Xeromphalina Sp.

Day 27: I've just come home from spending a very interesting afternoon on a "mushroom walk" sponsored by the Nisqually Land Trust with Prof. E. C. Cline from UW Tacoma. We found a lot of LBMs ("little brown mushrooms"), identified as such by E. C. Yep, you got that right. Professor Cline did her best to put them in the right genus, but she also said "I don't know" almost as often as I do. Even so, the walk was very educational, and now I know that Xeromphalinas are fairly easy to place in the correct genus because of their very thin and very stiff stipe. That stem is almost as rigid as a twig (branch) of the same diameter! A few other specimens will appear in my posts over the next few days, and will include a delightful slime mold which for me was the highlight of the day.

"Scandinavian Favorite" Tablecloth

Day 129: The "Scandinavian Favorite" tablecloth is done and ready to go on auction to benefit the Nisqually Land Trust. I'll put up more details about the auction as it gets closer. It won't be held until Saturday, May 31. There will be both a live auction/dinner and a separate one on line with different items. I'm not sure which one the tablecloth will be in. I've been working with the Land Trust for...lemme think...over 20 years now, if I remember correctly...and in that time, they have acquired an enormous amount of property in the Nisqually watershed and have done amazing habitat restoration work on damaged areas, particularly in Ohop Valley where I serve as a site steward. As an accredited land trust, theirs is a "forever" commitment to the environment, untouchable (presumably...hopefully) by power-mad politicians, ecology-raping billionaires and their ilk.

In the description which will accompany the tablecloth on the auction block, I refer to it as a "modern heirloom," and something which the recipient will want to hand down to children or grandchildren. It took over 60 hours to weave the cloth and its decorative band. It measures 57" x 59" and is 100% cotton (preshrunk).

Trimming The Tablecloth

Day 128: The last few weeks have seen me engaged in doggedly finishing up projects, one of which has been the "Scandianvian Favorite" tablecloth (HPB, green version, p. 200, #1). The tablecloth itself has been finished for some time, but I found that there had been so much takeup during the weaving of the band trim that I was short of having enough to cover both seams and to go around the edge. I had to weave another section of band. Yesterday, I applied the first two lengths, and had to quit there because my little Helper wouldn't stop scratching at the cloth. He'd already been locked up once for trying to steal pins and then nipping me when I pushed him away. I still have plenty of time to finish up before the Nisqually Land Trust's annual auction. The tablecloth will be donated to them. And that brings me to the real point of this post: I am asking you, my friends and readers, to support whatever environmental groups are your favourites. Land trusts and other conservation organizations may be the only hope we have left for our forests and the wildlife/plants they contain.

Post-Wash Waffles

Day 2: As expected, the waffle-weave towels fulled up beautifully when washed, and the characteristic recesses developed. The shrinkage was a bit more than I'd expected with the final measurements coming out at 21" x 11.5". Had I sett the warp at 15 epi instead of 12, they would have come closer to 12" wide after washing, but perhaps wouldn't have felt quite as soft and fluffy. Shortly, I'll be moving on to another waffle project, a layette-sized baby blanket destined for auction at the Nisqually Land Trust's annual fund-raiser. Handwoven items and quilts are always popular with bidders. 100% of the winning bid goes to the Land Trust. If I can't be out there pulling invasives and clearing brush these days, at least I can weave and sew to benefit their conservation efforts.

Overlooking Ohop Valley

Day 53: If you park at the Nisqually State Park trailhead and start to walk toward the river, you'll see another path shearing off to the right in about a hundred feet. If you follow it, you will come to property owned by the Nisqually Land Trust in about a mile. I participated in a frosty-cold winter planting there three or four years ago, and had not been back until today. I was dismayed to find that not a single one of our saplings had survived. I hadn't expected a high survival rate, not in the rocky, thin soil clinging to a previously clearcut hillside, but neither had I thought to find 100 % failure. It was a sorry testament to the long-lasting havoc logging operations can inflict. Having shed a few tears for the mother of us all, I returned to the main trail and explored it somewhat further before returning home, stepping over blackberry vines and brushing aside Scotch broom in what may develop into a jungle of invasives if not checked.

