The Next Step

Day 199: Step Moss (Hylocomium splendens) is arguably the Pacific Northwest's most beautiful bryophyte. In lowland forest, it is frequently observed as a dense carpet on the woodland floor. The foliage is lacy, in shape calling to mind the leaves of vine maple, but each frond is attached to a single red stem. The stems may trail a foot or more, and their age may be determined by counting the number of feathery "leaves." Each frond represents one year's growth. The moss in this photo is taking the next "step" in its development.

Golden-Crowned Sparrow, Zonotrichia Atricapilla

Day 198: Another bird who prefers to forage on the ground is Golden-Crowned Sparrow (Zonotrichia atricapilla). They mix quite congenially with the more numerous White-Crowned Sparrows, and sometimes the yellow cap is so faint that I have to look twice before noting the absence of an eye stripe. Golden-Crowned's head marking is a single line; that of White-Crowned is two bands, one on the top of the head and the other through the eye, intersecting at 90 degrees on the back of the head.

For many people (particularly city-dwellers), the only association they have with sparrows is with English Sparrow, and you may hear the remark, "The sparrows drive all the other birds away." Just like many other introduced species, English Sparrows tend to dominate the areas where they occur. However, that's not true with the native species like Golden-Crowned and White-Crowned. They mingle with juncos, finches and siskins without engaging in territorial disputes, although the occasional argument arises over which bird saw a particular seed or bug first.

Fine Feathered Finch Friends

Day 197: Roger Tory Peterson describes Purple Finch (Carpodacus purpureus) as "a sparrow dipped in raspberry juice." While that aptly describes the appearance of the male, the female is a rather blandly coloured bird whose streaky breast and flanks make her hard to distinguish from House Finch where the two occur together (female Purple has an eye stripe, female House has narrow white wing bars; male House has "shingles," i.e., a streaky breast similar to that of the female, a feature the male Purple lacks).

Sexual dichromatism (a difference in colour) is common in birds. Less common is true sexual dimorphism in which there are other differences in characteristics and size. It has been theorized that the female's lack of vivid colouration provides her with greater security from predators, but why would the males be brightly coloured? It is known that birds can see a much wider range of hues than are recognizable by humans, and a Scientific American article suggests that the female judges the male's health and vitality by the strength of his colour, holding up the Purple Finch as the paradigm. If that's true, my yard should be over-run by little Purple Finches in a few weeks!

In Team Kit

Day 196: This would be just a *slight* revision to the Morris dance costume I had originally planned to wear for our May Day performance! I am in full Sound & Fury kit here, thanks to quick shipping of the kilt from Stumptown and the side providing arm-bands and baldric to complete the outfit. The leggings will be shed once the weather warms up, but I still have to figure out something to wear under the kilt. The traditional Scotsman's standby is not socially acceptable when you're dancing vigorously in front of groups of mixed ages and sensitivities.

We will kick off May Day by dancing the sun up at Gasworks Park, rain or shine (the former is forecast...this is the Pacific Northwest). Morris sides around the world will be performing in like manner, following an ancient tradition which dismisses winter and welcomes spring. After breakfast, we will make a "tour" to various schools and other locations until mid-day when we'll all adjourn to a pub. In addition to other local fairs over the summer, we'll be dancing at Folklife, so if you live in the Seattle area, be sure to put the event on your calendar.

White-Crowned Sparrow

Day 195: "Sparrows with racing stripes." That's what I call White-Crowned Sparrows (Zonotrichia leucophrys), and they're such active little hoppers that it suits them well. They're the most common sparrow in my yard, but even so, the populations of other species like juncoes and purple finches have always outnumbered them by a substantial margin. Not this year! The yard is positively alive with them, a dozen or more at the base of each feeder, scavenging the seeds kicked out by other birds. They prefer to forage on the ground, although they will visit the feeders when discarded food runs short or when I've put out fresh nyger (a favourite with them).

