The Future of New Zealand's Shrubby Tororaro Lies in Cultivation

Photo by Jon Sullivan licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0

I was watching a gardening show hosted by one of my favorite gardeners, Carol Klein, when she introduced viewers to a beautiful, divaricating shrub whose branching structure looked like a dense tracery of orange twigs. She referred to the shrub as a wiggy wig and remarked on its beauty and form before moving on to another wonderful plant. I was taken aback by the structure of the shrub and had to learn more. Certainly its form had to be the result of delicate pruning and selective breeding. Imagine my surprise when I found its growth habit was inherent to this wonderful and rare species.

The wiggy wig or shrubby tororaro is known to science as Muehlenbeckia astonii. It is a member of the buckwheat family (Polygonaceae) endemic to grey scrub habitats of eastern New Zealand. Though this species is widely cultivated for its unique appearance, the shrubby tororaro is not faring well in the wild. For reasons I will cover in a bit, this unique shrub is considered endangered. To understand some of these threats as well as what it will take to bring it back from the brink, we must first take a closer look at its ecology.

Photo by WJV&DB licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

As mentioned, the shrubby tororaro is endemic to grey scrub habitats of eastern New Zealand. It is a long lived species, with individuals living upwards of 80 years inder the right conditions. Because its habitat is rather dry, the shrubby tororaro grows a deep taproot that allows it to access water deep within the soil. That is not to say that it doesn’t have to worry about drought. Indeed, the shrubby tororaro also has a deciduous habit, dropping most if not all of its tiny, heart-shaped leaves when conditions become too dry. During the wetter winter months, its divaricating twigs become bathed in tiny, cream colored flowers that are very reminiscent of the buckwheat family. From a reproductive standpoint, its flowers are quite interesting.

The shrubby tororaro is gynodioecious, which means individual shrubs produce either only female flowers or what is referred to as ‘inconstant male flowers.’ Essentially what this means is that certain individuals will produce some perfect flowers that have functional male and female parts. This reproductive strategy is thought to increase the chances of cross pollination among unrelated individuals when populations are large enough. Following successful pollination, the remaining tepals begin to swell and surround the hard nut at the center, forming a lovely translucent fruit-like structure that entices dispersal by birds. As interesting and effective as this reproductive strategy can be in healthy populations, the shrubby tororaro’s gynodioecious habit starts to break down as its numbers decrease in the wild.

Photo by Jon Sullivan licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0

As New Zealand was colonized, lowland habitats like the grey scrub were among the first to be converted to agriculture and that trend has not stopped. What grey scrub habitat remains today is highly degraded by intense grazing and invasive species. Habitat loss has been disastrous for the shrubby tororaro and its neighbors. Though this shrub was likely never common, today only a few widely scattered populations remain and most of these are located on private property, which make regular monitoring and protection difficult.

Observations made within remnant populations indicate that very little reproduction occurs anymore. Either populations are comprised of entirely female individuals or the few inconstant males that are produced are too widely spaced for pollination to occur. Even when a crop of viable seeds are produced, seedlings rarely find the proper conditions needed to germinate and grow. Invasive grasses and other plants shade them out and invasive insects and rodents consume the few that manage to make it to the seedling stage. Without intervention, this species will likely go extinct in the wild in the coming decades.

Photo by John Pons licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

Luckily, conservation measures are well underway and they involve cultivation by scientists and gardeners alike. There is a reason this shrub has become very popular among gardeners - it is relatively easy to grow and propagate. From hardwood cuttings taken in winter, the shrubby tororaro will readily root and grow into a clone of the parent plant. Not only has this aided in spreading the plant among gardeners, it has also allowed conservationists to preserve and bolster much of the genetic diversity within remaining wild populations. By cloning, growing, and distributing individuals among various living collections, conservationists have at least safeguarded many of the remaining individuals.

Moreover, cultivation on this scale means dwindling wild populations can be supplemented with unrelated individuals that produce both kinds of flowers. By increasing the numbers within each population, conservationists are also decreasing the distances between female and inconstant male individuals, which means more chances for pollination and seed production. Though by no means out of the proverbial woods yet, the shrubby tororaro’s future in the wild is looking a bit brighter.

