Knee Deep in Moss

"One touch of nature makes the whole world kin." --William Shakespeare

I have always loved to see moss cozying up to the feet of trees, draping over decomposing logs, and cushioning rock surfaces with luxuriant velvet.

A neat thing about mosses is that to get to know them in their natural habitat you must usually get down on your knees. Doing so immediately takes you out of your usual way of looking and perceiving and engages you physically.

Your hands and knees ground you at four points. Perhaps your trousers get damp and a little dirty. You feel the different textures of the leaf litter and inhale the perfume of the humus. You stroke the furry surface of the moss and it tickles your hands.

You marvel at the vibrant shades of green that seem to glow amidst the surrounding shades of brown and grey. Or perhaps the moss serves as an emerald background for jewel toned fall leaves.

The undulating surface when seen from your full height now becomes a miniature jungle of lush intricate plants. Moving your face ever closer, tensing the muscles around your eyes to sharpen your powers of sight, you attempt, but just fail, to focus clearly on the details you know are there. You bump up against the limits of the human eye.

You are literally brought down and humbled by this so-called 'primitive' plant. But you are also lifted up in awe. I find that nature frequently brings me to a kneeling posture, physically or otherwise.

Mosses have been much on my mind lately as our nature writing group has been reading Robin Wall Kimmerer's Gathering Moss: A Natural and Cultural History of Mosses. Kimmerer is a bryologist, a botanist specializing in mosses and liverworts--or bryophytes. She is also a descendant of North America's indigenous people. Her writing is scientific but also rich with mood, metaphor, myth and sensuality. She is the type of nature writer with whom I feel a kindred spirit.
Mosses will divulge many of their secrets, through the use of tools like hand lens, microscope, and field guide. Different families among the bryophytes are easily distinguished but species identification can be very challenging. I like to think of bryophtyes as a phenomenon, a clan of diverse members, sharing kinship not only among themselves, but as ancestors of other land plants. In some ways they are strikingly similar even to us mammals.

From Kimmerer's book, I learned that mosses are the 'amphibians' of plants. They are the ancient form of plant life that first transitioned from the water to land. Mosses live in communities or colonies with individual plants huddled together shoulder to shoulder. Their life style and reproductive cycle is dependent on this close proximity.

Moss have no roots to take up water from from where they are anchored--their substrate. They dry up, fade and shrink or plump up and green out depending on environmental conditions. The plant takes in CO2, water and minerals through its entire surface. Living close together helps them retain moisture not only for themselves but as participants in an ecosystem. Other organisms benefit. For example, many insects utilize the moist protection of mosses for their own reproductive cycle.

Moss plants occur in two life stages. In the gametophyte stage the plants are green and grow without sexual reproduction. When conditions are right, the gametophytes form microscopic male or female organs. The male structure containing sperm is called the antheridium. The female structure containing the egg is called the archegonium. This a reproductive innovation which mosses first developed. All land plants living today use this strategy of enclosing the egg within a protective womb.

Mosses produce no flowers so they ask for no help by animal pollinators. (Insects inadvertently do help the process along sometimes.) For the male sperm to reach and fertilize the female egg there must be a fluid vehicle. Rain, dew, mist or splashes are required. With sufficient moisture, the antheridum swells until it bursts. It also releases a soaplike substance that helps the miniscule sperm penetrate the surface tension of water droplets to better hitch a ride.

With luck the sperm is able to reach and travel down the neck of an archegonium to an egg.

Once fertilized, the egg is nurtured within the archegonium and grows into the second life stage--the sporophyte. Kimmerer explains science has discovered special cells in the female moss organ that work to transfer nutrients from the parent plant to the developing egg. She compares this function to human placental cells.

Mature sporophytes are usually brown or colorless with a capsule full of powdery spores elevated on a stalk above the green gametophytes. Special teethlike structures on the capsules are responsive to the level of humidity. They open to release the spores when the air is dry (and thus better for dissemination).

