Delphinium Glareosum, Rockslide Larkspur

Day 291: Every wildflower season, there are always a few names I forget. Usually it's because I have nothing with which to associate them, like the infamous "smithii" of taxonomic shame. I get as far as "Delphinium" with this one ("Larkspur" in common reference), but the second half of the binomial invariably eludes me. I never bothered to look up the source Latin for "glareosum" until this morning, but had I done, it would have linked the common and scientific names forever in my mind. "Glareosum" means "gravelly." We commonly call it "Rockslide Larkspur." Gravel or rocks, whichever you choose to call its preferred habitat, the name now makes sense. You'll find it in the subalpine zone, its intense blue lighting up grey scree fields and pediments, even putting to shame the Mountain Bluebirds who frequent the same regions. Each floret comes with its own bee, i.e., the black-and-white center typical in most Delphinium species. Young leaves are reddish-purple, turning green as they mature in sunlight.

Luetkea Pectinata, Partridgefoot

Day 290: Partridgefoot (Luetkea pectinata) is commonly found in the alpine/subalpine zones of Mount Rainier National Park. It stands roughly six inches high when in bloom, the flowering stalks rising above a basal rosette of foliage. Both the basal and cauline leaves (those appearing on the stems) are divided into three linear leaflets, in shape rather like a bird's foot (hence the common name). The tough, woody (ligneous) stems remove Partridgefoot from the category of herbaceous plants, but it is too short to be called a shrub. Instead, botanists call it a semi-shrub or subshrub based on this characteristic. The plant often forms dense mats, connected beneath the soil by rhizomes or sending out runners (stolons) along the surface. It is evergreen, and the tufted basal rosettes may be seen in the early season as the snow begins its retreat from the meadows.

Lovin' The Latin

Day 289: I know I do a lot of ranting about using the Latin epithets rather than common names, probably just as often as I rail at taxonomists for employing unhelpful terms like "smithii" instead of words which tell you something about a species' field characteristics, so today I'd like to demonstrate how Latin guided me to the identification of one of Team Biota's Mystery Plants. When we first observed this unknown growing along the roadside, its buds were tightly closed. The foliage was difficult to see in amongst a heavy growth of thimbleberry, but as I observed it, I made note that it looked rather like that of a birch tree. The plant was obviously neither a birch nor a tree, but that information didn't really narrow the options. With only foliage to go on, the field manuals weren't much help, so when I got home and processed the pictures, I sent one off to Arnie and to David at the Burke with the comment that, "If I was a taxonomist, this would be 'somethingoranother betulifolia.'" And then I settled in with the guides, determined to find it if I had to do it the "inexpert" way: paging through and looking at each picture. Then on an off chance, I decided to browse the Burke gallery first with a search for "betulifolia" ("birchlike foliage") in Descriptions, and lo and behold! up popped a solitary Spiraea. Now it must be said that "betulifolia" is appended to the binomial as a subspecies or variety, and the accepted name is the short form "Spiraea lucida," but by using the informative Latin, I reached the identity of the plant without a lot of needless thrashing around. David confrmed my findings and Arnie said he was highly amused that my suggestion of "betulifolia" had been spot on. Latin! I love it!

Melting Marmots

Day 288: Even the marmots are melting. I took this photo before the hot spell settled in and drove the mercury above 90 degrees, but daytime highs have been there for three days running now, and several more are on the roster. We may break daily records here in western Washington, and I find myself empathizing with the marmots whose cooling snow patches are disappearing fast. That said, the marmots' thick fur coat actually insulates the animal from summer heat as well as protecting it from cold in winter. Still, marmots seem to have figured out that by chilling the insulation down occasionally, they're less likely to succumb to overheating. I rather suspect that there is a bit more physics going on here than is covered in that very basic explanation, but it will have to do for now because I'm too hot, and I don't have a snowbank to flop on.

