Connection

In May of last year, I traveled to Chicago to join with hundreds of others from a worldwide community dedicated to the preservation of natural history collections. Our individual arrivals to the city were staggered--as I just checked into the grand Hilton on Michigan Avenue, I noticed a small group, all donned in the same lanyards, struggling through beautifully diverse languages to gush about specimens. They had likely already met during the optional field trip the day before, or while mingling at the cocktail hour that followed. And many others would still be catching flights from halfway around the world, only joining our large group upon dinner in the ballroom the next night. 

Photo: Society for the Preservation of Natural History Collections

Throughout the long-winded conference, we piled into taxis and recklessly made our way to museums across the city, we brushed shoulders and stopped to chat as we moved about the busy hotel hallways, and embraced the vastness of the city with its endless pleasures of social life.

So much has changed since last year. But underneath our shift to calmer, quieter, more solitudinous surroundings, I've felt that the greatest messages I took away from that Chicago trip still hold true in many of the same ways.

One of the most important, and simple, messages is one of building connection. 

Our collections are diverse, important, and great in number. As collections workers, we already understand and feel this sentiment as we work closely with each piece. We connect with a specimen as we learn its history in both the outside world and its life within our museums. We grasp at the stories and lessons learned from the study of these physical representations of life. 

And all of our work--from repairing old taxidermy mounts to transferring catalog records--is done with the hope of further connecting others to these magical, natural wonders. 

Back while on my visit to Chicago, I had spent my last full day wandering the extensive halls of the Field Museum. I took a much-needed break from walking to snap a photo of a viewing window, where a a conservator worked on archaeological specimens. Though I didn't butt in on the group of young girls with faces nearly pressed to the glass, all five of us were mesmerized by that human interaction with such untouchable objects. 

The Field Museum allows visitors to watch professionals repair and conserve specimens.

Normally I'm on the other side, facilitating moments of connection for others. One of my favorite times to interact with visitors has been running into groups of friends, couples, and big families as they block off the office hallway while staring into our collections storage room. Though it will be some time before I'm chatting away with visitors in front of taxidermy mounts again, I know that exchange of information and stories is not lost. 

Some days, it feels daunting to try and connect people with our collections--when even I am not at the Museum. But why couldn't we still be successful in our efforts? It's become clear that experiences like those are not fully lost when a museum's doors are closed. We really aren't limited by physical space, nor even by our computer's network connection. As long as people still want to connect--to exchange information, share stories, and revel in experiences--we will find a way to make that happen. 

Naturalist Haley Appleman incorporates a beaver skull and mount into her virtual
MuseumMobile program for kindergarteners.