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A Lab-Coat AND Hiking Shoes

I’ve spent my professional life juggling two careers.  First, as a lab neurobiologist, I study rats and cultured neurons, trying to understand how stress damages the brain.  Second, as a field primatologist, I study the effects of social stress and social subordination on health in wild baboons, living in a national park in East Africa.  I’ve spent more than thirty years doing the latter gig during the summers, doing the lab neuroscience the rest of the time, and it’s been a blast. 

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– Robert Sapolsky, PhD –

John A. and Cynthia Fry Gunn Professor and Professor of Neurology and Neurosurgery at Stanford University

I have spent my professional life juggling two careers.  First, as a lab neurobiologist, I study rats and cultured neurons, trying to understand how stress damages the brain.  Second, as a field primatologist, I study the effects of social stress and social subordination on health in wild baboons, living in a national park in East Africa.  I’ve spent more than thirty years doing the latter gig during the summers, doing the lab neuroscience the rest of the time, and it’s been a blast. 

Robert Sapolsky

The desire to be a primatologist came first.  I was about eight years old when I settled on that.  Well, more precisely, I decided I wanted to be a mountain gorilla.  They live extremely peaceful, family centered lives in these beautiful, high altitude equatorial mountains – who wouldn’t want to be one of them?  I eventually came to terms with the fact that this wasn’t going to happen, and settled on the idea of going to study them.  In my years as a primatologist, I’ve noticed there’s two general patterns to people who do fieldwork.  The first type grew up out in some exotic locale – their parents were field researchers, or missionaries, adventurers, some such thing, and it was natural that they head in their direction.  The second grew up in some godawful urban setting, where all they wanted to do was get the hell out of there as soon as possible.  I was in that second category, growing up in one of the less delightful neighborhoods of Brooklyn, and spending all my time in the natural history museum, thinking about field work.

I was all set on this path.  By high school, I had already read tons of primatology, was sending embarrassing fan letters to primatologists all over the world, and was teaching myself Swahili in preparation.  Two big shifts in my plans came when I got to college.

I had gone to Harvard to study with this guy who was one of the grand pooh-bahs of field primatology.  My first semester, freshman year, I was all set to sit at his feet in a bunch of classes.  And from out of the blue, he had a mild heart attack and cancelled all his classes (he recovered and lived another thirty years).  Stranded, somewhat on a whim, I filled in one of those slots with an intro neurobiology class.  I was blown away.  My orientation had been to think about the evolution of behavior and of ecological influences on behavior, and suddenly I was intensely taken with thinking about the neurobiological and endocrine bases of behavior.  Which is mighty hard to study out in the field. Was I going to be a field primatologist or a lab neurobiologist?  Was I going to spend the rest of my life wearing a lab coat or hiking shoes?

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The incredibly lucky outcome is that I’ve gotten to regularly do both.  I worked out some really crude techniques for studying neuroendocrine function in wild primates, while doing more traditional lab neurobiology concerning behavior.  Each has fed somewhat on each other.  When observing something in field and thinking, I wonder if Brain Region X has something to do with this?, I could then study that in the lab.  When observing something in the lab and thinking, I wonder if things work this way in animals living in their natural habitat?, I could study it in the field.

This necessitated my second shift, which was that I was not going to be able to go anesthetizing wild gorillas with blowgun darts in a rainforest in Rwanda.  I needed a primate that lived on the ground, in open savanna, was not endangered and, frankly, had big enough of rear ends so that I’d have a fighting chance of a successful shot with my blowgun.  Baboons made lots of sense.  I’d come to terms with not becoming a mountain gorilla, and now I came to terms with not studying mountain gorillas and focusing on baboons in the Serengeti instead.  I went off to a year of fieldwork a week after college graduation, found an advisor in grad school who, despite being a neurobiologist, was okay with me disappearing from the lab 3 – 4 months a year to do my fieldwork, and had been oscillating back and forth ever since.  I get to wear both a lab coat and hiking shoes; I’ve been extremely fortunate; this is a wonderful way to spend your life.


CivicSciTimes - Stories in Science

Unexpected Stories and Spindle Mistakes: Discovering that Wild-type Cells are Full of Surprises

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Natalie Nannas

Natalie Nannas is an Associate Professor of Biology at Hamilton College in Clinton, NY. She teaches courses in genetics, molecular biology, and bioethics. Dr. Nannas graduated from Grinnell College with bachelor’s degrees in biological chemistry and French. She received her Master’s and PhD from Harvard University in molecular biology and genetics. Dr. Nannas conducted her postdoctoral research at the University of Georgia where she won a National Science Foundation Plant Genome Postdoctoral Fellowship. At Hamilton College, Dr. Nannas enjoys teaching and sharing her passion for microscopy with her undergraduate research students. When not glued to a microscope, she loves spending time with her husband and two daughters. The narrative below by Natalie Nannas captures the human stories behind the science from a 2022 paper titled “Frequent spindle errors require structural rearrangement to complete meiosis in Zea mays” which was published by her group in 2022 in the International Journal of Molecular Sciences.

Science never works out the way we plan. As scientists, we ask questions, hypothesize and outline our goals … then reality of science occurs. The reality of science is often full of failed controls, endless troubleshooting, and sometimes strange findings that lead us in new and unpredictable directions. Our publications give the impression that we planned these scientific journeys from the beginning and do not tell the human side of the process with all of its twists and turns, dead-ends and U-turns. I want to tell you the real story behind my first publication as a faculty member with my own lab. It did not go as planned due to the COVID-19 pandemic. My lab was shut down in the middle of our investigation, and my students and I were unable to generate new data. In the beginning, it seemed like we were stranded with only control data and no story to tell, but the time away from the lab allowed us to spend more time looking carefully at wild-type cells. What seemed like a dead-end suddenly became its own story when we found something unexpected hiding within microscopy movies. Our wild-type cells were making mistakes, attempting fixes and changing directions, just like we do as scientists.

