Growing Up Pie, Part 1

The young couple who took up residence next door last spring are doing a little housekeeping. I see them refurbishing the nest in the Ponderosa Pine below the house, bringing a new stick or two where needed, or rearranging a bit here and there.

I think last summer was their first season as newlyweds. Being 100 feet away from the birdfeeders didn't hurt; they probably grew up here themselves and wanted to stay in the neighborhood.

Yesterday, I caught them in the garden, in flagrante delicto, and for 45 seconds or so, I was able to tell which was the male and which the female! Alas, the moment escaped the camera, but I think I know what's coming this summer. Clearly the "courtship" is over.

Usually I have a ringside seat from which to watch their efforts. Every once in a while, the view is obstructed.


A half-dozen or so local does and yearlings are recognizable now, but this gentleman is a stranger who wandered through in mid-March, intent on the does, no doubt. It's that time of year.

Setting Up Housekeeping

It was last April when these two Black-billed Magpies picked out our youngish ponderosa pine for their starter home. I guess it didn't occur to me to document the process until construction was well underway. If you are curious about nest-building details, the Watcher has, of course, covered magpie architecture.


All those trips back and forth carrying sticks can really work up an appetite. In April, one year ago today in fact, I buttered the bark of the ash tree out front with a suet dough concoction. It didn't take them long to discover and exploit this new food source.






Finally, about May 21st, the nest was complete. All was quiet well into June. Many more trips were made, bringing food to whomever was sitting. We suspected eggs, but never confirmed by direct observations.


Events continued to unfold, and finally the activity level rose, as did the noise. In mid-July, some grew impatient inside, and began waiting on the doorstep for food to appear. Growing up seems to involve a lot of waiting.


But mom or dad always managed to show up in time.




Kinda makes me glad we planted that tree, a bare-root seedling, back when we moved here ourselves as newlyweds.

Coming Soon: Part 2, A Raucous Summer

Suddenly Spring

By the time I started actively searching for signs of spring this year, it was well on its way!

I should have checked for Easter daisies (Townsendia cf. hookeri) on St. Paddy's Day (March 17th). I didn't get to my favorite patch until April Fool's Day, but they were chugging along just fine, and right where I expected them to be. You can see them, right?






How about now?

Some of our earliest spring wildflowers are well hidden—if you didn't know exactly where they are, you'd be hard pressed to spot them! Hidden in plain sight, right along one of our most popular trails in full range of unscooped dog poop, this patch of Easter daisies was still unobserved by 99% of passersby. Those who saw me with camera and dog weren't even curious about what I was trying to photograph.


How's this for an Easter bouquet?

The stemless Easter daisy can't help but look like an old-fashioned "posy" or nosegay, with all the flowers clustered at the base, obscuring a rosette of leaves that are, by themselves, easy to overlook. Without the burst of white color to draw the eye, these little guys don't suggest any dramatic display at all!

The early bees are having no trouble finding them, however.
















Equally cryptic are those who will bloom a bit later, now mere hints of beauty to come. Here, a feathery rosette of Lambert's loco cozies up to the glaucous blue basal leaves of one-sided Penstemon. Only by watching through the season would we know what they're going to be capable of producing!



The name of this bulb I planted long ago in the backyard popped back into my head this morning as I went out to take an updated photo. Siberian squill, Scilla siberica, naturalizes even here in the rugged and challenging West apparently.

I stand corrected, thanks to Nina at Nature Remains and depending on whether you're a "lumper" or a "splitter." This is, per the criteria at Wikipedia, Chionodoxa rather than Scilla. Hmmm... "Glory-of-the-snow." Think I like that better than "Siberian squill."

The few that I planted, probably 25 years ago now, before I knew better and when I still had gardening illusions, have now escaped the rock garden and carpeted even gravel waste areas in my none-too-well-tended yard. Blooming before the daffodils, they hint of things to come; however dry the season, they manage well enough on the residual soil moisture of previous snows and just ignore the hot dry season in dormancy.

Thankfully, they've not escaped the confines of the limited backyard area, as the grape hyacinths used to do before the chickens and deer ate them all. Although it may be fine in controlled shady lawn sites, the thought of deliberately planting it in wooded areas back East, as the garden websites seem to suggest, raises concern. I'm sure it'd be well able to outcompete native spring wildflowers, and I wonder whether it's ever considered invasive.

