Deptford Pinks

Day 274: Deptford Pinks (Dianthus armeria) get a bad rap. Many sources refer to them as "invasive," although it is certainly not as aggressive as knapweed or butterfly bush or any of a number of others which are capable of establishing monocultures at the expense of native plants. In fact, the Deptford Pinks which came to me in a wildflower mix (yes, really) grow very sparingly in the Barren Wasteland between my house and garage. I probably shouldn't admit to this, but I have tried to encourage them in that space, however, they have not been particularly cooperative, unlike the Rudbeckia which would gleefully take over my entire yard if I didn't keep it under control. That said, this is the problem with many of the region-specific wildflower mixes offered by seed companies: they contain non-native species which may even be on an individual state's invasives list. California Poppies are a case in point. Almost all wildflower mixes tagged "Pacific Northwest" contain California Poppies which are considered invasive in Washington. As for Deptford Pinks, mine came to me in a generic seed packet offered as a bonus for purchasing some other product, and the packet also included California Poppies which I've successfully rooted out. The Pinks? They're behaving themselves, so they can stay.

Multicolored Asian Lady Beetle, Harmonia Axyridis

Day 273: "Something is eating my pussywillow!" Closer investigation gave me the creepin' wim-wams. There were fearsome-looking larvae on several of the leaves, black with orange spots and forked spines, the kind of thing that'd give you a heart attack if you found it walking on your arm. But what were they? I skipped right over the section on ladybugs in my insect books, certain that I'd find it or something related to it on a different page. When that failed, I followed the next reasonable path: I submitted a photo to BugGuide.net, and within 24 hours, one of their experts had identified it as Harmonia axyridis, commonly known as the Multicolored Asian Lady Beetle. It was a "ladybug" after all. This morning, larvae (inset) and pupae (upper) were present on the tree.

BugGuide advises that "very few people encountering one (of the larvae) for the first time would recognize it as a 'young ladybug.' It grows to be larger than the eventual adult size." Harmonia axyridis was brought to the US from Asia as a control for aphids, and was introduced in Washington between 1978-1982. According to BugGuide, the adults are highly variable in colour with spots varying from absent to as many as 18 (no help there!). They also mention that they (presumably larvae and adults) will take "exploratory bites" if handled, and I can personally attest to that as far as the adults are concerned. Shortly after I moved here, I found my shower infested with them one morning, and as I was capturing them for release outdoors, I got nipped. Although I had no idea what they were at the time, I realized in that moment that this was no ordinary ladybug keeping me from my ablutions. And now that I know what they look like when they're babies, I'll give them wider berth.

Milkweed Reproduction

Day 272: The first phase of this project consisted of learning to identify the reproductive structures of Asclepias syriaca, Common Milkweed. You'd think that milkweeds kept the family jewels in the same place as other plants do, but as it turns out, the flower is rather different in that it centers on a gynostegium (new word for me!), which is comprised of fused stigmas and stamens. What lay people would call the "flower" (the white part, in this case) is the corona. It consists of hoods and horns (five each). The petals of the flower depend beneath it. Between hoods, a careful observer will note a swollen brownish bump at the inner end of the stigmatic slit (see center image). This is the corpusculum. It is essentially the "bear trap" in which an insect's leg can become ensnared. Attached to the corpusculum are two pollinia, sticky agglomerations of pollen. In the instance of A. syriaca (or at least those in my garden), the corpusculum and attached pollinia measured something in the neighbourhood of half a millimeter long. I was able to tease two "units" out using the microscope and a dissecting needle, but once on the tray, I could barely see them with my naked eye. Nevertheless, "sticky" was the operative word. They gummed themselves to the tip of the dissecting needle nicely, and I was able to transport them to the garden. As to whether or not I successfully poked them into the stigmatic slit of a second plant remains to be seen. I had no way to magnify the flower while keeping both hands free to perform the cross-pollination. There was an unexpected bonus to this experiment: I discovered that milkweed is deliciously fragrant as I stood there with my beak in the blossom, pretending I was a bug.

