Insects and Stick-tights

Stick insect

I have to admit I've become a "wuss" in my old age (63).  My vegetable garden is an unsightly sea of weeds encroaching on six sad tomato plants, all corralled behind a deer- and groundhog-proof fence.  It looks like a green cage in a botanic zoo adjacent to my front lawn.

The foundation plantings around the house are all overrun with weeds and vines, and the gutters are sprouting miniature aerial gardens.

When summer comes, I no longer have any motivation to go outside in the heat and humidity to beat back the green hordes.  I didn't used to be this way; I don't know what happened to me.

Anyway, last evening, Kali had to work late.  She didn't know when she would be able to leave work, so I didn't want to go off on a walk or a bike ride, only to have her call me 10 minutes after I departed to tell me she'd be home in a half-hour.  So, instead, I decided to tackle the very modest green spot immediately outside our back door which has been invaded by a plant that generates stick-tight burs.  Last year, I cleared out this mess, but I waited too long so the stick-tights were ripe and they clung to everything, as they are wont (and "designed") to do.  This, year, I decided to make a preemptive strike, and the still-green burs only got a few holds on my arm hairs.  By the way, I don't know the identity of the plant I was clearing out.  Because the plant is no longer flowering and has nondescript leaves, it's almost impossible to identify.

Ripening stick-tight burs

[Update:  Since I published this post a few hours ago, I went back to the weed patch and found some of the plants still had a few flowers on them.  With the help of my wildflower book, I've identified the plant as a woodland native with a great name, Enchanter's-nightshade (Circaea lutetiana candadensis) - a common and completely unassuming denizen of the forest during its growing (i.e., pre-bur-producing) stage.  I also learned that the species is rhizomatous and perennial, which means that it'll grow back next year from the pieces of root I leave in the soil when I pull-up the above ground parts.  I can't wait...] 

In the course of clearing out the weeds, I exposed a stick insect (image above).  These insects are not common in the northern Piedmont, so it was a treat to see one skulking in the vegetation.  Stick insects are herbivores, so this one wasn't stalking prey despite its similarity to the carnivorous mantids.

Eastern Black Swallowtail caterpillar

I also uncovered the caterpillar of an Eastern Black Swallowtail (Papilio polyxenus) clinging tightly to a plant that I was not removing from the garden.  It never moved and was fairly small.  It may have been ready to pupate, but I'm not sure.  One Internet reference said that the last instars of this caterpillar have no dorsal spines, but this one did sport a few black spines.

I did manage to clean out all the stick-tight plants in the area I targeted, then noticed that an adjacent bed had even more than the area I had just cleared.  I guess I know what I'll be doing at least part of this weekend...

Foray to Frazier's Bog

Morton Arboretum's Joe Rothleutner's preparing an herbarium specimen

On Wednesday, July 8, I had the good fortune to escort two horticultural professionals to an amazing wetland located 0.3-mile from my office--a forested swamp known as Frazier's Bog.

The swamp is not, in fact, a bog.  Bogs are characterized by standing water which is often stained tea-brown by tannins leached from decomposing organic matter.  In addition, bog water is acidic.  Frazier's Bog is actually a fen, which has running (albeit slowly running), clear water that tends to be neutral or slightly basic.  The water at Frazier's Bog seeps out of a porous quartizite bedrock ridge immediately to the north, and the shallow rills, runnels, and rivulets that thread through the wetland flow over sandy beds.

The swamp is also amazing because it's a Coastal Plain outlier.  My preserve and environs are on the solid, metamorphic rocky Piedmont; the edge of the sandy Coastal Plain lies about 10 miles to the south.  Nevertheless, many of the the plants that occur in Frazier's Bog are plants typical of the Coastal Plain in New Jersey, not the Piedmont.  So, Frazier's bog is a rarity--an island of the Coastal Plain 250 feet above sea level in a shallow basin in the Piedmont. 