Also naturalizing, but more welcome, is this Yellow Prairie Violet, Viola nuttallii, happily blooming nearby in the same gravel area. Like the perennial bulbs, these natives thrive on the neglect provided by the absent-minded gardener, as well as the indifference of the season, which keeps forgetting to add moisture.

Where Do Orioles Live?

Suddenly Spring is in the offing, and where there was nothing showing but bleak just a few days ago, now an air of hope and greenery emerges. I thought I'd better get out and grab some photos of Oriole Abodes (say that 3 times fast) before they became, once again, invisible.











Rocking and resilient, these nests have weathered the test of time and the gale force winds we've been having recently. I'll be pleasantly surprised if any of these photos are in focus, as I could barely operate the camera without losing my hat to the wind!








Elm trees, ours and the neighbors, seem preferred in my small sampling, with two nests per tree. Chinese or perhaps Siberian, I don't bother to distinguish, as both are unwelcome exotics. Except, apparently, to the orioles. (Ours, you may recall, are Bullock's Orioles.)

What a place to sleep, lulled by winds in these deep woven hammocks! I wonder—Do they build anew each year? Are these two elms, with two nests each, a record of previous occupation, or do they represent multi-family housing?













One hardy pair gave the neighbor's Russian-olive a go.

Of course, the Orioles them- selves are nowhere in sight as yet, and the trees stand vacant still. But Spring is all about hope, is it not?

Botany and the Indian Gulch Fire

First the Fire
(Photo courtesy Chuck Haraway)

As of Friday night at 6:40 p.m., March 25, 2011, "The Indian Gulch Fire is 100 percent contained after burning 1570 acres." Just that morning, 9 a.m., the fire map showed 1502 acres burned. In a great use of technology, the Jeffco Sheriff's Department kept a blog, regularly updated from the front lines.





I haven't seen a final map, but I'm guessing the fire captured the westernmost gulch, shown on this 3/25 map as an uncontrolled fireline, accounting for the 68 acres added to the tally on Friday. Here's my version of the official map overlain on topo; boundaries are approximate.

Also that Friday morning, Incident Commander Muir diverted some air resources from the Indian Gulch Fire to support firefighting efforts in Douglas County, Colorado, where the Franktown Fire (aka, Burning Tree Fire), also partly a grassland fire, burned 1,600 acres in little more than 24 hours before it was contained. On the 21st, firefighters briefly battled and conquered a third fire near Evergreen. A busy week!

In all, firefighters from 65 agencies responded to the Indian Gulch fire. They came from all over Colorado, plus Arizona, Idaho, South Dakota, North Dakota, and Florida(??!). The Jeffco Sheriff's Department reported that "fire crews have enjoyed a wave of support. Citizens have dropped off food, beverages, personal hygiene items, socks, and other supplies, all of which have been put to good use. Local businesses have offered free food and coffee to the firefighters between shifts."

Because I captured no photographs, please drop in on another local blogger, at Fun with Gravity, for great photos of this epic ecological event. Mtnrunner2 kindly gave me permission to use this dramatic photo. (Reminds me of Mordor.)



Local Ecology and Botany

Funny, we were just talking about Big Bluestem a week ago, and many of those south- and east-facing slopes I mentioned then were in the line of fire, so to speak. You can see the orangey bluestem just below the burned area in this photo, taken several days later. The dark shrubs below the line are unburned, but it's hard to distinguish burned area from dormant shrublands at this distance. That ashy white color above reveals the charred area a bit better.

You didn't hear much in the press about it, but Indian Gulch seems to have been predominantly a grassland fire, not so much a forest fire. Given the winds we had, that's a good thing! No doubt the firefighters struggled through some shrub-choked thickets in the gulches as well, but part of what burned had to be bluestem.

Also well in the line of fire, as revealed in the "no structures threatened" reports, is public open space parkland (Mt. Galbraith Park, at the east end, shown in gray here); more is private undeveloped land (Goltra property to the west). That's the good news.

