Taxon

A beautifully gnarly, old apple tree on the property of an 1813 farmhouse I lived in last year.

I am excited to announce that I will be published for the first time in the journal, Taxon in February. This is the journal for the International Association for Plant Taxonomy (IAPT). It is often the go-to outlet for the dealings of plant nomenclature, which is where my article falls. And, as implied by the photo above, its all about apple (sorry, no mosses in this post).

My initial love of plants truly began with nomenclature (their Latin names). I still cannot explain why I am so intrigued by plant names, perhaps knowing them puts me on some exclusive level achieved by few...maybe...really I don't know. Botanical nomenclature is a pretty complex system that I am being fully immersed into via a class I am taking here at Cornell with Jim Reveal. The entire class time is dedicated to reading and understanding the International Code of Botanical Nomenclature (ICBN), a legal document ultimately governed by the UN that consists of 62 articles dealing with the perpetual mess that is botanical nomenclature. I know, 99% of the population would find a class like this mind numbing. Why on Earth would I enjoy reading legal jargon a few hours a week? I haven't a clue. I should be completely bored by it, but it holds my interest somehow, which is good for me because it reaffirms my aspirations to to be a botanical garden curator/plant recorder (a job that requires a good handle on plant names). Aside from combing through this document in class, Jim gives us real-world nomenclatural issues to try to resolve as he stumbles upon them. It just so happened we'll be published because of one!

It was a joint effort with my 3 fellow classmates and Jim. We had 3 days to write this thing up so it could be rushed through to make it in the February issue. I will attempt to keep the details as succinct as possible and still keep your attention.

We drafted a proposal to "superconserve" the family name of apple, Malaceae (based on the apple genus, Malus). We are dealing with a large group (subfamily) that includes Malus and Prunus (plum, cherry, peach, almond, etc.). Since both of these genera are in the same subfamily naming get tricky, who gets priority? Malaceae is already conserved, but that is not quite enough to allow the subfamily to be called Maloideae. Based on the rules in the ICBN, the subfamily should be Amygdaloideae because Amygdalaceae (family name of Prunus) was conserved first. Amygdaloideae is hardly ever used (let alone spelled or pronounced correctly) compared to Maloideae, even though technically it was incorrect to do so. Plus, wouldn't it be nice to have such an important plant like apple lend its name to the infrageneric ranks (ranks between genus and family)? So in order for the subfamily to be correct in being called Maloideae, Malaceae needed to be conserved against the earlier conserved Amygdalaceae (superconservation!). Keep in mind, all this name swapping does not change the name of the family that Malus is currently under, the rose family (Rosaceae).

That was the digested version of this convoluted problem, there is more to it, but I am sure I've already lost you anyway. For more details, grab the February issue of Taxon when it comes out and look for proposal #2038, "Proposal to conserve Malaceae, nom. cons., against Amygdalaceae, nom. cons. (Magnoliophyta), a “superconservation” proposal". Our rational warrants the conservation in my opinion, but we will have to wait to see if it is actually accepted by a committee!

It was a great experience to make waves in the realm of botanical nomenclature, and gratifying to know I helped the apple name retain its legacy through the taxonomic ranks :)

UPDATE: The apple paper has been published in the December 2011 issue of Taxon! Further exciting news, I also contributed to the publication of 3 additional proposals! One dealing with the lectotypification of walnut species, one regarding the rejection of a willow name and a third related to the alteration of various willow author citations. Will update as those are published!

Completion

Acer saccharum is luminescent in early October with its florescent orange foliage. For this reason sugar maples are one of my favorite trees.
Here in Ithaca, New York we are currently experiencing a very long stretch of gorgeous, cloudless autumn days. October is my favorite month, and 2011 certainly has not disappointed.

I am especially excited to have seen the grand opening of Marc Keane's moss garden I stumbled upon over a year ago at Sticks and Stones Farm in Connecticut. It was a wild coincidence that this moss garden was going to be installed at Cornell and I would be there to see it. I have been anticipating its arrival since.