True Morels

True Morel, Morchella angusticeps

Day 194: About ten days ago, I posted a photo of the false Morel, Verpa bohemica (see below). It is easy to confuse with the true Morel, Morchella angusticeps (above). To the untrained eye or sometimes even to the under-informed novice, the distinction between "pits" (Morel) and "wrinkles" (Verpa) is a hard one to make, even when the pits of the Morel make a more or less radial pattern from the top of the cap. The easiest way to tell them apart is to observe how the cap is attached to the stipe. Note that in the cross-section of the true Morel, it is attached at the base. In Verpa, it hangs from the top like a lampshade.

While most people are able to eat properly-cooked Morels, Verpa (also considered edible) causes digestive distress in a greater number of individuals, but with any mushroom where that caution is given, it is advisable to only eat a small quantity until you have determined your tolerance for them. I can eat Morels, but have been hesitant to try Verpa after having had an unfavourable response to another purportedly edible-and-choice species (Hericium).

False Morel, Verpa bohemica

Spring Beaks

Day 193: One of the happiest moments in my year is when I hear the first "Churp?" of an Evening Grosbeak at the feeder. From that point on, I wait anxiously for the arrival of the flock and the time when the querulous "churping" of porch-parrots outside the window becomes almost constant. Yes, they have arrived and are consuming black-oil sunflower seeds as fast as those great green beaks can crack the shells.

During breeding season (i.e., spring), the beaks of both males and females turn a bright chartreuse. In courting his lady-of-the-moment, the male (right) effects a bobbing dance, sometimes fluttering the wings like a juvenile bird soliciting food. Nest-building is done largely by the female (left) who selects a site in the fork of a branch. Locally, the preferred nest-tree is Douglas Fir, although these birds nest may nest in deciduous trees as well. The female will produce 2-5 eggs (generally 3-4). Incubation is done solely by the female; the male will bring her food. Both parents tend the young who will be ready to fly about two weeks from hatching. During the months they are here, I keep a steady supply of sunflower seed in the feeders to assure the return of the flock next year.

Namesake

Day 192: Over the course of some 50-plus years, I have learned to say four "words" in Crow-speak. It's hard enough learning to speak a human foreign language; learning how to communicate in the language of another species requires first understanding the mode of communication. Let's take it to an extreme. We'll assume for the moment that when extraterrestrials land on Earth, they will have a vocal language. We cannot expect to be able to translate it word-for-word; we can't even do that reliably with our own languages, e.g., "Ich bin ganz voll" translates literally from German as "I am completely full," something you might say after dinner. In fact, it means something quite different: "I'm pregnant." Once you understand the context, the literal translation makes sense, but the origins of other euphemisms are not as easily connected. However, in communicating with another species, we have a broader gap to bridge: what factors make up the base of their system?

Scientists have identified over 200 different vocalizations among ravens, distinguishable by analysis of their respective sonograms. They know that each one signifies something, but what? These quorks and caws do not represent words as we know them. They cannot be strung together to make sentences in the way human words are. Rather, they convey a specific concept, as if in human speech the sentence "I'm eating a sandwich in the back yard under the maple tree" were to be compacted to the single idea, "wgnrmy." Crows have a language similar to that of ravens in that they speak in this conceptual form. The human throat probably isn't capable of producing the subtleties of sound which would show up in a sonogram of Crow-speak, but accented or not, I have learned how to tell my friends my identity and location (one word), that food is safe to take, that food is dangerous to approach, and lastly, that there is danger in the area. They trust me to tell them the truth. On one occasion many years ago, I inadvertently misinformed the Breakfast Bunch by telling them that the food was safe to approach. What I didn't know was that my neighbour had just gotten in his truck and was preparing to leave for work. As soon as he started the engine, every crow fled in haste and I could not get them to come back to the board for a week. Honesty is apparently valued quite highly in the world of corvids, and therefore I have never used that "word" again.

