Studiology

Mild in the Middle

It's that time of year when the woolly caterpillars are traveling. I'm not sure if they do it for several months, or I just remember that they cross the highways in September. As a naturalist, or a lover of nature, I veer a bit as I drive, trying to avoid smashing them.

Woolly caterpillars don't seem to be going in any one direction. Yesterday I saw two pass each other, one traveling east, and the other west. Folklore will tell you that if their all headed south, winter will be cold. Folklore will also tell you that the bands of black and brown can predict when winter will be cold or mild. 

The common woolly caterpillar is the larvae of the tiger moth. In this case the term "common" is key, there are over 200 species of tiger moths. The scientific name for the one that so frequently crosses the road is Pyrrhactia isabella or the Isabella tiger moth. She, and I will always think of her as a she, was born from an egg in fall. 

These seemingly misdirected wanderers are looking for a place to spend the winter, a dark and sheltered spot. The bristles act like insulation, slowing down the effects of freezing temperatures. Internally the caterpillar won't freeze, a chemical protects them, in fact they can survive -90 degrees Fahrenheit. 

In their larval stage there are many food choices. Preferences are dandelions, sunflowers, nettles, and greens like cabbage, and spinach. The actual Isabella tiger moth will emerge from a cocoon in spring, living a few days and laying eggs for the generation before these October babies. 

There are 13 segments or little ridges on their body, we also have thirteen weeks of winter (December 21 - March 20), hence the belief that they can predict our winter weather. Typically you have black bands at each end and brown in the middle. Black means cold, brown means less cold, or milder. 

Some of the most profoundly intelligent gardeners will rely on the markings of the wooly caterpillar to predict winter. Of course there are other indicators; the thickness of an acorn shell and/or the height of a bees nest, which is best expressed with this old rhyme;  "See how high the hornets’ nest, twill tell how high the snow will rest". 

I decided a long time ago that I was a terrible predictor of winter. Those of us that have outdoor jobs are often relied upon for this kind of predictive power. Of course I observe the wooly caterpillars as they cross my path, and the bee's nests, and numerous other age old beliefs. But I don't count those wooly bands and mark my calendar, or crack open an acorn and measure its shell. 

Knowingly or unknowingly, the wooly caterpillar has been right for a couple of years, or at least pretty darn close. Last winter came in very cold and fast, February say a big thaw, and March was rudely cold. So cold was last March and the March before that I have come to expect it. 

Giving the weatherman some credit, the real prediction is for a milder winter with a weak El Nino. Today’s woolly caterpillar sported a thin black band for late December, a long brown band, and then a nasty looking black band to end it all. Seems pretty clear to me, but then I don't make these predictions.

A Froggy Summer

When the rains arrived in spring, a bright yellow contractor’s wheelbarrow filled up and over flowed as it sat in the yard. Within two weeks there were tadpoles swimming around, enjoying the six cubic feet of water (44.883 gallons), and that ended the need to use the wheelbarrow. Summer arrived and still it rained. Not once have I needed to cap off the water in my frog pond on wheels. Eventually I gave them a water hyacinth (maturing baby frogs like to climb on something), and an emergency spill over bowl. Tadpoles will wriggle over the edge in heavy rains, which seems so counterintuitive. What they're eating is a mystery to me, maybe little bits of green slime on the edge of their yellow plastic house.

Another frog pond is a welcome sight; there are two others that have functioned as frog nurseries for years. On any pleasant day with elevated humidity they trill and twerp and I like to think it's all my doing. My house sits on a hill and the best way to describe the habitat is a dry upland. From a frog's point of view, it might be less than ideal; they prefer low, squishy places. Not only have I afforded them water bowls to live in but a reliable food source, namely the moths that are attracted to my night flowering plants. 

Next to the night garden is my studio, which is as delightful as my garden and causes lapses in focus when the fragrance rises to heady proportions. Inside of the studio there are very bright lights, which shine out the windows and door luring moths and beetles, which in turn bring hungry frogs. When the lights are turned off and the hour is late, walking in the dark is more like tiptoeing; all for fear that I might step on one. The occasional frog scream tells me I missed another one and they jump to safety. 

Using a flashlight would make sense and maybe I'll remember one before summer is over or before I accidentally step on a frog. Never before has this been such an issue and speaks to the rain we've received all summer. 

