Yellow Fellow

Day 199: Although many birds molt only once a year, others exchange their drab winter clothes for more attractive colours during mating season. Their winter garb helps to camouflage them when trees are bare, but obviously, this is less necessary when there is plenty of foliage in which to hide from predators. Then the birds can afford to put on the best show in the hopes of attracting a mate. This seasonal colour change is hormonally triggered, and a dramatic example can be seen in American Goldfinches (Spinus tristis). The vivid yellow of the males seems almost to glow, owing to the fact that the thin feathers overlap in such a manner that the yellow tips are backlit by light reflected from the feathers' white bases. The female also takes on a yellowish tinge, although not nearly as bright as the hue of the male, and thus as sole incubator of the eggs, the female benefits by retaining a large portion of her camouflage during this crucial period. Juveniles are similar in colour to females.

Porch Parrot Paradise

Day 198: The yard is once again full of Porch Parrots. A few over-wintered, as is their custom, and now they have been joined by the larger flock. They'll soon be followed by an influx of Black-headed Grosbeaks, one of which was scouting the feeders yesterday. The Evening Grosbeak is not a true Grosbeak, its genome more closely allied to the Finches. You will find it listed as Coccothraustes vespertinus in most current field guides. However, the International Ornithologists' Union now puts the bird in Hesperiphona alongside the Hooded Grosbeak (a Mexican/Central American species), in a taxonomic shift which is in line to achieve universal acceptance. On the other hand, Black-headed Grosbeaks belong to Pheucticus (true Grosbeaks), as do their cousins Rose-breasted and Yellow, neither of which occur in western Washington. Nor does Blue Grosbeak (another true Grosbeak, Passerina caerulea) visit our area. As much as it delights me that we are learning more about many species through genetic analysis, it sure does make it hard to keep up!

Jam On The Hoof

Day 197: If we can get through June without being pounded by a heat wave, I should have a bumper crop of gooseberries (left), more than in any year in the past. The red currants (right) are another story. I had to perform a radical pruning last year to try to eliminate an insect pest which I believe was introduced to my garden by nursery stock, so they are not bearing as heavily. Currants bear best on second- or third-year wood, and I had to eliminate many of those canes. In any event, I really only use the currants to fill out my gooseberry jam recipe, and from the census of gooseberry flowers, I shouldn't need any currant juice at all this year. Last year's crop has seen me through the winter, plus "wiggle room" for thickly spread toast. Both tart and sweet simultaneously, gooseberry jam is my hands-down favourite above any other fruit or berry preserve.

Growth

Day 196: For years, I have started seedlings in pellets or dirt-filled pots set in cheap plastic trays which, true to form, have deteriorated with time and exposure to sunlight, so this year, I decided to up my game and bought a better quality products to do the job. The tray is heavier plastic, the lid is vented, but most importantly, a styrofoam form holds specially-made sponge-like inserts with pre-dibbles holes for receiving the seeds. Watering is done from the bottom only, and the sponges are designed to draw up the precise amount of water required for sprouting and seedling health. They say that hindsight is ever so much clearer than foresight; I wish I'd done this years ago. So far, I've achieved a germination rate of 99%, and the plants are noticeably stronger. That said, there were a few things I still wanted to have in pots like cilantro and basil. These will be kept in the kitchen and used on demand until I can plant another crop outdoors. I've already made one batch of pesto using the thinnings from the basil pot, and I'll pick cilantro later this week. Fingers crossed that we don't get a hot spell in June!

Pacific Wren

Day 195: I knew I only had seconds to capture a photo of my little friend here, despite the fact that he seemed to be anxious to have his portrait taken. I turned the camera on, and with some difficulty, found him against the background and zoomed in. Click! and then click again, and he was gone. Only then did I look at the settings. At 1/15th of a second, hand-held, I was sure I wouldn't have anything worth saving. The second image was a blur, but with a little post-processing, I brought this one up to an acceptable light level and was pleasantly surprised by the detail I'd caught in the long exposure. Pacific Wren (Troglodytes pacificus) is an elusive little creature, quick to hop away into concealment, and there to serenade you with a long "Neener-neener, can't catch me!" taunt. More often heard than seen, he prefers brush piles and tangles of vines where his freckled colouration serves him well. But occasionally he pops out to perch on a twig, tail held erect in typical wren fashion, and then he's gone again before the thought of the camera has fully formed in your mind.

