Readers’ wildlife photos

March 4, 2024 • 8:15 am

Contributor and reader Athayde Tonhasca Júnior has a batch of themed photos and an informative narrative. The topic: coffee, otherwise known as java, joe, or mud. Athayde’s words are indented, and you can enlarge his photos by clicking on them.

But first, coffee

Charles II (1630-1685), king of England, Scotland and Ireland, had a reputation for benevolence and learning – the Royal Society came to be thanks to his auspices. But the good king wasn’t happy at all about the gossiping happening in coffeehouses. Londoners from all walks of life would get together in one of the city’s dozens of coffee establishments to socialise, enjoy their pipes, comment on the news and, alarmingly, discuss theology, social mores, politics and republicanism. The king, anxious about potentially seditious blabber, issued a proclamation in 1672 aiming to ‘Restrain the Spreading of False news, and Licentious Talking of Matters of State and, Government’ because some folk  ‘assumed to themselves a liberty, not only in Coffee-houses, but in other Places and Meetings, both publick and private, to censure and defame the proceedings of State, by speaking evil of things they understand not, and endeavouring to create and nourish an universal Jealousie and Dissatisfaction in the minds of all his Majesties good subjects.’

Nobody paid much attention to the king’s gripe, so two years later he came down hard on the miscreants with another proclamation: merchants were forbidden to sell ‘any Coffee, Chocolet, Sherbett or Tea, as they will answer the contrary at their utmost perils.’ But Charles had underestimated how much his subjects cherished their coffee: the proclamation triggered a huge outcry, and there were signs of public disobedience. Perhaps thinking of his father, who lost his head (literally) for being inflexible, the king quickly backpedalled. The proclamation was abolished within two weeks, and Londoners could go back to their chatting, reading, and sipping strong, bitter coffee.

Charles II, who was concerned about Fake News. Portrait by John Riley, The Weiss Gallery, Wikimedia.

Coffee made its way to Europe from Turkey in the mid-1600s, and the new drink quickly became popular and fashionable. The first British coffeehouse was opened in Oxford in 1652, and soon others popped up all over the realm. No alcohol was served, so sober and caffeine-boosted patrons could exchange and debate ideas or do business: Lloyd’s of London and The London Stock Exchange trace their origins to coffeehouses. In Oxford, they became known as penny universities: for one penny, the cost of a cup of coffee (the admission fee), any man – women’s presence was not encouraged – could rub shoulders with learned patrons and find out the latest on science, literature and philosophy. John Dryden, Isaac Newton, Samuel Pepys, Alexander Pope and Christopher Wren were some of the famous coffeehouse fans.

A 17th century London coffeehouse. Image in the public domain, Wikipedia.

Eventually, as the British empire expanded through the East India Company‘s endeavours from 1720 onwards, tea became the country’s most popular hot beverage. Coffee began to make its way back to the top position in the late 1990s and early 2000s, helped in part by the arrival of mass-market coffee chains. Britain is not alone: coffee has become one the most popular drinks around the world, and consumption is increasing.

The expanding coffee market is good news to millions of small farmers and land holders in about 80 countries, who supply the bulk of the internationally traded coffee. Brazil accounts for ~40% of the global trade, followed by Vietnam, Colombia, Indonesia and Ethiopia. Coffee is the most valuable crop in the tropics and a significant contributor to the economies of developing countries in the Americas, Africa and Asia. Arabica coffee (Coffea arabica) makes up 75-80% of the world’s production, and the remainder comes mostly from Robusta coffee (C. canephora), which is easier to cultivate than Arabica but produces an inferior beverage.

The Brazilian Empire (1822-1889) showed its gratitude to the two addictive drugs that sustained the county’s economy by displaying them on its flag: coffee (on the left) and tobacco © Almanaque Lusofonista, Wikimedia Commons.