This is good news for biodiversity of the region as well. After all, the shrubby tororaro does not exist in a vacuum. Numerous other organisms rely on this shrub for their survival. Birds feed heavily on its fruits and disperse its seeds while the larvae of at least a handful of moths feed on its foliage. In fact, the larvae of a few moths utilize the shrubby tororaro as their sole food source. Without it, these moths would perish as well. Of course, those larvae also serve as food for birds and lizards. Needless to say, saving the shrubby tororaro benefits far more than just the plant itself. Certainly more work is needed to restore shrubby tororaro habitat but in the meantime, cultivation is ensuring this species will persist into the future.

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

The Ceropegias Welcome a New Member

Photos by David Styles

The genus Ceropegia is home to some of my favorite plants. Not only are they distant cousins of the milkweeds (Asclepias spp.), they sport some of the most interesting floral morphologies whose beauty is only exceeded by their fascinating pollination syndromes. Recently, Ceropegia expert and friend of the podcast Dr. Annemarie Heiduk brought to my attention the recent description of a species named in her honor.

Ceropegia heidukiae hails from KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa, and, at current, is believed to be endemic to a habitat type called the Northern Zululand Mistbelt Grassland. Morphologically, it has been described as an erect perennial herb. Unlike many of its cousins, C. heidukiae does not vine. Instead, it grows a slender stem with opposite, ovate leaves that just barely reaches above the surrounding grasses. By far the most striking feature of this plant are its flowers.

Photos by David Styles.

Ceropegia heidukiae produces elaborate trap flowers at the tips of its slender stems during the month of December (summer in the Southern Hemisphere). Each flower is comprised a greenish-gold, striped tube made of fused petals and topped with a purple, star-like structure with fine hairs. These flowers were the key indication that this species was previously unknown to science. Additionally, a sweet, acidic scent was detected during the relatively short blooming period.

Their beauty aside, the anatomy and scent of these flowers hints at what may very well be a complex and specific pollination syndrome. Indeed, scientists like Dr. Heiduk are revealing amazing chemical trickery within the flowers of this incredible genus, including one species that mimics the smell of dying bees. Who knows what kinds of relationships this new species has evolved in its unique habitat. Only plenty of observation and experimentation will tell and I anxiously await future studies.

A view of the Northern Zululand Mistbelt Grassland where Ceropegia heidukiae was found.

Sadly, C. heidukiae lives in one of South Africa’s most threatened habitat types. South Africa’s Biodiversity Act currently classifies the Northern Zululand Mistbelt Grassland as endangered due to factors like timber plantations and unsustainable grazing. Hopefully with the recognition of unique species like C. heidukiae, more attention can be given to sustainable use of the Northern Zululand Mistbelt Grassland such that both the people and the species that rely on it can continue to do so for generations to come.

Photo Credits: David Styles

Further Reading: [1] [2]

The Ancient Green Blobs of the Andes

Photo by Atlas of Wonders licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Curious images of these strange green mounds make the rounds of social media every so often. What kind of alien life form is this? Is it a moss? Is it a fungus? The answer may surprise you!

These large, green mounds are comprised of a colony of plants in the carrot family! The Yareta, or Azorella compacta, hails from the Andes and only grows between 3,200 and 4,500 meters (10,500 - 14,750 ft) in elevation. Its tightly compacted growth habit is an adaptation to its high elevation lifestyle. Cushion growth like this helps these plants prevent heat and water loss in these cold, dry, windy environments.

Every so often, these mats erupt with tiny flowers, which must be a sight to behold! Photo by Lon&Queta licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

As you might imagine, these plants are extremely slow growers. By studying their growth rates over time, experts estimate that individual colonies expand at the rate of roughly 1.5 cm each year. By extrapolating these rates to the measurements of large colonies, we get a remarkable picture of how old some of these plants truly are. Indeed, some of the largest colonies are estimated at over 3000 years old, making them some of the oldest living organisms on the planet!

