The Barberry Family (surprisingly endearing)

The name barberry congers up old-world images of hedgerows and folk tales.  I have never had much connection to the genus, mostly equating it with less-than-attractive, thorn-laden ornamentals that felt like just one more invader from California; a Mediterranean-climate import that made me protectively adore our native relative - Mahonia, or Oregon-grape. Tall or low ("dull" seems like such a demeaning name for such a sturdy little plant), Oregon-grape fills the temperate forests of Cascadia.  Their tough leaves last through the sodden winters with tenacity, and the yellow flowers brighten up the equally-soggy springs with a hardy cheer.  The flowers withstand a pelting from large spring raindrops, and when the sun breaks through, they heat up enough to release their sweet-smelling nectar.   These attributes make it an apt specimen for Oregon's state flower.

This perennial familiar, however, has some surprises of its own.  Mahonia (with a name that rolls so sweetly off the tongue) has long been the accepted genus for our local species.   It is now categorized as the genus Berberis - a name as prickly as the plants tend to be.  The entire barberry family, in fact, has surprises around every taxonomic corner - from common, herbaceous ground covers to unexpected ornamentals.

http://www.mobot.org/mobot/research/apweb/welcome.html

The Barberry family (Berberidaceae) spans across the temperate regions of North America, Europe and Asia, with some species occurring on the west cost of South America.  It isn't an especially large family; it is comprised of about 17 genera with 700+ species. They have a terminal inflorescence, most often in a raceme. Their flower parts are whorled and usually 3-merous (plant-speak for "in sets of 3").  The family has nectary glands present in the flowers, bringing in pollinators.  And the stamens of the plants react to those insects by springing into them.  They term the stamens as "irritable."  There is a great set of photos on this site at the University of Texas herbarium that shows images of the stamens reacting to stimulation by springing inward toward the pistil and then retracting.
Most plants in this family have an intense yellow tone to the inner bark, wood or roots.  This is from a compound called Berberine which has a vast amount of uses. Its strong color transfers well as dye for wool, cotton and wood.   It is a strong anti-microbial, and can be used to treat many infections.

Globally and locally, the family has some genera that may be of surprise.  In the northwest, the family contains three genera. Most commonly known is Oregon-grape (once Mahonia, now Berberis).  But there are two more that were a surprise to me: Vancouveria (inside-out flower or duck's foot) and Achlys (vanilla leaf).  Vancouveria is a total surprise; I can see the family resemblance if I squint my eyes and look sideways at it. Achlys starts making more sense when you see other members of the family outside of the northwest.  Jeffersonia is a two-leaved plant from the eastern US that looks much like Achlys. And Podophyllum (a.k.a. Sinopodophyllum or mayapple) shows a similar theme. 

Tall Oregon-grape, Berberis aquifolium

The Berberis near to my heart is the above-mentioned Oregon-grape.  Oregon-grape has three species in Oregon and Washington: tall (B. aquifolium), low (B. nervosa), and creeping (B. repens). They have evergreen, holly-like, compound leaves.  The plants can sometimes be difficult to tell apart.  There are general rules that are inevitably broken.  Creeping Oregon-grape tends to grow on the east side of the Cascades.  It's leaflets are dull below and pinnately veined.  Tall and low Oregon-grape grow on both sides of the Cascades.  Tall tends to grow in drier, sunnier locations or with well-drained soil.  They can grow quite tall - up to six or eight feet and have around 5 to 9 leaflets.  Low Oregon-grape stays relatively short - just around a foot, and have between 9 and 19 leaflets.  But landscapes with iterations of water, soil, and sunshine make plant taxonomy tricky.  The veination helps at times like these: low Oregon-grape has more palmately veined leaflets, while tall Oregon-grape's are distinctly pinnate. 

Tall Oregon-grape, Berberis aquifolium - flower

Tall Oregon-grape, Berberis aquifolium - flower dissected

As I returned home from collecting Oregon-grape flowers for dissecting, I was struck by how the Nandina (heavenly bamboo) next to my driveway had a similar affect to the Oregon-grape.  It has tall woody stems with compound leaves and racemose flowers.  Imagine my surprise when its genus was listed below the family! Below are some more images, genera and random tidbits of information that belong to the surprisingly-endearing Barberry family.

