flora – Page 9

Monday Miscellany

I haven’t done a Monday Miscellany in a little while, my schedule over the last month or so being a little disordered. I’m actually able not only to do a miscellany this week, but do it on the proper day (at least, it’s the proper day when I’m writing this; by the time most readers will see it, it will be Tuesday, but hey. I do my best.).

Today’s header image is of an American Copper, Lycaena phlaeas. With such extensive meadow habitat at our new home, I’ve been seeing quite a few species of butterfly that I hadn’t encountered before; this is one of them. It’s actually not an uncommon species, I just haven’t spent enough time in appropriate habitats. It’s an interesting species in that it’s got two very distinct populations, separated from each other by great distance. The eastern population ranges through much of the northeast from Nova Scotia to Missouri. The northwestern population is found mainly through the arctic, from Baffin Island to Alaska, and south through the Rocky Mountains as far as Wyoming. A few disjointed populations are also found in other alpine areas. It has been hypothesized that the eastern population was actually introduced, and only the northwestern population is native.

Here’s something else I’d never seen: a Monarch caterpillar. I’m not sure why these guys have eluded me, as there has always been milkweed around the areas I’ve frequented. When we moved in and saw the expanse of milkweed by the house, I figured it would be a Monarch butterfly haven. I expected to see dozens of Monarch caterpillars chowing down on the plants. I was therefore surprised to see very few adult butterflies, and no caterpillars at all, despite dedicated regular checks of the meadow. Dan located this one right at the edge of the pack as he was chaperoning Olly during the cat’s daily outdoor walk (which the cat has come to demand rather vociferously). He was thoughtful enough to come get me. The caterpillar was gone when I looked for him the next day.

The rainy, cool weather that we had for all of June and July now seems to be a thing of the past. The last couple of weeks have been hot and humid. We have no air conditioning in the house, so to try to combat the heat of the afternoon we open all the windows wide at night and close them again when we get up in the morning. As I was opening the windows one evening, I discovered this little guy clinging to the outside of the window. It’s a Gray Treefrog, although you can’t see much of his upperside. The yellow of the inner thighs is diagnostic of this species, as are the thick toe-pads that he’s using to cling to the window. I’m not sure why he was on the window, except perhaps to eat the insects that were drawn to the light. I turned the lights off when I went to bed; he was gone in the morning when I got up.

We’ve had Black-eyed Susans blooming all summer in our meadows. It’s funny that they’re so common here in eastern Ontario, where they were relatively scarce where I grew up in the Toronto area. I’ve enjoyed admiring them each time I go for a walk, and made an effort to capture them in the panorama I used in the new header image for the blog. This week I’ve noticed some are starting to fade. What interested me about this observation was the fact that the outer portion of the petals seemed to go first. Many flowers, including Black-eyed Susans, appear differently under UV light, and through eyes that can detect UV rays, such as those of insects. Most of the time the UV patterns aren’t obvious to our non-UV-detecting eyes. However, on these fading flowers you can see where the two areas of different UV reflectance are, with the central circle mostly intact, but the outer one well worn. Check out this photo over at Flickr for an example of how bees see Black-eyed Susans – the petals are actually bi-tone.

Back in the spring I bought myself a Cardinal Flower for my garden with a birthday gift certificate. They’re a native species usually associated with wet or damp areas. We had seen the occasional Cardinal Flower along the lakeshore near our previous house, and I’d become quite enamoured with them, so I snatched one up when I happened across them in a garden centre. I usually browse through the pots until I find one with multiple stems, if possible; the one I bought had four. I wasn’t expecting it to bloom this year, but to my surprise all four stems put up inflorescences. I guess all the rain we’ve had has really appealed to them. Three of the four stems were the gorgeous bright red that I had specifically bought them for, but when the fourth set of inflorescences began to open I was delighted to find that they were pinkish-white. Some research on the web suggests this is an uncommon, though not unusual, colour form. One website I found was selling the white form for twice the price of the usual red. Another website commented, with regards to the common name, “Flowers are very attractive to butterflies and hummingbirds, but not cardinals.” The “Cardinal” in the name, of course, refers to the colour, not the species it attracts.