My tropical gardens have loved the rain, but some of my favorite perennials have not. A few asters developed black leaves and had to be cut to the ground before they even flowered. The peonies have a serious case of peony botrytis so it's imperative that you remove all of their leaves as you cleanup this fall. Any signs of black spot or leaf fungus will also entail the removal of leaves as they fall to the ground. The spores are alive and will reconstitute themselves with rains next spring. 

With each season there are pluses and minuses. Gardeners are appreciative of the rain, it's a plus. And if you had told me that I would have a frog pond in a wheelbarrow, well that's just nonsense!

Fatal Attraction

The most lively spot in my garden is my patch of milkweed. Three of its regulars are all seeking the same thing, toxic cardiac glycosides. As they feed on the milky latex, an acquired taste for sure, they become more and more toxic or poisonous, the key to survival. Not only does it keep birds, frogs, and other bug eaters from feeding on them, it improves their sexual partnerships. The degree of toxicity is viewed as highly desirable, it will be passed on to their progeny, which female partners see as a win, win. 

The milkweed bug, one of the three frequent visitors, is easily seen. Bright orange-red with black bands, this beetle-looking bug feeds entirely on the seed pods. Technically known as Oncopeltus fasciatus, which means banded, they huddle in large groups of 20 or so. The coloration is known as aposematic from Greek; away, meaning keep away. Red is the common example of this, like the poison dart frog, it's a warning. The gardener is wise to pay heed, the strategy may not always mean poisonous to eat, but painful to touch. Stinging insects, like the velvet ant, with its bright red band (actually a wasp), should always be left alone. 

The milkweed bug will go through several molts or instars, developing wings in the end and leaving. Their feeding location, just on seed pods, makes them relatively harmless; there is usually plenty to go around. 

Secondly we find the oleander aphid. They feed on new growth and will cluster at the end of stems. Yellow in color, they are also hard to miss. Other common names include milkweed aphid and sweet pepper aphid, they are Aphis nerii, the epithet for a Celtic tribe of Spain, it speaks to a location. One can also find hawk moth - Daphnis nerii or oleander hawk moth from the same place. 

Most gardeners are alarmed at both of these feeding insects. Sheer numbers and bright colors make them hard to dismiss. The truth is, they don't kill the plant. Do not run and grab the insecticide. The relationship with the plant was intended, one makes poison, the other feeds on it. 

Our third visitor and feeder is the monarch butterfly larvae. The more desirable guest, maybe the reason we are growing milkweed in the first place. Not as colorful, striped yellow, black and white, they like the leaves but will also dine on seed pods and flowers. In hard times they will chew on bare stems, ingesting as much of the toxic extract to make them undesirable to birds. The bright color comes as the butterfly emerges with wings of orange.

All three of these feeders share milkweed, the monarch attracted to the leaves for laying eggs and then eating and nectaring as adults. I do not try to spray off the aphids or the milkweed bugs, chances are I'm also spraying off caterpillars. Over the years I have watched my plants get devoured. So much so, that this year I had to make extra runs to the nursery to get more plants. As all three players move from plant to plant, I watch them feed and have seen the caterpillars actually eat the aphids as they reach the tops of the stems. Like popping a poison pill, it's all good.

Oh, the Garden

 My garden is full, not just with flowers but caterpillars! It's been a good year. The monarchs are there everyday, ladies laying eggs and sipping, babies munching, and munching. To my eye, the effort is paying off, the move to plant milkweed by so many is paying off, at least on this end. 

There also a few newcomers, white lined sphinx moth caterpillars. They ate voraciously on my Mirabilis longiflora, which is also known as the Sweet Four O'Clock. I had never grown this species and found it easy from seed and another perfect candidate for my night garden with an intensely sweet fragrance at night. 

They have been eaten to the ground, but will recover before fall. The white lined sphinx larvae are already done (they ate every leaf) and in the ground as cocoons. In 3 weeks I can expect them to join me at night as lovely large moths. 

And my oh my, do I have some luscious sweet nectar for them!

