DYD Of Distinction - Heterotheca Oregona

Day 291: If not for David Giblin, collections manager and research botanist at the UW's Burke Herbarium, this plant might not have been recorded as a new species for Mount Rainier National Park. David alerted me to his discovery, supplied an astonishingly accurate map without having had the benefit of a GPS, and sent me off on a merry chase to document its occurrence. He had only found one in the short time he had to spend at the location, so I left early Tuesday morning intending to scour the area for other examples. Over the next two and a half hours, I found at least fifty plants ranging in size and shape from a single stem 1" high to a mature specimen 20" tall and two feet wide. Heterotheca oregona (Oregon Golden Aster) has no ray flowers, despite what you might suppose from the photos. What appear to be ray flowers on this DYD ("Damn Yellow Daisy," a term popular with botanists) are in fact specialized disk flowers which elongate as the blossom reaches maturity. As part of my duties for the Natural Resources Division, I obtained two specimens for the Park's herbarium, one of which will be shared with the Burke after it is catalogued. And yes, for those of you following along, Arnie was thrilled when I shared the news with him.

The Cat In The Hat

Day 290: When a friend called my attention to a book of knitting patterns called "Cats In Hats," the temptation was too much to resist. Tip is such a tractable child that I was certain he wouldn't mind modelling a winter chapeau. After looking through all the designs, I settled on a standard "bobble hat" which took less than half an hour to knit up. I don't think the style quite suits him, but his look of discontent has more to do with the discomfort of a book behind him and the camera in his face than the bow tied under his chin. Maybe a top hat would be more suitable?

Cichorium Intybus, Chicory

Day 289: As non-native plants go, Chicory (Cichorium intybus) definitely has redeeming merits. Although well within the range of "pastel," its flowers are intensely blue, striking when erupting on its stiff, wiry stems. It grows in waste places, in vacant lots where hard-packed, dry soil supports little else but invasives. Its thick roots can be ground and used as a substitute for coffee, although when used as the sole ingredient, the resultant beverage is rather too bitter for most tastes. The roots are also used to flavour certain ales and stouts. Subspecies also provide edible buds and leaves. That said, as a non-native species, this cheerful, colourful flower is considered a pest in western Washington. May the gods of botany forgive me, I wouldn't mind it "pestering" the Barren Wasteland at all, but my attempts to transplant it have been futile.

Prisoner No. 2

Day 288: For the record, I am learning first-hand what happens when you remove competing species from an area. Last year, I live-trapped one Townsend's Chipmunk, two Bushy-Tailed Wood Rats and FIFTEEN Douglas Squirrels. All but the Wood Rats were relocated to a location across the river and miles from here. Squirrels are notoriously destructive, even to the point of causing house fires by gnawing on the insulation surrounding electrical wiring. That said, chipmunks are kinda cute, but when one of them kept me awake a few nights ago banging around inside the bedroom wall, I decided I'd had enough. The following morning, I set out the Hav-a-Hart trap baited with peanut butter on taco chips. The offering was rejected. I changed strategy and laid out sunflower seeds. Chip thought the ones in the bird feeder were better, but after eating his fill, he climbed down and went in pursuit of a dessert of blueberries. I took the hint and baited the trap with dried cranberries. Half an hour later, I was driving Chip to Mineral and, satisfied that I'd solved my rodent problem. I put the trap away in the garage. The next morning, I had a second chipmunk in the bird feeder. Within an hour or so after baiting the trap with golden raisins, I was making another trip to Mineral with Prisoner No. 2. I was not as confident as I had been after relocating two chips, so I set the trap out again. Bingo! Half an hour later, I was again en route to Mineral, feeling a little like I'd been hired to drive the squirrel-bus. I was three Chips down, but the story hasn't reached its conclusion yet. There's still another one out there, and the little stinker doesn't seem to be impressed with raisins.