Indian Gulch is also an area of significant botanical and ecological interest. That was, in fact, part of the reason the area was acquired as Open Space in the first place. Listed as a "Conservation Area" in a 1993 report by the Colorado Natural Heritage Program, the Indian Gulch area contains an occurrence of the rare Ute ladies' tresses orchid, Spiranthes diluvialis, identified in 1984 (from herbarium specimens) as a distinct species from the more robust Spiranthes romanzoffiana. [HT to the Chemist for botanical support on this one; Spidil and I are not well acquainted. He kindly provided this photo as well.] The area contains one of 10 original populations (8 of which are extant) in Colorado, and the only one in our county. Populations in Colorado and Utah accounted for 84% of the known individuals of Spiranthes diluvialis when surveyed in 2004.

Can't help wondering whether any orchids burned, and how tolerant they may be. As a species of wet/riparian grasslands, Spiranthes has probably been through this before.

In the End

All expectations are now raised for an incredibly busy fire season this year. (The newer Crystal Fire in Larimer Co. has already burned 4,500 acres.) The little graupely-sleet falling as I write this probably won't amount to much relief. We need a good upslope, dumping a couple feet of snow! (Nice view of red fire retardant on the hillsides, and charred areas to the right, in this last photo by Chuck Haraway.)

Thankfully, no lives, livestock, or homes were lost. Both the Indian Gulch and Franktown fires are believed to be caused by human action. Investigations continue.

Even in March Berries Go Round

Ah me, I failed (til recent reminders) to let you know about the current edition of Berry-Go-Round, number 38, which is now up at Anybody Seen My Focus?. Puca, a first-time host, has done a smashing job of rounding up the latest and greatest plant posts, and even included FF's recent contribution on big bluestem, below.

Hustle on over and check out lettuce-growing tips, SPAM (not the bad kind), spring flowers, and much more. Do drop a comment or two on posts you enjoy; it helps keep our participants motivated!

Then, when you're ready, be the first to try out the new BGR submission form to deliver your post on plants, botany, green news, etc. directly to my doorstep, where the next edition will be hosted at the end of April. Or, if you're not excited about such technovation, email me your link directly at FFnaturalist AT gMAIL you-know com. Okay?? Deadline is April 25th, please...

Preliminary indications are that the April edition will have a bit of a tree focus (Arbor Day and all), but plant posts of all types are welcome. Lines are open...

Big Blue: A Grass for the Times?

Last fall I had an email from a botanist friend: What’s going on with big bluestem? After he pointed it out, I noticed that, sure enough, this species, one of the dominant grasses in the tallgrass prairie (as in the source of the original Kansas sods that once housed the homesteaders), was bustin’ out all over the foothills!

Above: Fall color in "turkeyfoot," Big Bluestem grass (Andropogon gerardii), looking across Section 16 and Boulder's Jewell Mountain Open Space. (You can even see the turkey feet in this photo!)

Normally, Big Bluestem does occur on the slopes of our mountain front in sporadic patches, but has been expanding in recent years. In 2010, this warm-season grass had an extraordinary year. Its abundance first drew attention at Lookout Mountain, on the slopes of Windy Saddle Park and adjacent areas, where patches of last fall's russet color could still be spotted in January, even from a distance, as long as the ground was free of snow. Big bluestem and its cousins in the grass family provide great winter color in the landscape.

[This post is a revised version of an article that appeared in the March edition of the Plan Jeffco newsletter, and is therefore oriented toward local open space parks.]

Tallgrass prairie, whether here or in the East, is a tattered remnant of what it was in its glory days. We’re lucky to have sizable patches in Jefferson County; efforts to protect some have been underway for more than 20 years. It’s been years since we talked tallgrass prairie here at FF, but we have continued to monitor developments in the Rocky Flats area, where our best examples of this rare ecosystem survive, including the Ranson/ Edwards property and Jewell Mountain, where Boulder conveniently protected several hundred acres. Patches of big bluestem on the foothills slopes are fine, but limited, reminders of the more extensive remnant prairie that once rolled out across the county but now have retreated to a fringe along the mountain front. Most of what you see west of Highway 93 and north of Hwy 72 is tallgrass prairie.

Big Bluestem (grass)
Andropogon gerardii

• Warm-season sod-forming grass.
  
• Height: 4-5 feet in Colorado; to 8 ft in prairie states.
  
• Range: All but the five westernmost of the lower 48 states, as well as the central provinces of Canada.
  
• Dominant and characteristic grass of the tallgrass prairie ecosystem.
  
