Pileated Woodpecker, Dryocopus Pileatus

Day 139: Yesterday, the Park's hazard-tree removal chief was on the job, showering the ground with bits of bark and wood as he jack-hammered away. I'd spotted him on my way over to the volunteer campground, but a glint of sun off the lens of my camera sent him flying before I could focus but, diligent worker that he is, he returned and resumed his task almost immediately, although on a different tree. Here, he could be seen to get to the heart of the matter as he pecked away, head and shoulders well inside the cavity he'd created. So consumed by his employment that my presence was largely dismissed as trivial, he allowed me to creep closer, a few feet at a time, until I had him in range.

"He," I say, and yes, I can give you proof of that. Note the red "moustache" sweeping back from his beak. That is the telling point. In the female, it is black. Dryocopus pileatus is the Pacific Northwest's largest woodpecker with a wingspan of 29" and a length of 16.5". In flight, the underwing shows white coverts, and the length of the tail is obvious. Woodpeckers of all sorts use the tail for leverage and balance, bracing it against a tree trunk or other surface to power their drilling. They forage for insects (particularly carpenter ants) on dead trees or sometimes on fallen logs.

Frankia Nodules

Day 138: My initial reaction when I spotted these at a distance was, "Oooooooh, slime mold!" but when I got closer and saw the network of fine roots, I realized I'd been fooled again. Frankias are nitrogen-fixing bacteria which live on the roots of various trees and plants, especially those in stressed conditions where natural nutrients are limited. The different strains of Frankia tend to be specific to certain hosts. In this instance, the host roots belong to Alnus rubra (Red Alder), a tree quite common to the lowlands of western Washington. Experiments with Frankia inoculation have been done successfully to increase performance of Alder stands in poor soils, and although I'm not sure that was the case at this location, there certainly seems to be a lot of it, waiting to trick me into thinking I've found a slime mold, if only momentarily.

First Day Of Skunk Cabbage

Day 137: Happy First Day of Skunk Cabbage! I thought I might be a bit ahead of the calendar since this event usually occurs in mid-March, but the swamp behind Swofford Pond served up about two dozen fully open spathes. Lots more were just poking through and I had to be very careful where I put my feet as I made my way across from firm spot to firm spot. Having achieved my primary goal for the day, I then went on to hike two of Cowlitz Wildlife's nature trails in the area for a total of roughly four miles, searching for lichens and fungi. It was a productive day, although now I'm faced with the task of identifying species, several of which did not leap out of the field guides on the first pass. That said, life would be rather boring if I had no botanical puzzles to attempt to solve.

Seeing Double

Day 136: Roughly twenty-five years ago, the optometrist I'd been using for most of my adult life was forced to retire due to health concerns. For the next several years, I bounced from one doctor to another until I finally found one who was satisfactory. Now bear in mind that my vision is quite poor and had been steadily declining over the years. I was used to having to get stronger and stronger corrections as often as my insurance and budget would allow. There came a point when the possibility of bringing my sight to 20/20 appeared impossible, and I thought nothing of the fact that I was seeing a faint secondary image in offset when I looked at road signs or billboards. What I did not realize was that the new optometrist had dropped prism correction from my prescription without telling me. I might have gone on with double vision for the rest of my life if my insurance company hadn't dropped that doctor from their network. Earlier this month, I saw yet another new doctor. When he asked me if I had any particular concerns, I mentioned the double vision, expecting him to tell me I had cataracts. Instead, he asked, "Have you ever had prism correction in your lenses?" When I told him I thought it was there, he said, "No, not in these. Let's try something." He went on to explain that prism would pull the two images together, eliminating the secondary smear. When my new glasses arrived last week, I noticed an immediate improvement in the clarity of road signs, but the real surprise came when I drove home from Seattle in the dark on Monday. I was no longer being blinded by headlight beams shattered into a thousand points of light! I can see clearly for the first time in at least ten years.

