Sound & Fury Morris At Folklife

Day 230: First of all, I would like to thank the photographer from Merry Missives of Moscow for providing these images of our Sunday performance at Folklife. The Merry Missives are young dancers who attend a charter school in Moscow ID. They have no musicians of their own, so Sound & Fury's musos played for them. It was a privilege to share the stage with such an enthusiastic group of youngsters. They will carry the tradition of Morris dance into the next generation.

We performed in rotation with the Merry Missives, and opened with our new show piece, "Cobb's Horse." As you all know, I am new to Morris, so it was nice to have other dancers learning steps alongside me. The footwork for Cobb's is fairly simple, i.e., no galleys, no hocklebacks, no great leaps or complicated crossings. I struggled with the terminology at first, but now terms like "process up," "half-gip," "hands around," "foot down" are beginning to make sense. Clashing...well, it's not quite sword-fighting with sticks, but definitely has appeal for this old pirate.

In between dances, I double as a "muso" (musician). I don't have the requisite confidence to play my concertina in front of other members of the side, so I thump the bodhran or shake the tambourine.

Most Morris sides have a "hobby," a term you might equate with "hobby horse." Ours is Finn the Salmon. Finn's job is to accept donations from the audience, as well as occasionally weaving in and out among the performers as they dance. Unfortunately, our Sunday stage was too small for him to interface with us on the dance floor.

Depending on regional tradition, Morris footwork and costumes vary widely. Sound & Fury largely dances in the Adderbury tradition, a high-energy style. Bell pads are worn on the shins, not your standard jingle bell but rather ones made from much heavier brass. The ringing is quite loud! Dances nearly always involve either sticks or hankies, and are appropriately known as "stick dances" or "hanky dances." It might seem odd, but hanky dances are harder to execute since there are more things you can do with hankies and the timing must be perfect.

"Sweet Jenny Jones" is another of the dances I've learned so far with Sound & Fury. It is a stick dance and ends with a hey (dancers weaving between others in their line, returning to their orginal position at the end). In the hey, the top dancer (the one closest to the musicians) always passes right shoulder to right shoulder with the person approaching from below them in the set. Depending on whether you have a three-man line or a four-man line, the dancer at the foot (me) passes right or left respectively, a subtlety which almost always escapes me when my mind is on the footwork. I am happy to say that when I watched a video of our performance of "Jenny," I actually did the hey right for once!

As I mentioned earlier, Adderbury Morris is a particularly high-energy dance. Foreman Dave and Squire Dan catch some REALLY big air when they leap! This move always draws cheers and shouts of "Higher! Higher!" from the crowd.

There is some concern over whether or not Folklife will be able to continue. It started in 1972 as a small "hippie" music fete and has grown to its present state with over 5000 performers and 235,000 attendees in 2017. It's free, and therein lies the rub. It is enormously expensive to engage the entire 1960s World's Fair venue, to say nothing of advertising and other operational costs. This was my first time attending as either a member of the audience or a performer, and I will be back to dance next year if the festival can raise enough donations to continue.

Serviceberry

Day 229: Alternatively pronounced "SARviceberry," Serviceberry (Amelanchier alnifolia) may also be referred to as "Shadbush," a common name which reflects the fact that it blooms concurrently with the start of the shad run in both east and west coast rivers. Native peoples relied on such indicators as a calendar of food-source availability. Serviceberry also provided edible fruit in early to mid-June, berries similar in size and somewhat in taste to blueberries, if not quite as juicy. In Canada, this shrub wears yet another common name "Saskatoon" and in the midwest, it is known as "June-berry." Bushes can grow to 20' in height and can be found from sea level to approximately 4000' altitude.

Miner's Lettuce

Day 228: Today I bring you a rather mundane little plant which is often seen in lowland forests in the Pacific Northwest: Claytonia perfoliata, formerly known as Montia perfoliata. The second half of the binomial name is especially descriptive of the species. "Perfoliata" means "perforated leaf." The stem of this plant arises from the center of what appears to be a single fleshy leaf, but in fact it is two joined leaves as can be seen by observation of the two pointed tips. As the common name suggests, Miner's Lettuce is edible. It has a rather tangy taste, a little on the sour side. I wouldn't want to make a whole salad from it, but like nasturtium leaves, it would add a little extra zest to lettuce or romaine. Consumption of large amounts of Miner's Lettuce is not recommended because it contains oxalic acid which can lead to development of kidney stones, but snacking on a few vitamin-C rich leaves while you're out hiking might even be beneficial.