Seattle March For Science

Day 191 (bonus post): Rain and wind were not enough to deter thousands of people from turning out for the March for Science in Seattle today. The day started out dry, but once the speakers had finished and we actually started marching along the route, rain fell steadily for about half an hour. Gusty wind had it difficult to keep signs aloft. Fortunately, I'd had the foresight to wrap mine in plastic. I had met up with several people from the Morris dance group and marched with them from Cal Anderson Park on Capitol Hill to Seattle Center. I believe we were near the middle of the group which must have extended at least three-quarters of a mile on either side of us. I've heard one rough estimate of 24,000 attendees, the stalwart Pacific Northwesterners who won't let a little rain stop them!

Earth Day

Day 191: Happy Earth Day, and it could hardly be more typically "Pacific Northwest" than what's blustering outside my windows at the moment. The wind has already begun and rain is to follow; I'll be marching for science despite the weather. After all, little fellers like these Stream Violets (Viola glabella) need someone to stand up for them. It's not just about polar bears and shrinking glaciers, the big things which make the news. There are thousands...yes, I said thousands...of species of plants, animals, insects, etc. which are on the verge of extinction. Certainly it can be argued that extinction is part of the natural process and I will not debate that, but for it to occur over such a wide range of species in so short a period of time indicates that there is more going on than can be laid to natural order. Whether the process can be slowed is debatable, but we can take steps to keep it from accelerating. The choice rests with us: do we want our children's children to choke and starve on a sick and dying world, or do we want to sacrifice a few creature-comforts so that our own species can survive?

A-Peeling

Day 190: My project for the morning was a bit different from my customary handcrafts. When my good neighbour Clyde started pruning his fruit trees, I put in a request for as many straight lengths of plum-wood as he could supply, given a specific diameter and length. After curing for a year, they will be ready to be cut to the proper length and lightly sanded for use by my fellow Morris dancers. This morning, I barked...woof!...with a linoleum knife, a very handy tools for the job. Each stick took about fifteen minutes to work down to the good wood as I stripped away both bark and cambium from the green branches. The exposed wood was light at first, darkened after just a few minutes' exposure to air. I'm curious as to how the colour will age after a year of sitting in the garage.

Pilophoron Acicularis

Day 189: This post is to serve as a reminder-to-self: the proper term is Pilophoron aciculare. In fact, it has been so recently updated that even the database I use to keep current with taxonomic changes has not yet revised the nomenclature. I got caught with my britches down when I handed in an update to the names of lichens found in the Park; our Plant Ecologist had checked a different reference where he found the gender-correct Latin.

A lot of taxonomic updates are just that: grammatical improvements on an earlier name. It's a bit of a bother, but it has to happen on somebody's shift, and it might as well be mine. It puts me in mind of how the attempt to convert US measurements to metric failed when people rebelled against what would have been a much easier system, preferring to lumber on with what was comfortable rather than make the effort to improve. I railed against "willful ignorance" at the time, a futile protest but one which served to firm up my own resolve to keep abreast of other progressive revisions. To this day, it baffles me that anyone would choose to stand still or even move backwards in this regard.

So: Pilophoron aciculare, my best colony, has only recently emerged from cover of snow at Longmire, and it's healthier than ever. Thousands of little blackheads cover the vertical face of a rock immediately beside the road to the Community Building, and others are cropping up both north and south of it. Perhaps this was the parent colony; I don't know. In any event, this rock is as woolly with them as if it were a Chia pet, not a one longer than an inch and a half. Anyone who walks with me in that direction gets the whole lecture!

Xanthoria Polycarpa

Day 188: If you have ever seen Xanthoria polycarpa (above) or its eastern cousin, X. parietina, you will never forget the colour. Seen in the distance, it assaults the eye with a statement of orange which is undeniable, but on closer observation, hints of yellow and green insert themselves into the visual perception, leaving the viewer rather in want of a proper adjective to describe the hue. To my eye, it is beautiful, arguably one of the most striking lichens in the catalog, yet I have heard more responses of "ewwwww!" to it than to any other species. Young growth or that which receives more sunlight is often a richer, orangy shade; the abundant apothecial disks exhibit strongly coloured centers surrounded by pale rims. Although this species is occasionally observed on evergreens, it prefers hardwood, here seen on the lower portion of a flowering plum which it almost entirely covered. The effect of pink flowers or mahogany leaves rising above an orange trunk is truly other-worldly!