Arabica coffee has long been understood to be an autogamous plant, that is, it fertilises itself. This reproductive mechanism has the obvious advantage of doing away with pollinating agents such as insects. On the other hand, self-fertilising plants lose out on genetic diversity, so that they are more susceptible to unpleasant surprises such as novel pathogens. And autogamy does not guarantee fertilisation for species as finicky as C. arabica. Plants bloom a few times during the season, but flowers come out all at once and don’t stick around: they wither and drop off in 2-3 days. And if it’s too hot, too cold, too dry or too wet, flowers don’t even open. A coffee plant produces 10,000 to 50,000 flowers every time it blooms, but almost 90% of them fall without being fertilised. So, Arabica coffee bushes could use a little help with their pollination.

Coffee plants in bloom ©FCRebelo, Wikimedia Commons.

It turns out that the autogamous label is not quite correct for Arabica coffee. A growing body of observations and research have shown that fruit size and overall yield increase when flowers are visited by insects, especially bees. The proportion of well-formed, uniform berries also increases, resulting in a better-quality beverage. These results demonstrate that Arabica coffee relies on a mixed mating system: some flowers are self-fertilised, others are cross-fertilised by insects. And the data support this view. On average, insect pollination increases fruit set by about 18%. The naturalised European honey bee (Apis mellifera) is one of the most important contributors to this service, but several other native bees visit coffee flowers, attracted to their abundant nectar and pollen.

The stingless bee Partamona testacea is one of the many coffee pollinators in Central and South America © John Ascher, Discover Life:

There could be more to the pollination of Arabia coffee than the abundance of bees. Some studies suggest that having lots of bee species around also helps, possibly because a range of pollinators provide greater temporal and spatial flower coverage, thus reducing the chances of a receptive flower going without pollen transfer. If it’s proven to be the case that bee diversity makes a difference (the jury’s still out), the conservation of forest remnants that typically border coffee fields would be a judicious crop management practice, as they are home for many native bees.

Shaded coffee plantation, a habitat favourable to native bees © John Blake, Wikimedia Commons.

When you are in the queue for your over-priced double espresso, long macchiato or cortado, you may have a negative thought about greedy coffee barons. In fact, for a £2.30 cup of coffee, the retailer keeps £1.70; five pence (~2%) goes to the grower. Fairtrade estimates that 125 million people depend on coffee for their livelihoods, but many of these small growers can barely scrape a living (World Economic Forum). Boosting productivity is one sure way of increasing farmers’ income, and here bees have much to contribute. Higher productivity also reduces the pressure on natural habitats, as  coffee is often planted in areas previously occupied by native forests.

Typical coffee plantation in low or mid-elevation areas adjacent to native forest remnants © CoffeeHero, Wikimedia Commons.

The Arabica coffee story exemplifies the reach of pollination services. The income of small farmers, revenues of developing countries, the conservation of tropical forests and related matters such as carbon storage and global temperatures, let alone your morning caffeine kick, are all linked in different degrees of relevance to the diligence of bees, some of them poorly known. Keep that in mind while you enjoy your next cup of coffee.

Ad for A Brasileira, Lisbon’s oldest coffee house. Selling Brazilian coffee since 1905. Image in the public domain, Wikipedia.

Readers’ wildlife photos

February 24, 2024 • 8:15 am

Today Athayde Tonhasca Júnior has returned with a short but informative picture + text feature. His narrative is indented, and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them.

BTW, please send in your photos so we don’t run out! Thanks.

Come in – if you insist

Philip Miller (1691-1771), author of the renowned The Gardeners Dictionary and Fellow of the Royal Society, was a keen experimenter in plant propagation. In a 1715 letter to a friend, Miller described his observations of bees visiting tulip flowers, “which persuades him that the Farina may be carried from Place to Place by Insects” – Farina is the Farina Fecundens (fertilizing flour), or pollen, which fellow naturalists suspected played an important part in plant reproduction. Meanwhile in America, Arthur Dobbs (1689-1765), Governor of North Carolina, promoter of expeditions in search of the Northwest Passage and amateur scientist, came to a similar conclusion: “I think that Providence has appointed the Bee to be very instrumental in promoting the Increase of Vegetables”.

His excellency Arthur Dobbs esq., captain general, governor in chief and vice admiral of the Province of North Carolina, circa 1753 © The New York Public Library Digital Collections.