When Plans Go Awry

Day 287: Plans for a hike yesterday jinked wildly off track when I took down the can of Deep Woods Off, only to discover that the container had sprung a leak and the contents had liquified the paint on the shelf where it was stored, combining to produce a compound similar in look and feel to sour cream. After cleaning up the mess and wondering if it might not be better to sacrifice a few pints of blood to mosquitoes than to put DEET on my hide, I opted for a trip to town instead. My alternate plan didn't exactly follow the course either, but once I'd settled the mental debate over apricots vs. marionberries, a bag containing five pounds of individually-selected vine ripe fruit made any further deviations from the line of travel indisputable. The next several hours were spent in producing sixteen half-pints of delicious apricot-pineapple jam, the pineapple supplying just the right amount of acidity to balance the heavy sweetness of the apricots. You won't find the recipe in any cookbook. It's a Crow special. Nothing goes better on homemade bread than hand-crafted jams and jellies. In fact, it would be downright criminal to spread commercial jam on homemade English muffins.

Huernia Procumbens

Day 286: Native to southern and eastern Africa, the Huernias are sometimes referred to as "Lifesaver Plants" for having a raised disk which resembles the popular candy at the center of the flower. It is not as apparent in Pointed Star (Huernia procumbens, above) as it is in some other Huernias, but as the blossom ages, the points of the star reflex and the "lifesaver" becomes more obvious. Huernias are creeping succulents, forgiving of neglectful watering although they tend to drop sections if allowed to become too dry. No problem! Simply stick the butt-end of the stem into damp potting soil, pack the dirt lightly around it and keep it lightly moist for a few weeks, and you'll have a new Pointed Star to give away to a friend. As with any cactus or succulent, over-watering is to be avoided. Likewise, mealybugs can be a pest, but application of a systemic will eliminate them from this attractive and unusual houseplant.

A Love-Hate Relationship

Day 285: Almost anyone who drives back roads (paved or otherwise) in western Washington will recognize these two flowers. They may only know them as "daisies" and "poppies" rather than Oxeye Daisies and California Poppies as wildflower aficionados will, and fewer still will be able to apply the proper scientific nomenclature Leucanthemum vulgare and Eschscholzia californica.

(Pause here for a second. You have to love the word "Eschscholzia" for having six consonants in a row. That even beats "Schwarzschild" of astronomical fame. Now, back to the lecture...)

Both Oxeyes and California Poppies are non-native species and, because of their propensity for establishing monocultures by crowding out native plants, they are both considered invasive. Still, it's hard to hate anything which delights the eye so enthusiastically, and it's at times like these that I question what constitutes a pernicious pest as opposed to a plant which is simply expanding its range into an area which lacks effective bio-controls. Doesn't it seem logical that as global temperatures rise, Eschscholzia would move into higher latitudes? Admittedly, Leucanthemum took the boat across the Atlantic along with another aggressive invasive (western Europeans), so who can point and call it nasty names without fear of the finger being pointed back at them?

As much as I love the cheer these two species impart, the gardener in me is compelled to yank them as soon as I spot their foliage in my flower beds. Invariably, at least one Eschscholzia escapes my eagle eye until it pops out orange and sunny. After thirty years, I've not been able to eliminate the subsequent generations from an envelope of "mixed wildflower seed" I threw out in the Barren Wasteland, nor the obnoxious and unlovely Yarrow which came in another packet. Always keep in mind that something easy to start may not be quite as easy to stop.

When Pink Is Permissible

Day 284: I take a lot of flak from people who know I detest pink when they see these flowers in my garden, but above all, I respect Ma Nature, and since she's insisting that these self-sowing, persistent volunteers be given their time in the sun, I'm not going to object too loudly. All four (Rose Campion, Deptford Pink, Cosmos and Nigella) are on the "magenta" end of the scale, not even close to the "baby pink" which causes my gorge to rise. They give a bit of colour to the flower beds now that the blues have mostly gone by, and for the most part, they remain below the taller yellows and golds (Snapdragons and Gaillardia) which currently dominate the Barren Wasteland. Bright reds are woefully lacking in my yard other than Crocosmia, somehow brushed aside when I was planning a "no-theme" planting scheme. My one main consideration was to avoid pink, yet here it is, and though it pains me to admit it, I'm glad to have them. Magenta...I'm tellin' ya, they're magenta! Shut up with the "pink" already!