Sound & Fury Morris

Day 227 (bonus post): Despite temps in the mid-80s, Sound & Fury Morris filled Seattle Center's McCaw Promenade with dancers yesterday at Folklife Festival. We danced in rotation with three other sides, sometimes coming together for "massed dances" of performers from the various groups. I doubled as a musician, playing bodhran during the dances I haven't learned. It's rare to see so many of us together. Our Squire puts the side's total membership at 21 (not counting fishy Finn, our hobby). Here you see 17 of us with one future member of the Morris Offspring peeking out from behind my left elbow. We'll be back at Folklife today!

Virtual Tour

Day 227: My readers have often heard me speak of my lackadaisical approach to gardening, but over the last several years, I've put more effort into it than previously, putting in new flowerbeds, planting trees and shrubs, working in soil amendments and so on. Well, I am reaping much greater rewards than anticipated for the little effort those labours have actually been, and this year, I am pleased to say that my yard actually looks like a gardener lives here. Please join me for a virtual tour of a few of the plants currently in bloom.

We'll start in the upper left corner with Bachelor's Buttons. They are regarded as something of a pest by many people, but they remind me of my mother's garden when I was very young. I nicked my plant from a roadside ditch where it had strayed from someone's garden. It grows like a weed, so I maintain it to keep it from spreading.

The second image is of the Bridal Wreath Spiraea I added to the front yard last year, again a plant which recalls the gardens of my youth. My grandmother had a huge one. Mine is only about two feet tall, having grown about a foot since I planted it.

Next in line is a commercial cultivar of the blue Columbine familiar to most Montanans. I purchased it as a tiny start a year ago as part of my colour replacement plan to substitute blues for pinks. It is my favourite Columbine.

The daisies in the fourth photo are Delospermum, an annual. They fill the top of a small strawberry jar. They are succulents, and therefore can survive near-drought conditions. I couldn't decide which of three colours I liked best: orange, yellow or red, so I got all three.

The bottom row starts with Siberian Iris, and yes, these can also become quite a pest. Mine came with the house, and I thin them out every few years to keep them from taking over the yard.

Next is the lilac, and thereby hangs a tale. It was not in good shape, so I took the recommendation of a gardening handbook and hacked it off a foot above ground level. The manual assured me that it would come back to full glory in four years. Only this year, approximately fifteen years from its major surgery, is it in full and lavish bloom. Lesson learned. I'll never do that again.

Oriental poppies are a flower I can't hate but can't exactly love, either. They also grow like weeds and spread wildly. It took me ten years to remove the last traces of this one's forebears from the east-side flowerbed, but I couldn't bear to kill it off entirely. It now lives in the "Barren Wasteland" between my house and garage, happy as Larry and providing a blast of colour where it's really needed.

Lily-of-the-valley brings back memories of sitting on my grandmother's back steps when I was three or four years old, surrounded by sweet fragrance. The scent was one Grandma also wore as perfume: Muguet de Bois.

Last is Lithodora, its vibrant stars so shockingly blue that visitors can hardly believe they're real. As far as I'm concerned, it can take over the entire bed beside the driveway, a spot in which it seems to be quite happy.

There are other things in bloom in my yard as well: Bleeding-heart, Kerria, fat blood-red peonies, heather, snapdragons, the Akebia vines...and there are even more things to come, to say nothing of shrubs and ferns and other foliage plants. When I look out over the garden now, somehow I forget all about those days of weeding until my back ached and my fingernails were broken and filthy. It's been worth it all.

Oregon Boxwood, Paxistima Myrsinites

Day 226: This shrub has been a puzzlement to me for many (many!) years. I first observed it growing along Skate Creek Road and thought that it was an admirable foliage plant with its toothed leaves. I had never observed it flowering until a few days ago when I was wandering through Longmire Campground. It is quite small, and I took the flowers to be buds in tight clusters, and it was only when I took a sample in to ask our Plant Ecologist for an identification that I got a better look. He identified it immediately as Paxistima myrsinites (Oregon Boxwood), although he was somewhat surprised by its location. I had not gotten a good picture of the flower (not realizing it was in full bloom), so made a second sally over the bridge for a better shot, grateful that I had finally been able to lay to rest a botanical mystery which had been troubling me for ages.

