Somewhere, Hardy-Weinberg (or Great Songs for Science)

 

I was listening to a few songs by They Might Be Giants about science, which are not bad.  We used to listen to They Might Be Giants while driving to math meets in high school, so it’s good to see that they joined the nerd club formally and are writing songs for the youth about science.  My favorite song that I’ve found is My Brother the Ape, which encourages us to think about all of life as a relation, which the data suggest is accurate.  (However, I’m not sure my actual brother with whom I share 50% of my genome would be thrilled to hear me singing this song, since he’s kind of hairy.) It’s a good song, but you know, not as detailed as you might hope for your introductory biology class. 

 

I recently wrote some lyrics for my intro class when we discussed the Hardy-Weinberg Principle, one of the central ideas in population genetics that helps us understand if a population is experiencing microevolutionary processes.  It allows you to predict the frequency of alleles and genotypes in a population when it meets a set of assumption, assumptions that fit very nicely to music of Somewhere Over the Rainbow, a song that today’s students and their aged professors still seem to have in common.  (Through a series of trial and error, I have learned that they do not know This Land is Your Land or Blowin’ in the Wind, which you may also find shocking and horrifying.)  I have been singing Somewhere, Hardy-Weinberg, and maybe you should too.  (But don’t sing anything in parentheses below!)  It won’t offend your brother (the ape, or otherwise). 

Somewhere Hardy-Weinberg

(Somewhere Over the Rainbow)

Somewhere there’s a population, of infinite size

(Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high)

With random maters and no mutation, selection, or migration.

(There’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby.)

Somewhere the probability that two alleles will meet

(Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue.)

Will be a product of their free-ee-ee-quencies.

(And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.)

The likelihood of Big-A Big-A (AA) is going to be p times p,

(Someday I’ll wish upon a star and wake up where the clouds are far)

Or p-squared!

(behind me!)

And little-a with little-a (aa) will be the frequency of q times q

(Where troubles melt like lemon drops away above the chimney tops that’s where)

Or q-squared!

(you’ll find me.)

Somewhere there’s a population of infinite size. 

(Somewhere over the rainbow bluebirds fly.)

Alleles meet in random order

(Birds fly over the rainbow)

In Hardy-Weinberg Equilibrium.

(Why then oh why can’t I?)

And don’t forget the heterozygotes (Aa), they’re out there too

(If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow)

it’s p times q times two! 

(why then oh why can’t I?)

Flowering Bugs

As much as we like to control nature with our planning and our plows, we still seem to recreate it in our own backyards.  And I am no different, as I have been turning my yard back to a bit of weeds.  I have let an area of Queen Anne’s Lace go to it, which I may regret next year since one spontaneous plant in 2010 seemed to seed an area with a diameter of ten feet or so for 2011; I have a weakness for that plant, so soon it may fill the yard.  I have also planted some sensible natives, like butterfly weed, which is a member of the milkweed family with a shocking orange flower that would inspire a grandmother’s bonnet.  Robert Frost has a poem, “The Tuft of Flowers,” about finding one of these plants after a field had been mowed down by following the flight of a butterfly— Frost imagines the mower leaving this “leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared” from “sheer morning gladness at the brim.” Sounds like the stuff of poetry, doesn’t it?   I was expecting the plant to attract butterflies (since the scythe is seldom wielded at my house), which it did.  But tonight I found the plant has also attracted bugs an orange as vibrant as the flower once was.  Imagine Frosts gladness had he found the butterfly weed covered in cool bugs!

After a little googling, it looks like these orange busybodies are large milkweed bugs that breed and feed on the plant and tufted seeds.  Many milkweeds have chemicals that protect them from herbivory, but this bug like the catepillars of queen and monarch butterflies that also feed upon it, can utilize the chemicals for their own protection.  Their bright coloration is like wearing a bright orange vest to advertise your presence—predators see them and leave them alone because they are toxic.  Such a nice surprise to find when I thought the flowering was complete.  My little girl agreed.  It’s a new adventure every day, even if you don’t wander out of the yard.  

Evolution and the Heavens

This week in introductory biology we started our material on “Evolution” and I always think about “the controversy” surrounding evolution in our society.   I’ve polled the students in  class for the last eight years (~N=150 X 8 years) and around 30% fall into the categories of 1) having a problem with evolution, 2) sort of having of problem with it, or 3) aren’t really sure how they feel about it.  Although our class is a foundational course taken by students of many disciplines, it is mostly science majors (mostly pre-meds).   The students seem to have the biggest issue being related to other apes or being considered apes at all. Such comments from them always make me think of my father with a smile since he liked to introduce himself as Emmette Ba Boone (you know, as in baboons, which are monkeys and not apes).  Sharing a common ancestor with any life form was never a stretch for me, but that may be one of the advantages of being a Ba Boone. 

