Lynch Creek Meander

I nearly missed the Fawn Lilies (Erythronium oregonum, upper left), but in so doing, I was able to see all my favourites along this little-known trail. Several of them are species I've never seen anywhere else: Sanicula crassicaulis (Sanicle, center top), and yes, those are its itty-bitty little flowers; Plectritis congesta (Sea-blush, top right), and what it's doing in the middle of the woods with a name like that is anyone's guess; Luzula multiflora (Common Woodrush, lower left), nearing the end of its flowering period, and the second of two Luzula species in my photographic "collection". I've found the remaining two in multiple locations: Veronica regina-nivalis (center bottom), also near the end of its blooming season; and good old Claytonia sibirica (Miner's Lettuce, lower right), just because I needed a sixth image for the montage. It was a short but rewarding hike, possibly the last I'll be able to enjoy for a while because we have a Pacific storm system moving in.

Snow Queens

Day 185: Another early-season favourite from the Rimrocks trail is Veronica regina-nivalis, aka Snow Queens. They're located within easy distance of parking, which saves me having to hike three miles in Pack Forest to see them in the first place I discovered them. Formerly known as Synthyris reniformis ("reniform" referring to the kidney-shaped foliage), these dainty clusters of flowers have two purple anthers peeking out of each bell. They are easy to miss in the shady, moist habitat they prefer, often barely rising above a carpet of moss or other vegetation. Unless you live in the Pacific Northwest (for this discussion, that includes northern California), you will probably be unfamiliar with this native plant.

Snow Queens, Veronica Regina-nivalis

Day 194: Spring isn't complete without Snow Queens, and now I have several locations for them on my mental map which don't involve a six-mile hike. In fact, these were less than half a mile from the road, keeping company with the Fawn Lilies. This early spring bloomer is a relatively small plant, standing no more than four inches high from ground level to the top of the inflorescence. The reniform (kidney-shaped) leaves are frequently concealed by moss or other vegetation and easy to overlook. One of the most striking features of the blossoms is their purple anthers, appearing in pairs like two eyes peeping out from the center of the flower. In mature specimens, this colour may not be observable due to pollen development. The taxonomy of this plant is in flux. It was formerly known as Synthyris reniformis. The Burke Herbarium lists it as Veronica regina-nivalis, the term I will apply here.

Snow Queens, Veronica Regina-Nivalis

Day 158: Okay, that does it. Who spilled their coffee in the DNA sequencer? Snow Queens have been reclassified into the Speedwells as Veronica regina-nivalis, and that's just since I got my latest edition of Hitchcock where it's still listed as Synthyris reniformis. That's not the first sticky-note I've put in Hitchcock's index, and I can guarantee that if the taxonomists have their way, there will be a lot more before the next edition is released. Now I am tasked with remembering the "Veronica" portion of the Latin. "Regina-nivalis" is easy. It means "queen of snow." I s'pose I'll have to take to addressing this early bloomer as "Queen Veronica" when I meet her in the woods. That said, it was not necessary for me to make a six-mile trek to reach Snow Queens this year. As luck would have it, Rimrock County Park is full of them, starting only a hundred yards up the trail, as I discovered when hiking there on Wednesday. I do enjoy seeing this lowland plant with its purple anthers peeking out from a bell of pale lavender petals. I think of them as the eyes of curious faeries, watching the human who has intruded into their woodland to be sure she does no harm. One of the first flowers to emerge in spring, Snow Queens outpaces even Cardamine and Trillium, if perhaps running head to head with Skunk Cabbage. It is this phenology which pulls me out of my bear-den each year, anxious to celebrate my floral friends' emergence from their winter naps.