When I tell my friends and family members I am studying marine science, I think they immediately picture me doing something grandiose like saving the orcas or cleaning all the plastic out of the ocean. I can always see this glazed look in their eyes set in when I clear my throat and inform them that, in fact, my current species of focus is a sort of minnow called the Mummichog.

“Mummi-what?” I can see them thinking.

That’s just the tip of the iceberg though. The question they most seem to regret though is asking what exactly it is I am studying about these minnows. As much as I’d just like to just say “how mummichogs having less access to the high marsh platform due to the impacts of anthropogenically-driven changes in low marsh geomorphology affects the diversity of biota they consume while utilizing the high marsh during spring tides”, that seems to go over people’s heads with room to spare.

So much to nobody’s preference, I seem to find myself instead launching into a 15-minute long tangent contextualizing eutrophication and the its effects on plant morphology, and how changes in plant morphology destabilize creek beds and low marsh degradation limits mummichog access, etcetera, etcetera. That’s when the glazed look just turns into full-on brain death and and my audience starts to feel the brunt of their regret.

“Why couldn’t she just have said dolphins” I see them thinking now.

It’s taken a few iterations of this story to realize that my friends and family don’t really want to know the nitty gritty details of what my research question is, they want to know why what I am doing is important. They want to know why, while great barrier reef is dying, I am interested in what insects minnows are eating. What they really want to know is that salt marshes are one of the most productive ecosystems on earth. That they are one of the most efficient terrestrial habitats at fixing the carbon we are pumping into our atmospheres. That they act as invaluable barriers between our coastal cities and sea level rise. Then, when I tell them that mummichogs, in essence, power the entire ecological system, it is easier to understand why it’s so vital to understand these tenacious little fish.

–Olivia Floyd (REU Summer Intern)

“Salt Marsh? That just sounds like mud, and holes and ditches with patches of grass growing on them.” Those were my thoughts when I first heard about the opportunity to work on a salt marsh at LTER, Marshview station.

I recently graduated from the University of Massachusetts Boston with a bachelor’s degree in biology. I learned about this opportunity to work at LTER through Jarred Byrnes, Professor of biology/marine biology at UMass Boston, for whom I’ve worked for in one of his laboratories in the past.

The first week out in the marsh was a bit challenging, with everything from the loose clothes I had to wear to protect myself again mosquitoes, and deer fly whose bite can really hurt, and finally to jumping and falling into creeks, which were always a source of laughter for me and my team. Despite how challenging the first week was, I knew it was only matter of time before I got accustomed to being out in the marsh.

Now, into my last week as a lab tech, I’ve become very comfortable and confident into being in the marsh, and in the words of my team, aka “the crab crew,” I finally got my marsh feet. Daily, we do several things from collecting samples of grass such as the Spartina alternaflora and Spartina patens, to birds watching and recording their behaviors, and setting up transect and plots. I’ve enjoyed all of it, though maybe a bit less on those hot days!

Coming in as a lab/field tech, I expected to gain some experiences in the research field, but never as much as I’ve gained in the past two months alone. I’ve learned a whole lot about marine life from, green crabs, hermit crabs and horseshoe crabs, which really fascinate me for some reason that I haven’t figured out yet, to different species of birds who depends on the salt marsh for survival. From this unique experience I’ve gotten a sense of the work that goes into research, mainly the part which involves running the experiment. I’ve gained confidence in my ability to share ideas which can be very useful, and it also reminded me how much I enjoy being a problem solver. Among everything that is great about working at LTER, I really valued the relationships that I’ve build with all three of my teammates, which I had the pleasure working with. It’s always worth it to experience new things, the salt marsh will surely teach you that.

–Steevens Excellent (Field and Lab Technician, Byrnes Lab of UMass Boston)

If my future was presented to me 2 years ago, I would not believe it. Me, a Chicana born and raised in the city of Los Angeles, working in a salt marsh and collecting data for a whole summer!

I am a rising junior at Bryn Mawr College as a Biology and Mathematics double major. This past semester I applied and interviewed to be an undergraduate student who has the opportunity to do research with Professor Thomas Mozdzer. At first, I did not know what to expect–the first question I was asked was whether I felt comfortable jumping over ditches and walking through the forest. I was a bit confused; I couldn’t tell if it was a joke or if he was being serious. My first day on the field I quickly learned he was serious. That day we jumped over the various ditches in Sweeney creek as I tried to take in all the information about the marsh, the TIDE project, the species it holds, and the beautiful scenery. After a couple of weeks, this place still surprises me every day, whether it be by the scenery, the bugs, or new holes I fall into.

Working on the salt marsh is very exciting! I have been conducting flowering surveys, collecting samples of plants, flying the drone, and setting up my project which focuses on the rate of decomposition and how it differs when mesh size, creek, and time are taken into account.

The beginning of the summer took a lot of adjusting to, but I knew that over the course of the summer this place that is home to Spartina patens, Distichlis spicata, and many forms of Spartina alterniflora would soon feel like a home to me. I may not know my future, but I hope it involves beautiful places like the salt marsh, because ecological research is a big interest of mine. I have been able to learn so many skills from my PI and have had the opportunity to live with other graduate and undergraduate students who have shared their wisdom with me and have reassured me of my interest. Here’s to my first summer at the salt marsh!