From Alectoria To Xanthoria

Day 355: This temporary collection of two dozen species represents many miles of driving and at least 15 miles on foot, demonstration specimens for my upcoming Nisqually Land Trust "Introduction to Lichens" talk this Sunday. I'm glad we booked a conference room at Billy Frank National Wildlife Refuge because as of last night, thirty people had signed up, more than double what I was expecting. Of course it's always nice when you can guarantee that a "field trip" won't be rained out and you don't need to advise participants to dress warmly. Maybe that's what accounts for the popularity of this event. Folks will have the opportunity to view lichen structures under the microscope, and will learn how to identify some of the more common genera from Alectoria to Xanthoria . Note that in the first sentence, I used the word "temporary." All but a very few samples will be returned to their respective homes, weather permitting.

All For One Demo LIchen

Day 346: On October 6, I will be giving an "Introduction to Lichens" presentation for the Nisqually Land Trust, an indoor "nature walk" (as it were). To that end, over the next week and a half, I will need to gather specimens for demonstration, and of course I can't collect from inside the Park. Obviously, this means I'm going to need to go a bit farther afield, "farther" in this case meaning a 7-mile hike (round trip) out to Sheep Lake in order to obtain a sample of Letharia vulpina, a particularly interesting species. Since I was going to be hiking the PCT from Chinook Pass to Sheep, it seemed only logical to tack another 3.5 miles on in order to complete a MeadoWatch hike on Naches Loop. The weather could have been better, but the missions were both accomplished. Joe Dreimiller's assistance was greatly appreciated since he was able to reach a second lichen species (Bryoria fremontii) and pulled a chunk of it down out of a subalpine fir with his trekking pole. The remainder of my chosen samples will be easier to obtain from sites much closer to home.

Oregon Ash Foliage And Samaras

Day 313: When Pacific Northwesterners hear the word "ash" used to indicate a native plant, the image which springs immediately to mind is of Sitka Mountain Ash (Sorbus sitchensis). The name is misleading. Sorbus is not an ash at all, despite the fact that its leaf arrangement resembles that of true ashes (Fraxinus). Sometimes called Rowan, Sorbus is a member of the Rosaceae family (Rose) and bears clusters of orange-red berries in the fall, much to the delight of migrating Cedar Waxwings and Grosbeaks. On the other hand, Oregon Ash is a true ash; Fraxinus in the Oleaceae is akin to olives and lilacs, and its fruit is a samara which contains a single seed. The papery wings of the samara allow it to be wind-carried to distances beyond the parent tree rather than falling to the ground directly beneath it as a nut would. When a mature ash grove forms, it can be very effective in shading out opportunistic and frequently undesirable understory plants such as Reed Canary Grass. For this reason, the Nisqually Land Trust chose it as one of the native species to be used in the restoration of Ohop Valley.

Different Day, Different Duties

Day 155: They probably don't do it these days, but when I was in high school, we were given aptitude and placement tests to help determine what elective courses we should take to ensure our future employability. The results weren't as gender-keyed as you might have expected in that era, and mine were returned with the conclusion that I was best suited to either of two professional roles: florist (which at the time I thought was way off base) or forest ranger. Much later in life, I was subjected to similar testing with the result that my "perfect job" was determined to be that of lighthouse keeper (probably due to my preference for solitude), but that's another story. "Forest ranger" was spot on; "florist" should have read "botanist," but women were not encouraged into positions in the scientific field in the 1960s.

I always remember those tests when it comes time for the Nisqually Land Trust's annual fund-raiser auction. Besides hauling boxes of donations and setting items out on the tables, my primary duty is to arrange the floral centerpieces for the dining hall. I fell into the task quite naturally after the first year when the arrangments were composed by committee; now the job is mine alone. One of the staff purchases whatever bouquets they can find (Trader Joe's, Fred Meyer, Safeway) and delivers them to me in buckets. My mission is to create art from chaos: 28 vases with a pleasant balance of form and colour based on the materials at hand. It usually takes about two hours, and then I'm free to help with other set-up tasks.