My scientific journey began with flickering green lights and a microscope (you can read more about it here). As an undergraduate, I was mesmerized by the beauty of watching living cells shuffle fluorescently labeled proteins throughout their cytoplasm. I followed this passion for microscopy into my doctoral dissertation research at Harvard University where I investigated how yeast cells build the machinery needed to pull their chromosomes apart. This machinery is a dynamic collection of long protein tubes called microtubules and other organizing proteins that help move and shuffle microtubules. I loved watching the delicate dance of chromosomes interacting with microtubules of the spindle, and I wanted to continue studying this process in my postdoctoral studies.

During postdoctoral studies at the University of Georgia, I won a fellowship from the National Science Foundation to develop a new technique in microscopy. No one had ever watched plants building their spindles in meiosis, the specialized cell division that produces egg and sperm. Other scientists had performed beautiful microscopy studies observing how mitotic spindles function inside of plant cells, but due to the technical challenges, no one had ever observed live plant cells building spindles in meiosis. I was thrilled to take on this challenge by using version of maize that had fluorescently labeled tubulin, the protein that makes up microtubules of the spindle. With this line of maize, spindles would glow fluorescent green, allowing me to image if only I could extract the meiotic cells.

Dr. Natalie Nannas

We were so busy collecting data and prepping for our mutant studies that we never really took time to analyze the wild-type cells.

After almost a year spent dissecting maize plants, I finally managed to develop a method to isolate these tiny cells and keep them alive in a growth media long enough to image them. This new method of live imaging was going to serve as the foundation of my new lab at Hamilton College, a primarily undergraduate institution. With my students, I planned to investigate the pathways governed spindle assembly. Most animal mitotic cells have a structure called a centrosome that dictates how spindles are formed; however, female animal meiotic cells lack these structures and must use other pathways to direct spindle assembly. Plants also lack centrosomes, and I wanted to inhibit these known animal pathways in our plant live imaging system.

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As I set up my lab, my students and I collected live movies of wild-type maize cells building their spindles. I told my students and myself that these movies were not the main event, they were just the control cells so we would have a baseline comparison for our experimental conditions. We were so busy collecting data and prepping for our mutant studies that we never really took the time to analyze the wild-type cells. At the surface level, they built spindles and segregated chromosomes in a generally expected amount of time, so we focused on preparing for our upcoming experiments…. then March 2020 occurred.

The pandemic forced us to slow down and look more carefully at our wild-type data, and I am grateful for the detour.

My students headed home for spring break with a warning that there may be a delay in coming back to campus due to the spread of COVID-19. None of us were prepared for the shutdown that followed. Like many colleges and universities, our campus was closed for the remainder of the spring 2020 semester and the summer of 2020. My students and I began meeting on Zoom, trying to make a new plan for our research. The only data we had to work with were the microscopy of wild-type maize cells, so we decided to spend time digging more deeply into these movies. Originally, we had only measured the total time it took to build a spindle as it would be a baseline for comparison to our mutants. We had not looked carefully at any of the intermediate time points in the assembly process. When my students looked more closely at our movies, they discovered that wild-type cells built an incorrectly shaped spindle over 60% of the time!

We found that maize meiotic cells often built spindles with three poles instead of two, and they had to actively rearrange their spindle structure to correct this mistake. We also found that in these cells, there was a delay in meiosis as cells refused to progress until this correction had been made. This is an exciting discovery as it showed that plants are error-prone in their spindle assembly, much like human female meiotic cells. Our findings also suggested that meiotic cells were monitoring their spindle shape when determining if they should move forward in meiosis. Previous work has shown that cells monitor the attachment of chromosomes to the spindle to make this decision, but our work adds a new dimension, showing that they also monitor spindle shape. As we continued to analyze our videos, we also learned that cells corrected their spindle morphology in a predictable way. They always collapsed the two poles that were closest together, creating a single pole and resulting in a correct bipolar spindle.

The image shows the first page of the paper which can be accessed here.

My students and I had begun our scientific journey planning to breeze over wild-type cells, moving on to what we envisioned would be a more exciting story of spindle mutants. The pandemic forced us to slow down and look more carefully at our wild-type data, and I am grateful for the detour. I rediscovered my love of closely watching flickering green fluorescent lights, the dance of microtubules sliding into place or making missteps and shuffling into new arrangements. Watching life attempt a complicated process, make mistakes, and try again, is a lesson that never grows old. It reminds me that our scientific journeys are just the same, they start in one direction but are fluid and constantly changing, and hopefully, they end with a functional spindle!

Read the Published Paper

Weiss, J.D., McVey, S.L., Stinebaugh, S.E., Sullivan, C.F., Dawe, R.K., and N.J. Nannas. 2022. Frequent spindle errors require structural rearrangement to complete meiosis in Zea maysInternational Journal of Molecular Sciences, 23 (8):4293–4312.

ABOUT: Stories in Science is a special series on the Civic Science Times. The main aim is to document the first-hand accounts of the human stories behind the science being published by scientists around the world. Such stories are an important element behind the civic nature of science.

SUBMISSION: Click here to access the story guidelines and submission portal. Please note that not all stories are accepted for publication. After submission, we will let you know whether we have selected the story for the review process.

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