Mushroom Memories

Day 283: By and large, mushroom hunters are secretive people who defend their favourite locations with a wall of silence. Many of us prefer to go out alone, and some (myself included) have been known to lay a false trail by parking well away from the most productive spots and then hoofing it overland through terrain which might deter any local who happened to recognize our vehicles. Occasionally, though, we are moved to include a trusted friend in our pursuits, but only after a thorough vetting. I was introduced to a particularly productive patch of chanterelles by my fishing buddy's brother-in-law Eddie. The three of us picked it for a number of years until the bridge washed out, cutting off the only feasible access. When Uncle Eddie passed away, his mushroom basket came to me and although I now use it to hold wool when I'm spinning (preferring to keep my fungi hidden in a bag in my pack), its golden sheen is enhanced by a varnish of memories from the time I spent with Eddie and Sande in the woods. After the bridge was rebuilt, our chanterelle spot was found by commercial pickers as was my alternate location and, within a mere pair of years, they had depleted the sites beyond any hope of recovery. By then, however, I'd found another spot and had been judiciously picking my "one fry-up and a bowl of soup" in a manner which left the mycelium healthy.

Before he retired from his job as the Park's Plant Ecologist, my dear friend Arnie asked me if I'd take him 'shrooming. There would have been no person in whom I could have placed a greater trust, so I agreed. We gathered just enough chanterelles for our two households to have a meal apiece, leaving behind the buttons and older fruiting bodies to continue the cycle. Arnie moved to southern Oregon the following spring, and we've stayed in touch, sharing our botanical discoveries regularly. Yesterday, I received a gift from him: a luxuriously soft bamboo-viscose/cotton t-shirt imprinted with (you guessed it!) two gorgeous chanterelles.

Solanum Melongena, Have A Guess

 Day 282: Some of you will undoubtedly recognize this plant, but it's a new one for me. I have only seen it in the seedling form, never blooming, and most certainly never in fruit. It is not native to the Pacific Northwest (not hardly!), nor is it an invasive species (although I wouldn't object to it spreading in my garden). I'll give you a hint: it's a member of the Solanum family, kin to potatoes, tomatoes and woody nightshade (poisonous, but not the infamous "deadly," which belongs to a different family). Its fruits (berries) are usually purple, but some varieties are white or striped. Some may be the size of small eggs, but others may weigh over two pounds. The fruits are edible and considered delicious by many people (myself included), and may be sliced, breaded and fried, used as a substitute for pasta in lasagna or roasted whole, stuffed or plain. Have you got it yet? Eggplant! This is my first year growing them, thanks to one of our Morris dancers providing me with two healthy starts earlier this spring. They're doing quite well in a container set just off my back step where I will remember to water them daily.

Steampunk Morris

Day 281: It's either feast or famine. For the last couple of weeks, the weather has been typical of the Pacific Northwe't, i.e., on the gloomy and grey end of the spectrum, if only moderately damp. Those of us native to the state love it; it's what keeps us green. After all, we're the Evergreen State. However, all good things must come to an end (however much we might have been enjoying late lettuce), and as the time to today's gig grew close, the forecast edged toward a high in the upper 80s. Fortunately, our first performance of the day was at 10 AM at the Ballard Bell Tower, done before the heat could turn us into a Morris meltdown. The second set was at Hiram Chittenden Locks where a nice breeze and an abundance of shade trees made dancing much more pleasant. That said, we chose to wear our steampunk kit, and I can assure you that dancing in a corset on a hot day isn't for sissies. Then it was off to the pub we went, steamy steampunks the lot of us.

Krokbragd

Day 280: "Learn something new every day." I've always liked that motto, and while sometimes my daily lesson is something as small as looking up a word I don't know or finding an interesting fact about a plant's life cycle, there are times when it means taking up a whole new hobby. Such was the case when I was looking on YouTube for one thing and stumbled across quite another: krokbragd. The word is Norwegian and translates to "crooked path" or "lightning path," and applies to a weft-faced method of weaving. It is a three-point twill (i.e., it's woven with only three shafts) and can easily be made on a rigid heddle loom using a pickup stick or a second heddle for the third shed. Since my rigid heddle loom was occupied at the time, I warped my floor loom for Experiment A, a throw rug in a simple flame point using scrap yarn in seven colours for the weft. Carrying two colours up the selvedges made for a less-than-perfect finish so I will need to crochet or braid an edge to conceal the evidence of poor technique. Next, I put a second project (Experiment B, above) on the rigid heddle loom and by paying closer attention to the tension of the carried threads, the selvedges on this piece are much improved even though I'm carrying three colours at once. Each sequence must be beaten firmly in place using a comb to ensure that the warp threads do not show in the cloth. If truth be told, I am enjoying weaving krokbragd on the rigid heddle more than on the floor loom although it's slow work. That said, the rigid heddle is only 10" wide, so any major project will be made on the floor loom by default.