Philip Miller and Arthur Dobbs were two of the pioneer naturalists who recognised and assessed the role of insects in plant reproduction. We’ve learned a great deal since then, so that today plant-pollinator associations are considered some of the best examples of mutualisms, that is, relationships between two species that benefit both. ‘Mutualism’ invokes noble concepts such as cooperation, teamwork, union, and common good; so, analogies with human behaviour were just too tempting. The anarchist Peter Kropotkin (1842-1921) cited examples of mutualism in the natural world as arguments against ruthless competition in human societies, while ecologist Warder Clyde Allee (1885-1955) and colleagues, in their influential Principles of Animal Ecology, made numerous references to human cooperation in discussions about mutualism (Boucher et al., 1982).

Strengthening cooperation, the Soviet way © Nikolai N. Pomansky (1887−1935), Wikimedia commons.

These comparisons with human values risk distorting the true character of mutualism in the natural world, as is the case with pollination. There’s little collaboration here: plants give away as little pollen and nectar as possible because these products are metabolically expensive; sometimes they cheat, giving no reward at all to flower visitors. Pollinators on the other hand would take as much resource as possible, with no altruistic regard for plants’ needs. Instead of cooperation, this type of relationship is best described as mutual exploitation (Westerkamp, 1996). Or, as Danforth et al. (2019) put it, ‘pollinators are like an overly demanding lover – they are great to have around at times, but if left without boundaries, they can take over your life and ruin it.’

Plants are in a delicate position: they need to attract insects to transfer their pollen but must be parsimonious in their rewards, otherwise these will be quickly depleted. To sort out this dilemma, many species evolved a range of adaptations to regulate access to pollen and nectar, and to discourage floral robbers (consumers that do not pollinate). Some plants exclude unsuitable visitors by restricting their pollen to specialised buzz pollinators; others rely on explosive pollen release, while some take the route of morphological tinkering such as keel flowers.

Keel flowers have five petals: a large one on top called the banner (also known as the vexillum or standard petal), two concave ones on the sides (the lateral wings or alae), and two at the base: these are stuck together to form the keel, which encloses the reproductive organs.

Parts of a keel flower: 1. Banner; 2. Wings; 3. Keel © Kembangraps, Wikimedia Commons.

Keel flowers are common in the subfamily Papilionoideae (or Faboideae) of the legume family (Fabaceae). They are also known as papilionaceous flowers, from their resemblance to butterflies – papilio in Latin. Papilionoideae comprises an estimated 14,000 species, or over 70% of all legumes. They are found in a range of habitats, and many of them are important sources of human and animal food, such as soybean (Glycine max), beans (Phaseolus spp.), clovers (Trifolium spp.) alfalfa (Medicago sativa) and peanut (Arachis hypogaea).

The ungainly shapes of keel flowers seem to have been designed to make life a bit difficult for pollinators. Not to put them off completely—that would be suicidal—but to make them work hard for their reward. To access the nectar, a visitor must grab the flower, push the keel down, while simultaneously prising apart the lateral wings, engaging their legs and mouth in elaborate contortions. These manoeuvres expose the stigma (female parts) and the anthers (male parts), which touch the visitor and ensure pollen transfer.

Brown hemp (Crotalaria juncea) pollination. a: Megachile bicolor grabbing the base of the banner with its mandibles; b, c: M. bicolor and M. lanata pushing against the lateral wings with their legs and abdomen, so that style and anthers touch the bees’ scopa (pollen gathering bristles); d: the carpenter bee Xylocopa fenestrata repeating the process © Kumar et al., 2019:

These operations require strength and technique; visitors that do not have the physical apparatus or sufficient power such as butterflies and flies are mostly excluded from keel flowers. Hummingbirds and other birds  are also barred, as they can’t open the petals with their beaks and the keels are not big enough for landing (Westerkamp, 1997). Only bees, and only the larger ones at that, can deal with the challenge. Watch bumble bees expertly working their way around lupin (Lupinus sp.) flowers below, and note the spike-like structure – the keel – poking out between the lateral wings as bees push them apart. On touching the keel, bees are dusted with pollen.