Snow Queens, Veronica Regina-nivalis

Day 194: Spring isn't complete without Snow Queens, and now I have several locations for them on my mental map which don't involve a six-mile hike. In fact, these were less than half a mile from the road, keeping company with the Fawn Lilies. This early spring bloomer is a relatively small plant, standing no more than four inches high from ground level to the top of the inflorescence. The reniform (kidney-shaped) leaves are frequently concealed by moss or other vegetation and easy to overlook. One of the most striking features of the blossoms is their purple anthers, appearing in pairs like two eyes peeping out from the center of the flower. In mature specimens, this colour may not be observable due to pollen development. The taxonomy of this plant is in flux. It was formerly known as Synthyris reniformis. The Burke Herbarium lists it as Veronica regina-nivalis, the term I will apply here.

Fawn Lilies, Erythronium Oregonum

Day 194: As much as we all love close-ups of lovely wildflowers, sometimes you just have to step back and take in the broader view. The Giant White Fawn Lilies (Erythronium oregonum) are out, and coming on a cluster of them in the deep shade of tall evergreens, one might feel that the faeries were lighting the path with candles, so brightly do their petals shine with the barest touch of sun. Their mottled leaves keep close to the ground, patterned to star as both light and shadow in the springtime play. The population here (a location I will not reveal) is growing. Today, there were hundreds, scattered over an acre or two of woodland knolls. Some set watch on mossy balds, bravely daring human eye to fall upon them; others lurked behind logs, among leaves and ferns, timid and reclusive. Some danced surrounded by Snow Queens as others struggled to raise their heads above debris and thorns. For all this, they are happy here, as evidenced by the increase in their numbers, and I am happy too that I could make my pilgrimage among them in this secret, quite space.

Ramalina Farinacea

Day 192: Lichens have been around for a long time. Obviously, they were preceded by algae, fungi and yeasts because all three are components of the structures we now call lichens, but they were already well established when herbivorous dinosaurs went looking for snacks. Many lichens reproduce both sexually and asexually, a factor which gives them a distinct leg up as to their survival capabilities. Sexual reproduction draws genetic material from two sources, mingling DNA to form new individuals. Asexual reproduction clones the parent material, i.e., the DNA of the new lichen is the same as that of the original. Ramalina farinacea rarely develops apothecia, the fruiting bodies which contain the spores necessary to sexual reproduction, but the margins of its lobes are often heavily populated with elliptical soralia containing hundreds of soredia, its vegetative clones. The soralia are quite obvious in the photo of a fresh specimen on the left. Can you spot them, still holding thousands of green and viable soredia, on the dried-up specimen on the right? Although the parent body is dead, it has the potential to live on in copies of itself. Barring a mass extinction of all life on the planet, I'm betting lichens will be around long after H. sap. has died off.

Happy Earth Day!

