Snow Day

Until yesterday, winter had been almost snow-free. There had been a light dusting in late November, and another a few weeks ago, but that had been it. I was beginning to feel cheated. I love snow, at least when it isn't an inconvenience and, not to put too fine a point on it, I don't have all that many winters left to me when I might enjoy it. But yesterday, Mother Goose shook out her featherbed in a fervor of spring cleaning and, like many of our March snows, it came down like crazy, piled up briefly, and disappeared almost as quickly. This is snow at its best: beautiful and ephemeral even at its most intense.

Earthballs, Scleroderma Areolatum

Day 347: The Earthballs are back. Last year, a botanical mystery erupted under the contorted filbert, one which required breaking out the microscope to examine spores. By doing so, I determined that these unusual "puffballs" were Scleroderma areolatum, a poisonous species which ejects its dark, ashy spores through a single apical pore when fully mature. The name "Scleroderma areolatum" gives hints as to the identification: "sclero-" meaning "hard," "-derma" referring to skin, and "areo-" suggesting that the surface of the species in question would be pitted or otherwise distinctly marked. (I love descriptive Latin nomenclature! "Something smithii" tells you absolutely nothing about what you should be looking for.) To the best of my knowledge, my little Scleroderma patch is the only place these grow in Pierce County, although it would be interesting to look in groves of our native filberts to see if there might be an association with Corylus and the same or other species of Scleroderma. In any event, sometimes even a walk around my yard can be exciting.

Blooming Filbert

Day 135: The bloomin' filbert is in bloom! Harry Lauder (Contorted Filbert, Corylus avellana "Contorta") has put forth a profusion of blossoms, and you'd never know it even if you were standing only three feet away unless you knew exactly what to look for. But if you do know and peer closely, you'll be rewarded with the sight of tiny hot-pink stars. These are the female flowers of this monoecious species. The drooping catkins are the males. Once fertilized, non-edible filberts (nuts) will form inside the ovaries. Ttuly, this seems like a good example of overkill. When the catkins begin shedding pollen, it comes off the tree in clouds! A couple of years ago, I caged a few of the clusters to see if nut meats would develop inside. Usually, they're consumed by the birds and squirrels before they ripen. The few I protected did in fact form nuts somewhat smaller than a lightly flattened pea, but they are not fit for human consumption.

A Favourite Flower

Day 108: As far as favourite flowers go (excluding rare species), it ranks right up there with Wild Ginger (Asarum caudatum) and Skunk Cabbage (Lysichiton americanus) as far as I'm concerned. These teeny-tiny tufts go unnoticed if you don't know exactly what to look for, and when. I've been watching them develop on the Contorted Filbert over the last few days, hoping that it wouldn't be pouring down rain when they burst open. The pendulous catkins you see in the background are the males, the pollen producers on this monoecious shrub. In an experiment last year to see if my tree would produce hazelnuts, I caged several clusters of burgeoning nuts to protect them from squirrels and birds. Predictably, those not caged were devoured. There was nothing I could do about worms (a common pest which eats the nut from the inside out, having accessed the center of the ovary during the blossoming phase), but it appeared that the ones I had caged were developing. However, when I cracked them open months later, there were no nuts inside, nor was there any tell-tale worm frass. From this, I conclude that despite forming shells, the tree is not self-fertile at the very least, and perhaps sterile altogether.

Filberts

Day 7: Some of you may recall that Harry Lauder, the contorted filbert, bloomed this last spring and began to set fruit. I had found empty shells under the tree at least once before in its thirty-year lifetime, but had never seen nuts hanging from its branches. Previous experience with filberts during my growing-up years suggested that it was highly likely that squirrels, birds or worms would carry them away before they could mature, so I built cages around several clusters as a horticultural experiment. Some critter outfoxed my efforts on all but two bunches, and these fell off naturally and were caught by the wires. They were still green when I brought them in the house, but are slowly turning the brown typical of the species. Will they have meats inside? If so, will they prove to be edible? Or will worms emerge at some point in the future, as they did from the acorns I had sitting in a basket? This experiment is not over yet, but at least it has demonstrated that Harry Lauder can indeed self-pollinate.