Alongside our driveway I have noticed a few of these plants. They grow with several broad leaves sprouting from the stem at the base, and a tall spike with small flowers up its entire length. I knew it was an orchid, but not what species; poking around online it appears it’s Helleborine, Epipactis helleborine. When we think orchid we tend to think of the flashy big-flowered things you can buy in pots in the grocery store. If we think of native orchids out in our woods, we usually think of ladyslippers. In actuality, though, there are dozens of native orchid species in North America. Ontario alone has more than 50 species of orchid growing wild. Many of them have smaller flowers and are less showy than their larger cousins the ladyslippers, but are nonetheless delightful. Helleborine is a non-native orchid. Its genus, Epipactis, is originally native to Europe, with no representatives native to North America. The first Helleborine was found in New York in 1879, likely spread from a parent plant planted outdoors somewhere some years earlier.

While visiting my parents this weekend, my mom commented that she’d observed some black beetles on a few of her daylily plants. When I investigated the plants myself I discovered that not only were there beetles on her daylilies, but the dead flower heads were absolutely crawling with them. The collapsed petals were so filled with the beetles that they were physically moving. I had seen these beetles before, once: while camping at a state park in Minnesota. I had sat down to eat my lunch (a sandwich from Subway) at a picnic table, and was very rapidly assaulted by a barrage of little black beetles wanting to get in on the action. I ate quickly. The beetles are, appropriately, called “picnic beetles”, and belong to the genus Glischrochilus. They’re attracted to sap and decaying fruit. I presume these flowers would fall in the latter category; with the temperatures so high, and the sun beating down on them, the dead flowers smelled strongly of fermentation.

These final beetles were found on some goldenrod in our meadows. I didn’t have to look hard to find them, though – both of these species appear to be particularly abundant right now. The orange ones are Pennsylvania Leatherwing, Chauliognathus pennsylvanicus, found commonly on goldenrod throughout the east. The members of this genus are all important in pollination and biological pest control, as many will eat aphids and other insects.

The black one is Black Blister Beetle (say that five times fast!), Epicauta pennsylvanica. It’s also frequently encountered on goldenrod in the autumn in eastern North America. Like all blister beetles, they exude chemicals that can burn and blister the skin. Apparently some species of Epicauta feed on grasses and crops as adults, and if baled with hay have been known to actually kill horses that ingest them.

Unbidden beauty from neglect

Neither Dan nor I are lawn-mowers, and I mean this in both the philosophical and physical senses of the word. Our lawn-tending philosophy is generally to let it grow long and wild. Mowing is a lot of work, just to produce a sterile (or nearly) habitat. We can appreciate lawns around gardens, say, or a small patch to play with the dog or kids, but these large expanses that most people keep, especially when they’re rural homes, just seem silly. It’s primarily a North American thing. I was told once that the lawn evolved out of the “American Dream”, from poor folks looking at the rich and their mansions with expansive manicured lawns, and desiring a manicured lawn of their own and everything the lawn represented. Whether or not that’s actually true, lawns have certainly become the culturally accepted standard, with bylaws in many towns and cities prohibiting you from not mowing your law and instead letting it go weedy.

dandelion — Common Dandelion, Taraxacum officinale

But even if we desired a lawn (which we don’t), we’re unable to tend it ourselves anyway, as we don’t own a lawn-mower. Our landlord had requested that we keep the lawn mowed, but it’s really the responsibility of a neighbour down the street, to whom she’d given her riding mower after her husband died. They’ve been neighbours many years, and he agreed to come by and cut her lawn for her as thank-you for the machine.

