​Naturalist Notes

featuring Dr. Diane Lueck

4-15-2021  Non-flowering Plants

Have you ever taken a walk along a wooded edge and seen a bank of moss so green and welcoming that you want to just sink right into it? While waiting (impatiently) for the wildflowers in Central Wisconsin to bloom, I’m captivated by the diverse non-flowering plants—mosses and ferns.  And lichens, the combination of algae and fungus.  So, really, not a plant at all, but don’t get me started.

Walking through cutover pines, I notice that each stump has its own cap of mnium or polytrichum, haircap moss.  Some add a decorative patch of British soldiers, the lichen Cladonia cristatella, to the cap.  These rotting stumps provide nutrients, and the mosses hold the water, for a nursery of seedlings.  Whole logs and branches disappear under these ministrations, eventually dissolving into the organic layer. Mosses, in addition to being non-flowering, are also non-vascular.  That means they don’t have the woody structures that other plants do.  It’s the reason mosses stay low to the ground or substrate.

I’m fascinated by the reproductive processes of these plants. Mosses require water, whether from rain or dew, to propagate.  Underground rhizoids, arising from spores, are either positive or negative (male or female, if you wish).  When they meet, they form a gamete and sprout up the green body.  Some of these gametophores become spore-producing stalks.  Note the picture with the tiny spore capsules beginning, looking like the hair cap of the common name.

In a sandy path, Reindeer lichen (Cladonia rangiferina) abounds.  This lichen gets crunchy, crispy, and then reacts with resilient succulence in the dew or rain.  A variety of shield lichens pop on trees and rocks, in shades of sage, yellow, brown and black.  Lycopodium club moss (not a true moss) grows in patches like fancy tiny trees. Ancient species that have survived to modern day!  Fascinating stories.

So, I’m heading out to the woods edge.  To listen for spring warblers passing through, to sink into the cushion of mosses and pretend I’m a woodland critter living there. To wait for wildflowers to bloom.

(photos: Polytrichum, lycopodium, reindeer lichen)

March 18, 2021, Snow Fleas and Other Hidden Critters

Snow is retreating from Central Wisconsin—though we might get another batch in March (or April).  As the sun warms the last of the snow, a phenomenon happens. As you walk, it looks like someone is sprinkling pepper along your tracks (photo credit Sam Lau). When you look closely, the pepper grains move!  What is that???  You’ve been visited by snow fleas.  Also known as springtails, these are Collembola, insects only a millimeter or two long. The tail, folded back as you can see in the enlarged picture (NC-State), “springs” to help these critters move with a popping, hopping motion.

Collembola are among a group of tiny, beneficial insects that live in leaf litter, breaking it down by eating decaying vegetation, fungi, bacteria and algae.  Collectively, these insects can be called detritivores—eaters of detritus, dead plants or animals.  In early spring, these temperature-dependent critters stir with the sun warming their organic layer home.  Some are nearly microscopic, like wood ticks (acari). Others can be seen with the naked eye, as springtails, millipedes, and beetle larvae. 

A big favorite of mine is an insect that preys on other detritivores, the pseudoscorpion.  This beautiful reddish-brown critter has the pincers of a crab and chubby body of a tick.  I have been lucky enough to see one large enough to identify without a scope, it must have been 6mm or so.  The picture here is through a dissecting scope, this beauty was probably 2mm.

You might be amazed at the number of insects that live in an organic layer in an 8” circle on the forest floor!  Collect just the leaf litter, not the soil.  Place it in a funnel with hardware cloth in the tube part, so the litter doesn’t fall through.  Place a light bulb at the top, to warm the organic matter.  The critters will move away from the bulb, through the funnel, and into a jar of alcohol, from which you can identify the ticks, mites, beetle larvae, and collembola.  You may be fascinated!  On the other hand, you may never want to sit on the ground for a picnic again.

