Nalini Nadkarni, Evergreen State College

Nalini Nadkarni is an ecosystem biologist at Evergreen State College.

My Standard Breakfast Boiled Egg was pretty near perfect this morning. Unfortunately, I burned the toast. You win some, you lose some.

Happily, the morning was bright and clear with a kiss of warmth in the air, which bodes well for the peas and beans and strawberry plants sprouting in my garden. I'm afraid I've lost the cukes to cold weather this spring. I was impatient, and planted them too early. Typical Pacific Northwest garden story: Just like my breakfast, you win some, you lose some.

I was excited to get into school today, because my assistant, David Franklin, was planning to report back about some calls he made for a project I'm working on. This project is being funded by the Conservation Trust program of the National Geographic Society, which supports "new ways of doing conservation." I proposed to bring a group of artists and economists into the canopy on small, portable platforms in a primary old-growth temperate rainforest (Ellsworth Creek, on the Washington State coast) and in adjacent managed forests. The idea is to have these artists and economists assess the aesthetic and economic value of forest canopy organisms in their undisturbed and disturbed states. This is an effort to tally all of the value in the canopy (not just the ecological value that I study, which is measured using indicators like species diversity, carbon storage, and nitrogen interception and retention) to more effectively assess the importance of conservation.

In addition, I proposed to bring "new eyes" to the canopy -- small groups of observers who are culturally or societally inexperienced with trees and forests. These include Inuits from Alaska who were born and raised in the treeless tundra; Paiute Indians from the Arizona desert; urban youth from Seattle and Tacoma; and perhaps most intriguing, prisoners who have been denied access to trees and the outdoors during their incarceration. This summer, we'll teach these canopy visitors how to ascend into the canopy with mountain-climbing techniques and then ask that they use words or images to convey to us what they see. For example, we had some graffiti artists come up to our canopy platform on campus a few weeks ago, and they created art that encompasses both urban and wildland elements. I think there is a good chance that my ecological colleagues and I will learn new things from canopy newcomers. I was amazed that NGS actually funded the project, but the appeal of a new approach was a strong one. Sometimes far out on a limb is a good place to be.

I recently got a call of a different kind from the National Geographic Society. It seems the society has entered into a partnership with Toyota to give 12 Land Cruisers to NGS-sponsored researchers and explorers. My Conservation Trust grant makes me eligible for one of these cars. The single requirement is that I appear in a 60-second commercial for the National Geographic channel. The idea of having a great field vehicle -- worth $60,000 -- for my work in the montane forest of Costa Rica is compelling, especially given the terrible roads and the long distances we travel to our three study sites. But I worry that it would be a sellout to corporate America -- ecological researchers helping to sell big gas-guzzling SUVs to upscale people who don't need such vehicles and might otherwise think twice about buying a car that gets seven miles per gallon. By directly associating National Geographic researchers with a big car -- what's the message? That it is okay, even wholesome, to buy one of these. I'm not sure I want to contribute to this.

The NGS person in charge was sympathetic, and gave me the names of other researchers who have accepted cars. I wrote to and received an email from each of them -- one in South Africa, one in the Gobi Desert, and one in England. They love their cars. They had considered the ecological implications, but felt that their research progress outweighed the messages that were being communicated. I looked at the videos of the commercials they made, and indeed they link the glamour of the researcher with the car. Can I do this?

Checking out Toyota's website, I see that they sell a hybrid car, the Prius, which is a quarter of the cost of a Land Cruiser and gets 10 times the gas mileage. A Prius could indeed work for our project, and would send a far better message: ecologists use ecological cars. I called NGS, and told them that I'd be happy to take a Prius instead. They called back and said it is the Land Cruiser or nothing. I told them thanks but no thanks. The decision feels right, even though I wince to envision my assistants and me negotiating the bumpy roads of our Costa Rica field site on our old motorcycles, big bags of litterfall samples billowing behind us.

The thing is, funding for ecological research is getting harder to get. My last two proposals to the National Science Foundation -- the major funder of basic scientific research in the U.S. -- got good reviews, but the scores weren't quite high enough to warrant funding. I've received support from the NSF continually since 1987, so I guess I can't complain, but "It's a dent in your life," as my nine-year-old daughter Erika would say. That makes alternatives such as the National Geographic Society look even more attractive.

It is not easy to make decisions that will negatively affect your research, your field assistants, and your contributions to the scientific record. This afternoon, I'll take my daily run and spend that good alone time thinking over whether or not the Toyota decision of mine was the right choice. And I'll think about what to cook for dinner for Jack and our kids. And whether I should give up on the cukes and put in some more strawberries instead.