Nutty Horticulture

Day 324: Most of my readers will recall that I've done a number of rather odd horticultural experiments in the past, but this one has to be the nuttiest yet. Past experience with filberts/hazelnuts strongly suggests that wildlife or worms get the meat before the nuts can be harvested, but I don't recall that I ever opened a nut while it was green to see if there was actually anything inside. Harry Lauder has developed quite a few clusters of nuts this year, so I decided to sacrifice one in the name of science. I was surprised to find a developing nut inside the shell which, it must be mentioned, was already fairly hard. I began by trying to saw off the top, but I pinched the shell so hard with the pliers that as soon as I'd broken through the exterior, it shattered. Even so, the experiment gave good results, revealing an immature filbert. Having discovered this, a second experiment suggested itself: try to keep peckers and paws off a few nuts long enough for them to ripen. It's possible they may go wormy. Experiments frequently have numerous possible outcomes. To that end, I mounted three chicken-wire cages on stakes, each cage surrounding two to four nuts. While this may not be sufficient to deter the long-beaked Steller's Jays, I am hoping to have two or three nuts mature.

Nuts To You!

Day 321: "Well, nuts to you!" sez I to the chipmunk who's been scrounging under the bird feeders lately. No, I'm not really expecting a crop of filberts from Harry Lauder's Walking-stick, although the tree is producing some. My experience with our native Beaked Hazelnut and the small grove of filberts we had when I was a kid leads me to think that the few the worms don't get into will be consumed by birds, squirrels and chipmunks long before they ripen. I planted Harry Lauder shortly after I moved here, meaning that the tree is roughly 30 years old now. Only once in the past have I seen evidence of nuts, and that was in the form of a few shells on the ground. I don't recall having ever seen one on the tree before. It will be interesting to see how these progress.

Snow Birds

Day 136: The term "snow birds" has been a source of confusion for me for many years because when I first heard it, the speaker was referring to the group of people who head south for the winter. Some years later, I heard it applied to the skiers who flock to the slopes and lodges, indeed quite the opposite of the initial definition I had learned. That said, I'm sure you will agree with my definition of "snow birds" upon seeing these images. These four species (Dark-eyed Junco, Spotted Towhee, Steller's Jay and Black-capped Chickadee) are among the most common in my yard when the white stuff is on the ground. And yes, that one curved twig is by far the most popular perch. If the weather forecast can be believed, we're due for more snow every day for the next week. Have fun, you snow birds!

Population Explosion

Day 44: They say you should be careful what you wish for. There was a time when I had no Chickadees in my yard. A few years back, one paid a very brief visit and I was utterly overjoyed. Of course having the contorted filbert to provide them a safe zone was probably a major factor, but it wasn't long before I had two 'dee-dees, then three, then half a dozen. For the last two years (maybe three), the Chestnut-Backed have been more than willing to sit in the palm of my hand to enjoy their lunch. The Black-Cappeds aren't as brave. Brave? Brazen is a better word for the Chessies. Just now as I went out to take this photo, one landed on the clothesline across the back steps, a mere six inches from my face. And cussed me out for being slow with the food! This year, the population has exploded. I must have at least three dozen, and the chorus of "Dee-dee-dee! Dee-dee-dee!" is almost deafening when they all come at once and begin clamouring for seed. What music it is to my spirit, this chorus sung by my winter friends!

Preferred Branch

Day 15: If they were writing Google reviews, the 'dee-dees, juncoes and Nut would tell you that this is their preferred branch. There's usually a line, occasionally some jostling when someone has lingered too long, and sometimes a particularly rude customer, brash and loud-spoken, shoves everyone out of the way in order to be served first, but outright tiffs are rare because there are no shortages here. Service is prompt, product quality is superior, and almost everyone can find something to their liking. Open hours are from dawn to dusk, and if you're a little birdie, you'll never fly away hungry.