Snowdrift

Day 135: Dear little Snowdrops! Your enthusiastic encouragement of the weather toward sun and warmer temperatures is inspiring, if a little unrealistic when one compares the drift of your immaculate blossoms to the whitened hills rising above your beds. I see you shivering in the wind despite your valiant efforts to deny its chill, and not a one of you casts a shadow detectable by my despairing eye. Still, I take heart in your courage as you dare the clouds to part and the buds of hazel, maple and ash to burst, and I see you as you attempt to coax the daffodils into putting on a performance for the equinox. Will the crocuses join them, and the lilacs? Please, dear Snowdrops, draw them out of hiding to colour my yard with their cheer. The winter has gone on too long and should be retired from service to make way for the grace of flowers.

Visual Metaphor

Day 134: Rural residents of Washington have been able to vote by mail for decades, and I believe the option now extends to urban residents as well. I used to think this was a good thing, but several other factors make me very nervous. Some time ago, we went to numbered ballots and a big deal was made out of the fact that you can check on line to see if your ballot number has been counted. In the current presidential primary, you are required to declare a party affiliation by checking the appropriate box on the outside of the return envelope. Your name and your ballot number also appear on the return envelope, and therefore may not be quite as "confidential" as you are led to believe. Once completed, your ballot can be dropped at a collection site or it can be put in the mail...to pass through the hands of any number of postal employees and/or contract carriers who can see your party declaration. While I'd like to believe that everyone who handles my ballot is a fine, upstanding citizen, the current political climate does not allow me that comfort. Even if I had that assurance, I'm still left with the feeling that my vote is...well, surely you've picked up on the visual metaphor in the photo by now.

I'm The Baby, Gotta Love Me

Day 133: They're getting braver, particularly the Chessies. I'd gone out to add birdseed to the feeders following my usual pattern: half the small seed in the nearest box, the remainder of the small seed in the farthest box and, using the same measuring cup, a scoop of black-oil seed on top of that, but in the amount of time it took to fill the cup with the sunflower seed and entirely unbeknownst to me, one of the 'dee-dees had already dived in. As I went to tip the cup into the tray, my little friend burst out the other side, indignant at having a hand interrupt his breakfast. He sat in the contorted filbert, scolding me while I filled the rest of the feeders, although his many companions who had not been personally affronted by my invasion flocked around me as I filled the rest of the feeders. With the exception of the Porch Parrots who will always be my favourites, I am more thrilled to have Chickadees than any other species of bird which visits my yard. It only took thirty years to entice them here from across the road...three decades, that's all. I think I'm justified in posting yet another Chickadee photo.

Red-Winged Blackbird, Agelaius Phoeniceus

Day 132: I tend to think of Red-Winged Blackbirds in wetlands, pecking the seeds out of cattail heads, foraging for bugs in the brush. Why then do they show up in my yard in droves in winter to hang out in the contorted filbert with Porch Parrots and the inevitable Starlings? I used to think my feeders were on their list of fast-food restaurants, and that they were stopping by for a quick snack en route to the finer establishments along the shores of Mineral Lake, but each year for the last decade or so, their numbers have been on the increase. They've stayed longer, with a few individuals present through the summer months. They don't seem to nest nearby (or at least I don't see early young, and the adults are very territorial when breeding), nor do I know if the blackbird population at Mineral has declined (I rather doubt it, because it is excellent habitat for this species). Later in the year, I may also see a few Brewer's Blackbirds in my yard. Their yellow eyes almost always send me running for the field guides, only to discover that I've identified them before. "Oh, them again," I say as I put Sibley back on the shelf.

Connected At Last!

Day 131: I don't really enjoy walking on paved bike trails, but I was willing to make an exception for the new section of the Foothills Trail which runs from South Prairie north to connect with a formerly isolated portion which then takes you into Buckley. This particular stretch, roughly three miles long, has been held up in negotiation with adjacent private property owners for at least thirty years. Last year, the final permissions were granted and the trail was at long last completed. Since I was in the area today, I decided to assault it on foot. There was nothing botanically remarkable alongside the path, good or bad (I always have an eye out for invasives), except a few half-open Indian Plum flowers, but multiple bridged river crossings made for a refreshing and scenic walk. I wasn't quite sure where I was when I decided to turn around, so I marked it by GPS and mapped it when I got home. Yep, I'd stopped right where it connected with the old trail down from Buckley. I'd linked up, just as I'd hoped.

