Studiology

Cones

About 40 years ago there was a desperate attempt to create shade on my property, which was previously grazed by cattle and wide open. Seedling white pines were planted, 100 or more and they have grown to twenty-five and thirty feet, creating shade, often more than desired, and a slew of pine cones. As much as these are annoying (slow to break down and hard to walk on), I recently became fascinated by "pine cones" in general. The term itself  refers to a cone from a pine but in reality they are the receptacle for seeds from conifers. 

 

 

 

There are about 550 species of conifers which would indicate that there are as many types of "pine cones". Cone bearing is the definition of the word conifer which includes trees and shrubs with needles but also scales. Size can vary from the pea sized cones of chamaecyparis to the massive sugar cones of Pinus lambertiana, native to California. Pines are the largest family members, and maybe why the term pine cone stuck, but we also have fir, spruce, cedar, hemlock, redwood, and larch. As a group they are gymnosperms which translates to naked seed, the cones we find in winter are all female, carriers of the seed, which is located between the bracts or cones scales, resting against the core. Pollinated by wind, the male cone is much smaller, and has long since faded, lacking the design or structure of the female cone which is capable of hanging on a tree for up to ten years. Built to protect the seed, a cone will open with heat, close with cold and wet. Most are resinous to some degree, the resin functions as a fire igniter, most conifers live in areas of fire culture. The benefits of fire open the cones, lift and blow the seed, depositing them in areas where the underbrush is temporarily burnt back so they can land, sprout, and thrive. A few cones are so covered in resin that only fire will release the seed. 

 

Most seed have a wing which helps them fly with wind, some have adapted fleshy seeds like cypress to entice birds to feed and disperse. Squirrels will also feed on the seed, a task that requires the dismantling of many cones to gather a large enough cache to feed on for winter. Like oak trees and acorns, the conifers will randomly produce an abundance of cones, also called a mast year and also irregular in occurrence, so that an abundance of seed overwhelms the land to outnumber the grazers. I feel like this was a mast year for my white pines as I kicked cones into piles, wondering if deciduous trees may have made a better choice. All of that has changed as I find myself searching for different cones and adding to my collection with unique cones arriving in the mail from distant places. They really are beautiful gifts of nature.

The Aster Family

If points were given for enduring extreme climate fluctuations, continents splitting, and glacial cleansing, the aster family would earn more than any other plant family. This is really evident when a diagram of the tree of plant evolution shows the most advanced plant families in the uppermost branches. Once known as the compositae family, a nod to the many small parts that make up each flower, the name change of the mid-nineties recognized (in part) that our North American aster evolved independently, not similarly to European asters.

Close behind we find the orchid family, another highly evolved flowering plant group, sophisticated enough to trap insects for pollination, force them through tubes to soak in a fluid that leaves them drunk, or mimic female bees to such a degree that the male bees never catch on. The most intelligent plants end up as the simple sunflower and complex orchids. The numbers are staggering with the aster family alone, roughly 32,000 members which is equal to the entire grass, oak, and bean families put together.

If any season is more prevalent than another with members of the aster family in the mid-Atlantic, it's fall. Meadows are filled with native asters, goldenrod, and ironweed, a progression of bloom that goes from late summer to late fall. If I had to choose my favorites, picking just a few, I would go for the small flowering, arching stemmed asters. In the garden they flail over neighbors and the gardener must plan for these with timely combinations, ensuring our vertically challenged have something to lean on but not detract from the show. Aster such as A. cordifolius (now Sympyotrichum cordifolium) carry the sweetest little blue flowers and might arch to four feet, potentially five feet if straightened. Beautiful as they bend through oak leaf hydrangea with orange and red fall foliage, alternatively incredible with the powder blue leaves of Rudbeckia maxima or the dark, chocolate and filigree foliage of bronze fennel. Moreover, they are easily modified with a summer trim, which might result in a plant that is only two or three feet tall.