Police Car Moth, Gnophaela Vermiculata

Day 279: You could be forgiven for thinking this might be a blue tent caterpillar, but in fact it's the larval stage of the Police Car Moth, Gnophaela vermiculata. I was saved the trouble of looking it up by a convenient post from MeadoWatch which was published the same day I took the picture, leading me to assume that we'll have a good population of striking black-and-white moths at some point in the future. You are most likely to find Police Cars parked on Mertensiana and Solidago (Bluebells and Goldenrod), although this one was observed lurking behind a section of Jersey barrier. As I watched, it must have received a call because it set out in pursuit, disappearing from sight at high speed (for a caterpiller) down the Paradise Valley Road.

Happy Sappy Family

Day 278: Pinesap (Monotropa hypopitys) is one of Mount Rainier National Park's most common mycoheterotrophic species. Even so, it's not exactly thick on the ground. As an obligate mycoheterotroph, it depends on a range of mycorrhizal species to assist with its uptake of nutrients from the soil. Newly emerging plants can be confused with even less common Gnome Plant (Hemitomes congestum). Hemitomes never develops a stalk and even at maturity, resembles the tip of a pink "pinecone" embedded in the ground. Radioactive glucose and phosphorus have both been used in field experiments to trace the relationship between Pinesap and its mycorrhizal partners (outside the Park, obviously), tests which clarified its cooperation with specific fungal species and also revealed an association with the roots of certain trees. There's a lot of activity going on in the forest underground!

Pacific Chorus Frog, Pseudacris Regilla

Day 277: When someone from the Pacific Northwe't refers to "spring peepers," they mean Pacific Chorus Frog (Pseudacris regilla), not its eastern cousin, P. crucifer. These little critters are utterly operatic throughout the spring months, but when temperatures begin to rise in late May or early June, their voices are only heard during cool mornings and evenings. The rest of the time, this small frog hides out in damp woodlands and wetlands. We don't see as many of them nowadays as we did when I was a child. I could go into the woods or patrol the margins of a neighbourhood wetland without experiencing any difficulty in finding a froggy for my terrarium. Now I count it a marvel each time I see one and at best, that may be a mere half dozen each year. In part, the decline in their population is due to an increase in non-native bullfrogs, although the invasives are primarily confined to the lowlands at present. Drier, hotter summers take a toll on tadpoles and froglets alike, with fewer and fewer frogs of any species surviving to adulthood. If frogs disappear from the "Round River" (see yesterday's post), what will be next?

Paradise River

Day 276: In 'The Round River: a Parable,' Aldo Leopold wrote, "One of the penalties of an ecological education is that one lives alone in a world of wounds...Much of the damage inflicted on land is quite invisible to laymen. An ecologist must either harden his shell and make believe that the consequences of science are none of his business, or he must be the doctor who sees the marks of death in a community that believes itself well and does not want to be told otherwise."

The "Round River" to which Leopold refers is not a geographic location but features in a legendary tale of Paul Bunyan who, according to the story, floated much of Wisconsin's timber down its never-ending, circular waters. This, in Leopold's interpretation, is a parable for the biosphere: a perpetual cycle in which the products of the Earth return to the Earth in a different and restorative form. This concept is sometimes referred to as the "food chain," in which plants are eaten by bugs which are eaten by birds which are eaten by mammals, all of which leave a legacy of renewal when they decay and become fresh soil in which new plants grow. This, of course, is a simplification. The process is actually much more complex, but nonetheless, it is circular: what goes around, comes around (and I'm not talking about mean behaviour coming back to bite you on the bum). The thing corporate man fails to acknowledge because he deliberately blinds himself to being told otherwise is that the resource is not being renewed by mysterious outside sources; it is in fact finite, and we're gobbling it up as fast as we can. We're putting things back into the system, to be sure: toxins and microplastics so altered by processing that they do not break down into any usable form for centuries. In short, we're not just depleting the world's biosphere; we're wreaking havoc on the entire system as we go along, claiming for our species resources which should by rights belong to the whole biotic system. Obviously, this can't go on (well, obviously to anyone with half a brain cell, present administration notably coming up short in that department). Quoting Leopold again, our global situation "...calls for a reversal of specialization; instead of learning more and more about less and less, we must learn more and more about the whole biotic landscape" else the Round River will cease to flow. Ol' Paul would not be happy about that. Lumberjack though he might have been, he understood the principle of perpetual flow.

