An ‘1880s’ Geology Botany Field Trip Photo
A magnificent, framed photograph of a late 19th century geology and botany field trip hangs on a wall in our department’s central office. Sixty-three people, thirteen women and fifty men, are posed in a pyramid-shaped grouping, holding the botanical and geological spoils they had collected earlier in the day. Sadly, at least from a geological perspective, sprays of foliage greatly outnumber the rock samples.
‘Geology and Botany Field Class - ca. late 1880s’
Anyone who has ever attempted to photograph a large group can admire the artistry of the anonymous photographer who captured the image, especially considering late 19th century cameras. The details of the photograph are exquisite, with every group member in focus and individual personalities captured. While most look towards the camera, others stand in staged poses, glancing down or off to the side to present their favored profile, or displaying the tools of their trade. One man holds a large knife, while in the center a young woman discarded her overcoat and stands defiantly, with shoulders thrown back and hands on hips, seemingly sending an unspoken challenge across the years.
A small brass plaque on the frame identifies the image as a ‘Geology and Botany Field Class - ca. late 1880s’ but provides no specific date nor a location. The photograph appears to have been taken in a quarry and the rocks in the background are clearly sedimentary, rather than the igneous and metamorphic rocks of northern Minnesota. Without identifying features though, the photograph could have been taken at any southeastern Minnesota or western Wisconsin quarry or roadcut.
When we were in Pillsbury Hall, the photograph hung by the photocopier, so I had ample opportunity to admire it while copying quizzes. I often wondered where the image was taken and who the people were. Without any other information though, it seemed unlikely my curiosity would ever be satisfied. At least until Rebecca Toov of University Archives recognized four people in the photograph, providing clues to track its history down.
Two of those four were Conway Young MacMillan, professor of botany and the State Botanist, and Christopher Webber Hall, professor of geology and Dean of the College of Engineering, Metallurgy, and the Mechanical Arts. Hall’s career at the University of Minnesota spanned thirty-three years from spring of 1878 until his death in 1911. While MacMillan’s time in Minnesota was shorter, it still ran from 1888 until 1907. Yet the presence of MacMillan cast doubt on the photograph’s supposed 1880s date. However, that date’s death knell came from Toov’s other identifications, namely Bertha MacMillan, Conway’s sister, and Josephine Tilden, one of Conway’s students who later became the first woman scientist at the University of Minnesota. Bertha was an 1894 graduate of the university while Tilden graduated in 1895. Their presence in the photograph meant the image almost certainly was taken in the mid-1890s.
Four trip participants identified by Toov.
Ariel - September 29, 1894 - Excursion to Osceola
With that starting point, a quick search found a promising clue in the Ariel, the University of Minnesota’s first student newspaper. The September 29th, 1894, issue of the Ariel included a short article on a field excursion to Osceola, Wisconsin and the article’s third paragraph ended: ‘Here, Prof. Appleby, in the few minutes left, photographed the party.’
While that seemed a promising lead, the 1894 Osceola trip might not have been the only one photographed as multiple trips went to Osceola and Taylor’s Falls. And again, the photograph looks as if it was taken in a quarry rather than at a train station, the site of Appleby’s image.
Consequently, I set out to explore our department’s early field trips - only to learn that I was personally guilty of ending a 120-year tradition at the University of Minnesota!
The End of a Tradition
When I came to Minnesota in the autumn of 1994, I was charged with running introductory geology class field trips along the Saint Croix River Valley. Cam Craddock, chair of the geology department at my alma mater, the University of Wisconsin, had taught at Minnesota earlier and warned me that as a newcomer, I would likely be stuck leading hundreds of students through the valley. His prediction was accurate, but I seriously underestimated its timeline. Within three weeks of arriving in a new state and teaching for the first time, I faced the daunting task of leading over three hundred students to localities I had never seen. Worse, the department had no maps, guides, or even a trip itinerary to help me with their assignment.
Fortunately, when I mentioned my dilemma to Paul Weiblen, who was one of our more experienced faculty, he offered to take me out the Tuesday before the first trip to show me some likely sites. Those ranged from glacial deposits in northern suburbs, to fossil collecting in the old brickyards south of downtown Saint Paul, the ‘boom site’ on the St. Croix north of Stillwater, and the Dalles of the Saint Croix at Taylor’s Falls.
More importantly, when Paul realized no one in the department had volunteered to help, he willingly gave up his Saturday to lead half the group in the opposite rotation, so we did not overwhelm any one locale. It was a remarkably generous offer and one I suspect came at some cost to Paul’s family.
As I watched Paul’s half of our ten-bus convoy pull away from the back of Pillsbury Hall, I was immensely grateful for his help but also painfully aware the only person who really knew what we were doing that day had just left. Yet somehow, I survived the trip, and the students really enjoyed the day, the credit for the latter belonging equally to Paul and the St. Croix Valley in all its autumn glory.
Paul Weiblen (many years later...)
I continued to lead St. Croix Valley field trips twice every year until the numbers became overwhelming. Another of my charges was to increase our department’s introductory enrollments and the success of that initiative eventually doomed the excursions. Weiblen would prove to be one of the few faculty members who would help with the trips and those few were not always in the introductory geology course rotation. As numbers rose and help declined, the excursions finally came to an end. However, at the end of my last trip, standing behind Pillsbury and seeing the students scatter across campus, I had no idea I was also watching the end of a nearly 120-year-old tradition at the U.