Day 191: Happy Earth Day! With the possibility of showers in the forecast, I stuffed my new day-pack accordingly and set out for Pack Forest, intending to hike the 200-300 Rds. as an invasive-plant patrol. The loop I had charted out required very little backtracking and measured out at four miles, an easy walk, although portions of the route had become quite brushed in by Scotch broom (that's one). For the first part, the road lies beneath the high-tension lines from the hydro plant at LaGrande, a swathe liberally filled with common tansy (that's two) and foxglove (that's three). The occasional holly tree (that's four) crops up between evergreens. At its intersection with the 300, the 200 continues on to the river, but my goal was to complete the 300 loop. Here, the broom had encroached heavily onto the first quarter mile of road since I last walked it three years ago, but once into the reprod (reproduction forest), I found it largely carpeted with moss. At the furthest possible point from the car as measured by my GPS, a few raindrops tapped me on the head as I knelt down to photograph Snow Queens. "Of course!" I said. "It couldn't have happened any other way!" But the shower was short-lived, and I completed the top of the figure-8 trail wet only where my trousers had collected moisture as I pushed through the Scotch broom. A short section of the main road was lined on both sides with Stinky Bob (that's five) and in one spot, a mass of Spanish hyacinth (that's six), and the last leg of the hike took me into a section I'd never visited before. The only invasive present there was Scotch broom, in places so dense that it had crowded out everything else. That said, I met some friends along the way: two snails, one cow elk, and a chickadee I could have sworn knew me from home for the way he tagged along at my side for several hundred yards. Nature provides such rewards as these for those who are kind to her and her creatures. Walk softly in the woods.

Polycauliona Polycarpa

Day 190: I liked this lichen when it was Xanthoria polycarpa, but then the taxonomists got hold of some research showing that it wasn't actually a Xanthoria and needed a different name. They dubbed it Polycauliona polycarpa, and now I like it even more because that's just so much fun to say: "Polly-collie-own-a," as if your parrot was trying to tell you it had adopted a dog, but couldn't quite get the words in the right order. Anyone who has hadd a parrot or macaw companion has likely experienced the issues birds have with English grammar structure (sidebar: my mother's parrot Turkey used to sing "Happy birthkey, dear Turkday!"). In any event, however delightful "Polycauliona" is to pronounce, it still tends to slip my mind when I see it on a tree, and although I remember that it's no longer "Xanthoria," its new name tends to elude me. Its new name tells me nothing which would assist with field identification other than the fact that it is very fruitful (meaning it has a lot of apothecia, i.e.,  the little round disks filling much of the central portion of this specimen). When it was Xanthoria, I could assume it was yellow (xanthous). However, the human mind being the strange thing it is, wandering off to form wild connections in its recesses, perhaps I can remember "Polycauliona" by associating it with Turkey, a Yellow-naped Amazon.

Burdock, Arctium Sp.

Day 189: Two species of Burdock are known to occur in western Washington, Arctium lappa (Greater/Great Burdock) and Arctium minus (Lesser/Common Burdock). Both are introduced species and are considered invasives. As one might expect from the name, Common Burdock is the most frequently seen of the two. Both species have thick, strong taproots which, if you've ever tried to dig one out, you'll have discovered is anchored near its geographically antipodean point. The hooked burrs of this plant were the inspiration for Velcro, and anyone encountering the fresh or dry plant should take pains to "de-seed" themselves before leaving the area. Green burrs may mature off the plant wherever they happen to detach from an unwitting carrier.

Killdeer, Charadrius Vociferus

,,

Day 188: With gas prices being what they are ($4.89/gallon for regular!), I have to maximize my trips out. Today's venture included lab work for my doctor, picking up my grocery order, a site steward visit for the Land Trust, two invasive-plant patrols and an unexpected encounter with a Killdeer who did their best to lead me across the street, into a gutter, and far, far away from where there must have been at least the beginnings of a nest. These large plovers have a penchant for paved surfaces and gravel, and even when nesting in short vegetation, may line the bottom of the nest with rocks, preferring white to darker colours. Presumably, this helps keep the nest warm, the pebbles retaining some of the body heat generated by the parents who take shifts during incubation. Although the chicks leave the nest within a day or two of hatching, they cannot fly for the first month of life. Either parent may attempt to lead predators away from the young by feigning a broken wing. Although this bird didn't try to fool me into believing it was injured, it was definitely trying to lead me away from the area where I first saw it. And for those of you who wonder why it is called a Killdeer, the term has nothing to do with the slaughter of cervine animal. It is the call of the bird, and can be heard on western Washington's prairie lands, "kill-DEEER! kill-DEEER!" as vociferously as its Latin name suggests.

