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About George Rogers

Florida botanist

Gaseous Emanations and Tropical Soda Apple

13 Nov

Tropical Soda Apple

Solanum viarum

Solanaceae

In Allapattah Flats Natural Area yesterday John and George were struck by the conspicuous autumn beauty of a detested invasive weed, Tropical Soda Apple.

Find Tropical Soda Apple in this Gigapan taken by John 11/11 at Allapattah Flats.  (Hint: look near the white posts.)  You can pan around and zoom in and out: Click

Beyond wicked thorns, why is this South American Category I invasive weed the bane of all that’s good?    Those little ”tomato” fruits bear  oodles of hyperviable seeds and are experts at animal dispersal, reportedly moved around by cattle,  feral hogs, deer, raccoons, and other animals, and possibly by birds, as well as in feed, sod,  manure, and other agricultural products, The  spot where we photographed the plant was decorated with raccoon (?) scat.

The weed loves and invades pastures, degrading over a million acres in Florida alone, quite a feat for a South American species unknown in the U.S. prior to the 80s.  There are ongoing efforts to control it with insect biocontrols, hopefully ones not interested in tomatoes, potatoes, eggplants, and many native Solanaceae species.

Cow + TSA = dispersal (and sick cow?)

Tropical Soda Apple differs from other Solanum species in our area by having the young fruits colored like mini-water melons, straight thorns, and petiolate leaves.

Solanaceae are in large part a druggy toxic bunch, despite the edible species, so what about Tropical Soda Apple? Livestock beware! Illness occurs, including brain damage visible upon autopsy.    Cattle do not read veterinary journals; they eat the fruits and scatter the seeds with abandon.  One of the toxins, solasodine, serves commercially as a precursor for steroidal drugs.  It is amazing how little attention there is to human poisoning from such a tempting berry.  The berries are said to be disgusting, which probably has saved children.

The thorns are just plain evil, yet animals do harvest the fruit.  And this ties in with the beauty we beheld yesterday.  The plants were devoid of leaves, no longer very thorny, and festooned with beautiful cherry-tomato-sized golden berries glowing in the late afternoon sun.  They could serve as fanciful holiday trees at the mall, and are eye-catching at a hundred yards.  This otherwise forbidding species apparently lowers its leafy-prickly guard and gooses up its tooty-fruit advertising at seed-dispersal time.  The berries probably become less toxic upon ripening.

The thorny leaves are gone and the golden orbs are ripe for the plucking (but don't) (Photo by JB)

Let’s go a little deeper on that.  Ripening fruits, of which there are many, produce the hormone ethylene.  Ethylene is involved in leafdrop, which is dramatic in the present case.  Bear with us a moment on an academic yet relevant quote from the 1943 Botanical Gazette concerning Soda Apple’s cousin, the tomato.  The title says it all:  “Defoliation of the Tomato Plant as a Response to Gaseous Emanations from the Fruit.”  Plant physiologist John Skok, from the University of Illinois (which Michigan beat yesterday in an ugly contest), tackled a horto-headache with tomato plants: they drop their leaves late in the growth cycle.

The berry opened (photo by JB)

Like Hercule Poirot, he first dismissed some red herrings, diseases and nutritional problems.  Then he revealed the true culprit, in his words,  “defoliation is in part a response to emanations of ethylene or a combination of ethylene and other unsaturated hydrocarbon gases from ripe fruits…”

OK then, ethylene functioning as a hormone induces leafdrop in a species closely related to Tropical Soda Apple.  (In modern agriculture artificially applied ethylene defoliates crops for mechanical harvesting.)  The phenomenon serves a positive purpose in Tropical Soda Apple by removing the thorny leaves while flashing the showy fruits.  Here we have an apparent case of a pre-existing hormonal mechanism enhanced through eons of evolution  to become a specific adaptation for seed-dispersal in TSA.  Not bad for a debased weed!

 
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Posted by on November 13, 2011 in Allapattah Flats, Tropical Soda Apple

 

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Allapattah Flats and White Pine Barren Aster

05 Nov

 Yesterday John and George went wildflower-hunting in the Allapattah Flats Management Area in Martin County west of Palm City, and found bugs.  Not just mosquitoes, but also good interesting types.