Morning-Glory Plume Moth, Emmelina Monodactyla

Day 187: They're not uncommon, but they certainly are unusual. I call them "airplane bugs," and some people refer to them as "T-moths," a reference to their characteristic posture. In fact, this critter is a Morning-Glory Plume Moth (Emmelina monodactyla), one of nearly 170 species of plume moth in North America. In this photo, the second pair of legs is concealed by the wings which are held at a 90-degree angle to the body. Open, these wings are divided into four or five narrow, feathery sections. The official common name reflects the host plant preferred by this moth; plumes have been used as biological controls for certain invasive weeds, although this one is native to the state.

Verpa Bohemica Anatomy

Day 186: Quoting one field guide regarding false morels, "This is a really variable group, with toxic and edible species resembling each other confusingly. The chance for error is great. In addition, many people are adversely affected by some of the edible species...the toxins are not completely known, but the effect of one of them, monamethylhydrazine (MMH) in the bloodstream, is severe gastrointestinal disturbance and, in some cases, death." It goes on to explain that Verpa bohemica (above) "is eaten by many but it does make some people ill."

At 50 MPH, it's impossible to make a firm identification of a mushroom, so when I travelled the road again a week later and saw that the specimens had multiplied, I found a spot to turn around and went back to check them out. To my great disappointment, I saw that they were not the Morels I'd been hoping to have for dinner, but were Verpa bohemica instead. Nope, not gonna take a chance. I've been sick on one purportedly "edible and choice" mushroom (the Hericium commonly called "bear's-head) which comes with a similar caution. It was not an experience I care to repeat. If there is one rule to govern the gathering and eating of mushrooms, it is this: Better safe than sorry!

That said, I do love my Morels when I can find them, but in this case, I was out of luck. Since these two families of mushroom resemble each other superficially, I picked one so I could show my readers how to identify the suspect Verpas. Field guides will tell you that the cap of a Morel is "pitted" and that of Verpa is "wrinkled," but as you can tell from looking at this photo, that distinction is not one which can be readily made by most people. A much more reliable indicator is the attachment of the cap. In the cross-section, note how the cap of Verpa is attached only at the top of the stipe, like a lampshade. Almost without exception, the true Morel's cap will be attached to the stalk rather than opening out into a skirt.

Easter Blooms

Day 185: The colour in my garden is patchy, but there's no denying that Spring has arrived. My earliest memories of Easter involved searching for eggs in my parents' garden, and I think it's fair to say that I was more entranced by the flowers than by the treats the famous Bunny had left beneath them. Invariably during my hunt, a few stems of Grape Hyacinth would be broken, and of course these were gathered up to be accompanied by a few deliberately-picked daffodils and the obligatory do-you-like-butter dandelions. Lilacs came later, in time for May Day, followed by the blood-red peonies which my father so dearly loved. Sometimes there were sweet peas, a plant I have never successfully grown here at the foot of the Mountain. Today, my complement includes daffodils and narcissi (we won't quibble over semantics), Fritillaria meleagris, grape hyacinth, pigsqueak (Bergenia), heather, a Patty Plant, wild currant, abundant hellebore and snowflakes. If the Bunny were to bring me eggs today, he'd have no trouble matching them to a hiding place, whatever colour they might be.

