Meet the Pygmy Clubmoss

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No, these are not some sort of grass or rush. What you are looking at here is actually a member of the clubmoss family (Lycopodiaceae). Colloquially known as the pygmy clubmoss, this odd little plant is the only species in its genus - Phylloglossum drummondii. Despite its peculiar nature, very little is known about it.

The pygmy clubmoss is native to parts of Australia, Tasmania, and New Zealand but common it is not. From what I can gather, it grows in scattered coastal and lowland sites where regular fires clear the ground of competing vegetation. It is a perennial plant that makes its appearance around July and reaches reproductive size around August through to October.

Reproduction for the pygmy clubmoss is what you would expect from this family. In dividual plants will produce a reproductive stem that is tipped with a cone-like structure. This cone houses the spores, which are dispersed by wind. If a spore lands in a suitable spot, it germinates into a tiny gametophyte. As you can probably imagine, the gametophyte is small and hard to locate. As such, little is known about this part of its life cycle. Like all gametophytes, the end goal of this stage is sexual reproduction. Sperm are released and with any luck will find a female gametophyte and fertilize the ovules within. From the fertilized ovule emerges the sporophytes we see pictured above.

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As dormancy approaches, this strange clubmoss retreats underground where it persists as a tiny tuber-like stem. Though it is rather obscure no matter who you ask, there has been some scientific attention paid to this odd little plant, especially as it relates to its position on the tree of life. Since it was first described, its taxonomic affinity has moved around a bit. Early debates seemed to center around whether it belonged in Lycopodiaceae or its own family, Phylloglossaceae.

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Recent molecular work put this to rest showing that genetically the pygmy clubmoss is most closely related to another genus of clubmoss - Huperzia. This was bolstered by the fact that it shares a lot of features with this group such as spore morphology, phytochemistry, and chromosome number. The biggest difference between these two genera is the development of the pygmy clubmoss tuber, which is unique to this species. However, even this seems to have its roots in Lycopodiaceae.

If you look closely at the development of some lycopods, it becomes apparent that the pygmy clubmoss most closely resembles an early stage of development called the “protocorm.” Protocorms are a tuberous mass of cells that is the embryonic form of clubmosses (as well as orchids). Essentially, the pygmy clubmoss is so similar to the protocorm of some lycopods that some experts actually think of it as a permanent protocorm capable of sexual reproduction. Quite amazing if you ask me.

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Sadly, because of its obscurity, many feel this plant may be approaching endangered status. There have been notable declines in population size throughout its range thanks to things like conversion of its habitat to farmland, over-collection for both novelty and scientific purposes, and sequestration of life-giving fires. As mentioned, the pygmy clubmoss needs fire. Without it, natural vegetative succession quickly crowds out these delicate little plants. Hopefully more attention coupled with better land management can save this odd clubmoss from going the way of its Carboniferous relatives.

Photo Credits: [1] [2] [3] [4]

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

Hydrostachyaceae: Enigmatic Rheophytes

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Today I would like to introduce you to an enigmatic family of aquatic angiosperms called Hydrostachyaceae. Though they kind of look like strange aquatic ferns or perhaps even lycopods, they are actually strange flowering plants. To find them, you need to hang out around waterfalls and rapids in either Madagascar or southern Africa.

Hydrostachyaceae is made up of roughly 22 species. This is a poorly understood group of plants and there is always a chance that more species await discovery. The various members of Hydrostachyaceae all take on a similar appearance. For much of the year they exist as a set of feathery, fern-like leaves that grow surprisingly large and look quite delicate, especially considering the types of habitats in which they grow.

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Their delicate appearance is deceptive. In fact, the feathery structure of their leaves is an adaptation to the waters in which they grow. These are plants that require fast moving, clean, fresh water. If they were to produce flat, unbroken leaves, the fast currents would quickly rip them to shreds. By producing long, feathery leaves, water simply flows right over them with minimal disturbance. However, their preferred habitats also make them extremely difficult to study. Hence we know very little about their ecology.