That afternoon, a couple days ago, I made my way down the beaten path along Fall Creek. The day was pristine and the waters rushing through the gorges and down the falls left an impression in my memory. I arrived at the Johnson Museum of Art on campus and followed a group down to the newly opened wing. The sight of the garden through the expansive windows literally took my breath away, and that doesn't happen very often. We were invited to explore the officially titled Rebecca Q. and James C. Morgan Garden before the presentation began.

The stones and mosses all came from Sticks and Stones Farm (though Marc did mention that he harvested some mosses from the Cornell campus, blended it with sand and sprinkled in into the bed of the cleft, a couple years will reveal a beautiful mossy patina!). A quick glance revealed numerous species, though it is predominantly Plagiomnium cuspidatum and Polytrichum commune. I was too engaged with the holistic view of the landscape that I did not spend my time there with my face in the ground identifying all the mosses as I would normally do. I will let the pictures speak for themselves:



A perfect juxtaposition of textures.







A true master/artist/magician with stone.



An audible element of tranquility.

A group of volunteers, the Friends of the Tiger Glen, will maintain this garden twice a day, everyday to ensure its aesthetic qualities.
The curator of Asian art, Ellen Avril, started off the presentation explaining the inspiration for the garden; the Chinese parable of the "Three Laughers of the Tiger Glen", the moral of which demonstrates how overcoming differences can lead to mutual understanding and unity of friendship. This scroll depicting the story has recently been accessioned into the museum's collection.

Kano Doun Masanobu
Japanese, 1625–1694
Three Laughers of the Tiger Glen
Hanging scroll: ink and colors on silk
10 1/2 x 26 3/4 inches
Acquired through the Lee C. Lee Fund for East Asian Art
2011.025
Marc then presented the audience with his design and building process. It was fun seeing the pictures of the stonework being laid out at Sticks and Stones Farm, knowing I captured those same images over a year ago.

Here is the story of the Three Laughers taken directly from Marc's website:

"The Tiger Glen is the setting of a famous Chinese parable, often reproduced in Chinese and Japanese paintings. In the story three men, each of whom represents a philosophy or religion, experience a flash of enlightenment and mutual understanding. The story goes that Huiyuan, a Buddhist priest, lived in seclusion from society in his mountain temple, swearing never to leave its precincts by crossing the nearby Tiger Glen. One day, he was visited by two close friends: Tao Yuanming, a Confucianist, and Lu Xiujing, a Daoist. Late in the day, as he saw them off, Huiyuan was so lost in friendly conversation that he unwittingly crossed the Tiger Glen. At this, the three men broke out laughing, realizing true wisdom surpasses a strict adherence to dogma."

In the center of the photo you can see the 3 large, upright boulders (one behind the pine) representing the 3 laughers with a disconnected stone bridge that transverses the cleft in between them. The pine represents the rugged nature of the mountains depicted in many of the paintings of this tale.
Questions were taken at the end of the presentation. People inquired about his inspiration and how he laid out the stonework. To this he relayed a Japanese phrase which translated to "listen to the request of the stone". It is apparently an established way of designing with natural elements in that part of the world - such a lovely and respectful way to design in my opinion.

When someone in the audience asked how long moss lives for, Marc asked "Is there a moss expert here who can answer that?", as if prompting me to reveal myself. Timidly I raised my hand. He smiled and gestured for me to answer the question. "Ah, so you must be the one who was at Sticks and Stones," he said after my response. "I would really like it if you could map the mosses in the garden, I know there are a ton of species in there, I'm just not sure what they are." Enthusiastically I said I would love to.

At the end of the session after everyone gets up to go admire the garden again before sunset. I get up to leave and turn to see Marc standing right in front of me. We exchange greetings and he tells me he really would, honestly appreciate it if I would make note of all the species and create some type of corresponding map - as if his sincerity was not clear during the Q & A session! Again I expressed my excitement for the project! I hope to be able to make the time to do it in the next few weeks...at least before the snow arrives.

