Bog Candles

Day 291: Platanthera dilatata is easily the most recognizable of Mount Rainier National Park's Orchidaceae, and its immaculate white flowers leave no doubt about how its common name Bog Candles came into our vocabulary. It is also one of the taller Orchids, its striking spires often reaching heights of 2.5-3 feet. As with many other members of the Orchid family, it prefers wet "feet," i.e., it can be found in ditches and wet meadows, and may occur at elevations up to 5000'. It hybridizes with other Platanthera species, making varietal identification of any given specimen extremely difficult.

Marjorie Learns Shepherd's Hey

Photo courtesy of David McKeown

Day 290: In May 2010, I joined Kelly DeLay's "Clouds365," an on-line photo project which documented sky conditions around the world on a daily basis. The project ran for (three?) years, during which time a few of the more consistent contributors got to know each other, if only as friends in cyberspace. Occasionally, some of us had the opportunity to meet up with others, but it was rather rare. Upon the project's completion, a scaled-down version migrated to Facebook and the virtual relationships continued. Yesterday, I had the privilege of meeting in person David and Marjorie McKeown, who were on the long route home to Quebec from Hawai'i. The encounter forged another link in the chain; David and Marjorie met another of my friends (Patty Evans) several years ago. Patty was also involved in the Clouds365 project. That said, my relationship with Patty began on the internet over a decade ago, a result of a common interest in geocaching. She and a third caching friend (Alison) are my truest and dearest sisters-of-the-heart.

I was thrilled that David and Marjorie were able to attend Sound & Fury's tour of Woodinville cideries, even moreso that they took photos and videos of our dancing. However, the high point of the day was when Marjorie (left, blue and purple shirt) joined in as Foreman Dave taught "Shepherd's Hey" to members of the audience. David declined on the grounds that he was the photographer!

Deptford Pink, Dianthus Armeria

Day 289: I have found both Deptford Pink (Dianthus armeria) and superficially similar European Centaury (Centaurium erythraea, formerly C. umbellatum) growing wild, but in this case, the Deptford Pinks came in a wildflower seed packet and surprised me by showing up in the area I refer to as the "Barren Wasteland" between my house and garage. I greeted them as I do many of the people I know: by addressing them by the wrong name. With plants but seldom with people, a closer look invariably corrects the error. Deptford's freckles and fringe immediately generated an apology. "Oh, hi, Deptford!" I said, as I offered a much-needed drink of water to the inhabitants of the Wasteland. Deptford keeps company with Coreopsis, Oriental and (persistently) California poppies, white yarrow (much to my dismay), Sweet William and assorted other drought-tolerant, rather weedy species. I don't much care what grows in the Wasteland, just as long as it puts up some colour. Aggravatingly, the company which packaged the wildflower seed also saw fit to include Bindweed, that white Morning-Glory which strangles anything and everything in its path. I am being diligent about removing it, but have found a few strays which escaped notice climbing up the stems of the Coreopsis. WHY would anyone consider Bindweed a desirable plant? Wildflower mixes often include non-native species which can become invasive, so know what to be watching for when the seeds sprout. As for Deptford, he and his offspring are welcome to populate the Wasteland, pink or not. I mean, who can resist freckles?

Akebia Fruit

Day 288: Even using the proper scientific terminology, it is difficult to write about the process of manual cross-pollination without it sounding risqué. My efforts in that regard are being rewarded with the production of approximately a dozen and a half Akebia fruits of various sizes, the largest of which are shown here. When in the flowering phase, the pistils of this cluster exhibited a heavier production of stigmatic fluid; pollen transfer was much easier to effect because the pistils were receptive. Size of the fruit indicated the number of ovules (seeds) successfully fertilized. These were within easy reach of my paint brush and I transferred pollen to the pistils several times during their period of receptivity. Whether or not the fruit proves to be worth the trouble as far as edibility is concerned, the experiment has expanded my grasp of the mechanics of botanical reproduction and, having seen the phases first-hand, I can now explain the process in intimate detail even if doing so makes my readers blush.

Ranunculus Aquatilis Var. Diffusus

Day 287: Tentatively identified as Ranunculus aquatilis var. diffusus (White Water Crowfoot), this teeny-tiny treasure was another score from Arnie and Crow's bog adventure. The flower in the main image is imperfect; there should be five petals like those shown in the inset (lower right), but I could not capture the moss-like foliage with a perfect blossom. This aquatic species has thread-like, filamentous leaves on the portions of the plant which are submerged, so very different from the leaves above the water that they appear to be two different types of plant. In fact, the submerged leaves resemble those of the invasive Fanwort (Cabomba caroliniana). If Arnie had not pointed the flowers out to me, I would have dismissed the emergent foliage as a moss. Compare the leaves with the brown Douglas Fir needles in the upper right for size.

Adventures With Arnie

Day 286: I think my readers will understand why I want to put the punchline at the head of the story once they've read the whole thing. This little jewel is Sparganium emersum, a species known to occur in the Park, but one without an herbarium specimen. Arnie found it, and wanted me to have a look to see if I agreed with how he'd keyed it out. I was planning to go as soon as I finished my office work on Tuesday, but then remembered that I was wearing my "dress" boots. I shot him an email to that effect, but as the day wore on, the idea of photographing a new (to me) species while it was in prime condition won out, and when I left the office, I went straight to Arnie and asked, "Wanna go for a ride?" We put together the necessary equipment for taking an herbarium specimen, grabbed a government vehicle and off we went. Both of us have now keyed the plant out and yes, it is Sparganium emersum.