Those spores that find a hospitable home will form a new colony of moss, carrying the genetic material of the parent colony forward. The scattered colonies of particular moss species in a patch of woods are all close kin to one another.

Mosses are extremely adaptable--they are found in every ecosystem on earth. Species number over 22,000. Their variety is seemingly endless. Next time you go walking in the woods spend some time on your knees.

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Grass Seeds

More on the theme of seeds. The magenta colored seeds of this wild grass growing in a hot, dry, 9000 foot elevation in Colorado hang from a stem that abruptly makes a right turn.Growing next to them is this tiny grass whose seeded tip curves to form a shepherd's crook. What is the evolutionary advantage of these shapes, I wonder?

Diaspora

Diaspora is a Greek word meaning the scattering of seeds. We are now heading into late summer and plants are setting seed. One of the things I most enjoy at this time of year is marveling at the variety of forms produced by seed bearing plants.

Seeds hold an embryo and carry the genetic material of a new plant. There are three methods evolved by plants to disperse their seeds-by wind, by water, and by animals.

The structures used by plants to get their seeds aloft and carried by the air currents of the earth are masterpieces of engineering. The designs include gliders, parachutes, whirlybirds, and spinners. Gliding seeds are said to have inspired the designs of some early aircraft. I like to think that spinner or whirlybird seeds may have contributed to one of Leonardo Da Vinci's concepts for a flying machine.

An outstanding example of the parachute design is the ubiquitous Common Dandelion (Taraxacum officinale) a member of the Composite family. The seed (achene) is attached by a thin stalk to a radiating plume of bristly hairs (pappus). So equipped, the seeds become airborne in response to the slightest breeze. As is often the case with parachuting seeds, they are arranged in a globular puff. Another name for the dandelion is blowball. The word pappus is Latin for old man.

The Composite family includes sunflowers, daisies, coneflowers, chicory, and thistles. In members of this family, the pappus is modified in a multitude of ways, often to promote the effective dissemination of seeds. For example, in sticktights, the pappus is barbed so that it adheres to passing animals. The characteristic of the pappus is important in identifying the particular species of a Composite blossom.

In his last years, Thoreau was working on an exhaustive research project to determine all of the dominant patterns of seed dispersal within an hour's walk of his home in Concord, Massachusetts. He called it "learning the language of the fields." Thoreau was one of the first American field ecologists to apply Darwin's ideas of natural selection to the subject.

Thoreau died from a respiratory infection before he could finish his manuscript entitled The Dispersion of Seeds. The work is an argument against the then-prevalent theory that some plants grew spontaneously without any root, seed, or cutting from a parent plant. Typically, Thoreau combines keen observation with a view to a larger perspective. His description of the milkweed ends with these thoughts :

I am interested in the fate or success of every such venture which the autumn sends forth. And for this end these silken streamers have been perfecting themselves all summer, snugly packed in this light chest, as perfect adaptations to this end--a prophecy not only of the fall, but of future springs...Who could believe in prophecies...that the world would end this summer, while one milkweed with faith matured its seeds?

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Creature Feature at Cranberry Glades

I'm just not ready to leave the bog. One might say I'm "bogged down."

The pitcher plant (species Sarracenia pupurea venosa)and the sundew are two of many plants I saw on my visit to Cranberry Glades (see previous post The Boreal Bog). These plants lure insects, trap them, then slowly digest them. I had to learn more-here is what most impressed me. If you are so inclined, while you read, ponder the Adaptation process that resulted in such elegant solutions.

Carnivorous plant species number more than 500 and grow all over the world. They often live in waterlogged areas such as swamps and bogs. These places are deficient in nitrogen and other trace minerals important to plant physiology. So it is thought that carnivorous plants have developed strategies to get some of those needed substances from the bodies of animals-such as insects, spiders, and even bigger prey. Their strategies often require glands that either fill with water or must remain moist. The details of their dining habits bring to mind the narrow escapes of heroes like Luke Skywalker and James Bond. If they could talk we might hear something like: "Welcome, Mr. Bug, hahahahahahaha!"