March 5, 2021 Maple Syrup Time

Chickadees are singing “Hi Sweetie” instead of the “Dee-dee-dee” they call in fall and winter.  Each morning, snow is melting off the roof.  Each night, it freezes again.  Freeze, thaw, freeze, thaw.  That is what happens in the maple trees as well.  During the warming, sunny days, sap is rising through the xylum heading for those bright red buds.  As temperature drops in evening, so does the sap, waiting in the roots for the next warm day.  Snow crystals melt into sugar snow—grains rather than flakes, reflecting the freeze thaw cycle as well.  It’s time for maple syrup.

My friends who tap maple trees are excited and happy to share their experiences. (Picture of syruping hike courtesy of Jeremy Solin.) You might gather sap the old-fashioned way in buckets hanging from taps. Some syrup producers have gone high tech, with a system like a milking parlor, harvesting via tubes and bags.  I can’t imagine a better smell than maple sap evaporating down to syrup over a wood fire.  Keep a close eye on the change from sap to syrup. The clear sap is about 2-3% sugar, and you cook it down to around 67%.  It takes 40 gallons of sap to make one gallon of syrup!  You don’t want to waste that.  If you are in a sugaring state, you likely have a maple syrup producers association.  You’ll get way better information than I can provide.

 Here in Central Wisconsin, my woodlot holds mostly red maple (Acer rubrum) and some silver (Acer saccarinum).  Further north is the true maple tapping species, Acer saccarum (sugar maple).  I’ve also heard that you can make syrup from birch sap (Betula spp.) and even walnut (Juglans spp.), but I don’t know anyone who has done that.

Syrup on waffles, in coffee, poured on snow and cooled to candy. Nothing is better as a thank-you gift than some local maple syrup. I hope you can find specialty Tapped Syrup by Jeremy Solin, infused with cinnamon or cardamom, among my favorites. YUM.  I live in Amish country in Waushara County, and will be looking for syrup at the local farm market and bakery shop.  Or, look for the Something Special from Wisconsin label, and enjoy the generosity of our spring maple trees.

February 14, 2021  Stories in the Snow

Growing up outdoors in Central Wisconsin, I’ve been fortunate to see animal stories in the sandy lanes, the muddy paths, and the snow.  Imagining myself part of the indigenous Woodland Culture that once hiked my hills, I wore leather slippers as a child so I could feel the ground through my feet.  I learned the distinctive tracks and patterns of squirrel, rabbit, mouse, and deer. I investigated scat and the gnawed browse tips on twigs.

Earlier this winter, the snow wasn’t particularly deep.  I was able to skip snowshoes, and follow animal tracks with ease.  I wonder at the endurance of the tiniest critters, those mice, voles, weasels that stay active in the fluffy, insulating flakes.  I enjoyed the tracks of a troop of turkeys going up my hill.  A deer path was well used.  Surprising to me, deer tend to “lazily” follow a stomped path or cleared lane—good to know if you’re a hunter.  After I break trail, I often see their pointed, heart-shaped tracks following mine.

One cold January some years ago, I was walking in a quiet, snowy swamp.  I wandered, anticipating finding shed antlers in a month or so.  Then I spotted heel-toe, heel-toe tracks that reminded me of fancy embroidery on my great-grandmother’s patchwork quilt.  Ruffed grouse.  I followed them along, enjoying the thought of these gallinaceous critters pacing slowly through tag alders on their way to the next tasty buds.  From the north came another track—fox!  Both red and gray live in these swamps.  Fox tracks joined along grouse tracks.  Would I see the end of the narrative?  Would I see the result of a successful hunt?  No—the chronicle in the snow was the flushed wing tips that told the fox would need to chase down a rabbit instead, this time.  (wing-snag picture by Sam Lau)

Bundle up to embrace the cold, and see what tracks you can find.  Whether by ski, snowshoe, or warm winter boots, a trek in the woods can reward you with tales that will stay with you into spring.

January 21, 2021 - Joys of Wood

My cottage is small enough that I can heat primarily with wood—backup fuel heats the basement in-floor pipes.  Sure, heating with wood means extra mess.  Leaving bark and chips, sand and snow in the living room makes for extra cleanup.  That problem is offset by snug, comfortable, warm, cozy!   Sitting by a fire made from split, aged oak, birch or maple can add a whole level to a cup of coffee or cocoa.  Heating with wood means thinking ahead.  Felling dead or dying trees, blocking to length, splitting and stacking to dry.  It should be a continuing process, so you always have some that’s perfectly dry and some that will be ready next year or the next. 