What we do know about these plants is that they need clean rock surfaces and clear water for germination and subsequent growth. Dump too much sediment in the stream and you can kiss these plants goodbye. When they dry season approaches and water levels begin to drop, these oddball plants go into flowering mode. To the best of my knowledge, nearly all members of this family are dioecious, meaning individual plants are either male or female. When it comes time to flower, each plant produces modest sized spikes densely packed with flower.

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The spikes themselves sit up and above the water line, which is how this family and genus got its name. Hydrostachys is Greek and roughly translates to “water spike.” I have not been able to track down any solid information on what might be pollinating these blooms, however, given their small, dense nature, and the extreme places in which they live, my bet would be on wind.

The ecology of Hydrostachyaceae isn’t the only mystery about these plants. Their position on the tree of life has also been cause for confusion ever since they were discovered. Morphologically speaking, aquatic angiosperms can offer a lot of confusion to taxonomists. Like whales, the ancestors of aquatic angiosperms lived out their lives on land. Making the move back into water comes with a lot of extremely specialized adaptations that can cloud our morphological interpretations of things.

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Some authors have put forth the idea that these plants belong to another family of highly derived aquatic angiosperms - the Podostemaceae. However, genetic analyses paint a much different story. When the Angiosperm Phylogeny Group got a hold of specimens, their molecular work suggested the Hydrostachyaceae were nestled in Cornales, somewhere near the Hydrangea family (Hydrangeaceae). Exactly where Hydrostachyaceae fits into this new classification is still up for debate but it just goes to show you how messy things can get when plant lineages return to water.

Sadly, like so many other plants, the various members of Hydrostachyaceae are under a lot of pressure in the wild. Basically anything that threatens the quality of streams and rivers is a threat to the ongoing survival of these species. Runoff pouring into water ways from agriculture and mining cloud up the water and bury available germination sites under layers of sediment. Things only get worse when hydroelectric projects are installed. The fate of these plants is unequivocally tied to water quality.

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Photo Credits: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3] [4]

The Carnivorous Dewy Pine

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The dewy pine is definitely not a pine, however, it is quite dewy. Known scientifically as Drosophyllum lusitanicum, this carnivore is odd in more ways than one. It is also growing more and more rare each year.

One of the strangest aspects of dewy pine ecology is its habitat preferences. Whereas most carnivorous plants enjoy growing in saturated soils or even floating in water, the dewy pine's preferred habitats dry up completely for a considerably portion of the year. Its entire distribution consists of scattered populations throughout the western Iberian Peninsula and northwest Morocco.

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Its ability to thrive in such xeric conditions is a bit of a conundrum. Plants stay green throughout the year and produce copious amounts of sticky mucilage as a means of catching prey. During the summer months, both air and soil temperatures can skyrocket to well over 100°F (37 °C). Though they possess a rather robust rooting system, dewy pines don't appear to produce much in the way of fine roots. Because of this, any ground water presence deeper in the soil is out of their reach. How then do these plants manage to function throughout the driest parts of the year?

During the hottest months, the only regular supply of water comes in the form of dew. Throughout the night and into early morning, temperatures cool enough for water to condense out of air. Dew covers anything with enough surface area to promote condensation. Thanks to all of those sticky glands on its leaves, the dewy pine possesses plenty of surface area for dew to collect. It is believed that, coupled with the rather porous cuticle of the surface of its leaves, the dewy pine is able to obtain water and reduce evapotranspiration enough to keep itself going throughout the hottest months. 

 Dewy pine leaves unfurl like fern fiddle heads as they grow.

Dewy pine leaves unfurl like fern fiddle heads as they grow.

As you have probably guessed at this point, those dewy leaves do more than photosynthesize and collect water. They also capture prey. Carnivory in this species evolved in response to the extremely poor conditions of their native soils. Nutrients and minerals are extremely low, thus selecting for species that can acquire these necessities via other means. Each dewy pine leaf is covered in two types of glands: stalked glands that produce sticky mucilage, and sessile glands that secrete digestive enzymes and absorb nutrients.

