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Making My Way from Mountains to Mud: Part 2

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 – Robin McLachlan –

<> In Part 1 of this journey, I bumbled down into Crystal Cave, the rocky heart of Sequoia National Park, where my love for geology was ignited. But if this fiery relationship started way up in the mountains, how did I make my way all the way down to cool muddy coasts? Well, I followed the rock cycle, of course, and hitched a ride down a river.

As a geology major, my sponge-like brain was wide open and soaking up all of the scripted lectures of classrooms and staged field trips. I was loving it! But, as time went on, I was no longer mesmerized by the basics and fundamental principles of geology. I needed to get my hands dirty next to real geologists doing real research. So, I did what many young hopefuls do and called up my state’s Geological Survey to ask for an internship. And just like many young hopefuls, I was ignored. So, I waited, and contacted them again, and even again, and then sold my soul and offered to work for free. They took the bait.

As an intern at the Survey (where I did end up getting paid), I was passed around to any and all geologists that needed a field hand. I dipped my toes into a lot of projects, and am incredibly thankful for every opportunity (huge shout out to Brenda Hockensmith, Bill Clendenin, and Kerry Castle!). But the one that made me want to jump in head first was the Broad River Basin project. The goal of this study was to follow rocks and sediment along a piece of their journey from source (mountains) to sink (ocean). We wanted to know where the sediment came from and how it was eroded and deposited. We wanted to understand how the stability of the river channels affected the health of animals that relied on the river, and ultimately, how the local people would be affected. Understanding how the local community could remain stable and successful was our base motivation.

My days were often spent out in the field collecting data. This meant long drives on hot southern summer days with the windows down, stopping to trudge through brush and briars with scientific instruments in hand and emerging on a steep river bank, and then wading right on in to the cool flowing water. I looked forward to these lovely days when we went out to collect water and sediment samples, measure water speed, and survey the shape of the bed and banks. We even got to help the fish guys on their field days.

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But, our days weren’t always so picturesque, and I got to see the distrust between the locals and government scientists first hand. If there were local people having a nice time by the river when we pulled up in our truck with a giant DNR (Department of Natural Resources) decal plastered to the side, they would scurry away before we parked without making eye contact. Our shiny, official-looking instruments with government tags often came back from the field riddled with bullet holes, if they came back at all. I also heard stories from colleagues that had face-to-face confrontations with locals who weren’t happy about government trespassing on their land, even though the land was state property. The locals thought of us as intruders coming to write them citations and take away their tax dollars and independence. For us, they began as the motivation and ended as pests that could sabotage our project. Distrust existed because we weren’t communicating. They didn’t know why we were there, and we didn’t know what they wanted to gain from our project. This problem is in no way restricted to the SC Geological Survey; it’s rampant among scientists and non-scientist’s in general.

I had jumped into real research and emerged grateful, but ultimately unsatisfied. I loved the science I was doing, but I was completely disconnected from the farmers whose land was impacted by the science. I realized I wanted to be more than just a scientist. I also wanted to be a voice for science and an ear for the public. So, I applied to graduate school at the University of Washington and headed over to start my very own project, a project that could be molded around building relationships between scientists and the public.

But this isn’t the end of my story, and the adventure just keeps getting better. I’ll share more of how I made my way from mountains to mud, from disillusioned intern to determined graduate student in Part 3 of this story in science.

Follow along with this story, and many others, by visiting my blog For the Sediment Record.

Featured Image titled “River Flow” is by Ali Sabbagh from Flickr | Public domain

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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