Some wood is better for firewood than others.  Pine is only good for kindling, getting fires started.  It burns too fast for long-term heat.  So cut some of that and split it small. You’ll be glad to have some dry starters, along with newspaper and candle wax.  Oak is the best firewood.  It has a dense grain, and will burn long and hold heat.  Maple and ash are good too.  Elm and birch are kind of lightweights, and are good for a morning fire in fall when you don’t really need to keep a hot fire going all day.  Another naturalist note.  In your woodlot, I hope you have a good diversity of trees.  Any monoculture is susceptible to disease, such as birch borer, pine beetle or blister rust, maple decline, Dutch elm disease, or oak wilt. So encourage diversity.  Any dying trees are good to use for firewood, with one caveat.  As soon as you can see them declining, cut them now!  Disease can deteriorate the quality of firewood.  For example, in the fungal disease oak wilt, hyphae invade and clog the vessels and tracheids in the oak grain.  This makes the firewood dry less evenly and burn poorly. Okay, let’s safely get those woodstoves fired up and enjoy the crackling fire! 

January 3, 2021 - Frost!

This week, the Midwest experienced a beautiful phenomenon.  Frost!  Humidity, frost, cold temperatures and calm winds all coalesced into spiky white needles on every available surface.  I’ve always called this “hoar frost.”  However, a spirited discussion ensued as many people posted beautiful photos of this frosty event.  Is it hoar frost, or rime ice?  Is it hard or soft?  Wow, who knew. 

So, this naturalist got into learning mode, and got lost in the labyrinth of terminology.  Just like, years ago, I was lost in the woods in a deep hoar frost morning.  It was cold, quiet, completely still.  I was in an unfamiliar woodlot, squirrel hunting with my husband.  The unfamiliar woods were even stranger, as the thick frost and white sky disoriented me.  The only objects that weren’t thickly white were oak trunks, standing out distinctly and mysteriously against the frosted trees.  It was so quiet!  It was so still!  We felt like whispering as we moved among the trees.  The secrets, hidden landscapes, concealed landforms!  I have never again been so immersed in such a mysterious sensation.

Back to the debate. According to numerous sources, our January 2021 weather delight is Rime Ice.  It’s caused when dense fog freezes to solid objects.  Even more specifically, our event was SOFT rime ice.  This caused long needles of ice, which got longer each night as fog rolled in again!  We had soft rime, long needles, because winds were calm and allowed the needles to grow.

Hoar frost is feathery, not icy, and isn’t caused when fog is present.  Weather.com says “Hoar frost is caused by a phase change from gaseous water vapor directly into ice when the air reaches the frost point via cooling. It is similar to dew but when temperatures are below freezing. It is not liquid dew that freezes. This type of frost normally happens on a cold, clear, and calm night in the presence of sufficient moisture.”

And, we haven’t even gotten into Frost Flowers, which form around weed and grass stems, usually before there is any snow on the ground.  Look it up!  They are awesome. What a fun experience!  Winter is wonderful!

Dec 19, 2020 - Nature is amazing.  Eggs are amazing!  Eggs are the single largest cell in any female body.  Look at these wonders of nature. 

The smaller eggs are from pullets—the first eggs of young chickens. The white egg is store-bought, from an adult hen.  Note the colors. Depending on the breed of chicken, you can get quite a variety.  Check out McMurry Hatchery online to see some cool colors, both of eggs and of chicken breeds. 

Now for the Naturalist part. 

The larger yolk is from the adult, store egg.  The smaller is from the pullet, who has free-ranged since she hatched.  Notice the deeper color of the yolk. The reason?  Even this late in the year, she’s still finding green grass and a few forbs, and maybe even protein-laden bugs.  That gives her yolk this deep, dandelion gold yolk, and us the most healthy eggs you could possibly eat.  I know many of you love chickens like I do, and appreciate good eggs.  I’m going to add these to a spicy bibimbap with fresh veggies. Bon appetit!