Mahonia oiwakensis
(M. lomarifolia)

- Interestingly, according to The Plant List not all of the Mahonia genus has been lumped into Berberis, as is the case with the plant to the left.  Considering the type species for the genus has been moved, will the rest of them be soon to follow?  Only the taxonomists behind the curtain can foretell.

- I especially enjoy this description of Oregon-grape from a National Geographic Magazine in 1917.

- Oregon-grape was introduced to Europe in the 1820s as an ornamental.  Many different hybrids were developed and within 40 years, it hopped out of cultivated gardens and subsequently became invasive. here's a source for more info

- The photograph to the left seems to be typical of any I can ever manage of M. oiwakensis.  It grows monstrously tall, and when it's towering over you, one can imagine what it felt like to be a prey animal in the Jurassic age. 

Epimedium acuminatum

- Vancouveria,  Epimendium, Jeffersonia and Plagiorhegma all have myrmecochorous features on their seeds.   This difficult-to-pronounce word simply means that their seeds are dispersed by ants.  But the relationship is anything but simple.    The plants have evolved a fleshy structure on their seed full of fats and proteins that acts as a trade-off for all of the ants' hard work.  They bring the seed back to their nest, remove the fats and discard the seed in middens.

- Epimedium has four nectar spurs coming from the four inner tepals, shown to be involved in nectar feeding by bees with long proboscises (I had to look up the plural of "proboscis"),  like the longhorn bee or bumblebees (Bombus diversus).

- In a fabulous study by Janene Auger, M. repens seeds that were ingested by black bears had a significantly higher germination rate than the controls.  Imagine that summer internship -  collecting and processing bear scat.

Dysosma versipellis

Berberis maderensis

 

Epimedium (perralchium?)

Drosophila suzukii

I am into my third week with Oregon State University extension and I have broadened my scope of knowledge in two directions I never could have predicted.  The direct object... blueberries. The subject... an invader: only millimeters in size, he boldly wears his identification on his sleeve (well, wing) while she takes refuge in the disguise of similar, but innocuous species, until you see her ovipositor that is: a specialized organ used for egg laying, hers has a hardened and serrated edge that she uses to ruthlessly cut open the sweet, fresh skin of our most beloved of fruits. That's right... it's the dreaded Drosophila suzukii or spotted-wing Drosophila.
Little is known about this infamous creature.  She has traveled the globe looking for her next victim. Native to southeast Asia, they have only been in Oregon since 2008. Unlike most vinegar flies (fruit flies as we laymen like to call them) D. suzukii prefers to lay her eggs in fruit that is just becoming ripe.  The larvae then destroy the fresh fruit, damaging the commercial value.  Each female can lay up to 350 eggs in her short (30 day) life.  With around six generations within a year, each generation increases the population exponentially.  It could become a major pest to northwest growers as it attacks many kinds of fruit: blueberries, cherries, strawberries, peaches, and more.  For blueberry growers, this is the first major pest, and historically they have needed few, if no, pesticides.
The goal of research now is to fully understand the life cycle and control of the flies in this climate.  Where do they overwinter and on what do they feed? What will the best baits be for catching them and monitoring population size? Could we find an attractant/pesticide combo that diminishes the population early in the growing season thereby making the rest of the year manageable? With these important questions, I began my work.
First, we had to go find ourselves some flies.

Off to a local blueberry grower that is a partner for the OSU research.  We set up some traps with various baits. The traps are intended to be easy and cheap for a grower to make themselves.  They are red, Solo party cups, holes drilled in the side with a lid on top to keep out irrigation and dew and filled with a concoction of temptations like banana or apple-cider vinegar. We wait a week and have more flies, even at the end of January, than we could easily count.
Next to the identification:
Male spotted-wing Drosophila are easy.  That's right... they have a spot on their wing.

male D. suzukii

As stated earlier, female spotted-wing Drosophila look a lot like other vinegar flies... red eyes, auburn thorax and banded abdomen.

female D. suzukii

until you pop out her ovipositor.

female ovipositor

The ovipositor of the female spotted-wing Drosophila is unique. Hers is a sclerotized (hardened) ovipositor with serrated edges used to slice open the skin of ripe fruit.

Becoming familiar with spotted-wing Drosophila means being able to distinguish it from similar flies.

One of these flies is not like the other...

With time, the color of her thorax looks slightly off the color of other Drosophila, the bands of her abdomen aren't quite as clear as the others' bands, and the unaided eye starts being able to pick them out with reasonable accuracy that is easily checked under the microscope.