MORA Litter Pickers

Day 184: There has never been a lot of doubt in my mind, but whatever may have lingered was dispelled today: people are pigs. This intrepid crew of ten litter-pickers collected thirteen bags of garbage, one tire, two dog carcases bagged and dropped on the roadside by the animals' former owners and one live shotgun shell, all from one two-mile stretch of highway which, incidentally, we cleaned up late last September. Litter-picking is NOT a boring job! Five of the team are consistent returnees, joining forces with five new volunteers in a partnership Mount Rainier National Park has maintained with the Washington State Dept. of Transportation for the last four years. I am proud to say that this project was "my baby" from the get-go. I suggested it to my supervisor who told me to run with it. I just wish the careless, heedless people who travel this road would put me on the unemployment line.

Kitted Out For May Day

Day 183: The costumes worn in Morris dance vary widely. In some traditions, performers wear blackface, their garments lavishly decorated with bits of tattered cloth; others wear long stockings and knee-length trousers; some dress entirely in black or white. However, bell-pads worn on the shins are almost universal; they are what Morris dance means to most people, as are the sticks used in "clashing" or fluttering handkerchieves. Morris is a very colourful and energetic display, dancers weaving in and out among themselves in the figure known as the hey, or capering and leaping with great vigour as they perform set figures.

On May Day, your narrator will be dancing the sun up at Gasworks Park in Seattle as part of the Sound & Fury Morris team, my first public performance. I don't have team kit yet (they wear kilts), so I put together my own outfit from a different tradition, not a problem since we'll likely be joined by other Morris sides at this jamboree. I'm only confident in one stick-dance (Cobb's Horse), so will also be filling in as a musician, playing tambourine/bodhran. After sunup, we'll be dancing at other locations around Seattle until lunchtime. Post-performance, we'll undoubtedly observe another cherished tradition of Morris: a visit to the nearest pub!

Rootworks

Day 182: Lest any of my readers think that when I'm out walking, my eyes are always keen toward the ends of the botanical spectrum (i.e., invasives or rarities), I have decided to present you with a bit of Nature's art today.

This cedar root was exposed when a road was put in, but at some point in the distant past, it had its origin as a tendril. A tiny thread of living material found a crack or a hole where some soil had gathered, established itself and grew, filling the space and exerting force against the surrounding rock. Ah, what force there is in growth! Unable to resist its influence, the rock yielded. It may have shifted or it may have cracked, but in any event, it gave the root more space. Indeed, this process continues to this day. If the root remains nourished and free from disease or the ravages of age, if it persists in pushing against the seemingly stronger rock, the crack will widen to accomodate it and in time, the rock will crumble.

It would be easy to stop here to draw a lesson, but of course in Nature, the fable doesn't end with the valiant and beautiful tree's victory over the confining, cruel rock. It too shall fall, perhaps due to destroying its own underpinnings or simply from outliving its usefulness in this scenario. That's Nature, and it's been working properly on this planet for over four billion years.

Yes, I Said Lichen

Day 181: The taxonomists have struck again. Only recently renamed Lichenomphalia umbellifera (formerly Omphalina umbellifera) is one of the most unusual lichens you may encounter. Wait, did you say "lichen?" Yes, I did. It is one of very few species of lichen which carries out its reproductive process in the same manner as a mushroom, i.e., with spores which grow out out of cells (basidiomycetes) rather than being contained within them (ascomycetes). The thallus (vegetative body) is actually the pea-green crust you see on the wood. The "mushroom" is the fruiting body. For once, I applaud the taxonomists. Now perhaps with its new name, this LICHEN will get the respect it deserves and will no longer be dismissed as "that little tan mushroom."

Oxalis

Day 180: Some people refer to Oxalis (Wood Sorrel) as "shamrock," although the true shamrock of Ireland is a form of clover. The leaf is divided into three lobes, giving the plants the appearance of having three leaves. Oxalis' similarity to clover ends there. The flowers of the two most common species (both native) have five white petals streaked with purplish veins. A third non-native PNW species has yellow flowers and smaller leaves, and tends to be quite aggressive where it occurs. Despite the fact that this plant is classified as edible, consumption is not advised due to the high concentration of oxalic acid in the leaves. Oxalic acid crystals accumulate in the kidneys (i.e., the crystals form kidney-stones).

