We appear to be living within what Texas climatologist John Nielsen-Gammon calls the state's third-worst drought since 1895. Somebody the other day in the feed store told me we were in "the middle of the worst Texas drought ever." One wonders about the use of the word "middle" when the remainder of the script has yet to be written. Whatever we call it, The Creek is about gone, the submersible pump lying in warm pond-mud is half an inch away from being exposed, and seven blackberry plants are dead with others on the way. We continue to water those that remain along with the fruit trees. Something will have to break soon.
Last night I had a dream: I was walking up the two-track road leading into the property to the Hog Shop we are remodeling now. I saw a small mountain lion walking in front of the building and wondered how small it looked. So I slowly approached it. But as I was almost upon the animal, I saw the real cougar: the small cat's mother was sleeping in the shadows next to my camera. So I continued to sneak up on it, reasoning that if a blog on a creek exists, and if a camera is to be had, then a photo of a mother mountain lion needs capturing. But as I reached out for the camera, the lion turned its head and . . . . I sat up in bed.
[Harlin sent the following letter a few days later.]
And here's part of how the Flora of North America goes about describing Fuirena simplex:
Fruiting summer–fall. Sands, clays, peats, gravels, often over limestones, in interdunal swales, seeps, low open woods, savannas and prairies, often along stream terraces; 0–500 m; Ark., Kans., N.Mex., Okla., Tex; Mexico; West Indies (Cuba, Dominican Republic, Haiti, Jamaica, Puerto Rico); Central America; n South America.
http://www.efloras.org/florataxon.aspx?flora_id=1&taxon_id=242357841
And some lines below from "Sedge," by the German poeet Marcel Beyer:
Last night I had a dream: I was walking up the two-track road leading into the property to the Hog Shop we are remodeling now. I saw a small mountain lion walking in front of the building and wondered how small it looked. So I slowly approached it. But as I was almost upon the animal, I saw the real cougar: the small cat's mother was sleeping in the shadows next to my camera. So I continued to sneak up on it, reasoning that if a blog on a creek exists, and if a camera is to be had, then a photo of a mother mountain lion needs capturing. But as I reached out for the camera, the lion turned its head and . . . . I sat up in bed.
A few days ago, Harlin sent the following letters:
The point of a puzzle is the challenge. Thus, one does not go asking others for help since that pretty well obviates the reason for doing the puzzle in the first place. However, if it seems that the puzzle is partly solved and some new plant has been discovered for the first time in, oh, let’s say Burnet County, then one seeks expert help to verify the wonderful discovery. So, when I looked at the flowers in the first photo below, I saw two carpels joined by their stigmas and I supposed that the family would be Apocynaceae. However, there was nothing in that family that looked or sounded like the plant in the second and third photos below, so I sent pictures to one of the people at the UT Herbarium whose photos I often look at to help get on the right path. He wrote back that I had the wrong family. The plant was Mitreola petiolata in the Loganiaceae family.
Well, surely the key makers in the books had steered me the wrong way.
From this beginning I was led to the following new knowledge (supposing I have it right now). As you know, the “pistil” is the organ where the seeds are formed (ovary, style, stigma). A carpel is a kind of fundamental unit of the pistil. As I understand the story, long ago seeds were formed on the edge of a leaf and over millions of years these leaves evolved into carpels. A pistil may have one or several of them. A way to figure out how many is to count the stigma lobes, the styles, and the locules (the chambers where the seeds are), and the highest number is the number of carpels.
There is one more fact to get to the punch line. Dry fruit that splits open my have one carpel or more than one carpel. If there is just one (and the dry fruit splits down one side only), then it is a “follicle”. If there are more than one carpel in the dry fruit, then it is a “capsule”. Texas varieties of Apocynaceae have separate “follicles” united by their stigmas and Loganiaceae have separate “capsules” united by their stigmas.
Gaaa! Of course! What a fool I’ve been all this time. Follicles and capsules,…, I should have known.
Lax hornpod is then one of the professionally identified plants in the list of Hamilton Creek plants. After a few photos, the story continues with a second professionally identified plant. HH
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Lax Hornpod (Mitreola petiolata) |
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Lax Hornpod (Mitreola petiolata) |
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Lax Hornpod (Mitreola petiolata) |
Genus: Mitreola (my-tree-OH-la) comes from "mitra," meaning cap, headdress, or turban. Another name for this plant is Mitrewort.
Species: petiolata (pet-ee-oh-LAH-tuh)
Species: petiolata (pet-ee-oh-LAH-tuh)
And if we consult plant lists from China, we might find this same species: 度量草 du liang cao.