Their ability to capture insects far larger than one would expect is quite remarkable. The more an insect struggles, the more it becomes ensnared. The strength of the dewy pines mucilage likely stems from the fact that the leaves do not move like those of sundews (Drosera spp.). Once an insect is stuck, there is not much hope for its survival. Living in an environment as extreme as this, the dewy pine takes no chances.

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The taxonomic affinity of the dewy pine has been a source of confusion as well. Because of its obvious similarity to the sundews, the dewy pine has long been considered a member of the family Droseraceae. However, although recent genetic work does suggest a distant relationship with Droseraceae and Nepenthaceae, experts now believe that the dewy pine is unique enough to warrant its own family. Thus, it is now the sole species of the family Drosophyllaceae.

Sadly, the dewy pine is losing ground fast. From industrialization and farming to fire suppression, dewy pines are running out of habitat. It is odd to think of a plant capable of living in such extreme conditions as being overly sensitive but that is the conundrum faced by more plants than just the dewy pine. Without regular levels of intermediate disturbance that clear the landscape of vegetation, plants like the dewy pine quickly get outcompeted by more aggressive plant species. Its the fact that dewy pine can live in such hostile environments that, historically, has kept its populations alive and well.

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What's more, it appears that dewy pines have trouble getting their seeds into new habitats. Low seed dispersal ability means populations can be cut off from suitable habitats that are only modest distances away. Without a helping hand, small, localized populations can disappear alarmingly fast. The good news is, conservationists are working hard on identifying what must be done to ensure the dewy pine is around for future generations to enjoy.

Changes in land use practices, prescribed fires, wild land conservation, and incentives for cattle farmers to adopt more traditional rather than industrial grazing practices may turn the table on dewy pine extinction. Additionally, dewy pines have become a sort of horticultural oddity over the last decade or so. As dedicated growers perfect germination and growing techniques, ex situ conservation can help maintain stocks of genetic material around the globe.

Photo Credits: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3] [4]

 

 

Leafy Cacti?

  Pereskia aculeata

Pereskia aculeata

At first glance, there is little about a Pereskia that would suggest a relation to what we know as cacti. Even a second, third, and forth glance probably wouldn't do much to persuade the casual observer that these plants have a place on cacti family tree. All preconceptions aside, Pereskia are in fact members of the family Cactaceae and quite interesting ones at that.

Most people readily recognize the leafless, spiny green stems of a cactus. Indeed, this would appear to be a unifying character of the family. Pereskia is proof that this is not the case. Though other cacti occasionally produce either tiny, vestigial leaves or stubby succulent leaves, Pereskia really break the mold by producing broad, flattened leaves with only a hint of succulence.

 Pereskia spines are produced from areoles in typical cactus fashion.

Pereskia spines are produced from areoles in typical cactus fashion.

What's more, instead of clusters of Opuntia-like pads or large, columnar trunks, Pereskia are mainly shrubby plants with a handful of scrambling climbers mixed in. Similar to their more succulent cousins, the trunks of Pereskia are usually adorned with clusters of long spines for protection. Additionally, each species produces the large, showy, cup-like blooms we have come to expect from cacti.

They are certainly as odd as they are beautiful. As it stands right now, taxonomists recognize two clades of Pereskia - Clade A, which are native to a region comprising the Gulf of Mexico and Caribbean Sea (this group is currently listed under the name Leuenbergeria) and Clade B, which are native to regions just south of the Amazon Basin. This may seem superficial to most of us but the distinction between these groups has a lot to teach us about the evolution of what we know of as cacti. 

  Pereskia grandifolia

Pereskia grandifolia

Genetically speaking, the genus Pereskia sorts out at the base of the cactus family tree. Pereskia are in fact sister to all other cacti. This is where the distinction between the two Pereskia clades gets interesting. Clade A appears to be the older of the two and all members of this group form bark early on in their development and their stems lack a feature present in all other cacti - stomata. Stomata are microscopic pours that allow the exchange of gases like CO2 and oxygen. Clabe B, on the other hand, delay bark formation until later in life and all of them produce stomata on their stems.

