Nature Today: Attempted Prey Piracy

Drama unfolds on a short hike today with Book Lady. I think I saw the spider first, curiously immobile in a crevice. Then the wasp. Then mayhem. Eventually we left them to it, so I'm afraid I can't tell you the outcome. Perhaps a duel to the death; perhaps capitulation with the spoils to the victor.

First, borrowed from Wikipedia courtesy Blazeblaze, the participants in today's event looked a lot like these two below. Due, in part, to the fast action, the rest of the photos (mine) will be a bit more blurry.


My first thought, when I see an unusually large spider with an unusually large wasp, is "Pepsis" (for the latter). Turns out Pepsis, the tarantula hawk, is even larger than these gals—a full two inches (50 cm). And Pepsis has an opposite fashion scheme, a blue-black body and rusty wings.


It's true, this time even I know that wasp is a gal. She is, after all, engaged in feeding her family, or rather, expected family. She is also most likely Tachypompilus ferrigineus, a spider wasp of a different color. Spider wasps, of course, see spiders as material to be stung (as this one is) into submission and stuffed into nests where one can lay upon them an egg, which will hatch into a larva that then devours the providentially provided sustenance. (She is about 35 mm long; the spider is probably 50 mm.)


If it were only that simple, she may be saying. As I mentioned, the spider was in a crevice. Above she's on the trail, having arrived there under the influence of gravity and some unknown propellant...

Which turned out to be another wasp, with clear designs on the same spider. In the ensuing brawl, it was hard to keep the two combatants straight, and impossible to tell which was the original possessor of the prize.

I tried to separate them a time or two with a walking stick but they only had eyes for each other and couldn't be distracted. Eventually we decided not to risk attracting stings, and left them to sort it out. Whatever the outcome, we have to suspect it ended badly for the spider.

Timely Intervention

Just when it looked like summer might cut the green period short, we welcomed a weekend of wet. It all started with a hailstorm Friday that left my car with a fashionable textured look and stripped twigs from the oaks at the county courthouse. Green streets takes on a whole new meaning. I'd driven north just a few miles to Golden, fortuitously arriving at a traffic light just in time to meet the storm, not one golf ball of which settled on the home turf. Sitting duck, listening to it thunder against the car, no camera.


Friday night it arrived, a steady downpour most of the night, threatening floods in various Front Range communities, flushing algae and, I hope, mosquito larvae out of rainbarrels, and setting everything outdoors awash. Yesterday, waves of gentle rain passed through, separated by misty intervals—all very Pacific Northwest. More of same today, as it looks. Tomorrow, or whenever this lifts, is going to be VERY good for weeding! (Honey, looks like the lawn needs mowing again.)

All this rain also makes the rhubarb very happy, if not the celebrants at the 23rd Annual Pine Rhubarb Festival, where I spent most of yesterday. Though the crowd was reduced in size, its spirits were undampened, and the crowning of the Rhubarb Queen ("best ever rhubarb pie") happened right on schedule, as did all ten minutes of the parade. Between the all-you-can-eat pancakes with rhubarb sauce and the highly diverse bake sale that followed the judging, it was a delicious place to be on a rainy day.

Obligatory botanical note: Rhubarb, Rheum rhabarbarum (formerly R. rhaponticum), is a member of the Polygonaceae, not native to the U.S. but widely grown in the east and midwest and, yes, Colorado. Its stout petioles are edible, but its large leaves contain higher concentrations of oxalic acid and are considered poisonous. When cooked with sugar, the stems are used in "fruit" pies and other pastries, but lately I've had two reports of children in Mexico and other places enjoying the stems raw, difficult as it may be to imagine. (One entry in yesterday's bake-off was a rhubarb salad (not baked), but I didn't get a taste.)

Incidental personal revelation: Rhubarb also had a peripheral role in our courtship, via a Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie, which must have been pretty basic as I don't even remember the recipe. I think it may have been not so much the substance of the pie as the fact that I could even make a pie that captured Darling Husband's attention.

Bonus link: A fun read on the 17th annual Rhubarb Festival.