• Flowering heads are 4-5 inches long, with 3 (sometimes more) spreading branches, suggesting its other common name: turkeyfoot
  
• Links: At USDA Plants database; at Illinois Wildflowers.
  

Don't Confuse Big Bluestem with:
Smooth Brome (Bromus inermis; Bromopsis inermis) is a ubiquitous pasture grass that was introduced in the late 1800s for livestock forage and erosion control. A sod-former, it tends to grow in extensive monocultures, unlike the patch effect of bluestem, although it is a similarly robust grass that turns color in the fall (more brownish than reddish, however). Smooth brome has leaves on the stem, not just at the base, and lacks the characteristic "turkey foot" seedhead. It is invasive in prairies, and some states consider it a weed. According to the USDA, Smooth Brome now occurs in every state except Hawaii, Alabama, and Florida.

Big Bluestem in Jeffco’s Landscape
Look for these foothills patches primarily on unforested south- and east-facing slopes: on Mt. Morrison, most central-county slopes visible west of Highway 93, and on the north slopes of our canyons, from Bear Creek to Golden Gate. In Mt. Galbraith Park, you can see the colorful auburn patches across the canyon opposite as you make your way up the trail. Driving west on I-70, look for it to the north as you enter the foothills, on the slopes in Matthews-Winters Park.

In the southwest part of Red Rocks Park, bluestem occurs on more prairie-like level sites, because that area has been long protected and contains isolated spots where the Rocky Flats alluvium persists on lands that would otherwise have been cultivated or developed. In fall, Big Bluestem blends perfectly with the outcrops of the Fountain Formation that define Red Rocks.

Lack of development, and a somewhat inhospitable climate, have also protected the Rocky Flats area. The extremely cobbly soils, beloved of gravel companies, hampered agricultural attempts on much of the area, and enhanced the available moisture content for the growth of these taller species. These soils are considered among the oldest in Colorado, in part because the area is unplowed, with some estimates placing their age at 2 million years. But Big Bluestem’s visibility in the landscape of any given year reflects how we’re doing on overall precipitation and temperature.

The Water Year and Other Influences
Based on the 30-yr average precipitation, our wettest month of the year should be May. When it is, that’s about perfect for big bluestem and other warm-season grasses (including blue grama, sideoats grama, little bluestem, and switchgrass), which are just getting started as the weather warms toward summer. By June, the cool-season grasses (such as the common lawn grasses, including Kentucky bluegrass, which take advantage of early season moisture to start growth) will be ready to flower and set seed, but you’ll still have to hunt around on the ground to find evidence that big bluestem is even alive. Large clumps of hairy, velvety blue-green leaves will be your hint.

In July, those spreading clumps send up tall flowering shoots, which produce the “turkey-foot” seedheads by August. When cool-season grasses are giving it up and their seed has scattered, Big Bluestem ripens into the terra cotta masses that reveal its presence even from a distance.

This seasonal habit represents an entirely different metabolism (called “C4”) in these warm-season plants, which use carbon along different pathways than many familiar plants. According to some researchers, this may give them an advantage under conditions of elevated carbon dioxide (think global climate change), especially during drought.

Interestingly, although it seemed, until February snows, that it’s been droughty for several months, 2010 was a good moisture year during its first half, giving Big Bluestem the start it needed. In fact, rainfall in this part of the county has been at or above normal every month from April 2009 through last June. (Later records have not yet been posted online; I’d guess July stayed high as well.) Average temperatures have also hovered a degree or two above normal since late in 2008. Both conditions have supported growth of Big Bluestem, a species that prefers it a little more moist and warm than is the rule in Colorado. If we go too dry and warm, we’re apt to see more of its cousin, little bluestem, but as long as it finds a moist spot, Big Bluestem will remain a part of the county’s natural prospect.

——
Further Reading
Many more references—bison grazing effects, mycorhizal associations, fire, etc.—can be found via Google Scholar; here are a few to get you started. If you've been following our Indian Gulch fire, some of the articles on fire may be of interest; parts of Mt. Galbraith Park, mentioned above, burned. Note that most articles are in Jstor, and only abstracts are available to those of us without university connections.