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.

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.

Spring Thrush

Day 133: Typically, male Varied Thrush (Ixoreus naevius, shown here) arrive ahead of the females, hoping to establish exclusive territory which they will defend against rivals for the same turf, often locking beaks with their competitor during a struggle for dominance. He voices his call both to alert other males that he has taken possession of an area, but also to attract potential mates. It is thought that nest-building is the domain of the female, and Varied Thrush are known to be monogamous, at least through one season and possibly longer. If two broods are raised in a single year, it is likely that the father of both is the same bird. The female lays up to six eggs. The young are altricial (nidicolous), i.e., naked but for patches of soft down (and here I must voice my obligatory qualifier: "there is nothing...absolutely nothing!...cuter than baby birds"). In summer, the Thrush's diet consists largely of insects which it scavenges from leaf litter. In the winter, the birds eat fruits and nuts.

'Dee In The Tree

Day 84: The season of Elf on a Shelf is done and dusted. Now we have 'Dee in a Tree. Imagine, if you will, that you are a hawk circling overhead in the hopes of finding a quick breakfast. Your eyesight is particularly keen and your perception of colour far exceeds that of humans. Do you think you'd spot the 'dee in the tree, garbed as he is in hues which imitate not only light and shadow, but the warm brown of catkins and bark? The Dee in the Tree is a master of disguise. He's also a master of concealment. Perched in the tangle of the contorted filbert, from above he would appear as one more blob of snow caught in the branches. Should a perceptive hawk discern his camouflage, he can always retreat into the deeper maze of branches for protection. Our little Chickadee friend is cautious nevertheless, only making quick forays to the feeder, returning to the sanctuary of twigs to dine at his leisure. Today, the hawk will go wanting unless a foolish mouse goes out snowshoeing at a time when all wise rodents should be in their dens.

We're Back

Day 32: In the Park, the return of the seasonals in the spring is marked by training sessions in each Division. Here at my house, the winter seasonals have arrived, and yes, training has begun. The returnees aren't quite settled and are still sorting out the procedures in case something has changed since last year, and the newbies are hesitant and reserved, worried about making a mistake. It's up to me, their supervisor, to assure that they have housing if needed and that they are outfitted with their essentials and, as their instructor, to put them at their ease in their new surroundings. At this point, we're laying the groundwork for what promises to be a happy relationship for the next several months.

Horticultural Achievement

Day 316: After struggling for five years to find an effective method for rooting a slip from my contorted filbert, I discovered this last spring that I had succeeded with one soil-layering out of a dozen. I potted it up and buried the pot up to its rim in the front flower bed where I could keep a close eye on my baby. I watched as it put on buds, and as they matured into leaves, I was convinced I'd succeeded at long last. And then I committed an egregious sin: I forgot all about it. We went through a blistering hot spell with temperatures over 100 degrees. I watered, but did I check to see if it needed special protection? No. In fact, I didn't think about the poor little thing until a few days ago, and then only as an afterthought when I was pulling weeds. Hidden behind other foliage, it almost escaped my notice even then. It's had all summer to develop a strong root system, and given what it's been through, it seems determined to survive. Next spring, I'll plant it in its permanent location. And I'll check on the next dozen who will have had their joints pinned under the soil for a year.

Hopping-parrot

Day 147: Meet my newest friend/charge, Hopping-parrot. If you've been following along, you'll understand the "-parrot" portion of his name, but "Hopping" might make you wonder. As it happens, Hopping-parrot has a gamy wing. He can't fly, but he is an expert hopper. He's been with me about three weeks now and I do believe the wing (presumably broken) is growing stronger. He seems to be able to flex it a bit more, even flap it a little, although it's obvious that he doesn't trust it to carry him from the tree to the feeder. He forages on the ground, retreating to the safety of the tree in between meals with a rapid succession of hops which takes him there, and then from branch to branch with clear knowledge of the best routes through the tangled branches. I have observed his behaviour for twenty or thirty minutes several times, watching him exercise the survival strategy which has brought him this far. I have to marvel: where does he go at night to be safe? Does he nestle down in the heart of the winding trunks, out of the reach of raccoons or other predators? Do I see a glint of greater-than-average intelligence in that beady black eye? He must be cleverer than most. He talks to me when I put out seed, although he is not bold enough to approach me...not like the daring, darling chickadee who landed twice on the camera while I was capturing this portrait.