The bog's unusual nature has been recognized for a century and a half, and over the years countless botanic field trips have tromped through the spongy, saturated site.  Currently, the wetland is located at the edge of the second fairway of a private country club's golf course, but fortunately the country club recognizes the botanic gem and has posted signs to keep golfers out of the swamp (which is a treasure trove of lost golf balls).

Fortunately, the country club recognizes the wetland's value

Frazier's Bog (and and only two other sites in Pennsylvania) support sweetbay magnolia trees (Magnolia virginiana).  The Morton Arboretum in Lisle, Illinois and the Chicago Botanic Garden (CBG) have joined forces to create a sweetbay magnolia collection that includes specimens from the full range of the tree - Massachusetts to Cuba.  On Tuesday, Andrew Bunting of CBG and Joe Rothleutner of the Morton Arboretum came to Frazier's Bog to make softwood cuttings from 10 magnolias growing in the swamp.  They will attempt to root the specimens so they can be planted in the botanic gardens, and so that they can be propagated and shared with other gardens.  In addition, they are creating a germplasm "bank" in case the sites where these trees occur naturally are eliminated by hurricanes, tornadoes, fire or development. 

 Chicago Botanic Garden's Andrew Bunting "bagging" his quarry

The swamp floor is carpeted with skunk cabbage and ferns

In addition to taking the softwood cuttings, the pair collected specimens of the leaves and fruit from each of the sampled trees to include in an herbarium collection.

The Dynamic Duo just before leaving the swamp

After we left the swamp, we crossed to the opposite side of the fairway (fore!) to check on another Coastal Plain species, netted chain fern (Woodwardia areolata).

Joe photographing netted chain fern

When the country club resurrected this 9-hole course about 20 years ago (it had been "abandoned" during the Great Depression), they had enclosed the stand of ferns inside orange construction fencing.  The construction fencing is long gone (so as not to offend the sensibilities of the the golfers) and has been replaced with unobtrusive wire mesh fencing (which is collapsed and useless); the ferns, nonetheless, are thriving.

Dog Vomit Slime

Now that I've got your attention...

On the wood-chipped path outside my office

Of late, I'm obsessed with slime mold, and one species in particular: Fuligo septica.  Last year, a neighbor cut down several large tuliptrees that had grown too near his house.  His arborist chipped the wood, and our organization took the wood chips for our trails.  This spring, the wood chipped trail has come alive repeatedly with slime mold aggregations.

At first, this slime mold is a strikingly bright, brilliant yellow.

Image from Wikipedia

Image from Wikipedia

But after a day or so, it turns dun-colored and looks like its common name.

I knew this organism was a slime mold, but I knew very little about it, so I checked out the citation on Wikipedia and found out that Dog Vomit Slime (also known in more genteel circles as Scrambled Egg Slime [still not too appetizing] or Flowers of Tan) is one of the most common and widely distributed of the slime molds.

Slime molds are not molds (i.e., fungus) at all despite their common name. They and the other protists (i.e., single celled organisms) are lumped into their own kingdom equivalent to the animals, plants, and fungi, but the classification is constantly in flux because the relationships among these organisms are so poorly known and understood.

Like many slime molds, the cells of this species typically live independently, then based on some unknown cue, they come together and aggregate to form a plasmodium. Each cell gives up its individual existence and merges its cell body and nucleus into a mass that may move in an amoeba-like fashion in search of nutrients. F. septica's plasmodium may range from white to yellow-gray, and is typically 1-8 inches in diameter and 0.4–1.2 inches thick. The plasmodium eventually transforms into a sponge-like aethalium, analogous to the spore-bearing fruiting body of a mushroom, which then degrades, darkens in color, and releases its dark-colored spores. F. septica produces the largest aethalium of any slime mold.

Close-up image of the aethalium.  Soo cool!

In Estonian mythology, the aethalium was thought to be the leftovers from a kratt, a creature created by farmers out of hay and/or farm implements, given life by the devil after the farmer surrendered three drops of blood, and obligated to do the farmer's bidding. F. septica in Finland was believed to be used by witches to spoil their neighbors' milk. This gives it the name paranvoi, meaning "butter of the familiar spirit." In Flemish, it is known as "heksenboter," which refers to "witch's butter."