Here lies the foundation for the coming months; hundreds (sometimes thousands) of flies to count in a week, subsampling methods to design and test, numbers to crunch, theories to formulate and test.  It is the scientific process from inception to resolution.  With any luck, it will lead to increased understanding of the flies, more fresh fruit with fewer pesticides.

Congratulations Sandy River, you have a beautiful baby wetland.

The Pacific Northwest is defined by its rivers.  They are large enough to divide one state from another, and small enough to be followed to the very spot where they spring out of the ground. They irrigate agriculture sent all over the world, and juggle the abundant surface water within the temperate rainforest. While my connection to land predominates, rivers have consistently served as landmarks.  One such river flowing through decades of my life is the Sandy River.  It has flowed next to me through years of learning about the natural world and through subsequent years of teaching others.  While the presence of the river has been constant, the river itself is in constant state of transformation. A recent walk along an old, favorite swimming hole demonstrated the point clearly, and showed the birth of a natural wetland system.

The Sandy River runs a sinuous 55 miles from its glacial origins on Mt. Hood to its delta on the Columbia River. This google map shows some general features of its path.  Zooming into the river valley, you can see oxbows and old river channels carve paths like un-braided rope. It has acted as a trading route for first-nation peoples, held wagons of settlers as part of the Oregon Trail, and has seen the land around it morph from wildlands, to agriculture to suburban sprawl.  With the headwaters of Reid Glacier, the Sandy River carries large amounts of sediment down a relatively short path.  When Lewis and Clark expeditions wrote about the area in 1805 there had been a recent eruption and the mouth consisted entirely of a quicksand bar.  The eponymous substrate still moves freely through the river system every year with winter and spring flood events.  Occasionally there is a new gravel or sand bed laid down; sometimes entire swaths of land can be cut away.

When I was last familiar with my favorite swimming hole, the river looked something like this:

East of the river runs a well-traveled, two-lane, curvy road.  Just before the distance between them is at their least, there was a small place to pull off, a small path to walk down, and the perfect place to jump in the river on a Friday afternoon to escape the long week, summer heat, and the crowds on the west bank of the river enjoying the amazing Oxbow Park.

In August, I made my way down to this swimming hole again.  The path is still well worn, but the swimming hole was gone – not surprising with the intervening years.  What I did find was an unexpected treat.  The river has laid down a gravel bed – deep, maybe 7 feet thick.  The rocks that make up the top layer are the size of bowling balls and must have taken some force to move so many into place.  On the downstream side of the bar is a steep bank to a hollow that once must have been a channel itself. Now cut off from the main current, the only water source is groundwater and it has become a most convincing wetland. It seemed to be thriving, yet young.  How old could this wetland be, and how does a wetland simply pop up on the edge of a river?

The same stretch of the river now looks something like this:

 

Sand bars are in constant motion along the Sandy River, but the intervening 14 years has seen an entire, well-forested bank entirely shorn away. 

Thanks to the fantastic website Oregon Imagery Explorer, we can see this progression over time: the represented years below are 1995, 2000, 2005, and 2009.

 

In the years between the first two images, the Sandy River experienced two of its three record crests: February of 1996 and November of 1999. This accounts for the first large change with much of the finger of land being swept away.  The next large change comes between 2005 and 2009 when two more historical crests were observed on the river.

Only two years since the latest aerial photograph, the area has changed yet again.  A new deposit of sand has cut off the large, shallow channel that flowed east towards the smaller side channel.  This deposit has cut off the area from constant flows, and the wetland has taken hold.  The aerial photograph from 2009 makes it a little difficult to determine if it is simply water flowing along the area in question, or if there was any plant growth.  The infrared from this date gives us the answer.  Plant growth can be seen in red, and water in blue. The area of the new wetland is roughly outlined with black.

Perhaps an acre and a half in size, the wetland is well populated with common wetland plants: spikerush (Eleocharis palustris), tapertip rush (Juncus acuminatus), and daggerleaf rush (Juncus ensifolius).  Underlain sand is covered by a thin layer of greasy organic matter, brown and shiny, it squishes quite satisfyingly under foot.  The wetland seemed healthy, but young. Having grown many of the plants there within a nursery setting, they seemed to be as young as first year plants. They did seem to be short on nutrients, not surprising for a substrate made entirely of sand. But they covered the area with abundance.  I would estimate the coverage to be at least 60%, and the species diversity was notable.

