Stephen Johnston, professor and chair of the Department of Earth and Atmospheric Sciences, pictured here during a field school outing in 2019. Photo credit: John Ulan
April 22, 2020
On the afternoon of Monday, April 20th, I went for a walk with my wife Sheila along the north side of the North Saskatchewan River, directly across from the University of Alberta campus. We had crossed the river twice the previous afternoon via the Groat Road bridge and at that time, the river remained, as it had since December, a frozen-solid, sinuous, static, icy white path, curving its way through downtown. I was starting to think that the river's solid-state was edging towards permanence. Here it was, April 19th, and yet the icy carapace cloaking the river was still firmly in place. Migratory flocks of gulls, buffleheads, ducks, and geese had arrived to find the river frozen solid some three weeks ago. The previous weekend, I had watched as bald eagles had (unsuccessfully) hunted gulls just downstream of the Groat Road bridge, the drama all taking place above an almost entirely frozen river. The river valley has resounded with the sound of Downy woodpeckers pounding out their territorial claims on the still barren flanks of the valleys myriad beech, poplar, and aspen trees for more than a month now. Walking to work on April 2nd, the temperature outside our door was a frigid -21 degrees C. By April 19th, the doubt was starting to take firm hold in my head: was spring ever going to arrive?
Of course, there was no doubt that spring would arrive. At least that much we could count on. But this has been a spring like no other. At close to 1 AM (yes, 1:00 in the morning) on Friday, March 13th, the University of Alberta closed its doors. It was at that wee hour of the morning that the university sent out an email informing students, staff, and faculty, that all classes were cancelled and the campus was closed until further notice. The COVID-19 pandemic had started taking a firmer hold in Edmonton. Classes resumed the following Tuesday, March 17th, St. Patrick's Day. Except instead of wearing green and looking forward to a pint of Guinness and perhaps a glass of Irish Whiskey—I have an unquenchable fondness for Paddy’s Irish Whiskey—with friends and colleagues, we all remained stuck in our abodes. All of our courses had moved to remote delivery, all the bars were closed, and all of us remained cloistered in our residences, houses, condos, and apartments.
And here we are, more than a month on from those shocking developments, still cloistered away from one another, still practising social distancing, and still conducting all our courses entirely remotely (including sitting exams). The one thing that we are no longer wondering about is whether spring would ever arrive. For it arrived with a bang on that afternoon of Monday, April 20th. As Sheila and I walked along the north side of the North Saskatchewan River that afternoon, the temperature hovered just above 20 degrees C. What had been a frozen white sheet just the previous afternoon, was now a muddy brown, eastward-flowing torrent of water, standing waves, and shattered shards of ice. Spring. Finally. We knew it would arrive. In terms of human history, it always has. But the events of the last few months have been so unsettling, so upsetting, and so far removed from normal, that one couldn’t help but think that perhaps everything we thought we knew about the workings of the Earth, everything we thought we understood about our planet, was perhaps illusionary.
"The events of the last few months have been so unsettling, so upsetting, and so far removed from normal, that one couldn’t help but think that perhaps everything we thought we knew about the workings of the Earth, everything we thought we understood about our planet, was perhaps illusionary.
But that is exactly why we do what we do."
But that is indeed exactly why we do what we do. We study the Earth System. We study its evolution from deep time through to the present. We study its record as found in the muscular, metamorphic rocks formed deep in the guts of great mountain ranges; as found in the crystalline carbonates birthed within the tropical life-dependent barrier reefs that have graced Earth for the past 500 million years; and as found in the chaos of mud, sand, and cobble distributed across our continent during the most recent ice age.
Included below is a note that I wrote back in January of this year concerning the retirements of some of our departments most storied and accomplished scientists. It seems a lifetime ago since I wrote that note. But we are still doing our science: bringing our research into the classroom—albeit virtually—and learning from and with our students. And we are still striving to understand the Earth System, our role in it, and how to best plan our cities and communities to ensure prosperity and health for everyone. That is what we do. That is what our students do. And that is why I am confident that we will be able to look back on and learn from this pandemic, and that in doing so we will be better prepared to face the next Earth System challenge, whatever it may be. I am extremely proud to be part of a department that has contributed so much to our understanding of humanity, the evolution of life, and the development of the Earth System. It is that knowledge that is going to help us find a path through this.
Sheila and I wish you and your families all good health at this extraordinary juncture in human history.
January 6, 2020
The new decade started for our department on Thursday, January 2nd, 2020. The university was open, but it was quiet, classes not starting until the following Monday. Friday, January 3rd might have been even quieter. I popped out of my office at 8:30 a.m. that morning intent on seeing whether I could find a strong, hot coffee somewhere on what was a very sleepy campus. At the door to the front office, I ran into Brian Jones stopping in to check his mail and to say hello while on the way to his office. We shook hands, exchanged pleasantries, and then Brian headed upstairs to his second-floor office and me off for coffee. Nothing unusual about that, just another day in the office. Except that this morning was different. This morning, I suddenly realized, was Brian’s first morning in the department after Brian becoming Dr. Jones, Professor Emeritus, Brian having retired effective December 31st, 2019.
"We are still striving to understand the Earth System, our role in it, and how to best plan our cities and communities to ensure prosperity and health for everyone. That is what we do. That is what our students do.
And that is why I am confident that we will be able to look back on and learn from this pandemic, and that in doing so we will be better prepared to face the next Earth System challenge, whatever it may be."
I immediately changed direction and headed straight to Brian’s office at the very far western end of the long second-floor hallway of the Earth Sciences Building. When I arrived, Brian had just removed his coat and was settling in behind his desk, as he has so many times before. As Brian—looking slightly confused at my arrival—welcomed me into his office, it was as if nothing had changed at all. But everything had changed. Brian had been a mainstay of the department for more than more than four decades and a major reason for the success of EAS. it is hard, if not impossible, to imagine the department without Brian.
And I couldn’t help but think that it is not just Brian. In addition to Brian, 2019 saw the retirements of Martin Sharp and Larry Heaman. Together, Brian, Larry, and Martin can claim to have had a major role in turning EAS into a world-leader in the Earth sciences. Replacing the three of them is simply not possible. Any department would be lucky to have had any one of them. And while replacing Brian, Larry, and Martin is not a feasible goal or strategy, what we can do is to build on the culture of excellence that they did so much to build.
The retirements of Brian, Larry, and Martin are a major loss for our department. They also represent an opportunity. An opportunity to renew, refresh, and rebuild. And thanks to their efforts, we start this process with a strong foundation, one that we can build upon. It is a foundation of collegiality and of research and teaching excellence. Rebuilding will always be a huge challenge. But Brian, Larry, and Martin have given us a huge head start.
I asked Brian if he realized the significance of the day. “Yes,” he said, “I do.” And then we got down to discussing science, chatting about the department, and exchanging ideas about how to address the many challenges that we are facing. Bidding Brian good-bye, I couldn’t help but think that having Brian, Larry, and Martin around providing advice, acting as sounding boards, and continuing to lead by example, puts us in a very good place. The new decade is going to be a challenging one for EAS.
We are off to a good start.
Chair, Department of Earth and Atmospheric Sciences