The Cullowhee Native Plant Conference - part 2

Other than the kudzu, areas of northern North Carolina can be almost pristine. The small town, more like an outpost, of Cullowhee is clothed in kudzu vine, it creeps into the road and smothers the mailboxes that line it. Imagine having to uncover your mailbox to receive mail? There is a guard rail along the road, but it looks like a green bump at certain times of the year. But higher up, adjacent to the Blue Ridge Parkway there are fields and forests that are lush with all kinds of native plants. Between the acidic soil, the size of the native surrounds, and the high altitude, very few invasive species have crept in. Along wide trails you may find some orchard grass or the occasional timothy, spread from the intermittent horse that is ridden through the area. 

A fieldtrip to the Graveyard Meadow was for botanizing. There was a dense fog, it was chilly, oh how I wished I had brought a jacket. There were lots of spruce trees, weeping seeps, and the occasional rare orchid. 

The lowest level of plants were ericaceous, blueberries grow here, as do lichens, running club moss, and Indian pipe or Monotropa uniflora. The trees are stunted from the cold winters and the low pH. This small carnivorous sundew plant had just captured a crane fly. 

There was a large angelica along the trails and roads, Angelica venenosa. The flowers were just opening, very small and green, the mason wasps were there for nectar but too cold to move. 

Lowbush blueberries were common, some with ripe fruit.

Larry Mellichamp was our botanical guide, our other voluntary leader was John Manion of the Birmingham Botanical Gardens, eyes always peeled for unusual specimens.

Following are a string of plants we found as we ventured on.

The next stop was the McKinney Meadow in the town of Cashiers, NC. A pesky triangle of land was transferred into a meadow and is maintained by volunteers. July is a fine time to visit. 

The conference was split by 2 days of lectures and 2 days of fieldtrips or workshops. On our last evening there is a cookout and talent show. Young scholarship winners are required to participate and reveal another talent, maybe something not horticulturally related. Or maybe related, it's all good. We listened to poetry, did a camp song, one young man was a summer camp counselor, and watched 2 girls have a staring contest, they claimed to have no other talent. Needless to say, it was loads of fun!

Anyone and everyone was invited to show their talents, we listened to bluegrass music, heard some original songs, and really laughed when Greg Tepper (director of the Delaware Botanic Gardens) did a skit with Erica Galetin on plant pronunciation, or the proper way to speak Latin. Wish I had videotaped it.

On my arrival home, I immediately set up a moth cloth with a black light. Knowing this is National Moth Week, I was hoping for a slew of visitors, especially with my night garden and the many, many years that I have maintained it. Well, it was disappointing, there were lots of beetles. On my second night I decided to take the flashlight into the garden. There were plenty of moths, busy sipping the nectar of my night blooming flowers. We don't need no stinkin black light, and so it goes. Put up the moth cloth if you don't have a night garden, otherwise forget about it!

 

National Moth Week

I have returned from a truly wonderful experience, the Cullowhee Native Plant Conference, held at the Western Carolina University. Two of those nights involved moths, it was our night entertainment. It also may have been the activity I was most excited about. And as it turns out, this is National Moth Week, July 23-31, the numbers of night flying moths will decline after this week. We were guided by Lenny Lempel, the mothman, and his nocturnal setup or lure. He works for Mecklenburg County and is responsible for their moth nights, which are very popular. 

His setup involves a white cloth and a blacklight. Apparently a blacklight works better than an incandescent, but a mercury vapor light is better yet, just hard on the eyes. 

You can see that people were photographing the moths with their smartphones, it helps to have a flashlight handy, to light up the moths. I will be setting up something much simpler at home, my night garden will be the perfect place to lure them in. I did capture a few decent photographs, all identified with Lenny's help. His favorite book is Peterson's Field Guide to Moths, the Southeastern version. 

If you scroll over the photograph it will give you the name, the above moth is commonly known as the inchworm, in its premoth form.

Aside from moths there were fieldtrips, lectures and workshops. Many were concurrent sessions, so you had to decide which one to take. The days were filled, starting with breakfast at 7:00 AM. 

I decided on the Highlands Biological Station and private gardens fieldtrip and you have to trust me when I say that I can't begin to show you all of the photographs I took. Our Highlands tour was lead by Larry Mellichamp, a brainiac in my book. As a simple overview, the zone is 6, occasionally 5, 70 to 100 inches of rain a year (we get 35 to 40"), Rhododendron maximum is a weed, and the soil is very acidic.  The altitude was 4,018 feet, which is only slightly lower than the highest peak in the Shenandoah National Park; Hawksbill Mountain.