Biomass production and species composition change in a tallgrass prairie ecosystem after long-term exposure to elevated atmospheric CO2
Clenton E. Owensby, Jay. M. Ham, Alan. K. Knapp, Lisa. M. Auen, 2001, Wiley Online Library.

Photosynthetic and water relations responses to elevated CO 2 in the C 4 grass Andropogon gerardii
AK Knapp, EP Hamerlynck, CE Owensby, International Journal of Plant Sciences, V 154,#4, pp 459-466, 1993.

In absence of water stress, such systems don’t respond to elevated C, but in water-limited envts, levels of leaf phi, leaf-level ps rates, and stomatal conductance are all likely to be affected by elevated atmos CO2, with the net result being inc in biomass productn.

Growth and Gas Exchange of Andropogon gerardii as Influenced by Burning
Tony J. Svejcar and James A. Browning, Journal of Range Management, Vol. 41, No. 3 (May, 1988), pp. 239-244

Long-Term Effects of Annual Burning at Different Dates in Ungrazed Kansas Tallgrass Prairie
Gene Towne and Clenton Owensby, Journal of Range Management, Vol. 37, No. 5 (Sep., 1984), pp. 392-397

Fowl Weather*

Dire predictions for weather here these last few days have uniformly failed to materialize. That's unusual for March, storms of which routinely produce whatever snow piles are forecast. We woke today to a proper pea soup of fog, as yesterday, but only a skim of white crystals has reached the ground. For the life of me, I can't find the camera, but it looks a lot like this out there, minus the heavy snow.

(Ah, ha! You have only to retrace your steps, and remember that you were trying to snap the lovely crystals on the gate, without success, then came in by the fire, and voila! Here's this morning's actual view.)

It's produced a nice feathered frosting of white on everything, one of the occasional attractions winter provides. Even the chain link gate to the chicken yard looks like a piece of delicate lace...









And the trees! Yesterday I attended a 1 p.m. meeting atop Lookout Mtn, which was in dense fog. The storm, scheduled to move in at 2 p.m., made us hurry through the meeting, but we left in dense fog and clear roads, allowing a view of white-laced trees. Much like this view from February 25th, only a mountain away, but with the ground whitened as well.

Anyway, the point of all this was to talk about chickens. My friend at the Hoosier Horse Farm took a whim in the chicken direction recently, and has been entertaining me with questions and, now that she has her chicks, reactions.

First, a debate on "what kind"... answered in favor of Barred Plymouth Rocks and Ameraucanas (aka "Easter Eggers"). Then the excitement of fluffy little bits of incipient chickenhood at home—"You didn't tell me they'd be so much fun to watch!"

(They aren't nearly so pink, but it is hard to get good photos in indoor light. The 'Canas are the ones that look like chipmunks... very cute!)

The first night she made coffee and stayed up to watch them. First they run around pecking, then they drop, wherever they find themselves, down for a nap, then up and down... Chicken TV. (Networks take notice.) It's especially entertaining to watch them drink.

Last night an update arrived: "They double in size every 12 hours! They are bored... they can fly." (She also mentioned poopy and smelly.) Uh, oh... now she'll be in a race to get them outdoor housing. All too soon, they'll look a little like this photo of our 2008 batch, miniature adults.

Months later, eggs will start arriving. A regular reader wants to know what green eggs look like: here's the answer. (See, we do requests, eventually, here at Foothills Fancies.) It's a good thing she only got 7 chicks—she might be able to keep up!

I have nine (9) dozen eggs in the fridge as I write this, and have just eaten two (one brown, one green) for breakfast. (Not two dozen.) I gave some to Cat Woman (giving them to everyone these days...); she's the only one I know who has been able to distinguish the green eggs from brown; she says they give her indigestion!

I'm finding eggs all over in the coop; last night I even stepped on one, much to the appreciation of the three hens that hurried over to clean it up. This rate, with Easter still six weeks away, is a little alarming. But it won't last...








* Forgive me that one...

The Mysterious Internet

It's a tangled web out there, for sure, and its ways are beyond mysterious. The Phytophactor offered kind words about FF re: the latest Berry-Go-Round, prompting me to go look at my own stats again. I'd decided last time that this is a futile exercise yielding little in the way of intelligible results. It still is. And, of course, it's hard to tell whether people are satisfied with what they find when they arrive.