Topping And Tailing

Day 287: We're going to take a left turn from botany today to explain the process of "topping and tailing," a task which will be familiar to anyone who has cultivated gooseberries for use in jam. Or perhaps we should back up even further to explain the gooseberry itself. I'm willing to bet that a sizeable portion of the younger generation would say, "Gooseberries? What are those?" Hardly anyone grows them these days because their thorny defense system makes them hard to pick, and the aforementioned "topping and tailing" is time-consuming and rather tedious when one has any quantity to process. An underripe gooseberry will pucker your mouth in a way lemons can only dream of achieving. A ripe gooseberry is still tart, but at the same time, it holds a certain sweetness which suggests the possibility of culinary use. Some varieties make green berries, others red or brown, but most cultivars produce a fruit from half an inch to an inch in diameter, and do so in abundance. Did I mention thorns? Even when those luscious berries are dangling in easy sight, the gooseberry bush doesn't want you removing them. The thorns are longer than the berries, and cover the older canes as thick as the proverbial hair on a dog. Puncture-proof elbow-length gloves are strongly advised for neophyte gooseberry pickers. Those of us who have grown up with gooseberries have sufficient experience with their collecting to know to move slowly and carefully, but are nevertheless resigned to getting spiked. Let's say you've survived the harvesting experience more or less intact. Now you need to process the fruit to turn into one of the most delicious jams I know. Each berry, however large or small, will require that the stem end (top) and blossom end (tail) will need removing. This is done with the sharpest knife in your kitchen because the skins resist cutting, although they'll soften when cooked. Once I've topped and tailed my harvest, I like to cut each berry in half before freezing. The fruit keeps well in the freezer without the addition of sugar, so you can accumulate gooseberries as they ripen and then make jam when cooler days arrive in late autumn. I may actually have enough this year to make two batches!

Aspidotis Densa

Day 286: There is a new name on the list of ferns known to occur in Mount Rainier National Park as of yesterday: Aspidotis densa. Known commonly as "Indian's Dream" or "Cliff Brake," the species had not been observed previously in the Park or in Pierce County, although it had been reported from Lewis County to the south and King County to the north. Only two specimens were observed at this site. However, we did not make a thorough search on this occasion. That will be forthcoming. The fern can be recognized by its blackish-brown stems and delicately lacy fronds. Fertile blades with thinner segments are held erect and exhibit more pinnae (divisions) than sterile foliage, a phenomenon called dimorphism or "having two forms." You would be correct in assuming that the plant was discovered by Team Biota during a recent outing, and it took several phone calls and numerous emails to confirm its identity. I am surprised that my jubilant "YES!!!" didn't register on the UW's seismometer.

Marsh Marigold, Caltha Leptosepala

Day 285: The plant shown in this image provides a classic example of why I dislike common names. It is not even in the same family as garden marigolds (Asteraceae), so why is it called "Marsh Marigold?" Caltha leptosepala belongs to the family Ranunculaceae, alongside buttercups, anemones and hellebores, among others. Its Latin designation "leptosepala" refers to its narrow sepals, that portion of the flower which encloses the emerging bud and serves as protection for it. In a diagram of the parts of a flower, the sepals form the first whorl and are usually green or greenish. Here, the Latin epithet provides a useful clue to identifying the plant in the field, whereas the most frequently used common name would lead you thoroughly astray. But all is not lost. It's also known as "Elkslip" which, if you think about it, makes more sense.

Rare And Endangered Pea

Day 284: This vetch-like legume is one of the most significant milestones of my botanical career. It is on the state's list of rare and endangered species, and Pierce County is at the northernmost margin of its limited range. I first observed Torrey's Peavine (Lathyrus torreyi) after receiving an alert from my contact at the WTU Herbarium. Following his instructions for reaching the site, I found the vines occupying a patch roughly 12" x 20" with a few fading flowers and, as I recall, no evidence of developing buds. I am happy to report that two years later, Torrey is in good health as of a recent visit to the location, and the patch has now more than doubled in size. The vines were displaying both blossoms and new buds, but how the first seed reached this site is a matter of conjecture. Obviously, I can't disclose the location. Just suffice to say that I think it's an odd place to have a pea.

In Pursuit Of Boechera

Day 283: Following up on yesterday's post regarding a species of Boechera infected by a fungal pathogen, Team Biota was able to put to rest one bit of the mystery: the affected plants are B. lyallii. We hiked the Silver Forest Trail, searching for both healthy and unhealthy plants to examine. Fewer infected plants were found along the trail than on the roadside 200' higher, a hint that late-lying snow (that piled up by plowing) may have contributed to fungal growth. Note that I say "may have contributed." This is by no means conclusive. I merely put it out there as food for thought. Our current Plant Ecologist specializes in plant pathogens. We will be turning our evidence over to her to pursue if she sees fit.

