Lycogala Epidendrum

Day 237: While exploring a forgotten but close-by corner of the forest last year, I stumbled across something which looked for all the world like a quart or two of well-chewed pink bubblegum wads massed on a decaying log. I had never seen anything like it, so I documented it with photos from various angles and referred them out to one of Washington's pre-eminent botanists. Although he was unwilling to commit to anything further, he identified the substance as a slime mold and provided me with the email address of an expert in the field. It wasn't long before I had a reply and a name for my treasure: Lycogala epidendrum.

Lycogala epidendrum is one of the most recognizable of slime mold species, but it is not always pink. The fruiting bodies (aethelia) may range in colour from pale yellow to almost black at maturity, and indeed that was what Team Biota discovered when we visited the site recently. When opened, these aethelia appear to be filled with uniformly mushy goo, but under the microscope, this material is shown to contain thousands of spores and chain-like threads of sterile tissue (pseudocapillitia) which divide the chamber into irregular and often imperfect compartments. The term "fruiting bodies" is misleading. Unlike the apothecia of lichens, these structures do not develop like a bud on a rose or a pear on a pear-tree. Rather, they are a gathering-together of individual cells in response to a chemical signal, cells which otherwise would be living independently in the substrate. The chemical signal acts as their clarion call, communicating the message that it is time to reproduce. They become visible to our eyes only when they have formed the cooperating communities shown in this photo.

I suppose none of my friends will be surprised by this, but I couldn't resist the opportunity to do an experiment. In a corner of my living room, I have set up a pair of "moist chambers" (lidded Petri dishes) where I can monitor the growth of two samples. If I should disappear under mysterious circumstances, Lycogala should be considered the primary "substance of interest."

Naked Broomrape On Sedum

Day 236: Orobanche uniflora is a trickster. Don't assume that the succulent foliage at its base belongs to the same plant. It does not. In fact, you will find Naked Broomrape in association with at least two different leaf-forms in the Park. This beautiful little plant is parasitic on the roots of a number of different sedums. The leaf rosettes of two of the most common are shown in this photo (S. divergens at the bottom, S. oreganum to the right of the flowers). Because Orobanche lacks chlorophyll and cannot photosynthesize on its own, it takes its nutrients from its host; whether or not it contributes anything to the relationship with sedum is at this point conjectural.

Counting Noses

Day 235: My readers may recall that about this time last year, I returned home from a swamp expedition with photos of a mystery fungus, and that after two weeks or so of referring it to one expert after another across the globe, it was determined that it was a rare species (Myriosclerotinia caricis-ampullaceae) and further, that even the genus was considered rare worldwide. As such, the find marked the undisputable apex of my history as a botanist, and I can't imagine what could top it.

This species had been reported as occurring in the Park, but the only record was contained on a 1948 herbarium card which cited it as having been found in an entirely different location. My companions in Team Biota Joe and Sharon Dreimiller and I set about trying to find the 1948 location immediately. We were successful, and between the two sites, we documented 64 specimens in 2016.

These fungi are extraordinarily ephemeral as we discovered on subsequent trips. Here today and gone tomorrow, we knew that our chances of finding them again in 2017 would be governed by some very precise timing. We have been monitoring Site A for several weeks (the second location still being under several feet of snow), and yesterday, the three of us sallied forth through soaky-wet snowmelt meadow and emerged victorious with a total of TEN examples recorded for posterity by multiple cameras. The newly-emerged specimens are as yet quite small, the three in the upper photo the most well-developed. The smallest was hardly larger than a straight pin. The rest of our happy family can be seen in the collage below. The little guy is just right of the three in the top left image, about a third the height of the one immediately to its left.

Team Biota doesn't usually bring home the bacon in quite such grand style, although we do turn up a number of botanical rarities or new locations for uncommon plants almost every time we go out. Yesterday's tally was not limited to Myrio by any means, and over the next few days, I'll be bringing you more Park peculiarities.

Vancouver Sea Breeze

Day 234: Clematis "Vancouver Sea Breeze" is one of the principle focus pieces in the motley assemblage of plants I call my "garden." Saucer-sized flowers simply cover the vine once it's fully open, but even in the early days of its blooming cycle when it has more buds than blossoms, it's still a show-stopper.

The secret to success with Clematis is knowing what "group" defines a specific species. Group I plants are spring bloomers and should be cut back immediately following flowering. The plant will then put on new growth. This will be the wood which will develop blossoms the following spring. Group II plants are repeat bloomers, flowers emerging from both new wood and old. These can be pruned after the first flush of bloom in the spring, but care should be taken not to remove all old wood in order to ensure continued flowering throughough the summer. Vancouver Sea Breeze is a Group II species. Group III plants are the easiest of all: simply cut the vine back to 12-18" in early spring if you want to keep growth confined, or just let the vines wander at will for a massed display through summer and fall.

Siberian Sea

Day 233: The tide is running high in the Siberian Sea. Its waves wash along my south fence line, spilling into the neighbouring yard. It is a narrow channel, perhaps 24" at its widest, yet it surges with colour for a few brief weeks in the spring. Soon, its storm-whipped swells will be but a memory, and nothing will remain but a placid green passage, ebbing and flowing under the breezes of summer.

Chance And Choice

Day 232: The columbine pictured here is one of the "pinks" which came with my house. While the yellow skirt makes it almost acceptable, it is still one of the colours I have been systematically relocating to other parts of the yard because when I see it, I think "pink" despite the fact that it is almost dark enough to qualify as red (if not the bright red of our native variety).

On the other hand, this is the calibrachoa ("Million Bells") I selected to go with bright red geraniums in my hanging baskets this year. Okay, it looked redder at the nursery, but even so, the overall palette is almost identical to that of the columbine. I think I owe the columbine an apology; clearly, my logic is not consistent.

Sarracenia Season

Day 231: The Sarracenias are budding! Those of my readers who have been following me for some years know about the two carnivores who protect my back porch from mosquitoes. "Audrey" (named after the plant in "Little Shop of Horrors") is Sarracenia rubra, a species whose pitchers grow to about 12" in height; the other is Sarracenia x Carolina Yellow Jacket (unnamed as of this writing), its pitchers much shorter (about 8" maximum) and stouter than those of rubra, and morphologically different as well. Rubra (left) has bloomed in growing numbers each of the last four or five years, the stalks rising to 18", terminating in an enormous and unusually-shaped red flower. This year, she has produced SEVEN buds! I've only had Yellow Jacket (right) for a couple of years, and although it bore one or two small buds last year, they did not mature. I am confident that the two buds shown in the photo will develop fully, and I'm anxious to see what form the blossom takes.

These Pitchers are hardy in our Pacific Northwest winters, although I bring them indoors when temperatures drop below the mid-twenties. The foliage suffers some light frost damage even so, but new pitchers begin growing concurrently with the development of the inflorescences. At this point, the new pitchers are still quite small on both plants, but a number of older ones have remained viable, ready to devour any hapless bugs who venture into their interiors. Every year when I trim back the frost-nipped tips, I am surprised to see just how well they've done their job. Invariably, the husks of dead insects fill each one to a depth of four or five inches, accumulated from the previous summer.