fungus

Mycelium

A lot of interesting things can be found in a pile of firewood. Besides the insects and other critters we had in the log pile earlier this winter, Dan has also found my carpenter ant tunnels, and my mom recently discovered a Red Squirrel nest. And then the other day, while collecting an armful of logs for the fire, I discovered a few of them were covered with intricate black tracings. I puzzled over these for a few moments until I noticed in one spot several of them all came together into one thick line. Or, looking at it the other way, one thick line branched off into several.

I’m fairly certain that these are the mycelium of a bracket fungus that would have been growing on the exterior of the trunk. The mycelium is the fungus’s equivalent of a root network, tendrils that extend deep into its growing substrate (be it log or soil or something else). It’s the part of the fungus that’s active in decomposition; the part that we typically observe and think of as the fungus is simply its means of spreading its spores for reproduction.

The black mycelia weren’t just restricted to the outside of the log. There were more tracings along the sides, and when I examined the cut end, it was possible to see where the network extended through the wood into the tree’s interior. I’m curious as to whether the mycelium follows a path of least resistance as it grows, which would take it through the tree’s “veins” (the system of tubes that carries water and nutrients from the roots to the branches) and between the annual rings of growth, I would think. In some spots of the cross-section the black lines do look like they’re following this sort of pattern, but in other spots it just seems random.

I don’t know that there’s any way to tell simply from this which species of fungus was growing on the tree (I don’t even know what type of tree it was; the bark had long since been shed). Still, I found it pretty interesting simply to be able to see the network of mycelia, something that’s normally hidden out of sight.

I did a Google image search to see if I could find other photos of mycelia in logs. I didn’t really find what I was looking for, in part because I got distracted by this video. This is a computer simulation that someone wrote based on the growth patterns of fungal mycelia. Instead of decaying material, though, the “food” his electronic mycelia gravitate toward is the light areas of photographs. He supplies a photo to the computer program, and the program simulates the growth of the mycelia based on which parts are light and which are dark, with the densest growth in the lightest parts of the photo. At first it really does look like roots growing… (easier to see at full size at the video’s page). Pretty neat!

Sunday Snapshots: Log pile

A couple of days ago we had a (relatively) mild, rain-free afternoon and Dan decided it would be a good opportunity to try to move another load of wood from the piles out in the field into our basement, where it’s easy to access two or three times a day (the woodstove being our only source of heat, we burn a fair bit).

The wood in the field was here when we moved in, and our landlord gave us the freedom to use it as we needed it. I’m not sure what the full story is on it, but it’s obviously been stacked there for years – and years and years maybe – because the stuff that was well-covered is incredibly dry, and the stuff that wasn’t as well protected is, in some cases, starting to go a little punky.

Prior to moving it in, Dan had to sort through the pile to separate the dry stuff from the punky and/or wet stuff, and halfway through he came back to the house and called up the stairs: “Seabrooke? Are you looking for blog material?”

I’m always looking for blog material, and of course he knows that. I grabbed my camera and joined him out at the wood pile while he finished sorting out the logs. Hidden amongst them were numerous critters and other interesting things. I decided to make this a Sunday Snapshots because I wouldn’t be able to ID the spiders or beetles, and with a Sunday Snapshots I wouldn’t have to… ;)

Burr oak acorns — The log pile sits under a Bur Oak; many of the burry caps had collected in the gaps.

A white-bellied spider in a silk cocoon, alongside a dead pillbug/sowbug.

caterpillar? — A caterpillar... I think?

Gypsy Moth pupal shells - a male hatched out of the one on the left, a female out of the one on the right, as determined by size.

11-0867 - Agonopterix pulvipennella - Featherduster Agonopterix — 0867 - Agonopterix pulvipennella - Featherduster Agonopterix

Woolly Bear and Gypsy Moth pupal case — Woolly Bear and female Gypsy Moth pupal case

0889 - Two-dotted Agonopterix - Agonopterix argillacea and 07-0639 - Caloptilia stigmatella - Poplar Caloptilia — 0639 - Caloptilia stigmatella - Poplar Caloptilia (left) and 0889 - Two-dotted Agonopterix - Agonopterix argillacea

holes by boring beetle/insect — All of the sawdust that one moth is buried in came out of these tiny holes, created by some type of wood-boring insect and/or its larvae.

scale insects — some type of (dead) scale insect

Puffballs

Mushrooms and fungi have, for the most part, disappeared by this time of year. It’s possible to still find the tough bracket fungi on the sides of stumps and logs, but the tender stuff has all withered with the cold weather. So I was a little surprised to discover a small patch of soft fungi at the side of our driveway when I walked down to check the mail last week. They were on their way out, a few of them already collapsed, but still in better shape than I might have expected for the time of year.

I recognized them immediately as members of the puffball family by the round shape with pores at the top. Like most mushrooms, the spores of puffballs are wind-borne. Most fungi rely on gravity to release them, though. Puffballs have the unique strategy of containing the spores in a dusty mass inside a thin skin; when raindrops strike the shell, the impact causes a puff of spores to be released from the pore. I tried very hard to get a photo showing one of them puffing, but they were past their prime puff-period, and all I got were many photos of my finger indenting the side.

I think these are Lycoperdon pusillum (which Mushrooms of Northeast North America by George Barron gives no common name for, but which the Peterson Field Guide to Mushrooms calls Mini Puffball), a widespread and relatively common species that fruits on the ground (some species of smaller puffballs fruit on logs, which rules them out; others have rough skins and these are smooth). When new, L. pusillum would be chalky white, but as they age they fade to tan and then to brown, and these are clearly older specimens.