Flower Mimicry

Day 282: Team Biota is always on the lookout for the rare and unusual, and last week's outing provided us with a couple of Mystery Plants. One I managed to identify within 24 hours despite the fact that I only had foliage to go on. As I told Arnie, "If I was a taxonomist, I'd call it somethingoranother betulifolia," and sure enough, the plant's birchy-looking leaf was the clue I needed. I like it when Latin tells you something about the field characteristics! But then there was this critter, and it had all of us baffled, right up the chain to the curator of the WTU Herbarium. I was convinced that it was infected with some kind of pathogen and he agreed, but we couldn't determine the identity of the plant. Team Biota began planning the next trip around trying to find a) a healthy specimen and b) an open blossom, but I didn't think those red "buds" were really buds. I was ready to consign it to the Unidentifiables file, but while looking for information on another subject entirely, I stumbled across a photo which strongly resembled our unsolved Mystery. I checked the associated document and discovered that it showed a Boechera (Rockcress) which was infected with the fungus Puccinia monoica. The fungus creates a condition known as floral mimicry, i.e., it distorts the leaves and makes them look like...yep, flower buds. I spent the next several hours down a rabbit hole of scholarly treatises while exchanging emails with the Herbarium curator, and we narrowed the possible Boechera candidates down to two, which fortunately have one distinctly different characteristic to separate them. There will be another chapter to this story as soon as Team Biota has put the final piece of the puzzle in place.

Wildflower Rainbow

Day 281: While Team Biota does spend a lot of its time on its respective hands and knees (figuratively in the instance of Joe, who is recovering from surgery), we do occasionally step back to take in the wider view. In this case, a scree slope above Cayuse Pass was painted with every colour of the rainbow, from tiny purple Boecheras (Rockcresses) and indigo blue Larkspurs to red and orange Castillejas supplemented with "damn yellow daisies" and a broad palette of green foliage in between. It is summer in the mountains, and these plants have only three months to complete their reproductive cycles before the long cold season settles in. Here, the undiscerning observer sees only beauty, not the intense struggle for survival which compels the display. It's serious business being a plant.

Tippy At Fourteen

 

Day 280: "We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming to bring you this announcement of a Special Event. It's Tippy's birthday!" Today his age matches his weight, but we wouldn't want to call him stout because he carries it well. That said, other than a tiny bit of extra canned food for his breakfast, he won't be getting any special treats in honour of the day. What he will be getting is concentrated Mama-time, either on my lap or playing games. Oh, he loves to play games! He's even invented a few, like trap-the-foot. When I'm down on my knees with him, he circles me, making head-butts, running his tail under my nose and making me sneeze, and then as he moves past, he trails one foot behind, sometimes holding it suspended an inch or two off the floor until I grab it gently and allow it to slip through my fingers. Then I'm expected to trap the other foot before he makes his next pass. And almost without fail, when he's tired of this game, he steps to one side and flops, at which point I put one arm under his head and the other curls around his back so that I can pet him as he kneads my bicep. He developed the routine himself and patiently schooled me in it until I had it down pat. Smart little Boy! They say that in a relationship, you get out what you put in. There's a lot of love here, going both ways.

Pinguicula

Day 279: There is a good reason that Pinguicula vulgaris (Butterwort) is relatively uncommon in western Washington: it prefers an alkaline habitat. There are only a select few places where it can find a suitable ecological niche because our Pacific Northwest environment is largely acidic, thanks to its heavy cover of evergreen trees. In this case, it's growing on a vertical rock face where fir needles are not likely to accumulate. Presumably its substrate rock is of alkaline composition, which in this case would exclude granodiorite, andesite or basalt. Butterwort is an insectivore which captures insects by means of a sticky secretion on its leaves. When an insect is trapped by the mucilaginous "glue," its struggles trigger the release of a digestive enzyme contained in specialized glands. Exoskeletal remains of insects can often be seen as black dots on the yellow-green foliage.

Antennaria Microphylla, Rosy Pussytoes

Day 278: Pussytoes! Or as I say to Tippy when I blow on his feet, "Pussyfoots!" The pink "blossoms" you see here are actually rose-coloured bracts which surround the true flower: yellow, inconspicuous, and capable of a remarkable reproductive feat: Antennaria microphylla can set viable seed without being fertilized. In botany, this phenomenon is called apomixis or agamospermy. The plant is also capable of sexual reproduction, doubling its opportunities to create a new generation of Pussytoes. Individual colonies of Rosy Pussytoes are likely to be genetically identical, i.e., clones of themselves. Having a backup reproductive strategy is more common in flowering plants than one might expect. Other species which can reproduce by means of apomixis include dandelions and hawkweed.

