An Overnight Crop

Following a warm, rainy night in central Missouri, clusters of Jack-o-Lantern mushrooms adorn our Columbia yard, rising from the decaying roots of past shade trees.  Named for their orange color and for the fact that they typically appear in autumn, these attractive fungi are poisonous.  In fact, their toxin is currently under investigation as a possible chemotherapeutic agent for various cancers.

In addition, Jack-o-Lantern mushrooms are among the fungi that are bioluminescent, emitting a faint, greenish glow that is visible at night.  As with other fungi, the colorful mushrooms are the fruiting bodies of a much larger organism, composed of a vast network of mycelia that retrieve nutrients from dead organic matter.  Of course, the mushrooms are transient reproductive structures and some mycologists believe that the bioluminescence may attract creatures that facilitate spore dispersal.

Not a mushroom expert, I prefer to enjoy wild species with my eyes and stick to store-bought mushrooms for my meals.  No doubt, I am missing out on the flavor of freshly-picked specimens but, for some of us, avoiding acute gastroenteritis is a higher priority.

Fueling the Compost Bin

After six months of surviving on dry vegetation and occasional scraps from our kitchen, the residents of our compost bin received a nutritious banquet this morning.  Granted one of the few warm, sunny days of this chilly spring, my wife and I spent a couple of hours trimming and weeding, donating the greenery to the bacteria, fungi and invertebrates that inhabit the dark confines of the bin.

Fortunately, for them, relatively hot, humid weather is expected later this week, finally producing the conditions in which they thrive.  Then again, the bin is no Garden of Eden; a host of predators, from centipedes to moles and shrews, patrol the mini ecosystem.

From our point of view, it was rewarding work.  The flower beds look better, we benefited from the exercise and we took advantage of a free recycling service, one that churns out rich compost for the garden.  

Matted Hair in the Brush Pile

Now that summer has set in and the bird population on our farm has stabilized for the season, I am more inclined to roam the property, looking for unusual insects and plants.  This morning, while exploring our "wild corner," I came across a clump of matted hair in the brush pile.

Initially assuming it was the remnants of a mouse or small cottontail, I used a stick to investigate further but found no bones or other material to confirm my suspicion.  I then concluded it was a type of fungus and, after some investigation, settled on a species of Phycomyces; these fungi produce long, hair-like sporangia which terminate in tiny spheres that contain the spores.  Feasting on (and recycling) a wide variety of rotting organic matter, the fungal bloom was likely triggered by our recent heavy rains.

My identification may or may not be correct but, in more than sixty years of exploring natural ecosystems, it was the first time I encountered such a fungus; just the latest confirmation that nature's diversity is endless, even for a life-long naturalist.

Cedar-Apple Rust

Yesterday, after a steady morning rain, my wife called me outside to look at strange, gelatinous growths in our eastern red cedar trees.  Bright orange, tennis ball sized and characterized by numerous tendrils, these alien ornaments had not been observed in previous years.

Cedar-apple rust is a unique fungus that utilizes both eastern red cedars and a tree from the rose family (primarily apples) to complete its life cycle.  Spores infect the red cedars in summer, forming small galls by the following spring.  Often called "cedar apples," the galls enlarge over the next year and spawn the gelatinous tendrils after spring rains; these odd structures release spores that, spread by the wind, infect nearby apple trees.  Spores released by lesions on the apple leaves then reinfect the cedars during the summer months, completing the cycle.

In retrospect, we recently lost a diseased crabapple tree that had grown near the red cedars.  In addition, our hawthorne tree has been losing limbs over the past year and now has yellow spots on some of its leaves; hawthornes, like apple trees, are members of the rose family and are susceptible to cedar-apple rust.  Not inclined to use fungicides, we'll trim out the dead wood as necessary and hope for the best (though the hawthorne's fate seems clear).

Beneath the Snow

As this brutal winter extends into February, a thick layer of snow covers the lawns, fields and grasslands of the American Midwest.  Shimmering in the frigid sunshine, the white blanket seems to have smothered nature's cycle of life.