Sadly, the dense growth of the plant makes it highly sought after as a fuel source. Massive chunks of these plants are harvested with pick axes and burned as a source of heat. Due to their slow growth rate, overharvesting in recent years has caused a serious decline in Yareta populations. Local governments have since enacted laws to protect this species in hopes that it will give colonies the time they need to recover. Indeed, some recovery has already been documented, however, continued monitoring and management will be needed to ensure their populations remain viable into the foreseeable future.

Photo Credits: [1] [2]

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

A Rare Succulent Member of the Milkweed Family

Photo by: Gennaro Re

Across nearly every ecosystem on Earth, biodiversity tends to follow a pattern in which there are a small handful of very common species and many, many more rare species. It would seem our knowledge of plants follows a similar pattern; we know a lot about a small group of species and very little to nothing about most others. Take, for example, a succulent relative of the milkweeds known to science as Whitesloanea crassa. Despite its occurrence in specialist succulent plant collections, we know next to nothing about the natural history of this species or if it even still exists in the wild at all.

Without flowers, one would be hard pressed to place this odd succulent within a family. Even when in bloom, proper analysis of its taxonomic affinity requires a close inspection of the floral morphology. What W. crassa exhibits is a highly derived morphology well-adapted to its xeric environment. Native to Somalia, it was said to grow on bare ground and its appearance supposedly matches the rocks that dominate its desert habitat. Never producing leaves or branches, the main body of W. crassa consists of a succulent, quadrangular stem that slowly grows upwards as it ages.

Flowers are produced in a dense inflorescence, which is most often situated near the base of the plant. Each flower is very showy at maturity, consisting of a fleshy, fused, 5-lobed corolla decorated in shades of pink and red. As far as I can tell, this is not one of stinkier members of the family. Though I have found pictures of flowers crawling with maggots, most growers fail to comment on any strong odors. In fact, aside from limited care instructions, detailed descriptions of the plant represent the bulk of the scientific information available on this odd species.

Maggots crawling around inside the flowers indicates this species mimics carrion as its pollination mechanism. Photo by: Flavio Agrosi

As I mentioned, it is hard to say whether this species still exists in the wild or not. The original mention of this plant in the literature dates back to 1914. A small population of W. crassa was found in northern Somalia and a few individuals were shipped overseas where they didn’t really make much of an impact on botanists or growers at that time. It would be another 21 years before this plant would receive any additional scientific attention. Attempts to relocate that original population failed but thanks to a handful of cultivated specimens that had finally flowered, W. crassa was given a proper description in 1935. After that time, W. crassa once again slipped back into the world of horticultural obscurity.

A few decades later, two additional trips were made to try and locate additional W. crassa populations. Botanical expeditions to Somalia in 1957 and again in 1986 did manage to locate a few populations of this succulent and it is likely that most of the plants growing in cultivation today are descended from collections made during those periods. However, trying to find any current information on the status of this plant ends there. Some say it has gone extinct, yet another species lost to over-collection and agriculture. Others claim that populations still exist but their whereabouts are kept as a closely guarded secret by locals. Though such claims are largely unsubstantiated, I certainly hope the latter is true and the former is not.

Photo by: Flavio Agrosi

Our knowledge of W. crassa is thus restricted to what we can garner from cultivated specimens. It is interesting to think of how much about this species will remain a mystery simply because we have been unable to observe it in the wild. Despite these limitations, cultivation has nonetheless provided brief windows into it’s evolutionary history. Because of its rock-like appearance, it was assumed that W. crassa was related to the similar-looking members of the genus Pseudolithos. However, genetic analysis indicates that it is not all that closely related to this genus. Instead, W. crassa shares a much closer relationship to Huernia and Duvalia.

This is where the story ends unfortunately. Occasionally one can find cultivated individuals for sale and when you do, they are usually attached to a decent price tag. Those lucky enough to grow this species successfully seem to hold it in high esteem. If you are lucky enough to own one of these plants or to have at least laid eyes on one in person, cherish the experience. Also, consider sharing said experiences on the web. The more information we have on mysterious species like W. crassa, the better the future will be for species like this. With any luck, populations of this plant still exist in the wild, their locations known only to those who live nearby, and maybe one day a lucky scientist will finally get the chance to study its ecology a little bit better.

