Should Be A No-Brainer

Day 165: Believe it or not, the majority of people I meet on the trail cannot tell these two plants apart. It should be a no-brainer. One has four petals, the other five. One has shamrock-shaped leaves, the other a small compound leaf with three parts. Yes, they both are whitish (in some cases verging on pink or lavender), the petals of both exhibit darker purple lines, and they emerge at roughly the same time in the spring and enjoy the same types of habitat. The three ladies I met on the South Swofford Trail a few days ago asked me,"What are the little pink flowers?" When I replied, "Which ones?" they could only say, "The ones we've seen growing beside the trail today." Since we were standing in an area where Cardamine substantially outnumbered specimens of Oxalis, it took a little backtracking before I could point out the differences. While some people have a natural gift for observation, it can be learned by almost anyone and honed like any other skill. It just takes practice. Counting petals is a good place to start.

Sweet Cardamine

Day 167: It was one of the few things on my list of goals which actually worked out according to plan during my hike in the Cowlitz Wildlife area near Mossyrock a few days ago, although I was an hour and a half into the walk before I spotted the first ones. Cardamine (Cardamine nuttallii) is one of our earliest flowering species, and for years, I served it badly by never being able to remember its name. Eventually, I struck upon the idea that "it's something to do with 'heart' and it starts with a C...cardio-, carda-...cardamine!" and now the common name is firmly cemented in my brain (or perhaps it's my brain which is cement). In any case, I believe it is at its prettiest when the flowers are still nodding, before they open out into the four distinct petals which are characteristic of crucifers. At this stage, one can imagine them as the skirts of faeries, an interpretation influenced by one of my favourite books from childhood, Elizabeth Gordon's "Flower Children." The book has nothing to do with hippies, having been published first in 1910, long before the psychedelic generation was born, and illustrates common garden flowers as flapper-style garments worn by humanesque figures. It was through that book that I learned at a very early age to identify columbine and buttercup. In fact, I would say it seeded my interest in botany even before I could read the words of the poems which accompany each drawing. Even today, I see faeries in the skirts of hollyhocks, old men in bearded corn, dancers in the iris' ballroom gowns, and tiny sprites in the dainty bells of Cardamine.

A Sure Sign, Cardamine

Day 148: Hooray! I have been hunting for Cardamine for several weeks now and until today, hadn't even spotted cotyledon leaves (not that they're easy to find with this plant). The eruption of Cardamine means that spring is truly just around the corner. I was also surprised to see some early Oxalis flowering in the Cowlitz Wildlife area near Mossyrock Dam. I'd gone lichen hunting, wanting to breathe good, pure air and give my winter lungs a workout. I may have gone into "social distancing" mode, but I will continue to take exercise in the superlative atmosphere of our Pacific Northwest forests. Today's choice of trail took me up a few small hills whose summits I had not previously attained, and one section of the pathway was so lined with Red Alder hosting Menegazzia terebrata (Tree Flute lichen) that it shall henceforth be known the Menegazzia Spur in my mental atlas of botanical waypoints. As I mentioned a few days ago, now that I've identified it, I'm finding it everywhere. No complaints from me on that score! It's also one of my favourite spots for early Cardamine, so maybe I was cheating just a little, hunting it down where I knew it would be easiest to find.

Starts With A C...

Day 175: Here we go again. "It starts with a C...dammit...it's a crucifer...Cor...Claytonia...no, not Claytonia...Cr...Cl...Ca...wait, that sounds right...Cal...Cra...crap! I've lost it again!" Can somebody tell me why I go through this identical train of thought (usually aloud) every single blinkety-blank year when the CARDAMINE comes into bloom? That word just doesn't want to stick in my head. Sometimes, I even think, "It has something to do with 'heart,'" but "Cardamine" takes the deepest mental excavation of any plant name in my lexicon. I make a point of looking for them in my yard every spring, pacing the fenceline to the rhythmic recitation of "Cab, cac, cad, caf, cag, cal, cam, can, cap, car..." followed by the customary pause as the consonant registers. I almost wish the taxonomists (the plural banes of my existence) would reclassify this one. It might make it easier to retrieve from the depths of my cerebral databank.

Cardamine Nuttallii, Bittercress

Day 147: Poor little Cardamine! Every year when I find it, I say to myself, "Uh-oh, I've forgotten what that is again." I then proceed to go through the alphabet mentally, "A, B, C...okay, it has a C in it..." but I don't pick up the cue until I get to "N...it has an N...Na, Ne, Ni, No, Nu...Nub, Nuc, Nud..." until at last I come to "Nut! Nuttallii! Cardamine nuttallii!" I retrieve other "lost words" in similar fashion with great success, although why I don't get it when I say "Ca..." is a mystery.

This photo was also taken during the Great Skunk Cabbage Expedition, although in a different location and before the rain began in earnest. I got a little muddy on a short hike through the Cowlitz Wildlife lands near Mossyrock Dam, but in addition to the Cardamine, I found the most lavish example of Graphis scripta hieroglyphics I've encountered to date, but that's for my next post. Stay tuned for tomorrow's episode of "Life In Lichenopolis."

Cardamine Nuttallii, Bittercress

Day 155: Poor little Cardamine nuttallii! You would think I could remember its name when you consider the fact that it grows under the big Doug fir in my yard, but every year, I have to look it up again. "Cardamine, cardamine," I say to myself, "bittercress. What's so hard about that? You can remember things like 'Icmadophila ericetorum' and 'Stereocaulon paschale.' Why not 'Cardamine nuttallii?'" I don't rely on mnemonics with one exception: "Houses have shingles." That's how I remember the field characteristic which most easily differentiates a House Finch from a Purple Finch. House Finch has streaks ("shingles") on its breast. Cardamine doesn't give me any clues. "Cardio?" There's nothing heart-shaped about it. Nuttall was a naturalist who lent his name to numerous species. Bittercress? I've never chewed on its leaves. I'm just a little embarrassed to admit that this unassuming little flower simply will not register in my mental database no matter how many times I make the entry. Cardamine! Maybe by admitting my failing publicly, I can force its name to stick.