As lovely as all of this sounds, I must warn you of two things. Rabbits are fond of asters in general, although I see scores of flowering plants in the local landscape. Secondly, they are not pretty in pots or containers when purchased from a nursery. Buy them young, before they become too top heavy to stand up and look their best.

Lastly, I might add that observation of good forms in fields nearby might be worth seed collection, dropping a few here and there in your own garden. I have Aster lanceolatus (now Symphyotrichum lanceolatum) blooming where it arrived as a volunteer with its small white flowers and stems to five feet (with support), something the bees and the landowner are happy to find.

The Spider

After a couple of months of not checking my stealthcams, I ventured out to gather the SD cards and have a look. Of course I had to laugh when I found this, the entire lens had been covered with spider webbing. I'm sure it's the nest of a jumping spider, what a fitting (or not) place to put her babies, like a conspiracy against my efforts to spy on what's up on the farm. 

Never the less, I was able to see a lot of activity, prior to the "spider fog". In one case, a newborn fawn was left and others came to take a look. Are they aunts and uncles? Brothers and sisters?

The only reason I knew it was there came from the photographs afterwards of its first steps.

Most photographs are deer and turkeys (and of course rabbit, raccoon, skunk, and squirrel). The turkeys are some of my favorites.

The photograph prior showed a lone female walking along. Then come the puffed up Toms, inflated with masculinity. The black and white photographs are infrared which indicate it was still dark, but I love how they look.

The real surprise were the coyote pups, although they may be fox. I counted four.

And then the attack of the spider and complete obliteration, which took 4 hours.

The tiniest one gave the biggest impact. 

 

Summer Symphony

Dependent on humidity and recent rain, my tree frogs are loudest at night, joined by the katydid who repeats katy-did, katy-didn't. Summer nights can be alarmingly noisy, yet it is something that registers in our sound library to the point of disregard. If summer nights became as quiet as winter, would we notice?

With the alarming drop in butterflies this summer, I am trying to pay attention to what else may be missing. The cicadas fill summer days with their rasp which is far from quiet. To me they may represent summer sound over all else. Katydids are elusive although plentiful if their call is any indication. They too produce a rasp by rubbing their forewings together. We may not hear the subtle vocabulary, but it addresses reproduction, territory, aggressive warnings and defensive ventriloquizing. The latter is the ability to send sound signals down a branch to hide their location. They are designed to mimic a leaf which is where they hide and feed, preferably high in trees or other suitable platforms. The calling begins in early evening and males are the real noise makers. Once while sitting in my night garden I heard a loud chewing sound, which came from a katydid chewing on the end of a papyrus flower. Not that there was a lot of lip smacking, just powerful mandibles that can chop solidly into thick foliage. I found it entertaining and memorable.

To actually hear the katy-did and didn't, you listen to the calls from near and far which sound like echo's. These calls are the reason for their name and our locally abundant species is the greater angle wing katydid or Pterophylla camellifolia, the species name referring to a camel and the similar hump on their back. Not good flyers, related to crickets (more so than grasshoppers), it is more like a partial jump and glide. Females are equipped with a curved ovipositor or egg laying structure which will deposit small brown discs on a branch or leaf to winter over and hatch in spring. Like most of our insects, freezing temperatures will kill adults in fall.

Maybe the craziest fact about katydids is the location of their ears, in the crook of their front legs, just below the knee. So placed to work in concert with vibration, all the better to aid with night activity. Their long antennae are another tool to sort out things that go bump in the night.

Virginia is home to numerous other katydid species, mostly smaller to half the size of our greater angle wing. As a common insect and a plentiful one, they do not account for much in the way of crop or garden damage. Leaf nibblers of mostly deciduous forests, their feeding can't be compared to the more destructible grasshopper or Japanese beetle.

With their all too familiar night noise I still encourage you to listen and appreciate. It tells the gardener that the day is almost over and the night symphony is about to begin.

Stealth Cam

In these stressful times I am privileged to have a place to wander and get lost for awhile. On a few of my trails I have cameras set up and have rounded up a few recent photographs to share. We have a healthy population of turkeys and it's mating season. From the looks of things, there are way more males than females and the males puff and strut as they try and win over the few females.