If the above photo was taken in 2009, and winter storms of 2010-2011 cut off the channel from main flow, that would leave spring 2011 for population by wetland seeds, first growth of plants and laying down of organic matter.  It doesn't seem like nearly enough time.  And what will become of our burgeoning wetland? Will the main river hold back its floodwaters long enough for the wetland to sink in its roots, lay down its organic matter? Or will the plants be simply washed away with the next winter's storm? There are many questions posed by a single 20-minute visit, and many that can only be answered with time.

Here are a couple photos of the site.  Unfortunately with my Iphone, they are not the quality that I would hope in order to remember some of the site details. 

upstream sand bar, looking south

edge of gravel bar, sloping down into the wetland

the happy new arrival

 

Gluing, pressing, and saying goodbye.

It's time for wrapping everything up at the museum.  The timing could not be more perfect with completion of my project.

The piles of pressed plants have been slowly inputted into the museum database.  Every imaginable piece of data is typed in with care: collection location (both in written description and map coordinates) and description, plant associations.

All the data was then transferred (through the magic of Microsoft mail merge) into herbarium labels. With the labels, I had the satisfying moment of seeing my name typed neatly in the line: collected by.  Now for making the specimen complete.

Ready for mounting, I took my piles of specimens upstairs.

At the museum, we mount specimens with a water-based glue and completely adhere the specimen onto the herbarium sheet.  It's a delicate process that left my first specimens looking rather like an 8-year old had put them together.  Too much glue makes the label curl, your fingers get sticky and leave traces of fingerprints everywhere.  Too little glue means the specimen isn't properly adhered and you must go back with a small spatula and some glue to touch up. 
With the specimen, the label, and the capsule (filled with small bits of material available for later keying or testing) placed on the sheet, it's placed with others in the presses.  The presses are fantastic.  They are old book-binders presses. They are sturdy, metal contraptions, with a satisfying handle that cranks the top down tight.  In the small presses, only three specimens can fit.  They are layered with the specimen, a sheet of wax paper to keep any excess glue from traveling, and lastly a foamed board.  the foam helps protect the specimen and provide a consistent pressure while acting as the solid base for the next specimen.  The handle is then cranked down and it's left to rest while the next three are prepared.

the high-adrenaline world of mounting

a finished specimen from the press

After mounting, I put my last initials on the back as the person who mounted the specimen, giving my initials to the entire process.

The process of mounting was a slow one. On my best day, I could mount only twenty four.  The time-intensive nature of the herbarium continued to sink in.  It is estimated that each specimen would require approximately $15 each for time spent collecting, processing, and preparing for the herbarium. The amount of time spent on each species seemed even more daunting when thinking that the British Herbarium has something on the order of 60,000 specimens.

In all, I collected, pressed and prepared 117 specimens.  These were split into two collections for the museum.  Half of them went into the general British Herbarium. The other half continued a collection that has been started by a previous volunteer.  It's called the Synoptic Collection, and has the goal of having one specimen of every plant in the UK. The collection is focused on plant identification and will be used as a working collection for teachers and students working with UK plants.

Finally, I took my completed specimens, made folders for them in their own little corner of the herbarium and laid them in.  It's a collection I will enjoy coming back to see grow with further volunteers or staff members adding to it. 

my own small collection.

Queen's wood

I have just helped Mb move up to a new flat in an area of London called Highgate.  The location is a bit off the main routes, (as much as one can call it that, and still be in London). The neighborhood is set high on a hill - unusual for London, and is a lovely place to find yourself every morning with the birds singing, and in the evening with sunshine on the back garden.
For the uninspired, the nearest tube stop is two bus stops down the road, just close enough to feel the bus is a waste, but just far enough to know that said bus will get you there faster if you're running late.  But on days when the morning sun is bright, when the air smells fresh and you have locked the door with enough time to pause and look down from the unusually high vantage point on the city of London, there is time to walk through the woods and have an entirely different experience.

Adjacent to the road and within the park is a well-used trail with a soft, dirt path and tall, full canopy.  The woodlands have been here for centuries.  They are thought to be direct descendants of the 'wildwood' that covered most of Britain until about 5000 years ago.  Mostly covered in oak and hornbeam, the deciduous forest feels magical.  Upon imagining fairies and goblins in such woods, one realizes that these are the birthplaces of such tales.  The woods and the lore are inseparable.

