Meeting the Elusive Three Birds Orchid

Rare but locally abundant has to be the only proper way of describing the distribution of this peculiar little orchid. I have known about the three birds orchid (Triphora trianthophoros) for some time now. I'm generally not a jealous person but I did find myself quite envious of those who have encountered it. Even with ample herbarium records I simply could not seem to locate any individuals of this species.

The best advice for finding it that I was ever given was to not go looking for it. This secretive little plant is something you almost have to stumble upon. And stumble I did. While surveying some vegetation plots that I had combed over all summer back in 2016 I noticed something new poking up. The slender red stalks had tiny green leaves and elongated flower buds at the top. I knew instantly that this could only mean one thing - I had finally found some three birds.

Both the common and scientific name hint at the fact that these plants are often seen with three flowers. This is not a rule by any means as plants can be found with as few as one flower or as many as 10. Regardless of the amount, finding them is only part of the battle. The other challenge is to catch them in bloom.

The secretive nature of this orchid has led to some interesting tips on how to get your timing right. Some say to check a known population after the first big rain of August. Another more pervasive tip claims that one must take to the forest after nighttime temperatures take a sudden dip. Despite this entertaining advice, it would seem that you just have to be in the right place at the right time.

What is known about the flowering habits of the three birds orchid is that populations tend to flower in unison. The buds all develop to a certain point and stop. They will sit and wait for the right conditions (whatever they might be) to arise. Once that crucial condition is hit, they rapidly bloom en masse. This is a wonderful strategy for a flowering plant that lives tucked away on the shady forest floor.

Concealed among the forest debris, one or two flowers wouldn't get much attention. Hundreds of bright white and pink flowers, however, certainly do! Juxtaposed against the shade of the forest, these little orchids almost glow like little neon signs. Despite this mass effort, it has been found that pollination rates are usually very low. Instead, this orchid most often reproduces vegetatively by budding off tiny plantlets from the main root stock. Because of this, it is not uncommon to find literally hundreds of plants of various sizes clustered together within inches of each other. This is an impressive sight to behold.... again, if you are lucky enough to find it.

Like many of its orchid cousins, this species is no stranger to the disappearing act. Because they rely so heavily on mycorrhizal fungi for their nutrient needs, exhausted plants will often go dormant under the soil for years until they gain enough energy to produce stems, leaves, and flowers again. If you come across the three birds orchid during your travels, do yourself a favor and take some time to relish the moment. It may be a long time before you ever see them again.

Further Reading: [1] [2]

The Round Leaved Orchid

In the northern temperate regions of North America, late June marks the beginning of what I like to call orchid season. If you're lucky you may stumble across one of these rare beauties in full bloom. Their diversity in shape and size are mainly a result of the intricate evolutionary relationships they have formed with their pollinators. I spend much of my time botanizing trying to locate and photograph these botanical curiosities and any time I get to meet a new species is a very special time indeed. 

Take the round leaved orchid (Platanthera orbiculata) for example. For years I have only known this species as two round leaves that are slightly reminiscent of the phaleanopsis orchids you see for sale in nurseries and grocery stores. The leaves can be quite large too. With their glossy appearance, they are the easiest way to locate this plant.

When conditions are right and the plants have enough stored energy they will begin to flower. Rising from the middle of the pair of leaves is a decent sized inflorescence loaded with greenish white flowers. The flowers are interesting structures. Not particularly colorful, they have a long white lip and considerable green nectar spurs. There are said to be two varieties of this species, each being characterized by the length of the nectar spur. Unlike many orchids that offer no reward to pollinators, P. orbiculata produces nectar. The flowers are pollinated by noctuid moths, which is probably why they are white in color. Whereas most lepidopteran pollinated orchid attach their pollinia to the proboscis of the butterfly or moth, P. orbiculata attaches its pollinia to the eyes of visiting moths. 

If this isn't strange enough, the pollinia themselves have some of their own intriguing adaptations. Visiting moths take a certain amount of time to successfully access the nectar from the nectar spur. If the plant is to avoid wasting precious pollen on itself, then it must find a way to delay this process. The pollinia are the solution to this. When first attached to the eyes, the pollinia stick straight up. This keeps them away from the female parts of the plant as the moth feeds. Only after enough time has elapsed will the stalks of the pollinia begin to bend forward. At this point the moth will hopefully have moved on to the flowers of an unrelated individual. Pointing straight forward, they are now perfectly positioned to transfer pollen. 

Like all orchids, P. orbiculata relies on specialized mycorrhizal fungi for germination and survival. At the beginning of its life, P. orbiculata relies solely on the fungi for sustenance. Once it has enough energy to produce leaves it will repay the fungi by providing carbohydrates. However, the relationship is not over at this point. Every spring, P. orbiculata produces a new set of leaves as well as a whole new root system. The fungi supply a lot of energy for this process and if the plant is disturbed (ie. dug up by greedy poachers) or browsed upon, it is likely that it will not recover from the stress and it will die. The mycorrhizal fungi it relies on live on rotting wood so finding well rotted logs is a good place to start searching for this species. With declining populations throughout much of its range, it is important to remember to enjoy it where it grows. Leave wild orchids in the wild!

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3] [4]

The Wacky World of Whisk Ferns

Photo by Richard Droker licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

The whisk ferns (Psilotum spp.) are a peculiar group of plants. If you hang out in greenhouses long enough, you are most likely to encounter them as “weeds” growing in pots with other plants. Though they aren’t often put on display by themselves, the whisk ferns are certainly worth a closer look.