Hypogymnia Imshaugii

Day 130: The Hypogymnias are collectively known as "tube lichens" for reasons which become obvious if you look at them closely. Their lobes appear inflated and in fact are hollow. The upper surface is greyish-green, separated by a distinct dividing line from the black lower surface. The apothecia are generally large when present, making the genus fairly easy to identify in the field. Determining species gets a little trickier, but H. imshaugii (Forked Tube) has a characteristic which sets it apart from its look-alikes. If you pull one of imshaugii's slender lobes apart to examine the inside, it will reveal a white medullary ceiling, which is to say that the inside of the top side is white. H. heterophylla, H. inactiva and H. enteromorpha all have black or dark medullary ceilings. Other species of Hypogymnia may have broader lobes, pinched lobes, holes at the lobe tips. These are all features to take into consideration when trying to identify them.

Queens For A Day

Day 129: When I am out hiking, I set goals for myself, whether it's to reach the top of the next rise, make it to a specific destination point, or simply to check on the status of a plant. That's not to say I could file a detailed flight plan and indeed, I often don't know where I'm headed until my car finds its way to a parking area seemingly independently of any particular thought process on my part, and sometimes even then, I have no specific goal in mind until my feet begin striking the earth. I left home yesterday with nothing more than a desire to be Out for as many miles as chilly temperatures would allow, and I wound up at Pack Forest with visions of Snow Queens dancing in my head. That would take me three miles (one way), leaving plenty of time to be down before the sun dipped low in the sky. I wasn't even sure Synthyris reniformis would be in bloom in February, but checking on them was all the motivation I required. Enter now a handful of circumstances designed to throw a monkey wrench into the proverbial works. Less than three-quarters of a mile in, I knelt down to examine a lichen and found my first Snow Queens in an unexpected spot. Suddenly, my proposed work here was done. I'd got what I came for, so now what? I hadn't even reached the first junction where I'd could choose from a variety of new destinations. Then a second factor intruded into the plan: trail repair and a reroute. Now I was curious about what else might have been done further up toward Hugo Peak. At Hugo, I found a new side trail which begged to be explored. Once done there, more choices offered themselves: go back the way I'd come, walk down the main road to Kirkland Pass, there to go either down the 1000 Rd. to parking or take a side trip to see if the Snow Queens were in bloom where I knew they occurred. I might have rambled even longer but for the fact that I spoke at length with another hiker and then again with an old friend, so that when I arrived at the Snow Queens, the sun was already slanting sharply through the trees and taking on the gold hue of late afternoon. It was time to go home, and I beat-feeted it down, hands in mittens inside my pockets, happy that I'd achieved all my goals, even the hastily developed ones. That's how I hike. I go until I'm "halfway," and then return. That's my Plan.

A New View

Day 128: The overhead went an odd colour overnight, so I decided I needed to get closer to it to see if I could figure out what had happened. Since I can't get into the Park (the road won't be fixed until at least mid-March), the next best option was the summit of Hugo Peak. Never mind that the frost hadn't disappeared (and wouldn't do so all day). A hike was definitely in order. My first surprise came roughly three-quarters of a mile up from parking. The trail had been rerouted to make a longer, lazier ascent through what had previously been a rather unpleasant section. A little further on, I noticed more evidence that Pack Forest's trail crew had been at work. The old fence-wire clad footlogs had been removed from a particularly wet portion of the trail, gravel had been put down and a new puncheon bridge allowed passage over rechannelled runoff. By the time I got to the top of Hugo, I'd counted at least six places where the trail had been refurbished or rerouted. All the nastiest sections were gone! But an even more substantial surprise came when I turned away from the overgrown, brushy view of Eatonville a thousand feet below. A small yellow diamond bore the magic-marker legend, "Viewpoint 0.15 mi." and indicated an entirely new trail which sloped away to the east. At its end, I found this view, still somewhat obscured but a vast improvement on that offered on top of Hugo. There was one more surprise awaiting me, and it was the best of all. En route to a corner where I hoped to find Snow Queens in bloom, I ran into an old friend, my former supervisor from my Carbon River days. Our paths have crossed a few times over the years, but oddly, never on the trail. We chatted until we both started shivering in the rapidly cooling afternoon, and then went our separate ways, John and his dogs to his home, me to find the Snow Queens. I did, although the highlight of discovering them was overshadowed by the other events of the day.