Daphne Laureola, Spurge-laurel

Day 187: It's quite one thing to have knowledge of a plant's appearance from photographs and another to recognize it upon seeing it for the first time, moreso if it is in an unexpected location. With snow still on the ground but more Spring-like temperatures, I ventured out on an invasive species patrol in a local county park on Easter. I had not gone 25 yards up the paved trail until I stopped dead in my tracks. "Is that Spurge-laurel?" I said aloud. "Holy crap." I pushed a few blackberry briars aside to reach my target, took photos of it from several angles, both long shots and close-ups, and then just to be sure and despite a nagging memory that Spurge-laurel can cause contact dermatitis, I pinched off a six-inch flower-bearing sprig and popped it in my shirt pocket for further analysis. For the remainder of my mile-and-a-half walk, I kept waiting for my hand to start itching or to blister. When I got home a little over an hour later, I scrubbed my hands most vigorously. Apparently, I am not one of the unfortunates who reacts or else I did not get sufficient sap on my skin, but in very short order, I confirmed my suspicions: the plant was indeed Daphne laureola, a Class B invasive and poisonous even beyond skin irritation. Worse, I had found at least a dozen plants along the edge of a small wetland, and others may lie deeper into the woods. The Easter Bunny brings some people brightly coloured eggs. Me, he brings invasive plants. Thanks a lot, Bun.

Kulich

Day 186: It has been over forty years since I made kulich. This traditional Russian/Ukrainian Easter Bread is also known as paskha, and is perhaps one of the messiest doughs I have had the joy of working. There are two ways to give it its unique texture, kneading in either beaten egg whites or softened butter just before the final step of adding the fruits. One way or the other, you can count on working with a sticky, gooey mass for at least half of the 12-plus minute knead time. Is it worth it? I think so. The bread is redolent with the exotic scent and flavour of saffron, which also gives it its rich yellow hue. Served warm, it does not need anything else; not butter, not sugar, not jam or jelly. The raisins and candied fruit peels provide a light sweetness, although if you're like me, you'll probably save a bit with icing on for your last bite. Tradition holds that it should be presented with a pink rose (real or frosting) laid on its frosted dome, but I had neither handy, and in any event, Kevin showed up on my doorstep within minutes of the time I'd applied the frosting. I sent one of three home with him with wishes for a happy Easter.

Here is the "butter last" version of my recipe. Figures in parentheses are for a half-recipe.

4 1/2 tsp yeast (2 1/4 tsp)
1/2 cup warm water (1/4 cup)
1 cup warm milk (1/2 cup)

2 cups flour for sponge (1 cup)
1 tsp salt (1/2 tsp)

1/2 tsp saffron, ground (1/4 tsp)
1 cup golden raisins (1/2 cup)
2 Tbsp rum/brandy (1 Tbsp)
1 tsp vanilla (1/2 tsp)
1 tsp cardamom (1/2 tsp)

1 1/2 cups granulated sugar (3/4 cup)
6 eggs at room temp, separated (3)
6 1/2 cups flour (3 1/4 cups)
1 1/2 cups soft butter (3/4 cup)
1 cup chopped almonds (1/2 cup)
1 cup mixed peel (1/2 cup)

powdered sugar plus one egg white and a little lemon juice for icing

2 2-lb coffee cans or 3 6" panettone forms for full recipe

Dissolve yeast in warm water. Set aside to proof for 10 minutes. Soak raisins and spices in rum/brandy. Sift 2 cups flour into a bowl and add the warm milk. Mix well. Mix in proofed yeast to make a sponge. Cover, and let rest in a warm place for 30-60 minutes, or until bubbly. Separate eggs. Beat yolks with sugar until lemony and light. Drain rum/spices from raisins into the egg mixture, reserving raisins for later. Add vanilla. Beat until well combined. Beat egg whites with a pinch of salt until fluffy but not stiff. Add egg yolks to sponge. Gradually add beaten whites, stirring in gently. Gradually add flour until a soft dough forms. Pour out onto floured board. Knead in remaining flour (about 12 minutes). When the dough feels elastic, begin kneading in the softened butter (sticky!). Transfer to a lightly greased bowl and allow to raise in a warm place for 1 1/2 hours. Punch down and knead for a few minutes more. Dust raisins and peels with flour. Knead them into the dough with the almonds. Divide dough in half and place in two parchment-lined tins or three 6-inch panettone forms. Allow to raise until dough almost reaches the top (roughly 1 1/2 hours). Bake at 350 degrees for 45-60 minutes depending on size. Allow to cool. Make an icing with 1 egg white, powdered sugar and a touch of lemon juice.