What strikes me as most odd is that none of the myriad visitors to my preserve that walk past the slime molds ever come in to inquire about them, especially when they're in their bright yellow stage.

Stream Safari

Stewardship Assistant Kevin with a handful of Asiatic clam shells

Despite the threat of thunderstorms, our annual Stream Safari came off without a hitch.  Our Stewardship Assistant Kevin who just earned his undergraduate degree in education, led about a dozen participants to the creek to comb the streambed cobbles for critters.

What ya' got there?

We billed this year's safari as an event for children more than we have in previous years (when we advertised it as a family activity), and four families with lots of kids came for the event.

Most invertebrates cling to the bottom of rocks

Our creek is "impaired" according to the state's official classification.  How could it not be?  We're in the center of the watershed, and the upper half of the drainage is fully overwhelmed by suburban sprawl.  So, our creek suffers from torrential flooding, sediment deposition, erosion, and nutrient enrichment.  In fact, it's amazing the creek is in as good a condition as it is.

Mom was really getting into the hunt

We found plenty of caddisfly larvae and mayfly nymphs that are tolerant of moderate pollution.  The invertebrates indicative of really high purity streams were, of course, completely absent.

Kevin even set up a field laboratory so that the participants could examine their finds with microscopes.  Everyone seemed to enjoy the cool water on a hot, humid evening as well as the cool animals hidden in the creek's nooks and crannies.

Primordial Landscapes: Iceland Revealed

A Smithsonian staff member in the hall outside Iceland Revealed exhibit

The founder of my organization, Feodor Pitcairn, is a very accomplished nature photographer.  Though he worked in his family's financial business, his true love was photography.  He began his photographic career making stunning, natural-light undersea still images, then graduated to undersea videography.

At 80 years old, he has forsaken diving (too dangerous, he claims; he has related some really "close calls").  Now he photographs terrestrial landscapes with very high-end camera equipment.  He has spent the last several years making expeditions to Iceland, which resulted in an exhibition of his work at the Smithsonian Institution's National Museum of Natural History in Washington.

Mr. Pitcairn collaborated with Icelandic poet Ari Trausti Guðmundsson to "reveal a land of fire, ice, hardy life, and natural beauty. Visitors to the exhibit experience the remote beauty of Iceland, a land sculpted by the elements and forged by active geologic activity."

Enjoying the exhibit

Mr. Pitcairn organized a bus tour to Washington for a small group of his friends for the exhibit's opening on June 30, and Kali and I were invited to come along.  It was the culmination of years of work, and he was in "seventh heaven."

A beaming Mr. Pitcairn

A well-known Icelandic folk troupe with the (translated) name "Seasons" happened to be in town on tour and entertained the crowd during the reception.  During the mingling after the formal speechifying, Kali and I had a chance to speak with the Icelandic Ambassador to the United States and former Icelandic Prime Minister Geir H. Haarde.  He gave us his card and invited us to contact him if we wanted some "special considerations" should we choose to visit Iceland.

Though Mr. Pitcairn's images are striking, Kali's not much motivated by stark, sere landscapes.  I doubt we'll take Mr. Haarde up on his offer.   

Danube Cruise

Hungarian Parliament building at night

Kali and I couldn't agree on a domestic destination for our summer vacation.  So, when Viking River Cruises offered free airfare to Europe as part of a deal, we jumped at the chance.  We decided to cruise the Danube from Budapest, Hungary upstream to Nuremberg, Germany during the last week of May.  Temperatures were around 65 degrees F (18 degrees C) and the first two days were rainy, but the remaining days were generally  just overcast.  East-central Europe had received a lot of rain before we arrived, so the Danube was running high, fast, and muddy.

Hungarian National Library on Castle Hill and famous Chain Bridge (oldest suspension bridge in Europe) linking Buda and Pest

Neither Kali nor I had been to Hungary, and I hadn't been to Austria; Kali's dad was in the Army and had been stationed in France twice, so Kali's family had traveled extensively in Europe when she was younger, so she had been to Austria previously.