Black-eyed Susan in lawn — Black-eyed Susan, Rudbeckia hirta

He cut the grass the week we moved in, but we hadn’t seen him since, which was a little over a month. A month is forever from a weed’s perspective. The lawn sprouted and got quite long and shaggy. Plants that had been chopped into submission for the earlier part of the summer now sprung into action to take advantage of the absence of the blades. Within a month we had numerous wildflowers blooming in amongst the grass. Yesterday afternoon, after admiring them for about a week, I decided to take my camera and document what all was flowering in the lawn. I must have had a premonition, because within a few hours the neighbour showed up with the mower to trim it all back.

Common Plantain and White Clover — Common Plantain, Plantago major, and White Clover, Trifolium repens

I counted 20 species of flowers growing in what is usually lawn. A couple of them were garden escapees, flowers that had seeded themselves and had managed to survive even with the regular abuse. Most of them, though, weren’t cultivated plants. Many of them are introduced species that excel at thriving in adverse conditions. A few of them, however, such as the Black-eyed Susan or the yarrow, are hardy native species.

Low Hop Clover, Trifolium campestre, common everywhere

I had done this experiment before, last year. We’d let the lawn, such as it was, go wild at the lake house, again partially because we didn’t own a mower ourselves to tend it, and partially because we preferred it that way anyway. That inventory took place about two weeks later than this one did. I only tallied 15 species of flower blooming in that lawn. It’s interesting to observe the difference in species composition between the two, and I’m curious whether that’s more likely due to timing or surrounding habitat (since the lake house was surrounded mostly by forest, and this house is set in primarily meadow).

lawn19 — Possibly Sulphur Cinquefoil, Potentilla recta

In fact, only five of the 15 tallied last year made an appearance in this year’s lawn. This one happens to be one of them. I didn’t know what it was, and apparently I didn’t know last year, either. I got a new wildflower guide for my birthday this year, and based on that I might suggest Sulphur Cinquefoil, Potentilla recta, or a closely related species. It’s not all that uncommon. It’s funny how there can be species you see all the time, and you recognize as being something you’ve seen before, and yet you have no idea what these very common species actually are. I find a number of wildflowers fall into this category.

Of course, even better than enjoying the flowers in the lawn, is seeing the critters that visit the flowers in the lawn. Here, an unidentified species of true bug climbs about the flower head of an English Plantain, Plantago lanceolata. As the name suggests, it’s an introduction originally native to Europe. The good thing about many introduced species, though, is that quite often they’re readily adopted into our local food chains, so at least if they’re taking up space they’re still providing some value to the wildlife. My flower guide notes that the seeds of English Plantain are often eaten by birds, and their leaves are favoured by rabbits.

Ever wonder what might sprout up in your lawn if you left it unmowed for a little while? Even if you originally bought your lawn as sod, as long as you haven’t been applying weed-killer to it there’s a pretty good chance that there are some hardy wildflower seeds sitting in the soil at the roots of the grass, waiting for an opportunity to sprout and grow. If you have a section of lawn where the neighbours can’t see or won’t complain, it might be interesting to try the experiment yourself.

lawn17 — Shepherd's Purse, Capsella bursa-pastoris

My guide notes Shepherd’s Purse is “probably a European native but is now found all over the world.” The spring leaves can be eaten as salad greens, and the seeds, collected and dried in the fall, can be used as seasoning in cooking (the plant is part of the mustard family, so they have a peppery mustardy taste).

Yarrow cultivar — Rogue cultivated yarrow

The plant that garden yarrows are derived from is Achillea millefolium, and is native throughout much of the northern hemisphere. Apparently starlings will use it in their nests, which has been shown to reduce nest parasites. There are quite a number of cultivars developed, from the “wild-type” white to yellow to red to mauve. Yarrow is an especially hardy perennial. I bought one back in the spring, a red cultivar with yellow centres, and when I took it to the checkout the salesperson said, “There’s a one-year guarantee on all perennials, if they don’t return next year bring in your receipt for a refund.” Then she laughed. “Not that you’ll need it for this one.”