Aphyllon Purpureum

Day 277: This exquisite parasite is one of my favourite wildflowers. It bears a rather unfortunate common name, one which inevitably draws disparaging comments from readers who are unfamiliar with the root words which form it. It is Broomrape. "Broom" refers to legumes (a family which includes Scotch broom, among others) and "rape" comes from Latin "rapum," meaning "a tuber." The name is quite logical when you have the linguistic background since Aphyllon purpureum (formerly Orobanche uniflora) is parasitic on the roots of certain legumes, but in this case, it is associated with sedum (the green succulent foliage in the foreground). The Latin name "Aphyllon" means "without leaves." The parasite has no chlorophyll and therefore is not capable of photosynthesis on its own. It enslaves the sedum as its nutrient-provider, and eventually will kill the host plant. That said, in most instances, the sedum manages to stay ahead of the game by reproducing before it dies, creating a new generation of plants for Aphyllon to parasitize. Team Biota has been monitoring this particular colony for seven or eight years now, and it seems to have achieved a balance between the two species.

Moneses Uniflora, Wood Nymph

Day 276: Recorded from only a handful of locations in Mount Rainier National Park, Moneses uniflora resembles the Pyrolas, but prefers a darker, more moist habitat. Its shining white flowers provide the common name "Wood Nymph," for indeed it is both as elusive and beautiful as those legendary beings. The flowers are scented and highly attractive to bees, although the plant produces no nectar. In a phenomenon known as "buzz pollination," the downward-facing anthers shed their pollen when a bee vibrates its wings beneath the flower. The pollen falls on the bee's back where it can be picked up by the next plant the insect visits. Buzz pollination is a reproductive strategy employed by a number of plants which have poroidal anthers, i.e., anthers which emit pollen through a single pore or through narrow slits which insects cannot enter. Pollen is loosened only when the bee vibrates its wings at a specific frequency. Research on buzz pollination has shown that across plant species, different frequencies are required to effect pollen release, and thus may require a different insect as the vehicle for pollen exchange.

Botanizing With Bears

Day 275: Uncle Walter may go waltzing with bears, but he's got nothing on Joe, Sharon and Crow who go botanizing with them. Yep, today my botany partners and I made our first excursion since the pandemic closed us down in March 2020. We spent a fantastic 11 hours searching slopes, ditches and bogs for the rare and unusual species found in Mount Rainier National Park and came home with hundreds of photos between us and two mystery plants which have so far eluded identification. I'll be focusing on those over the next few days, but my readers can expect a week or more of wildflower posts, and although all of them may not be of rarities, I hope to impart some bit of knowledge to you about each. As for Bear (Ursus americanus, black bear), he/she was stopped traffic on the Sunrise Road for the better part of twenty minutes while enjoying a leisurely lunch at the meadow smorgasbord.

Dianthus Armeria, Deptford Pink

Day 274: The Deptford Pink (Dianthus armeria) came to the US so long ago that it has now naturalized throughout most of the country. It is also known as Grass Pink or Mountain Pink, and like most Dianthus species, it can cause mild skin irritation in susceptible individuals. It is tolerant of dry and nutrient-poor soils, a characteristic which has undoubtedly contributed to its success. Even so, it is not considered invasive, and is often included in wildflower mixes such as the one I tossed out into the Barren Wasteland many years ago. This gives rise to a question for which I have found no definitive answer: what criteria make a "native" species? And how can we hope to sort out those plants which have always been present in an area, and how many may have only been present for, say, the last 10,000 years? Tracking a genome back through time to its origin is a relatively new science, and not without pitfalls. Sports (spontaneous mutations from the parent species) occur in any genetic line, and who is to say that our "Deptford Pink" might not have sprung up independently from that known in England and Europe, or perhaps even begun to grow alongside the European introductions? Without sequencing each and every Pink, there is no way of knowing.