Heroes' Square and the Millennium Monument in Pest

The first day, we got a guided tour of Budapest in the rain.

Matthias Church rooftop in Buda

After our city tour, we cast off from the dock and cruised all afternoon and overnight, arriving in Vienna in the morning.  Kali and I took the "Explorers' Tour" of the city, hopping the subway from our ship into the center with our guide.

Cafe in Vienna

After the tour, Kali and I stopped in a pastry cafe and had espressos and Sacher torte, a Viennese specialty.  Then, Kali and I took the subway back to our ship just in time for lunch.  (We ate and drank way too much on this trip.)  After lunch, we got on a bus for a guided tour of Schonbrunn Palace, the obscenely ostentatious Hapsburg palace and gardens built to rival Versailles (though it's considerably smaller).

The Hapsburg's Schonbrunn Palace and gardens, Vienna

After we returned from Schonbrunn, Kali wanted to take a nap, so I tucked her into bed and then took a vigorous 1-1/2 hour walk out along the Danube promenade and back through a huge wooded city park particularly favored by runners.  I needed an antidote to sitting on board the ship, eating and drinking too much, and taking slow guided walking tours.

The next day we spent mostly cruising along the Danube through the Wachau Valley, a region of Austria renown for its dramatic scenery and its white wine vineyards.

Church and vineyards in the scenic Wachau Valley section of the Danube

The Danube valley hosts many historic buildings from the Baroque era, but few medieval (or earlier) structures.  So, while we saw some ruined battlements and fortresses on the tops of strategic hills, such ruins were far more common sights along the Rhine when we cruised that river about a decade ago.

The incredibly ornate Baroque Melk Abbey, Melk, Austria

In the afternoon, we docked at Melk, Austria, a small town with an opulent abbey perched on the hill above.  After we toured the abbey, we walked downhill back to the ship.  While we were waiting to embark at a cafe and ice cream shop, we talked with Tommy, a young fellow from Berlin who was riding his bicycle as far east as he could get accompanied his golden retriever in a towed buggy.  His goal was central Asia.  We wished him well.

During our overnight cruising, we passed from Austria into German.  We docked in the morning at Passau, where the weather improved.  We took a (poor) guided walking tour, sat for a half-hour organ recital in the Passau Cathedral (which boasts the largest pipe organ in the world), and then enjoyed lunch with another couple from our ship who we found wandering the narrow streets like us.

Narrow street in Passau, Germany.  Sunny skies!

Kali and Scott lunching at a Passau cafe

The next day, we cruised to Regensberg with its famous Stone Bridge over the Danube.  Much of the bridge is being rehabilitated and is shrouded with scaffolding and tarps, but I did manage to find a section that was exposed in order to take a photograph (below)

Above Regensberg, the Danube becomes too shallow and unnavigable for ships the size of ours.  In order to proceed further "upstream," our ship left the Danube proper and entered the Danube-Main-Rhine Canal, a modern (1992) engineering marvel that links the Danube and Rhine Rivers.

A portion of the famous Stone Bridge in Regensberg, Germany

Since this blog is "It Just Comes Naturally," I had to add something natural.  This Blackbird (actually, a species of thrush like an American Robin) was singing from its lamppost perch in a Regensberg city park.  Its song was varied, melodious, and strikingly beautiful. 

European  Blackbird

One of the most famous bratwurst cafes in Germany at Regensburg

Our point of disembarkation was Nuremberg, Germany.  We docked about 15 minutes outside town, and then took a bus into town for an excellent guided tour.  Though Nuremberg was heavily damaged by Allied bombing during WWII, there's no evidence of the damage now.  The castle crowning a hill above the city looks like it did during medieval times, and there are beautiful, historic structures scattered through the city.  Much of the central city, however, is modern.

The Nuremberg Fortress crowning a hill in the eponymous city

A Nuremberg wedding (right side).  The half-timbered building in the center of the image was renown engraver Albrecht Durer's house

We had a good vacation and Viking Cruise Lines did everything in its power to make our trip exceptional and memorable.

