Cupressus macrocarpa

I was reflecting today on a research experience I had as an undergrad at Tufts. I was taking Professor Gardulski's Sedimentology class, and we had to design our own final project. I chose to do a pebble sample from multiple points along a stream in Elmira, near where my parents live. The idea was that the more headwaters would have the smallest and most jagged pebbles, and the further downstream I examined, the larger and more rounded the rocks would be. My experimental setup was to collect the pebbles from the deepest part of the stream at each spot (where the highest-energy flow is) and then to measure pebble size and shape, determine lithology (rock type), and classify the pebbles according to those parameters. After two days in knee-high spring snowmelt, I had all my samples. I spent several long nights of my spring break sitting next to the sink in my parents' kitchen, sorting and classifying pebbles.

Weeks later, after more analysis and lots of writing, I presented my work to the class. I was pretty proud of the project, having thought it up completely myself, and done all the fieldwork and analysis. However, when it came time for questions, Professor Gardulski had one for me. "I see you have classified the vast majority of your clasts (individual pebbles) as sandstone, siltstone, or mudstone. The upstate New York area has a lot of limestone, were none of your clasts limestone?"

It was a valid question, asked gently, and I was flabbergasted. I couldn't believe I had overlooked this very obvious aspect of the geology. All it would have taken to answer her question was to have performed the simple test of dropping one drop of dilute HCl on each clast, and recording if it fizzed. Fizz means limestone (or calcite cement), no fizz means no limestone. However, my pebbles were now in an untidy heap in my parents' backyard, and the data was written up.

I cannot remember now how I answered her question, but whatever I stammered out, she let go without much comment. She wasn't interested in crucifying me in front of my classmates. She merely wanted me to see that in my eagerness about my project, I'd failed to take into account an simple yet fundamental aspect of the project. I hadn't looked at the local geologic map before classifying - I merely dove into it, assuming I knew what I was doing.

At the time, I was terribly embarrassed, but now I am merely sheepish. I am immensely grateful to Professor Gardulski for her kind correcting and always excellent teaching. She is a good geologist and a talented teacher, and I learned much from her, most of which I didn't realize until later. As scientists, professionals, teachers, everything, we are shaped by the people we learn from. I am so glad to have benefited from many skilled folks along my way to where I am today.