Networking

Day 275: Unfortunately, I can't give a positive ID on this slime mold, but I believe it to be Leocarpus fragilis in the early stages of its feeding cycle. I base that supposition on two factors: colour, and having observed Leocarpus in the same general area previously; not very scientific, I know, but the best I can do on short notice. At the point when this photo was taken, the plasmodium was in migration toward the food source present on the branch running diagonally across the right side of the image. Recognizing the activity (if not the species), I was more than a little apprehensive about kneeling down on the forest floor beside it. If some fine morning, I get up to find my kitchen engulfed in orange slime mold, I won't question where it came from.

Jack's Lot

Day 274: An unseasonably wet June conspired with Park duties and other commitments to keep me from getting out in the kayak until yesterday and naturally, my first priority was to check on my "kids" at Lake St. Clair. The original Sundew Island (a bit of dock gone astray) has long since disappeared, but the colonies on one homeowner's breakwater logs are vigorous and spreading. I call them Jack's Lot, Jack being the homeowner under discussion. True to form, he spotted me taking photos and hollered down from his deck, "How they doin'?" "Fine, Jack!" I shouted back. "They're in bloom. I'm getting some new photos for a talk I'll be giving in the Park next month." After repeated encounters with me, Jack now realizes that he has something very special in his care, so he replied, "Don't tell anybody about them! They're our little secret!" I gave him my assurance, as if he really needed it.

Drosera rotundifolia (Round-leaved Sundew) has disappeared from one location within the boundaries of Mount Rainier National Park, shaded out by the encroachment of young alders. I have never visited the second Park site where this insectivorous plant is known to occur, so cannot speak for the population there. In the longer view, Sundews are relatively rare in Washington overall. A second species (Drosera anglica) has been reported from a tight handful of locations in the state. Some day, I hope to see it as well. That said, the surprise of unexpectedly coming across rotundifolia in the field while on an ordinary kayak trip is one I will never forget: a snap of my head toward a blur of red and an uncontrolled vocal outburst of "Is that Sundews!?" The sudden recognition of a species I had only dreamed of finding was most certainly one of the high points of my botanical career. You can have your birthdays and anniversaries. These are my Life Events.

Morris Marmots

Day 273: Some photos just beg for captions. With roughly twenty marmots engaged in social activities on a scree slope smaller than a postage-stamp city lot, it was hard to decide where to aim the camera. These two were just hangin' out, possibly intent on the bear in the meadow below them, but to me, they seemed to be just two best buds, too lazy to get up out of their chairs during halftime.

Marmota caligata is the Pacific Northwest's answer to eastern groundhogs. Classified as a ground squirrel, they are the largest member of the group and healthy adults may achieve weights of 15-20 pounds before entering hibernation. They are burrowing mammals, and a marmot den may extend up to 11 feet from its opening. These tunnels are often hidden by grasses and other forbs, as I once discovered painfully while my attention was focused on an aggressive goat. In one step, my forward motion ceased when I dropped thigh-deep into a marmot burrow which had been hidden by vegetation. The "thunk" of my upper body smacking the ground startled the goat into flight, but the technique is not one I'd recommend.

And Other Wildlife...