Additionally this year, I donated two handwoven items to the silent auction: a silky rayon scarf with a patterned weave, and the "test" blanket I made before creating Arnie's retirement gift. At the very least, the two items will bring in $150 for the Land Trust.

Naturalist-at-Large

Day 296: In the truest sense of the word, I was literally wearing a different hat today, although still functioning in my role as a naturalist. Today I conducted a small group of associates from the Nisqually Land Trust on an interpretive walk through my Ohop Valley stewardship property. The theme of the easy hike was "How Restoration Benefits the Critter Community," and covered topics including species-specific use of plants for forage and habitat, successes and failures in the restoration process, forest succession and the human history of the area. I devised a "nature bingo" and awarded wooden Audubon bird-calls to the first two participants who completed it, and handed out consolation prizes to the rest. I took guidance from an interpretive system called ACE ("Audience-Centered Experience"), and was happy to find that this group was easy to engage in discussion when I drew them out with questions. It was a bit of a change-up from my usual (and rather pedantic) recitation of scientific facts. The group's responses were well thought-out when asked to give their opinions on what constitutes "old-growth forest," an arbitrary human definition which varies from agency to agency but even moreso from a critter's point of view. The Nisqually Land Trust is a private non-profit organization, and therefore will not be affected by the prevailing anti-science sentiments in high-level government. Here, I can speak science freely, helping to educate people who, hopefully, will secure a future for our Earth.

Yakking About Bioluminescence

Day 247: Quoting Wikipedia, "Noctiluca scintillans, commonly known as the sea sparkle...is a free-living, nonparasitic, marine-dwelling species of dinoflagellate that exhibits bioluminescence when disturbed...Its bioluminescence is produced throughout the cytoplasm of this single-celled protist, by a luciferin-luciferase reaction in thousands of spherically shaped organelles, called scintillons." And that was the basis for an outfitter-run kayaking paddle into the Nisqually Reach and McAllister Creek from 8-11:30 PM last night. I got home at 1 AM, still sparkling with the thrill of having completed one of my Bucket List projects: witnessing bioluminescence with my own two eyes.

We set out from Luhr Beach just before sundown, ten clients in five tandem kayaks and the outfitter (a biology researcher) in his single. We shot about a mile out into Hogum Bay, and then as darkness settled over us, we turned inland, paddling a hundred or so yards off-shore toward McAllister Creek. Sam (the outfitter) knew what to expect, and naturally sighted the first glints of bioluminescence long before anyone else did, but within ten minutes of his first announcement of the phenomenon, it began showing itself to the rest of us. At first, it appeared as only a few quick sparks of light, but as the night grew darker and our eyes adjusted, the flashes became more frequent until with each stroke of the paddle, it seemed like silvery fireworks were bursting in the disturbed water, thicker in some areas, absent in others, and sometimes clumped up into larger masses. It shimmered like glitter, each flash lasting only a microsecond. Sam explained that each single cell stores only enough energy for one flash per day, and that the organism uses the effect as a "burglar alarm," protecting itself against one predator by luring a larger one to eat its pursuer.

A lot of what Sam related as we paddled through the field of seaborne "shooting stars" pertained to the history of the area: the settlement, the agriculture, the politics. I contented myself with watching the fire in the sea, dancing beneath the water's surface. I've never been much for human history. It seems so dull when placed alongside the wonders of the natural world.

The bioluminescent effect grew in strength as the night deepened and as we paddled back to our starting point, each stroke of the paddle was outlined in a milky glow and ripples of light followed. Sometimes a single star-like glint would linger on the paddle blades, or on our fingers as we trailed them in the water. Then as we approached the boat ramp, the phenomenon appeared to dwindle as artificial light assaulted our eyes. No doubt the sparkle was still present, but as with so many things, the influence of Man dominated, repressing the magic of Nature.