Speaking of the Phactor, don't miss his posts from early this week on the evolutionary timeline, and one on endangered plants. He's been very prolific lately, and these two are great.

But I just know you'll be interested in some fascinating details about the appeal of Foothills Fancies to the online world at large. Here's a list of my all time top posts (all time being "since Blogger installed stats" or mid-2010).

• Scales and Tails
  
• Best Botany Blog
  
• My Kingdom for a Domain…
  
• Whatever Happened to Sphenopsida
  
• High Color: Alpine Tundra
  
• Live at Bear's Lair
  
• Tree Cholla
  
• Stuff Plants Do
  
• Summer Feast BGR
  
• Snowy Sunday Visitors

The moral of that story is that old posts live for...ever. A sobering thought. The twin two-year old posts on obsolete plants (Sphenopsida, 27 in Feb) and obsolete taxonomy ("My Kingdom...", 38 in Feb) are still tops in this past month's searches. Several people wanted to know about Zosterophyllum and Asteroxylon? If FF comes up, that surely speaks to the paucity of information out there on fossil plants.

It's heartening to know that people are also out there looking for botany blogs. That means I should be doing more botany, right? (We all should...) A little post I wrote five years ago, simply pointing to the wonderful Botany Photo of the Day is still a top-notch vote-getter.

How do people find us? It's clear from the above list that participating in carnivals adds to one's visibility, as most of those posts were included in one carnival or another. Google, in all its guises, is always a great source of traffic; this month the new listing FF got from Online College Courses is already being productive.

Other bloggers, and being well connected, also help. I already miss the Watcher, who sent more people my way than anyone until he stopped posting one month ago today. Inexplicably moving to the top of the referral list lately is the terrific bird-blogger Bootstrap Analysis. As far as I can tell, my only acquaintance with her was a post I submitted to I-and-the-Bird FIVE years ago! (Thanks, Nuthatch!)

But the all-time top of the Foothills Fancies hit parade, with more than twice as many visits as any other post, is the delightful Scales and Tails, documenting a fascination with snakes we might not have expected. In particular, strong in the search terms are things like "baby rattlesnake identification," "images of baby prairie rattlesnake," and so on. (We can only hope these weren't emergency searches.) Thanks go to this little guy. I hope you're doing well, sweetie, wherever you are.

I think I feel a rattlesnake post coming on... stay tuned!

Bright Spots in Winter: BGR #37

If winter's lingering a little too long where you are, you can always turn to the Berry-Go-Round for a touch of life and color. The Phytophactor has corraled a red-carpet-runway-free batch of plant posts for this month's carnival.

Contemplate invasive (?) orchids (we should have such weeds) or bryophytes-du-jour (such as this loverly liverwort), explore tasty wild edibles (with care!), tropical vines, or Great Basin conifers. You can even try your hand at making soup—but brush up on your Latin first to get the ingredients right...

And of course, FF's own lichen post below is featured too.

Thanks, Phactor!

Opposites Attract, or What’s Up with Lichens

What is it about lichens that’s so fascinating?? I caught “the bug” many years ago, but I guess unless you’re exposed, your immunity remains intact. Once you start noticing them, though, they can be hard to resist.


First, there’s the startling array of shapes and colors. That trait they have in common with other fungi so maybe it’s not lichens’ most unusual feature (those are fungi, above, by the way). Still, for everything from barely perceptible crusts to wacky forms worthy of a sci-fi movie, lichens are hard to beat.

Second, they’re pretty much everywhere. Once you start spotting them, you can find them in deserts or high mountains and everywhere in between, growing on rocks, old stumps, tree bark or twigs, mosses, soil, or substrates provided by humans. Some even live underwater.

And everywhen. Fossil lichens have now been reported as far back as 600 million years ago (in China, 2005), and it’s been proposed (though not widely accepted) that the famous Ediacaran biota of Australia may have represented fossilized lichens (Retallack, 1994; refuted by Waggoner, 1995). They’ve even been given credit for, very early on, building the oxygen atmosphere and making the planet fit for habitation.

Okay maybe that’s a stretch… and probably we should call them "lichen-like symbioses" rather than the lichens we know today. There is, however, an "unequivocal report" of lichen fossils from 400 million years ago, and that's not half bad.