Swamp Slog

One hundred forty years ago, an intense corporate rivalry inadvertently produced the largest wetland in my county, located just a quarter-mile south of my preserve.  In the mid-1870s, the Pennsylvania Railroad and Reading Railroad each were desperate to build a railroad linking Philadelphia to New York City.  The Pennsylvania Railroad chose a route that was slightly longer but which incorporated a straightaway that ran level and flat for dozens of miles along an old geological fault.  The Reading Railroad selected a shorter, more direct route that used the water gap eroded by my creek to penetrate the high, steep northern face of the geologic fault.  Each railroad company had to place tremendous quantities of fill in the wide floodplain of my creek in order to raise its tracks out of the floodplain, and this fill, in turn, impeded drainage toward the creek, thereby impounding the 40-acre wetland with which we are blessed today.

Field trip participants on the former Reading Railroad bridge over the swamp drainage channel

Because the wetland includes habitat that is unusual in southeastern Pennsylvania, the Philadelphia Botanic Club scheduled a field trip to visit the site on Saturday morning, June 6, and they asked me to come along for the walk.  Though I have walked in the wetland proper a few times, I usually stick to the railroad tracks when I explore.  The Reading Railroad tracks have been removed and are now part of a county rail-trail (about which I have posted before); the Pennsylvania Railroad tracks are still in use for commuter rail service.

Making our way down from the railroad bed to the marsh

The water in the wetland is deepest near the rail lines, then the land gradually slopes upward and becomes drier as the distance from the tracks increases.  Nearest the tracks, the wetland is a marsh with dense emergent herbaceous vegetation.  Further uphill, the vegetation grades to shrub-swamp.  And, in the driest areas, the wetland becomes a red maple-pin oak (Acer rubrum-Quercus palustris) swamp forest.  Our group of seven walkers at first scoped-out the wetland from the elevated railroad tracks, and then skidded down the embankment and "took the plunge" into the jungle led by yours truly, who got tired of just poking around the edge.  Fortunately (for the hike), we hadn't had much rain lately, so the wetland had little standing water and just a few inches of organic ooze.

Let the botanizing begin!

Almost immediately, we came across a pair of Eastern Box Turtles (Terrapene carolina carolina) in flagrante delicto; alas, they disengaged immediately.

The female half of an Easter Box Turtle pair

Further into the marsh, we found a nest likely built by Red-winged Blackbirds (Agelaius phoeniceus) last summer suspended between a few twigs .

Last year's nest, probably from a Red-winged Blackbird

An abundance of sedges (very challenging to identify)

Field trip leader Joe serving as a backdrop for pictures of a blooming sedge

One of the plants we were especially interested in finding was lizard's-tail (Saururus cernuus).  It's not that rare, but it's an interesting wetland obligate that's not extraordinarily common.  I was the first to come across the plant and squealed with delight at my discovery.  Then, as we continued across the marsh, we found huge expanses of the plant.

Our quarry:  Lizard's-tail (Saururus cernuus)

One of my favorite plants: parasitic dodder (Cuscuta spp.) (the orange "silly string")  How cool is that?

We finally emerged from the marsh and shrub-swamp into the drier swamp forest.  Here, there's no understory to impede walking because the large deer herd that finds refuge in this isolated pocket of wilderness eats most regenerating trees and shrubs.

Pin oak-red maple swamp forest in the driest parts of the swamp

I wasn't enthusiastic about participating in this walk.  It was on a Saturday morning after I had just worked a full week, and it involved a trudge through mud and extremely dense vegetation (think African Queen here).  But, you know what?  I had a great time!  I got wet and muddy and the company was simpatico.  When I got back home and told Kali about my morning, she said, "Despite your belly-aching, I knew you'd have a great time!"  She knows me better than I know myself. 

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A note to my blogging colleagues and readers:  Kali and I were on vacation at the end of May (blog post to appear soon), and I have been crazy busy since we got back.  I apologize for not having commented or posted recently.