Different from Low Hop Clover, above, the species is also a European introduction – in fact, all of the yellow clovers found in eastern North America are. I couldn’t find any reference to why it was called “hop clover”, at least in a quick search. I wonder if it bears some properties similar to hops.

One patch of lawn was filled with an assortment of wildflowers. In this group are wild yarrow (the white flowers), a Red Clover, Trifolium pratense, a red cultivar of the garden plant Bachelor’s Button (I think), and Heal-all, Prunella vulgaris.

There are a number of yellow hawkweeds in Ontario. I did a post about hawkweeds last year, and mentioned Yellow Hawkweed, Hieracium caespitosum, but I don’t think this is that species. However, I don’t know which one it actually is, they can be tricky to tell apart.

lawn9 — Johnny Jump-ups on the loose, and a Red Clover

Johnny Jump-ups have to be one of the most tenacious of garden plants. It takes them no time at all to escape the confines of the garden borders that you’ve carefully laid out, and start gallavanting all over the lawn. You may not notice if you mow your lawn regularly, but leave it for a couple of weeks and you’ll start seeing little purple-and-yellow flowers peeking out from the grass.

Northern Bedstraw — Star Chickweed, Stellaria pubera

Out in our meadows there are dense mats of this flower, Star Chickweed, which seems to habitually co-occur with vetch. It’s recognizable by its deeply-cleft petals, which makes it look like it has ten narrow petals rather than just five cleft ones.

lawn7 — Alsike Clover, Trifolium hybridum

Different from Red Clover, Alsike Clover has pinkish outer flowers and whitish inner ones. Another introduction, apparently the specific name “hybridum” has nothing to do with it actually being a hybrid (which it’s not), but probably more likely refers to the dual tones of the flower heads.

Common Ragweed is a species familiar to anyone who suffers from hay fever. It’s a sneaky plant, its green flowers subtle enough that it manages to set up goldenrod to take the fall for the misery it inflicts upon the innocent. It’s a very competitive, invasive weed, but happens to be native, which is a little surprising – we’re so used to thinking of our invasive species as exotics.

This family seems to give me some trouble. A member of the buttercup family, so many of them seem to have similar toothy leaves and yellow flowers. I thought the fact that the petals on this one were widely separated might give me an edge, but no luck.

Edit: I’ve been corrected by someone far wiser and more knowledgeable about plants than I, Tom of Ohio Nature. He suggests it’s a member of the Rosaceae family, possibly an agrimony species, Agrimonia sp, and comments that he’s not aware of any Ranunculaceae that bloom so late in the season. Thanks, Tom!

Second Edit: More comments pour in! The identification suggested for the plant is Norwegian Cinqfoil, Potentilla norvegica, which looks like a good match.

lawn5 — Grass, probably Timothy, Phleum pratense

Timothy is a common pasture grass, recognizable by its fuzzy, narrow spikes of flowers. It’s commonly used in hay production, and the seeds are enjoyed by birds and other wild animals. P. pratense is introduced, but Mountain Timothy, P. alpinum, is native to North America.

Not to be confused with “sorrel”, which is another group of plants, Yellow Wood Sorrel belongs to the same genus (Oxalis) as the clovers you can buy at the grocery store at St. Patrick’s Day – not to be confused with the clovers I’ve shown in the lawn, above, which are a different genus again. Confused? The origins of Yellow Wood Sorrel are uncertain as it’s now found around the globe, but are thought to be North America.