–Jocelyn Bravo (Field Tech Intern, Bryn Mawr College)

Since being part of the TIDE project this summer, I have been helping to determine if there is top-down control of marsh invertebrates by mummichogs (small, minnow-like fish). What this means is that, if our hypothesis is true, mummichogs are the main factor controlling the population size of different species of marsh invertebrates. If it is false, there’s something else controlling how large these populations can get. While this question may seem fairly mundane, the data that we collect can be added to the repository of marsh knowledge that has been compiled since the beginning of the TIDE project in 2003. In turn, this data will help us protect local marshlands from a serious threat: climate change.

One of the things that has struck me most during my (burgeoning) career in marine biology is how often those of us in this field talk about climate change. Although I agree that climate change should be a frequent topic of discussion, I propose that we should change the way that we talk about climate change.

At the end of nearly every scientific paper I’ve read in recent years, there is a concluding paragraph which mentions climate change. The main idea may change slightly, based on the focus of the research, but the underlying message is always the same. Climate change is worsening and we must immediately halt carbon emissions if we want to keep global temperature increases within the 1.5° Celsius predicted by the most recent report from the International Panel on Climate Change. Despite this, it can sometimes seem as if no change is being made.

It’s easy to place the blame on politicians, for example, or on petroleum corporations, though in reality, it is neither wholly the fault of lawmakers or entrepreneurs, but largely the unfortunate outcome of a society that has grown reliant on planes, trains, and automobiles. Many environmentally unhealthy practices have become ingrained habits, a part of our routine that’s difficult to give up. Take Amazon Prime, for example. Like many, I’m guilty of occasionally choosing their free one-day shipping even when I don’t really need my product that quickly.

While none of this means that we should stop campaigning for alternative sources of energy, or making choices that reduce our carbon footprint, now that we are at the tipping zone, we must make people our priority. We may no longer be able to save the world from climate change, but we can do our best to help those who will be hit the hardest.

Global climate change does not happen in a vacuum. Warmer temperatures lead to rising sea levels, unpredictable weather, increased flooding, and increased erosion. These facts are especially worrying for the 40% of the global population that live in coastal areas.

In Germany, many wetland areas are nearly gone. The Mississippi River delta loses a football-field sized chunk of sediment every 100 minutes. While efforts are underway to restore marshlands worldwide, it is a long, slow, expensive process. So why bother? Well, marshlands provide a number of services to humans, such as flood mitigation and water filtration. In addition, they can prevent erosion, as long as they are not so degraded that the marshland itself begins to erode. Marshes also serve as nursery habitats for many recreational and commercial fish species. Although sections of many marshes are protected from human activity, there are often areas set aside where people can engage in recreational activities such as boating or birding.

Flooding is also a pressing concern for citizens around the world, and the frequency of flooding has only increased. In 2016, 19 floods occurred in the U.S, the most on record. Just the other day, I met a man from Lafayette, LA. The flooding there in 2016 washed away his home, his horse and his dogs. In Newport, RI, efforts are underway to preserve historical structures in an 18th century neighborhood known as The Point, which lies directly on the water. The buildings there face an increased risk of flooding with each passing year.

The problems discussed here highlight the importance of projects such as TIDE. As we understand more and more about our marshes, especially the physical processes that take place there, we are better able to conserve these habitats, the flora and fauna that inhabit them, and the people that rely on them for protection. We will also be better able to devise strategies to assist those whose lives and livelihoods will surely be in jeopardy in the years to come.

-Katrina Fedors (Master’s Student, Three Seas Program, Northeastern University)

Salt marshes are weird. They’re not quite land, and they’re not quite sea. Most people wouldn’t recognize one if they saw it. But they might play a key role in the survival of cities like Boston. They act as a buffer zone between civilization and the open ocean.

I’ve lived my whole life in Massachusetts and hadn’t stepped foot into a saltmarsh until I was 20 years old; now I’m a second-year field tech for the Byrnes lab studying how salt marshes are changing over time. I consider myself very acquainted with the marsh, however cruel she might be sometimes, but I am in awe of the fact that time feels different in the marsh. When I return every morning, it seems the same. The grass is still growing, the creek is still running, the birds are still chirping, but most noticeably, the bugs are still biting. A seal skeleton I found fresh in 2018 is still perfectly aligned when I came back in 2019. Very constant. It’s as if the marsh simply doesn’t change.

Now think of returning to the marsh after a year away. The creeks are getting wider as they erode more marsh. The species of grass are changing, signifying a slightly lower elevation. Even all the first holes you fell into are now growing bigger, as if they’re chasing you. This, unfortunately, is called marsh degradation and it happens at a rate that can oftentimes be difficult to detect.

Salt marshes can feel like a bridge between worlds, maybe even like a world that plays by its own rules, and it needs our help. Only by observing this ecosystem for extended periods of time can we understand how we can reap all the benefits.

– Richard Wong (Field Technician, Byrnes Lab of UMass Boston)