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| Bush poppy, Dendromecon rigida, the first to bloom at Manzanita Park |
This is the earnest work. Each of us is given
only so many mornings to do it---
to look around and love.
-excerpt from "The Deer" by Mary Oliver
In the embrace of California winter, on the sandy manzanita corridors of a hill of chaparral, I think I am falling in love.
When Harry and I relocate, it is always a priority to seek out optimal trails. The perfect trail offers benefits to both of us in terms of exercise, at least a little off leash possibility for Harry and, if I hit the jackpot, natural beauty with plenty of opportunities to immerse myself in a microcosm of wildness. As it turns out, such a place is just a mile down the road from my new home. I started hiking at Manzanita Regional Park shortly after tucking Willow Wildwood safely into her nook at Jack's house in the rural hills overlooking the Elkhorn Slough in November. Because the park is operated by the county youth association, the gates are only open for youth association activities which are sporadically held, usually on weekends. What many have apparently argued is a drawback, is in fact helping to keep the park uncrowded---most of the time, hikers must park near the road and bypass the gates and hike a short but steep access road to the trails. Since even the smallest bit of inconvenience weeds out many potential users, the 3-mile trail is rarely occupied by more than a handful of hikers at one time. My misanthropy is indulged and much of the oak and chaparral habitat remains relatively undisturbed.
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| Looking south across oak, cottonwood, willow and toyon |
The 3 miles wind up and down hills, through dense stands of manzanita, coast live oak woodlands and willow riparian zones. Manzanita Park and I were first introduced in winter while much of the life is dormant. But on that very first walk I felt the pulse of potential---a sleepy whisper from all the seeds and spores and cocoons that rain and warmth are on the way and we will be meeting soon. Since that day there have been days of rain and days of the arid dryness with which we have become so familiar in the drought days of California. As I walk the trails at Manzanita 3-4 times each week with Harry, I am witness as the biota responds.
November
In November, it is the manzanita who sing the love songs. While most other plants are dormant, the three species of Arctostaphylos at the park are producing flowers, feeding the Anna's hummingbirds that zoom across the trail ahead of us. The twisting red branches lead to inviting fairylands of moss and lichen under the dense canopy of leaves that in turn form their own canopy and micro-understory.
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Pearly pink blossoms on brittle-leaf manzanita |
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| The underpinnings |
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| Miniature forest of moss and lichen under the manzanita |
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| Toyon, Heteromeles arbutifolia, is at its fruiting peak in November |
We dip down into cozy glens of coast live oaks, but in November much on the forest floor is dormant. There are signs of what's in store come spring: roses and ferns, bravely holding their place in the thickets. The sly poison oak hides its give-away leaves of three and tickles passers-by with naked twigs. The oldest of the oaks creaks with each gust the secrets of their sleeping buds that will someday be acorns.
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| Into the oak woods, Harry leads the way. |
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| Rose hips show their Christmas colors too |
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| An admirable coast live oak |
Despite the drought, the cool interior of the woods support pockets of lush, fragrant mosses. I find moss on the soil, rocks and trees, both oak and manzanita. Mosses are benevolent epiphytes, treading lightly on their host and taking no nutrients or water as tax for their tenancy---I find they sometimes have the appearance of lanky green mammals that have stretched out on a branch to steal a nap. If I could find a practical way to carpet my home with this, I would, and I would always be barefoot.
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| Mossy carpet on coast live oak invites a nap |
December
The first heavy rains of the season (of the year?) came to central California in early December. The drumbeat started like the tapping of a nervous toe on Willow's roof, then swelled to a great pounding as the impact of individual drops rushed together in a welcomed harmony of raps and splashes. We have been so thirsty.
For days we have rain and each morning brings new awakenings. The woods, dripping their own shower of collected rain between the cloudbursts, smell rich with dampened bark and leaf and root. A community of spores, asleep deep in the soil, were awaiting the prince's kiss of rain. Everywhere in our coastal chaparral microcosm, herculean fungi are pushing up mounds of soil and humus with their reproductive fruiting bodies: Manzanita Park is alive with mushrooms.