White-blooded plants

The part of the meadow immediately around our house is filled with Common Milkweed, Asclepias syriaca. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a large patch of milkweed before. Ordinarily I would find single plants, maybe a few loosely clustered together, but I’d never found any area where they were the dominant wildflower. They’re a plant, like lilacs in the spring, that I love to walk among because of the heady sweet fragrance that rises from their blossoms. Such an incredibly large patch gives off an incredibly delightful scent. The smell is likely a byproduct of the plant’s nectar-rich flowers, which have an unusually high proportion of sugar in their nectar. Native Americans would actually use it as a sweetener, like honey, though I can’t imagine how painstaking it must have been to harvest.

There are more than 140 species in the genus Asclepias, the milkweeds. Around here we only have a handful, of which the Common Milkweed is probably the most common and well-known. Others include Swamp Milkweed, A. incarnata, and Butterfly Weed, A. tuberosa. Butterfly Weed isn’t that common, but it’s certainly eye-catching, with vibrant bright-orange flowers that, as the name implies, are especially attractive to butterflies and other insects. Asclepias are also known as Butterfly Flower and many cultivars can be commonly found in nurseries and garden centres.

The name milkweed, of course, comes from the white sap that oozes from the plant’s veins when its leaves or stem are broken. The sap contains a type of latex, similar to that collected from rubber trees, but for which attempts to process it have been largely unsuccessful. The actual function the latex serves to the plant is still up for debate, although it may be either an additional defense against predators due to its bitter nature, or possibly a coagulating agent in cases of wounds. Anyone who has broken a milkweed leaf knows how sticky the sap is.

The plant can also be harvested for silk fiber, which is taken from the downy seed puffs in the fall and winter, as well as bast fiber, which is the stringy inner “bark” of the plant. The latter much resembles hemp in its properties and uses. Interestingly, oil from the seeds can be converted and used as a very effective sunscreen. Even though at maturity the plant is toxic and could make you ill if eaten, these toxins are found in minimal quantities when the plant is young, and can be destroyed through cooking, allowing young leaves and sprouts to be consumed.

The vast majority of Common Milkweed flowers are purple – either a dark purple, as in the previous photo, or a lighter purple as shown in the foreground of the second photo. However, while out walking with Raven one afternoon I came across three plants, all clustered together, that had peachy-orange flowers. I can’t find any mention of this unusual colour online. At first I just assumed they were older, but they were still in good shape, and fading flowers typically go yellowish-white, rather than peachy-orange. I’d be curious to know if anyone else has observed this colour morph.

I suspect that milkweed is probably best known for its role as a host plant for monarch butterfly caterpillars. I have seen a few monarchs in our patch this summer, but I’m not sure whether the rain has affected numbers or they’re just not as common around here, as there haven’t been nearly as many as I would expect for a patch this size. I’ve been watching for caterpillars, but haven’t spotted any yet.

Monarchs aren’t the only insect that milkweed appeals to. Ants are attracted to the sweet nectar of the flowers, and many of the plants I looked at had ants crawling all over their flowers.

These Red Milkweed Beetles, Tetraopes tetrophthalmus were recently emerged and crawling about the milkweed plants. They were fairly abundant, with many plants hiding at least a couple. Classified with the long-horned beetles, this species uses the milkweed as a host plant, much like the monarchs. Their larvae bore into the stems of the plant, feeding on the plant tissue there, and then overwinter in the roots. They emerge as adults in the early summer to mate and lay eggs. These two, and many of the others I saw, may have been crawling around looking for a mate. Most species that feed on the plants as larvae end up being either toxic or distasteful (or both) to potential predators, and sport bright warning (aposomatic) colouration. In the case of these beetles, it’s a bright red with black spots.

This one is an Orange-spotted Lady Beetle, Brachiacantha ursina, a native species that is often associated with milkweed. I’m not sure whether its larvae likewise use it as a host plant, or if the adults are there for another reason. I saw several of these guys on the plants when I poked around looking to see what I could find.

This final species is Three-banded Lady Beetle, Coccinella trifasciata, another native. There appear to be two subspecies, one that occurs across most of the continent east of the Rockies (C. t. perplexa), and the other that is found west of the Rockies, along the coast.