The Pitcher Plant

The leaves of the pitcher plant form cups, indeed another name for them is "hunter's cup. " Supposedly the rainwater contained in the cup is safer for a human to drink than the acidic bog water in which it grows. On the rounded lip of the cup are red veins that attract the attention of insects--possibly due to the resemblance to carrion.

Alighting on the slippery edges of the cup, an unfortunate critter then finds it easy to lose its footing and slide into the gaping maw. Perhaps it even experiences Vertigo. A spiky fur points downward to deter any attempts to escape. Imagine trying to climb the slippery walls while treading water in a deep cistern and you've got an idea of the insect's experience. But that's only the start of the macabre process.


In a sarracenia purpurea, the insect drowns and over time the water dissolves the insect's soft tissues. Special cells at the base of the cup absorb the nutrients. Some other species of pitcher plant actually contain a fluid similar to that found in mammals' gastric systems. That would certainly help digest something like a large rat. The biggest known pitcher plant does just that. The cup of the Nepenthes Rajah of Asia can grow up to 20 inches long, 6 inches wide, with an opening of 3 inches.

Biologists who do things like dissect pitcher plants are amazed at the quantity of indigestible exoskeletons that collect in a "boneyard" at the bottom of the cup. I wonder if the live insect can see the gruesome remains of previous victims at the moment of his or her descent into insect "hell." To an entomologist however, I'm sure those are Lovely Bones.

The Sundew

Sundews belong to the largest genus of carnivorous plants Drosera, with more than 200 species. The way the sundew hides menace behind whimsy, you might suspect it came from outer space. At Cranberry Glades, sundews dot the surface of the moss like countless simpering, "happy faces."

But each tiny leaf is far from being a Little Miss Sunshine and more like the product of a Bad Seed-- at least from an insect's point of view. There is a glistening drop of "superglue" at the tip of each of the fine hairs on this little damsel. Insects alight expecting a sweet reward of nectar. But touching even one hair can ensnare. The greater the bug's Frenzy to escape, the more it entangles itself in other hairs.

The rest of the hairs on the leaf then bend lovingly over the prize until it is clenched firmly as if in a many fingered hand. The process is not as fast as the abrupt snap of a Venus Fly Trap, but still amazingly swift--for a plant. It takes about one hour for the insect to be fully embraced in a deadly kiss. Pressed firmly against the enzymes on the surface of the leaf, the insect innards are liquified. Digestion may take several days. Afterward the hairs return to their original positions. For a time the hairs stay dry and the remains of the day are soon gone with the wind.

The biggest species of Sundew is South Africa's Drosera Regina with leaves up to more than 22 inches long. In Australia a sundew of similar size makes a banquet of frogs and lizards. Crocodile Dundee types boast of finding sundews growing in clumps that feast on the occasional rabbit or squirrel.

Darwin was the master and commander of evolutionary thought, but nevertheless was humbled by the sundew. He wrote to a scientist friend that "I care more about Drosera than the origin of all the species in the world." Its not surprising that the ingenuity of carnivorous plants continues to seduce and ensnare our fascination. We are willing victims.

ABC Wednesday For some fantastic images of these Cranberry Glade plants go to Squirrel's View.

Endless Variations on a Theme

As my perceptions become more acute on this journey into nature, I am more and more in awe of the endless variety of plant shapes and patterns of growth and how/why they evolved. For example, I attempted to "key" out a huge white flowering "weed" found near the C&O Canal towpath near Harper's Ferry, WV this spring. Using the Newcomb's Guide to Wildflowers, I wasn't having much luck, until I realized the plant's resemblance to Queen Anne's Lace (an alien import). I broke off a leaf, crumbled it, sniffed it, even tasted it! Yep, that carroty scent. (Queen Anne's Lace is known as a wild carrot.) This led me to the right page in the book.