Day 272: Most of my bear sightings have been in the backcountry, and at least two of them were of the "up close and personal" nature, i.e., the bear was within 50' of me (in one case, only about 20'). I'm not complacent about bears, but my customary response to them is that I speak in a normal tone of voice, saying, "Bear...hey, bear! I need to use this trail. Would you mind moving over so I can come by?" Sometimes it takes several repetitions and maybe even a few steps forward before Bear notices me, but only once have I encountered aggressive behaviour, and that was from a motherless cub who was probably more curious about me than anything else. Cubby and I came to an agreement after a tense ten minutes, neither of us wanting to escalate the situation. Backcountry bear experiences aside, bears are attractive to any photographer, and thus it was that Team Biota started a bear jam on the Valley Road. We'd first glimpsed it (her, I believe) from the upper portion of the road, a tiny black dot moving among small trees deep in Paradise Valley. After she crossed the creek, we lost her in the brush, and then we hopped back in the car and drove down the road further to a viewpoint directly opposite. Sure enough, there she was, and this time within zoom range. We were somewhat sidetracked by the presence of marmots on the rocks immediately below us, more marmots than I have ever seen in one location. There must have been at least twenty, adults and young alike, sparring, kissing, loafing on any rock which afforded a flat surface. Below us, the bear moved into open meadow, offering a good photo op. While the four of us trained our cameras on Ms. Ursus, cars were pulling over behind us, filling the small pullout. A tour bus went past without stopping. Pretty soon, the parking area was full, the roadside lined with people, cameras ranging from cell phone to high-end, all taking pictures of the bear. She was a good 600' or more from us horizontally, another 150' vertically...a tiny black dot in most viewfinders. I thought of the visitor who told me he'd seen a polar bear at Lake Louise. He had a picture to prove it, too. He pulled out his iPhone and zoomed in on the white blur in the image. "That's a goat," I said. "No, it was too big. It was a polar bear," he insisted. I suggested that when he got home, he should email the photo to our wildlife biologist and gave him her address, you know, just for documentation's sake. To make a long story short, there were a lot of photos taken during the Tuesday bear jam, but most will simply show a black lump. I was zoomed to 74x for this one.

Western Tanager, Piranga Ludoviciana

Day 271: Flighty Western Tanager (Piranga ludoviciana) isn't the easiest bird to photograph. One occasionally comes to my yard, but invariably hides in the tangled leaves of the contorted filbert. However, when Team Biota spotted one in Longmire, we went into full "Big Year" mode and pulled as far off the road as the narrow approach to the bridge would allow, and all four of us jumped out with cameras at the ready. While none of these is an ideal field-guide shot, they are still the best Tanager photos I've achieved, definitely sufficient for a positive ID. A female was more elusive, flitting from tree to tree but always landing in the protective cover of foliage. Formerly placed with other Tanagers, Western Tanager has been reclassified into the family of Cardinals. Western Tanager's diet consists primarily of insects, although they also consume various fruits. Locally, their diet includes elderberries, serviceberry and cherries (wild or cultivated). They are also an important control for tussock moth here in the Pacific Northwest.

Cephalanthera Census

Day 270: Cephalanthera austiniae is only known from one location in Mount Rainier National Park. Since the Park's establishment in 1899, it has been observed by a mere handful of people, almost all of whom belong to Team Biota. Yesterday, we did an extensive inventory and came up with a census of eleven stems. Because of the nature of this unique plant's growth pattern, we estimate that that census represents no more than five plants. Why is Phantom Orchid so rare? There are a number of factors. First of all, it is an obligate mycoheterotroph, i.e., lacking chlorophyll, it cannot photosynthesize and relies on soil mycorrhizae to provide its nutrition. Second, it depends on specific mycorrhizal species (or perhaps just one). Third, those mycorrhizae only grow where a certain type of decaying vegetative matter is present. Cephalanthera may also depend on the presence of certain species of vascular plants (what we call its "associated" plants) and I believe it may also require a specific soil regime and/or that it tolerates only a narrow range of soil pH. These factors all come together in a tiny, secret pocket of forest at Mount Rainier, a spot where the only sounds are the trickling of a thready stream and the voices of Team Biota saying, "Four...five...I've got another one over here."

Double-Clutching

Day 269: And you thought "double-clutching" was something to do with cars! After the kids went winging off from the House of Chirp, I was surprised to see activity at the door. Two adults (one notably browner) began setting up housekeeping in the vacant nesting box. I've never had a double clutch in any of the boxes, and the only factor I've noticed which might have influenced the second occupation is that the first pair nested quite early. The House of Chirp has never failed to produce a 100% successful brood, something which can't be said for Pussywillow Cottage which has been plagued by wasps, squirrels and this year, starlings. This new setting should have plenty of time to hatch and fly before the heat of summer arrives.

Luzula Hitchcockii, Hitchcock's Woodrush

Day 268: For as often as I have seen this plant in the subalpine backcountry, I'd never bothered trying to identify it until it was brought to the forefront of my attention by Joe during a Team Biota hike. When not in flower, the leaves had suggested to him that it might be an Allium (onion) of some sort, but after the inflorescence opened out into a loosely organized panicle rather than an umbel, it became obvious that it belonged to a different family. We then settled in with the field guides and after some to-ing and fro-ing, settled on Luzula hitchcockii, Hitchcock's Woodrush. It occurred in some places immediately east of the Cascade Crest in such abundance that it appeared to be the dominant vegetation. However, the snow had just melted back and other plants may not yet have begun their emergence. Since this trail was new to me, I am anxious to take another trip later in the season to observe the succession.