The Large Milkweed Bug, Oncopeltus fasciatus, is another species I’ve recently been seeing a number of on the plants, but for whatever reason I don’t seem to have taken a photo of them at any point.

Small-scale biodiversity

At Maplewood Bog, in the clearing where we have our banding station set up, there is a large patch of bright yellow wildflowers. I think these are Woodland Sunflowers, Helianthus strumosus, a relative of the common giant sunflowers often planted in gardens or as crops for their seeds, although there are a few members of the genus Helianthus that look similar. They are lovely, bright, cheerful flowers that add quite a bit of colour to the meadows and hillsides in the region. In most areas I just see them in small patches, but at Maplewood, and more specifically at the banding spot, they cover a broad expanse of the grassy clearing.

In between my net checks (we alternate, I do one then Dan does the next, which gives us time to band any birds we collect or have a snack if we need), I’ve taken to poking around the meadow to see what’s new. A couple of visits ago I found this spider tucked in one of the flowers. I’m still not sure of the species, although it appeared to be a male because of the large appendages out front (pedipalps, used in mating). There was another on a nearby flower. Intrigued, I started checking other flowers to see if I could find more of the spiders. I didn’t, but I turned up some other interesting critters.

sun1 — Dogbane Beetle, Chrysochus auratus

I decided to see just how many species of invertebrate I could find on the sunflowers, either using the plants for food or simply as substrate for resting. Here’s a collection of most of the other stuff I found during our last two visits (I missed a few species that were too quick for the camera). I haven’t identified many of the species, because there were a lot of them, but have included IDs for a few.

There’s a lot more happening out there than you might first suspect! Take a moment to slow down and look more closely, you might be surprised at what you find.

sun2 — Wasp mimic flower fly, poss. Sphaerophoria sp.

sun3 — Tarnished Plant Bug, Lygus lineolaris

sun6 — Tumbling Flower Beetle, poss. Mordella sp.

sun8 — sweat bee, poss. Augochlora or Augochlorella

sun12 — long-horned bee, poss. Melissodes sp.

sun13 — Red-blue Checkered Beetle, Trichodes nutalli

sun20 — Bee mimic flower fly, Eristalis transversa

sun26 — skipper sp., poss. Dun Skipper, Euphyes vestris

sun27 — Longhorned beetle, poss. Graphisurus fasciatus

sun28 — Pearl Crescent, Phyciodes tharos

sun30 — Sedge Sprite, Nehalennia irene, and Tarnished Plant Bug, Lygus lineolaris

sun32 — A common colour pattern in beetles; poss. Asclera sp.?

sun31 — Bluet, poss. Northern Bluet, Enallagma cyathigerum

sun36 — Baby spiderlings, maybe harvestmen youngsters? Were near adult, above.

The plant that lives in the air

Edit: Thanks to several wonderfully knowledgeable readers who left comments, the “plant” has been identified as a “witch’s broom”, which is actually a mutated growth of the tree itself. Normally found high up in the tree canopy, presumably this one was brought down to eye-level by the toppling of the tree. Witch’s brooms can be caused by many factors, including, but not limited to, infections by fungi or mistletoe. One of the fungi that can cause these deformities belongs to the same genus as the Black Knot that infects Black Cherry and Chokecherry. Similar to a cancerous growth, the fungi changes the growth pattern of the affected cells, causing them to form these clusters of thin woody branches. A cutting taken from one of these growths and grafted or rooted will continue to grow in the same form – this has been used to develop a number of the compact cultivars of evergreen often seen growing in gardens. Growths can be malignant or benign, depending on the cause and the tree species involved – some trees can live for decades with a witch’s broom, while others quickly succumb to the infection. I’d never heard of witch’s broom before, thank you to everyone who left comments!

Of course, that doesn’t change the validity of my notes here about epiphytes – just it turns out they don’t actually apply to this “plant”.