Getting Down... and Busy

Happy Pollination Season! If you notice a sudden jump in the quality of photography in today's post, call it punctuated equilibrium. It's because ALL photos are courtesy of (and copyright to) The Chemist. (Let me know if you want more formal acknowledgement, buddy!) And, of course, his trusty sidekick, a new camera with which he's obviously having way too much fun! You should also know, perhaps, that all this botanizing took place in his own backyard, where he maintains a native garden that offers a seasonal smorgasbord to members of the Apidae. (The botanist left in me wants to say Apiaceae, but that's a whole 'nother subject.)

First up, and earliest in the season (4/15/2010) after a long hungry winter is the Willow (species unspecified). Can't you just hear this honeybee: "Ummm... Yummmm!"


Along about the 24th of May, The Chemist was out in the garden one day, when he realized he was being watched. This diminutive peeping tom declares: "No pollen for me; I'm here for something else altogether." Crab spider in ambush mode on Vicia americana (American vetch).


Then came Mertensia lanceolata (chiming bells, 5/31/2010). Still hungry, but a whole different bee (Bombus sp. or at least that group).


Fast forward to today: yep, they're still at it out there among the flowers! The Chemist reports: "This honeybee put in a great deal of effort trying to squeeze into the tight flowers of Hedysarum boreale [Utah sweetvetch]." Remember, bees, no means no!


Competition (or something) is heating up though. As he watched, this wasp zoomed in aggressively. The Chemist describes the action: "The wasp/hornet? also was apparently getting nectar but a pair of them seemed more intent on patrolling around the plants (looking for nest provisions?) than foraging for nectar. At one point one of them, apparently intentionally, gave a honey bee a good ramming although the honeybee seemed pretty unperturbed by the collision."


Meanwhile, serenity prevails over at the Orobanche fasciculata (broomrape) [now known by some as Aphyllon fasciculata, but let's not go there*], a parasitic plant nestled quietly amid its host, in this case Artemisia frigida (pasture, silver, or fringed sage). Perhaps these gals were done with the business of agent-assisted courtship, and ready to settle quietly into motherhood-mode.

*I'm old-fashioned, I know, but I still subscribe to the theory that scientific names are supposed to be more permanent and useful than common names.


Thanks, Chemist! Bee Lady has been equally busy observing pollinators, so we may have more decent photos to share soon... (The Phylogenist taught me something new about my own camera last week, but trust me you don't want to see my first attempts!)

When is Spring?

The calendar tells us Spring "begins" on March 21, the spring equinox, but of course, the world works on its own schedule. Lately, we've all noticed, that schedule seems a little wacky.


In Colorado, as in much of the West, Spring is relative: it all depends on where you are, especially on how much vertical distance you've managed to put between you and sea level. In the course of the last few weeks, here at the Foothills Fancies homestead, we've jumped from winter into late spring in a hurry. Most of the early spring wildflowers are gone, and, judging from what's blooming, we're well on the way to summer. Sigh.


So when I went West to Talented Sister's on May 22nd, I got to visit an earlier version of Spring, places where the ground is just emerging from snow cover. She lives in the midst of Aspen and Gambel Oak woodlands on a high mesa in southwestern Colorado, very different from here. The up-and-down of the trip also gave me an opportunity to sample the varieties of season available now.

All this is too much prelude to an actual topic. Quaking Aspen (Populus tremuloides) and Gambel's Oak (Quercus gambelii) are both species that "reproduce" mostly vegetatively, forming huge clones of interconnected stems that look like individual trees. So how can you tell where one individual leaves off and another one starts? Because different clones respond differently to seasonal cues, Spring is often a great clue. It's a time of year when you can catch aspen, especially, displaying their individuality. (The oak wasn't displaying anything just yet.) How many, then, do you see in the photo below?


These photos were all taken in two quick stops along Hwy 62 as it crosses the Dallas Divide between Ridgway and Placerville. I'm thinking we're seeing at least three, maybe even five, individual aspen among the many trees present above. That is, of course, a wild guess totally unsupported by DNA evidence. Me, I was just there for the scenery.*

* Much of the scenery is, by the way, brought to us by Ralph Lauren, whose ranch, the Double RL, occupies 16,000 acres (that's 25 sq miles, people) and a good deal of linear footage along this route. It's nice when vast wealth benefits the rest of us. Thanks, Ralph! If you pass this way, you'll recognize Ralph's property by the tasteful 4-rail fence on the south side of the highway (see photo 2).