Psilotum comprises two species, the far more common Psilotum nudum and the lesser known P. complanatum. These two species will also hybridize, resulting in Psilotum × intermedium. Together, the whisk ferns make up one of only two genera in the family Psilotaceae (the other being Tmesipteris). They are strange plants to look at as there doesn’t appear to be much to them besides stems. Indeed, their peculiar morphology has earned them a fair share of taxonomic attention over the last century but before we get into that, it is a good idea to take a closer look at their anatomy.

Psilotum nudum with yellow sporagia. Photo by Mary Keim licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

What we see when we are looking at a whisk fern is the sporophyte generation. Like all sporophytes, its job is to produce the spores that will go on to make new whisk ferns. This part of the whisk fern lifecycle is pretty much all stem. Though these are in fact vascular plants, they do not produce true leaves. Instead, the branching stem takes up all of the photosynthetic work. What looks like tiny leaf-like scales are actually referred to as ‘enations.’ These structures do not contain any vascular tissue of their own. Instead, they bear a type of fused sporangia that house the spores. When mature, these will turn a bright yellow.

Underground, things aren’t much different. Whisk ferns produce a branching rhizome that is covered in hair-like projections called rhizoids. These structures not only help anchor the plant in place, they also function in a similar way to roots. Rhizoids interface with the soil environment allowing the plant to absorb nutrients and water. However, they don’t do this alone. Like so many other plants, whisk ferns partner with mycorrhizal fungi, which vastly increases the amount of surface area these plants have for absorbing what they need. In return, whisk ferns provide the fungi with carbohydrates they produce through photosynthesis. As lovely as this mutualistic relationship sounds, it actually starts off as parasitism.

A Psilotum rhizome with hair-like rhizoids. Photo by Curtis Clark licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

When the spores find a suitable place to germinate, they will grow into the other half of the whisk fern lifecycle, the gametophyte. These resemble tiny versions of the rhizome and contain male and female reproductive organs. Living underground, the gametophytes do not photosynthesize. Instead, they completely rely on mycorrhizal fungi for all of their nutritional needs. This can go on for some time until the gametophytes are fertilized and grow a new sporophyte. Then and only then will the plant actually start giving back to the fungi that their lives depend on.

Psilotum complanatum with its flattened stems. Photo by Chad Husby licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Because the overall form of the whisk ferns appears so “simplistic.,” many have hypothesized that the genus Psilotum is an evolutionary throwback to the early days of vascular plant evolution. On a superficial level, the whisk ferns do appear to have a lot in common with rhyniophytes, a group of plants that arose during the early Devonian, some 419 to 393 million years ago. A more detailed inspection of the anatomy of each group would reveal that there are some significant and fundamental differences between the two lineages, which I won’t go into here. Also, subsequent molecular work has shown that the whisk ferns reside quite comfortably within the fern lineage and likely represent a sister group to the order that gives us the adder’s tongue ferns (Ophioglossales). It would appear that whisk ferns more accurately represent a reduction in the more “traditional” fern form rather than a holdover from the early days of land plant evolution.

What the genus Psilotum lacks in number of species, it makes up for with its wide distribution. The whisk ferns seem to have conquered most of the tropical and subtropical landmasses on our planet. In fact, I found it incredibly difficult to discern much in the way of a native distribution for these plants. In some areas they are fairly common components of the local flora whereas in others they are considered rare or even threatened. I am sure that at least some of their expansive distribution can be attributed to human assistance as we move soils and plants around the world. To find them in nature, one must look in the cracks of rocks or on the trunks and branches of trees. Though both species can be found growing on trees, P. complanatum in particular seems to prefer an epiphytic lifestyle.

Psilotum complanatum (left) and Psilotum nudum (right) growing epiphytically. Photo by David Eickhoff licensed under CC BY 2.0

Whether you grow them on purpose, fight them as a greenhouse “weed,” or track them down in the wild, I hope you take a moment to appreciate these oddball plants. The whisk ferns are intriguing to say the least and certainly offer up a unique conversation piece for anyone curious about the botanical world. They are a genus worth admiring.

Photo Credits: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3] [4]

An Introduction to Hornworts

Anthoceros sp. Photo by Bramadi Arya licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

When was the last time you thought about hornworts? Have you ever thought about hornworts? If you answered no, you aren’t alone. Despite their global distribution, these tiny plants receive hardly any attention and that is a shame. Hornworts (Anthocerotophyta) have been around for a very long time. In fact, it is likely that they were some of the first plants to colonize the land roughly 300 - 400 million years ago.

To be fair, hornworts aren’t known for their size. They are generally small plants, though their colonies can form impressive mats. To find them, one must try looking in and among rocks, bare patches of soil, or pretty much anywhere enough moisture builds up to supply their needs. They tend to enjoy nutrient-poor substrates but I would hesitate to say that with any certainty. No matter where you live, from the tundra to the tropics, there is probably a hornwort native to your neck of the woods.

Dendroceros sp. Photo by J.Ziffer licensed under public domain

How many different species of hornwort there are is apparently the subject of some debate. Some authors recognize upwards of 300 species whereas others suggest the real number hangs somewhere around 150. Regardless of the exact numbers, hornworts belong to one of six genera: Anthoceros, Dendroceros, Folioceros, Megaceros, Notothylas and Phaeoceros. Fun fact, the suffix ‘ceros’ at the end of each genus is derived from the Latin word for ‘horn.’

