Waiting For Waxwings

Day 291: Many plants and animals and undergoing phenologic shifts due to the changing climate, and because some are drifting toward earlier seasons and others to later ones, this can be critical. We are seeing wildflower blooms before the arrival of species-specific pollinators, with the consequence that the wildflower species do not set seed and the pollinators go hungry if they cannot adapt to other food sources (and many are not biologically equipped to do so). Another glaring example of radical phenologic divergence is taking place right in my own yard. For the last several years, the fruits on my Sitka Mountain-ash (Sorbus sitchensis) have been ripening earlier and earlier. Now almost a month ahead of its original period, the fruit is colouring while the Cedar Waxwings (Bombycilla cedrorum) are still far to the north where food is plentiful. At the same time, the Waxwings have been arriving here later and later, and last year, the berries had already begun to fall from the Mountain-ash before they showed up in late October. This native tree is one of their primary food sources during the autumn migration. If the berries are gone when the Waxwings arrive, many will not survive their southward journey. In the long term, this may lead to a change in the Waxwings' range, extending it northward and reducing it to the south. However, the operative word in the last sentence is "may." If the Waxwings and Sitka Mountain-ash fail to perform in parallel, one or both may not survive as species.

Spring Whites

Day 220: Although one could hardly say it's a hard-and-fast rule, I've noticed over the years that there are "colour seasons" here in the Pacific Northwest. The blues come on first, followed by whites, then yellow, trailed slightly later by reds and oranges, then back into purples and blues to close. Certainly, there are strays, particularly when non-native species join the parade, but by and large, we have Camas, Dogwood, Scotch Broom, Paintbrush and Arnica, shading out into Asters and Gentians. Currently, we're in white mode, and that includes nursery plants. Snowball bush, Mountain-ash, Lily-of-the-Valley and Spiraea are in full flower in my yard, with the Columbines just beginning, and an embarrassed early Peony hiding its red face shyly behind their foliage. My flower beds will peak in two or three weeks, then slowly taper off until I start thinking I should buy some Chrysanthemums for fall. But I never do. It seems so silly to add them when I know first frost is just around the corner.

Prodigal Parrots

Day 157: Phenology is all about good record-keeping. Even though this isn't the best picture I've ever taken, it serves to document the return of the prodigal parrots (all sons per my single observation) after an absence of roughly six weeks. They've extended their term here over the years, recognizing a Good Thing when they see one, i.e., a seemingly unlimited supply of the black-oil sunflower seed which is their favourite fare. They were only here for a few minutes to check out the feeders, moving on when the neighbour made a crash-bang in his yard. Their beaks are just beginning to turn chartreuse green, a biologic change which comes with mating season. As for their scientific name, that too is in a state of flux. The International Ornithologists' Union currently prefers Hesperiphona, however, the American Ornithological Society still places them in Coccothraustes. That said, both groups agree that they are more closely related to the Hooded Grosbeak and hawfinches than to Black-headed and Rose-breasted and the cardinals. In any event, they'll aways be "Porch Parrots" to me.

Deviations In Phenology

Day 123: I have been thinking that the pussywillows seemed late this year, but checking my phenology notes (i.e., posts and photos), I see that catkins have emerged as early as December 22, and as late as March 16. That strikes me as a pretty wide range of deviation. My weather records show nothing remarkable for that early year: not overly dry or wet, no prolonged hot spells or unusually cold temperatures, although the summer was smokier than usual due to wildfires. Could that have instigated an early bloom? Could the tree have been stressed by aerial pollutants to an extent which kicked it into survival mode? It's an interesting hypothesis, and I suspect it's one which will lead me down a rabbit hole later on today as I try to find supporting documentation. In any event, the pussywillows are right on time according to my logs. I was just overly anxious for them to appear.

Mexican Sour Gherkin

Day 282: There are several reasons for my daily posts. The first, of course, is to educate. Another is to make science less terrifying to those who flunked it in junior high school, and yet another is to encourage my readers to take up new handcrafts. These considerations fall within the definition of "outreach," i.e., in some way connecting my readers to a broader world. However, many of my images and descriptions also serve as a phenological journal, allowing me to look back to see when a particular plant emerged or was in bloom. Thus it is that today I am recording the development of several minute yellow flowers and the promise of a nice crop of Mexican Sour Gherkins which, at maturity, will look like miniature watermelons, pale green with dark green stripes. Their diameter will not exceed one inch. Almost seedless and slightly tart (hence the name), they are in fact a cucumber and can be eaten straight off the vine. The plants prefer to climb, so I have been training the tendrils on coarse garden string and a tomato cage, and the tips of some of the stems have already gone over the top. It is drought-tolerant once established and, growers are cautioned, "bears heavily all season." I'm looking forward to bite-sized cukes among the other unusual vegs and fruits in my garden.