Bog Candles

Day 273: It's easy to see why Platanthera dilatata earned the nickname "Bog Candles" if you've ever seen one standing in a sun-fleck in dark, moist forest. The flowers are so immaculately white that they seem to shine like a flame in the darkness. The "bog" portion of their common name is quite apt as well, since the plant prefers wet feet. It is a denizen of marshes and ditches where the soil never experiences prolonged periods of dryness. As you might have guessed, it is a member of the Orchid family. There are over 200 species of orchid to be found in the United States, 33 of which belong to the genus Platanthera. Bog Candles can be found throughout the northern states and Canada, with the notable exception of North Dakota where they have not been recorded, according to the USDA. Like most orchids, Platanthera is a facultative mycoheterotroph, which is to say that it is reliant on specific mycorrhizae in the soil to break down nutrients into a form it can uptake. When that fungal component is absent, the plant cannot survive. As I learn more about mycoheterotrophy, it becomes apparent that without fungus, the earth would probably be as dead as Mars.

Name That Plant

Day 272: Here is a plant which is found throughout the United States, is recognized by almost everyone (especially the under-10 crowd), and yet few can actually put a name on it. As kids, we delighted in popping our classmates with the flowering points, launching them by folding the stem over itself near the base and sliding the bend quickly and firmly toward the head, firing it off like an arrow from a bow. You could get pretty good distance if the stalk was young and supple; the stiffer stems of older plants tended to be brittle and oftentimes would break before the head separated. Accuracy was never an issue. It was good enough to plick any bystander, because the action nearly always instigated a quick hunt for more "shooters," as we called them in our ignorance of their true name. Plantago lanceolata bears the common names Buckhorn or English Plaintain, but I was well into adulthood before I heard either term. Even now, this weed makes me smile, and I'm not beyond popping a few at nothing in particular as I walk back from my mailbox.

Budding Cephalanthera

Day 271: The forest and I are growing old together. As my strength and stamina begin to wane, the woods are becoming more deeply tangled. Limbs and trees fall, thickets thicken, ground cover covers more ground. The trailless route to Cephalanthera has always involved climbing over, under, around and through an infinite variety of obstacles, and each year brings more. I emerged from this morning's foray with a head count of four very young stems and multiple new bruises, dings and gouges in my anatomy. Was it worth it? Need you ask? Also worthy of mention is the fact that in an area where they are normally abundant, very few specimens of Corallorhiza were in evidence. I counted a mere three occurrences of maculata, and all at the "seed pod production" phase of their phenology. My suspicion is that the mycoheterotrophs in this particular pocket ecology are suffering from a stressor of some sort, possibly that late-spring snow event which could have disrupted their timing. In any event, I will have to make a second excursion to Cephalanthera in two weeks or so, so I'd better start steeling myself for another round of crawling under fallen trees, over logs, around impasses and through devil's-club, the demanding rite of physical passage which takes you to the Phantom's secret lair.

Size Matters

Day 270: Just to be sure we're all on the same page here: Washington has two native forget-me-nots and at least six introductions from Europe/Eurasia. One of our two natives grows only in moist places, and although its common name ("Small Forget-me-not")suggests that it is smaller than its European cousins, the flower is close to the same size. Our other native (above) better deserves the name "Small," but that is not its designation. Myosotis verna is truly tiny. It is called simply "Early Forget-me-not" or "Spring Forget-me-not," or by either adjective followed by "Scorpion-grass." This mini-Myosotis is weedy in habit, growing in moist or dry waste soils, its wiry stems remarkably tough despite their small diameter. Like other Myosotis species, its seed capsules are small burrs which attach readily to socks and bootlaces as well as animal fur. Native or not, after you've picked a few hundred of them off your clothing, you'll be inclined to call this forget-me-not a weed.

Kiwi Flowers

Day 269: I have yet to get a kiwi off my hardy, self-fertile vine, but the first few time it bloomed, it did so before the pollinators had arrived. Last year, it appeared to have set fruit, but then we were hit with a protracted spell of triple-digit temperatures and every berry in my garden dropped. That included not only the young, developing kiwis, but the mature gooseberries and red currants as well. I salvaged the jam fruits, carefully picking each one out of the bark mulch, but the kiwis were a total loss. Not a single berry remained. The vine seems to have learned a lesson as it's settled in, and is behaving accordingly by flowering slightly later when the pollinators are active. If our cooler, more normal weather holds, I might just see some fruit this year. In other news, though, the eight or nine figs I thought might provide a late-summer snack have disappeared. Because they have gone missing overnight and there is no evidence of them on the ground beneath the tree, I suspect a raccoon has been active.