The plant was in the parsley family-a common species known as Cow Parsley (Anthriscus sylvestris) a native to Europe, Africa and Asia, that often grows to over six feet. Since Newcomb's Guide uses a keying method that is based on numbers of petals and leaves and their arrangement, I decided to count the stems in the umbel, and came up with 29. That seemed wierd, so I counted again. And again. Still 29. That brought up the question: what is the "math" behind nature's botanical design?

I had heard about Fibonacci numbers but had never studied them. Fibonacci was a mathematician in the Middle Ages. The numbers emerged as he studied the reproduction patterns of rabbits! The numbers are an infinite series, beginning with the numeral 1, where each successive number is the sum of the two numbers that appear directly before it. Design based on these proportions approximates the "golden ratio," also known as the golden mean, golden number or divine ratio. Expressed as a decimal, the golden ratio is approximately 1.6 , referred to as Phi.

Growth patterns that follow the golden ratio are rampant in nature. Two examples often cited are the spirals of a nautilus shell and seed head of a sunflower. The golden ratio is seen as well in the proportions of the human body--even the structure of DNA is a demonstration of the golden ratio. Not surprising that in classic art and architecture, the golden ratio was considered to be the foundation of beauty.

But back to Cow Parsley. The number 29 was not listed in the Fibonacci series of numbers. But there is another series that models the golden ratio, developed by Lucas, the mathematician who "discovered" Fibonacci's work. This series of numbers is also very prevalent in the growth patterns of plants. The Lucas series replicates the "sum of the previous two numbers" feature, but starts with 2 followed by 1. And there it was, my Cow Parsley's "29." Amazing what trying to identify a weed can lead to....! Now I see the golden ratio everywhere, as in the thistle bud at top.

Friendly Ferns

Herbert Durand's Field Book of Common Ferns, 1928 opens with:

To All Who Follow the Long Brown Path

Here are fifty fascinating ferns of the wild, whose ancestry antedates Adam by unnumbered eons, and whose myriads of fair and friendly children await your coming in every field and every forest, by every stream and on every mountain. Their ways are truly ways of pleasantness and the path to their dwelling place is a path of perfect peace. May this unpretentious Field Book of Ferns spur you to follow this path with eyes opened to the exquisite beauty that greets you on every hand

These friendly children greet visitors to Eidolon Nature Preserve in Morgan County, WV.

Clockwise from top left: Common Polypody, Ebony Spleenwort, Sensitive Fern, Bracken Fern, Rock with Southern Lady Fern. Durand writes that Spleenworts were so named due to the belief in their ability to treat diseases of the spleen, and that Common Polypody was a favorite remedy for the 'blues' and for 'fearsome and troublesome' dreams and nightmares. I call these ferns 'heavenly.'

Pixie Cups in the Enchanted Forest

Tramping about in the spring woods, I was excited to look down and see this fruiting lichen on a rock next to a small pond. A little research on the net identifed it as cladonia carneola, also known as "crowned pixie cup." According to http://www.lichen.com/index.html this lichen has a "squamulose" base. Squamulose lichens have scales called squamules that are usually small and overlap. The cups, called "podentia," are fruiting structures to dispense spores. Fruiticose lichens are more three dimensional--they grow upward or hang down.

Lichens grow extremely slowly. Some lichens are thought to be the oldest living things on earth. I found out that lichens are symbiotic organisms. The dominant partner is a fungus and so incapable of making its own food. It has to partner with another organism that can perform photosynthesis, such as algae or cyanobacteria. some fungi partner with both organisms at once. The spores that are emitted from these cups will have to seek out partners in order to survive. Kind of gives new meaning to the concept of "codependency" doesn't it?

Part of the thrill for me in learning natural history is with the new vocabulary words. How wonderful are these? Squamulose, fruiticose, podentia! And I'm loving the Latin-cladonia carneola, can't you hear the Italian lilt in those syllables?