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| Bench pressing Russula |
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| I don't know what these are, but I like the tableau. Stay tuned on iNat. |
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| Jack-o-lantern mushroom, Omphalotus olivascens |
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| Witch's butter, Tremella aurantia, is parasitizing another fungus, the false turkey tail, Stereum. |
Deep in the soil an astounding hidden relationship is at work; a network of hyphae are interacting with the roots of their plant host, extending the host's ability to absorb nutrients and, unlike the mosses, takes sugar as compensation. These mycorhizzal associations date back to the earliest vascular plants and may have helped plants colonize terrestrial habitat. Nearly all plants you love or cultivate are involved with fungi in this way. The mushrooms are the showy reproductive organ while, beneath our feet churns the giant cooperative: the mycorhizza. By the way, have you seen the X-Files episode "Field Trip"? It's one of my favorite science nerd XF episodes ever. Stream it on Netflix ASAP and you'll never think of mycorhyzzae the same way again! As for their taxonomic kinship, perhaps you know that they are not plants, but are you aware that they are really much closer to animals? Weird.
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| Simplified cladogram showing evolutionary relationships. I found it on this guy's site, don't know if he made it but I think it's quite good. |
From the dried tussocks of fern fronds unfurl new growth. Mosses, lacking the water transport and water-loss prevention systems of the vascular plants, depend on ambient moisture. They are well equipped to soak up the new rain like velvety, green sponges.
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| Goldback ferns (Pentagramma triangularis) emerge. Their name comes from the showering of gold-dusty sori on the underside |
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| Moss swells on a manzanita trunk |
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| Harry and I find some of the connecting trails have become creek beds in the rain |
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| Raccoon tracks stay distinct on the damp sandy trail |
January
After a short but respectable influx of rain, by January we are once again dry (for more on the status of the California drought look here). It seems as if it will not be enough, but time will tell how California's varied ecosystems will respond. Many of my plant enthusiast friends are hopeful that there will be an improvement in wildflower abundance and duration over last year, which was dismal and depressing. While the mushrooms are now dessicated and decomposing here in my Manzanita microcosm, the flowering plants are just beginning to introduce me to their procession of bloom. The leggy shrubs along the trail that I had overlooked for weeks blossomed with a startling yellow "pop" here and there (ah, they are bush poppies!) only to flood the trail margins with yellow by the end of the month. They are the first blooms I find other than the manzanita, and they do their best to woo me with their sharp, bright earnestness.
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| The trail side bedecked |
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| The bush poppies (Dendromecon rigida) inspire some sketching on a warm January day |
As of this writing, the rush-roses (Helianthemum scoparium), white yarrow (Achillea millefolium), wild cucumber (Marah fabaceus) and Ceanothus have joined the manzanita and bush poppies in showy influorescence. Every day a new plant introduces itself and joins in on the love song.
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| Wild cucumber curlicues |
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| Ceanothus, California's liliac |
Breeding season is in full swing and Anna's hummingbird males are performing their territorial aerobatic loop de loops above the manzanitas. I think they perform these spectacular displays both as courtship and territorial defense, but the ones I've witnessed on my walks seemed to have another male perched disinterestedly nearby. Here's a nice paper describing the displays, be sure to check out Figure 3 for a diagram of the components of the loop. In addition to a well-timed flash of the brilliant red throat patch, there is a very loud "CHEEP" as the male reaches the bottom of the loop--- I have a recording of this on iNat. In 2008, two UC Berkeley students determined that this sound came not from the bird's throat, but its tail feathers!
The warm winter days at the park encourage flight in several overwintering butterflies, I ardently anticipate the spring flight of other species and am practicing spotting caterpillar activity on some of the larval food plants along the trails. I think I shall make the acquaintance of many more butterfly species before long. I look forward to sharing them and all the new residents I meet with you---who doesn't want to share about a new friend? It's just too good to keep to myself.
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| Painted lady, Vanessa cardui. Larval food plants thistles, mallows and others. |
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| Red admiral, Vanessa atalanta. Larval food plants: nettles |
I hope you all can find a little patch of wildness near you with which to fall in love across the seasons, for me it feels very much like romance. I awaken each morning excited to visit my manzanita microcosm, eager to see what has sprouted or bloomed. I am soothed by the smell of oak and the song of the thrasher from the top of the toyon. On these trails, I am nimble, patient and observant---my very best self. Who can ask more of love than that?
