I feel like I don't know anything (but that's alright)

A barkfly. Who'd have thought it. CC image S. Rae

 This morning I have been decanting some Tullgren funnel samples into pots for another class. I'm never fully convinced by whether they work, and also the leaf litter that was collected for them was pretty crispy - so the pots aren't exactly overflowing with creatures. But even so, I've spotted things in there that are going to make me look ignorant if someone asks me what they are.

Last year I spent a considerable amount of time swotting up about little soil creatures and making a guide: I learnt about things I had no idea existed (Protura, Symphyla) and realised I knew close to nothing about the groups I did recognise (Millipedes, Centipedes). And then today I ruefully realised that there are many many more things I don't know about that might be in those pots (Barkflies, Thrips... who knows) and I'm not going to become an expert before next week's class. Much as I'd like to be, for the students' sake as well as my own.

But this is not a reason to give up, is it. It's a reason to start. The world is full of amazing things. You can go and look for them and dip your toe into understanding how the world works. Knowing what's out there and where it is, underpins any scientific research in ecology and conservation.

Polyxenus lagurus, a perfectly common UK millipede. Who knew. CC image Andy Murray.

I also find it quite good for existential angst, as all those plants and creatures are out there doing their thing regardless. That's quite reassuring when you get depressed by the absurdity of your own species (from international politics, to celebrity 'culture', to daft things happening in your own social sphere, to your own behaviour).

So my point is, don't be daunted by feeling you don't know anything at the start of this assignment. Ok, maybe some people know a little. You might fear they know a lot. But it's not a 'zero sum game' as they say - their knowledge isn't going to make yours less, and in fact I can tell you from experience that people are very generous in sharing their skills. Pick something you think you'll find interesting, and dive in. Rome wasn't built in a day (and all that). Remember that all those admirable experts started with a single beetle, or wild flower, or barkfly, once upon a time. Begin now.

Charles Darwin age 7. Painted by Ellen Sharples in 1816.

P.S. A ridiculous and authentic post script.
I spent some of the lesson staring down a microscope with student J, trying to work out what the tiny 4-winged, long-antennaed creature in the petri dish was. In retrospect I think it was a bark fly, though this definitely didn't occur to me at the time. It's a shame isn't it. I can only trust that your young flexible brains will cotton on to things much faster. Here's a gallery of them so I don't get confused next time.