Lichens are tough. Studying them in the harsh environment of the Arizona desert, where they’re lucky to get a few minutes to photosynthesize using dew at dawn before they dry out for another day, one develops a certain respect for these crusty critters. Imagine the temperature on a dark volcanic rock at midday of an Arizona summer... you'd be crustose too.

Lichens survive in the even harsher Namib and Negev deserts, where dew and fog are the only sources of water. We used to speculate that, if there was life on Mars, it was most likely in the form of lichens.

That latter hypothesis has since gotten a boost from actual research. As reported in New Scientist, 2005:

In an experiment led by Leopoldo Sancho from the Complutense University of Madrid, two species of lichen—Rhizocarpon geographicum and Xanthoria elegans—were sealed in a capsule and launched on a Russian Soyuz rocket on 31 May 2005.

Once in Earth orbit, the lid of the container opened and the samples were exposed to the space environment for nearly 15 days before the lid resealed and the capsule returned to Earth.

The lichens were subjected to the vacuum of space and to temperatures ranging from—20°C on the night side of the Earth, to 20°C on the sunlit side.

We just knew it!! When the lichens came home from their jaunt in space, and were returned to reasonable conditions, they came back to life and actively metabolized, just as if they hadn't been subjected to intense solar radiation and a huge range of temperatures, not to mention absolute vacuum. They have remarkable recuperative powers.

By the way, that temperature has got to be wrong; space is no where near that warm!! According to Answers.com, "In Earth orbit, the temperature of objects in sunlight can rise to 120°C/250°F. The actual temperature in space is about 3°K (-270°C or three degrees Celsius above Absolute Zero)."

That's literally cool, but what about the attraction?

Maybe the neatest thing about these incredible organisms is that they're not one organism at all, but a combination. The lichen symbiosis is not unique, but has happened many times, and with many different partners. Now that fungi, and therefore lichens, are no longer considered plants but their own entire kingdom as are algae, the lichen combination unites members of two extremely distinct groups of organisms. (Ever think it's tough to get along with mates of our own species?? Consider the lichen.) The photobiont consists of algal or cyanobacterial cells immersed in the hyphal strands of the mycobiont, or fungal partner. Here's a great orange lichen; note the green layer of algal cells in the lower right of the photo, where the thallus has been cut.

Above: Xanthomendoza mendozae close-up. Photo by Chris Wagner, U.S. Forest Service. By the way, the Forest Service has a well-written section on lichens; worth checking out for more on the basics!

In some lichen species, the symbiosis gets really interesting. They may have a primary union with, say, Trebouxia, the most common green alga in lichens, but they also have a little cyanobacterial thing going on. Take this Peltigera for example. When wet, its bright green color tells us that most of the thallus contains green algal cells (Chlorophytes, eukaryotes). But see those darker bumps on the surface? Called cephalodia, those harbor cyanobacteria (Protists, kingdom Monera), adding a third kingdom to this particular symbiotic union.

In our neck of the woods (Pelts are creatures of the forest-floor), most Peltigera species are grayish or brown and never show green, even when wet. Those species, including the abundant Peltigera canina, have remained true to their original cyanobacterial commitment.

Back with more on these wonderful beings soon!

Brown is Back: the February Thaw

This week, brown is the new white. Most of the evidence of the storms of early February has disappeared from the view, if not from the north-facing front yard.

The rainbarrels were 350-lb ice cubes little more than a week ago, but with temperatures in and above the 40s and 50s since the 11th, they’ve returned to liquidity. Tonight the chance of precipitation moves a bit above slim, so white may make a return as temps are expected to be more seasonal than springlike tomorrow.

Meanwhile, it’s a comfortable 52 degrees at midday, and Cat Woman and I are going to attempt to revisit the jelly lichens at the Bear's Lair this afternoon.

Inspired by Swamp Things and her photos of spring (snakes? salamanders?... mink??) already, I went out to look. Even the currants (usually first) are resisting the temptation to show green, but I did spot some early leaves of grape hyacinths, so the bulbs are considering a new season.

What We're Used To

Yesterday I had another of those startling encounters with a "foreign" culture when someone visited from downtown Denver to install equipment. Really a nice guy, but he always has trouble finding the place even though he's been out here before (we're 20 miles from Denver). To get here, after exiting the highway, you have to make all of three turns, all on paved roads. More than getting lost, though, I was surprised by his concern that he might encounter a snake. Not just a rattlesnake, but apparently any kind of snake.