Weave A Rainbow

Day 185: YouTube often provides me with inspiration for projects, both culinary and craftsy. When I spotted this rainbow pattern, I knew I had to weave it. The draft was not given, so I created one of my own, and am weaving it on my larger rigid heddle loom (tabby, 15 epi with 8/2 cotton, 229 ends). The colour sequence is given at the end of this post. I must have been half asleep when I warped it because I made three mistakes, two of which were fairly easy to fix because they simply involved drawing threads through the wrong slots. The third mistake wasn't as quick to remedy. I had already wound the warp onto the back beam and was halfway through threading it when I came up short by one black and long by an adjacent white, i.e., where there should have been two black and three white, I had one black and four white. To fix it, I had to draw the warp back to the front of the loom, remove the offending thread and install the new one, and then rewind the warp. Fortunately, this did not require re-doing what threading I had already done, and I was able to pick up where I left off. This warp will be enough for a six-foot table runner and one towel, but I like the design so much that I may put a wider version on the floor loom to make another tablecloth. As shown, the pattern pivots on the red/violet stripe and repeats in reverse. It would also be possible to repeat the full sequence from the start. I am using black weft throughout.

Spacers and edges:

White 2, black 2, white 3, black 2, white 2 (plus a white floating selvedge thread on either side)

Rainbow stripes:

Violet 3, blue 3, violet 3

Blue 3, green 3, blue 3

Green 3, yellow 3, green 3

Yellow 3, orange 3, yellow 3

Orange 3, red 3, orange 3

Red 3, violet 3, red 3

All Hail!

Day 184: So far, April has offered up almost every possible scenario with respect to precipitation and temperature, going from 80 degrees one day to six inches of snow 72 hours later. It also gives me the opportunity to recite my favourite bit of weather doggerel.

Whether the weather be cold,
Or whether the weather be hot,
We'll weather the weather,
Whatever the weather,
Whether we like it or not.

Never in almost 50 years of record-keeping have I logged seven consecutive days of snow on the ground in April. A flurry is not uncommon, but an accumulation of half a foot is not. 80-degree days are unusual, but not unheard of, but they have never come tightly bookended by snow. I have tried to explain to people how it is that this occurs, that hotter summers drive more moisture into the atmosphere and hold it there until cooler temperatures arrive, but sadly, many people cannot differentiate between "weather" and "climate," and despite having bought an air conditioner to provide some respite from triple digits in June, when a heavy snowfall occurs, they say, "Look, winters are getting snowier. What's all this silly foofaraw about global warming?" A week, a month, a year does not paint the whole picture. It takes decades to observe what is truly going on.

Oak Galls

Day 183: On the prairies of southwest Washington, apples grow on oak trees. Oak apples (also known as oak galls) form when a tiny wasp lays an egg on the host species. As the larvae develop, they feed on the plant tissues within the protective skin of the gall. Various species of gall wasp utilize Garry Oak (Quercus garryana) in this manner, with size of the gall and internal characteristics often providing a clue as to the wasp's species. These were well out of reach, so I did not examine the internal structure. And yes, I did consider pasting a "censored" sticker over the one on the top left. Nasty little wasp!