Such aspen clones are in the running for a world record, if not still holding. The Watcher, saving me a lot of time and trouble, tells us all about cloning and Pando, a giant aspen in Utah that's thought, so far, to be the world's largest organism, in his several posts on the topic. Wikipedia agrees, and so does Wayne's Word, though that site offers a few other contenders in the "most massive" category.

I especially appreciated these Sunday morning views in contrast to the previous evening, when I drove from Montrose to Sister's in a haze of yellowish gray smoke from the Beaver Fire near Norwood, caused by powerlines downed by the phenomenal winds that plagued my 580-mile trip that weekend. Another 3200 acres reclaimed for aspen, perhaps.


Fire is closely associated with aspen, whose cloning habit enables it to be resilient in the face of loss of its aboveground parts. Oak, too, abides below through fires. Scenes like this, with the light spring green and pale grey of aspen set off by darker grey of oak and conifers, depend on fire for the aesthetic pattern we find so appealing.


Of course, getting to see the San Juan Mountains in the background doesn't hurt either! Enjoy the view...

Latest in Berries

The current Berry-Go-Round plant carnival is now posted at Greg Laden's blog. Thanks, Greg, for a great job assembling some very intriguing plant posts—I look forward to applying more of a K-strategy to them soon! We appreciate your squeezing in the post below, on our long-awaited wisteria blossoms.

The Green Scene, and a Spring Surprise

Our season of green has arrived in full force, and greatly appreciated in part because it's so brief! For a day or two this week (especially Friday and yesterday morning when temperatures suddenly soared to 92 and 94F, or about 35C), it seemed like we were going to plunge straight from May into the middle of July. Clouds, a moderate wind, and a 20-degree drop into seasonable 70s yesterday afternoon salvaged a few more days in which to relish this shortest season.


As you may recall, we've been nurturing an unusual (for Colorado) vine here these last few decades, and it has, in other even-numbered years of recent memory, attempted to bloom. Third time's the charm, they say.


This year's promises, a vine extravagantly covered in buds, did not disappoint. And thus, after nigh 30 years spreading its tendrils and withes 'cross trellis and soffit, we have, for once, Wisteria.


I was relieved when the leaves began to catch up with the flowers, as the latter looked forlorn against a backdrop only of brown tangled branches. But now, ahhh...



No doubts about family here! Note, to the right, the stamens peeking from within the keel as the banner stands guard.*


Ummm... wish I could post the fragrance for you too!

——
Need a refresher on the Fabaceae? Courtesy Wikipedia, more details on this very flower, Wisteria sinensis.

Addendum: Since singing the praises of this critter far and wide, I've learned there are others in Colorado. But they're coddled in greenhouses and nurseries, or in town where there's ample water and shelter, not out here in the foothills, trying to make do on what nature offers and wracked by 50 mph winds. (In case you were wondering why it took so long to bloom! And yes, I'll try to coddle a bit more henceforth.)

Collection of Carnivals; Bird Update

It's a feast indeed for fans of natural history out there this month. As the world wakes, so does the nature blogosphere.

The notable 50th edition of Circus of the Spineless is recently up at Arthropoda, and Mike does a great job. His site is new to me, I found myself exploring more thoroughly, and learned a lot! Check out his "Favorite Posts" tab for starters.

The Geek in Question (TGIQ) from Fall To Climb is hosting two of the newer blog carnivals this month. TGIQ tackles herpetology with House of Herps #5: Slime Poetry, an excellent edition as critters emerge for spring. I had to go there to see scales; we've yet to encounter any here (though others have in town).

Next, head over to An Inordinate Fondness, to experience The Shining and learn why TGIQ is so taken with beetlemania.

Nature's Whispers is host for this month's Festival of Trees (#47). Jasmine brings on a multimedia Beltane extravaganza, with art, poetry, video, and much more. Do scroll down to celebrate May Day with the feature film: dancing the Maypole in Glastonbury (and what better place!)...

And that brings us to the 27th edition of Berry Go Round, by Mary over at Neotropical Savanna; a great spot to get your fix of spring wildflowers, like Trilliums, also emerging from hibernation. BGR is itself springing to new life, after a great email discussion, and will carry on with Mary and Sarcozona (of Gravity's Rainbow) as ringleaders.

And Now, Closer to Home

Today: We're ignoring, for the most part, the half-inch of snow this morning. It is May 7th, after all. (I did take the teakettle out to defrost the openings on the hummingbird feeder.) Darling Husband yelled "Come quick!" to make sure I got to see the first Bullock's Oriole of the season. He spotted a pair in the ash tree; I saw only the male.