A couple of weeks ago, when I was walking through the forest on the adjoining parcel of land belonging to our landlord, I came across this plant growing on the trunk of a fallen hemlock. It is an epiphytic plant, that is, one that grows “in the air”, without its roots buried in soil. In most cases, epiphytes grow on trees, although some grow on rock faces or other similar substrates. They are generally non-parasitic, using the “host” tree or plant solely for support. The most well-known and familiar of epiphytes, the ones that come immediately to mind, are the bromiliads and orchids of the tropical rainforests. Probably most people associate epiphytes with tropical forests as a result, but they are certainly not confined to those habitats.

The group term “epiphyte” actually encompasses a broad range of plants. Anything that grows above the ground without soil as substrate is classified as an epiphyte. This means that many other familiar plants, such as Spanish moss or beard lichen, are in this group. Many ferns, mosses, and flat lichens also qualify. If you go for a walk through your local forest, there is a good chance you’ll see many epiphytes, albeit small ones – older trees often become festooned with lichens and mosses, especially in damp, humid habitats where there is increased moisture in the air.

Because epiphytes don’t have their roots in the soil, they must obtain all of their nutrients through rain water. This is also why they favour moist environments – a high ambient humidity prevents their roots from drying out. As the plant grows larger, fallen leaves and debris that collect at its base and begin to decompose may also provide nutrients.

The majority of research on epiphytes has been done in the tropics, because that’s where their biomass is greatest, where they’re the most common. Some research has been done on epiphytes of North America, as well, but focus has primarily been on the everglades and mangrove forests of the southeast, and the coastal rainforests of the northwest. Some people may also consider the mistletoes of the arid southwest. But elsewhere seems to have received little attention.

I spent hours trying to identify this plant. When I found it in the forest, I expected it to be a simple matter – after all, how could such a large and robust plant have been passed over? An initial search for epiphytes of Ontario yielded nothing useful. I tried changing my search terms, broadening my search area. Temperate epiphytes, vascular epiphytes, epiphytes of eastern North America, epiphytes of boreal forests, epiphytes on eastern hemlock. Aside from a few scholarly articles that I couldn’t access, the only results that were even remotely applicable were for research done on epiphytic lichens growing on hemlocks in western North America. At a loss, I emailed the author of that paper to ask if she might know, or know someone. She wrote back to say she didn’t know much about vascular epiphytes, but perhaps to try the botany department of a local university.

So I still don’t know its identity. It baffles me that something so large and prominent could lack any sort of a presence on the web. We’re not talking mosses or lichens here, we’re talking a woody plant, a foot and a half in diameter. The animal equivalent would be like a large vertebrate such as a rail or a weasel being passed over because they’re rarely seen. I couldn’t even turn up any information on epiphytes for our region/forests in any of the field guides or reference books I had.

All I have to go on is that it’s a vascular epiphyte. Edit: it’s not even that! Although it is vascular. The term “vascular” in animals refers to the blood transport system, the arteries and veins. In plants, it refers to the system that carries nutrients, sugars and water through the plant. In both animals and plants, vascular systems are found only in “higher” organisms, those that have more recent evolutionary lineages. Just like amoebas and insects lack a network of transport vessels for circulation, so do primitive plants such as mosses or fungi. Orchids and bromiliads are vascular epiphytes, having veins and transport tubes. So is whatever this is.

I should acknowledge, too, that I couldn’t rule out this plant being a mistletoe. Although when I lifted it up it appeared that it wasn’t secured to anything, I didn’t actually try to remove it. Mistletoes grow above ground in trees as well, but unlike true epiphytic plants, which derive their food from rainwater, mistletoes are parasitic, tapping their host trees for nutrients, sugars and water. I couldn’t find anything conclusive on mistletoes in Ontario, either (photos of the most common mistletoe species for here, Arceuthobium pusillum, don’t seem to match). I’d welcome input from any botanists out there.