The reason this distinction is important is because all other cacti produce stomata on their stems as well. As such, their base at the bottom of the cactus tree not only shows us what the ancestral from of cactus must have looked like, it also paints a relatively detailed picture of the evolutionary trajectory of subsequent cacti lineages. It would appear that the ancestor of all cacti started out as leafy shrubs that lacked the ability to perform stem photosynthesis. Subsequent evolution saw a delay in bark formation, the presence of stomata on the stem, and the start of stem photosynthesis, which is a defining feature of all other cacti.

  Pereskia aculeata

Pereskia aculeata

If you are as excited about Pereskia as I am, then you , my friend, are in luck. A handful of Pereskia species have found their way into the horticulture trade. With a little luck attention to detail, you too can share you home with one of these wonderful plants. Just be warned, they get tall and their spines, which are often hidden by the leaves, are a force to be reckoned with. Tread lightly with these wonderfully odd cacti. Celebrate their as the evolutionary wonders that they are!

Photo Credits: [1] [2] [3] [4]

Further Reading: [1] [2]

 

 

Are Algae Plants?

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I was nibbling on some nori the other day when a thought suddenly hit me. I don't know squat about algae. I know it comes in many shapes, sizes, and colors. I know it is that stuff that we used to throw at each other on the beach. I know that it photosynthesizes. That's about it. What are algae? Are they even plants?

The shortest answer I can give you is "it depends." The term algae is a bit nebulous in and of itself. In Latin, the word "alga" simply means "seaweed." Algae are paraphyletic, meaning they do not share a recent common ancestor with one another. In fact, without specification, algae may refer to entirely different kingdoms of life including Plantae (which is often divided in the broad sense, Archaeplastida and the narrow sense, Viridiplantae), Chromista, Protista, or Bacteria.

  Caulerpa racemosa , a beautiful green algae.

Caulerpa racemosa, a beautiful green algae.

Taxonomy being what it is, these groupings may differ depending on who you ask. The point I am trying to make here is that algae are quite diverse from an evolutionary standpoint. Even calling them seaweed is a bit misleading as many different species of algae can be found in fresh water as well as growing on land.

 Cyanobacteria are photosynthetic bacteria, not plants.

Cyanobacteria are photosynthetic bacteria, not plants.

Take for instance what is referred to as cyanobacteria. Known commonly as blue-green algae, colonies of these photosynthetic bacteria represent some of the earliest evidence of life in the fossil record. Remains of colonial blue-green algae have been found in rocks dating back more than 4 billion years. As a whole, these types of fossils represent nearly 7/8th of the history of life on this planet! However, they are considered bacteria, not plants.

 Diatoms (Chromista)

Diatoms (Chromista)

Diatoms (Chromista) are another enormously important group. The single celled, photosynthetic organisms are encased in beautiful glass shells that make up entire layers of geologic strata. They comprise a majority of the phytoplankton in the world's oceans and are important indicators of climate. However, they belong to their own kingdom of life - Chromista or the brown algae.

To bring it back to what constitutes true plants, there is one group of algae that really started it all. It is widely believed that land plants share a close evolutionary history with a branch of green algae known as the stoneworts (order Charales). These aquatic, multicellular algae superficially resemble plants with their stalked appearance and radial leaflets.

 A nice example of a stonewort ( Chara braunii ).

A nice example of a stonewort (Chara braunii).

It is likely that land plants evolved from a Chara-like ancestor that may have resembling modern day hornworts that lived in shallow freshwater inlets. Estimates of when this happen go back as far as 500 million years before present. Unfortunately, fossil evidence is sparse for this sort of thing and mostly comes in the form of fossilized spores and molecular clock calculations.

  Porphyra umbilicalis   - One of the many species of red algae frequently referred to as nori.

Porphyra umbilicalis  - One of the many species of red algae frequently referred to as nori.

Now, to bring it back to what started me down this road in the first place. Nori is made from algae in the genus Porphyra, which is a type of Rhodophyta or red algae. Together with Chlorophyta (the green algae), they make up some of the most familiar groups of algae. They have also been the source of a lot of taxonomic debate. Recent phylogenetic analyses place the red algae as a sister group to all other plants starting with green algae. However, some authors prefer to take a broader look at the tree and thus lump red algae in a member of the plant kingdom. So, depending on the particular paper I am reading, the nori I am currently digesting may or may not be considered a plant in the strictest sense of the word. That being said, the lines are a bit blurry and frankly I don't really care as long as it tastes good.