Polemonium Pulcherrimum, Showy Jacob's Ladder

Day 267: Stepping aside from the rare and unusual for a change, I'd like to share with you a lovely little wildflower which is fairly common, particularly on the east side of the Park. One of several "Jacob's Ladders" (so named for the arrangement of the leaves), Polemonium pulcherrimum is a compact plant which seldom achieves heights over eight inches. Its common name of Showy Jacob's Ladder describes its floral display quite accurately; the second half of its binomial comes from the same Latin root as another more descriptive English word, "pulchritude" (beauty). The inflorescences rise above the foliage in clusters of summery blue, their yellow eyes as bright as sunlight in open meadows, "showy" indeed and eminently beautiful in their subalpine setting.

Anticlea Occidentalis, Mountainbells

Day 266: Mountainbells...Anticlea occidentalis. You might notice a similarity in the second half of this plant's Latin binomial to the one I posted yesterday: "occidentalis" and "occidentale." I am not grounded firmly enough in Latin to be able to explain the distinction other than to say it has to do with the gender attributed to the first half of the name, Thalictrum being masculine, Anticlea being feminine. Most European languages are gendered. For example in Spanish, "the table" is "la mesa" (feminine) and "the car" is "el carro" (masculine). You go along just fine assuming words ending in -a are feminine until you hit "el problema" and "el agua" (both masculine as evidenced by the article preceding them). I can vouch for the fact that it works the same way in German, Russian and presumably French (another Romance language, i.e., one which originated in the vicinity of Rome, not one with which you can woo a lover). Russian doesn't have articles, but nouns are gendered, and German even includes nouns with the non-gendered article "das." You thought this essay was going to be about the plant, right? Wrong.

I've recently taken Park-sponsored two trainings dealing with diversity. One was focused specifically on gender identity while the other skirted the edges of it without adressing it fully. I failed to connect the subject to botanical Latin at the time, but the more frustrated I become with shifting taxonomy and in particular changes which only happen in order to bring both halves of the binomial into gender agreement, the more strongly I feel that gender should be expunged from language altogether, and if articles are necessary, they should be there merely to specify the somethingoranother belonging to "them," or to "their" possessions.

At first I resisted they/them/their because of my singularity. I'm not two people, not plural, and neither are you. That said, language is a continuously evolving entity. Many people of my generation will find it hard to unlearn the stock "he/she/his/hers" words because they have been taught us since birth, but we should make an effort. I am willing to embrace new vocabulary (perhaps moreso than some of the rest of you because I deal with taxonomic changes on a daily basis) and also to try to eliminate from my speech those sneaky gendered words we toss about so freely ("you guys" falls from my tongue all too frequently when I am addressing a mixed group).

While I doubt that I'd ever be able to convince the taxonomists that it would be a lot easier to talk about "Thalictrum occidental" and "Anticlea occidental," I trust my readers not to be so dogmatic. Plants may not take offense at being mis-gendered, but some of your human friends might.

Thalictrum Occidentale, Western Meadow Rue

Day 265: I first became acquainted with Western Meadow Rue (Thalictrum occidentale) while hiking with my mother on the Purcell Mountain Trail near Packwood. We each made similar mental associations for the dangling stamens which trembled at the slightest whiff of breeze, mine being somewhat more family-friendly than hers of "whorehouse lampshades." To me, they brought to mind Victorian era decor, silken pastel petals and long strands of beaded fringe. It's not an uncommon plant, but years went by before I saw it again because I was looking in all the wrong places. During a recent Team Biota hike, we found it in abundance on the east side of the Pacific Crest, recognizable by its columbine-like leaves. It was not in flower at the time, buds swollen but not quite bursting, so we made a second trip to the site a week later to find all the "lamps" lit and their fringe shivering in the breeze.