Photo Credits: [1] & Flavio Agrosi [2] [3] [4]

Further Reading: [1] [2]

Dwarf Sumac: North America's Rarest Rhus

James Henderson, Golden Delight Honey, Bugwood.org.

In honor of my conversation with Anacardiaceae specialist, Dr. Susan Pell, I wanted to dedicate some time to looking at a member of this family that is in desperate need of more attention. I would like you to meet the dwarf sumac (Rhus michauxii). Found only in a few scattered locations throughout the Coastal Plain and Piedmont regions of southeastern North America, this small tree is growing increasingly rare.

Dwarf sumac is a small species, with most individuals maxing out around 1 - 3 feet (30.5 – 91 cm) in height. It produces compound fuzzy leaves with wonderfully serrated leaflets. It flowers throughout early and mid-summer, with individuals producing an upright inflorescence that is characteristic of what one might expect from the genus Rhus. Dwarf sumac is dioecious, meaning individual plants produce either male or female flowers. Also, like many of its cousins, dwarf sumac is highly clonal, sending out runners in all directions that grow into clones of the original. The end result of this habit is large populations comprised of a single genetic individual producing only one type of flower.

Current range of dwarf sumac (Rhus michauxii). Green indicates native presence in state, Yellow indicates present in county but rare, and Orange indicates historical occurrence that has since been extirpated. [SOURCE]

Research indicates that the pygmy sumac was likely never wide spread or common throughout its range. Its dependence on specific soil conditions (namely sandy or rocky, basic soils) and just the right amount of disturbance mean it is pretty picky as to where it can thrive. However, humans have pushed this species far beyond natural tolerances. A combination of agriculture, development, and fire sequestration have all but eliminated most of its historical occurrences.

Today, the remaining dwarf sumac populations are few and far between. Its habit of clonal spread complicates matters even more because remaining populations are largely comprised of clonal offshoots of single individuals that are either male or female, making sexual reproduction almost non-existent in most cases. Also, aside from outright destruction, a lack of fire has also been disastrous for the species. Dwarf sumac requires fairly open habitat to thrive and without regular fires, it is readily out-competed by surrounding vegetation.

A female infructescence. Photo by Alan Cressler

Luckily, dwarf sumac has gotten enough attention to earn it protected status as a federally listed endangered species. However, this doesn’t mean all is well in dwarf sumac land. Lack of funding and overall interest in this species means monitoring of existing populations is infrequent and often done on a volunteer basis. At least one study pointed out that some of the few remaining populations have only been monitored once, which means it is anyone’s guess as to their current status or whether they still exist at all. Some studies also indicate that dwarf sumac is capable of hybridizing with related species such as whinged sumac (Rhus copallinum).

Another complicating factor is that some populations occur in some surprisingly rundown places that can make conservation difficult. Because dwarf sumac relies on disturbance to keep competing vegetation at bay, some populations now exist along highway rights-of way, roadsides, and along the edges of artificially maintained clearings. While this is good news for current population numbers, ensuring that these populations are looked after and maintained is a difficult task when interests outside of conservation are involved.

Some of the best work being done to protect this species involves propagation and restoration. Though still limited in its scope and success, out-planting into new location in addition to augmenting existing populations offers hope of at least slowing dwarf sumac decline in the wild. Special attention has been given to planting genetically distinct male and female plants into existing clonal populations in hopes of increasing pollination and seed set. Though it is too early to count these few attempts as true successes, they do offer a glimmer of hope. Other conservation attempts involve protecting what little habitat remains for this species and encouraging better land management via prescribed burns and invasive species removal.

The future for dwarf sumac remains uncertain, but that doesn’t mean all hope is lost. With more attention and research, this species just may be saved from total destruction. The plight of species like the dwarf sumac serve as an important reminder of why both habitat conservation and restoration are so important for slowing biodiversity loss.

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

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3]James Henderson, Golden Delight Honey, Bugwood.org.

The Deceptive Ways of the Calypso Orchid

Photo by Murray Foubister licensed under CC BY-ND 2.0.

Behold the Calypso orchid, Calypso bulbosa. This circumboreal orchid exists as a single leaf lying among the litter of dense conifer forests. They go virtually unnoticed for most of the year until it comes time to flower.

