Donation Day

This past Tuesday, June 27, I donated my insect collection, all 115 Cornell drawers and 13 Schmidt boxes, if I counted correctly. The recipient institution is the Denver Museum of Nature and Science. They made a good case when myself and several other members of the Mile High Bug Club toured their new state-of-the-art collections facility a couple years ago. Oddly, I did not have mixed emotions about the move. It was time.

Frank (left) and Jeff (right) happily departing with my insect collection

Jeff Stephenson, Collections Manager in the Zoology Department, and Dr. Frank Krell, Senior Curator of Entomology, came down to my home with a U-Haul van and we set to work loading it up. Much to my delight, they even took the cabinets the drawers were in, so that our spare bedroom is now much, much roomier.

Heidi never complained about my collection, in fact she has been very supportive, unlike some spouses or girlfriends of entomologists, so I have heard anyway. Still, it is a relief to have this burden lifted, like a proverbial albatross around one's neck. I did not have space to work on further organizing the specimens, and they were doing no one any good locked up in my home. Once integrated into the museum's collection, they will be available for loan to scientists researching different genera and species. They may eventually be imaged and put into a growing online database accessible to everyone, not just scientists. That pleases me greatly.

One does get a few perks when they make a donation of scientific specimens. There is some brief acclaim or notoriety when the museum makes public its acquisition of your material. This will take the form of a blog post and maybe a newsletter blurb sent to museum patrons and volunteers. Then there is the tax write-off. This will be interesting because the museum can only count specimens and give an overall description of the collection's condition, not an appraisal. Even that can take weeks if not months, understandably. Thankfully, the entomological community is full of people who have experience in such matters. Meanwhile, Heidi and I have not itemized, taking the Standard Deduction instead, so that will be another adventure, possibly worthy of another trip to a tax expert for our returns next year.

I did not donate the collection for any of those gratuities. I did it to further free myself from the label of "bug guy," and continue my growth as a writer and artist. I did it to continue downsizing my possessions, which become increasingly burdensome as one ages. Simplicity and travel take priority more and more, and I find myself wishing I had done this sooner. I'd rather visit friends and make new ones than collect more specimens. Some of my colleagues still reprimand me, if kindly, for failing to take specimens I have photographed in their habitat. Some discoveries can only be properly documented with a voucher: the creature itself.

I do wish that donating my collection would cure me of my "trophy mentality," the need to provide proof that my time spent afield is worth something, not just a "hobby" or trivial pursuit. I sometimes wonder whether a suntan is some people's proof of status that they can afford to vacation frequently, an almost literal badge of affluence.

When "citizen science" became a....thing, I found myself lamenting that volunteers were putting real scientists out of work. I still think that is true to a degree, but now there are platforms on the internet that allow people to make real, concrete contributions to scientific knowledge. Those databases need refinement to be sure, but it is a step in the right direction, and it is a wonderful tool in recruiting a new generation of scientists, and launching whole new careers for retired folks. I am proud to be a part of that community, whether I am considered an authority or not. It is a constant learning curve, and I am happy to help those behind me, as others ahead of me generously lend me a hand in return.

I am looking forward to the next chapter in my life, however it unfolds, and happy to conclude this one, which began seriously when I was about twelve years old. I heartily recommend the process of self-evaluation and charitable donation. It is a sign that you are a responsible, adult human being who can think beyond himself.

To Collect or Not to Collect

It has become fashionable in the last few decades to voice objection to the practice of collecting organisms, especially animals, and often certain types of animals like butterflies. Such righteous indignation is misdirected at best. Here is my personal assessment of this complex issue.

Reprimands from the public

When someone encounters you out in the field engaging in collecting, and scolds you for "killing butterflies" or bees, or whatever, you can defend yourself a number of ways. Gently remind them that if they drive a vehicle they are going to kill far more insects and other invertebrates in a year than you will collect in a lifetime. Ask it they apply pesticides to their lawn, yard, or garden. If they answer "yes," then again you can remind them they are killing far more insects than you are. Let them know that habitat destruction is the leading cause of extinctions, both local and global. You get the idea.

Comments from "citizen scientists"

Citizen scientists should understand the importance of scientific collections. If they do not, offer them a brief education to that end. The digital age has allowed people to make virtual collections through images, but seldom can a conclusive identification be made from a picture or two alone. An actual voucher specimen is needed to confirm the ID. These days, even gross morphology is often insufficient to reach a conclusion, and processing genetic material (DNA) is required. That doesn't happen without collecting. Scientific collections complement recordings in still images, audio, and video.

Student collections

Let's take a look now at who is making collections. Educational institutions that include the creation of an insect collection as a course requirement should be free to continue doing so, provided certain criteria are met. Students must be instructed on the proper techniques for preparing specimens. Data labels must be attached to each specimen. There must be a "chain of custody" in place resulting in the permanent disposition of student collections in a museum or other facility where they will remain useful in perpetuity.

Hobbyists and sellers

This category of collectors is much more difficult to defend. Again, it hinges on purpose. Collections are vital not only to scientific study, but for educators who use living and preserved specimens to create awareness and appreciation of those species by the general public. Scientists rarely have the time or inclination to make such presentations, but there are other people who are gifted at doing just that. Depriving them of a vital instrument in that mission is not in anyone's best interest.

Collections made for purposes of personal amusement, decoration, or commercial display are nearly impossible to justify, especially if specimens lack data, are improperly prepared, or otherwise cannot be repurposed for scientific or educational use. One significant factor that may possibly change that is the increasing business of "farming" invertebrates. Captive breeding now accounts for a sizeable percentage of specimens on the market for "hobbyists" and casual collectors. One should always inquire as to the original source of specimens being obtained through a vendor. This is for your own protection, too, lest you be subject to fines and criminal prosecution for illegal trading in specimens. Keep the paperwork.

Arguing for collections

Discussions about the ethics and importance of collections should not be invariably "defensive." It is the responsibility of those who understand the role of collections to advocate for them. The collections housed in public institutions are under increasing assault from within, by administrators who don't understand their value, or view collections as "dinosaurs" that are now a burden on the business of museums to "entertain" visitors and increase profits.

Much is at risk here if we fail to protect existing collections and foster better ones for the future. We stand to lose the next generation of scientists, for one thing. Biologists need to mentor high school students, even elementary students, and coach them in proper fundamentals of collecting, including the ethics. Many, many of my colleagues recount the early life experiences that led them into their scientific careers, and collecting insects is a recurring theme.

Collecting and you (and me)

Only you can decide whether collecting is an important activity for you, but please don't criticize those who do; certainly reserve judgment until you fully appreciate their motivation. Me? I have a collection of over 100 Cornell insect drawers. I have loaned many specimens to scientists who have identified specimens for me, resulting in many county and state records, and a handful of species new to science. When I moved into my wife's home, the "bugs" came, too, but there is not enough space to curate them properly. I have decided to deposit my specimens at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science, where they have state-of-the-art facilities. That transaction will likely happen later this year.

Sources: Freedman, Jan. 2015. "Bring out your dead: How museum specimens can contribute to environmental sustainability," Museums & Heritage Advisor.
Kemp, Christopher. 2015. "Museums: The endangered dead," Nature.
Roston, Michael. 2015. "A Guide to Digitized Natural History Collections," New York Times.
Warren, Andrew. 2015. "Why We Still Collect Butterflies," The Conversation.
Yong, Ed. 2016. "Natural History Museums Are Teeming With Undiscovered Species," The Atlantic.