I just signed up for a lab-specific Instagram account to chronicle our work on the space station project. So savvy, I know…
I’m looking forward to the day that my seeds are transported to the ISS on one of these babies! There’s still a long way to go before my project is even ready to apply for a flight position, but I’ve started working with support scientists to schedule all the tests that need to be done. It’s going to be a very busy summer around my lab!
Read more about today’s launch, known as the CRS-6, at NASA’s page about the mission.
Whenever I teach on seeds, either in my non-majors Food class or my Plant Physiology class for majors, I can’t help describing them as the children of the mother plant. I know, not exactly creative, but it helps to paint a picture of the roles of the parent plant and the seed. I like to talk about how the endosperm or other food reserve is like a packed lunch, put there by the caring mother to feed the baby plant as it germinates and becomes able to feed itself. And what kind of parent sends its babies out without a coat? It usually gets a few chuckles, at least, to put this all in human terms.
That coat on the seed? Sometimes it’s a jacket, and other times it’s more like a down coat, and the mother plant chooses based on the temperature. I’m not making this up. In a study published this week, plant scientists link the toughness/thickness of the seed coat to the temperature endured by the mother plant. If the mother experienced warmer temperatures, it will make more of a protein that limits the production of tannins in the fruit. Less tannin makes for a thinner seed coat and faster germination. On the other hand lower temperatures cause the mother plant to make more tannins, leading to a thicker coat. Simple, yet remarkable.
For the last several months I’ve been working on a manuscript to be included in an edited volume tentatively called Plant Gravitropism: Methods and Protocols. It is part of a series called Methods in Molecular Biology, published by Springer.
My contribution focuses on ROTATO, the image analysis and feedback system we use routinely in my lab to measure root gravity responses. The objective of the series is to allow “a competent scientist who is unfamiliar with the method to carry out the technique successfully at the first attempt,” which seems pretty unlikely to me. I can’t think of a single experiment that I’ve every carried out successfully on the first try, but that’s another matter. I’ve been surprised by how hard it’s been to write this, so I thought I’d do some thinking out loud to try to gain a little insight into my struggle.
I think some of my struggle has come from being too close to the method to see it with “beginner’s eyes.” I’ve been working with ROTATO since it was a pile of parts stripped from IBM PCs (we used the computer power supply for 5 V DC and the stepper motor from the floppy drive). I watched over my friend Jack’s shoulder as he wrote the software to make it work. I know the ins and outs of how it works and what makes for a good experiment. Through the years I’ve had a tough time teaching my students how to get good data with it, and I think that’s in part due to the hidden assumptions I make about it. Dragging those assumptions out into the light has been an ongoing process, and writing this paper has been helpful.
Another aspect of the struggle is with how to handle the software part of the method. I am not releasing the code (it’s not mine), and even if I could it wouldn’t do much good because of its dependence on an obsolete frame grabber card. So I’m trying to include enough detail about how it works to allow a scientist/programmer to reimplement the method. But I’m a biologist, not an engineer, so I’m struggling with how much to say and how to say it. I think this is the heart of the issue, that I’m trying to bridge the worlds of biology and engineering.
This is, in fact, what ROTATO is about, and what makes it so important. It takes pictures of a biological response and uses them to control the position of the organ doing the response. It is clever, naive in certain ways, clunky, finicky, crashy, and it works. It has allowed us to learn new things about how roots respond to gravity. So that’s what I’m trying to convey in this methods paper, how to make a ROTATO that works well enough to learn new things, of which there are plenty, I am sure.
Some good bits of advice for writing about science for the public, including this one:
Readers can be very clever, but it is not their job to know all of the words that you and the twelve people you call colleagues made up.
I particularly like the focus on telling a people-centered story. This is so far from the comfort zone for most researchers, but I agree that it’s essential to effectively connecting.
You may not realize this, but most fruits and vegetables are still living when you eat them — this is what keeps them from turning mushy and limp. In a new study, researchers from Rice University have shown that these plants are not only living, but their metabolism continues to cycle in response to light/dark periods, influencing their nutritional quality:
“Vegetables and fruits don’t die the moment they are harvested,” said Rice biologist Janet Braam, the lead researcher on a new study this week in Current Biology. “They respond to their environment for days, and we found we could use light to coax them to make more cancer-fighting antioxidants at certain times of day.”
Several weeks ago, the USDA announced it had confirmed the presence of Roundup-Ready wheat in an Oregon field. Roundup-Ready wheat underwent field trials in the late 90’s and early 00’s, but trials were suspended before final approval was granted. The wheat is a match to the exact strain tested by Monsanto. Now it appears somebody may have planted evidence (sorry, couldn’t resist at least one bad pun):
“None of standard farming practices are consistent with, or can explain, a smattering in only one percent of a field or in patches or clumps,” he said. “In our view the finding is suspicious.”
The strain of wheat has never been shown to be harmful, and it carries the same genetic construct as several Roundup-Ready crops that have been approved. But the wheat has not completed the approval process, so the finding caused considerable concern.