In early spring, the extravagant blooms open up and await the arrival of bumblebees. Calypsos go to great lengths to attract bumblebees. The flower is said to have a sweet scent. Also, the lip sports small, yellow, hair-like protrusions that are believed to mimic anthers covered in pollen. Finally, within the pouch formed by the lip are two false nectar spurs. All of these are a ruse. The Calypso offers no actual rewards to visiting bumblebees.

Not just any bumblebee will do. For the ruse to work, it requires freshly emerged workers that are naive to the orchid’s deception. Bumblebees are not mindless animals. They quickly learn which flowers are worth visiting and which are not. Because of this, the Calypso has only short window of time in which bumblebees in the vicinity are likely to fall for its tricks. As a result, pollination rates are often very low for this orchid.

The most interesting aspect of all of this is that the so-called "male function" of the flower - pollinia removal - is more likely to occur than the "female function" - pollen deposition. The reason for this makes a lot of sense in context; male function requires a bumblebee to be fooled only once whereas female function requires a bumblebee to be fooled at least twice.

The caveat to all of this deception is that a single Calypso, like all other orchids, can produce tens of thousands of seeds. Each orchid therefore has tens of thousands of potential propagules to replace itself in the next generation. Despite that fact, the Calypso orchid is on the decline. Habitat destruction, poaching, deer, and invasive species are taking their toll. If you care about orchids like the Calypso, please consider supporting organizations like the North American Orchid Conservation Center.

Photo by Murray Foubister licensed under CC BY-ND 2.0.

Photo Credit: [1] [2]

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

Mysterious Franklinia

Photo by Tom Potterfield licensed by CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

In 1765, a pair of botanists, John and William Bartram, observed "several very curious shrubs" growing in one small area along the banks of the Altamaha River in what is now Georgia. Again in 1773, William Bartram returned to this same area. He reported that he "was greatly delighted at the appearance of two beautiful shrubs in all their blooming graces. One of them appeared to be a species of Gordonia, but the flowers are larger, and more fragrant than those of the Gordonia lasianthus.” The species Bartram was referring to was not a Gordonia, but rather a unique species in a genus all of its own. After years of study, Bartram would name the plant in honor of a close family friend, Benjamin Franklin.

This tree is none other than the Franklin tree - Franklinia alatamaha. This beautiful member of the tea family (Theaceae) is unique in that it no longer exists outside of cultivation. It is completely extinct in the wild. However, this is not a recent extinction brought on by the industrialization of North America. IT would seem that Franklinia was nearing extinction before Europeans ever made it to North America. As Bartram first noted "We never saw it grow in any other place, nor have I ever since seen it growing wild, in all my travels, from Pennsylvania to Point Coupe, on the banks of the Mississippi, which must be allowed a very singular and unaccountable circumstance; at this place there are two or 3 acres of ground where it grows plentifully." Indeed, no reports of this species came from anywhere other than that two to three acre section of land on he banks of the Altamaha River. The last confirmed sighting of Franklinia in the wild was in 1790.

Photo by Krzysztof Ziarnek, Kenraiz licensed by CC BY-SA 4.0

What happened to Franklinia? The truth is, no one really knows. Many theories have been put forth to try to explain the disappearance of this unique shrub. What can be agreed on at this point is that Franklinia was probably mostly extinct by the time Europeans arrived. One thought is that it was a northern species that "escaped" glaciation thanks to a few scattered populations in southeastern North America. Indeed, it has been well documented that plants grown in the northern US fare a lot better than those grown in the south. It is thought that perhaps Franklinia was not well adapted to the hot southern climate and slowly dwindled in numbers before it had a chance to expand its range back north after the glaciers retreated.

Others blame early botanists for collecting this already rare species out of existence. What few trees may have remained could easily have been whipped out by a stochastic event like a flood or fire. Another possibility is that habitat loss from Indigenous and subsequent European settlement coupled with disease introduced via cotton farming proved too much for a small, genetically shallow population to handle. In my opinion, it was probably the combination of all of these factors that lead to the extinction of Franklinia in the wild.