Lilium superbum was blooming along the roadside, which lead to my first question, where are all of the deer? They have more bear than deer, or so I was told.

Some very exotic plants inhabit this special part of the country; below are some highlights of the Highlands Biological Station, a garden dedicated to the plants that William Bartram collected. Below is the lichen known as tree lungwort or Lobaria pulmonaria. Like the plant, pulmonaria, it was thought that the growth resembled a lung.

Below is Rose palustris or swamp rose, a native that lives in swampy places.

This is a climbing fern, commonly referred to as the American Climbing fern or Lycopodium palmatum.

This half day or morning was followed by 2 private gardens and a meadow planting, all stunning - of course. I will follow with them as I continue to log my photographs. 

And it rained plenty while I was gone. Maybe I should have requested less...

 

August

The garden that I nurture peaks in August and September. The month of June and July are ornamental enough, to the casual observer, it's probably lovely. But truthfully, August 1st is like turning on the "GO LIVE" switch. Peak hours are 8:00 PM to 6:00 AM, at that early morning hour there is still a heady fragrance and the bats are flying low. 

This year, this summer is shaping up to be the best ever. For three months I have boiled Romaine lettuce for my gray tree frog babies. The water containers, large and small are full of tadpoles, a second brood is leaving the womb, seeking higher ground. With the water bowls that get too hot, I have rigged up covers to keep the water temperature down. So successful are these efforts that I am sure my summer nights will be delightfully noisy, these are the night's trilling frogs with the occasional barking sound. No one has been able to explain the random barking call, which may sound more like a sea otter's yelp. Their ability to go from tadpole to frog happens so fast with a body shape that still resembles a tadpole, yet their tale oddly absorbed, tucked in somehow.

If that weren't enough, the tomato hornworms devoured my nicotiana, hoards of them. Now they also awaken, from cocoon to adult, ready to zip back and forth as the sun sets. Here I found a newly formed adult, wings still drying, the long proboscis coiled tight. 

As always, it's nearly impossible to photograph them. I took a picture of an adult last night, the movement is fast, the sun is going down and the camera struggles. I know there will be plenty of hawk moths (maybe better photographs), plenty of frogs, the summer program will include bats eating moths and frogs eating mosquitos. 

As the sun sets, great big tropical leaves are backlit, for a short fifteen minutes there is a magic light. 

Summer is a grand thing!

Gray Tree Frog

Spring and early summer find the surrounds of my little house on a hill singing loudly at night. A series of trills puts me to sleep, the source is lots of small gray tree frogs. They gather at various watering holes, united in their desire to make babies. 

As a gardener, and lover of nature, I keep water containers, five total, around my house. One is a horse trough, really serving the last chicken and three guinea fowl, but a gathering place for the tree frogs. Our native tree frog, or at least the most common species is Hyla versicolor, the species epithet for its ability to change colors.

When breeding season arrives, anytime from late April to July, the chorus is loud as males sing for their female audience. The lady frog listens intently, her mating choice will be the male with the loudest and most prolonged song. A pouch on the male's neck expands and deflates as he sings. If he spies a female, his notes become more melodious, he tries harder to sing the perfect tune.

There will be no fondling, she will lay her eggs in the water nearby and he follows, fertilizing them in place. Once eggs are fertilized, they break into loose clusters, attaching themselves to plants and sticks underwater. In six to eight weeks, the small green baby frogs arrive, transformed from tadpole to frog.

Adult gray tree frogs feed on insects and larvae, including mosquitoes and gnats. On dry land they feed on spiders and various insects such as beetles and ants. Tadpoles eat algae and other lower forms of plant life. The small frogs that emerge from the water containers are not even as large as my thumbnail, I imagine a tiny mite could be a big enough meal. 