Diversion

Day 182: Let's take a diversion from snowy weather and chilly temps, and step back one week exactly to last Wednesday when the sun was shining and people were out in shirtsleeves. I chose to spend the day on my bicycle, riding the full length of the "new" stretch of the Foothills Trail in search of invasive plants. It wa a fruitful mission (one could add, "unfortunately" here and be entirely justified), and it also yielded up a surprise in the character of this lovely old flume near the eastern terminus of the trail. I was curious as to its purpose, so did some digging with the Google shovel, and found out that it was built over a hundred years ago as part of the project which created Lake Tapps, a reservoir which on the last date I saw it held only enough water to fill a teacup, leaving plenty of room to spare for cream. Water from the White River reaches a diversion dam just above this flume, which then channels a portion of the flow into Lake Tapps. Ideally, Lake Tapps should be a municipal water supply, but low snowpack has led to this being problematic for at least the last decade. That said, I may have seen Lake Tapps during its low-water period (October-April) when the reservoir is let down, although if memory serves, it was in July or August when it should have been full to provide recreational opportunities. In any event, the flume is a testament to the quality of work performed by the Army Corps of Engineers who, it seems, were as painstaking with aesthetics as they were with functionality.

We Are Not Amused

Day 181: A six-inch accumulation of snow in April is an unusual occurrence even at my mountain abode, and the friends who have flown here from the south expecting spring to welcome them with buds and blossoms are not exactly pleased with current events. I'm keeping their feeders well stocked, and itis obvious to me by the sheer number of birds gathering that the food sources on which they would normally have depended are presently severely limited. At any one time, I may have a hundred or more finches, juncoes, towhees, grosbeaks, sparrows, etc. standing shoulder to shoulder on the ground beneath the seed trays, ready to grab the scattered spillage as quickly as it lands in the snow. There are very few arguments, surprisingly, except for space on the trays where the grosbeaks attempt to repel all boarders and, having greater bulk, are most often successful. They and the Purple Finches are the bright spots of colour on a grey, dreary and expressly unseasonable landscape.

Sunny Beaches

Day 180: Last Monday, I woke up to an inch of snow in my yard. I commented to friends that it was rare to get more than a dusting in April and, true to form, it had melted off by mid-afternoon. This morning, I have four inches, which must surely be a record. That said, only a week has elapsed, and in the middle, we had Thursday when the thermometer peaked at 80 degrees. It's no wonder this little Junco is trying to find a safe space under the eaves! I thought he was pretty clever to take up a position on the roof of the House of Chirp after discovering that he didn't quite fit on the top of the garage door frame. Alternately, he shelters on the clothesline under my back-porch awning, another spot from which he can keep watch on the feeders or dart out for a quick lunch. I share his sentiments. I'm in a heavy sweater and wooly socks, and when I looked out over the winter-scape shortly before dawn, I too remarked on the sunny beach...or something like that, anyway.

American Robin, Turdus Migratorius

Day 179: There is always some amount of confusion when I say "robin" to any of my English/Australian/New Zealander friends because the bird they call by the same name is a different breed of cat...er, of feathered friend. The European Robin (Erithacus rubecula) is significantly smaller and cuter, and belongs to the family Muscicapidae which was split taxonomically with Turdidae in 1998, thanks to DNA research done by Charles Sibley (who, incidentally, is not related to ornithologist David Sibley). Our American Robin (Turdus migratorius, above) belongs to the sister family, Turdidae. To put the two species in perspective for my global readership, a European Robin weighs less than an ounce. An American Robin may weigh in at three ounces or more! The song of the European Robin is more melodious and varied than that of the American Robin which, right before sunrise outside my bedroom window, consists of an ad-nauseam repeat of "Cheery-up, cheery-up, cheery-up, TWEET!" which serves as my springtime alarm clock.