Harbingers

Day 127: Almost! I think I find the snowdrops' pendent buds more pleasurable to the eye than their fully-opened flowers. They hint at the broadening of daylight and warmer breezes, the retreat of snow from the rolling foothills, and dare to suggest by their pure white that more raucous, rambunctious colour is yet to come in the garden and the alpine meadows. They are the toe in the doorway of winter, peddling the wares of a brighter and festive spring. Ahead of the grape hyacinths and daffodils by weeks, they sprint through the winner's tape unchallenged, in a clear victory over frost and cold. Cheer the humble snowdrop as it dispels grey, lumbering clouds and calls out to the sun. Hurrah for the harbingers of spring!

Five-Mile Parmelia Saxatilis

Day 126: They call it "Crottle," a word which I find delightfully contradictory in its crispness to the soft texture of Parmelia saxatilis. Also known as "Salted Shield Lichen," this Parmelia has an affinity for rock, the characteristic which caught my eye in the Five-Mile Lake parking area and caused me to say aloud, "Hmmmm, who do we have here?" I'd stopped at the park after doing some small shopping, more to conduct a survey for invasives than any other reason, and had quickly exhausted the sparse network of trails which climbed to the top (a whole twenty feet) of a forested mound. I scored an abundance of ivy, one English holly, one sturdy specimen of Scotch broom and was feeling rather disappointed as I walked back to the car. A faint childhood memory had led me to expect the park to be bigger. The whole park is 35 acres, with the lake taking up two-thirds of that space. Then I spotted our friend the Crottle, splatted without dignity on the side of a boulder. Not wanting to short myself of an important identifying characteristic, I photographed it and then carefully removed a lobe, tucking it safely into one of the test tubes I always have handy. A good thing I did, because examination of the rhizines narrowed my choices to two. Lobe width and substrate settled most of my reservations, although I'm still not 100% positive in my conclusion. I really need a lab.

Second Round

Day 125: There is almost always something in bloom at my house. Indoors, the white and yellow Christmas cacti are putting on their second flush of blooms, a little late for their customary mid-January appointment. As you may recall, I cross-pollinated the yellow one with the white in November and am now waiting for Yellow's pods to mature. So far, I have had no luck going the opposite direction. However, I have my paintbrush handy in case Yellow produces pollen (which it has not yet done). Meanwhile, White is putting on a show. Its colour drifts toward a pale shell pink when temperatures are too cool or light levels are too low. This season, conditions in my back bedroom window were pretty close to perfect, with only a faint blush evident in the blooms. I am also happy to report that I have kept my Tillandsia alive for over TWO YEARS now. Lovingly known as "Saturday" for the schedule on which I give it a light spray of water, the plant is not likely to reward me with a flower spike for my pains, but I find its three-inch array of thready foliage very gratifying. Now, if I could just get that damn Clivia to bloom...

A Cluster Of One

Day 124: What Adeniums lack in leaves, they make up for in bloom. Admittedly, this is a rather poor showing, but "Star Cluster" was purchased at the end of the season and promptly shed all of its leaves save one upon being transplanted to its permanent pot. Eventually, it will live up to its name, displaying six or more flowers at the tip of its woody stalk. Leathery leaves will follow as the flowers drop, and if I'm lucky, it may put out a side branch. That said, another interesting appeal to this African beauty is the swollen caudex from which the stalk arises (not shown in the photo). The caudex husbands moisture to allow these plants to survive drought and heat. Adeniums come in a variety of hues from nearly black through red and purple shades into pale yellow. Some have coloured centers like "Star Cluster," but if you're expecting dense foliage, take your search elsewhere. Leave the Adeniums to those of us who don't mind nursing "dead" stems for months on end to obtain a few weeks of large, showy flowers.