The reason they are called hornworts is because of their reproductive structures or “sporophytes.” Similar to their moss and liverwort cousins, hornworts undergo an alternation of generations in order to reproduce sexually. The green gametophytes house the sexual organs - antheridia if they are male and archegonia if they are female. After fertilization, a sporophyte begins to grow, which will go on to produce and disseminate spores. However, the way in which the hornwort sporophyte forms is a bit different from what we see in mosses and liverworts.

Alternation of generations in hornworts. Photo by Mariana Ruiz (LadyofHats) licensed under public domain

Upon fertilization, the zygote begins to divide into a bulbous mass of cells affectionately referred to as "the foot.” This foot remains within the gametophyte throughout the lifetime of the hornwort, depending on the gametophyte for water and nutrients. Even more peculiar is the the fact that the growing point of the sporophyte is at the base rather than the tip. As such, the horn of each hornwort could continue to grow upwards until it is damaged in some way.

The horn itself is an amazing structure. Whereas the outside layers of tissue are merely structural, the internal tissues differentiate into two different types - spores and pseudo-elaters. Pseudo-elaters expand and contract as humidity fluctuates so as the sporophyte splits to release the spores, the pseudo-elaters dehydrate and snap like tiny spore catapults, thus aiding in their dispersal.

Megaceros flagellaris. Photo by Dr. Scott Zona licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0

Of course, reproduction is the main goal but to get to that point, hornworts must grow and mature. How they manage to survive is incredible because it is a reminder that what are often thought of as “primitive” plants are actually far more advanced than we give them credit for. The main body of the hornwort gametophyte is a thin layer of cells that spread out to form a tiny, green mat. This is the structure you are most likely to encounter.

Inside each cell is a single chloroplast. In most hornworts, the chloroplast does not exist in isolation. Instead, it is fused with other organelles into a structure called a “pyrenoid.” The pyrenoid functions as both a center for photosynthesis and a food storage organ. This is unique as it relates to terrestrial plants but quite common in algae. Another odd fact about hornwort anatomy are the presence of tiny cavities scattered throughout their tissues. These cavities form as clusters of hornwort cells die. They then fill with a special mucilage that appears to invite colonization by nitrogen-fixing cyanobacteria. The cyanobacteria set up shop within the cavities and provides the hornwort with supplemental nitrogen in return for a place to live.

Anthoceros agrestis photo by BerndH licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

Cyanobacteria aren’t the only organisms to have partnered with hornworts either. Mycorrhizal fungi also enter into the picture. A study done back in 2013 actually found that a wide variety of fungi will partner with hornworts which suggests that this symbiotic relationship is much more ancient and versatile than we once thought. Fungi cluster around parts of the gametophyte that produce root-like structures called “rhizoids,” offering nutrients in return for carbohydrates.

All in all, I think it is safe to say that hornworts are remarkable little plants. Though they can sometimes be difficult to find and properly identify, they nonetheless offer plenty of inspiration for the botanically inclined mind. We can all do better by tiny plants like the hornworts. They have been on land for an incredible amount of time and they definitely deserve our respect and admiration.

Photo Credits: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3]

Of Bluebells and Fungi

Photo by Christophe Couckuyt licensed under CC BY 2.0

Whether in your garden or in the woods, common bluebells (Hyacinthoides non-scripta) are a delightful respite from the dreary months of winter. It should come as no surprise that these spring geophytes are a staple in temperate gardens the world over. And, as amazing as they are in the garden, bluebells are downright fascinating in the wild.

Bluebells can be found growing naturally from the northwestern corner of Spain north into the British Isles. They are largely a woodland species, though finding them in meadows isn't uncommon. They are especially common in sites that have not experienced much soil disturbance. In fact, large bluebell populations are used as indicators of ancient wood lots.

Photo by RX-Guru licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

Being geophytes, bluebells cram growth and reproduction into a few short weeks in spring. We tend to think of plants like this as denizens of shade, however, most geophytes get going long before the canopy trees have leafed out. As such, these plants are more accurately sun bathers. On warm days, various bees can be seen visiting the pendulous flowers, with the champion pollinator being the humble bumble bees.

The above ground beauty of bluebells tends to distract us from learning much about their ecology. That hasn't stopped determined scientists though. Plenty of work has been done looking at how bluebells make their living and get on with their botanical neighbors. In fact, research is turning up some incredible data regarding bluebells and mycorrhizal fungi.

Photo by Mick Garratt licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0

Bluebell seeds tend not to travel very far, most often germinating near the base of the parent. Germination occurs in the fall when temperatures begin to drop and the rains pick up. Interestingly, bluebell seeds actually germinate within the leaf litter and begin putting down their initial root before the first frosts. Often this root is contractile, pulling the tiny seedling down into the soil where it is less likely to freeze. During their first year, phosphorus levels are high. Not only does the nutrient-rich endosperm supply the seedling with much of its initial needs, abundant phosphorus near the soil surface supplies more than enough for young plants. This changes as the plants age and change their position within the soil.