Here's a short little description of our plant in the event you might think one grows back of your kitchen door:
Annuals 10--50 cm tall, glabrous except for sparsely appressed pubescence or puberulence on young leaves, inside of corolla lobes at base, and fruit. Stems erect, simple or branched at base; branches 4-angled to narrowly 4-winged; internodes 1.5--6 cm. Interpetiolar stipules ± triangular, 1--2 mm. Petiole 3--10 mm; leaf blade ovate to narrowly ovate, 4--7 X 1.5--3 cm, membranous to papery, base cuneate, apex acuminate to obtuse, lateral veins 5--7 pairs and inconspicuous. Inflorescences terminal or axillary, 6--10 cm, many-flowered; peduncle to 7 cm; bracts and bracteoles narrowly elliptic, 1--2 mm. Pedicel very short. Calyx lobes ovate to triangular, ca. 1 X 0.5 mm. Corolla white, ca. 3 mm, tube ± as long as lobes; lobes narrowly ovate, apex obtuse. Stamens inserted at or near base of corolla tube; anthers broadly ovate, apex at ± middle of corolla tube. Ovary ovoid to subglobose, smooth. Style shorter than ovary, free to base; stigma capitate. Capsules ca. 3 mm in diam., pincerlike due to incurved apical horns. Seeds ellipsoid, ca. 0.5 mm, concave on one side, smooth. Fl. May-Oct.
Sunny areas on limestone, open woodlands, forest edges, edge of trails, grassy plains, valleys.
Harlin continued:
After pointing out my error with the hornpod, the expert asked if there is any Chaptalia growing out there? It turned out that Chaptalia is on the Hamilton Creek plant list, and so I looked and found the dried remains, and then sent him a scan. It happens that the expert, Bob Harms, has just finished a study of this genus and could tell me that the name of the one at The Creek is Chaptalia texana. It also happens that there is not a record of this plant in Burnet County in the UT Herbarium. I offered ours, figuring they would do a better job of keeping it safe than I. He said it would help them, and so I figure it will end up as an official record of Texas plants.
You might want to tread carefully on the west side of the Hackberry tree that shades your car in the afternoon. The one by the drive close to the former garage. That’s where I found it.
We can mark this identification down as one that is as good as it gets. The person who just wrote the journal article on the thing being the one who verifies its name.
So, in a roundabout way I did find a plant that was new to Burnet County. HH
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| Silverpuff (Chaptalia texana) |
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It’s a bummer to ask and not receive. For every new kind of natural thing, I’m always asking what is it? I seem to get enough answers to keep going, but I have to admit many aren’t very satisfying.
For my nature questions, good answers come in the form of consistency. First, the search through the keys and the eventual words and pictures aren’t supposed to show any discrepancies. At that point, I feel that I may have the answer. However, that is not very satisfying, and it is much better if there is some feature that both matches and seems out of the ordinary. Weirdness increases the odds of being in the right place.
That brings me to Fuirena simplex. When I look at the photograph of the inflorescence (2264-sedge.jpg) or the scan (Sedge-300-231.jpg), I see a garden variety sedge and nothing that jumps out at me as being distinctive. But if I look at the top left drawing from the Flora of NA “Fuirena-simplex.jpg” and the photograph “2339-Fuirena-simplex-
Another positive aspect of weirdness is that weirdness is the way of memorable experience. Even if I did err as I went through the guidebook, I ended up seeing sights never before seen. As they say , it’s the journey and not the destination. HH
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| Western umbrella-sedge (Fuirena simplex) |
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| Fuirena simplex |
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| Fuirena simplex |
And here's part of how the Flora of North America goes about describing Fuirena simplex:
Herbs perennial, 2–10 m; rhizomes scaly, without cormlike buds, stout and short to long and slender. Culms tufted or in line on rhizome. Leaves: principal blades 5–20 cm, margins hispid-ciliate. Spikelets ovoid, lance-ovoid, or lance-cylindric, 8–15(–20) mm; fertile scales 2.5–3.5 mm. Flowers: anthers 3, 0.9–1.2 mm. 2n = 30.
http://www.efloras.org/florataxon.aspx?flora_id=1&taxon_id=242357841
Now for some lines by the poet Nikolaus Lenau, from his work entitled "Sedge Songs."
I
In the west the sun departing
Leaves the weary day asleep,
And the willows trail their streamers
In these waters still and deep.
Flow, my bitter tears, flow ever;
All I love I leave behind;
Sadly whisper here the willows,
And the reed shakes in the wind.