Lupines and bumble bees:

Below, a leafcutter bee (family Megachilidae) illustrates the labour required to get the nectar from a brown hemp flower, Crotalaria junceaL

Leafcutter bee and brown hemp:

Keel flowers block the less desirable visitors, saving pollen and nectar for the reliable larger bees. It’s not surprising then that so many plant species have adopted this aesthetically peculiar but highly effective flower shape.

Readers’ wildlife photos

February 17, 2024 • 8:15 am

Today, courtesy of reader Michele Miller, we have our first photographs of vegetables. I’ll let her describe them. Her words are indented, and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them.

I am not a professional photographer but I have a groups of photos that may be of interest. They are not technically wildlife but I have photos of the harvests I gathered daily (or every few days depending on month) from my little backyard garden from late April-October 2023; while not that impressive one by one, in aggregate they  illustrate the amount of food one can produce pretty easily (I’m a lazy gardener, weeds have a happy home in my plot) and organically at home. I live only an hour north of NYC but I am lucky to have a neighbor who has cows (minis) and thus plenty of organic fertilizer. I don’t use pesticides as I am also a bird/bee advocate.
Some examples, also with some of the meals I made from the harvests:

Readers’ wildlife photos

February 10, 2024 • 8:15 am

Today we have some mountain photos (and a flower) by reader Jim Blilie. His narrative and captions are indented, and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them.

Here’s another set of my landscape photos for your consideration.

These are another set from Washington State, where I have lived most of my adult life. I moved here in 1984 to enjoy the outdoors and spent my 20s and 30s mountaineering, sea- and whitewater-kayaking, and back-country 3-pin skiing.  We still enjoy hiking; but my climbing and skiing days are long in the past. I have tried to make sure that none of these are repeats; but it’s possible one or two slipped through my review.

First, a summit shot, looking south, from Whitehorse Mountain, which is prominently visible from the northern Puget Sound area and looms above Darrington, Washington.  We made a winter ascent in February 1986.

Next is a shot of Mount Rainier from near Tacoma, Washington, taken in January 1990:

Also taken in January 1990, a shot of Lake Washington at sunset:

Climbers on the Easton Glacier on Mount Baker.  March 1990:

Aerial view of the crater of Mount Saint Helens, taken from a Cessna 72 (the old fashioned way), March 1990:

View of the rising moon and some islands from the top of Mount Constitution on Orcas Island, July 1990; Pentax A 400mm f/5.6 lens with matched 2X teleconverter:

View of the summit crest of Mount Rainier, taken on a climb in February 1988:

A view of Mount Adams, out current neighbor, from the north from the Goat Rocks Wilderness, October 1986:

Climbers on Desperation Peak in the eastern Olympic Mountains, July 1989:

Grass Widow flowers (Olsynium douglasii), taken on Mount Erie, near Anacortes, Washington, 1990:

Misty mountain ridges in the central Cascades, September 1990:

Finally, a ringer.  Me on the summit of Dome Peak, August 1986.  I did the Ptarmigan Traverse that month with a group of climbing friends, climbing seven peaks along the route:

All images are scanned Kodachrome 64 with minor global adjustments in Lightroom, except for the photo of Mount Rainier which is scanned Fujichrome.

Equipment:  Pentax ME Super and K-1000 camerasPentax M 20mm f/4 lens
Tokina ATX 80-200mm f/2.8 lens (this was a superb after-market lens)
Pentax A 400mm f/5.6 lens with matched 2X teleconverter
Pentax A 35-105mm f/3.5 lens
Could be one or two other Pentax M series lenses, not 100% sure

Readers’ wildlife photos

February 6, 2024 • 8:45 am

Mark Sturtevant has contributed another batch of insect photos today. I’ve indented his captions and IDs, and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them.

Here are more arthropod pictures, and this should complete the set from two summers ago. I am always behind in sharing these to various online sites since I go out a lot to the woods and fields of Michigan, where I live.

One of our larger Caddisflies is the Northern Caddisfly (Pycnopsyche sp.). Caddisflies are related to butterflies and moths, and they can look a lot like moths, but there are differences such as having hairs on their wings rather than scales. Caddisfly larvae are sort of like caterpillars, but they are aquatic and most species carry around a protective case made from either plant matter or pebbles, woven together with silk. Larvae from this genus mainly fasten together a bundle of twigs to use as a portable home.

