesday, stop to read a name tag or two!