The Martians Have Landed

Day 225: What strange lifeform is this? It is a bryophyte, but it is not a moss. It is a liverwort, specifically Asterella gracilis. Liverworts are not as abundant as mosses in the Pacific Northwest, and many of them go unnoticed because the leafy forms resemble some of our mosses very closely. This photo shows the female receptacles of this species. These reproductive structures have four or more lobes, each containing a single sporangium (the black "eyes"). As these ripen and prepare to release spores, the involucres (the white X surrounding the sporangia) will separate and will give the receptacle the appearance of having a lacy white skirt around its edge. The thallus (body), hidden beneath the moss, is a small lichen-like rosette, green on top, dark red underneath. Close examination of the thallus with a hand lens will show oil bodies as tiny dots in the tissue, a feature lacking in lichens and mosses.

Panic

Day 224: "This is terrific," Arthur thought to himself, "Nelson's Column has gone, McDonald's has gone, all that's left is me and the words 'Mostly harmless.' Any second now all that will be left is 'Mostly harmless.' And yesterday the planet seemed to be going so well."

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy says that if you hold a lungful of air you can survive in the total vacuum of space for about thirty seconds. However, it does go on to say that what with space being the mind-boggling size it is the chances of getting picked up by another ship within those thirty seconds are two to the power of two hundred and seventy-six thousand, seven hundred and nine to one against.

...twenty-nine seconds later Ford and Arthur were rescued.

*****

I'm reprising a photo from 2015, partly because it's one of the best pieces of photoshopping I've ever done, but moreso for its appropriateness to current events. We are ticking much too closely to the twenty-ninth second, and I'm not sure I can hold my breath for the full duration. Yesterday, the planet seemed to be going so well. Then in an instant, the icons we held in high regard as well as those which were persistently but not dangerously annoying were thrown down and crushed beneath the onslaught of a mindless yellowy-orange machine. Like Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect, we are now suspended in the total vacuum of space. Where is the Heart of Gold? Where is Zaphod Beeblebrox? I think I've lost my towel.

Ginkgo Biloba

Day 223: Late last fall, a rather sickly Ginkgo followed me home. I had serious concerns about its chances for survival, so rather than putting it directly in the ground, I stuck it in a one-gallon nursery pot to confine its roots and buried the pot. It's a system which has almost always given me good results. The tree was about three feet tall with only a couple of branches. I watched them very closely for any sign of new growth this spring. Sure enough, little green buds began appearing about six weeks ago. I was honestly surprised that it had survived the winter. I transferred it to its permanent location about two weeks later, and I'm happy to say that it is leafing out beautifully. In fall, the leaves turn golden-yellow, definitely a showpiece in the garden.

Super-Cool Slime Mold

Day 222: Today, botanists and others honour the birthday of Carl Linnaeus, father of our current system of binomial nomenclature, so although I praise him today, I'll be back to damning him and the breed he spawned the very next time I discover that some plant/lichen/fungus I've found has been renamed since whatever field guide I have open was written. Taxonomy! I love it because it classifies things and makes sense of them. I curse it because it's a fluid science, and what we thought we knew yesterday may prove to be wrong tomorrow, necessitating reclassification and an update to the nomenclature.

Linnaeus' original system consisted of three kingdoms: animals, plants and minerals. Anything non-living fell into the latter category. We have since refined his "Systema Naturae" and today use six kingdoms (five if you're European) to incorporate all living things: Animalia, Plantae, Fungi, Protista, Archaea and Bacteria. Slime molds were originally classified under Fungi, but when it became apparent that they were capable of locomotion, communication and cooperation, scientists kinda had to take a step back to ask themselves a burning question: "Just exactly what the hell is this thing, anyway?" Fungi don't go hunting for food. These guys do, gathering together to move in response to a chemical signal as a mass, albeit slowly, to a new location. Originally, it was believed that portions of the organism were dying off and being replaced by new growth, but by using time-lapse microphotography, true motion of individual cellular entities was observed. This behaviour seemed more suited to the category of "animal" than to "fungus" or "plant," and thus a new kingdom was designated to include them and similar oddities: the protists.

How fast can slime mold move? If you were to set your cell-phone camera down beside a colony and record it for a period of 24 hours, you might see them advance or retreat several inches, "creepy" in the literal sense of the word. You might see them send out "fingers," scouting parties looking for a new food source. Or, as my botany partner Joe discovered when he went back to try to find them again 24 hours after this photo was taken, they may have done an Elvis and left the building entirely. And you thought "Little Shop of Horrors" was funny!