Twinberry, Lonicera Involucrata

Day 219: A member of the honeysuckle family, Twinberry (Lonicera involucrata) is a woody shrub which can attain a height up to 10 feet. It is one of the species selected by the Nisqually Land Trust for use in the restoration of Ohop Valley. The yellow flowers occur in pairs at the leaf axils, attract hummingbirds and insect pollinators, and are followed by development of two bitter-tasting black berries, non-poisonous but unpalatable to humans. However, the fruits are a valuable food source for grouse and quail, as well as songbirds including grosbeaks and thrushes. The dense growth habit of this shrub also provides habitat and protection from predators for birds and small mammals.

Multicoloured Asian Ladybird, Harmonia Axyridis

Day 206: Harmonia axyridis has more common names than it has spot patterns, notably "Hallowe'en ladybug," "harlequin lady beetle," "multicoloured Asian ladybird" and assorted variations on those and other themes. It can appear in an entirely red or orange form, or it can have as many as 22 spots on its shell. The identifying feature which sorts it out in the field is its size. It is quite possibly the largest ladybug you'll see in the Pacific Northwest. A typical specimen (i.e., one which shows numerous distinctive markings) will have a white pronotum marked with black, as is the case here.

Introduced to the US to help control aphids and scale insects, these ladybirds frequently appear in large numbers during the spring and fall. Despite their abundance, they are not considered an invasive species, although anyone who's ever picked 38 of them off their shower walls before having a wash as I once did might disagree with that assessment.

The Business End

Day 204: The term isn't used much in today's vocabulary, but fifty years ago, you might have heard a shovel described as an "idiot stick," which is to say it has a blade on one end and an idiot on the other. In some regions, it applied to other manual tools as well, the principle being exactly the same regardless of what the "business end" might look like. I tend to think of weed-wrenches in much the same light. You have to be a few crackers short of a barrel to volunteer for a weed-wrenching work party, and I guess I qualify as prime crumb material. I spent the morning pulling Scotch broom with a weed wrench as part of a Nisqually Land Trust restoration project at Powell Creek near Yelm. The idea is simple: you set the jaws so that the stem of the offending weed is between them, then step on the tip of the tool and pull back on the lever which closes the jaws on the stalk. Once the stalk is pinched (sometimes not as easy as it sounds), you lean on the lever using the ground as your fulcrum, and if Archimedes is smiling, the earth moves as the roots are withdrawn. That's the theory, anyway. In practice, it's never that simple. The jaws slip, the stalk breaks, leaving the roots in the ground, thereby ensuring that you'll have a job again next spring. That said, we removed a lot of the nasty stuff, but it may be days before I can stand upright again.

OptOutside

Day 42: You don't have to twist my arm to get me to #OptOutside on Black Friday or any other day, for that matter. However, I do prefer to go when the rain isn't coming down in buckets, so I postponed this adventure until this morning when I thought I could squeeze the hike in between downpours. That's not to say I wasn't anticipating an abundance of water en route. That was unavoidable, given the amount of rain we've had this week. Consequently, I went prepared with waders, a trekking pole, and of course the camera and tripod. I had four crossings to make to reach a geocache, and this (the second one) was the deepest. The fourth one took me by surprise. Since my last visit, the beavers have been busy. I had to bushwhack through a tangle of snowberry bushes in order to get below their dam. The water has pooled above the dam to a depth which probably would have gone above my chest waders. Go on, tell me you had more fun pounding the pavement at the mall and parting with enormous amounts of your hard-earned money! I'm not going to believe you.

Yelm Shoreline Planting

Day 16: After roughly eight months of being on the injured list with a hip issue, I finally felt sufficiently recovered to join one of the Nisqually Land Trust's work parties. Oh, it felt good to be back on the end of a shovel again! We couldn't have asked for better soil in which to plant: friable, rockless, eminently easy to dig once you got through the sod of canary grass. Therein lies the problem. Canary grass is an invasive which takes hold in open areas and quickly proliferates. The best way to eliminate it is to shade it out. Admittedly, this solution takes years, but it is the most effective for the long term.

