Hoar

Day 48: It's hard to unlearn something when that "knowledge" is deeply ingrained. What I have always referred to as "rime" has been hoarfrost in 95% of all cases, the exception being some of the formations I've seen on wintry alpine mountaintops. What's the difference? Well, here's your chance to join me in practicing my motto: learn something new every day.

True rime is the product of a freezing fog. Hoarfrost is the deposition of ice crystals formed from moisture in the air and occurs in the absence of fog. Rime accumulates when water droplets come into contact with a cold surface. It generally grows toward the prevailing wind. Hoarfrost forms when there is no wind. That said, the literary convention of using "rime" to represent any form of frost is acceptable, but one source says that "compared to rime, hoarfrost forms larger, more delicate crystals, but it is often difficult to tell the two apart; when in doubt 'rime' is never entirely wrong." Still, I'm going to make a point to use the more scientifically accurate semantics from here on out.

Ice Planet

Day 47: "I don't care where we go, just as long as it's warm." Crow took one last look at the frozen Earth as the TARDIS spun into the time stream, ready for any adventure as long as it didn't involve thermal underwear. The Doctor had promised her abundant lichens to study, but something had gone terribly wrong. Instead of landing in an interglacial period, they had come down in a mini-Ice Age. "I suppose I should be grateful for the lack of mosquitoes," she continued. "I didn't really think that through very well. Can we turn up the heat? My toes are still numb."

The only specimen she had been able to retrieve for her collection proved to be identical in all respects to the Cladina mitis of her own time. While it was interesting to note that lichen evolution had apparently reached its acme in this era, and the Cladina was proving to be superbly adapted by surviving without change for thousands of years, the knowledge warmed nothing but the proverbial cockles of her heart. Her hands were blue. Her nose was red. Her hair, already silver, carried a fine sheen of frost. "How about orchids?" she asked. "Mycoheterotrophs? And what are YOU worried about, anyway? The bugs don't like you. It must be that sonic screwdriver, the noise it makes. Gawd, give me Daleks any day over mosquitoes and ticks!"

It could be that the Doctor didn't know what he was letting himself in for when he picked up his latest companion. He'd found her flat-out on the forest floor, magnifying glass in hand and a camera around her neck. He'd asked what she was looking for and she'd replied, "Alien life-forms. They're everywhere." A widely travelled man, he'd taken her figure of speech literally and offered his assistance, something he could hardly withdraw over a minor misunderstanding. When at last she exulted, "Pilophorus! I knew you were around here someplace!" he realized his mistake. Only then did she face him, introducing herself with a grubby handshake. "I'm Crow," she said. "I'm studying lichens."

"I noticed," he replied as casually as he could manage. "And I'm the Doctor. I know a place..."

Tie-Tack Sparrow

Day 46: Summer or winter, Tie-Tack Sparrows are frequently seen at my feeders. Ooops! That would be Song Sparrow, Melospiza melodia, identifiable by the convergence of reddish-brown feathers centrally on the breast, i.e., the "tie-tack" reference in the whimsical name I use for these charming little birds. Novice birders often mistake them for a female Purple Finch, but the tie-tack should end any mystery. Easier to identify by its voice, Song Sparrow is true to its name, singing a complex series of single notes and trills.

Contrary to popular belief, recent observations world-wide are proving that the females of many species are also singers, at least those which live outside urban environments. I can't vouch for Song Sparrow, but there is never a shortage of bird-song in my yard.

Towhee Time

Day 45: It's Towhee season! When the weather turns cold, I can always count on an influx of Spotted (formerly Rufous-Sided) Towhees at my feeders. They like the protection offered by the contorted filbert as do other small birds since fast-flying predators like hawks can't follow them easily into its interior. The tangle of branches all too frequently foils the photographer's lens as well. This morning, I had half a dozen Towhees show up for breakfast. I stood out in the cold waiting until one perched on an outer limb. Thanks, Towhee! Extra seed for you!

Trametes Versicolor, True Turkey-Tail

Day 44: Got your Thanksgiving turkey? I've got the tail! Trametes versicolor is a highly variable species, but it is the one which gives the "turkey-tail" fungi their generic name. It is the one "true" Turkey-Tail; all others are merely capitalizing on its fame. It is quite common in the Pacific Northwest, but there are several look-alikes just waiting to confuse you.

So how do you tell if your turkey-tail is real Turkey-Tail? Why, by putting it through a Turkey-Tail Test, of course! One on-line mycological reference gives the criteria:

1) Does it have pores on the lower surface?
2) Are there 3 or more pores in the span of one millimeter?
3) Is the upper surface velvety or faintly hairy?
4) Is the upper surface some colour other than white or grey?
5) Is the colouration zonal?
6) Is the fungus flexible and thin?

In summary, if you've answered yes to all these questions, the fungus in your hand may be green, brown  or even orange, but it's a Turkey-Tail. Mind those pores, though...put a hand lens and a good ruler in your field kit. You'll need them.

And Happy Turkey-Day from Lichenopolis!

The Spirit Of Adventure

Day 43: The spirit of adventure courses strongly through my veins, never mind that I don't go as far or fast as I once did. Mountains don't have to be 14,000' tall to have an "other side," and bridges still lead to undiscovered worlds where exploration may bring a "life list" lichen to light. I cannot resist the pull of a trail fading into the distance; I must pursue it until I can go no farther, whether turned back by the lateness of the day or by the counsel of my joints. A stump on the horizon becomes a goal, and once attained, another takes its place in a succession of small victories. Driven by an insatiable curiosity, I go no farther than "halfway," the point of stamina which dictates return indisputably, but I am not content until "halfway" has been reached. It is just that which compels me: the bonus of discovery. When the progress of my travel tells me it's time to go home, I always wonder what I might have found if I'd just taken one more step.

Usnea Faerie

Day 42: Look closely, and you may see a Lichen Sprite among the strands of Usnea longissima beside Rainey Creek, an avatar of Nature husbanding her charges with love and kindness. Like the Usneas she shepherds, this faerie is sensitive to air-borne pollutants, and thus as a species, is becoming rarer and rarer in the modern world. Rainey Creek offers the perfect habitat for Usneas and their faerie guardians, but it's best to visit in the autumn or winter. The sprites and visitors alike vie with highly competitive mosquitoes during the spring and summer months.