5/27/18 - My identification of Leocarpus fragilis has been confirmed by Angela Mele, slime-mold expert and artist.

Corallorhiza Trifida

Day 221: For the last two weeks or so, I have been monitoring three sites in the hopes of seeing Corallorhiza trifida, rare at Mount Rainier National Park. We discovered it two years ago and thought we'd hit the jackpot with a total of four specimens; at that time, it had not been observed in the Park since 1999. In 2016, my two botany partners and I made a concerted search for the species and turned up a whopping sixteen. In the vernacular, we were "over the moon!" Until yesterday, my 2017 total was again sixteen, all found while searching alone for threads of green no larger or longer than the lead in a standard pencil. It's slow work. Every footstep must be taken with enormous caution not to crush what might be a one-inch stem barely visible above the carpet of moss. Yesterday, Team Biota (the three of us) took to the woods again. When we emerged, we had surpassed the 2016 record by four specimens. Twenty! Only a few stalks bore open flowers, but a few more days of warm weather will bring out the remainder. Team Biota's first day in the field also turned up a new site for our favourite Liverwort as well as a slime mold I've referred to an expert for identification.
UPDATE: Joe went back up alone today and found three more, two in new locations and one at a site where we hadn't seen any yet this year. Twenty-THREE!

Calypso In White

Day 220: In between overseeing three volunteers on a campground project, I took time out for some botanical exploration and was rewarded with finding two snow-white specimens of Calypso bulbosa, Calypso Orchid. Calypsos' upper petals are normally magenta-pink, and the lower petal is marked with dark red lines in the heart and deep pink spots on the lip. In the white form, the interior lines are fainter and the spots are yellow. There is usually a slight hint of creamy pink in the upper petals. These two were by far the whitest I have ever seen. I had left my GPSr in the car (almost guaranteeing that I'd find something I wanted to record), so I found an easier way out, and assigned mental waypoints to several patches of lichen which could have been identical twins for every other patch of lichen in the area. On the return, I went unerringly to the Calypsos and took a reading. Now I know I can find them again when I come back with Team Biota. The white form is not a separate sub-species; it is a normal colour variation, although it is seen with much less frequency. Certain areas contain a higher percentage of white to pink, but whether that is due to genetics or habitat is something I don't know.

Make It Snappy!

Day 219: For many years, I struggled with starting my own bedding plants. I hung a fluorescent plant light above the washer and dryer (the only cat-proof space in the house big enough for seed flats), but every time I wanted to do laundry, I had to take it down and shift the trays in order to fill the top-loader washer. The windowsills were occupied by single-row flats; the south exposures too hot, the west exposures too shady, requiring an almost daily rotation from one room to another. From March to May (some of my favourites took 12 weeks to germinate), my living space became a greenhouse, but the rewards were not always as splendid as I had pictured them in my mind. When it finally came time to set out the seedlings, I was ready to be shut of responsibility to my botanical charges and would pop them into the ground with something less than parental sentiments as if they were teenagers I was glad to get out of the house. Accordingly, some failed and some flourished in the manner of all offspring regardless of species.

A few years ago during a cool, wet February, I put the pros and cons in the balance and decided that the expense of commercially-grown bedding plants was justified against the inconvenience and limited success of home horticulture. With the notable exception of Gazanias (not often seen in nurseries), I now buy starts. My job as greenhouse-keeper has not been eliminated entirely; availability does not always agree with the climate at this elevation, e.g., Spoonflowers and tomatoes must be bought when I find them, and repotted in larger containers to be held for setting out in the latter half of May. But unlike previous years when little bloomed until late summer, nowadays the status of my garden goes from bleak to colourful in a snap...(dragon).

Colour Replacement

Day 218: I do not have it in me to kill a plant which has graced my garden with colour even when that colour has been PINK. My readers can't have forgotten my avowed abhorrence of pink, nor the occasional rare exception which almost always has had a connection to the garden. You will not find a scrap of pink in my personal attire, but the occasional plant slips in under the radar (most likely if it attracts hummingbirds or pollinators). That said, the columbines which came with the house were all shades of pink but for one lovely yellow, and the hummers do love their sweet nectar. For years now, I have been scientifically relocating the pinks to other areas of the yard where I'll see them less often, putting blues and purples in their place. The issue is that in some cases, the plants have grown so closely together that I can't tell which root goes with what flower so that despite marking the stems of individuals destined for moving, sometimes bits of pink are left behind. And sometimes, age being what it is, I forget whether the stake with the ribbon indicates a plant I want to move or a plant I want to keep. As the buds are beginning to swell, I see my plans went somewhat awry this spring. I've put the last pink right smack in the center of the bed!