Streptopus Lanceolatus, Rosy Twisted-Stalk

Day 258: Rosy Twisted-Stalk (Streptopus lanceolatus) doesn't seem to be as abundant these days as it was thirty or forty years ago, at least not in the areas which I commonly hike. This, of course, is anchored in purely personal recollection, and therefore subject to question as an actual record, but I am attuned to this kind of thing and trust my memory when it comes to plant phenology. There have been no suggestions that the species is moving toward "threatened" or "endangered" status, only a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that there should be more of it in this "pocket ecology" or that. Is it truly in decline, or is my mental database losing its integrity? Unfortunately, my "notebook" has long been maintained solely between my ears, with the occasional photograph to support it. This is just one of the lessons I've come to appreciate in my advancing years: "If only I'd known then what I know now" or as it is sometimes stated, "Hindsight is so much clearer than foresight." Streptopus has taught me that, but rather too late to do anything about it.

Snow Queens, Veronica Regina-Nivalis

Day 158: Okay, that does it. Who spilled their coffee in the DNA sequencer? Snow Queens have been reclassified into the Speedwells as Veronica regina-nivalis, and that's just since I got my latest edition of Hitchcock where it's still listed as Synthyris reniformis. That's not the first sticky-note I've put in Hitchcock's index, and I can guarantee that if the taxonomists have their way, there will be a lot more before the next edition is released. Now I am tasked with remembering the "Veronica" portion of the Latin. "Regina-nivalis" is easy. It means "queen of snow." I s'pose I'll have to take to addressing this early bloomer as "Queen Veronica" when I meet her in the woods. That said, it was not necessary for me to make a six-mile trek to reach Snow Queens this year. As luck would have it, Rimrock County Park is full of them, starting only a hundred yards up the trail, as I discovered when hiking there on Wednesday. I do enjoy seeing this lowland plant with its purple anthers peeking out from a bell of pale lavender petals. I think of them as the eyes of curious faeries, watching the human who has intruded into their woodland to be sure she does no harm. One of the first flowers to emerge in spring, Snow Queens outpaces even Cardamine and Trillium, if perhaps running head to head with Skunk Cabbage. It is this phenology which pulls me out of my bear-den each year, anxious to celebrate my floral friends' emergence from their winter naps.

Morning Watch

Day 309: I leave the car with an inordinate expanse of bare skin liberally doused in bug spray. I'm in atypical dress: shorts and a short-sleeved shirt to match the weather forecast, but I'll be on trail, not bushwhacking, so other than layers of SPF-50 and Deep Woods Off, I can leave my legs and arms unprotected. It's a little chilly at 5000', not yet far enough into autumn to be at a discomfort level, but even if it was ten degrees cooler, I'd likely be dressed the same, knowing what's coming later in the day and especially since at my high point, I'll be out on bare rock where the plants aren't tall enough to shade my ankles. I love hiking in the cool of morning; best to get the climbing done before the sweaty hours. Even so, there's no dew on this meadow. It's been too warm for that, although it's been a good wildflower season. And that's what I'm out here to do: count noses, report on the phenologic phases of the species on my list. I'm MeadoWatching, hiking the Lakes Trail in this iteration, pausing at waypoints to observe and record Magenta Paintbrush releasing seeds, Northern Microseris in bud, Mountain Daisy and Bracted Lousewort setting fruit, and Subalpine Lupine engaged in every phase but pod-burst, still lushly carpeting patches in glorious purple bloom. That said, the season is winding down. Plants are rushing to fulfill their botanical imperative before the snow flies. In less than a month, this meadow will whiten; in two, it will be buried beneath three, four, five or more feet of snow and ice, sleeping cold for three-quarters of the year, surviving conditions which make my complaints about chilly legs seem ridiculous and so very vulnerably human.

MeadoWatch Patrol

Day 351: My favourite month slipped by with little time for hiking or any other outdoor activity, so I was grateful to get out on my last MeadoWatch patrol of the year without having to don rain gear. It was a little chilly when I set out, but that's one of the things I love about September: it lets you work out without getting too steamed. The sky was mostly overcast and although clouds obscured the Mountain, the seasonal colour was stunning in the meadows. There was suprisingly more data to record for the target wildflower species than I'd expected this late in the season. Even at this high point (the last stop on my patrol from Reflection Lake), Western Anemones were releasing their seeds and some lupine pods had not yet burst. That said, it seemed to have been a poor year for Sitka Valerian, at least in this local micro-ecology.

Ran Out Of Plants

Day 308: That's as far as I got. Then I ran out of plants. I might have pushed a bit further but for the fact that I didn't have sunglasses and the glare from snow can be quite intense. Besides, my duty for the day was only to conduct a MeadoWatch survey, but I just couldn't turn around at the last waypoint, not with more trail ahead of me. I decided to go until I hit snow, and as you can see, that's right where the "end of maintained trail" sign was positioned. I sat on the rocks for a while, talking to visitors as they came up, handing out wildflower brochures and information about the Park's volunteer program, delighting in the cool breeze drifting down from Paradise Glacier. I explained the demise of the famous Ice Caves and talked about climate change, and reminisced with several people who had been here decades ago.

I'd completed my MeadoWatch duties on the way up, charting the phenological stages of a dozen or so "target" plant species at 12 stations marked with surveyors' disks. I found very little Sitka Valerian, something which is normally abundant at this time of year, but was rewarded with meadowed slopes dappled with spires of Bistort and the occasional Paintbrush. I found an unusual colour variation among the Penstemons as well as several plants I have yet to identify, but no alpine lichens (much to my dismay). It was a delightful way to spend a day which in the lowlands would have been too warm to be comfortable.