When I think about “the controversy,” I mostly wonder why there is a controversy.  Jesus was such a reasonable guy.  Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and to God the things that are God’s. Or, Let him who is without sin among you cast the first stone…  Or hundreds of other perfectly reasonable statements.  If Jesus was around today in the flesh, I think he would worry about God’s creation and what humans are doing to it, and the general problems of human failure.  It’s hard to imagine that man of the bible waging a war over the evolution of life and a literal interpretation of the story in Genesis.   He gives no impression that he’d be someone who has a problem with using the available data to understand natural phenomenon.  And why should he?  Scratch the surface and the world really is awesome in the traditional and contemporary sense.  Evolution and religion are not mutually exclusive for many people. 

What I wish we all could concede is that because we share common ancestors with the rest of life, we should be extremely (even evangelically) motivated to care for our fellow creatures on this planet.   That is a more productive conversation to have:  what we can do to protect the creation.  “Believing” in a literal translation of Genesis or “believing” the diverse and abundant data that serves as the foundation for the theory of evolution really do not matter in terms of Christian salvation—that salvation is found through other beliefs.   A life spent examining natural explanations for natural phenomenon requires its own kind of faith, but interpreting and reinterpreting the data available should always be based on logic and reason.  Heaven would expect no less.  

Looking Up

Another semester begins here at Miami University and there is the usual excitement and anticipation associated with the beginning of fall semester.  The temperature even dropped ten degrees yesterday as if to concede that the summer is coming to a close.  A generous concession at this point. 

I am recently back from a two week vacation and sufficiently recharged to feel a little of that new-school-year excitement as I prepare for another semester of introductory biology with lots of freshman and others. Today was our first day of class and I shared a poem with the students called “Invitation” by Mary Oliver, one of the great living nature poets. It begins: Oh do you have time/ to linger/for just a little while/out of your busy//and very important day/for the goldfinches/that have gathered/in a field of thistles…

When she puts it that way you realize, yes I do.  One of the things I love about Mary Oliver’s poetry is that she witnesses the goings on of the natural world and reminds you that you have the time to linger, to stare, and to listen. Ah, such hobbies. On my drive home, I watched a young student walking down the street with rather large head phones on her head. Fashion-wise, I didn’t really like the look; nature-wise, I worried she might miss the calls of the cicadas and wondered if she even saw the birds flying all around her. Sure, I like my folk my music and I understand that it’s nice to have a good beat to walk to. But, nature is now and it’s a shame to miss any more of it than necessary.  Walking home or to class seems like the perfect time to witness our urban ecology.

With that thought, I came home, laid on our deck, and looked up. Near the top of one of the thinner branches, there was a robin’s nest secured in the maple.  It has probably been there all summer, right above our heads apparently, and it was news to me.  It made me want to Tweet like a bird in her nest.  Hope you find something new and exciting in your backyard too.  

Grow

My babies are growing up.  Despite the cold April and May with lots of rain, which I thought might slow them down, my northern leopard frog tadpoles haven't seemed to notice.  I collected these tadpoles toward the end of March and the tadpoles were added to my ponds shortly after hatching.  They've been in the ponds about 6 weeks now and they are about 1000-1500X larger than they started out.   That would turn your average 8 pound baby into an 8,000-12,000 pound menace--mightier than King Kong and harder to ignore.  From birth to adulthood, we human animals only increase our mass 15-20X.  The human transformation, I am learning with my own ray of sunshine, is amazing and dramatic, but frogs have much, much more to be amazed by.   A final thought:  Tadpoles should be the poster child for vegetarians.   

Jumping To It, With Frogs and Elementary School Kids

These kids had a lot of jump in them.

This week at Miami U, 1^st through 5^th graders from our school district are visiting science labs to learn about some of the science going on here.  There are 177 sessions in five days with the kids and different science labs that volunteer across the campus.  We figured we had a big (excitement) advantage over some labs, because we work with frogs and salamanders.  I mean really, it doesn’t get more jump-up-and-scream exciting than that.  My lab had a number of great ideas for working with the young scientists.  I had a few ideas myself, and after they convinced me the kids did not want to make graphs of anything or get their very own pocket protectors, we were off to a good start.  So, this week we’ve been jumping frogs and students to do a comparison of who jumped farther in terms of body length. 

A class of tie-dyed third graders watch 

the glorious American Toad show his stuff.

