Weather Wise for Winter

"It" started yesterday, and today we wake to another world, subtle and quiet compared to the balmy fall weather of late (high 60s, fondly remembered, just a couple days ago). Now smothered in the proverbial blanket. Reminds me of another world of white not quite a year ago.

The bird channel is available for viewing, all morning, and the cats are enjoying the show.

The first bird we noticed this morning, however, was the Sharp-shinned Hawk, perhaps a descendant of Artemis, who helped launch this blog almost four years ago. This photo wasn't captured this morning, but about two weeks ago. It's not the thistle seed that attracts her to the feeder.


Although I was inside, she must have heard me; the camera doesn't catch her unaware twice. Spots mark "her" as an immature. (Guess I'm continuing the Artemis identity, can't quite consider this one a male, though that's certainly possible.) Our feeders seem to offer good training for the young of this species. We've also seen quite a few of the larger Cooper's Hawks this year, but it seems to be the Sharpies who show up on days like this.

On a more colorful note, the Husband called me to the window yesterday to see a few of these bright interlopers. The Eastern Blue Jay, of which I managed to catch only one in this photo, is moving westward into new territories, of which the Denver Urban Forest is one. Rarely do they make it across the suburbs and the treeless fringe up into our foothills forests, so it's always a momentous occasion when they do.

But I'll let the Watcher explain all about blue jays; which he does most expertly! Scroll down for his Awesome Graphic explaining their migration across the Plains.

Usually weather like this brings the Steller's Jays down from Evergreen, but we haven't spotted any yet today. We have about a foot (30 cm) so far... a little less than in the pre-Halloween storm shown here. Honest, this and the one at the top are two different pictures! Note the added cervid in this version.

The winter will unfold as it will. Perhaps it's best that we don't know what's coming.

November Notes

Berry-Go-Round, the plant carnival, comes of age this week with a rather spectacular 21st edition now available for your review at Beetles in the Bush. Thanks, Ted, for some inspiring reading!

While I was leaving a comment on someone's blog this morning, a tiny spider, possibly the smallest living thing I've ever seen with unaided eyes, dropped past my computer screen on a line. That incident reminds me to tell you that we have a spider post coming up soon here at Foothills Fancies! Inspired by Watcher's recent attention to arachnids (also here) and a lifelong admiration for these octopedal beings, I'm going to wade in with a few stories, and, most likely, a great many unanswered questions.

And the fate of this morning's spider? Before she landed, I grabbed her line to transport her somewhere less dangerous. The trouble with a half-millimeter spider is that it's tough to see where she lands, especially when she's swinging from a tether, but I always figure houseplants are a better survival opportunity than the pile of papers on my desk!

Tundra Tales and Mossy Trails

The extreme fall color we encountered during last month’s visits to Summit Lake might make you think the season for wildflowers there had ended. ‘Twas not so—at least two of summer’s wildflowers were hanging on in protected nooks. An occasional Alpine Avens, whose red leaves dominated the landscapes of the previous post, still retained green leaves and full golden bloom.

Photos taken September 9 and 18, 2009.


This composite, however, was the most obvious fall wildflower, displaying spots of bright yellow that caught the eye. (Perhaps Senecio fremontii, or a species of Ligularia? Consensus among the botany buddies is for the Senecio.)

The grasses were also well headed out and more obvious, as here, then they had been most of the summer. Unlike many other nonforested ecosystems, alpine tundra is not dominated by grasses. They appear, as do other wildflowers, as decorative elements in small patches, rather than the matrix against which showy flowers are displayed. In most of this tundra, the Avens, if anything, forms the background matrix. (What looks like a grassy matrix in tundra photos is usually Kobresia myosuroides, a small sedge that dominants the snow-free wind-swept areas.)

Of them all, we were perhaps most happy to get reacquainted with the tundra’s fall wildflower of note: Arctic Gentian. [Elsewhere known scientifically as Gentiana algida, we here in Colorado are asked to call this species Gentianodes algida.*] We never see this flower in summer; when it blooms, alpine autumn has arrived, and the first snows of winter are surely on the way.