Web in the morning sun (by JB)

Although not arthropod experts, we can match pictures with the best of them, and our creature identifications come from highly scientific picture-book flipping.  Do not bet excessively on them.  We learned that the Female Golden Silk Orb Weaver Spider makes mighty strong silk (which we experienced), is larger than her puny male, and has only a minor bite (which we did not experience) despite her arachnophobia appearance.

Female Golden Silk Orb Weaver (by JB)

 We learned further that the Salt Marsh Moth Caterpillar may occupy Dogfennel (Eupatorium capillifolium) in abundance.  It reportedly extracts toxic alkaloids from Eupatorium, one of its favorite host genera. (Eupatorium toxins killed Abraham Lincoln’s mother, although she probably did not eat caterpillars, and that topic is for another day.)  The caterpillar wiggles nervously when approached, then drops abruptly from its branch in clear annoyance. How does the caterpillar scatter across a large meadow of Eupatorium?  The species can wind-sail on a silky “parachute” when small, and when older they disperse overland.

Salt Marsh Moth Caterpillar on Eupatorium before dropping (by JB)

The adult Salt Marsh Moth is white with dark spots, having some yellow coloration in the male.  It is not particularly a salt marsh dweller.

Let’s get to a plant.  One of the more striking species at Allapattah this week was White Pinebarren Aster (Oclemena reticulata, aka Aster reticulatus), a species distributed mostly to the north of our haunts, and not found much south of Lake Okeechobee.  A quick look at the flowering dates on herbarium specimens shows most flowering is in the Spring or early Summer, then blossoms seem to wane in Summer, with a second blooming period in the Autumn.

Oclemena, yellow phase (by JB)

Here is a perfect example of a species whose flowers change color, placing it in the company of Mahoe Hibiscus, Rangoon Creeper, other “Aster” species,  and scores of  additional examples in many families.    Flower-color-changers seem typically to go from a light coloration, often yellow, to reddish.

This occurs in Oclemena in the disk flowers, the small flowers packed together at the center of this Composite flower head, that is, the eye changes from yellow to burgundy.   This is not likely to be mere decline with age, but rather a signal to pollinators of a change in floral status.  Many flowers signal reward availability to pollinators with changing color.   That color change accompanies diminished pollen or nectar availability is well demonstrated.  Moreover, presumably innate preference for “reward now” coloration occurs in bees, butterflies, and additional insects.  Even more remarkable, researchers have trained butterflies to alter their behavior based on color in relation to rewards.  Pavlov’s Swallowtails.  Yellow is a pervasive bee-advertising color while reddish tones are not.

The "we're closed" phase (by JB)

 
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Posted by on November 5, 2011 in Allapattah Flats, White Pine Barren Aster

 

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Love Vine

29 Oct

Love Vine

Cassytha filiformis

Lauraceae

Bee on Conradina (Photo by JB)

John and George explored the Hobe Sound National Wildlife Refuge on the shore of the Intracoastal yesterday, encountering millions of Black Mangrove embryos in the beach debris, some of them taking root.  This was interesting because the dispersal agents are tough, food-laden bare naked embryos without benefit of enclosure in fruit or seed.    We saw Dicerandra immaculata in full bloom left over apparently from a reintroduction effort, enjoyed a bee working over a False-Rosemary (Conradina grandiflora) systematically flower by flower, and encountered a pixieland of mushrooms on the scrubby sugar sand dunes.  

The most imposing and conspicuous (fully) living thing there was the Love Vine draped over trees and shrubs, so we must give it its due.  Love Vine is a nearly leafless scrub-loving parasite resembling orange-tinted spaghetti noodles overwhelming its scrubby shrubby victims.  The botanical name Cassytha comes from Aramaic for “tangled wisp of hair.”  The old name “Woe Vine” fits pretty well too.

To remove a common point of confusion, Love Vine and Dodder look alike but are unrelated examples of convergent evolution.   Dodders are species of the genus Cuscuta in the Morning Glory Family, Convolvulaceae.  Several species live in Florida, with a handful of species in our immediate area.    Although resembling Love Vine, they are far less common and tend to specialize on herbaceous victims as opposed to Love Vine’s preference for bigger prey.

