Page 10 of The Triple Play

5

OLIVIA

The sample I’m studying doesn’t look like much under normal light. Just a crusted wash of pale green clinging to bark, brittle at the edges where I pried it loose from the ancient cedar tree I climbed yesterday afternoon. Under a microscope, however, the intricacies of lichen become obvious. Fascinating, at least to me.

I carefully examine the layered tissue, the branching filaments. Adjusting the knob on the microscope, I take note of what I’m seeing, logging it all in my field notebook. The old-growth forests of Vancouver Island are thriving environments for lichen. Unfortunately, they’re also prime locations for logging. Which is akin to death for lichen.

Lichens establish in times of stability. They grow millimetres a year, sometimes less. They don’t survive clear-cutting or canopy fragmentation. When they’re disturbed, they disappear, leaving clean bark behind like they were never there at all. And that is a tragedy to someone like me.

I record another measurement and reach for the next sample. My laptop chimes, but I don’t look up from my microscope right away. The data in front of me matters more than whatever message is waiting for me.

Then there’s a knock on the door to my lab. I lift my head just as the door opens, and my department head, Dr. Cheng, sticks his head in. “Ah, Olivia. I thought I'd find you here.”

He steps in farther and I push away from my microscope. “Just finishing up some notes. Did you need me?”

He shakes his head. “No, I just wanted to touch base before my next lecture starts. Have you read the email that was just sent?”

“No, I was planning to as soon as I finish this set of measurements.”

“Apologies for interrupting your work. The email is about the upcoming round of funding requests. I don’t want to alarm you, but we will be facing an uphill battle when it comes to resource allocation. I know you have your trip into Strathcona to gather samples coming up soon. If there’s anything you need in advance of that, please ask. I want to be sure you have the best chance at success.”

My heart starts to pound loudly in my chest. Resource allocation. Funding requests. The death knell for so many scientific endeavours.

“Thank you, Dr. Cheng. I’ll do that.”

He raps his knuckles on the counter beside him and gives me a wan smile. “Good. I have high hopes for you, Olivia. Your research is important, but as you well know, it’s a fairly narrow subject field. And I’m not the one you have to convince of its importance.”

I wait until he leaves and the door shuts behind him, then push my chair over to the desk that’s currently covered in paperwork and samples. I click to my inbox, and the subject line has a heavy weight settling in my gut.

Spring quarter internal resource allocation review—plant sciences.

I open the email and start to read, that weight growing heavier with each line.

The message is polite, regretful, even. As if the sender is aware they are yanking the rug out from underneath the department. Budget reductions mean there will only be one university grant available for conservation-related research this cycle. Priority will be given to projects demonstrating “measurable regional economic integration.”

I read that line twice. Regional economic integration. Also known as projects that are going to bring money into the community.

I’m grateful to Dr. Cheng for his support, but he’s right. It’s not going to be easy to convince the advisory committee to choose my research as the one to fund.

My work is in protecting forests, where industry wants to destroy them.

I leave the email sitting open on my screen like a warning. Dr. Cheng is correct, the trip I’m taking into Strathcona Park next week is vital for completing my grant proposal. I’m hoping to find samples that prove the need to protect the trees, to prioritize old growth over industry demands. I have to go now, to have the time to obtain the samples and compile my findings before the proposal is due.

If I’m not successful in securing that funding, my time at the university will be a lot shorter than I want it to be.

Exhaling slowly, I stand up and stretch my arms overhead, catching my reflection in the window next to me.

Tall, lanky frame. Strong legs and shoulders from field work. No curves to speak of.

I look down at my practical shoes and the boxy pants I’m wearing with a basic blue blouse tucked in underneath my lab coat. I don’t look like the glossy university brochure version of a young female scientist, with tidy hair, a cute pair of glasses, and a smart dress or pencil skirt. I’m not wearing makeup, no delicate jewellery. My hands are calloused, and there’s still dirt under my fingernails.

I’m not very good at schmoozing with the powers that be. I don’t have a natural grace and charm that can win over skeptics and convince them that my work deserves recognition. What I do has meaning and real value, but my strengths in proving that lie in the work itself, not in how well I can sell it.

I knew going into a career focused on conservation and ecology that I’d be fighting for recognition and support every step of the way.

I’ve fought that fight before and won. My last position was with the Canadian Society for Ecological Preservation. A nonprofit that relied on external funding to continue its work in advocating for environmental protection. In my time with them, I published several papers about the importance of lichen diversity in old-growth forests and secured funding for several major projects.

I also faced a lot of scrutiny from other scientists who felt that focusing on something as minute as lichen was not nearly as important as bigger factors in biodiversity.