*This is due to the efforts of Colorado’s most dedicated and prolific plant taxonomist/systematist of recent decades, Dr. William A. Weber, emeritus curator of the University of Colorado Herbarium in Boulder. Dr. Weber turned 92 or 93, I believe, this month, and his accomplishments are too numerous and impressive to list. He has trained and/or inspired generations of Colorado botanists. In addition to his work on the vascular flora, he is also the state’s leading lichenologist (to the best of my knowledge) and, in 2007, ventured into yet another field with the definitive Bryophytes of Colorado.

It’s a challenge for me, a gestalt taxonomist at best, to appreciate Dr. Weber’s revisions of the Colorado vascular flora, and I suspect out-of-state botanists are also challenged. Somehow the familiar Latin names come more readily. It’s like learning another language! Perhaps I exaggerate…

But one of the things for which I unequivocally appreciate Dr. Weber is that he is solely responsible for encouraging the National Park Service to designate Summit Lake Park as a National Natural Landmark in 1965 on the basis of its unusual flora, which he documented. The plaque reads: This site possesses exceptional value as an illustration of the National Natural Heritage and contributes to a better understanding of man’s environment.

The distribution map for this species in Colorado implies that it can be found at lower elevations than strictly tundra, even with a few plains counties apparently reporting it. Weber lists it as alpine and subalpine, and its height (or lack thereof) certainly makes it a good fit among alpine ankle-biters. Grass-like leaves enable it to hide unobtrusively among other plants all summer while they bloom profusely, then only when it has the field pretty much to itself does it show its abundant flowers.

More pictures and information on Arctic Gentian in Montana, at Southwest Wildflowers, and at the USDA Plants database. I've been macro-impaired of late, but you can find a very nice closeup at Pikes Peak Photo.

What about those Trails?

As pleasant as the gentians were, we were at Summit Lake Park to talk trails. The main trail to the Chicago Lakes Overlook is scheduled to be redone next season, so planning was in process on that. In addition, we talked about, and tried to line out a route for, a new trail closer to the lake, a major attraction for visitors.

This photo provides an overview of the area, with the main overlook trail at the left, and the parking area lower right. There is a trail from the parking lot to the lake, but visitors have also created a web of social trails in the area as they go for the views and explore the shoreline. What I’d like to point out in this photo, though, is the bare-looking area to the lower right of the lake. That’s the area we were trying to route a new trail through, to channel foot traffic and discourage wandering at will.

Here’s what the area looked like a little closer up. We tried to lay out a route that would avoid the perennially wet areas and impact a minimum of vegetation. But I’m a bit daft about cryptogams, and it seemed everywhere we tried to put a flag, the “bare” ground was thick with lichens and mosses. Tundra lichens are a special breed—most are species that dominate arctic ecosystems and aren’t seen down here in the lower 48 states, except at very high altitudes. So they’re special, at least to me.

Test your eye with this elk’s eye view. If this photo (Photo 1) were a vegetation quadrat (and I’m a little rusty on cover sampling), I’d say there’s no more than about 40% rock and gravel, about 20% vascular plants, and the rest is moss (almost blackish here) and soil lichens. (The green cushions, which look like moss, are actually "cushion plants," one of which—to confuse us further—is called moss campion.) Smack in the center of the above photo is a whitish wormy lichen called Thamnolia vermicularis. You’ll probably need to click to get a good look at it, or, better yet, visit it at Steve Sharnoff’s very useful site. He’s a way better lichen photographer than I am! Helpful hints for guessing cover are below, if you prefer.

Now that you’re oriented, try Photo 2. If it looks equally bare to you, consider that here I’d guess there’s only about 15% rock and gravel. The rest is ground lichens and mosses. Barely visible in the center of this photo is the brownish Solorina crocea.

Pretty cool, eh? And, to top it off, if you were a plant ecologist, you could spend 14-hour days in the field for weeks on end making these kinds of estimates!

The moral of the story, if there is one, is that there’s lots of life out there, if you look, and few good places for trails. Or, perhaps, that there’s really no way to build a trail without disturbing some little beings, especially if they are cryptogams!

p.s. I forgot to include one more photo. The dominant leaves here are those of the Netleaf Willow, Salix reticulata. This entire shrubby willow thicket, as you can see by my scale item, is not more than one inch tall (2.5 cm)... Two of the plants, northwest of the Chapstick, show opening capsules of willow fluff. In the tundra, unless you're paying close attention, you just never know what you're walking on!

Submittal to Berry-Go-Round plant carnival, edition number #21, now up at Beetles in the Bush.

Photo 1—how much rock? Photo 2—rocks are in fuchsia.