The females always look so disinterested to me.

We also have a piebald deer. She has been on the farm for many years, her progeny are normal and as I understand it, the genetic mutation comes from two piebald parents and accounts for only 2% of the population.

Occasionally I get a picture of our resident coyotes. I hear them but rarely see them. 

On my walk today I found three trumpeter swans at the lake. Forgive this poor image quality, it was taken with my phone and I used it to identify them. They were magnificent!

I hope you are able to get out and walk or work in your garden on this wonderful, spring day.

Uplifting Reads and Downloads for Winter

Our geographical location may not rob us entirely of gardening options in winter. Between pruning, cold crops under cover, or indoor seed sowing, the gardener can find preoccupation. Alas it's not nearly the daily submersion of other seasons so I would like to suggest a few alternatives to fill your days and keep the motivation high.

For those of us that like to sit with a good book, I have two suggestions. "The Cabaret of Plants" by Richard Mabey is an extraordinary read. Basically a history of plants, the author is British but includes subjects that are historically rich in diverse locations. Each chapter leads the reader on an exploration, beginning with cave drawings and finishing with recent findings of communication between tree roots or the chatter that takes place underground. Available as an audio book as well, the narrator speaks with a British accent, his botanical names contradicting my own pronunciation which often leaves me laughing out loud. I own both versions and have listened to the audio book numerous times, it's that good.

Another book titled "Head Gardeners" by Ambra Edwards is also a British publication that devotes 13 chapters to individual head gardeners working in England. Chapter titles vary from "Mission Impossible" to "The Naturalist" with a interview style approach where the individual explains their attraction to a place and/or facet of gardening. As an estate gardener I found it very entertaining but would argue that any gardener would find it interesting. 

Podcasts are something I listen to every week, daily when seasons are in full swing. Naturally a gardener wants something local, which can be challenging; the podcast world is no different than other social media platforms, building a bigger audience can be their objective. Lucky for us "The Native Plant Podcast" is the audio blog of John Magee of Middleburg, Va. The subject matter is primarily native plants, as John interviews nursery owners, garden designers, and writers. In recent years the spotlight has been shared with Preston Montague of Raleigh, NC and the format is loosely predictable as they share phenology (the cycle of bloom events in relation to climate), humorous dialog, a dog or pet story, and then share a local brew or craft beer. In John's most recent post, future podcasts will also be hosted by his wife Susana and Chris Felhaber of Chanticleer Gardens. Good news for local gardeners.

Another (very new) podcast is titled "Wild Plant Culture" by Jared Rosenbaum. The subject matter is field botany, herbal medicine, and regenerative practices. Jared's humor is quick and smart, the content highly elevated. Give this a listen if your horticultural interests include the local, native landscape. 

My last recommendation is based on my own curiosity as I prepare for a lecture on citizen scientists. Titled "Citizen Science: Podcast Brunch Club by Adela", it is wildly entertaining. Subject matter is not strictly horticulture but still worth a listen as citizens are working with scientists under various platforms, some with little structure, others more formulated, to procure information to share. Bird migration and invasive plant spread are just a couple of topics that have been enhanced with input from everyday people. Call it a merger between eyes on the ground and data seeking scientists. 

So welcome to 2020, a new year with new sources of inspiration as we wait for spring to arrive. 

 

 

Fall Migration

Gardening one fall day I was struck by a cold wind that rustled the leaves around me and ushered the warm air out as it charged south. Looking skyward I was stuck by the most incredible vision, a line of migrating birds stretching as far as the eye could see. Traveling with the wind, they were hitchhiking, every sort of bird, large and small was coasting with their wings spread. 

I have hoped for a repeat of that event, but it's never happened. With fall arriving, I will be watching the sky as cold fronts come and go and I suggest you do the same. We are on the cusp of fall migration, particularly as the neotropical migrants head to south and central America. Chimney swifts left over a month ago, they rely solely on insects, so their exit comes early as they fly to Peru. 