Here is a short video about the larvae, showing that they can be quite artful in making their cases, and that their use of sticky silk under water is actually very remarkable.

Next up is a Locust Borer (Megacyllene robiniae). These wasp-mimicking beetles are common visitors on goldenrods in late summer, and their larvae tunnel into black locust trees. Since we have both in the yard, I always see these around.

Next is a European Praying Mantis (Mantis religiosa), photographed from a stage on our dining room table. Nothing too special here, but this was done for the purpose of photographing a nerdy detail about Mantids. Unfortunately, the Mantid that I found was a male, and that meant he would be a complete pain in the a** because males constantly want to move around to hunt for lady Mantids. This one frequently flew off from the dining room table, and I’d have to go chase it down. Nevertheless, the nerdy detail was eventually photographed.

Here is that detail – a specialized patch of bristles on the inside of their front femur. Mantids regularly groom themselves, and they even have a special structure on their front legs just for cleaning their large compound eyes. This has been an item of considerable discussion on one of the macrophotography web sites, and the subject has even led to a couple Facebook memes. The internet is weird that way.

Here is a video of a grooming mantis. The moment it uses its eye brush starts at 35 seconds in. It’s not that dramatic, but I geek out on it.

Moving on, here is a large Nursery Web Spider (Pisaurina mira), so-named because females build a web nursery at the tops of plants for their young. I was trying to photograph the spider with my wide-angle macro lens, but at that moment it decided to surprise me by suddenly clambering up onto the camera. I like the result.

As this set was done very late in the season, with fall moving in, there are now other late-season subjects to share. Around the yard at that time there will always be several Very Gravid Orbweavers in their webs. A couple different species are possible, but I think this one is the Shamrock Orbweaver (Araneus trifolium). I also took this one indoors to do a manual focus stack portrait by using the amazing Venus 2.5-5x super macro lens.

Here are Yellow Jackets on wind-fallen apples in the backyard– another sign that the season was ending (*sniff*). On the left is an Eastern Yellowjacket (Vespula maculifrons), and on the right is a German Yellowjacket (Vespula germanica). As is pretty common, the two species soon begin to fight over the same apple, even though there are dozens of the damn fruits on the ground that I will have to pick up later. These contests look rather dramatic, but their stingers never come out.

And finally, here is a focus stacked wide angle macro picture of autumn trees. The perspective shot is done by leaning against a tree and shooting straight up while nudging the focus a little each time. The set of pictures — maybe 8 or so, are then merged with software to give this deep focus picture.”

Readers’ wildlife photos

February 5, 2024 • 8:15 am

Today we have the second part of a two-part post on Australian trees, the eucalypts, contributed by Reader Dean Graetz. (Part 1 is here.) Dean’s captions are indented, and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them.

The Trees that identify Australia

Australia is one of many countries that include plants as part of their identity.  The national floral emblem is the Golden Wattle (Acacia pycnantha), one of more than 1000 Acacia species found on the continent.  The two colours of the plant represent the essence of the continent.  The golden flowers represent its beaches, mineral wealth, grain, and wool harvests.  The green of the (leathery) leaves imitates the continent’s forests and productive landscapes.

Sparsely located in the arid heart of the continent is this visually striking tree.  Commonly known as the Ghost Gum, it was recently renamed with an appropriate Aboriginal Australian species word (Corymbia aparrerinja).  A much more impressive image is here.

Similarly, sparsely located in the drier areas of the continent is this tree.  Evocatively named Bloodwood (Corymbia opaca), there appears no external colouring which supports that name.\

However, if you manage to find a seeping wound, then the reason for its name will be obvious, the colour of the exuding sap (Kino) is a vivid.

When sedentary farmers and graziers were added to Australia’s population, substantial areas of eucalypt woodland, about 13% of the continent, were transformed.  Trees were either clear-felled and burnt for cropping, or just thinned for pastures.  This satellite image shows a large area of mallee, a eucalypt woodland type (dark), cleared in part for growing (wheat) on the bright sandy soil.  The sharp boundary on the LHS is a state border.  Multiple millions of eucalypt trees have been removed here and elsewhere for the reality of it is ‘Either Them or Us’.