Spoon Season

Day 179: It's Spoon Season! I hadn't expected it quite this early, so it was a good thing that I stopped by Watson's Nursery while I was in town a few days ago. The "Spoon Flower" Osteospermums sell out rapidly! I bought two in bud, this medium purple (described as "pink" on the tag) and my favourite dark purple. I had planted three in the "spoon pot" last year and they developed into a mound two feet high by three wide, rather too crowded for the space I allowed. Two should allow for more breathing room.

This blossom is not fully open. When the petals are mature, they will be open only at the ends and thus the common name of "Spoon Flower" is very descriptive. They are an eye-catcher in any garden! I have yet to find them available as seed, but I could easily be tempted to fill my flowerbeds with them.

Redwinged Blackbird Invasion Force

Day 178: I don't recall having ever had as many Redwinged Blackbirds in my yard, nor that they have ever hung around for more than a few days while in transit to Mineral Lake, their customary habitat. This year, the first ones arrived about a month ago, stayed for a week (longer than usual even at that), and then I saw what I assumed to be a few stragglers passing through every few days or so. Today, they seized control of the contorted filbert within minutes of the time I had put out seed, eight or nine females (left) and four or five males (right). I stayed on the porch, not willing to risk my hide for closer shots. The males were actively displaying, spreading their wings and calling.

Don't laugh. Redwings are notoriously territorial toward other birds during mating season and will even conduct air strikes on humans if they feel their nesting area is threatened. Several years ago, I saw a sign on the fence surrounding a water-reclamation pool at a business park: WARNING - AGGRESSIVE BLACK BIRD. Apparently, employees were being terrorized while on lunch break, and people arriving to do business were being driven back to the safety of their vehicles.

I'm puzzled as to why I have so many this year. There are no cattails growing in the ditches nearby, and the nearest bodies of water (excluding a small stream) are Mineral Lake and Alder Lake, each about two miles away. Theoretically, there should be no draw to bring these birds to my yard. I'm a little ashamed of myself for saying it, but I hope they move on fairly soon.

The Lily Clan

Day 177: Colour in flowers often provides some visual cue to pollinators, whether as an attractor or as a signpost en route to the reproductive structures. Hummingbirds are famously drawn to blossoms in the red and blue hues (wild currant, delphiniuims) and other plants (Violas, for example) may exhibit fine, dark lines known as "bee guides" on their petals. Blossoms which are zoned like Gazanias could even be likened to a bull's-eye target. That being the case, what strategy governs Fritillaria meleagris (here a commercial cultivar) that it's gone tartan? This one truly puzzles me! As I discovered when sniffing a wild one, this member of the lily family has one of the most unpleasant smells I have ever experienced, rather like a bordello after a busy night. I don't know if the odor has been bred out of the domesticated cultivars; I'm not willing to get that close, not even for the sake of science.

The Hexaghan

Day 176: I am now in the limbo between projects. The Hexaghan (all 104 blocks of it) is assembled, edged and ready to put away. I'd like to say that every colour represents a pair of socks, but that's not quite true. In order to have a wider array of colours, I hit up a friend who allowed me access to her yarn stash. That said, quite a few of the colours represent MORE than one pair of socks, so I think it balances out. The hexagon design was my own invention (the internet will yield up quite a few patterns if you're not up to making your own). All blocks were made first, then laid out on the floor in an 8 x 13 grid divided into quarters for ease of keeping too much of any one colour from appearing in one section, and then were stacked by row for assembly. The black matrix required 17 ounces of worsted.

But now what? What do I want to make next? I already have enough socks, mittens, hats and smaller afghans to fill a whole table at the Park's Christmas auction, and I can barely close my own sock drawer. I've socked friends repeatedly, and just recently sent out a round of hats. I even made an extra "brain hat" for Kevin. I cannot countenance leaving my hands idle, but where do I go from here? Decisions, decisions!