Forty-three volunteers (about half of them Cub Scouts) put 150 Douglas firs and shore pines in the ground in three hours. A few of us (the diehard core membership) stayed behind to install protective sleeves around each seedling. The white plastic tubes will prevent rodent damage, one of the major reasons for die-off among newly planted trees. They will be removed two or three years from now after the trees are fully established.

Heron In Repose

Day 121: The Nisqually Land Trust held a workshop for site stewards old and new at Billy Frank Jr. Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge this morning, which gave me the perfect excuse for a nature walk. After sitting for several hours, I was more than ready for a two-mile sprint to the end of the boardwalk, but I had forgotten about the seasonal closure of the last 700'. I find it hard to reconcile duck hunting with a refuge, but I am not the land manager. I'm sure there was wisdom in the decision, or at the very least, an agreeable trade-off. That said, the wildlife seems to know to stay close in, and several Great Blue Herons provided plenty of photo ops. Sleepy Sam untucked for the classic heron portrait, but I have tons of wide-awake heron images in my files, not nearly as cute (in my opinion) as Heron In Repose.

How I Spent My Solstice Vacation

Day 70: While I was deciding how I wanted to celebrate Solstice this year, I received an invitation from the Nisqually Land Trust to join a work-party on that day. What better way to spend the occasion than in service to the Earth? My "annual leave" from Park duties parallels Kevin's since I ride up with him, so I had the day free. The project was touted as an "ivy-pull." English ivy is a major problem on many of our properties, but an earlier work party had cut it from the trees at this location (note the dead vines on the big cottonwood on the left), and our task involved removal of new shoots. Sounds fairly easy, right? It might have been, but for a heavy understory of five-foot high Snowberry concealing our quarry. You could never have guessed that six of us were hard at work within a 200-foot diameter circle. In fact, it was so dense that I couldn't see my work-mates even when they were only twenty feet away. The two hidden "Waldos" in this image were working near the river where I had the clearest vantage point to document volunteer attendance for the event.

Winter Transplants

Day 57: Several of my readers in different venues have expressed concern over our recent planting of Douglas fir saplings despite wintry conditions. Let me allay your fears! First of all, Dougs are cold-climate trees. Second, they're husbanding their growth energy at this time of year, and not putting effort into sprouting either new roots or needles. They're dormant, having a good long rest before spring. In fact, they are in a nearly ideal phase for transplanting. Care must be taken when transporting the seedlings, though, and to that end, their roots are wrapped in wet burlap to keep them moist, and they're left in heavy canvas totes until the holes have been prepared.

Despite our recent run of temps in the mid-20s, the ground is only frozen down an inch or so below the surface. When planting a bare-root Doug seedling, a narrow hole is dug, ideally at least as deep as the roots are long so that they aren't bent when the tree is put in place. The sapling is then dangled in the hole and the soil is packed around the roots to eliminate air pockets. Thus compacted, the soil acts as insulation against freezing. Their further care is consigned to Mother Nature, who at this time of year is more than generous with precipitation in some form or another. Don't worry! She's looking out for them.

Planting Season

Day 55: The last several Nisqually Land Trust events have seen me absent from the ranks of scotch-broom pullers and tree-planters through the unfortunate circumstance of an irritated nerve in my right leg. On my doctor's advice, I have been wrapping it in a pressure bandage which after a few days seems to relieve the pain, but a day or two out of it, and I'm right back to square one. Consequently, he's taken me off shovel detail on the premise that over-shovelling was probably how I got into this predicament. After all, I did dig up most of my yard last spring, and I'm not as young as I used to be. That said, it has upset me that I haven't been able to participate in work parties at my former level, so Charly (pictured here) suggested that I could do duty as official photographer. Thus I could be found on this 25° morning atop Ohop Bluff with five other stalwart souls, having lugged a pair of shovels down a mile of trail while the stronger members of the planting team carted planters' packs filled with bare-root Doug fir seedlings. While they put 100 of them in the ground, I took pictures and ran around sticking pink flags beside each one to mark them for the later addition of protective plastic sleeves. I am grateful to Charly for having found a small job I could do in addition to my photographic work.