Photo by MichaelMaggs licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

Over the next 4 to 5 years, the bluebell's contractile roots pull it deeper down into the soil, taking it out of the reach of predators and frost. This also takes them farther away from the nutrient-rich surface layers. What's more, the roots of older bluebells are rather simple structures. They do not branch much, if at all, and they certainly do not have enough surface area for proper nutrient uptake. This is where mycorrhizae come in.

Bluebells partner with a group of fungi called arbuscular mycorrhiza, which penetrate the root cells, thus greatly expanding the effective rooting zone of the plant. Plants pay these fungi in carbohydrates produced during photosynthesis and in return, the fungi provide the plants with access to far more nutrients than they would be able to get without them. One of the main nutrients plants gain from these symbiotic fungi is phosphorus.

Photo by Oast House Archive licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0

For bluebells, with age comes new habitat, and with new habitat comes an increased need for nutrients. This is why bluebells become more dependent on arbuscular mycorrhiza as they age. In fact, plants grown without these fungi do not come close to breaking even on the nutrients needed for growth and maintenance and thus live a shortened life of diminishing returns. This is an opposite pattern from what we tend to expect out of mycorrhizal-dependent plants. Normally its the seedlings that cannot live without mycorrhizal symbionts. It just goes to show you that even familiar species like the bluebell can offer us novel insights into the myriad ways in which plants eke out a living.

Photo Credits: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Further Reading: [1] [2]

How a Giant Parasitic Orchid Makes a Living

Photo by mutolisp licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

Imagine a giant vine with no leaves and no chlorophyll scrambling over decaying wood and branches of a warm tropical forest. As remarkable as that may seem, that is exactly what Erythrorchis altissima is. With stems that can grow to upwards of 10 meters in length, this bizarre orchid from tropical Asia is the largest mycoheterotrophic plant known to science.

Mycoheterotrophs are plants that obtain all of their energy needs by parasitizing fungi. As you can probably imagine, this is an extremely indirect way for a plant to make a living. In most instances, this means the parasitic plants are stealing nutrients from the fungi that were obtained via a partnership with photosynthetic plants in the area. In other words, mycoheterotrophic plants are indirectly stealing from photosynthetic plants.

In the case of E. altissima, this begs the question of where does all of the carbon needed to build a surprising amount of plant come from? Is it parasitizing the mycorrhizal network associated with its photosynthetic neighbors or is it up to something else? These are exactly the sorts of questions a team from Saga University in Japan wanted to answer.

Photo by mutolisp licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

All orchids require fungal partners for germination and survival. That is one of the main reasons why orchids can be so finicky about where they will grow. Without the fungi, especially in the early years of growth, you simply don't have orchids. The first step in figuring out how this massive parasitic orchid makes its living was to identify what types of fungi it partners with. To do this, the team took root samples and isolated the fungi living within.

By looking at their DNA, the team was able to identify 37 unique fungal taxa associated with this species. Most surprising was that a majority of those fungi were not considered mycorrhizal (though at least one mycorrhizal species was identified). Instead, the vast majority of the fungi associated with with this orchid are involved in wood decay.

Stems climbing on fallen dead wood (a) or on standing living trees (b). A thick and densely branched root clump (c) and thin and elongate roots (d) [Source]

To ensure that these wood decay fungi weren't simply partnering with adult plants, the team decided to test whether or not the wood decay fungi were able to induce germination of E. altissima seeds. In vitro germination trials revealed that not only do these fungi induce seed germination in this orchid, they also fuel the early growth stages of the plant. Further tests also revealed that all of the carbon and nitrogen needs of E. altissima are met by these wood decay fungi.

These results are amazing. It shows that the largest mycoheterotrophic plant we know of lives entirely off of a generalized group of fungi responsible for the breakdown of wood. By parasitizing these fungi, the orchid has gained access to one of the largest pools of carbon (and other nutrients) without having to give anything back in return. It is no wonder then that this orchid is able to reach such epic proportions without having to do any photosynthesizing of its own. What an incredible world we live in!

Photo by mutolisp licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

Photo Credits: [1] [2]

Further Reading: [1]

The Extraordinary Catasetum Orchids

Male Catasetum osculatum. Photo by Orchi licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

Orchids, in general, have perfect flowers in that they contain both male and female organs. However, in a family this large, exceptions to the rules are always around the corner. Take, for instance, orchids in the genus Catasetum. With something like 166 described species, this genus is interesting in that individual plants produce either male or female flowers. What's more, the floral morphology of the individual sexes are so distinctly different from one another that some were originally described as distinct species. 

Female Catasetum osculatum. Photo by Valdison Aparecido Gil licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

In fact, it was Charles Darwin himself that first worked out that plants of the different sexes were indeed the same species. The genus Catasetum enthralled Darwin and he was able to procure many specimens from his friends for study. Resolving the distinct floral morphology wasn't his only contribution to our understanding of these orchids, he also described their unique pollination mechanism. The details of this process are so bizarre that Darwin was actually ridiculed by some scientists of the time. Yet again, Darwin was right. 

Catasetum longifolium. Photo by Maarten Sepp licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

If having individual male and female plants wasn't strange enough for these orchids, the mechanism by which pollination is achieved is quite explosive... literally. 

Catasetum orchids are pollinated by large Euglossine bees. Attracted to the male flowers by their alluring scent, the bees land on the lip and begin to probe the flower. Above the lip sits two hair-like structures. When a bee contacts these hairs, a structure containing sacs of pollen called a pollinia is launched downwards towards the bee. A sticky pad at the base ensures that once it hits the bee, it sticks tight. 