Yet another mossy opportunity has fallen into my lap :)

Connections

I’m a firm believer that everything happens for a reason. Sometimes when and why events occur seems to be a direct result of past occurrences; events that otherwise wouldn’t have occurred had some instance never happened prior. You could say it is the hand of fate weaving this interconnected tapestry. My life is filled with these silly coincidences – as if the universe has a plan for me. Maybe it does.

Last Saturday I found myself driving down a particular road past a wholesale nursery where I worked a few years ago – honestly a place I would rather forget. In all seriousness, the fondest memory I have of this place is driving down that road back home with the biggest smile on my face and laughing after my last day of working there.

Everyday I would drive past Sticks and Stones Farm. I knew they grew moss there, which was enough for me to want to visit! Yet it felt like something was telling me not to stop in; perhaps the universe didn’t want me to install a potentially wonderful memory among memories of a time in my life I didn’t want to remember.

My chance came three years later. I turned down their gravel road and walked towards a stone barn. I was greeted by Annie. I told her my reason for my visit: I was thinking of developing my grad thesis around the curation of bryophytes in public gardens. Seeing as how gardens can acquire plants through farms like this one, I wanted to learn how they do their thing. Annie was intrigued and delighted to have me there. She peeked around the side of the barn to find a young man named Andrew working with beautiful hand carved stone planters filled with moss. She told me he would be happy to answer some of my questions.

As we strolled around the property, Andrew told me the farm is technically a working preserve. Not only do they cultivate moss, but they also excavate large stone erratics from the property as well as hold workshops and retreats. We walked a path along the base of a hill side covered in Kalmia latifolia (mountain laurel) with a thick, unfragmented carpet of Leucobryum glaucum (pincushion moss) underneath as far up the hill as I could see - it looked immaculate! What was their secret? Well, I’m not going to give it away :)

Down in the lowland areas I could see hundreds of trays filled with Climacium dendroides. He showed me a labyrinth he was in the process of constructing. he tells me it is modeled after the one in Chartres Cathedral. The project was only partially filled with Climacium. He didn't want to continue since the moss he planted wasn't looking too happy. I commented that the area was pretty exposed under the thin, deciduous canopy and the gravel path didn't really provide a very saturated environment for that species, and that could explain its sad appearance.

When we arrived back up at the barn, Annie told me of a book she just started reading and thought I would enjoy it. I laughed when she retrieved a copy of Dr. Kimmerer’s book, Gathering Moss. She got a kick out of hearing about my connection to the author. At this point, Tim Currier, owner of the farm and Annie’s husband, came in. Annie served us a delicious banana-coffee milkshake as I told him the reason for my visit and my plans to begin grad school at Cornell. He mentioned he was just about to begin a Japanese-style moss garden project for a landscape architect-friend of his, Marc Keane, to be installed next spring at the Johnson Museum on the Cornell campus. He showed me some CAD drawings of this project titled, “The Garden of the Tiger Glen”. This future project will feature a 400 square foot area with a carpet of moss (Tim is thinking of using Mnium), an 18 inch deep ravine made of stone cutting through, three large stone “kings” and a large tree coming from Pennsylvania. Tim will build the garden onsite later this month (I plan to return later to check on the progress before I move to Ithaca). It will then be disassembled and transported to the campus. I am very excited that I stumbled onto this project when I did. I get to see it as Tim constructs it and the finished product next spring at Cornell! What are the odds…

But that’s not the only exciting that happened on my spontaneous excursion. Annie told Tim about my connection with Robin Kimmerer and he said that since reading her book he has wanted to view mosses under a microscope to see them as Robin describes. He then went to retrieve an old microscope he found in an old house he acquired on his property. He had no idea how to use it, but luckily for him he had all the essential instruments and a certain individual who knew exactly how to use them – me! We went out and I plucked a small bit of Mnium cuspidatum and Polytrichum commune and proceeded to mount them on slides. Only his 10X objective was functional, but it was enough to make him say “Wow!” when he stared down the eyepiece. He called over a couple other people to come and check it out – both with the same exclamation. Thirty years working with mosses and this was his first glimpse into what mosses really look like. Tim was absolutely delighted to have been taught this lesson and excitedly extended an invitation for me to come back whenever I wanted. If there was ever any work or studies I wanted to do with mosses, his property was available - which was amazing. As we parted he verbalized his hope of setting up a “moss camp” so that others can see what I revealed to him today, and of course I offered my services as an instructor.