Love Vine (image found on John’s camera after he dropped it fleeing into the woods)

Love Vine (Cassytha filiformis) is a member of the Cinnamon Family, Lauraceae.  Love Vine differs from Dodder by having fleshy drupes (vs. dry capsular) fruits, and by having a feature characteristic of Lauraceae: anthers that open by flaps instead of by the usual slits.   You can see this with a hand lens.   A suggestible observer might sniff the membership of Love Vine in the Lauraceae by a faint spiciness when crushed.   Love Vine has its flower parts in multiples of three, as opposed to multiples of five in Dodder.

Our species, one of about 20 in Cassytha, is worldwide in warm-climate coastal areas.  Apparently the fleshy fruits disperse in part by floating, aided undoubtedly by birds and by storms.

The adaptations of Love Vine for parasitism are profound.  The vine adheres to its host with “suckers” (haustoria) that look like something on a space-alien octopus. 

Love Vine haustoria on oak leaf (photo by JB).

You might think it just sits there and sucks, but the invasion runs deeper.   Tissue from the sucker enters the host and spreads into the hosts cambium (living region just under the bark) and/or phloem (sugar-conducting tissue immediately outside the cambium).  It is never a great idea for a parasite to kills its host.  Although Love Vinosis is sometimes fatal eventually, the attack has a built-in host-sparing restraint.  The parasitic tissue invades the cell walls of its host and draws nutrients out of the host cells across the cell membranes, but the parasitic tissue never actually breaks the host’s cell membranes, thus leaving the host cells alive to keep on feeding.  The recurring idea of harnessing Love Vine as a biocontrol against unwelcome plants may be hobbled by the comparatively nature of Love Vine’s attack. 

On a subcellular level, the xylem (water-conducting) tissues in the parasitic suckers have structures often called “graniferous tracheary elements.”  In plain English, the plumbing at the intake zone has a pressure valve involving tiny granules whose function seems to be to control the stream of incoming stolen sap.    The distribution and roles of these poorly known structures need research.

Around the globe, Love Vine has accumulated numerous uses, ranging from body decoration, to medications, to hair promoter, to potential modern cancer therapy.   As is so often true, the plant contains toxic alkaloids, yet is on the menu in some cultures.    And of course, Love Vine is the active ingredient in love potions.    Happy Halloween.

 
4 Comments

Posted by on October 29, 2011 in Love Vine

 

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Sensitive Brier

22 Oct

Sensitive Brier

Mimosa quadrivalvis

Mimosaceae

 First,  today’s story is based at Halpatioke Park in Stuart.  Enjoy John’s Gigapan in the park.  You can pan around and zoom in and out.  Click Here

Second, let’s get our Mimosas straight.

Different Mimosa #1:  Most gardeners and botanical garden visitors have touched and crumpled poor neurotic  Sensitive Plant.  That fun species is Mimosa pudica (pudica = shy) and, although not native to Florida, crops up occasionally in the sunshine state.  It differs from all other Florida Mimosas by having just two pairs of pinnae (major leaflets).

Different Mimosa #2:  Mimosa strigillosa, sometimes called Powderpuff or Sunshine Mimosa, is a Florida native and  a commercial groundcover.  It was a 2008 Florida Nursery Growers and Landscape Association 2008 “Plant of the Year.”  This species has a somewhat elongate (vs. globose) flower head and is the only thornless species in Florida.  (The 4th Florida species, Mimosa pigra, is a vining species with thorns and with flat fruits.)

Different Mimosas #3:  Tropical American Mimosa tenuiflora and some other species have psychedelic root drugs used in mind-bending preparations.  As far as we know, the only “trip” you experience from any of the Florida species is stumbling over a vining stem.

Different “Mimosa” #4:  The “Mimosa” tree is not a Mimosa and is irrelevant.

Different Mimosa #5: Is a disgusting cocktail made with champagne and orange juice. Avoid it.

Mimosa quadrivalvis flower heads (by JB)

Now that the pesky  imposters  are marginalized, let’s talk.  Yesterday John and George enjoyed a 70-degree, blue-sky visit to Halpatioke Park and selected Sensitive Brier to feature here.   Mimosa quadrivalvis, the only Florida species with a four-angled (vs. flat) pod, was in beautiful bloom with its highly pink poofy flower heads.  Less attractive but more interesting were its ugly bristly pods.  To older folks, this species may be more familiar as Schrankia,  a persistent form of  nomenclatural brain pollution.  Does Sensitive Brier recoil from probing like a good “sensitive” brier should?  Yes, but less dramatically than Different Mimosa #1.