Green Ice Cluny Doily

Day 123: A little over a week has passed since I submitted my first entry into a tatting/crochet contest and in the interim, I've been hard at work developing a second pattern which includes cluny leaves. Cluny tatting is not well-known even among experienced tatters, and purists sometimes argue that it doesn't really qualify as "tatting" because the leaves are woven rather than being formed with a series of half-hitches over a core thread. They argue, yes, but there is sufficient evidence of the art historically that their protests can be dismissed with the same wave of the hand which would dispel any dispute that a piece was not "crocheted" if it included a length of ribbon laced into the work, or that a sweater was not "knit" if it was finished with a crocheted edging. Cluny leaves are worked with the same threads used to make the rings and chains; they are not made separately or sewn in. They are most often found in pairs as they are in this design, but single leaves may be included where travel of the thread allows. This doily was made with a #7 needle and size 20 thread. It measures 7" in diameter.

The Horse And The Barn Door

Day 122: Again I am grateful to friends for their efforts on my behalf. My 25-year old Davis Weather Monitor II picked the most inconvenient time to die, i.e., while we were having the torrential, flood-and-landslide producing rains a week ago. I have been keeping weather records since March 1975 with very few gaps when one station or another ceased functioning and sent me hunting for an affordable replacement, but even in the interim, I recorded daily temperature and estimated wind speed as well as commenting on "notable occurrences" such as snow, thunder, or even the occasional earthquake (yeah, I know...that's not weather). Charting the data has been as much a part of my daily routine as brushing my teeth. In the Pacific Northwest, rainfall is arguably the most important piece of data to record and while a plastic gauge provides a close approximation of the amount, it's less accurate than I'd like. It was time to replace the station, and I opted for another Davis, the low-end Vue. It arrived today and I managed to get it installed on the pole erected by Joe Dreimiller without mishap, although he had made it look easy to swing a sixteen-foot piece of galvanized water pipe into position. Neither of us considered that he had the advantage of an additional foot in height. For a minute or two, I felt like Archimedes' fulcrum as I tried to get the pipe back into its brackets, but I am happy to say that the job is done and the station is reporting...wirelessly even, although I won't be hooking it up to the computer. Call me old-fashioned. I like paper records that I can pore over when I'm stormed in and the power's out, trying to determine from my graphs if the current weather is part of an established pattern or just a temporary trend.

The Dotted Line, Ramalina Farinacea

Day 121: At first glance, it's easy to mistake Ramalina farinacea for an Evernia, however close examination will reveal the rather interesting set of features which distinguish it. First of all, both sides are the same colour. Evernia is paler on the reverse. Second, you may see small perforations in the branches, looking very much like they've been holed by beetles. If you confirm both of these characteristics, then it's time to finalize your commitment. If the soralia are marginal (at the edges of the branches), discrete (separated) and elliptical as shown in the inset, you've found the "dotted line" which gives this species its common name. Sign here, and you're done. A similar species, Ramalina subleptocarpha, has longer soralia which continue along the margins almost without interruption.

Busy Beavers

Day 120: You know what they say: "busy as a beaver," and the ones in Ohop Valley have been busy indeed. You might think that this would be cause for concern at the Nisqually Land Trust. After all, we've gone to some expense to plant trees here, but the fact of the matter is that this is what we were planning for in the long term: that the restoration of habitat would draw wildlife into this former agricultural area. Obviously, it's working. I first noticed a beaver dam upstream of this location two years ago while mapping out a potential nature walk. I'd been seeing evidence of beaver activity for several years, mostly in the form of sapling harvesting. Some larger trees had been gnawed but not toppled, but still nothing over three inches in diameter. While on patrol a few days ago, I counted half a dozen downed trees at least five inches in diameter. I have to admit I don't know a lot about beavers' habits, except that they use branches and small trunks to build their dams. Other than a means to keep their teeth from growing too long, why does a beaver take down a tree too large to drag home? Inquiring minds want to know.

