Anticlea Occidentalis, Mountainbells

Day 266: Mountainbells...Anticlea occidentalis. You might notice a similarity in the second half of this plant's Latin binomial to the one I posted yesterday: "occidentalis" and "occidentale." I am not grounded firmly enough in Latin to be able to explain the distinction other than to say it has to do with the gender attributed to the first half of the name, Thalictrum being masculine, Anticlea being feminine. Most European languages are gendered. For example in Spanish, "the table" is "la mesa" (feminine) and "the car" is "el carro" (masculine). You go along just fine assuming words ending in -a are feminine until you hit "el problema" and "el agua" (both masculine as evidenced by the article preceding them). I can vouch for the fact that it works the same way in German, Russian and presumably French (another Romance language, i.e., one which originated in the vicinity of Rome, not one with which you can woo a lover). Russian doesn't have articles, but nouns are gendered, and German even includes nouns with the non-gendered article "das." You thought this essay was going to be about the plant, right? Wrong.

I've recently taken Park-sponsored two trainings dealing with diversity. One was focused specifically on gender identity while the other skirted the edges of it without adressing it fully. I failed to connect the subject to botanical Latin at the time, but the more frustrated I become with shifting taxonomy and in particular changes which only happen in order to bring both halves of the binomial into gender agreement, the more strongly I feel that gender should be expunged from language altogether, and if articles are necessary, they should be there merely to specify the somethingoranother belonging to "them," or to "their" possessions.

At first I resisted they/them/their because of my singularity. I'm not two people, not plural, and neither are you. That said, language is a continuously evolving entity. Many people of my generation will find it hard to unlearn the stock "he/she/his/hers" words because they have been taught us since birth, but we should make an effort. I am willing to embrace new vocabulary (perhaps moreso than some of the rest of you because I deal with taxonomic changes on a daily basis) and also to try to eliminate from my speech those sneaky gendered words we toss about so freely ("you guys" falls from my tongue all too frequently when I am addressing a mixed group).

While I doubt that I'd ever be able to convince the taxonomists that it would be a lot easier to talk about "Thalictrum occidental" and "Anticlea occidental," I trust my readers not to be so dogmatic. Plants may not take offense at being mis-gendered, but some of your human friends might.

Thalictrum Occidentale, Western Meadow Rue

Day 265: I first became acquainted with Western Meadow Rue (Thalictrum occidentale) while hiking with my mother on the Purcell Mountain Trail near Packwood. We each made similar mental associations for the dangling stamens which trembled at the slightest whiff of breeze, mine being somewhat more family-friendly than hers of "whorehouse lampshades." To me, they brought to mind Victorian era decor, silken pastel petals and long strands of beaded fringe. It's not an uncommon plant, but years went by before I saw it again because I was looking in all the wrong places. During a recent Team Biota hike, we found it in abundance on the east side of the Pacific Crest, recognizable by its columbine-like leaves. It was not in flower at the time, buds swollen but not quite bursting, so we made a second trip to the site a week later to find all the "lamps" lit and their fringe shivering in the breeze.

Naches Peak Loop Trail

Day 264: Mount Rainier National Park has over 260 miles of maintained trail. I have hiked all about 20 of those miles, and the ones I haven't hiked are on the east side, each with a trailhead at the furthest possible points from my house. The miles I've put in off-trail (my preferred hiking venue) are another story entirely. I choose to avoid the great unwashed mass of humanity whenever I can, and therefore have always assiduously avoided places like the popular Naches Peak Loop Trail. A few days ago, I was compelled by dual purposes to remedy that. As Team Biota, we were searching for four uncommon plant species within Park boundaries, and as a participant in MeadoWatch (a plant phenology program which sends out volunteers from the Park to report on specific plants' growth phases along designated transects), I had been asked to give a pre-season report on trail conditions on the Loop. Plants aside for the moment and gathering thunderheads notwithstanding, there was a lot of drop-your-socks gorgeous scenery to enjoy along the 3.5 mile trek, including this view of Mount Rainier from the east. The trail was about 90% snow-free, although some slick patches of snow/mud required careful foot placement. Unfortunately, none of our four target plants showed itself. Maybe they're along that last remaining stretch of trail I've never walked...

Ozomelis Trifida, Pacific Mitrewort

Day 263: This exquisite plant wasn't in a position where I could do a Penny Perspective, so get out your metric ruler and measure off two millimeters. Not centimeters...millimeters. That's a generous estimate of how big the largest flower was from petal tip to tip. The detail wasn't visible in the photos I took on June 25, so I went back with an additional macro filter, stacking them for a total of 5x magnification on top of the camera's 2.1x macro zoom. My botany partner Joe had seen them a week earlier and had identified them as Pacific Mitrewort, but taxonomy being what it is currently, his Latin was out of date. The proper binomial for this little beauty is Ozomelis trifida, "trifida" referring to the separation of the petal tips into three fingers. The plant is also called "Three-toothed Mitrewort."

Bryoria Fremontii, Horsehair Lichen

Day 262: "What's the black moss that looks like it's killing all the trees?" Well, my visiting friend, you got "black" right, but it's not a moss and it's not damaging the trees. "Oh, look, mom! I found some bear hair!" No, scout, that didn't come from a bear and it's not hair, although "hair" is part of its name. The correct reply to either of these suppositions is that this is Horsehair Lichen, known scientifically as Bryoria fremontii. Unappetizing as it may look, it is one of very few lichens which are considered edible. As such, it is also called Wila. Named for botanist/explorer John C. Frémont (as was Mount Rainier National Park's Mount Fremont), it is common in the drier subalpine zone where the tree canopy is more open. It does not damage the trees on which it occurs; rather, it takes advantage of the weakened bark structure of trees stressed by heat, cold, drought, or other environmental factors, and thus is more likely to be found on them. It is moderately sensitive to air quality which, given the number of smoky summers we've had in the past decade may be partly to blame for its decline at Paradise.

Knapweed Update

Day 261: Update: I have heard back from the King County Weed Board. Bighead Knapweed is regulated and they've forwarded my letter to the WSDA Nursery Inspection Program. They advise, "They are the agency that regulates the quarantine laws of the state and I think this would fall under that. Bighead knapweed is sometimes sold as a cut flower by market flower vendors so it’s possible that is the source for the restaurant. The flower growers often get the seeds online and don’t know the state quarantine law. We sometimes find flower growers in King County growing it in the farms and have to explain the law to them."

Double-Take Time

Day 261: Worn out from marching...well, dancing...as I was one of the many representatives of the National Park Service in Seattle's Pride Parade, I think I can be excused for having gobbled down a restaurant dinner without noticing the floral arrangment at the opposite end of the table I was sharing with Kevin and his family. When it finally did catch my eye, I did a classic double-take. "That's a bloody Yellow Knapweed, I'm sure of it!" I blurted out, and then jokingly told the waitress I was going to have to turn in an invasive-plant report on the establishment. Yes, Yellow Knapweed (Centaurea macrocephala, aka Bighead Knapweed or Globe Centaury) is a Class A invasive in King County. I quote, "Bighead knapweed is a Class A noxious weed in Washington and property owners are required to eradicate it from their property.  It is also on the Washington quarantine list (also known as the prohibited plants list) and it is illegal to buy, sell or offer it for sale in the state of Washington." So what in bloody hell was it doing on my dinner table? The law doesn't cover cut flowers, and I suppose I should be glad it's not going to seed somewhere, but I would like to know where they got it and whether or not they realize what it is. Y'know, it's not often you find an invasive in a restaurant. I should get bonus points or something.