The Supreme Court ruled today in the case involving Myriad Genetics’ patent on the BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes. Thankfully, they found that DNA sequences are not patentable because they are a product of nature. The Myriad lawyers had argued that the acts of isolation and sequencing make DNA “inventions” rather than natural discoveries, but the court wasn’t buying that argument.
As I’ve noted previously, not only do I find Myriad’s argument wrong in theory, I also find it misleading in practice. They did not bear any of the costs or risks in actually discovering the sequences in the first place. These two genes were identified in an academic lab at the University of Utah. The original paper describing BRCA1 and BRCA2 acknowledges numerous NIH grants as the source of funding.
Most comments I’ve seen on Twitter seem excited or relieved about the ruling, including one by the NIH Director himself, Francis Collins:
— Francis S. Collins (@NIHDirector) June 13, 2013
Science writer Carl Zimmer linked to a blog post pointing out some factual errors in the ruling:
Composite DNA, complementary DNA, pseudogenes…man, the Supreme Court needs a biology lesson. http://t.co/PSrCJXLYRN
— Carl Zimmer (@carlzimmer) June 13, 2013
Comments on the blog post point out not only factual mistakes, but also an inherent contradiction in the reasoning of the ruling, which is more disturbing still. Details matter, and I’m not impressed by the way the law is (mis)interpreting molecular biology.
I’ve been reading on plant water sensing to get some better background for projects we’re starting in the lab this summer. I came across the photo below in a paper describing the identification of a gene involved in sensing water gradients, called miz1, short for MIZU-KUSSEI1, the words for “water” and “tropism” in Japanese.
The photo shows an elegant experiment the researchers designed to pick out mutants in water sensing. They allowed the roots to grow in a Petri dish along a block of agar (seen in the upper left part of each panel) and into an opening. Normally, an open space in a closed Petri dish would have very high humidity, but they added a solution that soaks up water vapor, so the air was very dry.
The two photos across the top (D1 and D2) show the response of a wild-type root when it grows into the dry chamber — it immediately turns back toward the agar surface, where the water is. The two photos across the bottom (E1 and E2) show the mutant failing to curve back toward the agar. They found this mutant like a needle in a haystack, by looking at 20,000 mutant lines for ones like this, that fail to respond to the water vapor gradient.
The researchers have gone on to study this gene in great detail, and have made a number of exciting discoveries about how plants sense water.
Citation: Kobayashi, A., A. Takahashi, Y. Kakimoto, Y. Miyazawa, N. Fujii, A. Higashitani, and H. Takahashi. 2007. A gene essential for hydrotropism in roots. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America 104: 4724–4729.
Everybody likes it when their work is recognized, especially when the recognition is coming from leaders in the field. Over the course of the past week, your humble correspondent has had work noted in two very different realms. One of my posts here on Gravitropic was linked by several people, most visibly by Dave Winer, the developer of the software I was discussing, resulting in a big (for this site) spike in traffic. At the same time, an article was published in Current Biology that cited our recent paper on lateral root patterning. Both events represent the same principle and illustrate the power of the citation. At the same time, there seem to be significant differences between online links and scholarly citations that may be worth considering. I wonder whether scholarly writing could take some lessons from online linking.
When I link to an article or blog post on the web, or when I cite an article as a building block in an argument, I am assigning credibility to that source. I am usually saying I agree with the point being made, and in the case of a scientific article, I am likely proposing to build on top of that finding. Sure, sometimes we link to outlandish articles online just to point and mock, or we cite findings that are refuted by the results at hand, but those are the exception. By and large, to cite or link is to endorse.
It follows from this that I judge the work I am citing to be of high quality or in some way noteworthy, and the act of citing it helps it grow in status. In the case of online articles, more links from quality sources leads to greater status and higher ranking in search results. But for scientific articles, the surfacing of high impact papers is not an automatic process. It seems to rely more on a researcher noticing a particular work cited by multiple sources rather than an algorithm returning a work closer to the top of the search results. I would posit that the process of identifying important work and incorporating it is part of the art of practicing science. Of course you can set a database like Web of Science to sort by number of times cited, but that tends not to be all that useful. I wonder if the identification of important papers in a field is done algorithmically by any scholarly databases in a way similar to PageRank?
Links and citations also differ when it comes to which side of the link has the most value. In the case of research and scholarship, articles that become highly cited earn their authors an increasing level of influence within a field. While this is true up to a point with online links, much of the value in this field seems to lie with those entities — individuals or companies — that do the linking. One example of this is Google itself, which created value by “organizing the world’s information“. They drive so much of the traffic on the web by acting as an index and arbiter of quality for a given keyword or topic. In a similar way, sites like Daring Fireball that link to important articles in a particular field have become extremely valuable, in part for their original writing, but also due to the web traffic they drive.
I wonder why there are not such drivers of traffic in specific, narrow fields of research, experts that both express an opinion and drive viewers to particular articles worth reading. In a certain sense this is what review articles do, but on a timescale of years. Is this ‘middleman’ missing because of the time and caution required to puzzle together a research mystery? Is it missing because nobody has the time? Maybe the missing element in scholarly work is the ‘pageview’ metric? Will the incorporation of page views for more progressive online publishers like the PLoS journals change any of this?