Cherry Blossom Time

Day 217: The expression "pick the low-hanging fruit" can be used in two contexts, metaphorically and literally. It can mean dealing with the easiest issues first, or in my back yard, harvesting pie cherries from the branches of the neighbour's tree where they extend well over the fence. If the jays don't beat me to the punch (and they generally go for fruit higher on the tree), I can gather enough for a pie, but I usually wind up eating them straight. I love the flavour of the sun-warm fruit, tart enough to curl your back teeth and pucker your tonsils.

The Mating Game

Day 216: Finally, the Akebias are sporting both male and female flowers on each vine! But with SNOW coming down in the rain yesterday and decidedly un-springlike temperatures, they are not producing pollen. I'm not worried. The next several days are supposed to see a dramatic rise in temps and pollen will soon be plentiful. I'll be out there with my little paintbrush tickling plant 'nads!

How do you tell boys from girls? The upper left white flower is female, as are the two large purple flowers. Look closely at the different structures. The male flower is smaller and has stamens, two-part organs consisting of a filament (thread-like stalk) and a pollen-bearing anther. The pollen must be transferred to the female stigma in order for fertilization to take place. Some plants are self-fertile, i.e., either their flowers consist of both male and female parts, or male and female flowers both appear on the same plant. In the case of Akebia, the flowers require being fertilized by another Akebia. In their natural habitat, this job is done by bees and wasps, but in the Pacific Northwest, Akebias bloom too early in the year, before the natural pollinators have emerged. Just for fun, I'm engaging in a little horticultural experiment, playing the role of matchmaker between my two vines.

The Medicinal Garden

Day 215: You might think that I would be the type of person who touted natural remedies as first-line curatives for anything from appendicitis to ingrown toenails. Not so, although I will admit that I often wish we didn't have to rely on chemical intervention to prevent disease. The fact of the matter is that nature can only do so much. Examples: strawberries contain a natural antibiotic which combats streptococcal bacteria, but eating them by the gallon will not cure a strep throat. Eating them in advance of being exposed to the bacteria will bolster natural resistance, but it is not a guarantee for stopping it from taking hold. Likewise, garlic will help lower blood pressure and high cholesterol, but the patient will also need to adjust their consumption of fats and salt, and in addition, may need to take an antihypertensive or statin to have any true measure of success. To paraphrase, "Nature helps those who help themselves." That said, I have a handful of plants I use as "spring tonics." Nettle tea is high in vitamin C and can give you just the boost you need to fight off that spring cold. Nettles are abundant in the Pacific Northwest; not so Goldenseal, my go-to immunity booster pictured above.

Goldenseal (Hydrastis canadensis) is native to northern Canada where it is also known as "yellow puccoon." It prefers the same habitat as buttercups, so when thirty years ago I found plants for sale at Pike Place Market, I bought two or three. I had a perfect spot for them between my house and garage, and for the first few years until they were well-established, I protected them with a two-foot tall "lath house" to maintain coolness and moisture. By the time the lath house deteriorated, my "medicinal garden" was firmly entrenched.

While Goldenseal root is offered by on-line sellers, buyers should understand that a tea made from the leaves is equally effective and not fatal to the plant. The yellow-orange roots are knotty and can be divided for propagation. Each root produces exactly TWO leaves, so if you want to cultivate a patch of it, harvesting roots is not the way to go! Bear in mind that a plant needs its leaves in order to photosynthesize as well. I judiciously harvest only leaf tips, cutting off an inch or so with scissors and leaving the main portion of the leaf intact. Enjoyment of the tea is an aquired taste. It is rather bitter and distinctly "herbal," but I have found it to be a very refreshing summertime drink. I keep a jar of it in the fridge, and just a few sips will quench my thirst.

Twayblade

Day 214: When people hear the word "orchid," their minds immediately conjure up images of sweet-scented corsages and magnificently coloured large flowers, but the family includes many other less flamboyant species and many of them live in the Pacific Northwest. The tallest of our Orchidaceae are the Corallorhizas, as is one of the smallest and rarest. The showiest by far is Calypso which even resembles a corsage orchid, but on a one-inch scale. Our forests are full of orchids if you know where and how to look for them! One of the tiniest members of the family is fairly common: Heart-Leaved Twayblade (Listera cordata). To put the size of its blossoms into perspective, compare the little black wasp engaged in pollinating the lowest flower in this image.