Yesterday: A drab brown bird puzzled me yesterday, hiding behind the trunk as soon as I brought out the binocs. No distinguishing features whatsoever. Page by page through the bird book this a.m. suggests she could only be a Brown-headed Cowbird (my first!). No wonder she didn't want to be spotted!

The first Western Kingbird of the season perched on the far fence yesterday. DH also reports a male Lesser Goldfinch in seasonal plumage a few days ago.

Last week: The Mourning Doves are back, of course, and billing and cooing like lovebirds. But last week, something different: a lone Ring-necked (aka Collared) Dove. I thought it was an escapee; Bee Lady says they're increasing in our area.

Oh–and Grackles. Since when do we have grackles? They're learning to use the sunflower feeder.

The hummingbirds have been around for weeks, disappearing when it snows, and reappearing. I had three fighting over the feeders a couple weeks ago, until it snowed. Now I see the little hummers occasionally, but not in numbers. Soon, though, they'll be here in force.

More spring to be reported here soon!

The Garden Gnomes

Earth Day came and went, but for the most part we celebrated today. The native garden we've been working on at Red Rocks Park got a makeover, thanks to Carol, Vivian, Renae, Dana, and a crew of volunteers (including a contingent from NCCC Americorps) they organized. Where was I, you ask?*


Here's "Before" -- taken just before St. Patrick's Day, when we were planning a new shrub bed—all natives—on this plot that is usually either bare or overrun by weeds of the burdock, hemlock, and other nasty persuasions.


And here, today, is AFTER. Although it's sunny and a pleasant 60 degrees (15 C) as I write this, it was nothing like that at 9:30 this a.m. when the garden gnomes got together to make this happen. Snow whizzed around their heads, and chill winds blew all warmth from their frames as they worked in muck up to their kneecaps. Barely more than 2 hours later, when I turned up to render gratitude and acknowledge their vast effort, these garden wizards had disappeared, their task complete.

Okay, this "After" is a bit too fresh to be properly impressive, but there are 27 sizable shrubs in and around this photo, plus a dozen flowering perennials. I'll try to bring you an update when everything gets to its full summer glory.

So thanks everyone! This transformation will be a tremendous asset when we finish the interpretive signs and can show Red Rocks visitors how incredible native plants are in the landscape! We hope the garden will be a wonderful way for everyone to connect with, and learn something about, the native plants that make Red Rocks Park such a special place.

*I was on another project, a less visible clean-up at the local CCC camp, in preparation for another tour season at that historic site. (I did, however, brave blinding snow and slush and driving rain yesterday to collect said shrubs from the wholesale nursery some 30 mi (49 km) away whence I'd ordered them. )

Glorious Spring!

Are you as tired of that snow scene (below) as I am? I went away for a few days last week, and in my absence Spring has clearly sprung.


Look at that green! It doesn't rival Ireland yet, but tender green is peeking out on branches, daffodils are in full bloom, and things are definitely looking hopeful.

(Look at those chickens, waiting by the gate for breakfast...)

Today is the 40th anniversary of the very first Earth Day. As I did last year, I had thoughts of making April "Earth Month" and going to town on related posts. As with last year, I didn't get very far, but after all, Earth deserves more than a day—or a month. It should be in our thoughts, and especially in our actions, every day.

None of us needs a sermon today, but if you're reaching the Age of Wisdom, the Time of Reflection, think back to what you were doing 40 years ago today. Think about the feeling of Hope we had that what we did—for the cause of Peace, for the Planet, for Something That Mattered—would make a difference.

That feeling is what Earth Day was—and IS—about, and it's exactly what Spring is about! The world is waking up; we should be too.

This Morning and Recent Sightings

Yes, again. Why do I always seem to take pictures when it snows? I'm sure it's partly because the continued brown scene gets old, and then of course, snow means movement in the landscape as well as lots of activity at the bird feeders...

We have very fine stuff still drifting down this morning, and only about two inches on the ground. This follows days of boisterous winds, especially yesterday, which was enough to rearrange lawn furniture and anything else not firmly battened down. Winds like that quickly wear out their welcome, making even snow a great relief! Tomorrow is expected to be in the 50s again, and Friday even lovelier.