   

My First Collecting Day!

Yes, it felt like my first day of school, and while it was a couple weeks ago, it’s still just as exciting.  Marc introduced me to Caroline who manages the garden and the three of us collected within the wildlife garden.

The wildlife garden at the museum is lovely.  They have packed a fair number of habitats into a small space.  There’s a still pond and a forested area. There is a meadow and a chalk-grassland area (“replica” might be a good word for it).  Chalk grasslands are an interesting ecosystem native to the British Isles.  They remind me of the prairie systems in Washington: dominated by grass but with high diversity of species specific to their soil types. While I won’t go into them right now – I am inspired to learn more about them and write an entry on them.  Add that to the list…

A first stop was Caroline’s office.  It was within the garden grounds, and I felt  immediately comfortable upon entering; it was analogous to every building I’ve worked  within in the past fifteen years.  The roof and walls are of simple design and construction – more holding out the rain than adding style and warmth.  Even the few large windows in the place let in little light with the overhanging eves and darkening tree canopy.  A light layer of dust covers everything and a slight musty smell permeates.  Educational material – posters, pictures, notes to volunteers – cover all the vertical space, field s guides cover all those horizontal.

Mark, Caroline and I collected in the meadow section of the garden.  A path had been mown through the center of it to confine the footpath.  First introductions were to the rare species in the meadow like the common spotted orchid (Dactylorhiza fuchii).

We collected about 15 species.  All of them are common plants to be found in grassland areas: clover, geranium, various grasses, yellow rattle (Rhinanthus minor). Having failed to pick up my notebook on the way out the office, I tried to catch every common or scientific bit of name that I could, knowing that next I would have to key them out. Even the most familiar of plants required looking through the key to see if there was a look-alike with which I wasn’t familiar. 

pressed and ready for drying

the dryer is mounted with lightbulbs below as the heat source

Bringing the plants back into the office, we tosssed them into a plant press and into the dryer.  I know that with experience will come finesse, but I had very little of it in pressing my specimens.  Aside from the asthetic of leaves and flowers pressed in all directions and dried, this leads to difficulties with keying and mounting later on.

While I fancy myself a practical human being, I have been struck by just how much I need to see seach step in such a large scale process to grasp both the larger picture and the small details.  Involvment in each added step while working in the herbarium allows  me to perform the earlier steps more competantly.

Sorting upon Sorting

My workspace for the day.

At the nursery we would laugh, feeling like a major part of our job was moving a pile from one place to another then back again.  This trait seems inherently human as I watch the goings-on of those around me.  A demolition crew tears down a building in the neighborhood, and it seems the machinery simply shifts the pile of rubble from one corner of the lot to the other.  Park maintenance workers collect piles of trash and landscape trimmings into larger piles. More people come load those piles into trucks. My week has involved stacks upon stacks and  organizing piles into new piles.

The first iteration involved sorting piles of specimens, all the same species and ranging in collection dates from 1775 to present day.  Hundreds of specimens in all, we would organize them into this pile then that, pulling out the specimens that are pure rubbish, sorting them chronologically to find duplicates, then restoring some in poor condition to be sent upstairs and remounted.
Restored specimens are then registered into the computer database.  I am happy to be working on the relatively easy program of Microsoft Access rather than the complicated museum database called EMu.

A specimen to be restored.  This specimen had never been mounted. It was collected in June of 1887, donated to the museum in 1930, and packed in a newspaper from 1851.

To relieve us from this task of sorting, we would move to another task of sorting and put specimens away in the herbarium: sort by family, sort phylogenetically (into order of evolutionary relationships. It’s not as hard as it sounds, there’s a handy list), then lay these into the herbarium by species, sorted yet one more time by vice-county (region. I should have a firm grasp soon on UK geography if I pay close attention).

All of this sorting and database entry involves reading scribbled handwriting of botanists.  I am wishing that when Linnaeus created a standard for naming specimens, he had also created a standard for handwriting.  Slowly, I am becoming familiar with individual collectors from the 1800s and their specific styles of label and writing.  It is an odd thing to have filling one's brain.

a restored specimen ready to be mounted.  removed from acidic paper and placed on a new herbarium sheet

here are a few more photos from my day: http://www.flickr.com/photos/photosbyadrienne/sets/NHM