High Color: Alpine Tundra in Autumn

This little photo essay is the result of trips to Summit Lake, at the base of Mt. Evans, on September 9th and 18th, 2009. Fall was well underway, and no less spectacular than the aspens at lower elevations. It is now winter there at 12,800 ft (3,900 m). The Mt. Evans road is closed for the season, and you can no longer drive even as far as Summit Lake.






Above is the main trail from the parking lot to the Chicago Lakes Overlook. Next summer it will be replaced by a new trail on a better alignment, thanks to a grant from the State Trails program. The deep red color is provided by the leaves of Alpine Avens, Acomastylis (formerly Geum) rossii, a common tundra wildflower in the Rose Family.


This old social trail was revegetated just last summer, at least up to the point where bare gravel is showing. Somewhat to my surprise, placing chunks of tundra turf in the old trail bed has been very successful in obliterating this old scar.

Blogging for Vultures: International Vulture Awareness Day

Arizona introduced me to vultures when I was about 22 years old. In those days, Turkey Vultures (Cathartes aura) hadn't yet penetrated the habitats of upstate New York where I grew up, so I had to come west to make their acquaintance. Because they were new to me (as were many other living things in Arizona), they were automatically fascinating.

Parts of the desert landscape, too many parts I'm sure, were home to cows, and often some of those cows were recently deceased. Not until I reached the desert grasslands of southern Arizona, though, did I see vultures in numbers. I captured this photo back then, probably somewhere between Elgin and Fort Huachuca.

Unlike other raptors, Turkey Vultures are happy with a cold buffet, one that Nature quite regularly lays for them. Everything dies, and everything must be recycled, sooner or later, one way or another. With vultures, it's sooner. They may not always come first to the feast, but once they arrive, other feathered scavengers must move on, or be adept at dodging in for leftovers.

Unlike most birds, Turkey Vultures have a keen sense of smell as well as eyesight, quickly finding new sources of food. Their range expansion northward in recent decades has been attributed to climate changes, increases in open habitat relative to forests, protection from hunting, and, my personal favorite, opportunism as a result of our expanded highway system. More and better roads--> faster speeds--> more roadkill--> vulture habitat improvement! An ironic and unintended benefit from our continued environmental deterioration.

There's a nice article on range expansion here, as vultures return to Vermont. Turkey Vulture populations are apparently strong, unlike other vultures in other parts of the world. Thanks to the folks at IVAD, who are working to create awareness of conservation needs of these fascinating birds, without whose help we'd be hip-deep in rotting carcasses!

Check out more about vultures over at IVAD headquarters. See, especially, Tai Haku's contribution, which is loaded with excellent photos and a timely reminder of appropriate human funeral customs.

A Pepperweed Adventure

We ventured forth to Bergen Park on a lethal quest, with murder in our hearts. I was to be introduced to a new weed for our area, one that was infringing on the edge of parkland. Clearly it had to go.

Happily for me, though, Perennial Pepperweed (Lepidium latifolium) was not the only plant we encountered that day. Here the pepperweed, which was not yet blooming, consorts with Poison Hemlock (Conium maculatum), another exotic, in full flower.

This post doesn't qualify for Plant of the Week; perhaps I should call it a "plant of last month." Late July and most of August were absorbed, it seems, in the wink of an eye! Forgive me for taking you back to early July for this little botanical adventure.

The first few plants we uprooted seemed innocuous enough, but I latched on to one, near the base of a small ponderosa pine, that soon delivered an extensive root system. Perhaps the mother of all pepperweeds...

According to one reliable source,

"Perennial pepperweed is a highly invasive herbaceous perennial. It can invade a wide range of habitats including riparian areas, wetlands, marshes, and floodplains. It adapts readily to natural and disturbed wetlands. As it establishes and expands, the plants create large monospecific stands that displace native plants and animals."

So far so bad. The good news is that, in the course of an hour or so, the two of us seriously depredated this patch of pepperweed, leaving few, if any, survivors above ground to reproduce. The bad news is: it's perennial. As we wandered the area, looking for any surviving remnants, we noticed an odd distribution pattern: it seemed to be associated with the pines. Here it also shows a bit of a zonation pattern, with hemlock behind, pepperweed next to the pine, and smooth brome in the foreground. Lovely.