Male Catasetum flower in action. Taken from BBC's Kingdom of Plants.

Bees soon learn that the male flowers are rather unpleasant places to visit so they set off in search of a meal that doesn't pummel them. This is quite possibly why the flowers of the individual sexes look so different from one another. As the bees visit the female flowers, the pollen sacs on their back slip into a perfect groove and thus pollination is achieved. 

The uniqueness of this reproductive strategy has earned the Catasetum orchids a place in the spotlight among botanists and horticulturists alike. It begs the question, how is sex determined in these orchids? Is it genetic or are there certain environmental factors that push the plant in either direction? As it turns out, light availability may be one of the most important cues for sex determination in Catasetum. 

Photo by faatura licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

A paper published back in 1991 found that there were interesting patterns of sex ratios for at least one species of Catasetum. Female plants were found more often in younger forests whereas the ratios approached an even 1:1 in older forests. What the researchers found was that plants are more likely to produce female flowers under open canopies and male flowers under closed canopies. In this instance, younger forests are more open than older, more mature forests, which may explain the patterns they found in the wild. It is possible that, because seed production is such a costly endeavor for plants, individuals with access to more light are better suited for female status. 

Catasetum macrocarpum. Photo by maarten sepp licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0

Aside from their odd reproductive habits, the ecology of these plants is also quite fascinating. Found throughout the New World tropics, Catasetum orchids live as epiphytes on the limbs and trunks of trees. Living in the canopy like this can be stressful and these orchids have evolved accordingly. For starters, they are deciduous. Most of the habitats in which they occur experience a dry season. As the rains fade, the plants will drop their leaves, leaving behind a dense cluster of green pseudobulbs. These bulbous structures serve as energy and water stores that will fuel growth as soon as the rains return. 

Catasetum silvestre in situ. Photo by Antonio Garces licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

The canopy can also be low in vital nutrients like nitrogen and phosphorus. As is true for all orchids, Catasetum rely on an intimate partnership with special mychorrizal fungi to supplement these ingredients. Such partnerships are vital for germination and growth. However, the fungi that they partner with feed on dead wood, which is low in nitrogen. This has led to yet another intricate and highly specialized relationship for at least some members of this orchid genus. 

Photo by faatura licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Mature Catasetum are often found growing right out of arboreal ant nests. Those that aren't will often house entire ant colonies inside their hollowed out pseudobulbs. This will sometimes even happen in a greenhouse setting, much to the chagrin of many orchid growers. The partnership with ants is twofold. In setting up shop within the orchid or around its roots, the ants provide the plant with a vital source of nitrogen in the form of feces and other waste products. At the same time, the ants will viciously attack anything that may threaten their nest. In doing so, they keep many potential herbivores at bay.  

Female Catasetum planiceps. Photo by sunoochi licensed under CC BY 2.0

To look upon a flowering Catasetum is quite remarkable. They truly are marvels of evolution and living proof that there seems to be no end to what orchids have done in the name of survival. Luckily for most of us, one doesn't have to travel to the jungles and scale a tree just to see one of these orchids up close. Their success in the horticultural trade means that most botanical gardens house at least a species or two. If and when you do encounter a Catasetum, do yourself a favor and take time to admire it in all of its glory. You will be happy that you did. 

Photo Credits: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] 

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

A Brief Primer on the Vernal Dam Hypothesis

On Fungi and Forest Diversity

One simply can't talk about plants without eventually talking about fungi. The fact of the matter is the vast majority of plant species rely on fungal interactions for survival. This mutualistic relationship is referred to as mycorrhizal. Fungi in the soil colonize the root system of plants and assist in the acquisition of nutrients such as nitrogen and phosphorus. In return, most photosynthetic plants pay their mycorrhizal symbionts with carbohydrates. 

There are two major categories of mycorrhizal fungi - ectomycorrhizae (EMF) and arbuscular mycorrhizae (AMF). Though there are a variety of different species of fungi that fall into either of these groups, their strategies are pretty much the same. EMF make up roughly 10% of all the known mycorrhizal symbionts. The prefix "ecto" hints at the fact that these fungi form on the outside of root cells. They form a sort of sheath that encases the outside of the root as well as a "hartig net" around the outside of individual cells within the root cortex. AMF, on the other hand, literally penetrate the root cells and form two different kinds of structures once inside. One of these structures looks like the crown of a tree, hence the term "arbuscular." What's more, they are considered the oldest mycorrhizal group to have evolved. 

[SOURCE]

The type of mycorrhizal fungi a plant partners with has greater implications that simple nutrient uptake. Evidence is now showing that the dominant fungi of a region can actually influence the overall health and diversity forest ecosystems. The mechanism behind this has a lot to do with the two different categories discussed above. 

Researchers have discovered that trees partnering with AMF experience negative feedbacks in biomass whereas those that partner with EMF experience positive feedbacks in biomass. When grown in soils that previously harbored similar tree species, trees that partnered with AMF grew poorly whereas trees that partnered with EMF grew much better. Additionally, by repeating the experiments with seedlings, researchers found that seedling survival was reduced for AMF trees whereas seedling survival increased in EMF trees. 