Photo Credits: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3] [4]

 

Everlasting or Seven Years Little

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Common names are a funny thing. Depending on the region, the use, and the culture, one plant can take on many names. In other situations, many different plants can take on a single name. Though it isn't always obvious to those unfamiliar with them, the use of scientific names alleviates these issues by standardizing the naming of things so that anyone, regardless of where they are, knows what they are referring to. That being said, sometimes common names can be entertaining.

Take for instance, plants in the genus Syncarpha. These stunning members of the family Asteraceae are endemic to the fynbos region of the Eastern and Western Cape of South Africa. In appearance they are impossible to miss. In growth habit they have been described as "woody shrublets," forming dense clusters of woody stems covered in a coat of woolly hairs. Sitting atop their meter-high stems are the flower heads.

Each flower head consists of rings of colorful paper-like bracts surrounding a dense cluster of disk flowers. The flowering period of the various species can last for weeks and spans from October, well into January. Numerous beetles can be observed visiting the flowers and often times mating as they feed on pollen. Some of the beetles can be hard to spot as they camouflage quite well atop the central disk. Some authors feel that such beetles are the main pollinators for many species within this genus.

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Their mesmerizing floral displays are where their English common name of "everlasting" comes from. Due to the fact that they maintain their shape and color for quite a long time after being cut and dried, various Syncarpha species have been used quite a bit in the cut flower industry. A name that suggests everlasting longevity stands in stark contrast to their other common name. 

These plants are referred to as "sewejaartjie" in Afrikaans, which roughly translates to "seven years little." Why would these plants be referred to as everlasting by some and relatively ephemeral by others? It turns out, sewejaartjie is a name that has more to do with their ecology than it does their use in the floral industry.

As a whole, the 29 described species of Syncarpha are considered fire ephemerals. The fynbos is known for its fire regime and the plants that call this region home have evolved in response to this fact. Syncarpha are no exception. They flower regularly and produce copious amounts of seed but rarely live for more than 7 years after germination. Also, they do not compete well with any vegetation that is capable of shading them out.

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Instead, Syncarpha invest heavily in seed banking. Seeds can lie dormant in the soil for many years until fires clear the landscape of competing vegetation and release valuable nutrients into the soil. Only then will the seeds germinate. As such, the mature plants don't bother trying to survive intense ground fires. They burn up along with their neighbors, leaving copious amounts of seeds to usher in the next generation.

Research has shown that its not the heat so much as the smoke that breaks seed dormancy in these plants. In fact, numerous experiments using liquid smoke have demonstrated that the seeds are likely triggered by some bio-active chemical within the smoke itself.

So, there you have it. Roughly 29 plants with two common names, each referring back to an interesting aspect of the biology of these plants. Despite their familiarity and relative ease of committing to memory, the common names of various species only get us so far. That's not to say we should abolish the use of common names altogether. Learning about any plant should be an all encompassing endeavor provided know which plant you are referring to.

Photo Credits: [1] [2] [3]

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3]

 

Red or White?

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Who doesn't love a nice oak tree? One cannot overstate their importance both ecologically and culturally. Although picking an oak tree out of a lineup is something many of us are capable of doing, identifying oaks to species can be a bit more challenging. This is further complicated by the fact that oaks often hybridize. Still, it is likely you have come across some useful tips and tricks for narrowing down your oak choices. One such trick is distinguishing between the red oaks and the white oaks. If you're anything like me, this is something you took for granted for a while. Is there anything biologically or ecologically meaningful to such a split?

In short, yes. However, a true appreciation of these groups requires a deeper look. To start with, oaks are members of the genus Quercus, which belongs in the family Fagaceae. Globally there are approximately 400 species of oak and each falls into one of three categories - the red oaks (section Lobatae), the white oaks (section Quercus), and the so-called "intermediate" oaks (section Protoblanus). For the sake of this article, I will only be focusing on the red and white groups as that is where most of the oak species reside. The intermediate oak group is made up of 5 species, all of which are native to the southwestern United States and northwestern Mexico.