It’s interesting that they’re under our pines and surrounded like pine needles; though the guides I have don’t mention that, several photos I found online for the species also showed similar conditions. The species fruits from spring straight through fall, but I’m pretty sure I don’t remember seeing them back in the summer, so I wonder how each one decides when to pop up. The books say they’re edible, but lack much taste; these ones are probably past their best, anyway.

Earth tongues

I’d just like to start by saying – the moth book is done! Done! I took it to the post office and mailed it off today, with much excitement (the clerk, whom I asked to take a photo as I pretended to put it in the mail slot, didn’t quite appreciate my excitement, I don’t think). Of course, the book’s not completely done. There’re many more steps yet to go even once the initial manuscript is prepared and finished – a fact that I didn’t truly appreciate until I was doing a book of my own. Once our editor gets the files I sent her, she still has to edit all our text, we need to make any revisions as required, then the contents go on to layout, come back to us for proofing (the trademark Peterson arrows get put in at this stage), and go back for final revisions, before ever a copy gets printed. Actually being involved in the production of a book has been rather enlightening, not least of all in the amount of time it takes to get a book from idea to store shelf. It’ll have been about four years, in our case.

So life finally returns to normal for me. For the last, oh, three months or so, I’ve been buckled down and focused on completing the moth manuscript. A lot of things have fallen by the wayside, and I’m looking forward to getting back to all those things I’ve been missing. Like the blog! I’ve had these photos since last week, fully intending to post them shortly after taking them (I’d also been expecting to wrap up the book before the Thanksgiving weekend).

Over dinner one evening last week, Dan asked if I’d noticed the interesting mushrooms growing down near our little bog/fen. I’d been down that way a couple of times in the preceding days, but hadn’t gone in too far, and hadn’t noticed any odd fungi in the part that I had traversed. He commented that they were just the other side, a whole patch of them, thin little dark things sticking up from the moss. I said I’d check them out the next time I went out. In the meantime, I brought down my field guide to fungi for him to look through and see if he recognized them.

He picked them out fairly quickly, and after going back to have a look myself I easily agreed. These are earth tongues, probably Common Earth Tongue, Geoglossum difforme, a common and widespread species. By his description I had expected them to be coral fungi, but they’re actually a type of sac fungus. It’s the same group of mushrooms that contains the highly prized truffles and morels, though the guide suggests that the majority of members are not so edible. Most fungi produce their spores individually and release them through pores or from gills; sac fungi produce their spores grouped within sacs, each sac containing several spores (the number varies by species, but the average is eight). You can see some neat images of Common Earth Tongue spore sacs under the microscope at this page here (it’s from the website of the author of the field guide I use, George Barron)

The method of dispersal also depends on the species, but earth tongues share the same general mechanism as morels. The type of fruitbody is called an apothecium, and the sacs of spores are layered on its outside surface. Immature spores are pigmentless, but mature spores develop pigment to protect them from UV while they are airborne. When the spores are mature, the sac bursts, projecting them into the air for the wind to catch and disperse. Apparently with some species, if you blow gently on the mushroom when the spores are ripe you can trigger the sacs into bursting, releasing puffs of “dust”. I didn’t try it on these ones, in part because I didn’t know to, but even if I had they were damp and tacky and probably wouldn’t have been releasing any dust anyway.

They were all growing in a small patch of sphagnum moss, a short distance from the edge of the bog/fen. From the way they were distributed it looked as though they had an association with the moss, but I suspect it more likely that the moss simply kept the ground there nicely damp compared to the surrounding dirt; there’s no mention of moss in the guide.

White slime mould

Although for the last couple of months I’ve felt a bit like the donkey chasing the carrot suspended from a stick, I’m fairly certain that the moth guide manuscript will be tied up and finished early this week. In anticipation of life getting back to normal, I’ve been trying to get back to some of my normal routine. This includes occasional walks, which I’ve mostly foregone the last several weeks (much to Raven’s disappointment, though Dan’s been taking her regularly still – I really owe him a debt for helping me out with things while I’ve been busy!), and, hopefully, blogging. I’m not going every day like I used to yet, but I am getting out. And I’m going to start posting more frequently than the once-every-two-weeks schedule I’d been keeping lately.

This afternoon I just walked back into our fields and back. It wasn’t far, and at this time of year I don’t usually anticipate finding much. The fields are mostly quiet: the birds have moved on, the flowers have, for the most part, stopped blooming, and what insects there are are primarily grasshoppers with a few Lucerne Moths and meadowhawks thrown in. In October the walks are more about enjoying the autumn colours, and the scent of the fallen leaves.

So I wasn’t really looking to find anything, and was therefore surprised and pleased to come across the above. It was just beside the path, at the edge of a little patch of trees. The fact that it seemed to be trying to climb up a tiny seedling tree confirmed to me what it was even before I stooped for a closer look: a slime mould! (Or mold, depending on your nationality.) This makes #2 for me – I saw my first one, a Fragile Yellow Slime Mould, just this summer – and I was excited despite its rather unassuming appearance.

I believe this one is Mucilago crustacea. Unlike the summer’s species, this one doesn’t seem to have a common name (although the scientific name, with a bit of poetic license, might roughly translate to “Crusty Mucus”). The second part of the scientific name refers to the slime mould’s texture once mature – crusty and rough. Like all slime moulds, it climbs to an elevated spot in order to release its spores, where they will be more likely to be caught and carried by the wind. I just saw the one, but they can sometimes occur in small groups of half a dozen individuals in close vicinity.