Yet, beneath the snow, life goes on.  Meadow voles tunnel under its protective covering, less visible but still vulnerable to the keen senses of winter's predators.  Cottontails and chipmunks have retreated to their burrows and true hibernators, including woodchucks and ground squirrels, slumber deep in the ground, oblivious to the winter storms that rake the surface.  Insulated by the snow and leaf litter, mice, shrews and a host of invertebrates feast on seeds, berries and hibernating insects.  Moles tunnel deeper into the soil, pursuing earthworms and grubs, while fungi spread their mycelia through the decaying vegetation, recycling nutrients, nourishing the root systems of dormant plants and storing energy for their own reproduction.

Though spring seems to be a distant promise as we struggle to clear our sidewalks and driveways, this diverse web of life continues beneath the snow.  Indeed, without it, we could not enjoy the color and fragrance of the coming season.  

An Explosion of Fungi

Following the recent heavy rains and cool weather along the Front Range, our Littleton farm is greener than it has been all year.  In concert, a wide variety of fungi adorn the property, concentrated at wood piles, mulched beds and wood borders.

Hidden within soil and decaying wood for most of the year, fungi produce their reproductive structures (which we know as mushrooms, puffballs, bracket fungi, etc.) when conditions favor germination of their spores; indeed, some species "bloom" in the spring while others appear in late summer or autumn.

One need not be an expert on fungi to enjoy their wide variety of colors and shapes (I certainly don't pretend to qualify); on the other hand, only experts should determine which species are edible since a large percentage of mushrooms are poisonous.  Most of us prefer to enjoy them with our eyes, knowing that these seasonal growths are components of far larger organisms that play a vital role in recycling the chemicals of life.

Jack-o-Lantern Mushrooms

Mushrooms, the spore-producing fruit of fungi, generally prefer cool, moist conditions and are thus rarely encountered during the heat of summer. Indeed, spring and fall are the seasons to observe or collect mushrooms and autumn often offers the greatest variety.

This week, Jack-o-Lantern mushrooms have appeared in our yard, clustering near old stumps, atop the wood mulch or above decaying tree roots. Named for their orange coloration and the fact that their gills, under the right conditions, produce a faint, greenish glow, these mushrooms initially have a convex cap which flattens to a disk and then takes on a larger,cupped shape as they grow; within a few more days, the cluster begins to dry out and crumbles into a darkened mass. Though fragrant (for fungi) and attractive during their growth phase, Jack-o-Lantern mushrooms are toxic to humans, producing a gastroenteritis if consumed.

Like all fungi, this species feeds on organic debris and most of the organism consists of mycelia, thread-like tendrils that course along and through decaying wood. Jack-o-lantern mushrooms are closely associated with oak woodlands and are common in forests and suburbs east of the Rocky Mountains; a related species is found in California. Once mature, the mushrooms produce millions of spores which are spread about by rain, wind, insects and small mammals, destined to become the next generation of saprophytic recyclers.

The Patience of Fungi

In the nineteen years that we have owned our Littleton, Colorado farm, this has been the wettest spring and summer. As a consequence, I have seen more varieties of fungi on the property this year than I had over the previous eighteen combined. Maroon mats of slime mold, puff balls and a wide diversity of mushrooms and fungal growths are scattered across the fields and flower beds.

Of course, the fungi have been here all along, their mycelia infiltrating every patch of soil and every piece of decaying vegetation. The fruiting bodies that we observe are merely their structures for spore production and dispersal; the average mushroom releases millions (if not billions) of spores during its brief presence. Since moist soil conditions favor spore survival and germination, the fruiting bodies usually appear after periods of heavy precipitation (hence their abundance this year).

Observing nature from a human perspective, we are often amazed by the slow pace at which some life cycles unfold. Alpine lichen, for example, may take a thousand years to cover the side of a boulder. There is a certain patience in nature's cycles that is foreign to the human mind; we would do well to absorb some of that essence.