Thorny ripe pods (by JB)

 

Let’s linger a moment on the sensitivity.  Many Legumes tend to droop their foliage at night.  They are not wilted.  Rather, they “close up shop” by means of little muscles called pulvini (singular: pulvinus) at the bases of the leaves and sometimes at the leaflet bases too.  The pulvinus controls the angle of the dangle in response to environmental cues.  We won’t go far down that technical road, but briefly, the plant responds to the different reddish light tones during the day compared with those at dusk.   Far-red light characteristic of dusk sends a “time to droop” signal to the pulvinus.  The mechanism is related closely to the way long-day and short-day plants determine the season, and to red/far-red  cues governing seed germination.  Take the drooping  reaction, change the cues from light color to touch, and you have leaves that recoil  when a cow comes sniffing around.  You can watch here as a Mimosa goes to sleep thanks to its pulvini.  Click

What really grabbed us, literally, was not the beguiling flower head, and not the sensitive leaves, but the pods.   They are scary, resembling slim barbed torpedoes.  A reasonable observer might interpret the thorns on the pods as protection from herbivores, which of course is probable, especially since the entire plant is armed similarly.  Beyond that, fruits from many plant species apply spines and varied protuberances to cling to passing creatures to aid dispersal.  That’s conceivable with today’s plant.

 

Mess with the pods, and they unzip (by JB)

 

Playing with the ripe legumes we noticed something fun:  if you abuse them, for instance by dragging the spines across fabric, the pods pop open readily along pre-set lines presenting the seeds all lined up like paratroopers getting ready to jump.  It seems that abrasion and tugging on the spines helps open the pod.  Maybe creatures do it sometimes, or maybe the wind helps as the pods grab each other and snag surrounding vegetation suspended on their vines.

 
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Posted by on October 22, 2011 in Sensitive Brier

 

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But can you say Aeschynomene?

16 Oct

Aeschynomene americana and A. indica

Jointvetches

Fabaceae, Leguminosae

Dr. Livingstone I presume?

Today John and George scoped out the Kiplinger Natural Area off of Kanner Highway in Stuart.  Among the many attractions, the area is home to gorgeous Loblolly Bays (Gordonia lasianthus), but that’s for another day.

Enjoy this Gigapan of a pond in Kiplinger taken by John.  You can zoom in and out and pan around.  Click

Even more amazing than Loblolly Bay (yeah, right)  are two skanky Legume weeds, species of Aeschynomene.  The amazing thing is their togetherness.  Although not rare, you don’t see Aeschonomene every day, yet in Kiplinger two species occur essentially mixed in the same clump.  If you agree with our speculations, you obviously possess superior intellect, and feel that birds of a feather flock together.  Here we have two different species of the same genus holding hands, even though one is native and one comes from afar.

Aeschynomene americana by JB

Because both species are seeded deliberately around the warm world for livestock fodder,  their precise nativities are obscure.  But let’s pretend we know.  Aeschynomene americana, Shyleaf, is native and widespread in Florida.  Aeschynomene indica  is likewise widespread here but not native, and probably originated in South America.  Seeds are sold commercially, and species of Aeschynomene can be noxious weeds.

Aeschynomene indica by JB

The two growing almost touching each other seems to be a reflection of shared genes and therefore shared ecological tolerances and preferences, which is something to ponder.  Tendencies for different species of the same genus to reunite happens.  A cherry-picker might pluck debatable examples from Echinochloa, Emilia, Richardia, Sesbania, and Sida.

Overall in Florida there are about six Aeschynomene species, some native, some not.  A quick word on distinguishing the two species featured today and most likely to be encountered in the range of “Treasure Coast Natives.”   Aeschynomene americana has leaflets with 2 or more longitudinal veins, flowers with a predominantly pinkish cast, and fruits with one edge deeply lobed into pretty curves.  Aeschynomene indica, by contrast, has flowers with yellow and pink tones, a single vein in each leaflet, and fruit with almost straight (very slightly curvy) margins.  Interesting agricultural fact:  Aeschynomene americana adds 112 kg nitrogen per hectare in Florida.