Starts With A C...

Day 175: Here we go again. "It starts with a C...dammit...it's a crucifer...Cor...Claytonia...no, not Claytonia...Cr...Cl...Ca...wait, that sounds right...Cal...Cra...crap! I've lost it again!" Can somebody tell me why I go through this identical train of thought (usually aloud) every single blinkety-blank year when the CARDAMINE comes into bloom? That word just doesn't want to stick in my head. Sometimes, I even think, "It has something to do with 'heart,'" but "Cardamine" takes the deepest mental excavation of any plant name in my lexicon. I make a point of looking for them in my yard every spring, pacing the fenceline to the rhythmic recitation of "Cab, cac, cad, caf, cag, cal, cam, can, cap, car..." followed by the customary pause as the consonant registers. I almost wish the taxonomists (the plural banes of my existence) would reclassify this one. It might make it easier to retrieve from the depths of my cerebral databank.

Gilbert And Sullivan

Day 174: How's your opera knowledge? In which Gilbert and Sullivan opera do we hear:
The flowers that bloom in the spring -tra la-
Breathe promise of merry sunshine!
As we merrily dance and we sing, -tra la-
We welcome the hope that they bring, -tra la-
Of a summer of roses and wine,
Of a summer of roses and wine.
And that's what we mean when we say that a thing
Is welcome as flowers that bloom in the spring.

Why, "The Mikado," of course! It's "The Flowers that Bloom in the Spring." I learned the song (piano and vocal) when I was very young and invariably sing it when the first blossoms appear in my garden. Like much of Gilbert and Sullivan's work, it has a tendency to stick in the mind, not quite an ohrwurm in that it doesn't become annoying before my brain moves on to another tune (hopefully not "The Modern Major General" which I have a hard time getting rid of, or Tom Lehrer's spin-off, "The Elements").

Currently, my Flowers that Bloom in the Spring include the Primulas which have been part of my inaccurately-designated "lawn" since I moved here, the Grape Hyacinths (another enduring resident), and the Snowflakes (Leucojum) which I planted a few years ago, as well as Hellebore, a few freshly opened daffodils, heather and red currant (in bud). Ah, the hope that they bring, tra-la! It does my heart good to see colour in the garden after the long, grey winter.

First Sighting 2017

Day 173: When I went up to Sulphur Creek Falls ten days ago, I was watching for both Trillium and Cardamine blossoms and only saw a few buds of the latter. This week's trip yielded up half a dozen Trilliums although none were fully open. I had to come in from underneath this one (not a problem on the steep slope!), and it was here that I also found one of yesterday's snails, almost entirely concealed by forest duff.

Common names being what they are, the epithet "wake-robin" applies broadly to several different species of Trillium, yet uncharacteristically in a person who prefers the precision of scientific Latin to common usage, the name inspires me with a sense of spring's true return and therefore, it's how I address these lovely lilies when I find them. They are extremely fragile and do not transplant well, but I am favoured by having a few in the wooded strip at the edge of my property. They are not as common in Pacific Northwestern forests as they were in the days of my childhood, days before I was aware of their delicate biology. I am guilty of having picked a few in my youth, and it haunts me that I contributed even in that small way to their decline. Perhaps that's why when I see the first ones each spring, I always share the message: do not dig, do not pick. Your conscience is watching over your shoulder.

Sulphur Creek Snails

Day 172: Proof that I never outgrew being a tomboy, I came home from both of my last two trips to Sulphur Creek Falls with my shirt pocket full of snail shells. Fortunately at this time of the year, most of those I found were empty, so no snails were harmed in my efforts to identify two species common in western Washington forests. I learned a lot about gastropod biology while researching these, and if the thought of a pocketful of snails didn't ruin your breakfast, the best is yet to come. Those of you with weak stomachs should probably step away from the screen.