Those that migrate later in fall spend their summers eating insects, switching to berries for fall. A critical part of their journey is the increase in body fat prior to migration. Weight gain is often 50 to 100 % of their body weight, which will quickly disappear as they exhaust their reserves. In berries, they are searching for those that are high in antioxidants, fat, carbohydrates, and protein. Dark colored fruit will provide the antioxidants which are helpful in breaking down carbohydrates and negating the stress of long flights. 

The primary source of high quality food comes from native plants. Shrubs that offer berries with the richest dietary supplements are the grey dogwood (Cornus racemosa), arrowwood viburnum (Viburnum dentatum), and spicebush (Lindera benzoin). These three have fruit that contains nearly 50% fat. Antioxidant rich berries come from Virginia creeper (Parthenocissus quinquefolia) and arrowwood viburnum; with this viburnum providing more antioxidants that any other species. 

Protein, fiber and carbohydrates are also necessary, found in the berries of poke (Phytolacca americana), poison ivy, southern magnolia, and American holly, which are all native. Fruit from nonnative plants are often low in the necessary dietary supplements for long arduous flights and it may take six times the amount of fruit to equal a few of the high power natives, which actually leaves a bird starving in stressful times. 

For safety most bird migration occurs at night, by day they seek a place of shelter with high density vegetation and a rich diet to replenish. Vast acres of manicured lawns help little as sources of valuable food. Knowing the need for these specific berries, I have altered my gardening practices and am leaving the Virginia creeper, pokeberry plant and poison ivy vine in place. A little wildness is good for us both. 

Zombies

The garden is usually a place of happiness, escape and calm. This year I gave up using Roundup so there are parts that have gone rogue. I get a bit tense about them, but that's not what's got me in a funk about my garden. The despair comes from my inability to raise butterflies successfully, it's just been a hell of a summer. 

Last year was over the top with monarchs, night flowers, frogs, etc... Morning visits this year turn up with dead monarch larvae and black chrysalis's. One morning I gathered 11 dead monarch caterpillars and that's when I decided that I needed to know the answer. My first thought was the parasite known as OE, which is present on a large percentage of our butterfly populations and will kill the host when their presence is so high that the caterpillar is too weak to live. For this particular problem there is little that can be done, so my funk deepened. I reached out to someone that knows all about raising monarchs and she suggested an alternative culprit - stink bugs. A few things she said started to make me a believer; they feed at night so the dead are found in the morning, they love fennel (which I have gobs of ), and the dead caterpillars have a kink in their body where the feeding tube was inserted by the stink bug to suck them dry. As I sent her photographs she confirmed the problem and suggested I go out at night with a headlamp to hunt them down. I still had some doubts (I will admit) but when I repeatedly found the stink bugs feeding I knew she was right.  

For such small insects, no more than a quarter of an inch large, they have an astounding appetite. Maybe it's just a cyclical year and next year will be better. I'm certainly hoping. 

Then came the inability of my monarchs to go from chrysalis to adult butterfly. This was a really big problem as I have only found one chrysalis that has successfully incubated or completed its life cycle. The tachinid fly is responsible for these deaths, a parasite of other butterflies as well, the fly egg is deposited on the caterpillar, often when it's hanging in the J position to begin the chrysalis building. The fly larvae feed on the caterpillar's blood, growing until it occupies up to half of the poor host's body. They emerge on a silky thread to drop to the ground and continue their incubation. The blackened chrysalis and hanging string are both indications of tachinid flies. I can only begin to imagine the effort involved in trying to function with something living inside of you, eating away. To make it even more unimaginable, they may have up to 6 tachinid fly larvae feeding inside!

There are other parasites as well. A very large wasp family, the ichneumon wasps will also parasitize, which leads one to wonder how can any of these caterpillars succeed? 

Those 2 holes aren't peep holes, just another parasite attack. My comment to my knowledgeable friend went something like; "horror movie writers must be gardeners". I think she got a chuckle out of that, but really, wouldn't you agree?