Clearly we were not in a pristine ecosystem by any means. This is a park that is rapidly gentrifying, and has been used for almost a century. We were also right next to a "park and ride" for the local bus system. In beautifying the area around their new parking lot they had, logically, planted "native" ponderosa pines from a local nursery. (Though why they didn't use the many native pine seedlings on site, I can't explain.) We speculated that the source of the infestation was the root balls of these imported trees. Upon being informed of its presence, the bus company promptly mowed the entire area. Problem solved, right? Well, maybe...

The Park Service (source above) adds:

"Application of the control plan must be repeated numerous times to obtain lasting management.... Sources of infestations should also be located and eliminated to prevent future infestations.... Mechanical control options are typically not effective. Very small patches can be controlled by hand removal if the process is repeated often for several years and plants are not allowed to mature."

Looks like we have our work cut out for us. We have a chance, with conscientious monitoring at this site, to prevent this weed from gaining a foothold that will overwhelm our ability to deal with it in the future. It's early, here, for this one. Perhaps we won a battle, but vigilance, eternal vigilance, is the key in this war. Fortunately, some of our aggressive invaders are not so intractable.

Here's the meadow at Bergen, looking back into the park (a ponderosa pine grove). The brown seedheads of a Smooth Brome monoculture are distinct, enabling its immediate recognition. Most of us live, around here, in a world of mountain meadows dominated by Smooth Brome (Bromus inermis), which was deliberately introduced to the United States and Canada in 1880 from Hungary and in 1896 from Russia. It is still being actively recommended as a pasture grass.

As we moved away from ground zero of the pepperweed infestation, thankfully, more welcome denizens of a montane meadow began to assert themselves. To my surprise, there were harebells (Campanula rotundifolia) still in bloom (long gone at my home elevation), blanket flowers (Gaillardia aristata), and more. I might have gotten more photos, but the presence of a favorite mountain grass thoroughly distracted me.

Parry Oatgrass, Danthonia parryi, is not only elegant, graceful, beautiful, and native, but distinctive and, thus, recognizable! (Always a desirable quality in grasses.) This year, with 3 more inches (7.6 cm) of rain than usual, I've been noticing it everywhere. I can only conclude I'd overlooked it before; I'd thought of it as somewhat rare, or at least unusual. I like it so much I once obliquely featured it in an article, and even put the illustration of it on my business card.

Here's what I didn't know about this intriguing grass: it is reported only from four states (MT, WY, CO, and NM) and two provinces (ALB and SASK). In other words, straight down the spine of the Rockies, primarily on the eastern side. It is secure in Alberta, according to NatureServe, and imperilled in Wyoming; other areas have not been assessed. Within Colorado, its distribution is a bit irregular, most likely due to inadequate collections. Parry Oatgrass is, for example, not reported from our county, where this site (the red triangle) is.

Although they're surrounded by Parry Oatgrass, especially this year, I suspect that few mountain residents would recognize this grass under any circumstances. Here it shares the foreground with harebells and other wildflowers, as is proper, but smooth brome lurks in the background. Even long-time mountain residents think they see pristine landscapes where, in fact, they are seeing agriculture.

——
Perennial pepperweed, according to the USDA Plants Database, has been introduced in about 20 states of the U.S. and six Canadian provinces. It is native to southeastern Europe and southwestern Asia and, according to the Park Service, "probably entered the U.S. prior to 1940 in a shipment of beet seed (Beta vulgaris) from Europe." In Colorado it is a "List B" exotic weed. Smooth Brome, however, is still being planted.

——
Submitted for edition #20 of the plant carnival, Berry-Go-Round.

Dune

Recall saltation:
Sand grains dancing on the wind
Can create mountains.

Under a restless wind
They jump, twist, and shudder on,
Overtaking pines.










It was my first visit to Great Sand Dunes; it’s funny how a word you haven’t used in polite conversation in decades (or ever?) effortlessly pops back into your vocabulary. As did “barchan” and “parabolic,” though the Park Naturalists didn’t seem to know what I was asking about.

How tiny the people are.
August 8, 2009

Three and Counting...

One visited while I was gone early this month and was dealt with by the Darling Husband... but Number Two arrived the day after I got back, on August 10th.

Here she is, awaiting relocation, and none too happy about it. If she only knew the reception she'd find at most homes in our area, she'd stop complaining.

