This book would not have happened if Paul Rogers had not agreed, many years ago, to introduce me to a one-tree forest called Pando, and I wouldn’t have been inspired to write about it, and other superlative life-forms, if Paul hadn’t modeled for me a particular kind of reverent, joyful awe that I now try to share with others.
Paul is one of hundreds of scientists whose studies are referenced in this book. All of those studies cite other studies. And on it goes. Science is a collective enterprise, and it’s turtles all the way down. Thus, people who write about science are indebted to more people than we could ever calculate.
How, then, can I properly thank all of the researchers who made this book possible?
One thought: When people find out I’m a US military veteran, they often say, “Thank you for your service.” Having done nothing to warrant anyone’s thanks, I wasn’t a huge fan of that phrase. Then my friend, Jared Jones, a military helicopter pilot who has completed several tours of duty in Afghanistan, told me he doesn’t figure people are really thanking us for our individual service. “I think most people realize that not everyone in the military is an actual hero,” he said, “but since there’s no way to know who we’re actually indebted to, it’s easier just to thank everyone.” And that’s why, these days, when I meet a scientist from any field, I say, “Thank you for being a scientist.”
I am also quite deeply indebted to the army of science writers whose work I often relied upon to ensure that my reading of a particular piece of research was sound. It often wasn’t, at first, and it is people like Kristin Hugo, Janet Fang, Alex Zielinski, Tracy Staedter, Rebecca Boyle, Carrie Arnold, Hayley Bennett, Henry Nicholls, Mark Strauss, Sascha Steinhoff, Sid Perkins, Brendan Buhler, Erica Goode, Kate Tobin, Brian Switek, Janet Raloff, Laura Helmuth, and the brilliant and prolific master of the field, Ed Yong—among so many others—who have helped me “get it.”
On the subject of getting it: Sometimes, even when scientists have patiently taken me step by step through their process and findings, I don’t see things the way they do. Any confusion, or outright mistakes, regarding the work of the researchers who I have written about in this book are my responsibility alone.
This book was written in coffee shops around the world, but in one more than any other. I’m not sure how much I’ve spent on coffee at Alchemy, in Salt Lake City, but I know this: It’s not nearly enough to repay the hundreds and hundreds of hours I have spent in an establishment that has become one of my favorite places in the world to write. The cast of characters—customers and staff members—who rotate in and out of the funky little café on 1700 South bring me endless joy.
I would not have been able to write this book were it not for the support and flexibility granted me as a faculty member at Utah State University. I am forever in debt to Professor Ted Pease for inviting me to Logan, and for modeling for me the sort of professor I would like to be; and to former dean John Allen, who believed that people who do, teach. I am also most grateful to my colleagues in the Department of Journalism and Communication, who inspire me every day—and in particular to Candi Carter Olson and Debra Jenson, who listen to me, support me, and uplift me in ways I fear I cannot ever repay. And no discussion of the support I get from my university would be complete without mention of my students and former students, who push me to be worthy of the way I have pushed them. The stories of our world are in their hands, and everything is fine.
I likely would not have ventured anywhere near science if Terry Orme, then the managing editor of the Salt Lake Tribune, hadn’t relented to my pestering and permitted me to cover Utah’s Hogle Zoo. I am also grateful to the series of editors I have had since starting my writing career some twenty years ago, who encouraged me to pursue subjects that were beyond my actual capabilities: A. K. Dugan, Steve Bagwell, Steve Fox, Brent Israelsen, Greg Burton, Tom Harvey, Joe Baird, Rachel Piper, and especially Sheila McCann. It is a testament to all of their work, over the years, that my editor at BenBella, Leah Wilson, is always commenting about how clean my work is when it arrives in her inbox.
From the moment I signed with BenBella, I knew I wanted to work with Leah. I am so proud and so fortunate that she opted to partner with me on this book. Her thorough, thoughtful work—right down to the reference notes—elevated this project beyond anything I could have hoped for, and her cheeky margin comments made me smile every day.
Leah is exemplary of the team at BenBella, whose kindness, expertise, and professionalism makes me want to be nicer, smarter, and better at what I do. I have greatly enjoyed working with Adrienne Lang, Lindsay Marshall, Alicia Kania, Susan Welte, Monica Lowry, and the entire crew from this amazing organization. I am deeply grateful to copy editor James Fraleigh, whose attentiveness to detail—and encyclopedic knowledge of everything from the Hawai’ian ‘okina to Star Wars spacecraft—not only prevented some embarrassing mistakes, but also taught me a lot about the world. I also appreciate the work of Sarah Avinger, who led the team that produced a cover that made me cry when I first saw it. And I greatly admire Glenn Yeffeth, the man whose vision, decency, and humor made such an organization possible.
I would not have found BenBella were it not for Trena Keating, of Union Literary, who has never made me doubt that I am her favorite and most important client (even though I know who her other clients are, and thus I know I cannot possibly be her favorite or most important client).
And I would not have found Trena if not for John Day, who trusted me to work on his first book, Longevity Plan, and with whom I am looking forward to a long lifetime of collaboration and friendship. I am grateful, also, to the other authors with whom I have collaborated. Sharon Moalem believed I could write about epigenetics even after I explained that I knew nothing about epigenetics. And David Sinclair, whose work will change the world, is a good bloke and a good mate; I am proud to say I am his co-writer, but so much prouder to say I am his friend.
On the subject of friendship: This book never would have happened were it not for the support of Scott Sommerdorf and Matt Canham, who taught me that it was OK to think about things other than newspaper journalism; that mostly meant poker, at the time, and there’s nothing wrong with that. I likely would not have made the jump from a life in the military to a life as a writer if it were not for Roger Weaver, and I strive to be as good a mentor to my students as he was to me. Even then, it was the support of Katie Pesznecker, Scott Johnson, Troy Foster, Jennifer Joan Nelson, Andrew Hinkelman, DeAnn Welker, Jake Ten Pas, Carole Chase, and Joel Fowlks that made the transition possible. My next major life change, from full-time journalist to full-time academic, would almost certainly have stunted my growth as a writer if not for the people of CReEL, who meet each year in A. B. Guthrie’s cabin in Choteau, Montana, to celebrate and elevate one another’s work. To my dear friends and fellow founders, Alex Sakariassen and Bill Oram, and my fellow attendees over the years, Gwen Florio, Camilla Mortensen, Aaron Falk, David Montero, Casey Parks, Emily Smith, and Jaime Rogers, I do not have enough words to describe how much you all inspire me. Two other members of the CReEL crew deserve especial gratitude, not just for being inspiring writers and brilliant editors, but for the deep and generous friendship they gave to me during the year I wrote this book, which—for reasons that had little to do with writing this book—turned out to be the hardest of my life. Sarah Gailey and Stephen Dark: I love you.
And, as long as I’m writing those three words, let me express them also to my mother, Linda, and my father, Rick; my sister, Kelly; and my brother, Mikey. I love you.
And Heidi Joy, to whom this book is dedicated: You have endured a lot to be with me, and I will never be worthy of your humor, grace, beauty, wit, and intelligence, but I will continue to try. I am so proud to be your partner.
And finally, to Mia Dora, who still lets me call her Spike: You are the smartest, bravest, most beautiful, toughest, and kindest person I have ever known. You are Superlative.