November 18, 2020 - Walking my dog out to the prairie hills. As I rustle through the wooded path, my mind is on the upcoming gun deer season in Wisconsin.  I’m looking forward to it, as I had surgery last year and couldn’t carry my rifle.  My mind is full of deer and possibilities.  Pre-playing scenarios has me over-imaginative.  As we come out to the open prairie, the golden late afternoon sun hits the hills.  I look north, and everything looks like deer.  A clump of goldenrod.  Dead raspberry canes.  There is one stump on the far end of the field, brushy, that REALLY looks like a buck face and antlers.  Of course, when you’re thinking deer, I repeat—everything looks like deer.  I pull out my phone and zoom in.  It’s still far, but that stump and branches really looks like a deer with antlers.  I lower the phone.  Then I think, wait!  This is my PRAIRIE!  I have worked hard to clear out the brushy stumps.  It has to be, yep, a doe spooks and the stump gets up heavily and follows her.  Why didn’t I move my finger just a fraction and take the picture when I could?  I’ll never figure that out.  So, enjoy the afternoon sun on some beautiful little bluestem instead.

October 20, 2020 - Like many naturalists, I have an urge, a drive, a need to know and name what I see.  Each flower, each bird, each mushroom.  As an artist, I say to myself, relax!  Breathe in the scent of fallen leaves.  Hear the crunch and rustle.  Watch for the flash of sunlight on a late spiderweb.  But, wait!  It’s a pointed oval!  It’s 9 cm long with a 2 cm petiole!  The margins are finely serrated!  No, look at it this way: Can you imagine the restraint it took for the red side NOT to overrun the yellow? How even, how delicate, how perfect.  But, it’s a black cherry leaf, I need to name it!  Scientist, artist?  Scientist, artist?  The leaf says, “embrace them both.”

September 21, 2020 - Cairn.  From Gaelic, a mound of rough stones built as a memorial or landmark.  Have you seen these? Have you made one?  They are piling up on the landscape in many places.  Formerly, you would see them as a marker on a wilderness trail, for the direction to go.  Now, trust your compass and your map instead.  Many naturalists will say that piling stones is a problem, because they disturb the ecosystem beneath, and the critters that live there.  I agree with that particularly in a river or stream, as the macroinvertebrates may be disturbed (although they often seem to hang pretty tight!).

For me, piling stones is meditative.  I live in central Wisconsin on the terminal moraine of the last glacier, which pushed rocks from hundreds of miles north.  The heavy ice brought its burden of granite, gneiss, basalt, quartzite, sandstone, chert.  As it began to melt and recede, the glacier stopped, sighed, and left its rounded tumbled cargo in defeat.

Present time.  This pile calls to me.  A pile cleared from a farm field that sprouted new stones after the freeze and thaw of winter.  After a rain, new rocks are revealed as the sandy soil melts away.  I hold a stone, enjoying its mass, its weight, its shape.  I feel for its center of gravity, finding my own.

September 14, 2020 - Early fall brings a panoply of asters!  (In the definition of "a magnificent display.") The first sightings of native asters foreshadow the change of seasons--purple (Symphotrichum spp.), pictured white arrow-leaved (Symphotrichum urophyllum), and goldenrods (Solidago spp.).  There are a huge number of Asteraceae species!  

Many are late summer and fall, and we have a good number of natives.  One of those, Canada goldenrod (pictured) is a great favorite of pollinators, as you can see. Goldenrod gets a bad reputation with allergy sufferers, who are actually reacting to the ragweed that blooms at the same time. This native aster spreads rapidly through root clones, forming large colonies that crowd out other valuable species.  In my Central Wisconsin prairie, I mow a patch that covers nearly an acre.  (Picture your entire home yard completely covered with this monoculture of goldenrod.  Pretty, but not diverse.)  But don't despair!  My prairie is about 8 acres, and I leave many smaller patches of goldenrod and even leave the non-native bull thistle (another aster) for the pollinators.  Goldenrod stems host insect larvae, making a round swollen gall.  This doesn't seem to harm the plant at all, and they make a pretty dry display.