Update 3/13: He flies! I've seen him make it twice from the tree to the feeder (the actual feeder, not to the ground below it), and a couple of times a foot or so between branches. He still prefers hopping, but the wing is obviously on the mend!

Horticulture In Action

Day 131: Emboldened by my success at producing one rooted slip of contorted filbert in my entire horticultural history with the tree using multiple methods over a period of five or six years, I set out this morning to determine whether the experiment was repeatable or only a fluke. Since soil layering had been the only means with which I'd had any luck, I made eight "staples" out of aluminum wire, tied flagger tape to them (it won't fade like the cloth strips did), and headed out into light drizzle with a trowel, a sharp knife, rooting hormone and assorted other pieces of gardening gear to tackle the project. I was able to find eight conveniently contorted bends in branches close to the ground, scraped wounds on the bottoms of each twig and dosed it with Rootone, then buried each one two to three inches deep, mounding dirt donated by the resident mole around each staple before packing it down. Now the project is in Ma Nature's hands. The timing is right. The sap is running. New growth has begun. Will I have to wait five years again to get results? If that's what it takes, I have the patience for the task.

Layered At Last!

Day 130: If western Washington records an 8.5 earthquake this afternoon, that was me upon discovering that my horticultural labours have finally been rewarded. Yes, that is a rooted slip of Harry Lauder's Walking Stick, Corylus avellana "Contorta," the fruit of a soil-layering attempt begun in 2016! It is the only one of ten to take root. Two years ago, I thought it felt like it was attached to the ground, but I didn't want to disturb it until it had had a chance to establish. I still wasn't completely convinced last year. Today when I checked on it, there was no doubt: it had formed a good root system and was ready to move to Phase Two, i.e., being transplanted to a sunken pot where it will remain for another year before being put in its permanent location. I believe this was one of the slips I treated with rooting hormone although the colour had faded entirely from the cloth strips I'd used as indicators of "treated" vs. "untreated." Given the difficulty I've had propagating Harry using every method known to man but grafting, I think it's safe to assume that this must have been one of the treated twigs. Soil layering, for those of you unfamiliar with the procedure, is done by burying a living twig in soil, leaving it attached to the parent plant until a root system forms. It is sometimes helpful to create a wound on the lower portion of the buried piece as I did in this instance. The wound stimulates a healing response. I am ecstatic! Now let's see if I can do it again.

Safety Net

Day 107: Imagine, if you will, that you are a Kestrel or other small hawk with a mind to a tasty dinner of junco or sparrow. Would you not choose the easiest route to your meal over navigating a maze of tangled branches through which the smaller birds can flit with greater ease? This is why the contorted filbert is such a popular feature among my avian friends. It affords them protection from predators. A chickadee can negotiate the obstacle course with alacrity and indeed, the 'dees and the nuthatch frequently hang out deep within the interior of this wildly twisted shrub. The Steller's Jays and other larger birds must pick their way through if they wish to transit to the other side. The few times a hawk has attempted to stoop on a songbird here, it has given up all hope to sit forlornly on an outer branch while the "little people" hid in the core of its architecture. As much as I would love to add another contorted filbert to my yard, the tree has resisted every method I've tried to propagate it: cuttings of both old wood and new, air and soil layering, application of growth hormone. I suppose I could try grafting it onto native filbert stock, but that would first require transplanting and establishing the native species. No, I think the birds and I will just have to make do with this solitary "safety net."