Now here is the cool part.  Pith from Aeschynomene species is the usual pith of pith helmets, long favored by British explorers, tropical troops, oppressors of indigenous peoples, and khaki-wearing headwear fashionistas.  It took a lot of work to cut strips of pith and layer them onto a helmet mold, like paper mache.  Pith is porous, and a real pith helmet provides air conditioning when you dunk it in water.  The water evaporates cooling your malarial brain.  Amazingly,  they still manufacture the helmets (at least in Viet Nam) and you can still make yourself look like a 19th Century colonist if you wish.

Jungle explorers prefer pith helmets for sun protection.

 
3 Comments

Posted by on October 16, 2011 in Jointvetches

 

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Catesby’s Lily—Eye Candy and Brain Teaser

08 Oct

Catesby’s Lily

Lilium catesbaei

Liliaceae

First things first, who was Mark Catesby?  And why does that matter?  (It does, be patient.)  Born and educated in England, Mark (1682-1749) earned his mark exploring, documenting, and illustrating the natural history of the Southeast and the West Indies before the days of the mighty Linnaeus, whose work is the official beginning of plant nomenclature.  Mark Catesby’s “Natural History of Florida, Carolina, and the Bahama Islands” displayed the natural history of our area in engaging vivid color, in the early 18th Century.

Catesby’s Lily and “Wampum Snake” by Mark Catesby

The example above shows Catesby’s Lily etched by Mark himself along with a “Wampum Snake.”  The critter has gone through the nomenclatural mill since Catesby’s times, and appears to be what we’d now call a Banded Watersnake (Nerodia fasciata).  (Commentary on this identification is welcome.)  So here is the big deal:  MC brought together one of the showiest wildflowers of the Southeast with one of the most colorful books of the early 1700s.  Who needs a Canon with all those megapixels!?

Well, we do.  Compare Catesby ca.1743 with Bradford October 2011.  Enjoy the Gigapan taken yesterday at the Jupiter Wetland Trail by John, and play Find Waldo.  In a Gigapan you can move in and out and pan around with a little practice.  Catesby’s Lily is there for visual enjoyment.

CLICK

What pollinates such a showpiece?  The main pollinator, at least in our place and time, seems to be the Palamedes (or Laurel Swallowtail) Swallowtail Butterfly (Papilio palamedes). (CLICK)  There are other cases of butterflies being prominent pollinators on our native lilies.  And there is mystery here.

In a botany class we teach that a big showy flower is a large investment for a plant, and that flowers tend to fit the body sizes of their pollinators.  A textbook butterfly-pollinated flower might look like a tiny inverted witch’s hat half an inch tall.  Such flowers are usually clustered.  Think of Pentas or Butterfly-Bush.  We teach also that jumbo reddish or orangish flowers tend to serve hummingbirds.  So how is it that humble butterflies dominate these expensive, orange-red “bird” flowers bigger than a butterfly? And to throw in another curve, the petal (tepal) bases are narrowed sharply, leaving big gaps between them.  Such “clawed” petals occur occasionally in the floral world but are odd by Lily standards.  So what’s up with all that?  Now it is time to speculate.

Could it be that big reddish lilies adapted originally for bird visitation spawned descendants re-treaded secondarily to butterflies for reproductive services?  Could the history of Catesby’s Lily be something like that of a child who grew up to be a particle physicist, and drifted later in life to  selling  live bait?

Evolutionary biologists seek hints of earlier characteristics of any species by looking at the broader context of its relatives.  If you suspect the guy selling bait started out as a physicist, you might find it relevant that his mother, father, brother, and third cousin were Nobel Laureates.  Lilium has scores of species around the Northern Hemisphere.  Is bird-pollination commonplace among them?  Yes.

So could it be that habitats occupied by Catesby’s Lily became hummingbird-deficient during ancient times, steering originally bird-pollinated lineage down the butterfly path?  Palamedes Butterflies are common inhabitants of open wet places, so did they fill an ancient void?  Did the Lily and butterfly find each other as a “second marriage”?  (Lily-Swallowtail hookups are known to involve additional species.)

Catesby's Lily by JB

What about those unusual clawed petals?  Hummingbirds hover and poke big strong beaks into tubular petal arrangements.  But if a “bird” flowers gets a re-tread to become a “butterfly” flower it might have to adjust to the ways of a butterfly:  a butterfly lands and hangs on; it probes for nectar with a thin and delicate proboscis; its wings would not fit into a tubular shape but seem compatible with well separated petals.   Those grooves at the petal bases might help guide the proboscis.  A wild speculator might interpret the non-conventional petals to be a secondary adaption to the needs of the visiting butterfly.