Naches Peak Loop Trail

Day 264: Mount Rainier National Park has over 260 miles of maintained trail. I have hiked all about 20 of those miles, and the ones I haven't hiked are on the east side, each with a trailhead at the furthest possible points from my house. The miles I've put in off-trail (my preferred hiking venue) are another story entirely. I choose to avoid the great unwashed mass of humanity whenever I can, and therefore have always assiduously avoided places like the popular Naches Peak Loop Trail. A few days ago, I was compelled by dual purposes to remedy that. As Team Biota, we were searching for four uncommon plant species within Park boundaries, and as a participant in MeadoWatch (a plant phenology program which sends out volunteers from the Park to report on specific plants' growth phases along designated transects), I had been asked to give a pre-season report on trail conditions on the Loop. Plants aside for the moment and gathering thunderheads notwithstanding, there was a lot of drop-your-socks gorgeous scenery to enjoy along the 3.5 mile trek, including this view of Mount Rainier from the east. The trail was about 90% snow-free, although some slick patches of snow/mud required careful foot placement. Unfortunately, none of our four target plants showed itself. Maybe they're along that last remaining stretch of trail I've never walked...

Ozomelis Trifida, Pacific Mitrewort

Day 263: This exquisite plant wasn't in a position where I could do a Penny Perspective, so get out your metric ruler and measure off two millimeters. Not centimeters...millimeters. That's a generous estimate of how big the largest flower was from petal tip to tip. The detail wasn't visible in the photos I took on June 25, so I went back with an additional macro filter, stacking them for a total of 5x magnification on top of the camera's 2.1x macro zoom. My botany partner Joe had seen them a week earlier and had identified them as Pacific Mitrewort, but taxonomy being what it is currently, his Latin was out of date. The proper binomial for this little beauty is Ozomelis trifida, "trifida" referring to the separation of the petal tips into three fingers. The plant is also called "Three-toothed Mitrewort."

Bryoria Fremontii, Horsehair Lichen

Day 262: "What's the black moss that looks like it's killing all the trees?" Well, my visiting friend, you got "black" right, but it's not a moss and it's not damaging the trees. "Oh, look, mom! I found some bear hair!" No, scout, that didn't come from a bear and it's not hair, although "hair" is part of its name. The correct reply to either of these suppositions is that this is Horsehair Lichen, known scientifically as Bryoria fremontii. Unappetizing as it may look, it is one of very few lichens which are considered edible. As such, it is also called Wila. Named for botanist/explorer John C. Frémont (as was Mount Rainier National Park's Mount Fremont), it is common in the drier subalpine zone where the tree canopy is more open. It does not damage the trees on which it occurs; rather, it takes advantage of the weakened bark structure of trees stressed by heat, cold, drought, or other environmental factors, and thus is more likely to be found on them. It is moderately sensitive to air quality which, given the number of smoky summers we've had in the past decade may be partly to blame for its decline at Paradise.

Knapweed Update

Day 261: Update: I have heard back from the King County Weed Board. Bighead Knapweed is regulated and they've forwarded my letter to the WSDA Nursery Inspection Program. They advise, "They are the agency that regulates the quarantine laws of the state and I think this would fall under that. Bighead knapweed is sometimes sold as a cut flower by market flower vendors so it’s possible that is the source for the restaurant. The flower growers often get the seeds online and don’t know the state quarantine law. We sometimes find flower growers in King County growing it in the farms and have to explain the law to them."

Double-Take Time

Day 261: Worn out from marching...well, dancing...as I was one of the many representatives of the National Park Service in Seattle's Pride Parade, I think I can be excused for having gobbled down a restaurant dinner without noticing the floral arrangment at the opposite end of the table I was sharing with Kevin and his family. When it finally did catch my eye, I did a classic double-take. "That's a bloody Yellow Knapweed, I'm sure of it!" I blurted out, and then jokingly told the waitress I was going to have to turn in an invasive-plant report on the establishment. Yes, Yellow Knapweed (Centaurea macrocephala, aka Bighead Knapweed or Globe Centaury) is a Class A invasive in King County. I quote, "Bighead knapweed is a Class A noxious weed in Washington and property owners are required to eradicate it from their property.  It is also on the Washington quarantine list (also known as the prohibited plants list) and it is illegal to buy, sell or offer it for sale in the state of Washington." So what in bloody hell was it doing on my dinner table? The law doesn't cover cut flowers, and I suppose I should be glad it's not going to seed somewhere, but I would like to know where they got it and whether or not they realize what it is. Y'know, it's not often you find an invasive in a restaurant. I should get bonus points or something.