Day 236: Not far from home but in a trailless wooded area, there is a short stump of small diameter which bears three...count them, three...species of slime mold. The first two have been featured in other posts this last week; the third erupted in full-blown glory in the space of two days, and I discovered it yesterday. It is Fuligo septica, commonly called "Dog-Vomit" which, however apt, does not do its intricate structure justice. Admittedly, I have never seen one quite as lacy as this specimen, a factor which caused me to seek expert help to confirm my identification. The mass is the size of a large grapefruit, and exists side by side with Ceratiomyxa and Lycogala, making me wonder just what is so attractive about that particular stump that three slime molds have chosen it as the center for their conventions. Yesterday I spent quite a bit of time clambering over fallen logs, pushing my way through tangled branches, choosing the placement of my feet carefully so that I didn't land on my back, and in several acres of forest, I found only a few other examples of slime molds, all within 200' of Ground Zero. Nothing unusual about the micro-ecology called out to my human perceptions, no plant associations registered with me although the area is rich in Oxalis, no dominance of evergreen or softwood, no nuance of ambient light. I found each of the three species separately, Ceratiomyxa over here, Lycogala over there and a small Fuligo in another spot, but not with one another except at this stump where all three flourish. We know that slime molds are capable of communication among their individual cells, but are the members of one species able to read the signals broadcast by those of another breed? Our knowledge of slimes is fairly limited, but with advances in science, we may eventually find answers to questions we didn't even know to ask, and that's a thought which makes me wish I was fifty years younger.
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