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As is common with oak identification, reliable techniques for distinguishing between the two groups can be tricky. Probably the most reliable feature is located on the inner surface of the acorn cap. In white oaks, it is hairless or nearly so, whereas in red oaks, it is covered in tiny hairs. Another useful acorn feature is the length of time it takes them to germinate. White oak acorns mature in one season and germinate in the fall. As such, they contain lower levels of tannins. Red oak acorns (as well as those of the intermediate group) generally take at least two seasons to mature and therefore germinate the following spring. Because of this, red oak acorns have a much higher tannin content. For more information on why this is the case, read this article.

Tyloses in white oak xylem.

Less apparent than acorns is the difference in the wood of red and white oaks. The wood of white oaks contains tiny structures in their xylem tissues called tyloses. These are absent from the wood of red oaks. The function of tyloses are quite interesting. During extreme drought or in the case of some sort of infection, they cut off regions of the xylem to stop the spread of an embolism or whatever may be infecting the tree. As such, white oaks tend to be more rot and drought resistant. Fun fact, tyloses are the main reason why white oak is used for making wine and bourbon barrels as it keeps them from leaking their contents.

More apparent to the casual observer, however, is leaf shape. In general, the white oaks produce leaves that have rounded lobes, whereas the red oaks generally exhibit pointed lobes with a tiny bristle on their tips. At this point you may be asking where an unlobed species like shingle oak (Quercus imbricaria) fits in. Look at the tip of its leaf and you will see a small bristle, which means its a member of the red oak group. Similarly, the buds of these two groups often differ in their overall shape. White oak buds tend to be smaller and often have blunted tips whereas the buds of red oaks are generally larger and often pointed.

 Tricky leaves of the shingle oak ( Quercus imbricaria ). Note the bristle tip!

Tricky leaves of the shingle oak (Quercus imbricaria). Note the bristle tip!

Despite this broad generalizations, exceptions abound. This is further complicated by the fact that many species will readily hybridize. Quercus is, after all, a massive genus. Regardless, oaks are wonderful species chock full of ecological and cultural value. Still, oak appreciation is something we all need more of in our lives. I encourage you to try some oak identification of your own. Get outside and see if you can use any of these tricks to help you identify some of the oaks in your neighborhood.

Photo Credits: [1] [2] [3] [4]

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3]

Meet The Powder Gun Moss

I get very excited when I am able to identify a new moss. This is mainly due to the fact that moss ID is one of my weakest points. I was sitting down on a rock the other day taking a break from vegetation surveys when I looked to my right and saw something peculiar. The area was pretty sloped and there was some exposed soil in the vicinity. Covering some of that soil was what looked like green fuzz. Embedded in that fuzz were these strange green urns.

I busted out my hand lens and got a closer look. This was definitely a moss but one I had never seen before. The urns turned out to be capsules. Later, a bit of searching revealed this to be a species of moss in the genus Diphyscium. This genus is the largest within the family Diphysciaceae and here in North America, we have two representatives - D. foliosum and D. mucronifolium.

These peculiar mosses have earned themselves the common name 'powder gun moss.' The reason for this lies in those strange sessile capsules. Unlike other mosses that send their capsules up on long, hair-like seta in order to disperse their spores on the faintest of breezes, the Diphyscium capsules remain close to the ground. In lieu of wind, a powder gun moss uses rain. In much the same way puffball mushrooms harness the pounding of raindrops, so too do the capsules of the powder gun moss. Each raindrop that hits a capsule releases a cloud of spores that are ejected into an already humid environment full of germination potential.

Luckily for moss lovers like myself, the two species of Diphyscium here in North America tend to enjoy very different habitats. This makes a positive ID much more likely. D. foliosum prefers to grow on bare soils whereas D. mucronifolium prefers humid rock surfaces. Because of this distinction, I am quite certain the species I encountered is D. foliosum. And what a pleasant encounter it was. Like I said, it isn't often I accurately ID a moss so this genus now holds a special place in my mind.