It's February. I explained that his chances of seeing a snake were somewhere between extremely slim and zilch, no matter how mild the day. We also talked about bears and mountain lions, neither of which I've seen in person in my 30 years here. We know they're here, we just don't see 'em. In fact, we've grown used to not seeing 'em. (Photo by H. Barrison via Wikipedia.)

We don't live in a remote mountain cabin without services. This is, for all intents and purposes, civilization. There are neighbors within shouting distance; we even have regular trash pickup. But when I thought about the "other foot"—how I feel when I go to downtown Denver—I got it. It's culture shock; it just wasn't what he was used to. I can function downtown, more or less, and he can function here; it's just outside of the comfort zone.

In fact, I can navigate fairly well downtown, as long as I'm going somewhere I'm used to. But set me down in San Francisco or St. Louis, and I'm a fish out of water. Big cities make me nervous; if I went to New York City, I'd turn into a basket case utterly dependent on my guide. There would have to be a guide. (Photo adapted from Wikipedia.)

I had the same experience decades ago when I was in college. I tutored a young man from The City who found himself unsettled by the surroundings of the rural college we attended. Drop him off the subway in the middle of Queens or Yonkers, he'd be fine. The green hills of upstate New York, though, freaked him out. I doubt he ever left the campus. As we talked about it, we realized I'd be equally freaked on his home turf.

We humans are adaptable creatures, and that's the problem. We're able to get used to whatever's around us, and it becomes a new norm, a new basis for future comparison. Scientists call it shifting baselines and Wikipedia does a pretty good job of explaining the basics. Originally applied to the oceans and perceptions of fish abundance, the concept works marvelously for just about everything. We can only compare with what we know. That's why the older we get, the more different the "good old days" look.

The message, I guess, is be careful what you get used to, whether it's the new superhighway, more convenient shopping, having 100 TV channels, or never seeing open lands and wildlife. It will end up in your future. Sci-fi writers have suggested that humans can adapt to planets and environments that are entirely manmade. At the rate we're going, some of us may get to find out.

Every day we all make choices, says a student at Scripps. Make sure your choices count.

The Week That Was: February So Far

January's last gasp was almost tropical, with clear skies and shirt-sleeve weather most of that last weekend. The groundhog brought change, for sure, this time! The cold started on the 31st, and we (and the groundhog) were in the deep freeze on his day, with the added touch of several inches of snow. Mind you, I'm not complaining (especially after lamenting December's lack of moisture in any form). I was lucky, I got to stay home feeding the woodstove and keeping the chickens in liquid water (or trying to) as we spent a couple days in the teens below zero.

The slideshow covers the past two weeks, starting with the brown views of late January, and ending with this morning's sun shining on a foot of new-fallen snow that began arriving yesterday morning. By 10 a.m., it will be above freezing and I won't have to worry so much about the chickens' thirst. Colorado blue skies have returned for the moment, though more snow is expected tonight and tomorrow.

I did worry about the birds, most of whom flocked to the feeders. Food was no problem; they had plenty of that, but I was out of suet. I invented a substitute of sorts, that immediately attracted a little Downy Woodpecker, but she soon lost interest. Even the starlings didn't find it tempting. Finally, I fed it to the more appreciative chickens, once proper bird suet arrived.

I tried to provide the little birds with water too, but it was rejected. Juncos, finches, and assorted sparrows foraged inches from the dishes without indulging. Everyone looked like little puffballs, all fluffed against the cold.

Both Sharp-shinned and Cooper's Hawks have also been coming by regularly. (I'm finally getting better at telling them apart, at least when the size differential is visible.) I've found little evidence of their success, but they keep the little birds on their toes.

January Berries

The latest edition of the Berry-Go-Round plant carnival is now posted at Seeds Aside.

This month's eclectic collection offers a look at a dozen record-holding plants, news about Sphagnum genetics, book reviews, the evolution of C4 photosynthesis, and the stunningly unique Fern Rap. Or how about the oldest evidence of plants found to date in Florida? All of these tasty tidbits, and many more, can engage your brain cells if you wander over to edition #36 of the Berry-Go-Round.

Nice job, Laurent! Thanks for the great reading...