The dogs found the first two,* but I found the next one all by myself. Number Three of 2009 was curled up in the chickens' feed trough on Saturday, August 22. He didn't look too happy with me, though I certainly kept my distance, as did the chickens, until DH arrived to help corral him. He, too, found a new home not too far away.

*They've both been quite the snake-pointers ever since #2 Dog survived a bite back some years back. Or, I should say, #1 Dog points, #2 Dog runs for the door.

You may click to enlarge, if you'd like a closer look.

As you've probably guessed, we have a nonagression treaty with rattlesnakes. I'm not finding that to be common, but I have encountered some folks who agree that they should be allowed, most often, to go about their business, as they will if we exercise a little restraint.

They're certainly unnerving, though. I'm never sure their intentions toward me and mine are as friendly as mine toward them. (Come to think of it, these two look a lot alike! Hmmm....)

How many more such surprises before cold puts a temporary end to their visits?? How much longer should I walk, mindful of their potential presence every time I'm outside?

Crotalus viridis.

A Summer Feast at the Berry-Go-Round

As you would expect from June, we have a feast for the eyes—and palate—at this month's edition of Berry-Go-Round. Visual appeal and tastebud tempters present themselves in our smorgasbord, and there's even a brain-twister or two to pique our curiosity and exercise our cranial muscles. Thanks, everyone, for bringing your specialties to our potluck!

When you visit these sites, please remember, it's kind to comment!
And if you are one of the sites mentioned here, please promote the
carnival by providing a link back. Thanks!

Whenever you're in need of a little something to whet your botanical appetite, you can check in anytime at A Plant a Day, where we're being introduced to delights from the central Great Basin. We'll pass on the Water Hemlock in favor of Wild Licorice, thanks just the same!

The Watcher takes us cruising through different altitudes in mid-June, following spring as it moves up the Wasatch Range from 5,000 ft, to 7,000 ft., and on up to 9,000 ft., where it's getting hard to cook (altitude, you know), so he throws in a touch of marital advice to season the pot. There's always a botanical kettle of stew bubbling at the Watcher's Suburban Stead, from Cottonwood seeds to wild geraniums and much much more.

Rabbit stew might end up on the menu at Phytophactor's, as he tries to balance the local backyard ecosystem. The Phactor introduced us to the sad malady of plant blindness a while ago, from which we're glad to say BGR lovers aren't suffering. He also introduces us to Magnolia, in a feature he calls "Know Your Genera," a very important skill in figuring out plants.

If you are having trouble with that, explore the perils of plant identification in Panama with Mary at Neotropical Savanna as she walks us thru the process of identifying a new plant, and her predicament reveals the pleasure of solving a puzzle, as well as how to go about identification.

The vegetable course picks up some floral notes at Kenton and Rebecca Whitman's Wild About Nature Blog. Foraging is apparently second nature to them, as they also bring us a review of the Forager's Harvest, by Samuel Thayer. Be careful out there, guys—and save some for the critters!

Hugh at Rock Paper Lizard offers a favorite grocery of that old weed-eater Euell Gibbons at Typha through the seasons, as well as a charming look at the much maligned Common Mullein.

Jeremy at Agrobiodiversity brings a favorite food of summer to the feast, with a post about corn (maize) traditionally kept by the Pawnee people. He mentions this story on the advantages of variegation, hoping someone else can provide us more detail.

Agrobiodiv is a also terrific trip target for tongue-twisting treats you've never tasted, like amadumbe. Over at Jeremy's friend's place, be tempted all over again, with a plate of ground nuts, soon to be better known as hopniss! Radix always seems to get at the root of things, and don't these look yummy! (No, these aren't the hopniss.)

The delightful and delectable Bluebunch Wheatgrass is species of the week at Elizabeth Enslin's table. Elizabeth is a lawn-hating recovering academic who learns to love grass, after years of fighting invasive grasses in lawns at Yips and Howls.

I can't resist cycads, even though they're rarely edible and often toxic. Tai haku introduces us to Zamia portoricensis, mother and child at Earth, Wind, and Water. You'll find links to all his cycad posts on this page.

Bobbie the Backyard Grower brings dessert, reminding us that Blueberry Benefits include anti-aging effects in addition to the other touted benefits of this dark luscious fruit.