Catch-up on recent developments re: spring:

• –Yes, there are hints of green buds on shrubs (lilac, native currants, etc.) and tree pollen is kicking off the spring allergy season most effectively
  
• –Friday, April 2nd, was the first Great Blue Heron sighting
  
• –Monday, April 5th, the first Turkey Vulture sighting

All these firsts are, of course, only the ones I know about... No hummingbirds yet, but juncos are still prevalent. Bluebirds and meadowlarks are in state, but not in vicinity.

In totally novel news (guess that's a bit redundant), the Easter Sunrise service at Red Rocks took place as planned, with the added element of a helicopter crash on Mt. Morrison. We somehow missed it...

Honoring Stewart Udall

One of the heroes of conservation during my formative years was Stewart Udall, who died last weekend. High Country News honored him in this tribute written by Gary Nabhan.

The 1960s were heady times, of course, and to be honest I was a little young to appreciate their full effect. But I heard of Udall even then, and (as Secretary of Interior under Presidents Kennedy and Johnson) his name was synonymous with strong environmental protection in a much different, even inconceivable, era. For example, one of the things he stopped was the idea of a jetport in the Florida Everglades. He also helped make the Great Swamp (New Jersey) a National Wildlife Refuge and wilderness area instead of another regional jetport. In fact he helped add almost 4 million acres to U.S. public lands, including Canyonlands and three other national parks. He brought Wallace Stegner to Washington as Interior's writer-in-residence, and supported Rachel Carson when she alerted us to the dangers of pesticides.

Another inconceivable idea, the Trans Alaska Pipeline System, came later, but by then Rogers Morton was Secretary of Interior (after a brief tenure by Alaska's Wally Hickel), an "oil crisis" was in full swing, and U.S. policy had not-so-subtly shifted. Then came the infamous James Watt (under Reagan)... Anyway, so Udall's record at Interior remains outstanding, and not just in comparison with his successors. [Photo credit: Luca Galuzzi]

Interviewed earlier (2004) by the same publication, Udall commented on the fate of conservation in these subsequent political climates:

From 1961 until the Reagan administration, all of the presidents gave strong support for conservation. It was like a relay race in the Olympics. You would pass the baton, and Nixon took it and ran, and Ford and Carter, but when James Watt took over [the Interior Department] for Reagan, he didn’t want the baton, it just dropped to the floor, and" — with the exception of the Clinton administration — "that’s where it’s been since then."

Udall also saw his errors, as he wrote, with wife Lee, in an open letter to their grandchildren in 2008:

As a freshman congressman in 1955, I regrettably voted with my unanimous colleagues for the Interstate Highway Program. All of us acted on the shortsighted assumption that cheap oil was super-abundant and would always be available. This illusion began to unravel in the 1970s, and it haunts Americans today.... I am convinced that the American people will tighten their belts if a president forges a national strategy to stretch the life of our oil reserves and to adjust to a long-range plan of energy conservation....

Foster a consciousness that puts a premium on the common good and the protection of the environment. Give your unstinting support to all lasting, fruitful technological innovations. Be steadfast enemies of waste. The lifetime crusade of your days must be to develop a new energy ethic to sustain life on earth. ... Go well, do well, my children. Cherish sunsets, wild creatures and wild places. Have a love affair with the wonder and beauty of the Earth.

A Taste of Spring at BGR#26

We're sampling spring-like weather here this week, at long last. Our third storm, threatened by forecasters last Friday night, never materialized in white form, but remnants of the second are still lying about.

But for a real taste of spring, drop in on Berry-Go-Round #26, where Sarcozona at Gravity's Rainbow has rounded up an incredible collection of botanical marvels, from pawpaws to algal balls, moss to magnolia.

Here at home, the maples are blooming, and I ought to go looking for wildflowers. Indoors, the sweet smell of waxplant (Hoya carnosa) in bloom wafted through the house last night in a vain attempt to attract some insect. Only two intricate inflorescences, but a very nice preview of things to come outdoors. The season of flowering and fruiting is coming.

Second Storm

The second spring storm of the week arrived Tuesday night, and Wednesday was another big "digging out" day.* Some days it seems like the forecasters are getting better. They pretty much hit this one on the head; it hit us just as scheduled. These spring upslopes (see below) must be easy for them.