What is going on here? If mycorrhizae are symbionts, why would there be any detrimental effects? The answer to this may have something to do with soil pathogens. Thinking back to the major differences between EMF and AMF, you will remember that it comes down to the way in which they form their root associations. EMF form a protective sheath around the roots whereas AMF penetrate the cells.  As it turns out, this has major implications for pathogen resistance. Because they form a sheath around the entire root, EMF perform much better at keeping pathogens away from sensitive root tissues. The same can't be said for AMF. Researchers found that AMF trees experienced significantly more root damage when grown in soils that previously contained AMF trees. 

The differences in the type of feedback experienced by EMF and AMF trees can have serious consequences for tree diversity. Because EMF trees are healthier and experience increased seedling establishment in soils containing other EMF species, it stands to reason that this would lead to a dominance of EMF species, thus reducing the variety of species capable of establishing in that area. Conversely, areas dominated by AMF trees may actually be more diverse due to the reduction in fitness that would arise if AMF trees started to dominate. Though they are detrimental, the negative feedbacks experienced by AMF trees may lead to healthier and more diverse forests in the grand scheme of things. 

Infographic by [1]

Further Reading: [1]

Orchid Dormancy Mediated by Fungi

Photo by NC Orchid licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0

North America's terrestrial orchids seem to have mastered the disappearing act. When stressed, these plants can enter into a vegetative dormancy, existing entirely underground for years until the right conditions return for them to grow and bloom. Cryptic dormancy periods like this can make assessing populations quite difficult. Orchids that were happy and flowering one year can be gone the next... and the next... and the next...

How and why this dormancy is triggered has confused ecologists and botanists alike. Certainly stress is a factor but what else triggers the plant into going dormant? According to a recent paper published in the American Journal of Botany, the answer is fungal.

Orchids are the poster children for mycorrhizal symbioses. Every aspect of an orchid's life is dependent on these fungal interactions. Despite our knowledge of the importance of mycorrhizal presence in orchid biology, no one had looked at how the abundance of mycorrhizal fungi influenced the life history of these charismatic plants until now.

By observing the presence and abundance of a family of orchid associated fungi known as Russulaceae, researchers found that the abundance of mycorrhizal fungi in the environment is directly related to whether or not an orchid will emerge. The team focused on a species of orchid known commonly as the small whorled pogonia (Isotria medeoloides). Populations of this federally threatened orchid are quite variable and assessing their numbers is difficult.

The team found that the abundance of mycorrhizal fungi is not only related to prior emergence of these plants but could also be used as a predictor of future emergence. This has major implications for orchid conservation overall. It's not enough to simply protect orchids, we must also protect the fungal communities they associate with.

Research like this highlights the need for a holistic habitat approach to conservation issues. So many species are partners in symbiotic relationships and we simply can't value one partner over the other. If conditions change to the point that they no longer favor the mycorrhizal partner, it stands to reason that it would only be a matter of years before the orchids disappeared for good.

Photo Credit: NC Orchid

Further Reading: [1]

The Lowly Lawn Orchid

A new year and a new orchid. It didn't take long for me to spot this little plant poking up between the succulent leaves of a potted aloe. My elation was short lived though. Alas, the sun was setting and I didn't have a flashlight or my camera. I was much luckier the next day. Actually, I shouldn't say lucky. This orchid isn't uncommon.

Meet the lawn orchid (Zeuxine strateumatica). Originally native to Asia, this species is expanding its range throughout many parts of the globe. Here in Florida, it was first discovered in 1936. There was a bit of confusion surrounding its origin on this continent, however, it is now believed that seeds arrived in a shipment of centipede-grass from China.

Since its premiere in Florida, the lawn orchid has since spread to Georgia, Alabama, and Texas. It seems to be quite tenacious, growing equally as well in lawns, floodplains, forests, meadows, and even sidewalk cracks! Despite this generalist habit, it does not seem to transplant well and is probably quite specific about its mycorrhizal partner. Much work needs to be done to sleuth out exactly why this little orchid has been able to spread so far outside of its native range.

Though small flies will visit the flowers, it is very likely that this orchid mostly self pollinates. It doesn't take long to flower and set seed. One plant can easily result in hundreds if not thousands of seedlings. After setting seed, the parent plant dies, however, it will often bud off new plantlets from its roots. Its ubiquitous nature can often stand in contrast to its ability to disappear for a series of time. Large stands that appear one year may not return for many years after. Still, in some areas this little orchid is abundant enough to be considered a nuisance.

Despite whatever feelings you may have towards this little plant, I nonetheless admire it. Its not often you find orchids so adaptable to a wide variety of conditions. At the very least it offers us insights into the success of plant invasions around the globe. And, in the end, its a nice looking little plant.

Further Reading: [1] [2]

High Elevation Record Breakers Are Evidence of Climate Change

[SOURCE]

A new record has been set for vascular plants. Three mustards, two composits, and a grass have been found growing at an elevation of 20,177 feet (6,150 m) above sea level!

Mountains are a brutal place to live. Freezing temperatures, fierce winds, limited soil, and punishing UV radiation are serious hurdles for any form of life. Whereas algae and mosses can often eke out an existence at such altitudes, more derived forms of life have largely been excluded from such habitats. That is, until now. The area in which these plants were discovered measured about the size of a football field and is situated atop an Indian mountain known as Mount Shukule II.

Although stressed, these plants were nonetheless established among the scree of this menacing peak. Most were quite young, having only been there for a few seasons but growth rings on the roots of at least one plant indicated that it had been growing there for nearly 20 years!