Water Under Roadway

Day 119: The sign says,"Water over roadway." I don't think that's entirely accurate at this location, although if you were to have looked in the opposite direction, it was true in another hundred feet or so and then again further down the hill. And by "hill," I am referring to a gentle decline of about 50 feet, not enough to make me gear down when I'm on my bike and climbing back up toward home. Here, the waters of a small creek come in from the north, the stream fed by runoff from taller, forested hills. A channel roughly ten feet deep on the far side of the pasture holds 12" of water during normal conditions; when flood-producing rains occur, the stream leaps its banks and races to reach the ditch shown in the photo. It continues on for another quarter mile or so where it is joined by another side channel, thence to pass through a culvert beneath the highway and into the great Nisqually. However, the ditch can't handle rains like we've had recently, and the stream gets angry when it finds its way blocked by asphalt. It pounds and digs, determined to follow its natural course. While water over the roadway may seem to be the most immediate concern, water under the roadway poses a much greater threat to motorists who can't see potholes and collapses through the turbid flow. Don't be an idiot. Turn around. Don't drown. And yes, I had already ascertained that the piece of verge supporting me when I took this photo had not been undermined.

No Nature Walk Today

Day 118: See those little orange flags? They mark one possible route for a nature walk in Ohop Valley, but maybe not today. I thought I'd run down to check my site-steward "beat" since Ohop is notorious for flooding. In fact, that was what farmers were trying to combat when they got the bright idea to straighten out its bends and curves back when settlers first settled in the valley. Much to their chagrin, it wound up having the opposite effect: by ditching the creek, they sped up its flow, and the water didn't have a chance to sink into the soil (which, it must be said, is very clayey here). Flooding increased, cattle got hoof rot from being pastured on boggy land, and the farmers finally just gave up. The Nisqually Land Trust acquired this particular piece of Ohop Valley in 2001. In 2009, they partnered with several other area conservation organizations and together, began a major project to "re-meander" the creek into something approximating its original channel. Roughly a mile and a half of new habitat was created in the process and today, although flooding occurs in times of heavy rainfall, Ohop Valley is a much better home for critters and plants. I'll be guiding a group through the valley some time this summer when I don't need to load them into canoes.

The Process Of Design

Day 117: As my readers will recall, I recently entered an original design in a contest for tatting and crochet. Participants are not limited to a single entry, so after talking with the sponsors at some length about the shortage of cluny tatting patterns, I decided to create one for a second entry. The design process for me consists of a lot of trial and error; I have a tendency to imagine the results in reverse, a sort of dyslexic interpretation of my intent. Consequently, I choose to use up "short balls" of thread or yarn while in the developmental stages, and then translating them into a display-worthy piece once I've sorted out the issues. I am far enough into the cluny piece that I felt confident enough in its direction that I reproduced it in the final fiber (a pale variegated green cotton) before moving on to the next row in the "test" piece. The finished doily will probably be one of my entries in the Puyallup Fair this year as well, although they don't give extra points for original design. However, another cunning plan is in play here. Even if the piece is not one of the winners in the contest, I have opened discussion with the sponsors with regard to producing a book of cluny designs. They were quite enthusiastic about the suggestion.

A Bit On The Wet Side

Day 116: Murphy's Law went into effect right at the start of the current round of torrential rain. I joke that my pluviometer drowned, but I think at 25+ years old, the sensor simply decided to retire from service. It had certainly performed its job admirably, but its timing could have been better. Fortunately, I had a cheap plastic replacement stashed for just such an eventuality, although this means that whatever the weather, I will be obligated to empty it manually and on a daily basis until I can find an affordable replacement.

That said, it's wet. Above me, Hwy 706 is closed at Kernahan Road following a landslide and water over the roadway at Copper Creek. Below me, the ditches are running over their banks, leaving cars and trucks to hydroplane through several inches of runoff. Before it could get any worse, I made a dash for the library and the grocery store, otherwise stopping only to take a few photos. The Nisqually has spread at the east end of Alder Lake, although it's still within its banks; the Mashel in Eatonville is raging and turbid. I'm safe, but the Park is closed due to landslide threat, and friends upstream of me where the valley narrows and runoff is greater are undoubtedly much concerned as to what may happen if the rain continues.

Wish Me Luck!