Further Reading: [1] [2]

 

The Fuzziest of Flowers

Describing plants can be quite a task for taxonomists. When a new species is discovered, the honor of naming it often goes to the discoverer. At the very least, they have some input. Some folks go for the more traditional rout and give the plant a descriptive name rooted in either Latin or Greek. Others decide to name the plant in honor of a botanist of the past or perhaps a loved one. Still others take a stranger approach in order to immortalize a famous celebrity. However, in doing so they risk taking something away from the species in question.

Instead of a descriptive name that clues you in on specific features of the plant, instead you hit an etymological dead end in which you are stuck with nothing more than a last name. This became quite apparent to University of Alabama botanist John Clark when it was time to name a newly discovered plant species from South America. 

Had things been slightly different, the recently discovered Kohleria hypertrichosa would have been named after Chewbacca. One look at the flowers of this species and you can understand why. The long tubular petals of this gesneriad are covered in dense, fuzzy hair. This is unlike any other plant known to science. The appearance of these odd fuzz balls may seem puzzling at first but considering where this plant was found growing, it quickly becomes apparent that these flowers are a marvelous adaptation in response to climate. 

Kohleria hypertrichosa is only known to grow in a very narrow swath of mountainous cloud forest in the Ecuadorian Andes. At home between elevations of 3,600 and 6,600 feet above sea level, this wonderful gesneriad experiences some pretty low temperatures for a tropical region. It is likely that the thick layer of hairs keeps the flowers a bit warmer than the surrounding air, offering a welcoming microclimate for pollinators. This could potentially make them much more likely to be pollinated in a habitat where pollinators may be in short supply. 

At the end of the day, Clark decided to stick with a more traditional name for this new species. Its scientific name is no less interesting as a result. The specific epithet 'hypertrichosa' is derived from a condition in humans known as hypertrichosis, or werewolf syndrome, in which a person grows excessive amounts of body hair. 

Photo Credit: Andreas Kay [1]

Further Reading: [1]

How North America Lost Its Asters

It's that time of year in northern North America where many of the most famous and easily recognized species come into flower, the asters. Some of my favorite plants once resided in this genus, but did you know that referring to our North American representatives as "asters" is no longer taxonomically accurate?

Since the time of Linnaeus, plants and animals have been categorized based on morphological similarities. With recent advances made in the understanding and sequencing of DNA, a new and more refined method of classifying the relationships of living organisms has been added to the mix. Much of what has been taken for granted for the last few decades is being changed. One group that has been drastically overhauled are the North American asters. At one time there were roughly 180 species of North American flowering plants that found themselves in the genus Aster. Today, there is only one, Aster alpinus, which enjoys a circumboreal distribution. 

Because the concept of "Aster" was developed using an Old World species (Aster amellus), New World asters were not granted that distinction. The New World species have shown to have their own unique evolutionary history and thus new genera were either assigned or created. By far, the largest New World genus that came out of this revisions is Symphyotrichum. This houses many of our most familiar species including the New England aster (Symphyotrichum novae-angliae). Some of the other genera that absorbed New World aster include Baccharis, Archibaccharis, Ericameria, Solidago, and Machaeranthera, just to name a few.

Taxonomy is often a difficult concept to wrap your head around. It is constantly changing as we come up with better ways of defining organisms. Even the concept of a species is something biologists have a hard time agreeing on. Surely, genetic analyses offer some of the best methods we have to date, a fact that the Angiosperm Phylogeny Group is constantly refining.

For some, this is all a bunch of silly name changes but for others this is the most important and dynamic form of natural science on the planet. Having a standard for naming organisms is a crucial component of understanding biodiversity. With a name, you can take the next step in getting to know and understand a beloved species. One thing to consider is that, as species are split and regrouped, often times what was thought to be one species turns out to be many. In the case of organisms which are threatened or endangered, a split like that can unveil a disastrous elevation into a far more dismal ranking.

Further Reading: [1] [2]