Nectaring

Day 268: One thing is certain: when the Philadelphus blooms, the Swallowtails will find it. However, this event has given rise to a puzzlement, and one for which I have no ready answer. Over the thirty years that I have lived here, I have had at least three species of Swallowtail in abundance, but very seldom have any two species appeared in the same year. This year is dominated by Papilio eurymedon, the Pale Swallowtail. It is characterized by its creamy-white colouration, noticeably lighter than the bright yellow of the Western Tiger Swallowtail. When the Philadelphus blooms, the Swallowtails flock to it in droves in preference to any other plant in my yard where they are frequently joined by the hummingbirds who also nectar at its flowers. Who can blame them? On warm evenings, the perfume of the tree carries well beyond the boundaries of my property, filling the neighbourhood with its scent.

Summer Blues

Day 267: I get the blues when it rains. Or rather, I get the rain when it blues. When the delphinium spikes open fully, it seldom fails to either rain or blow or do both at once. At four or more feet in height, the inflorescences are particularly vulnerable to inclement weather even when staked. I keep mine in tomato cages, sometimes tied to the rings to prevent them from being toppled. Although it's not easily visible in the photo, each flower has a spur similar to that of a nasturtium in which the nectar accumulates. The hummingbirds love them, hovering at each individual "bee" (the white center) and working their way from bottom to top as they sip the nectar. Bumblebees are drawn to the flowers as well, so that there is often a bee in the bee, buzzing happily as it gathers pollen. Delphiniums do not re-seed easily and thus are easy to maintain in their appointed spots. Mine are right outside my window where I can watch the hummers and buzzers in comfort even if it blows or rains.

Snappy

Day 266: After several valiant but entirely unsuccessful attempts to grow snapdragons from seed, I finally gave up and bought starter plants from a nursery about ten years ago. Ironically, those plants not only self-sowed, but the originals over-wintered with the stems remaining green despite hard frosts. While I am grateful for their contribution to my colour garden, I do wish that the bronze one had survived. It was apparently not as hardy as these two old standards. I've let these have their will, so that now snapdragons pop up in the oddest places: back behind the tall delphiniums and peonies, under the sweetfern shrub. I love their playfulness, surprising me by leaping out of shadows where I least expected them to hide. Maybe some day, I'll bring more home from the store. I mean, you can never have too many snapdragons, right?

No, Not A Slime Mold

Day 265: No, it's not a slime mold, although when I first saw it in the grass outside my kitchen door, that's what I thought. Nor is it an artistic image, but you'd probably figured that out all by yourself. Rather, it's an opportunity for me to educate you in one of the slickest kitchen hacks I've ever used: how to remove scorch from the bottom of a pan.

Y'see, I had put the hummer food on to boil and then stepped outside, intending to come right back in the house. However, my eye was caught by some weeds which wanted whacking, so I got the weed-whacker out of the garage and went to work. I finished up in about fifteen minutes, during which time I completely forgot about the hummer food boiling away on the stove. By the time I got back inside, the kitchen was full of smoke and a charred mass of sugar was nearing the point of combustion on the stove. I ran the pan outside and threw cold water in it, averting a major crisis. But a smaller one became apparent: how was I going to save my good two-quart saucepan? I let it rest for about an hour, then poured out the residue which, as you might guess, is what this image shows. There was still a quarter inch of blackened, hard sugar syrup stuck to the bottom of the pan.

I'd saved another pan, one I'd burned milk in, by using a trick I learned from YouTube. I boiled white vinegar in it, straight, and let it set for 24 hours. I'd been able to remove the scorched milk with very little scraping, and a scouring pad took care of the rest. But this was sugar. Would the same trick work? The answer is YES, although it took a couple of treatments, probably due to the thickness of the scorch layer. Each time I boiled the vinegar, I was able to scrape off a little more using a spoon so as not to gouge the pan. Then I strained the vinegar through a coffee filter and re-boiled it. I think I repeated the process three times before I'd gotten all the scorched sugar cleaned out. So no, this is not a slime mold. It's a Scorch Monster, vanquished by vinegar, hurrah.

Kittygons

Day 264: After making two cat-themed "Cathedral Window" quilts, I still had a lot of feline prints left over. Since I enjoyed making a Hexagon Quilt so much, I decided to make one using "kittygons." One of the prints was rather large, so I used it to determine the size to which the hexagons needed to be cut to best display the cats. These larger prints need to be "fussy-cut," i.e., carefully centered on the desired image, so I've begun with them to get the hard part out of the way first. Cutting the smaller prints can be more casual. I was struck by how much the focal piece in this image resembled Skunk when she was just a little babycat ("babycat" is one word, people...don't argue with me), so it will have a place of honour in the finished quilt, and yes, I plan to keep this one. The layout requires 192 print hexagons, 32 solid-colour centers and enough background hexagons to sink the Titanic. I haven't chosen fabrics for the background, centers or border yet, but it will be backed with white muslin.