After introducing the kids to the frogs, we worked in groups to measure the frogs from nose to rump with a piece of string.  Everyone had a chance to hold, feel, and admire the frogs; it was so cool that the kids were so open-minded and open-handed about holding the frogs.  Not a bit squeamish.  After suitable admiration, we put the wet frogs on some brown paper and waited sometimes patiently for the frog to jump, then recorded the number of body lengths each frog travelled.  We used toads, bullfrogs, and cricket frogs…and, of course, kids.  The kids recorded their data and found that the toads jumped 2-4 times their body length, as did the bullfrogs.  The cricket frogs, these small gorgeous champions, jumped 7-12 times their body length and caused an inordinate amount of screaming among the young people.  At one point, I almost screamed too, but then I remembered I was a calm, logical scientist and I didn’t want to break the stereotype any more than necessary. 

A student jumps like a frog, while the others wait for the data.

The children jumped between 1-2 times their own body lengths.  They were athletic, yes.  They were full of energy, true.  They were inspirational, definitely.  But relatively speaking, they did not beat most of the frogs.  If they could jump as far as a cricket frog, they could leap about 30 feet in a single, casual hop, rather than 4-5 feet most of them were jumping.  This must be why one kid left the room saying “Amphibians are toadily awesome.”  

Second graders with a spotted salamander.  They don't jump, but they're still cool.

A Television Drama about Scientists Needed

                Last Friday I was sitting in the doctor’s office getting my knee examined by your average trained medical professional.  I hurt my knee practicing a jumping activity that my lab is going to try out on some elementary school kids (as well as some frogs).  I wanted a professional opinion on whether or not I had popped something that was going to torture me through the weekend or if I was just reaching the end of my standing jump days on hard surfaces.  According to the doctor, my knee and I were mechanically fine.  It was the “slightly old and feeble” diagnosis, which I accepted from this guy who has a medical degree, who has been recommended by other patients, and who seemed to know what he was doing as he felt around my swollen, sore knee.  I didn’t consider not believing him, but hey, he’s a doctor not a climate scientist.

                My visit had me thinking about the (often) blind faith people put in doctors.  And it makes me wonder why scientists do not get even the faith of the mustard seed from some sectors of the public.  In order to obtain a position of a research scientist or faculty member, a person has completed an undergraduate degree (4 years), a graduate degree (+5 years), a post doctoral position (+2 or 3 years), and competed on a tight market for a job.  That’s easily more than a decade of training (and my estimates were on the average to low side).  A person earns her/his medical degree and complete his/her residency in about the same amount of time as a scientist; still, scientists do not seem to have the street cred that a doctor has.  Is it because there aren’t enough television shows about ecologists or climate scientists?  Or maybe people do not understand what a scientist does in any kind of detail that allows them to have a sense of trust in a scientist’s professional opinion.  Maybe.  We all go to the doctor, but hardly any of us go to the scientist.  No doubt, we scientists could work on reaching out to make some human contact with our fellow earthlings.

                There are several reasons why we can have some faith in scientific consensus, however.  First, scientists rely on evidence and are often forced to change their hunches or expectations in light of data that contradict them—most scientists even love this.  Understanding any phenomenon requires a number of studies by a range of researchers.  One experiment is not going to prove anything—even a thousand won’t.  But, if you have a thousand experiments, you will likely have enough data to support a conclusion (and to generate all sorts of other questions).  It’s sort of like putting an idea on trial.  The scientific community individually and together serves as the jury and judge weighing all of the evidence and based on the evidence presented at the trial, they come to a decision.  Of course, new evidence can surface that changes the outcome of the trial, which is more likely to happen if there wasn’t a lot of conclusive evidence at the trial to begin with.  The more data you have at a trial, the more likely the jury is going to be able to come to a fair and just conclusion. 

Scientists are a skeptical bunch, and in this respect we should have a lot in common with a skeptical public.  If by some chance an individual scientist fails to be skeptical about his or her own work, then other scientists they meet in their departments, at meetings, and in the peer-review processes as they publish research will be there…being skeptical, holding the scientists feet to the fire.  However, skepticism without perspective is a hindrance rather than a benefit to our understanding and decision-making process.  I wish we could put some of the scientific ideas bouncing around in public on trial—like climate change and evolution, topics that have turned into a “he said/she said” argument (in the words of Ira Glass) rather than a discussion that logically weighs scientific evidence to make scientific conclusions.  Maybe that would be a reality show worth watching.  But still, I vote for a good (non-medical) scientist television drama.  It could go a long way to helping the public understand science and how decisions are made, as well as make us look a little more glamorous (the one thing that may be missing from the average scientist's top-five characteristics).