Photo by Tony Rodd licensed by CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

Anyone growing this tree may notice some funny aspects of its ecology. For instance, it blooms in September, which is a lot later than most North American flowering tree species. Also, the fruits take a long time to mature, needing 13 - 15 months on the tree to be viable. The combination of these strange quirks of Franklinia biology as well as its inability to handle drought (a condition quite common in its only known natural range in Georgia), lends credence to the glacial retreat theory.

We do owe Bartram though. Without him, this species may have disappeared entirely. During his expeditions to Georgia, he collected a few seeds from that Franklinia population. Any Franklinia trees growing in gardens today are direct descendants of those original collections. Franklinia is yet another plant species kept alive by cultivation. Without its addition to gardens all over the country, this species would have been lost forever, living on in our minds as illustrations and herbarium specimens.

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

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

Encounters With a Rare White-Topped Carnivore

I am not a list maker. Never have been and never will be. That being said, there are always going to be certain plants that I feel I need to see in the wild before I die. The white-topped pitcher plant (Sarracenia leucophylla) was one such plant.

I will never forget the first time I laid eyes on one of these plants. It was at a carnivorous plant club meeting in which the theme had been “show and tell.” Local growers were proudly showcasing select plants from their collections and it was a great introduction to many groups which, at the time, I was unfamiliar with. Such was the case for the taller pitcher plants in the genus Sarracenia. Up until that point, I had only ever encountered the squat purple pitcher plant (S. purpurea).

I rounded the corner to a row of display tables and was greeted with a line of stunning botanical pitfall traps. Nestled in among the greens, reds, and yellows was a single pot full of tremendously white, green, and red pitcher plants. I picked my jaw up off the floor and inquired. This was the first time I had seen Sarracenia leucophylla. At that point I knew I had to see such a beauty in the wild.

More like white and red top…

It would be nearly a decade before that dream came true. On my recent trip to the Florida panhandle, I learned that there may be a chance to see this species in situ. Needless to say, this plant nerd was feeling pretty ecstatic. Between survey sites, we pulled down a long road and parked our vehicle. I could tell that there was a large clearing just beyond the ditch, on the other side of the trees.

The clearing turned out to be an old logging site. Apparently the site was not damaged too severely during the process as the plant diversity was pretty impressive. We put on our boots and slogged our way down an old two track nearly knee deep in dark, tanic water. All around us we could see amazing species of Sabatia, Lycopodiella, Drosera, and so much more. We didn’t walk far before something white caught my eye.

There to the left of me was a small patch of S. leucophylla. I had a hard time keeping it together. I wanted to jump up and down, run around, and let off all of the excited energy that had built up that morning. I decided to reign it in, however, as I had to be extra careful not to trample any of the other incredible plants growing near by. It is always sad to see the complete disregard even seasoned botanists have for plants that are unlucky enough to be growing next door to a species deemed “more exciting,” but I digress.

Sarracenia leucophylla flower. Photo by Noah Elhardt licensed by GNU Free Documentation License [SOURCE]

This was truly a moment I needed to savor. I took a few pictures and then put my camera away to simply enjoyed being in the presence of such an evolutionary marvel. If you know how pitcher plants work then you will be familiar with S. leucophylla. Its brightly colored pitchers are pitfall traps. Insects lured in by the bright colors, sweet smell, and tasty extrafloral nectar eventually lose their footing and fall down into the mouth of the pitcher. Once they have passed the rim, escape is unlikely. Downward pointing hairs and slippery walls ensure that few, if any, insects can crawl back out.

What makes this species so precious (other than its amazing appearance) is just how rare it has become. Sarracenia leucophylla is a poster child for the impact humans are having on this entire ecosystem. It can only be found in a few scattered locations along the Gulf Coast of North America. The main threat to this species is, of course, loss of habitat.

A large conservation population growing ex situ at the Atlanta Botanical Garden.

Southeastern North America has seen an explosion in its human population over the last few decades and that has come at great cost to wild spaces. Destruction from human development, agriculture, and timber production have seen much of its wetland habitats disappear. What is left has been severely degraded by a loss of fire. Fires act as a sort of reset button on the vegetation dynamics of fire-prone habitats by clearing the area of vegetation. Without fires, species like S. leucophylla are quickly out-competed by more aggressive plants, especially woody shrubs like titi (Cyrilla racemiflora).