Those of you who have been following my adventures this year will remember the discovery of the Phantom orchids and my radio call to Arnie which was broadcast over all receivers: "Arnie, Joe and I are kneeling beside two Phantoms." Most people had no idea what I meant by that, but it caught the ear of one Law Enforcement ranger (Kelly) who referred it to another plant-loving Parkie, Ana. She told him, "They must be referring to Phantom Orchids" and naturally, she became curious about where the Phantoms might be hiding. Kelly spoke with Arnie who gave nothing away, but neither did Arnie tell me about the exchange and how it further developed.

A few nights ago, a friend invited me out to Chinese at an excellent restaurant in the middle of nowhere. When we walked in, I heard someone call my name. Sure enough, it was Kelly, accompanied by Ana. As I walked over to them, he said without preamble, "Arnie said I should ask you about some phantoms." I checked up short. No way did I believe that Arnie would compromise our find. I groped for a reply and finally said, "No, you're not going to catch me with that old trick!" We had a good laugh, and then the rest of the story came out.

It seems that Arnie and Kelly got their heads together and had decided to play a little joke on me about proper radio protocol. Arnie told Kelly that the next time he saw me, he should take me to task for "improper use of code phrases." That revelation confirmed something I've suspected: Arnie is a wicked tease. Obviously, I was going to have to find a way to get the jump on him. But how?

When I got in the car to drive into work on Tuesday, I noticed something I'd left in the cup holder between the driver's and passenger's seats: a sprig of Spotted Knapweed (a virulent invasive) which I'd plucked in South Hill and had forgotten to take inside for analysis. I realized I had the perfect tool at my disposal.

Upon arriving in Longmire, I went immediately to Arnie's office with the Knapweed in hand. As soon as I had his full attention, I said, "Houston, we have a problem...Spotted, I think." Arnie took the plant from my hand and replied, "Spotted or Black, I'm not sure which. Where did you find it?" I was ready for the question. I said, "In the rip-rap on the levee below the Sunshine Point washout." "How many?" Arnie asked. "Three or four," I said, wanting to make it believable. We talked for some time about how it should be treated...chemicals were out because the site was on the river, pulling would be difficult because it was bedded in rip-rap and it had probably gone to seed several years in order to be so firmly established. Oh, yes, he swallowed the story hook, line, sinker and copy of 'Angling Times.'

Then I changed the subject. "Y'know, I ran into Kelly in Salkum a few nights ago. He greeted me by saying 'Arnie says I should ask you about some phantoms.'" I elaborated on how Kelly had tried to trip me up, and how I'd stopped him in his tracks. Then I said, "...and I understand you enlisted him to play a little joke on me about radio protocol. You're messin' with the wrong person. Paybacks are a mother. I've been known to send people down to the (non-existent) basement of the warehouse as a practical joke. And there's no Knapweed at Sunshine Point."

I said it so quickly that the ensuing silence lasted a full two minutes before he could wrap his head around the words. When it finally hit home, he threw the sprig of Knapweed in the trash and said, "Well, I guess I don't have to worry about that then, do I? You're a sneaky one!" So we had a good laugh, talked about his Sparganium find, and then went back to work.

The story now picks up at the top of this entry. Just before lunchtime, we were off to see Sparganium, me in my dress boots despite Arnie's clear warning that "the mud will suck you down unless you stay on logs." I thought I had good footing on a two-inch stick. I was wrong. The mud was so soft that I sunk in, stick and all, up to mid-shin with my right leg. The action threw me off balance and my left foot landed on gooey mud and also sank. As I shifted my weight to try to free myself from the suction, I just went deeper and deeper until I was finally mired up to the knees of both legs. The voice in the Sparganium said, "I did tell you it wasn't a good idea to go over there!" as he was maneuvering around on solid footing to capture my plight for posterity. It took me at least five minutes to extricate myself. I suppose I deserved getting stuck in the muck for being so wicked to Arnie! When he sent me the photos, he said, "Your boots need a polish."

Botany - it's not for sissies!

Black Hock

Day 285: Hollyhocks...I think it's possible that this old-fashioned garden plant may have seeded my interest in botany. My grandmother had them in her garden (or more properly, in the alley behind her house), and as much as I loved their towering height and spectacular colours, it was their seed pods which truly fascinated me as a very young child. I'm sure many subsequent generations of Hollyhocks germinated from the seed I picked out one by one to examine, scattering them and a spoor of spent husks on the dry Eastern Washington soil. Their penchant for sticking to my socks and other clothing taught me about seed transport before I understood its significance; I was intrigued by how each seed was locked to the one beside it by the hooks around its outer margins (a similar observation of cockleburs led to George de Mestral's development of Velcro).

My grandmother's 'hocks were all singles and thus became my mental holotype for the genus. No doubles for me! Those ruffly things were an insult to real Hollyhocks, show-offs whose flamboyance couldn't contest with the pure, simple beauty of the traditional flower's open face. When it came time to put them in my own garden, singles were difficult to find in catalogs, but when I did find them, they were only available in black, a bonus as far as I was concerned. They were one of the first plants I put in when I bought my home thirty years ago. I seeded them against the south-facing wall of the house, and there they have continued to provide me with joy on an annual basis.