Native Bleeding-Heart

Day 213: On May 5, I posted a photo of the commercially-cultivated Asian Bleeding-Heart in my garden and mentioned that it is both larger and more colourful than our native variety. They bear the same species name, Lamprocapnos spectabilis (formerly Dicentra spectabilis), but I suspect there is subspecies nomenclature I have not been able to unearth. This charming plant is easy to grow, but prefers a shady or semi-shady site where its roots will be kept cool and moist. The stems and roots are fragile, so once you've planted your Bleeding-Hearts, don't disturb them and they will reward you for many years to come.

Bleeding-Heart flowers have a unique physiology. Each blossom is composed of four petals. The two outer ones form the pink "heart" which gives them their common name. The inner two petals are the pointy bit which projects from the bottom of the heart. These petals fully enclose the reproductive structures of the flower and never open. The flower is cleistogamous, i.e., it self-pollinates within the confines of these petals and never requires a visit from an external pollinator.

Tussilago Farfara

Day 212: Last summer, the invasive plant species Tussilago farfara was discovered at a roadside pullout in the Park. Several theories suggest how it got there; a seed brought in with a load of purportedly "weed-free" road gravel, carried on someone's car bumper or in a piece of mud stuck to the undercarriage, or simply borne on a summer zephyr in some prior year. It has a seed head which resembles that of the common dandelion, little parachutes just waiting to be lifted away to new homes. In any event, several of us who are skilled in plant identification were authorized to monitor the site and to remove it, all but one specimen which our Plant Ecologist wanted as a test subject for chemical control. I had marked the spot with a rock (my companions in Team Biota are now very familiar with "Crow rocks"), but one thing led to another, and before he could treat it, the snows came. I was given permission to remove the plant manually if the site cleared, but the snow persisted for the remainder of the winter. I figured my rock would have been moved by the plow, but day before yesterday, we stopped at the site to check. The rock was still in place, and right beside it, Tussilago was putting up new growth. I lifted it with the dandelion jigger I'd brought along for the express purpose of vegicide and delivered the corpse to Arnie with the phrase, "I have a present for you." I'm watching you, Tussilago.

Little Blue Snot Returns

Day 211: Again, I must apologize to my readers for the quality of the photo. Little Blue Snot is a very elusive character, shy and quick as a streak of lightning, and flits into the cover of the contorted filbert as soon as he detects the slightest movement. I had to take the picture through window glass and at a higher ISO than I prefer. All that aside, this is still probably the best capture I've ever made of my elusive friend.

For the last several years, one or two Lazuli Buntings have been drawn to my feeders, but usually don't remain here more than six weeks. Sibley's maps show that they are rare in western Washington but summer east of the mountains. They winter in Mexico. Mine must get confused somewhere near Mount Adams and therefore come up the wrong side of the Cascades. Many people confuse them with Western Bluebirds although the colour of the head is closer to aqua than true blue. In any event, the wing bars are the clincher for an ID even if the shorter, broader bill is not observed.

Tower Lost To Time

Day 210: I have no story to tell about this water tower. I know nothing of its history other than that it once served visitors staying at Sunshine Point Campground. The campground was destroyed by the flood of 2006; was the tower used until then? I don't know.

Sometimes, penetrating deep mysteries destroys their magic. While I entertain a certain degree of curiosity about the tower, I suspect that the romance of its presence might suffer if I delved into its backstory. Without the dry facts, I can imagine that it was built by CCC crews in the 30s, the same workmen who were responsible for a lot of trail and road construction in the Park. The hoop-and-stave architecture is certainly consistent with the period. The pumphouse behind it looks newer, perhaps put in to augment the insufficiency of gravity-feed as visitor usage increased. The tower raises questions in my mind every time I visit this corner of the forest, but its imagined saga is so much more colourful than any details I might unearth if I were to go asking that I am not compelled to do so. I am not inclined to obfuscate my faith in its record with hard and provable truths.