Another major threat to this species is poaching, though the main reasons may surprise you. Though S. leucophylla is a highly sought-after species by carnivorous plant growers, its ease of propagation means seed grown plants are usually readily available. That is not to say poaching for the plant trade doesn’t happen. It does and the locations of wild populations are best kept secret.

Sarracenia leucophylla habitat. Photo by Brad Adler licensed by CC BY-SA 2.5 [SOURCE]

The main issue with poaching involves the cut flower trade. Florists looking to add something exotic to their floral displays have taken to using the brightly colored pitchers of various Sarracenia species. One or two pitchers from a population probably doesn’t hurt the plants very much but reports of entire populations having their pitchers removed are not uncommon to hear about. It is important to realize that not only do the pitchers provide these plants with much-needed nutrients, they are also the main photosynthetic organs. Without them, plants will starve and die.

I think at this point my reasons for excitement are pretty obvious. Wandering around we found a handful more plants and a few even had ripening seed pods. By far the coolest part of the encounter came when I noticed a couple damaged pitchers. I bent down and noticed that they had holes chewed out of the pitcher walls and all were positioned about half way up the pitcher.

I peered down into one of these damaged pitchers and was greeted by two tiny moths. Each moth was yellow with a black head and thick black bands on each wing. A quick internet search revealed that these were very special moths indeed. What we had found was a species of moth called the pitcher plant mining moth (Exyra semicrocea).

An adult pitcher plant mining moth (Exyra semicrocea) sitting within a pitcher!

Amazingly, the lives of these moths are completely tied to the lives of the pitcher plants. Their larvae feed on nothing else. As if seeing this rare plant wasn’t incredible enough, I was witnessing such a wonderfully specific symbiotic relationship right before my very eyes.

Fortunately, the plight of S. leucophylla has not gone unnoticed by conservationists. Lots of attention is being paid to protecting remaining populations, collecting seeds, and reintroducing plants to part of their former range. For instance, it has been estimated that efforts to protect this species by the Atlanta Botanical Garden have safeguarded most of the genetic diversity that remains for S. leucophylla. Outside of direct conservation efforts, many agencies both public and private are bringing fire back into the ecology of these systems. Fires benefit so much more than S. leucophylla. They are restoring the integrity and resiliency of these biodiverse wetland habitats.

LEARN MORE ABOUT WHAT PLACES LIKE THE ATLANTA BOTANICAL GARDEN ARE DOING TO PROTECT IMPORTANT PLANT HABITATS THROUGHOUT THE SOUTHEAST AND MORE.

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

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]

Can Cultivation Save the Canary Island Lotuses?

Photo by VoDeTan2 Dericks-Tan licensed under the GNU Free Documentation License

Growing and propagating plants is, in my opinion, one of the most important skills humanity has ever developed. That is one of the reasons why I love gardening so much. Growing a plant allows you to strike up a close relationship with that species, which provides valuable insights into its biology. In today’s human-dominated world, it can also be an important step in preventing the extinction of some plants. Such may be the case for four unique legumes native to the Canary Islands provided it is done properly.

The Canary Islands are home to an impressive collection of plants in the genus Lotus, many of which are endemic. Four of those endemic Lotus species are at serious risk of extinction. Lotus berthelotii, L. eremiticus, L. maculatus, and L. pyranthus are endemic to only a few sites on this archipelago. Based on old records, it would appear that these four were never very common components of the island flora. Despite their rarity in the wild, at least one species, L. berthelotii, has been known to science since it was first described in 1881. The other three were described within the last 40 years after noting differences among plants being grown locally as ornamentals.

Photo by John Rusk licensed under CC BY 2.0

All four species look superficially similar to one another with their thin, silvery leaves and bright red to yellow flowers that do a great impression of a birds beak. The beak analogy seems apt for these flowers as evidence suggests that they are pollinated by birds. In the wild, they exhibit a creeping habit, growing over rocks and down overhangs. It is difficult to assess whether their current distributions truly reflect their ecological needs or if they are populations that are simply hanging on in sites that provide refugia from the myriad threats plaguing their survival.