Lastly, because you can't make a meal without killing something and to help us keep everything in perspective, Sarcozona reminds us of What We Killed Thursday at Gravity's Rainbow. While this particular species was declared extinct in the wild rather than completely extinct, the damaged herbarium specimen she found is apparently the only record of Erythroxlym echinodendron. Sadly, there don’t seem to be any reintroduction projects in place or even specimens being studied in botanical gardens.

That concludes our banquet today, thanks for coming. I hope you find it satisfying despite my tardiness in getting it together. Stay tuned to Berry-Go-Round headquarters for the location of next month's buffet. Meanwhile, it's summer—get out there and eat it up!

Bird on the Wire

I finally found the nest. The male Western Kingbird has been sitting on this wire directly over our driveway for a couple of weeks. Yesterday, en route to the mailbox, I paid a bit more attention, and discovered the female brooding in the crotch of the Russian-olive. Of course, she moved off before I could return with the camera.

‘Tis the season! We call it summer… and with all the rain we’ve had, everything is displaying glorious fecundity. We’ve already raised at least two broods of Magpies, so the Kingbirds have good reason to be watchful.

Yesterday, about the time of my discovery, the Magpies took great interest in the driveway area. The male Kingbird was vigilant, but I (par for the course) was concerned. I filled the suet feeder in hopes of distracting them. The male, sometimes accompanied by his mate, was more direct, and never tired of chasing off the Magpie parents. Baby Magpies, almost indistinguishable now from their parents, hung out near the suet bar, but couldn’t quite figure out how to make it deliver the goods.

One sortie by the nest defender led to a substantial chase; another time both parents got involved in a close situation involving body contact inside their tree haven. All seems well, but it’s difficult to tell just yet. The nest seems empty much of the time, but I did see the female leave it once today. I think she’s sitting as low as possible to remain hidden. The male is finding new spots on different wires from which to observe.

We, meanwhile, are enjoying the Leonard Cohen Live in London DVD, having opted to purchase that rather than concert tickets for his appearance at Red Rocks June 4th (rained out June 2nd). Once I was past the shock of seeing him, so aged after more than 30 years (aren’t we all!), I found I loved his later music and adapted readily to its infectious quality. Like a bird on the wire.

Rhymes with June

 

Not tune, or spoon… not even swoon or moon…

Sure feels like it anyway. I had in mind back-dating this post a week or two, as it's been somewhat clear these last few days, but the wetter side of Mother Nature is clearly not done with us yet, despite a few days break for Solstice Sun.

An impromptu field trip was rained out late Tuesday, but we went anyway yesterday and rain held off just long enough. Today we had a 50 minute downpour, complete with turn-off-the-computer celestial rumblings and cracklings, at 1 p.m. during which this picture was taken. Another deluge at 4:40 p.m., only lasted a few minutes, but now I see it’s back in business. I thought we’d changed from gentle rains of spring to our convectional afternoon thunderstorms, but today is beyond even the usual in that department. 

 

This all started, according to my notes, about May 22 in the evening. On the 26th, I wrote my boss something about 3 [days] down, 37 to go. Today I understand an ark floated by the office window. (Here’s a look at June 1st.) Water-cooler conversation focuses on “how green it is!” And it is, indeed, unusually late for it to be so green. Wishful gardener that I am, I keep wishing I’d planted seeds. My few tomato plants are waiting for a little sun and warmth.

June 2nd… same old, same wonderful old wet. I’m not complaining…

But I did quit trying to take pictures of it all, until today. All four corners of the house were pouring with runoff… all the rain barrels had already overflowed, but still it came. The small town in the valley below us has experienced repeated historic floods; I keep wondering if we’re in for it again.

But the plants aren’t complaining either. Here, prairie coneflower (Ratibida columnifera) like I’ve never seen it before. Covered with raindrops.

Don't Forget-- BGR #18 deadline

Submissions are due Sunday June 28th —at midnight Mountain Time—for the next edition of the Berry-Go-Round blog carnival, to be posted next week here at Foothills Fancies.

I've only received a few valid submissions (and a bit of clutter), so please send something, and you'll get a prime feature spot for your blog on the next edition! I'd prefer you NOT use the submission form, as that seems to be where the junk is coming from. See previous post for full instructions on submitting to this round.

Assuming we don't want to read about condo lodging, health care, or spyware removal in our plant carnival, please please forward links to your favorite plant posts—yours or someone else's— to help us out here! Drop a link in comments below, if you like!