Three Plus One Is Four

Day 209: Imagine yourself beside me in lushly green Pacific Northwest forest. Mosses blanket the ground, ferns and other vegetation rise above them in the understory, and even the trunks of the trees are covered in greenish lichen. We have come to find a rare wonder, a tiny orchid, the smallest of the Corallorhizas. Corallorhiza trifida is also green, both in stalk and flower. We are operating from my personal memory; I know where I've seen them before, behind *that* log, hidden by *that* clump of fern. A certain one of us can't recall whether a long-time friend wears glasses or has a moustache, but can remember with great precision the lay of the land and yes, *that* log and *that* fern. Unerringly, our mission draws us to one slight depression in a woods anyone else would describe with the words, "It all looks the same to me." Then the search begins. We go down on hands and knees carefully away from the core area, and with eyes as close to ground level as the projecting ear will allow, we sight across the microtopography. There, rising a whole four inches above the soil is a miniature asparagus spear, its diameter no greater than the lead in a common pencil. Now crawling with faces to the ground, we navigate the circumference of an eight-foot circle. Yes, there are three more asparagus spears hidden in a tangle of fern fronds and stems. Three plus one is four, not the sixteen found last year...but it's a beginning.

Foliage Fantasy

Day 208: The forest floor (not necessarily flat or horizonally aligned) is a vast canvas of textures. At a single glance, the eye takes in a wealth of features, so many that our minds resist classifying them individually. But closer investigation reveals fascinating microtopographies and ecologies: mats of moss harbouring moisture for the roots of vascular plants which in turn provide the shade and protection the moss requires, tiny open spaces inviting seeds to fall to hidden soil, niches in which insects may hide or, relatively speaking, go on great adventures, travelling for dozens of bug-miles on a single plant. How vast is the universe when you are a beetle the size of a pencil-point? What do insects feel beneath their toes as they explore the minute scales which form every fractal iteration of a step-moss frond? What differences do they detect when patrolling a leathery leaf as opposed to one covered in fine hairs invisible to the naked human eye? How tired is a snail after it has climbed an 18" log, plagued by anxiety (or not) for what may lie at the summit? Do these tiny beings of the forest know that they are part of the much larger landscape of world, planet and galaxy? Of course not. And neither, my friends, can we know our place in the universe with any greater certainty than does the beetle or the snail.

Dreams Of Blueberries

Day 207: When I put in my blueberry bushes, I selected "mid-season" varieties using the logic that the pollinators would not be around at this altitude for early-season types. Now I am beginning to wonder if I should have bought late-season plants instead. Last year, I got enough berries for snacking, far short of what I envision as the eventual yield. The bushes are still young...or rather they are new to the "blueberry pen" outside my kitchen door. One was a sickly plant which had been shaded out in another location after losing its partner to similar circumstances. I moved it two years ago and added a second variety beside it for cross-pollination. It has perked up amazingly well, and both plants are covered with buds. A third bush is dwarf and self-fertile; it bore a handful of large, sweet berries last year (its first year in my garden).

As of this writing, all three bushes are lavishly adorned with pink buds, but there is a distressing absence of pollinators, and I can hardly give each blueberry flower the same reproductive assistance I'm providing to the Akebias. Transferring pollen from one flower to another on the tip of an artist's paintbrush is time-consuming! That said, we have a few warm days on the roster and the blueberry buds are not yet open. Perhaps all the elements necessary to provide a good yield will still manage to come together at the proper moment.

Purple Akebia

Day 206: The purple Akebia now has a few blossoms open and hundreds more to come, each one about the size of the pink of my thumbnail. For the first time, I detected the scent, although I had to put my nose in a cluster to get a good whiff. I would not describe it as chocolaty; rather, it reminded me of something tropical like frangipani or plumeria. That said, the weather has been cool and flowers are at the peak of their fragrance in warmer temperatures. The next few days are forecast to be warm and may initiate a full olfactory experience. I have also gained a greater appreciation of Akebia's vigour. In just a week, the stems of the white vine have put on a foot or more of new growth, now reaching beyond the top of the trellis. As I mentioned in my post three days ago, Five-leaf Akebia produces a tasty fruit, but does so rarely in our climate due to the fact that it flowers in May before the pollinators have emerged. The next phase of this horticultural experiment will see me out there with my little paintbrush, gathering pollen from one vine and transferring it to the other.

My Buddy Calypso

Day 205: For the second time this spring, I was sent on a mission by the Park's Plant Ecologist, specifically related to Calypso bulbosa, Calypso Orchids. The first project was mapping sites where they are known to occur, and I had to do it from memory because they had not yet emerged. This week's goal was to find any which might have popped up following a few days of warm weather. I found quite a few, but none was open farther than the specimen in this photo. It won't be long before tiny spots of magenta begin appearing in the carpet of moss, but for now, it takes a finely tuned eye to find these native beauties. Calypso is my "buddy," and gives me the cue to start searching for other rarer Orchidaceae.