Usnea Scabrata

Day 178: With the help of Daphne Fisher Stone's marvelous "aide memoire" to Usneas of the Pacific Northwest, I was able to identify Usnea scabrata, a species which has puzzled me since I lived on one of western Washington's prairies. It is one of several Usneas which occur on Garry Oak (Quercus garryana) in the area from Yelm to Tenino, and arguably dominant on those trees just south of Rainier. It is characterized by a pendulant thallus, the individual strands calling to mind U. longissima, but branching and significantly shorter. In cross-section, the medulla (inner flesh) is quite thick compared to the cortex (outer skin), and the axis (central cord) accounts for almost half the width of the section (the ratio, if you are interested, is C8, M17, A49). The branches are uneven and dented, with papillae and isidia present in most cases. Like U. longissima, there are many fibrils shooting off from the main branches, somewhat like a loosely-spun Christmas garland. Very few annual cracks encircle the branches, and these are not conspicuous. No chemical testing should be necessary to identify the species. Of all the lichens in our woods, the Usneas are perhaps the most graceful and elegant, and they are by far one of the most sensitive, taking offense wherever even minor amounts of pollutants are present in their air. It is refreshing, both literally and figuratively, to place yourself in their company.

Peltigera Membranacea

Day 177: You might wonder (as did I) why Peltigera membranacea is referred to as a "dog-lichen." One source claims that it is because the rhizines resemble a dog's fangs. Whether this is accurate or not, I can't say, but it makes sense in a left-handed sort of way. The Peltigeras were once believed to be a remedy for rabies, based on what is known as the "doctrine of signatures," i.e., that herbs and plants having a similar appearance to a body part can be used to treat an affliction of that part. The resemblance of the rhizines to canine fangs suggested being bitten by a dog, therefore the lichen must have been useful against hydrophobia. Kids, don't try this at home! The "doctrine of signatures" is a myth, and a dangerous one at that.

So, that said, the "fangs" of Membraneous Dog-Lichen are the clue to its identity. Other lichens may share the same upper-surface characteristics, but only Peltigera membranacea has rhizines growing singly rather than in clusters or groups. This can be seen quite clearly in the righthand photo. These structures are often mistaken for roots, but their true function is to attach the lichen to its substrate. Many lichens have rhizines, although some can't be seen without a magnifier.

Weed Warrior

Day 176: It's National Citizen Science Month, and I'm out there doing my part to control invasive species in a challenge issued by the PNWIPC (Pacific Northwest Invasive Plant Council). Yesterday's project turned into a foxglove pull before I'd ridden half a mile on the east end of the Foohills Trail. Digitalis is only in the rosette stage at this point, and the ground is still moist enough that the plants come up fairly easily even where the soil is compacted. I pulled what I could (the others being too numerous or stoutly defended by nettles). This extension of the Foothills Trail opened a few years ago, but this was the first opportunity I'd had to ride it to its terminus at the White River.

Tolmiea Menziesii, Piggyback Plant

Day 175: The unique climate of the Pacific Northwest provides an ideal home for a number of plant genera which are found naturally nowhere else in the world. Among them are Tolmiea menziesii and T. diplomenziesii, the latter being the form found more commonly in Oregon and California. This intriguing plant has foliage which resembles that of Heuchera (Coralbells) superficially, but older leaves often exhibit a feature which supplies the logical and distinguishing common names "Piggyback Plant" and "Youth-on-age." Smaller plantlets ("daughters") develop from the petiole, thence to detach and take root where they fall. Tolmiea is also propagated and/or marketed as a houseplant, a factor which has led to its spread into other parts of the world. As far as I know, it is not considered an invasive in any of the areas where it has been released into the wild by unwitting gardeners, but this practice has led to the introduction of many invasives to areas where no natural controls exist. Please think twice before you bring a non-native plant home from your out-of-state vacation.

April's Prank

Day 174: Shame on you, April! Or as my grandmother used to reproach me as a child, "He who fools when Fool's is past / Is the biggest fool at last." My daffodils have collapsed under your humour, the Porch Parrots are in high dudgeon, and the first few venturesome swallows have apparently had second thoughts about their decision to move north, disapproving of the white carpet rolled out to welcome them. While a flake or two is not uncommon here in April, to have snow stick to the ground is not a frequent occurrence. It came in the night, following an afternoon of "snowy mix" and small hail from battleship-grey skies. By all rights, it should have melted immediately, rather than dragging the plow driver from his bed for a nominal sweep of the roadway. Perhaps he was grateful for one last chance to topple trash bins where they were set out for today's collection, or to take another swipe at those pesky mailboxes some contrary people just *will* put up along the roadside. He earned no points for either here, not this time around, but may have found a better opportunity further up the hill where the snow deepens. And here we thought the time for winter sports was done!