And so there I was again driving down that road, the biggest smile on my face and laughing – so happy to have made those connections: between me and them, between them and moss, and between me, them, moss and Cornell. I love to reveal the mysteries of moss and see the people’s reactions; to show them something that is hidden to the naked eye, only viewable with an ocular aid.

So I arrived as if called by these people at a time when they needed me – just as they were going to begin this large project for a large university, just as they began reading Dr. Kimmerer’s book and needed help in getting a glimpse into the microscopic world of mosses. It's a pretty small world after all...

Note: I will add pictures once I return to check out the progress on the moss garden...I will remember my camera next time!

Recognition

I was quite excited to see that IAB blog generously acknowledged my blog after I commented on a photo of a super awesome, bryophyte-mimicking phasmid, Trychopeplus laciniatus


This species is found in Central America and as I understand it, not much is known about its relationship with bryophytes, but it's definitely spectacular looking!

On another note, today, after 8 months of wishing, studying, traveling, networking, intense energy focusing and anticipation, I have finally heard the news I have been waiting to hear: I have been selected as the new fellow for Cornell Plantations Graduate Fellowship in Public Garden Leadership! This year only one position was available for this fellowship making the waiting even more nerve-wracking. After hearing the news I promptly started jumping up and down, squealing, dancing, laughing, crying and in general going strait up bananas.

Ever since my curatorial internship at Mt. Cuba Center, I have set my sights on following (or perhaps in my case, blazing) a path to become a curator of a botanical garden. Talking with Amy Highland, the plant recorder at Mt. Cuba, enlightened me to the prospect that perhaps not all is lost in trying to find a career working with plants that did not involve retail/wholesale, angry/unreasonable customers, mindless deadheading/weeding, etc. It nearly blew my mind that there was someone out there who shared my passion for plant taxonomy, and I would spend the next several months working with her!

I figured the next step in my journey was to attempt to go back to school. Of course there are only 2 institutions who offer a Masters in this field: Cornell University and University of Delaware (Longwood Gardens Graduate Program). I really wanted to go back to upstate New York and Cornell was my chance! Plus I have an affinity for plants of the Northeast, sorry Piedmont...

Winter Garden at Cornell's Botanical Garden
Earlier this month I made a trip up to Cornell University in Ithaca, New York to give a presentation to a selection committee consisting of directors, professors and fellows on my past, present and future interest in the public garden field - basically an interview. Of course I talked about my mossy endeavors at Mt. Cuba which seemed to strike an interest in the panel. But what really got them going was my announcement that I would potentially like to tackle the ever-so-controversial topic of the misuse of trademarks in horticulture for my "action project". This ignited a 10 minute tangent questioning the importance of nomenclature consistencies in horticulture between the members of the panel (everyone having their own opinion). At that point I could safely say that my presentation would not be forgettable, and perhaps that was a good thing.

Not only is Ithaca "Gorges" but it is also full of beautiful mosses (I wouldn't be myself if I didn't go mossing around the area). One in particular caught my eye during a little trip around town. I eventually found myself in front of Ithaca Falls, on the west side of campus, and there, covering a rock face was Bartramia pomiformis.


I had never seen this moss in the field, but using only memories of drawings in my moss books I instantly recognized this distinguishable species. This delicate moss forms bright green, loose turfs, that to me, create a texture reminiscent of Hakonechloa on a miniature scale. Perfectly round capsules float on short setae, giving them a celestial appearance. I just love the juxtaposition of textures between the gametophyte and sporophyte. The common name of this bryophyte is apple moss - alluding to the pome-like sporophytes.

Here's to embarking on new beginnings...