Usnea Apothecium

Day 169: An unidentified Usnea provided my second big thrill during the lichenology field trip. I simply adore lichens with "eyelashes" on their apothecia, and this was only the second one I've ever found. My previous discovery belonged to a different genus in which the fringed apothecia are common. In Usneas, it's something which is not too often seen around here. The largest "eye" (shown here) was roughly 5 mm in diameter. Two smaller ones were on a lateral branch of the same specimen. Upon closer examination, I believe two species of Usnea were present on this twig, although Usneas can be highly variable within a single species.

Chaenotheca Ferruginea, See It?

Day 168: Hands down, my most exciting find from today's field trip to Deschutes Falls Park with the Northwest Lichenologists was Chaenotheca ferruginea, one of the "pin lichens." Can you see it? There's just one, almost dead-center in the photo: a little black "pin" sticking out of a tiny patch of yellowish-grey thallus. The diameter of the stalk would be roughly that of a human hair. From base to the top of the rounded capitulum (head), the lichen is approximately 1 mm. in height. Yes, you read that right: 1 mm. Not 1 cm., one MILLIMETER. I think I'm going to be spending a lot more time with my nose pressed right against bark now that I know what to look for.

For the most part, the experts were very helpful and took time to explain basic features of lichens to less-experienced participants. Most of the attendees were students in the field and had some degree of expertise. I felt that I fell somewhere between rank novice and "advanced beginner" because although I recognized many of the species as also being in the Park environment, there were a lot of others with which I was not at all familiar (the Ramalinas, for example). I could hold my own talking about Cladonia bellidiflora or Pilophorus acicularis, but I was completely at sea with many other genera. And there is always one academic snob in every crowd. I had drifted away from one group to assist with the identification of a vascular plant and stopped to look at a specimen of Usnea someone else had picked up. When a nearby academic identified it, I asked, "How can you tell that's what it is?" I expected her to say something along the lines of, "It's sorediate" or "The fibrils are forked at the tips." Instead, she replied, "Because I'm a professional." Needless to say, I moved on.

Taking a field trip with experts can have two effects simultaneously. It can be very discouraging when you realize just how much knowledge you do NOT have, but on the other hand, it can be a strong motivator to learn more when the professionals are willing to share their expertise. Thanks to the educators in this group, I think I'll be able to weather the feeling of deflation and will become a better lichenologist through their encouragement.

In The Lichen Lab

Day 167: Maybe not the best picture in the world (it was shot as ISO 1600), but it commemorates a very productive and enjoyable day at the Northwest Scientific Association conference's lichen sessions. We spent half the day in the lab testing and identifying specimens, and I am happy to report that I have confirmed the presence of Mycoblastus affinis in the Park, as well as Pertusaria borealis. I learned to mix several reagents used to test for lichen substances, and was able to purchase small quantities for my own little kitchen laboratory. Tomorrow, we will be splitting into two groups for field trips, one to a wetland ecology and one to an evergreen habitat. I will be attending the latter. I also got to meet some of my lichen heroes today, notably Bruce McCune (the darker haired man in the rust-coloured shirt on the right) and Katherine Glew, with whom I've exchanged many emails over the last several years. I have to admit that I glowed with pride when I overheard Katherine compliment me to another participant. My Park colleague Sue also attended the seminar, and evil creature that I am, I had to acquaint her with another Pertusaria species. Maybe it was a little early for April Fool's; one of the diagnostic features of P. amara is its bitter, lingering taste. I scooped a fingernailful from a tree and surreptitiously discarded most of it before placing a tiny, tiny fragment on the tip of my tongue. I knew what to expect. Sue did not, and took a somewhat larger sample. Even so, we both spent the rest of the day puckered by Pertusaria, although I'm sure Sue regretted the experience more than I did.

My Favourite Rock

Day 166: With the lichen conference coming up tomorrow, I felt compelled to go talk to my favourite rock today. Halfway between the bridge and the Community Building at Longmire, this three-foot tall vertical face is absolutely "hairy" with Pilophorus acicularis. At most, the podetia are an inch and a half tall and smaller in diameter than the lead in a pencil. Young ones resemble tiny threads, each one tipped with a shiny black apothecium. As a lichen lover, the word which springs to mind to describe Pilophorus is "cute," and any time I'm walking that direction, you'll see me hunker down beside them to speak a few appreciative words. I mean, not too many people have a 500-pound Chia pet!

Hunting Season

Day 165: It's hunting season, and my weapons of choice are in my rig, ready to be put to use as soon as I spot the prey. A small shovel, a trowel, a pair of pruning shears and various sizes of plastic bags are tucked in the trunk of the car, and my eye is trained to spot trophy material even when I'm travelling at the speed limit. To that end, I laid siege to a flowering quince bush in a vacant lot this morning, and came home with ten cuttings, none of which had visible roots. I stuck five of them in flower pots which will be sunk in the garden for a year in the hopes of rooting them, and five were simply placed in a jar of water which will sit on a windowsill. Most plants which sucker as readily as flowering quince can be propagated either way. I'm still hoping to be able to get a slip with roots, but today wasn't the day.

Itchin' To Be Diggin'

Day 164: My patience with rain and cold is nearly exhausted. I'm itchin' to be diggin'! Or if not digging, at least pulling some of the weeds and scratching out the moss, preparatory to putting annuals in the ground. I must remind myself that it's still March, a good two months to go before a killing frost is unlikely. Even so, I've had it happen in mid-June, although not in the last decade or so. The garden stores down in Flatland are pushing out their displays, oblivious to the fact that some of us live in Zone 7, a narrow strip of cold country which runs along the spine of the Cascades and spills over where one particular Big Ice Cream Cone dominates the horizon. I wish my psychology permitted  me to channel some of the gardening urge into a bout of spring cleaning, but somehow getting down and dirty has a much greater appeal than mopping floors and polishing doorknobs. Nah, I'll just sit here with the seed catalog on my lap and dream.

Garden Colour

Day 163: One of these things is not like the others, much to my dismay, and it heralds the approach of lawn-mowing season, something I tend to forget about over the winter months. It always takes me by surprise. Some morning, I'll look out the window and the grass (that coarse, sharp-bladed species which as kids, we stretched between our thumbs to make a whistle) will have sprung up to half the height of the bird-feeder poles. I don't have "lawn." I have a few blades of thin green stuff sticking up through moss, hawkweed, and assorted other unpleasantness. The sharp stuff grows in clumps where the poor soil contains any small amount of organic matter. It is astonishingly resistant to treatment, even (gods forbid!) Round-up. Naturalist that I am, when lawn-mowing season begins, there are two alternatives which spring to mind: a flame-thrower, or perhaps two or three acre-inches of green asphalt. What idiot decided houses should be surrounded by lawn?