The critter on the right is Haplotrema vancouverense, aka the Robust Landtooth. Innocent as it may look, it is predatory on other gastropod species as well as being cannibalistic. It is very common in wet lowland forest, but often conceals itself under leaf litter, so mind where you step!

On the left is Monadenia fidelis, the Pacific Sideband. This species is hermaphroditic (as are many snails) and employs "love darts" during mating. The partners deploy sharp-pointed reproductive organs which not only serve to transfer sperm-boosting chemicals, but act as a deterrent to subsequent mating with another snail. According to National Geographic, "(I)t isn't clear whether the loss of libido is caused by a chemical on the darts or is a result of physical trauma."

Frankia Nodules

Day 171: Here it is, the botanical curiosity which necessitated a second trip to Swofford Pond and Sulphur Creek Falls. My initial photos from a week ago were sufficient to obtain an expert's identification, but regrettably were rather poorly focused. It's not easy to get a clear photo when you're in dark woods with nowhere to stand a tripod because of the steepness of the slope! So what is it? Nothing particularly rare, just not often seen because the roots on which it grows are generally covered by soil and aren't exposed until the host tree falls over. It's a root nodule, birthed from a bacterial infection (beneficial, not harmful) by one of several generalized species of Frankia (of the Frankias, only F. alni is classified taxonomically, representing its host species of Alder). Frankia colonies form in the absence of nitrogen in the soil, i.e., they are nitrogen-fixers. The blebs of a mature colony are filled with bacterial filaments which convert atmospheric nitrogen into a form which can then be utilized by their hosts.

My first thought upon encountering it was that it was some type of gall, the same supposition which had been made in 1679 when it was first discovered (thank you, Google). I have seen some very unusual outgrowths as the result of infestation by gall-producing insects including one I mistook for a lichen growing on blue huckleberry. Then I wondered if it could have been produced by a nematode, but that too was wrong. I owe great thanks to our Park ecologist who referred my initial photos out to a second expert with whose aid the mystery was solved.

Return To Sulphur Creek Falls

Day 170: How many people do you know who would drive 70 miles and hike through muddy trailless forest just to get a better picture of a botanical specimen? Mind you, I said "a better picture." The ones I took last week weren't quite as well-focused as I would have liked. They were sufficient that when I sent one off to an expert who in turn sent it off to another expert, she was able to return an identification to me, but in my book, the picture just wasn't "blogworthy." The specimen wasn't anything rare, just...odd. You'll see it in an upcoming post.

As long as I was going to have to go halfway up the hill, I figured I'd attack the remaining distance to the falls to do some maintenance on a geocache for a friend. The cache used to be mine; I turned it over to him several years ago. He never gets up to the falls but I do, so it makes sense for me to take care of it. I also had another job in mind. The local "party boys" get up there every now and then, and inevitably, there's some trash to take out. I hadn't been equipped to do that last week, but yesterday, I went prepared. I also wanted to remove about 30' of heavy-duty tie-down strap they'd been using as a rappelling rope to get down the last slope. I don't rappel. Why should they? If they want to mess up the site, they're going to have to work harder at it now.

I overexposed the falls in this photo in an attempt to bring the foreground out, but even so, I had to pull the shadows up substantially, particularly on my face. It's DARK in there! The walls of the canyon are very close and high, and I doubt if direct sunlight hits that rock more than half an hour a day on more than 14 days per year. Everything is covered in a thick layer of slippery, wet moss except the newer wood which has been carried over the falls during heavy rain. But there is a mystery I have yet to solve: what is the source of Sulphur Creek? On the topo map, it looks like a small drainage nourished by nothing more than runoff which, incidentally, goes two ways from the spine of Green Mountain Road. To the north, it drains into Swofford Pond (subsidiary to larger Riffe Lake). To the east, it drains immediately into Riffe. There is no lake feeding it, but it never goes completely dry. Unfortunately, all the land above it is privately held, so I can't go exploring. I guess there are some things we're just not meant to know.