And I know that the only alternative is to raise my butterflies inside, but that too has its own set of problems. So with each day, and my garden has at least 3 monarchs flying around at any given time, I will observe and try and teach myself enough to help where I can and not let the garden become a place of depression. 

A Guinea Summer

Not even talking about the heat, it's just a busy time of year. In the garden it's a watering, deadheading, weeding, and oh, watching butterflies. There are also the extraneous things like birthday parties, Cullowhee Native Plant Conference, and serving as a bodyguard to the guinea. In this last duty, my serious job of protection, I can share the background story. 

In late winter 2 cooper hawks built a nest in a large white pine behind the garage. A bit chatty at first, in time they became so quiet that I thought maybe they had abandoned their nest. In early summer I heard the first vocalizations of the young and could hear them flapping around as they bounced from limb to limb. In time I learned that there were 3, one much smaller than the other 2. They vocalize all day long, triangulating where each one is, it's a constant during the day. They have grown quickly in the last month and are close to the size of the parents. Since they have seen me come and go on a regular basis, they pay me little mind. It's not uncommon to find them sitting on the roof, or on the posts for the cloths line, which causes the guinea to yell in terror and me to jump up from whatever I'm doing to defend him, he is the last one. Cooper hawks are not the largest hawk, but one of the fastest and they have spent a lot of time learning to glide and then go faster. 

Yesterday was the first attempt at a real attack on the guinea, which I thwarted just in time. This is my survivor, and he has aged to a mellow sort of fellow who follows me everywhere, unless Duke the yellow lab is there, then he follows him. He stays close to the house and survived 2 owl attacks in early spring, one of which was a hit but only resulted in some lost feathers. The last hit was at 2 in the morning and he actually came into the house and let me close the door. He slept on the floor and I crawled back into bed. For any guinea owner, this is hard to believe, they regard themselves as wildly independent.

My recent concern over the hawks and my worry over the guinea's survival prompted a friend to suggest a fake owl to scare the hawks. It seems wrong, very wrong, but I can't be there every time the little raptors want to test their strength. And I will add that everyday with my last guinea has been one I'm grateful for, we have become best buddies.

Here he is drinking out my garden water bowl, which was the same watering hole for the 3 young hawks only half an hour prior.

So fake owl it is. The deluxe version, it's solar powered with a motion detector. If anything sets off the motion detector, the eyes light up and some digital owl sounds follow (hardly scary but what do I know). Now, all is quiet but the guinea hasn't seen it yet. The night is young.

Case # 477

The call came from the Blue Ridge Wildlife Center that my turtle's fractured jaw had healed and he needed to go back home. Since this was  a difficult rescue and the scariest one of my life, I have spent some time plotting on how to take him home. The request for relocation is no more than a quarter mile from where they are found and headed in the direction they seemed to be traveling. I managed to scoop him up from Route 50  (April 28th) where it's 3 lanes of fast moving traffic and I was only successful because he was on his back and on the white line of 2 lanes. Figuring out where he was going was pretty simple, the land he lived on had become great big storage facilities, he was looking for an escape (or so I believe), but Chantilly would not be considered a good habitat by a long stretch. 

I settled on Cub Run Creek which appears to be surrounded by wetlands and won't be developed. It's more like a mile from his original haunt, but the kind folks at Blue Ridge pulled up a map of the area and we determined that it was the safest place. I even brought some tomato hornworms, specifically the ones that had parasitic wasp eggs on them. I figured a slow torturous death is worse than today's turtle food. 

His case was EBT 19-477, which I'm sure means Eastern Box Turtle, year 2019 and the 477th one?! 

The spot I placed him was overrun with poison ivy, so probably not visited much by humans. The creek was nearby and a plane from Dulles Airport was flying over, which most certainly would be a familiar sound to this turtle. We had a little chat about highways and he ambled on (without his snacks), I'm sure he was glad to be "in the wild" again. 

Safe travels # 477!