Tuesday was a fine spring day, warm and sunny, til about 4:30 p.m. when the air got fuzzy. An hour later a full-on blizzard was in effect, sideways snow and all. Stomping out to lock up the chickens was great fun!


Wednesday morning, it was quite lovely, for those who don't have to be anywhere. (As almost everything was closed, that meant most of us.) We have a foot (30cm), give or take, but by 8:30 a.m. (above), paths were shoveled, feeders were filled, suet was hung by the ash tree with care, and the birds were well content.

The first bird to arrive was the BIG one... "Hey, I put that out there for the other birds!"

The siskins were at their acrobatic best early on, even before we refilled the "upside down" feeder. Fuller feeders means fuller perches, and sometimes a waiting line forms nearby. Patience rarely prevails; they're so feisty jostling for spots that it's almost impossible not to catch them in the air!

Even the juncos were lively and quick! I always worry they'll disappear without a fare-thee-well one of these days. But the Last Junco isn't just yet.

What's the story with "upslope" storms?
This time of year, each low pressure system that crosses Colorado creates a huge counter-clockwise vortex of moving air. Here's Colorado, a giant postage stamp of a state with a swath of high mountains running through the center.


This low, Tuesday night, circled the whole state. It scooped up moisture from the Texas/Gulf end at the south and threw it up against the Front Range, right about here at Denver latitude. Meanwhile, nice cold air just happened to be moving down into the state from Wyoming and north-abouts.

And BAM! Here we are, digging out from under stuff that weighs at least 20 pounds per shovelful! By mid-day, sun was out and roads were clear. The piles will last a while longer...

*Blogger wouldn't cooperate with the longer post I worked on most of the day yesterday, so this is an abbreviated (and less immediate) version. Title refers to the 9 inches of snow I missed over the weekend, all of which was gone by the time I returned Sunday afternoon. Here's this morning's updated view.

Dark o' the Morning

Just last week at this hour it was bright and the chickens were already out romping in the sunshine.

Oh well, must be we're saving daylight at the other end of the day!

Have a Happy St. Patrick's Day (but remember the snakes)!

A Little Birdwatching, Creekside

Let's have another round of "spot the dipper," shall we? I finally started walking on the creek trail again last week, and one of the winter highlights is sure to be dippers, or Water Ouzels, that frequent these lower stretches in the winter. This little guy was the only one I saw on my brief hike last Tuesday, but the next day they seemed to be everywhere! And what fun they are to watch, as they plunge into the icy waters to hunt. This one even stepped out on the nearby ice floe for a bit, but I missed that shot.

In and out of the water, over and over again, he's gobbling up the larvae of next summer's trout food—stone flies, caddis flies, mayflies, and who-knows-what else? All near-frozen treats, but he doesn't seem to mind.

We previously visited with dippers more than a year ago; stop in there for more on these delightful birds.

There were a few other birds out enjoying our spring weather, as I was. A Nuthatch, white-faced, escaped my attempts to capture it with the camera, but this little Downy Woodpecker posed politely while searching for her next meal.

Valentines for Plant Lovers (BGR #25)

Valentine’s Day normally passes without a blip around here, but this year was outstanding! As beautiful heart-shaped boxes arrived in my inbox for Berry-Go-Round this month, I was reminded that botanical carnivals are like a box of chocolates: You never know what you’re going to get, but it’s bound to be delicious! I did a little very tasty research, and I can confidently report that you’ll find plenty of good eatin’, er, reading here for our February edition. It's highly caloric, though—you just might not want to consume the whole thing in one sitting.

Remember: If you enjoy these sites, do leave a comment for the authors, and tell them Berry-Go-Round sent you! Links back to the carnival are also appreciated.

Ted, at Beetles in the Bush, breaks with the Valentine’s Day tradition of red roses and offers us white orchids instead. No complaints here, with his gorgeous photos of the Great Plains Ladies'-tresses orchid (Spiranthes magnicamporum), which he observed on a dolomite glade in the White River Hills of southwestern Missouri last October.

Ted also sent something extra (looks like a chocolate lollipop or tootsie roll to me), which he found at Digital Botanic Garden. This new site is well worth exploring-- I don’t think you’ll be disappointed by any of the gourmet chocolates in this box; Phil’s plant photos are all incredible.