Into my deep lonely sufferings
Tenderly you shine afar,
As athwart these reeds and rushes
Trembles soft yon evening star.
II
Oft at eve I love to saunter
Where the sedge sighs drearily,
By entangled hidden footpaths,
Love! and then I think of thee.
When the woods gloom dark and darker,
Sedges in the night-wind moan,
Then a faint mysterious wailing
Bids me weep, still weep alone.
And methinks I hear it wafted,
Thy sweet voice, remote yet clear,
Till thy song, descending slowly,
Sinks into the silent mere.
III
Angry sunset sky,
Thunder-clouds o'erhead,
Every breeze doth fly,
Sultry air and dead.
From the lurid storm
Pallid lightnings break,
Their swift transient form
Flashes through the lake.
And I seem to see
Thyself, wondrous nigh--
Streaming wild and free
Thy long tresses fly.
In the west the sun departing
Leaves the weary day asleep,
And the willows trail their streamers
In these waters still and deep.
Flow, my bitter tears, flow ever;
All I love I leave behind;
Sadly whisper here the willows,
And the reed shakes in the wind.
Into my deep lonely sufferings
Tenderly you shine afar,
As athwart these reeds and rushes
Trembles soft yon evening star.
II
Oft at eve I love to saunter
Where the sedge sighs drearily,
By entangled hidden footpaths,
Love! and then I think of thee.
When the woods gloom dark and darker,
Sedges in the night-wind moan,
Then a faint mysterious wailing
Bids me weep, still weep alone.
And methinks I hear it wafted,
Thy sweet voice, remote yet clear,
Till thy song, descending slowly,
Sinks into the silent mere.
III
Angry sunset sky,
Thunder-clouds o'erhead,
Every breeze doth fly,
Sultry air and dead.
From the lurid storm
Pallid lightnings break,
Their swift transient form
Flashes through the lake.
And I seem to see
Thyself, wondrous nigh--
Streaming wild and free
Thy long tresses fly.
And some lines below from "Sedge," by the German poeet Marcel Beyer:
Schilf steht auch über Land, steht
in der Schwebe, still. Schilf steht,
ich höre nichts, im Licht, du siehst
noch Schachtelhalm und Flechtwerk
linker Hand, und Tracht. Die Fragen
klingen nach im Schilf, die Wolken
oben, das Gesicht, das Atmen wird
noch in die Rede eingewoben. Doch
wie es um das Schilf steht, wie um
das Gewebe, ungewiß. Der Staub,
der Qualm, das Schilf neigt sich,
du sprichst, reicht weit bis in den
brennenden April, ich sehe nichts.
in der Schwebe, still. Schilf steht,
ich höre nichts, im Licht, du siehst
noch Schachtelhalm und Flechtwerk
linker Hand, und Tracht. Die Fragen
klingen nach im Schilf, die Wolken
oben, das Gesicht, das Atmen wird
noch in die Rede eingewoben. Doch
wie es um das Schilf steht, wie um
das Gewebe, ungewiß. Der Staub,
der Qualm, das Schilf neigt sich,
du sprichst, reicht weit bis in den
brennenden April, ich sehe nichts.
Sedge stands over the land, stands
suspended, quite still. Sedge stands,
I hear nothing, in the light, you still
see pewter-grass and wattle
to your left, and weight. Questions
echo in the sedge, the clouds above,
the face, even the breathing is
implicated in the talk. But the state
of the sedge, as of the implication,
remains uncertain. The dust,
the smell, the sedge, bows down,
you speak, it stretches far into
burning April, I see nothing.
suspended, quite still. Sedge stands,
I hear nothing, in the light, you still
see pewter-grass and wattle
to your left, and weight. Questions
echo in the sedge, the clouds above,
the face, even the breathing is
implicated in the talk. But the state
of the sedge, as of the implication,
remains uncertain. The dust,
the smell, the sedge, bows down,
you speak, it stretches far into
burning April, I see nothing.
"He Hears The Cry of the Sedge," by W.B. Yeats:
I Wander by the edge
Of this desolate lake
Where wind cries in the sedge
Until the axle break
That keeps the stars in their round
And hands hurl in the deep
The banners of East and West
And the girdle of light is unbound,
Your breast will not lie by the breast
Of your beloved in sleep.
Of this desolate lake
Where wind cries in the sedge
Until the axle break
That keeps the stars in their round
And hands hurl in the deep
The banners of East and West
And the girdle of light is unbound,
Your breast will not lie by the breast
Of your beloved in sleep.