The range for the gray tree frog is enormous. From the middle of the United States to the east coast, north to southern Canada and south to northern Florida, we are in the middle of their north-south range. There are many interesting facts with gray tree frogs, their feet have toe pads which produce a mucus to help them cling to vertical services. The pattern on their back looks like lichen, a camouflage that also works with their ability to change colors. The calling of males is often how they are stalked by predators, particularly by bull frogs, so the population tends to be female dominate. They will not gather around water with fish, for obvious reasons. Green is the predominate color in younger frogs, but more mature frogs can alter their color, not as fast as a chameleon, but within 30 minutes. 

I have put a mosquito targeted BT in my water with no ill effects. Also known as Bacillus Thuringiensis israelensis, a natural bacteria, it is eaten by mosquito larvae, which it kills. A safe and environmental approach which has not lessened my tree frog population.

 

New Things

I drove through parts of the Shenandoah National Park yesterday. While it was raining down here, it was warm and sunny up there. The entire cloud bank was below, the park elevation rising well above. Many wondrous plants grow there and my eye is always trying to take in the herbaceous plants that occupy the space between the road and the forest. I look for changes in plant communities, as they alter with altitude and habitat. A new plant caught my attention, the truck halts, caution lights on, I MUST see.   As it turns out this "new to me" plant is semi-parasitic, hosted by the roots of nearby grasses. Commonly known as Canadian lousewort or wood betony, botanical it's Pedicularis canadensis. 

Not too far away was another parasitic plant. It's host are the roots of oak trees, it's common name is squaw root or bear corn, the latter because bear will feed on it as they wake up from hibernation. 

This last native has been growing here on the farm. I noticed it several years ago, the unusual orchid leaf is unmistakable. This year I cleared the spot and waited. Four flower stalks grew and we have the putty root orchid or Aplectrum hyemale.

The common name comes from the sticky paste that comes out of the bulblike root, it can mend pottery! Considered a common orchid, this farm is relatively poor when it comes to native plants. I can absolutely say that the reason is logging. In the late 70's, with the death of my father-in-law, the wooded tracts were logged, done badly and greedily. Since I walk the farm with great regularity, I know where wildlife and wildflowers are more abundant. There is an area with two high ridges and a creek between, and this is where I find the largest concentration of both plant and animal life. There is a honeybee tree, various occupied tree holes, turkeys, deer (of course), box turtles, and once I found four baby foxes living in a hollow tree trunk. 

As I've watched the local landscape turn into houses, I can't help but think of how many such microcosms of life have been obliterated. The last farm preceding ours (East on Route 50) is about to be flattened. The procedure is usually quick, a forest becomes a leveled muddy landscape in a matter of days. I'm in anguish over this next leveling as it's a very large tract of deciduous and evergreen trees. There is no doubt that it holds a wealth of wildlife since most of the local fauna have escaped to that tract to run from local construction. I feel like I'm the only one that wants to run in and save every turtle, possum, raccoon, etc... The poor animals won't be seen. They hide well. In the meantime most of them will be obliterated. I have a farm, I have great hope that some will make it here. I want this land to be preserved. It's my ultimate desire. 

 

Making Whoopee

At the end of January I found a dead coyote on the farm. Shot in the heart, it fell where it died. It's remained a mystery as to who killed it or why. Located in the middle of the farm at the edge of some woods,  I would visit and photograph the remains a few times a week. Vultures came but seemed only slightly interested. The real breakdown came once the weather had warmed and carrion beetles arrived. Not only was fur and hide finally disappearing but there was a lot of action as the carrion beetles spent day and night mating on the carcass. My logical conclusion was that this giant meal (for a little bug), would provide the food for their young and this was the perfect time to procreate.

So last week as I was tending my garden, I noticed a plethora of aphids on spirea, something that seems to be a chronic problem, but one I ignore because nature takes care of it. Low and behold, there were lots and lots of ladybugs (or lady beetles, as some say), and once again they were mating. 

The instinctive need to feed their young while food is available, no doubt.  The larval form of ladybugs is actually the real aphid eater, even coined as aphid lions, well known for their ability to gobble them up.

The availability of food, especially when it's abundant, instinctively leads to sex for the sake of food for the babies . Once my mind grasp this simple concept, it seemed only rationale to follow it to spring when so many babies are born and food is more plentiful. 

My biggest chuckle comes from the thought of prehistoric man, and woman. They kill a woolly mammoth, or some such giant beast, and find it's  time to "make whoopee"! It's only natural.