Catesby’s Lily ranges across the southeastern Coastal Plain from the mid-Atlantic states to Louisiana.  The butterfly wanders similarly but more broadly, and its floral visits are not strictly the Lily.

To change the subject, the main larval host for our “Laurel” Swallowtails are Red Bay and relatives in the genus Persea, a genus persecuted by Laurel Wilt disease.  Oh oh:  the disease kills the Red Bays, which might impact the butterflies, which might impact Catesby’s Lily.  Hope not.

Lilium catesbaei occupies mostly wet pine woods, wet prairies, and similar open moist habitats.  It is generally reputed to decline if fire is suppressed and  to increase after burning, ducking hot times by means of bulbs safely below ground.  The beauty lures eager native plant gardeners like Papilio palamedes, and cultivation is possible, but the lily is particular and reputedly hard to grow.  Not often spotted in the garden world.  That’s ok—kinda nice just where it is.

 
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Posted by on October 8, 2011 in Catesby's Lily

 

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Baldwin’s Kissing Comfit

03 Oct

Baldwin’s Eryngo

Eryngium baldwinii

Apiaceae

Today John, John’s wife Dee Staley,  and George enjoyed a field trip on a perfect October day to the Kissimmee Prairie State Park with the Palm Beach Chapter of the Florida Native Plant Society.  On the way, Dee pointed out  Crested Caracaras to add delight to the day.  Sorry, no pictures!

Although the main theme of the expedition was hot and heavy grass-watching, one of the first distractions was Baldwin’s Eryngo sprawling  in a sandy meadow displaying its fuzzy little blue flower globes.  This species creeps around most of Florida and a little in neighboring states, often on seasonally moist sands.

Baldwin's Eryngo in Kissimmee Prairie State Park. Photo by JB.

Now for a momentary edifying sidetrack.  Ever wonder why so many plants of the Southeastern U.S. have Baldwin in their names, usually as  baldwinii?— Eryngium bladwinii,  Eleocharis baldwinii,  Scleria baldwinii,  Rhynchospora baldwinii.   William Baldwin (1779-1819) was a Philadelphia physician and botanist prone to explore the Southeastern U.S. (and much beyond);  he had a jones for sedges.  His friends, enemies, and correspondents were a who’s who of American botany of the period, their names echoing through the botanical literature as specific epithets:  Amphicarpum muhlenbergii,   Eragrostis elliottii, Fraxinus darlingtonii.  Dr. Baldwin was probably mostly a swell guy, yet he dissed the work of his controversial contemporary Constantine Rafinesque acidly as “the wild effusions of a literary madman.”  The madman outlived the doctor by over 20 years.  Baldwin died of Tuberculosis on a plant-hunting excursion.

Back to Baldwin’s Eryngo.  Crush it…smell the carrots?  Eryngos are in the Carrot Family, the Apiaceae, also known as the Umbelliferae for their  trademark umbel inflorescence.  In Eryngo the umbel is squshed down to a tight flower head reminiscent of Asteraceae.

This would be a fun genus to study, or maybe a nightmare, due to the mind-boggling diversification of its species.  If Darwin had not studied finches, Eryngium could have helped illuminate the origin of species.  Around here we see Eryngium yuccifolium, Rattlesnake Master, which looks like a desert yucca, and we see and smell  the utterly different Eryngium aromaticum, which has bristly leaves not too different from some lawn weed.

Statewide there are nine species in Florida from the tip of the Panhandle to the docks of Miami, in habitats ranging from swampish to scrub,  one species endemic and endangered (Scrub Eryngium), a couple others escaped  exotics.  The garden selections are mighty pretty and are probably taken to be thistles by casual passers-by.

The crazy quilt of Eryngium diversity has not escaped the interest of contemporary taxonomists who are attacking  the genus—known for long distance dispersals, hybridizations, and rapid diversification—using DNA techniques to sort it all out.   There are over 200 species worldwide.  As varied as the species may be in overall appearances, in habitat preferences, and in behavior, they all have flowers in globose heads, and these are often blue.