Snow Gum woodlands lie on the snow line and are episodically burnt by lightning-induced bushfires, as here.  The many tall stems of each tree have been killed and have bleached white in the high UV environment.  However, the trees are not dead.  Each tree had developed a lignotuber, and from this a ring of new shoots have sprouted and will replace the tree’s burned canopy in about 5 years, or so.  Even so, the sea of bone white, dead stems is eye catching.

An ephemeral dry-country watercourse with three tall River Red Gums (Eucalyptus camaldulensis), the most wide spread Eucalypt, from lining the banks of permanent rivers to tapping the subsurface water of this small dry creek.  Never visually elegant or symmetrical, these trees, with their scrabbling roots and scarred stems, suggest one word: Survivor.

As does this extraordinarily large River Red Gum, possibly the largest and oldest known.  Residing in a cleared paddock, it is still healthily growing and supporting a large canopy.  Eucalypts do not annual ring, so its age cannot be measured, just guessed at 300+ years.  The gap in the trunk was likely generated centuries ago by a small fire lit close to it sheltering from the wind.  Repeated often enough to burn through the sapwood and into the heartwood, thereafter the weather and dry rot eventually hollowed the stem but left the sapwood continuing to thrive today.

All Eucalypts produce very hard, dense wood, which when dried after death, is difficult to saw or cut.  A few species are known ‘branch droppers’: large living branches just drop off, for no obvious reason.  Such species are also known as ‘Widow Makers’ for the fatalities of sleepers and sitters under the canopy.  The River Red Gum – see above – is well-known Widow Maker’.  However, branch shedding usually leaves large openings into the stem to be eventually hollowed out and occupied by parrots, such as this Sulphur-Crested Cockatoo (Cacatua galerita).  Because all Australian parrot species are hollow nesters, dead and holed Eucalypts are much sought after trees.

For an Australian away from the built environment, the visual presence of familiar gum trees reinforces your identity: you are home.  There is another personal experience that builds on this.  And that is the smell of burning gum leaves.  In the past, and still today, whenever a small fire was lit ‘to boil the billy’, the fragrance of the fire was associated with friendship, convivial tea-drinking, and conversation.  Dried gum leaves were the perfect one-match fire starter.  The smell of burning gum leaves is pleasant, readily recognised, and soon becomes a deeply held memory.

“The families back home heard and understood this and sent gum leaves with their letters to those at the front.  Nurses wore gum leaves pinned to their capes.  Soldiers sometimes burned the leaves in small piles at the front line so the smell would drift along the trenches and others could be reminded of their country’s distinctive smell.

The smell of Eucalyptus is the smell of home.”

Readers’ wildlife photos

January 27, 2024 • 9:15 am

Today we have plant as well as seed+fruit (i.e., acorn) photos from Rik Gern of Austin, Texas. Rik’s captions are indented, and you can enlarge his photos by clicking on them.

The following photos were taken in Eagle River, Wisconsin last September.  What the seven species represented here have in common is proximity; they were all located in a six- or eight-foot radius of one another.

I was driving and enjoying the fall colors as they played out among the trees when I noticed spots of tiny red dots by the roadside. Getting out to examine them I found several clusters of British Soldier Lichen (Cladonia cristatella), giving the landscape an otherworldly science fiction-like look.

Of course, the Soldier Lichen were commingled with many other types of ground plants including these Crown Tipped Coral Fungus (Artomyces pyxidatusy):

A very common ground plant in the area is a moss known as Urn Haircap (Pogonatum urnigerum). Here it is with a fresh load of fertilizer courtesy of either John Deer or Jane Doe. All part of the landscape, folks!

Mushrooms are easy to find, but harder to identify. Seek by iNaturalist had a little trouble with the species on this log, but I believe they are Shelf mushrooms:

At the other end of the log was a small batch of Oyster mushrooms (Pleurotus ostreatus):

A surprise resident of this small patch of land was a lone Canadian Goldenrod (Solidago canademsis) plant. This was surprising, as I usually see them growing in clusters.