I Slipped

Day 263: Yesterday I began another experiment in horticulture. I slipped. Which is to say that I took semi-hardwood cuttings from a climbing rose, trimmed each one a little bit below a node and stripped off the thorns to create small wounds, dipped each slip in growth hormone and pushed it down into a rooting sponge. The sponges (five) were placed in a vented seed-starter, and now I'll sit back and wait for roots to develop. The rose flowers were leftovers from the process, so I put them in a vase. Why waste a good thing? Although I'm not big on roses as such, this one is an eye-catching, vibrant shade of blood-red. The photo does not do the colour justice. It is also a time-tested "heirloom" variety with a strong resistance to both disease and pests, perfect for someone who doesn't want to fuss with roses but wishes to partake of their fragrance. If the slips survive, this rose can ramble along the fenceline as another pollinator attractor.

Potato Chip Quilt

Day 262: Another quilt top done, and "Potato Chip" was fun to piece. However, somewhere along the line while I was sewing blocks together, I got two in the wrong order, and didn't catch the error until I was ready to stitch the last long seam. After the air had cleared (it got pretty blue at that point), I picked the last two long seams and two short seams so that I had four sets comprised of two blocks each. I hoped that would be sufficient for a major reorganization. That said, in assembling the blocks, they are laid with the centers turned horizonal and vertical alternately, which added another layer of difficulty to finding a suitable arrangement. Luck was on my side for once, and I was able to put the quilt top back together with no two identical fabrics overlapping one another, but one print meets itself at a corner, thereby providing the first puzzle the recipient of this quilt will want to solve. Where is it? I'm not telling!

At this point in the game, I have three quilt tops completed and will probably back them with white muslin to avoid making a trip to the fabric store. Now the problem is this: I want to start another hexagon top to use up the remainder of the kitty prints, but I don't have a suitable solid for the centers. I may need to make a trip to the fabric store after all.

Baby Pictures 2

 

Day 261 (bonus): This merits a second post because as you should know by now, I am of the considered opinion that there is nothing, absolutely nothing cuter than baby birds. The parents are trying very hard to get these little peanuts to take their first flight. I think they may have already drawn one out on the wing. One slightly smaller bird comes back to the House and hangs on the exterior, sometimes while Mom is at the door with a tasty bug. Nine times out of ten, she flies off with the bug still in her beak, but relents when the little chirps become insistent. Both parents make fly-bys, as if to say, "Come on, you can do it. Watch me!" But oh, the ground is a long way down when you've never felt the wind beneath your wings. I was not expecting the kids to fledge today, but it is possible that they'll be gone by evening. Fly well, my little ones!

Baby Pictures

Day 261: Mating season got off to a very bad start this spring. Only a few days after the Tree Swallows had begun looking for suitable homes, we were hit with a cold snap and several days of snow. It was almost a month before I saw another swallow investigating the House of Chirp, but eventually, a couple moved in, bringing at least two nest attendants with them. One of the attendants fell victim to a raptor only a few feet from the House, and it took me several days to assure myself that the mated pair were both still alive. Then it seemed that the House had been occupied for a long time without the sound of little chirps being heard from within. I hoped this was due to my failing hearing, but it worried me. Were the parents caring for non-viable eggs? I spent many anxious hours watching from the kitchen window for any evidence to the contrary, and eventually was rewarded by the female who emerged carrying a tiny fecal sac for disposal away from the nest. Swallows are amazingly conscientious about their housekeeping. A few days ago, a little bitty head appeared in the doorway, much to my relief. But there was a puzzle here: I still was not hearing chirps from inside the House. I was still attributing it to hearing loss when I discovered the truth of the matter. These youngsters have parents who are not only more protective than I've ever seen before, even dive-bombing me when I am 10-12 feet away from the box, but they are also very strict with their offspring. When I finally heard the long-awaited chirps, a high-pitched single note repeated several times in close succession from the phone wire behind me silenced them immediately. Dad means business when he says, "You kids shut up now!" They obey without question or argument. It won't be long now until they are ready to leave the nest, having been thoroughly schooled in how to be a Tree Swallow under the strict discipline of their parents.