Leocarpus Fragilis On Usnea Sp.

Day 359: If you were a slime mold, you would begin life as a single cell, having "hatched" (as it were) from a spore. Like any self-respecting cell, you would grow by fission. After reaching a certain state, you might encounter another compatible cell and, after a suitable cellular courtship, you'd join with it in a second biologic process called fusion. This fusion (similar to that of sperm and egg) would include the respective nuclei of both partners. The resultant diploid zygote would then feed and grow, its nuclei redividing and increasing, eventually resulting in a structure known as a plasmodium: a single multi-nucleate amoeboid cell. When various environmental factors align (food supply, temperature, light level, moisture, pH), the fruiting process is initiated (shown here in Leocarpus fragilis on an Usnea lichen). Inside the fruiting bodies, the protoplasm separates into units each containing a single nucleus. These undergo further division reduction until what remains of each unit is a haploid spore. When the sporangia (spore capsules) rupture, the spores are dispersed and the process begins again. That said, some slime molds have a secondary reproductive strategy to ensure the continuation of their species, and they will continue to populate the Earth long after we humans, so convinced of our own importance, are gone to dust.

Alternate Lifeform

Day 233: One expects to find wildlife in the forests of Mount Rainier National Park: cute chipmunks, cheeky squirrels, birds, bats, frogs, marmots and pikas, rangy mountain goats or maybe even a bear or a cougar. None of them inspires me with quite the same admiration/trepidation as the slime molds. That's what I said: slime molds. They are not, as one might suppose at first glance, fungi. These creatures (and "creatures" they truly are) are capable of locomotion, communication and cooperation, and yet they do not fall into any of the standard "animal, plant or fungus" biologic kingdoms. Some refer to them as Protists or Protoctista and lump them together with other undefined organisms, although now those terms are considered obsolete.

Here we have two examples of Leocarpus fragilis, aka "Insect-egg Slime Mold." Its individual members have discovered food sources at these two locations, and word has gone out on the slime-mold grapevine (chemical signals) that it's time to eat and breed. Their amoeba-like cells have gathered together for the event, and are now reproducing. The fruiting bodies have developed and are now visible to the naked eye. When mature, these sporangia will burst, releasing their spores, and a new generation of Leocarpus will have been born. They may be waiting for you out there in the forest, an alternate lifeform looking for easy transport on your boots, your pantlegs, your hands. There are more things in the forest, dear readers, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

Slime Mold On The March

Day 232: This specimen of Leocarpus fragilis (aka "Insect-egg Slime Mold") apparently found something particularly yummy on a fallen twig of fresh hemlock, and as I knelt down beside it to take this photograph, I found it hard to suppress a growing feeling of unease. How extensive might it be? I wondered. Is it crawling up my pantleg while I'm down here? Does it think I might be a candidate for its next meal? I have to admit that the more I learn about slime molds, the creepier they seem.

Slimes used to be lumped with fungi, as did lichens. Then scientists determined that there were some rather major differences between them and your friendly neighbourhood mushroom. For one thing, they were capable of movement. For another, they could communicate with others of their kind. Even creepier, they cooperate with each other, drawing together to share a communal meal and breeding. As data on their habits were compiled, it was determined that they deserved a Kingdom of their own, and thus they became known as Protists.

They fascinate me, a life form quite unlike anything else we know. I'm out there in the woods, not knowing where it may be lurking, not knowing if it has a master plan for world conquest circulating in its plasmodium. Is it benign? We'd better hope so.

Super-Cool Slime Mold

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

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

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

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