Hanging a few feet above this cornucopia were acorns from  the Northern Red Oak (Quercus rubra). I love the look of these seeds; they look like antique ornaments that were once beautifully carved, polished and buffed, but have withstood some damage over the years, but in fact they all popped out of the tree less than a year prior to the time the pictures were taken.

As I mentioned earlier, all these species were found practically within arm’s reach of one another, and there were plenty more attractive species that I just didn’t get good pictures of. It never fails to amaze me what you can see if you keep your eyes open. Endless forms indeed!

Southern trees

January 24, 2024 • 12:00 pm

by Greg Mayer

While Jerry’s traveling, I thought it would be a good time to post the second installment of southern trees. In the first, I showed mostly the epiphytes that grow on trees, and now it will be the trees themselves.

The northeastern US– roughly around the Great Lakes, New England, and the mid-Atlantic– is dominated by broad-leaved, deciduous, hardwood forests (think oaks, maples, hickories), grading to evergreen coniferous forest to the north, tall grass prairie to the west, and southern forest to the south. Interestingly, a big swath of the American south, like the far north, is dominated by coniferous forest: very tall pines, with a short, shrubby understory. As you get far enough south, the understory becomes palms.

Jacksonville, Florida, January 9, 2024.

The above photo is of a suburban front yard, but as either a remnant of the pre-development forest, or as a planted recreation, it gives a fair impression of a tiny bit of this southern conifer forest. We see about five pines, a thick palmetto (?Sabal sp.) understory, and to the left front and right background, two broad-leaved trees, deciduous on the left, evergreen on the right.

The pines have very long needles, many over a foot long, and longleaf pine (Pinus palustris) is one of the characteristic species. But there are several other pines with long needles, and I’ve never been able to convince myself that I can tell them apart. I think there are two species in this little stand, one with short cones and the other with long cones.

Jacksonville, Florida, January 9, 2024.

But cones vary both within a tree, related to age and cone-specific effects, and among trees of the same species, so I’m not sure. Here’s some of the range of variation in the long cones:

Jacksonville, Florida, January 9, 2024.

and among the short cones:

Jacksonville, Florida, January 9, 2024.
Jacksonville, Florida, January 9, 2024.

Many of the long cones were damaged, the scales being torn or chewed off. I’m not sure what does this, or why. Gray squirrels (Sciurus carolinensis) are common at this site, but I don’t think pine cone scales are edible or nutritious.

“Chewed” cone at top. Jacksonville, Florida, January 9, 2024.

There also seemed to be differences in the bark. The short cone pine has a more blocky texture to the bark:

Bark of “short cone pine”. Jacksonville, Florida, January 9, 2024.

While the long cone pine had longer, more flattened ridges; but, again, I’m not sure how much individual variation there is within species.

Bark of “long cone pine”. Jacksonville, Florida, January 9, 2024.

The broad-leaved trees included evergreen magnolias (Magnolia sp.):

Magnolia. Jacksonville, Florida, January 9, 2024.

with loads of their seed pods nearby. These pods were not under the magnolia, but over a fence and under one of the pines, so must have been moved– by squirrels?

Magnolia pods. Jacksonville, Florida, January 9, 2024.

This is the live oak of some sort (Quercus sp.) from my epiphyte post. Astute readers were able to identify the clumps of leaves higher in the tree as mistletoe.

Jacksonville, Florida, January 9, 2024.

The tree had lost most of its leaves, but still had some, including non-lobed, “live oaky” leaves”:

Jacksonville, Florida, January 9, 2024.

and slightly-lobed, much more, at least to a northerner, “oaky” leaves:

Jacksonville, Florida, January 9, 2024.

We’ll finish with the red maple (Acer rubrum) a tree I am very familiar with from the north, that in Florida seems to be semi-deciduous– losing most, but not all of its leaves in the winter. This row of trees is clearly planted:

Jacksonville, Florida, January 9, 2024.

And, though mostly leafless, there were some leaves still on the trees:

Jacksonville, Florida, January 9, 2024.

As with the previous post on this, please weigh in with plant identifications!