A Hearty Welcome To May

Day 204: Who doesn't love Bleeding Hearts? When I first moved into my home thirty years ago, I planted a commercial cultivar, Asian Bleeding-Heart (Lamprocapnos spectabilis, formerly Dicentra spectabilis), not realizing that the stems were extremely fragile. Unfortunately, I had put it in a bad spot and invariably broke some portion of it almost every time I walked by. It survived this mistreatment for couple of years, but eventually failed to return. Lesson learned, I waited until I had created a more protected bed for a new one which, I am happy to say, is thriving between other shade-loving plants. Lamprocapnos bears much larger and richly coloured hearts than our Pacific Bleeding-Heart (a sub-species), a show-piece in the early spring shade garden.

White Akebia

Day 203: Last year, I visited my favourite nursery hoping to find a shade-tolerant vine to crawl up the side of my garage. After a long discussion with the horticulturist, I settled on Five-Leaf Akebia, aka "Chocolate Vine," so called for the scent of the species' flowers. Akebia also produces a 5-inch long edible fruit, but is not self-fertile; therefore I needed two varieties. I bought a white and a purple. What the horticulturist neglected to mention is that Akebia is very prone to powdery mildew, and unbeknownst to me, one of the plants was already infected. By the time I realized the blackening of the leaves was something more serious than transplant shock, the problem was well-established. Some quick research on line told me what I needed to treat it, and I began applying a copper-based fungicide almost immediately.

From looking at the foliage, you might assume that this vine is deciduous. It is not, at least not in our climate. Both plants held most of their leaves through the winter, and about two weeks ago, I noticed tiny little clusters of buds on both vines...hundreds of them! Yes, the copper treatment worked and the Akebias are not only healthy, they show evidence of being very happy in their new situation. Today, the white one has a few open flowers; the purple one is in a more shady location, and therefore is coming into flower a little more slowly. Akebia can go rogue and become invasive if not monitored, but it is easy to control with pruning. I do hope I get some fruit, but even if I don't, the flowers are enchanting.

Fiddlin' Around

Day 201: Fern fiddleheads (young shoots) come in a fascinating array of shapes. While several species are considered edible, I do not collect them and would caution my readers against doing so. They must be properly prepared to remove the fine hairs which are irritating to the digestive system. I took a "fern walk" yesterday so that I could show you some of the various types of fiddlehead. Left to right: Oak Fern (Gymnocarpium dryopteris), a very soft-textured fern when fully unfurled; Western Sword Fern (Polystichum munitum), familiar to most people for its leathery, harsh foliage; Bracken Fern (Pteridium aquilinum), arguably the most common fern in the Pacific Northwest and in fact one of the most abundant plant species in the world.

May Day Morris

Day 201: I have never minded getting up in the wee hours of the morning to go on an adventure, whether it was a climb, a backpacking trip or any other sort of excursion. I was awake half an hour before the alarm was set to ring at 2:45 AM, and was out the door at 3:15, bound for Seattle to dance up the sun with fellow teammates from Sound & Fury Morris. We gathered at Gasworks Park with several other sides and a group of singers, each group performing in rotation. A few golden rays briefly pierced the cloud cover as the sun mounted into the sky while a brisk and chilly breeze ensured lively action from the dancers. A small audience had gathered, stalwarts who chose to help us celebrate May Day with a festive and joyous tradition despite the threat of rain. An hour and a half later, we took breakfast and then went on to dance at other venues until 12:30, finishing up under light rain at Google Plaza. Sumer is icumen in! Morris dancers around the world have driven winter away!

Rhizines

Day 200: Peltigera membranacea (Membranous Dog-Lichen) provides an excellent lesson in how lichens attach themselves to a substrate by means of root-like structures called rhizines which grow out from the back side of the thallus. In Peltigera, the rhizines are large and obvious; in the finely crustose lichens which occur on rock, they may be invisible without the aid of a hand-lens and yet if you were to try to peel one away, you'd soon discover why they are also referred to as "hold-fasts." Most lichenologists agree that rhizines do not assist in tranferring minerals or nutrients to the body of the lichen, although this has not been proven conclusively. Others suggest that close attachment to the host aids in retaining moisture.