Western Coltsfoot, Petasites Sp.

Day 173: There has been much to-do in taxonomic circles regarding Petasites. Once separated into four separate species in the US, now all four are considered varieties of P. frigidus. If this by itself wasn't confusing enough, the varieties intergrade where their ranges overlap. P. frigidus var. palmatus (shown here) is commonly found in the lowlands of western Washington, but does intergrade with P. frigidus var. alpinus in the Olympics and Cascades. The inflorescence emerges in early spring, followed by true leaf development as the heads begin to turn to fluff. Although plants in the genus are called Coltsfoot commonly, any member of Petasites may also be mentioned as a "Butterbur" (Tolkien fans take note: Barliman Butterbur is the name of the Prancing Pony's absent-minded proprietor). Almost 20 species of Petasites are recognized world-wide.

Indian Plum, AKA Osoberry

Day 172: If you live in the Pacific Northwest, you may know this shrub as "Indian Plum,"although that name is slowly giving way to the preferred term, "Osoberry." It is unique in that it is the sole member of the genus Oemleria; no kith, no kin, no cousins except at a great distance where it joins the subfamily of Amygdaloideae and thence enters the family Rosaceae along with true plums and other fruits, as well as roses and cotoneasters. Oemleria cerasiformis is a stone fruit, as anyone who has ever tried to suck any edible sustenance off one of its thinly skinned pits can attest. The flesh is nearly non-existent and rather puckery on the tongue. One might do better to harvest the leaves and/or bark for tea, leaving the purple "plums" to the birds. I've heard that the wood is fine-grained and strong, and suitable for making knitting needles, bobbins and small carvings. Hmmm...I feel a project coming into fruit.

Trillium Ovatum

Day 171: I find it highly amusing that I actually caught out a couple of people who should have known better with yesterday's April Fool's prank, so today I will make it up to the readers who have every right to expect accuracy in my posts by telling you something you might not know about Trillium ovatum.

You will find this plant described in most field guides as having a three-petalled white flower held above three leaves. Sorry, but that's not what's really going on here. What you see above the ground is a scape, i.e., a flower stalk. The green "leaves" are bracts, i.e., specialized leaf-like structures from which the inflorescence emerges. Other examples of bracts which are mistaken for petals are found in poinsettias (the red bits) and dogwood (the white parts). Close examination of either of these familiar plants will reveal the true flowers clustered together in the center of the showy bracts. Some common scapes include chives, onions and other alliums, whose the flower-bearing stems (peduncles) very much resemble their non-flowering leaves. Bracts perform photosynthetic functions like true leaves, but their primary purpose is to protect the reproductive structures of the plant, and to act as a draw for pollinators. Trillium ovatum's true leaves take the form of tiny scales (cataphylls) on the rhizome, which store nutrients and provide structural support for the plant.

Rose-Breasted Sparrow, Zonotrichia Rosea

Day 170: Nothing is more exciting to me than adding a new species to a Life List, whether it is a bird, plant, lichen or fungus. This morning, a solitary specimen of Zonotrichia rosea (Rose-Breasted Sparrow) was dining on the scattered seed below one of my feeders. The white supraorbital line was the first clue I had that this bird was something new to my experience, and as I made note of the other field characteristics (the blush on the face and neck, the white patch at the back of the head and the lightly flecked, warm brown scapulars), I rushed for my five-foot shelf of field guides. I will have to check with our local chapter of the Audubon society, but I do not believe this species has been observed previously in Pierce County, or perhaps in western Washington.

And if you're buying this story, you need to check your calendar. My profuse apology to the White-Crowned Sparrow I have so thoroughly abused with PaintShop Pro.