All of them have taken the cushion-like growth habit of most high elevation plant species in order to reduce exposure and conserve water. The leaves of each species also contained high levels of sugary anti-freeze, a must in this bitter cold habitat.

The research team, who could only muster a few hours of work each day, believed that the seeds of these plants were blown up there by wind. Because soils in alpine zones are often non-existent, the team wanted to take a closer look at what kind of microbial community, if any, was associated with their roots.

Whereas no mycorrhizal species were identified, the team did find a complex community of bacteria living among the roots that are characteristic of species living in arid, desert-like regions. It is likely that these bacteria came in with the seeds. Aside from wind, sun, and a lack of soil, one of the other great challenges for these plants is a short growing season. In order to persist at this elevation, the plants require a minimum of 40 days of frost-free soil each year.

Because climate change is happening much faster in mountainous regions, it is likely that such favorable growing conditions are a relatively recent phenomenon. The area in question has only recently become deglaciated. As average yearly temperatures continue to increase, the habitable zone for plants such as these is also moving up the mountain. The question is, what happens when it reaches the top? Once at the peak, plants have nowhere to go. One of the greatest issues alpine plants face is that they will gradually be squeezed off of these habitat islands.

Although expanding habitable zones in these mountains may sound like a good thing, it is likely a short term benefit for most species. Whereas temperature bands in the Tibetan mountains are moving upwards at a rate of 20 feet (6 m) per year, most alpine plants can only track favorable climates at a rate of about 2 inches (0.06 m) per year. In other words, they simply can't keep up. As such, this record breaking discovery is somewhat bitter sweet.

Photo Credit: [1]

Further Reading: [1]

The Whorled Pogonia

I live for moments like this. The only downside to that is I can never really predict when they are going to happen. There I was driving up a mountain road in search of a handful of other plant species related to my research. The road was narrow and there was a steep bank on the drivers side. The Southern Appalachian Mountains are brimming with botanical diversity. As such, it can be hard to tease out individual plants, especially while driving. This is why having a refined search image comes in handy. 

I was rounding a bend in the road when something out my window caught my eye. My mind went racing and it wasn't long before a suspicion crept into my head. If I was right, this was an opportunity I was not going to miss. I found the nearest pull off, parked the truck, and ran back down the road. I am so happy that I decided to trust my instincts. There in front of me was a small population of whorled pogonia orchids (Isotria verticillata). 

It was like being in the presence of a celebrity that I had been stalking for years. This was an orchid I have been dying to see. The harder I looked the more I saw. I had to sit down. Here in front of me was a species of orchid that isn't seen by many. In fact, entire populations of these species can go unseen for decades until they have enough energy to flower. 

Flowering in this species is said to be quite erratic. Because they live in shaded environments, building up the energy needed to reproduce can be difficult. Like all orchids, the whorled pogonia relies on an obligate relationship with mycorrhizal fungi to supply the nutrients it needs. In return, the orchids provide fungi with carbohydrates. The problem with erratic flowering, however, is that it makes reproduction difficult. Rarely are two populations flowering at the same time and in close enough proximity for successful cross pollination. More often, these orchids will self fertilize, which can lead to high rates of inbreeding. 

Large bees are the main pollinators of the whorled pogonia. The flowers themselves are reported to produce a feint odor reminiscent of Vanilla. This is interesting to note because in the greater scheme of orchid phylogenetics, this species is placed in the Vanilla subfamily, although such distinctions can get muddled quickly. Regardless, simply being in the presence of this orchid was enough to give me goosebumps. It is a shame that such a species is being lost throughout much of its range. 

Further Reading:
http://bit.ly/1ssBmdF

http://bit.ly/1WEmZzm

On Orchids and Fungi

It is no secret that orchids absolutely need fungi. Fungi not only initiate germination of their nearly microscopic seeds, the mycorrhizal relationships they form supplies the fuel needed for seedling development. These mycorrhizal fungi also continue to keep adult orchids alive throughout their lifetime. In other words, without mycorrhizal fungi there are no orchids. Preserving orchids goes far beyond preserving the plant. Despite the importance of these below-ground partners, the requirements of many mycorrhizal fungi are poorly understood.

Researchers from the Smithsonian Environmental Research Center have recently shone some light on the needs of these fungi. Their findings highlight an important concept in ecology - conservation of the system, not just the organism. Their results clearly indicate that orchid conservation requires old, intact forests.

Their experiment was beautifully designed. They added seeds and host fungi to dozens of plots in both young (50 - 70 years old) and old (120-150 years old) forests. They continued to monitor the progress of the seeds over a period of 4 years. Orchid seeds only germinated in plots where their host fungi were added. This, of course, was not very surprising.

The most interesting data they collected was data on fungal performance. As it turns out, the host fungi displayed a marked preference for older forests. In fact, the fungi were 12 times more abundant in these plots. They were even growing in areas where the researchers had not added them. What's more, fungal species were more diverse in older forests.

The researchers also noted that host fungi grew better and were more diverse in plots where rotting wood was added. This is because many mycorrhizal fungi are primarily wood decomposers. Nutrients from the decomposition of this wood are then channeled to growing orchids (as well as countless other plant species) in return for carbohydrates from photosynthesis. It is a wonderful system that functions at its best in mature forests.