The melt-in-your-mouth flavor of Diane’s contribution from Hill-stead’s blog belies its less-than-tempting smell, which is not what most might prefer in their holiday confections. There’s a good reason her skunk cabbage is a bit on the foetid side. Learn why, and much more, as she welcomes this early sign of spring and encourages us to get out and take a look around too.

Oh dear, a few of our chocolates seem to have gotten a little stale, and here it’s only been two weeks since Valentine’s Day. Despite being 350 million years old, Sarcozona’s contribution on Archeopteris (and Archaeopteryx!) is surprisingly rich and delectable, and includes a wonderful fossil play on words. Look for it at Gravity's Rainbow.

Phytophactor also brings us a treat that’s a bit past its expiration date, a 400-million-year-old enigmatic fossil, Prototaxites. He makes up for it by refreshing us with something fresh and flowery for Ash Wednesday. If chocolate’s not enough to nudge you out of the winter doldrums and you missed his January prescriptions for relief, his recent suggestion to visit a greenhouse may do the trick.

You could always get away from the cold and snow by trotting off to some sunny place, as John did at Kind of Curious, where he blogs about what is out there in our world and how/why we should protect it.





The valentine he sent from Hawaii tells us 11 amazing things about Haleakala silversword. It turns out that not all of Hawaii is warm and sunny, so silversword has a special trick for beating the cold.

Of course, chocolate is a specialty of Mexico, and Jeremy and Luigi at Agricultural Biodiversity share an assortment of new scientific results in the search for agricultural origins in Mexico and Italy and review how genebanks are doing in preserving crop and wild relative diversity. As long as they preserve chocolate, we'll be fine.

You won't find any additives in Emily's valentine. No seeds, no fruits, no flowers, and definitely no problem with her post on old timey fern guidebooks, just decadent dark chocolate. Ummm... and remember, dark chocolate is rich in bioflavonoids, so it's good for you too!

But maybe you'd prefer a little fruit in your chocolate (extra antioxidants, right?), and don't we all recognize those chocolate-covered cherries? As host of this edition, Sally here at Foothills Fancies takes us over to Small Wonders for her essay on getting birds to help in the garden.

It's hard to believe, after all these boxes of chocolates, that I still wasn't satisfied. I just needed to round up something a little nutty, and I found it at Watching the World Wake Up. Who but the Watcher could turn a pie-tasting contest into a botanical lesson?

Through my research, I discovered that purveyors of chocolate talk in lusciously smooth and creamy phrases, with a special vocabulary, as do wine connoisseurs. Can chocolate be a bit resinous as this hackmatack post at Blogs Monroe is? Is “oakey” just in wine, or does it come in chocolates too? If so, Ted offers us a taste of oak at Hawn State Park in Missouri, and Swampy echoes the flavor with quirky Quercus. Swampy also turned up the first dandelion of spring over at Swamp Things.

Want to get depressed so you have a reason to Eat More Chocolates? Check out not so looming Anthropocene extinctions at Conservation Bytes; it'll help you develop a craving!

A Few Final Bites

The pink and red of valentines reminded me of the colour of spring over at Rock Paper Lizard.

Jessica, at Moss Plants and More, shares a great idea with the latest moss gardening book, and gives us a most intriguing tip to visit the mosscam, where you can enjoy mosses in action.

Lindsay's series of posts (February 18-26, with closing statement on March 1) on biodiversity and sports (think Olympics, not botanical) forges more connections between plants and athletics than we might expect. See how at Botany Photo of the Day, from the University of British Columbia Botanical Garden. If you're still in a valentiney mood, check out Daniel's timely post on Rose hybrids while you're there.

Over at Seeds Aside, Laurent tells us that Orthoptera can pollinate too.

Witch’s brooms are featured in the Annotated Flora, a collection of more than 100 columns on native plants by Ken Moore, as published in The Carrboro Citizen, a newspaper from Carrboro, North Carolina.

Wow—with history, heart-health benefits, diversity of forms, and outright deliciousness, chocolate has to be one of the world's favorite plant-based products. By now, you've probably worked up an appetite. I'd be remiss if I didn't send you over to Chocolate and Zucchini, where you can find Clothilde's cake of the same ingredients, and to the Chocolate Gourmand, where Brian will treat you to dark chocolate gelato.

That wraps up our belated summary of this year's valentines. Whew, I think I've gained five pounds! I hope you found something new to enjoy among your old favorites, and that you'll find this assortment of goodies richly rewarding and well worth those extra calories!