Milkweed in Flower

Day 271: The milkweed is blooming! The plants bore only a few flowers last year, and while I had hoped that an appropriate pollinator would stop by, no pods ever developed. There will be more opportunity this year, though, because there are many more flowers on plants in two patches. Surely some innocent bug will get a leg trapped long enough to pick up some pollinia. That's how milkweed works. Pollen transfer occurs in sticky packets, not dry grains. A bug's leg gets caught inside a slit in the stigma, wiggles around as the insect tries to free itself, and the sticky pollen packets (which generally occur in pairs) get tangled in the hairs on its leg. The insect then visits another milkweed flower, makes a similar mis-step, gets trapped again, and in its efforts to free itself, the pollinia comes off inside the stigma of the second plant. And it has to be a different plant. Milkweed is not self-fertile. Sidebar: I have seen a video of a botanist attempting to cross-pollinate a rare milkweed. Gives me ideas, that, and I'm sure by now, you know that I enjoy botanical match-making. Anybody thinking there might be an experiment on the horizon? Worth a try, but I might not be able to tell who was the responsible party, me or a bug. Not exactly a controlled experiment, but if I get milkweed pods, I'd be happy. Tweezers...where'd I put the dissecting tweezers?

Antique Chinese Teapot

Day 270: I believe this antique teapot is Chinese, although I have not been able to find anything similar on line. It was in my first husband's possession when I met him, and I have good reason to doubt that the story he told me about how he came by it is false. The man couldn't have told the truth if you'd asked him what he had for breakfast! I suspect it dates to the early or mid-1800s, or possibly earlier, and I would love to know more about it. The lid has always been missing. Each of the six side panels is different. One (top left) has an enormous fly near the top. The others have detail which is in light relief. Three panels include a Phoenix. The top is decorated with a dragon. The maker's mark on the bottom is legible, but since I don't read Chinese, I can't tell which way up it goes. I've never had it appraised since my connection with the world of antiques goes only so far as having been taken badly by someone who knew the value of a vase I had out at a yard sale, so I am rather reluctant to put it in anyone's hands.

Gooseberry Season

Day 269: Cherries weren't the only thing on my picking agenda day before yesterday. The gooseberries are ripening! Now let me tell you: picking gooseberries is a dangerous endeavour. The bushes are very thorny, especially on the older canes. I'd pruned out a lot of the old canes last year which made it a little easier, but it also meant I'd probably only get enough gooseberries for one batch of jam. Indeed, that's what has occurred, but the trade-off for one year is worth it to save some of my skin. Gooseberries are also a bit of a pain to process for turning into jam. Each berry has to be topped (the stem end cut off) and tailed (the blossom end removed). I prefer to cut each one in half before putting them in a container to freeze. That way, they're ready to go when cooler weather arrives and I feel like making jam. Oh, I could make jelly from them as well,, thereby saving the work of topping and tailing, but I love having bits of gooseberry in my toast spread. Why go to all this work when I could make some other kind of jam? Because gooseberry jam is my absolute most favourite! A little tart, a little sweet...perfect on homemade sourdough bread.

Pitty Party

Day 268: The property behind me has several large cherry trees on it which I believe are a hybrid of one of our native varieties and Montmorency, the "pie cherry" of old. The fruits are smaller than those of Montmorency, so small in fact that they drop clean through my cherry pitter, but whatever they may lack in size, the flavour is certainly that of a pie cherry (as opposed to a bitter cherry or a sweet cherry). The trees are heavily laden with fruit, but I know better than to trespass back there. Although the property is unoccupied, my other neighbour watches it like a hawk and is not kindly disposed toward me for political differences. However, there is one long branch which extends over the fence, and usually supplies me with enough fruit to freeze for one mid-winter pie. I picked a bowlful this morning and settled in at the kitchen table for a "pitty party," scoring each of 500 or more tiny cherries with my thumbnail so I could extract the pit. That pie is sure going to taste good in December or January!