Day 115: Back in the days when I did a lot of hardanger work, I entered pieces into a national contest, twice receiving honourable mention, which amounted to a cash prize and publication in the annual awards pattern book. Other than those two ventures into competition, I have not put any of my work up for judging except at the Washington State Fair. There I also received ribbons in each of the three categories for which I submitted pieces (a first prize and two second prizes, each of two years). Recently I learned of a tatting/crochet contest in which there will be twelve winners, each to be rewarded with $35 in merchandise and publication in a 2021 calendar. Patterns must be "original or adapted from public domain," i.e., vintage patterns for which the copyright has expired. You may recall an earlier post showing this same design in ecru, thread which my mother had purchased in to 1940s intending to make a pineapple tablecloth. She never got around to it, and the thread (perfectly preserved) came to me. Somewhere along the line, the pattern went missing, so I decided to make the tablecloth in tatting instead, and created this original design motif. Since the calendar contest closes in April, I knew I wouldn't be able to finish the whole piece (I only have 58 motifs made), I decided to zip up a fast 2 x 2 in white #20 as my entry. Wish me luck!

Accidental Art

Day 114: You can thank a glitch in PaintShop Pro for the unusual demi-frame surrounding Mr. Steller here, a "happy accident," as it were, and one which I probably couldn't repeat if I tried a hundred times. I had made an oval capture and inverted it with the intention of flood-filling the area outside the oval, but PSP took a notion to interpret promotion of the selection to layer to mean that I wanted the new layer to terminate at the branches. It's not the only foible the program has ever exhibited, but it's the first one which ever produced something I felt was artful. As for Mr. Steller, he's getting snowed on today and I am again stuck in the house, wishing I was somewhere else.

Seen In A Different Light

Day 113: I have to admit that I have been in a foul mood, so dark that even science failed to pull me out of it yesterday, and for that I apologize to my readers. Today, I am seeing things in a different light, quite literally. The Usneas I had brought home from Orting were eluding identification until I put two of them under UV this morning. Despite some minor and acceptable morphological variation, both proved to be Usnea subfloridana, a bushier and shorter species than U. pacificana (which is also UV+). A Ramalina on the same twig also yielded a positive reaction to UV, if not to my efforts to identify it conclusively. My mood improved substantially once I'd put a name to the specimen.

Lichens Rock!

Day 112: Lichens rock! This is a younger example of Polycauliona polycarpa from a different location than yesterday's rosette. Niche ecology can have an effect on many species' growth habits: presence of abundant moisture may produce a higher algal concentration, exposure to wind or polluted air may cause changes in shape, colour or size; even the presence of other lichens may affect the delicate chemistry in a lichen community. Field characteristics can be misleading in the overview, as was the case with the Polycauliona rosette I featured yesterday. Exposed to the fumes of traffic, portions of it had lost the distinctive yellow-orange colour which typifies the species.

And that said, I have spent a frustrating morning with half a dozen samples from two outings, only three of which I have managed to identify. Although I enjoy a good puzzle, I do prefer to fit all the pieces together in a tidy package. It's not happening, and I blame the political situation. Normally, I can find refuge in science, occupying my mind with the whys and wherefores, but today I am asking myself whether it's worth trying to educate a humanity which seems bent on its own destruction, and worse, set to take the planet down with it. I am finding no comfort, not even in the company of my beloved lichens.

Polycauliona Polycarpa

Day 111: Well, I hit my brakes, heedless of the guy behind me for the split second it took to remember I was on a busy street, whereupon I put my foot back on the gas pedal and pulled into the next parking area. Then I hopped out of the car, camera in hand, to run back to the lichen I'd spotted while driving. Some things simply can't be ignored. But alas, once I got home and ran it through the field guides, the bit I pared off the tree with my thumbnail proved it to be something I'd seen before, although a somewhat older and more developed specimen. That said, it has a new name, and that makes it worth mention: Xanthoria polycarpa is now known as Polycauliona polycarpa, and if you don't feel like a parrot after saying "poly" that many times in succession, I'll be even more surprised. I'd rather hoped it might have turned out to be Xanthoria parietina (which for some odd reason is still placed in Xanthoria), but its lobes are too narrow. A second whoozamawhatsit, strongly sorediate and green with dark brown apothecia liberated from a different tree continues to elude me. As if I didn't have anything else to do with my time...