Being fragrant, Eryngos collectively have big histories in human affairs.  As explained in Dan Austin’s “Florida Ethnobotany,” candied Eryngium bits were called “kissing comfits.”  They  were the breath mints of their day, except better, having aphrodisiac power.  Along these lines, and  to recycle Dr. Austin’s gleanings from Shakespeare, Falstaff said:

“Let the sky rain potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of Greensleeves; hail kissing comfits and snow eryngoes; let there come a tempest of provocation.”

Who said botany is stodgy?   In what other blog does a smelly little weed  lead to aphrodesia and tempests of provocation!

 
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Posted by on October 3, 2011 in Baldwin's Eryngo

 

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Spotted Beebalm

24 Sep

Spotted Beebalm, Spotted Horsemint

Monarda punctata

Lamiaceae, Mint Family

 No doubt many wildflower and garden-flower enthusiasts with northern roots had their first native Monarda experience with the attention scarlet Oswego-Tea (Monarda didyma) and with the violet-purplish Wild-Bergamot (M.  fistulosa).  The ruling species around here is the Spotted Beebalm (Monarda punctata), which ranges into the northern states, including as a prairie flower.  (For the sake of completeness, another Florida species north of our stomping grounds is Lemon Beebalm, Monarda citriodora.)

Spotted Beebalm is a one-plant flower show with rich purple bracts, purple-tinged calyx, and purple-spotted two-lipped white to slightly yellow corollas with gaping mouths.   This could be taken as a classroom example of a bee-pollinated flower, with a horizontal landing platform grooved with a debatable nectar guide, and with all those irresistible purple polka dots.  And bees do arrive aplenty.   Many species.  Butterflies show up too.  The more the merrier.  Spotted Beebalm is living testimony to wasps as floral visitors too.

Wasp-pollination is mildly surprising, because wasps are generally carnivores at heart, and are known to visit flowers as hunting grounds for buggish prey.  Maybe that was the original reason for wasp-flower visits.   In any case, some wasps extract pollen and nectar nutritionally, obviously spreading pollen in the process. CLICK  

Look closely at the photo.  As with most two-lipped flowers, the stigma (pollen-receiver) and anthers (pollen-makers) are pressed up to the top of the inside of the floral tube (the roof of the mouth).  That way, bees pushing into the tube brush past the stigma, dropping off pollen, and past the anthers, receiving pollen.  Monardas characteristically have wide-spreading anthers, and are split into two subgroups of species, divided over whether the anthers and stigmas are shorter than the tube, or jut out from it.

Now comes a little speculation:   Broaden the view a moment, say, to Orchids, the most diverse plant family.  Orchids have intricate pollination mechanisms tending to correspond to individual pollinator species.  Many members of the Mint Family likewise have complex systems involving levers and mousetraps apparently to interface with narrow ranges of bee species.   But Monardas seem (repeat: seem!) to have comparatively simple systems by mint standards not particularly specialized for anybody, and thus open to the plenteous biodiversity drawn to the blossoms.  Their specialty seems to be splashy billboard advertising rather than a niche market.  Beebalms are the Yeehaw Junction of the wildflower world.

Clumped in a naturalistic garden, Spotted Beebalm has pros and cons.  It is an occasional component in the sunnier gardens on the Palm Beach State College campus.  When in full glorious bloom, Spotted Beebalm earns ooohs and ahhhs from passers-by.   But glory is fleeting, and when not in flower the plants are far less attractive, and not durable.  Is the plant a perennial or an annual?  Yes. The individual stems decline post-flowering and look crummy.  The plants re-seed, which is good or bad depending on your standpoint.  Flowering time is hurricane-time, late summer, early fall.  (This post is a collaborative effort by John Bradford and George Rogers.  John took the photo.)

 
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Posted by on September 24, 2011 in Spotted Beebalm

 

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Tell the Dentist “Hold the Novocaine”—You’ve Got Toothache Tree

17 Sep

Wild Lime, Prickly-Ash

Zanthoxylum fagara

Rutaceae

 Wild Lime is no real lime, although it is a native hammock-dwelling Citrus in the fragrant company of Torchwood (Amyris elemifera), Hercules Club (Zanthoxylum clavis-herculis), and many additional native and cultivated Florida Citrus species.  The approximately seven native zanthoxylums in the U.S. plus the 200 others worldwide have a rich history in human affairs.