This research highlights the need to protect and preserve old growth forests more than ever. Replanting forests is wonderful but it may be centuries before these forests can ever support such a diversity of life. Also, this stands as a stark reminder of the importance of soil conservation. Less obvious to most is the importance of decomposition. Without dead plant material, such fungal communities would have nothing to eat. Clearing a forest of dead wood can be just as detrimental in the long run as clearing it of living trees.

Research like this is made possible by the support of organizations such as the Native North American Orchid Conservation Center. Head on over to www.indefenseofplants.com/shop and pick up an In Defense of Plants sticker. Part of the proceeds are donated to this wonderful organization, which helps support research such as this! As this research highlights: What is good for orchids is good for the ecosystem.

Further Reading:

http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/j.1365-294X.2012.05468.x/abstract;jsessionid=3385C965FF5BA4CB83290005DFD47FD1.f01t02

An Aromatic Parasite

What smells like honey and parasitizes fungi? Why, Monotropa hypopitys of course! Its specific epithet gives you an idea of where you may stumble across one of these strange beauties. Hypo means under and pitys means pines. It is no wonder then that the common name of this species is "pinesap."

I love parasitic plants and to find this species was a real excitement. I smelled it before I saw it. The yellowish coloration of this specimen represents the norm, however, individuals with a more reddish hue are not unheard of. Pinesap has a distribution spanning the forests of the northern hemisphere. It is the most widely distributed member of the genus. Despite this fact, stumbling across a population is a relatively rare occurrence.

Pinesap falls under the category of mycoheterotroph. It parasitizes fungi, specifically those in the genus Tricholoma. As such, it is an indirect parasite of trees, taking nutrients that the fungi obtained from the trees they associate with. The relationship between pinesap and its associate fungi are rather specific. The structures they form are so unique that researchers have created a new term just to describe it - 'monotropoid’.

For most of its life, pinesap lives underground as a collection of highly specialized roots. Come early summer, individuals with enough stored energy will throw up what looks like a stem covered in flowers. In actuality, pinesap does not produce anything that could be called a true stem. Instead, the structure we see is actually an inflorescence called a raceme.

As mentioned above, the flowers have a scent that reminds me of spicy honey. Bees are the main visitors of the flowers, though most researchers feel that the plant mainly self pollinates. It has been observed that yellow individuals tend to flower earlier in the summer while red individuals tend to flower closer to fall. Whether this is any indication that these are separate subspecies remains to be seen. Recent genetic analysis suggests that pinesap may very well deserve its on genus, Hypopitys monotropa. More work needs to be done to figure out if it is deserved.

Further Reading:

http://www.fs.fed.us/wildflowers/beauty/mycotrophic/monotropa_hypopitys.shtml

An Extinction in Chicago

Chicago may seem like a strange place for the last stronghold of a plant species, however, that was the case back in 1916. In 1912, a graduate student by the name of Norma Pfeiffer was exploring a wet prairie near Torrence Avenue in Chicago when she stumbled across something peculiar. What she found had completely stumped the botany department. Her description of this little mystery ended up earning her a Ph.D.

What she had discovered was indeed a plant, but it was like nothing else known in this region. The plant was named Thismia americana. T. americana, like all member of the Burmanniaceae family, is a mycoheterotroph. It made its living by parasitizing mycorrhizal fungi in the soil. Because of this lifestyle, T. americana did not bother with leaves or even chlorophyll. It simply stored up enough energy to produce its tiny translucent white and blue-green striped little flower, which barely breached the soil surface.

The oddest thing about finding a Thismia growing in Illinois (let alone in Chicago) is that the family with which this plant belonged is very much tropical in its distribution. Its closest living relatives grow only in Australia, New Zealand, and Tasmania (the color picture below). What was this odd little species doing in northern North America? Pfeiffer continued to encounter and examine these plants for another 5 years after her initial discovery. Sadly, 1916 was the last year that anyone ever saw these plants again. The site in which the original population was found has since been developed.

Photo by Tindo2 - Tim Rudman licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0

There have been many repeated attempts at rediscovering this species. In 1949, Pfeiffer herself worked with a team of botanists in an attempt to find new populations of T. americana. They were unsuccessful. Another search was launched in the early 1990's. Volunteers were given pictures and models of the plant in hopes that they could develop a search image. They were also tested using small bluish-white beads scattered around prairie vegetation to see if they were even capable of finding a flower as small as T. americana's. Just as in 1949, no Thismia were found (nor were most of the beads apparently) though the team did turn up at least 17 plant species never recorded in that region before. Their time was not wasted. Similar searches in 2002 and 2011 have produced similarly disappointing results.

How and why this species came to be part of the prairies of Illinois will forever remain a mystery. Many have tried to find it since. All have failed. Some still hold out hope that a small remnant population remains somewhere hidden beneath goldenrods and various grasses. Given the size and appearance it is easy to see how such a plant could be overlooked. If anything, Thismia americana stands as a reminder of how important even the smallest nature preserves can be. For species like this, the simple act of preserving a chunk of land smaller than a city block could have made all the difference.

Photo Credit: Tindo2 (http://bit.ly/1wmHiWu), Mark Mohlenbrock and http://www.chicagowilderness.org

Further Reading:
http://www.jstor.org/stable/2468713…

http://www.jstor.org/stable/2469255…

http://www.jstor.org/discover/10.1086/674315…

http://www.chicagowilderness.org/…/…/summer2004/thismia.html