Listing the umpteen afflictions historically treated with these bioactive trees would be tedious, so we’ll zoom in on a couple.  Zanthoxylum species are sometimes called Toothache Trees, and they do have well substantiated ability to numb the mouth dating back to pre-European applications, as reflected in diverse Native American names.  Pharmacological research has backed this up in a modern scientific context, and there is some interest in the plant’s chemistry relative to leukemia.  At a less sophisticated level, Zanthoxylum juice has turned up in commercial natural toothpastes.

Wild Lime fruits in September. Photo by JB

Crushed Zanthoxylum parts present a citrusy spicy fragrance, and serve most saliently as Sichuan Pepper from various Asian species.  The spice is also call “fagara,” giving today’s species its specific epithet.  Zanthoxylum means yellow wood, a self-explanatory name; the wood, bark, and roots yield a yellowish dye.

For gardeners who can live with bloodthirsty spines, Wild Lime is an attractive and tough smallish landscape tree or shrub tolerant of drought, of alkaline soils, and of life near the sea.  This and other ornamental native and non-native Citrus species are vectors of Citrus Greening and no doubt of additional ailments afflicting the Florida Citrus industry, and thus are unwelcome trucked commercially around the state.

The trees are dioecious, that is, separate male or female.  This is a remarkable reproductive system in a large woody plant where half of the individuals are devoted solely to pollen production.  But then again, the same can be said of mice and men.  The small dehiscent pods contain merely one black glossy seed.

Wild Lime is among the diverse Citrus species valuable as host plants for the Giant Swallowtail Butterfly whose larva looks like a bird dropping on the tree’s stem.  The endangered Schaus Swallowtail depends mostly on the related Torchwood, raising the question of Wild Lime serving potentially as a “plan B” for this swallowtail.

This post is a collaborative effort by John Bradford and George Rogers.

 
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Posted by on September 17, 2011 in Wild Lime

 

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Sesbania vesicaria will raise a few blisters

10 Sep

Sesbania vesicaria

Bladderpod

Fabaceae, Leguminosae

 A trip to Kissimmee Prairie State Park today revealed beautiful Sesbanias to be the plants of the day John and George stopped the car to check on Danglepod, Sesbania herbacea, in a roadside ditch near the park.   This species is probably native, although perhaps a little too weedy and widespread for its exact origins to be clear.  The pod is long and skinny, in contrast with today’s featured species below, and the standout feature is underground, or better put, under water.  The root mass looks like Santa’s beard, a  bleached-white spongy mop studded with nitrogen-fixing nodules on steroids slurping nutrients so aggressively out of the stinky canal water you could almost hear it.  If you ever need a plant to sop nutrients out of eutrophic water, here’s a candidate—or do all those nitrogen-fixing nodules put nitrogen back in?  A water-lover for sure.  Various species of Sesbania have “river hemp” as part of their names.

Sesbania herbacea with awesome roots. Note the root nodules. Taken 10/2/11 by JB.

Being fast-growing, tolerant of hard times, and nitrogen-fixing,  species of the large genus Sesbania have worldwide roles as green manures, fodders,  and similar applications, although the seeds (and other parts?) are toxic.   They are also showy, which no doubt is why Sesbania punicea with  flame-colored flowers and winged pods has escaped cultivation to become a Category II invasive exotic in Florida and beyond.   Why does somebody always have to sell every #$%^ weed with colorful flowers?   And why does every species of Sesbania have its own weird pod?

Sesbania vesicaria. Photo by JB.

Colorizing the lonesome prairie is Sesbania vesicaria with three-toned blossoms in  lively salmon red shaded  with deep maroon and  with a  sunny yellow eye.  You can’t miss them.  The name Bladderpod is self-explanatory upon encountering the bladder, and is reflected in the species  name “vesicaria,” which means puffed up.  Vesicants cause blisters.  The mature legume is puffy,  bloated, pointy at the ends, and dangling decoratively.   Confession time:  having seen the bladder dangling on bare twigs in the off-flowering months, the identity was not obvious until  leaves and flowers  illuminated the pretty truth.   The pod could pass for a large insect pupa, except for being  full of seeds.

 
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Posted by on September 10, 2011 in Bladderpod

 

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