None of these four Lotus species are doing well in the wild. Habitat destruction, the introduction of large herbivores like goats and cattle, as well as a change in the fire regime have seen alarming declines in their already small populations. Today, L. eremiticus and L. pyranthus are restricted to a handful of sites on the island of La Palma and L. berthelotii and L. maculatus are restricted to the island of Tenerife. In fact, L. berthelotii numbers have declined so dramatically that today it is considered nearly extinct in the wild.

Contrast this with their numbers in captivity. Whereas cultivation of L. eremiticus and L. pyranthus is largely restricted to island residents, L. berthelotii and L. maculatus and their hybrids can be found in nurseries all over the world. Far more plants exist in captivity than in their natural habitat. This fact has not been lost on conservationists working hard to ensure these plants have a future in the wild. However, simply having plants in captivity does not mean that the Canary Island Lotus are by any means safe.

One of the biggest issues facing any organism whose numbers have declined is that of reduced genetic diversity. Before plants from captivity can be used to augment wild populations, we need to know a thing or two about their genetic makeup. Because these Lotus can readily be rooted from cuttings, it is feared that most of the plants available in the nursery trade are simply clones of only a handful of individuals. Also, because hybrids are common and cross-pollination is always a possibility, conservationists fear that the individual genomes of each species may run the risk of being diluted by other species’ DNA.

Photo by VoDeTan2 Dericks-Tan licensed under the GNU Free Documentation License

Luckily for the Canary Island Lotus species, a fair amount of work is being done to not only protect the remaining wild plants, but also augment existing as well as establish new populations. To date, many of the remaining plants are found within the borders of protected areas of the island. Also, new areas are being identified as potential places where small populations or individuals may be hanging on, protected all this time by their inaccessibility. At the same time, each species has been seed banked and entered into cultivation programs in a handful of botanical gardens.

Still, one of the best means of ensuring these species can enjoy a continued existence in the wild is by encouraging their cultivation. Though hybrids have historically been popular with the locals, there are enough true species in cultivation that there is still reason for hope. Their ease of cultivation and propagation means that plants growing in peoples’ gardens can escape at least some of the pressures that they face in the wild. If done correctly, ex situ cultivation could offer a safe haven for these unique species until the Canary Islands can deal with the issues facing the remaining wild populations.

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

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

The Cypress-Knee Sedge

Sedges (Carex spp.) simply do not get the attention they deserve. I am part of this problem because like so many others, I have breezed over them in vegetation surveys as “just another graminoid.” This is truly a shame because not only are sedges absolutely fascinating organisms, they are immensely important ecologically as well. I am working hard to get to know sedges better so that I too can fully appreciate their place in our ecosystems. One of the coolest specialist sedges I just recently learned about is the so-called cypress-knee sedge (Carex decomposita). For all intents and purposes, this sedge is considered something of an epiphyte!

The cypress-knee sedge has a fondness for growing on wood. Most often you will find it rooted to the buttresses and knees of bald cypress (Taxodium distichum) or the swollen trunk of a swamp tupelo (Nyssa aquatica). It can also be found growing out of rotting logs that float on the surface of the water. It is a long lived species, with individuals having records stretching back through decades of wetland plant surveys. When supplied with the conditions it likes, populations can thrive. That is not to say that it does well everywhere. In fact, it has declined quite a bit throughout its range.

Juvenile cypress-knee sedges establishing in moss along the water line of a bald cypress.

One of the key wetland features that the cypress-knee sedge needs to survive and prosper is a stable water level. If water levels change too much, entire populations can be wiped out either by drowning or desiccation. Even before the sedge gets established, its seeds require stable water levels to even get to suitable germination sites. Each achene (fruit) comes complete with a tiny, corky area at its tip that allows the seeds to float. Floating seeds are how this species gets around. With any luck, some seeds will end up at the base of a tree or on a floating log where they can germinate and grow. If water levels fluctuate too much, the seeds simply can’t reach such locations.

Its dependence on high quality wetlands is one of the major reasons why the cypress-knee sedge has declined so much in recent decades. Aside from outright destruction of wetlands, changes in wetland hydrology can have dire consequences for its survival. One of the major issues for the cypress-knee sedge is boat traffic. Boat wakes create a lot of disturbance in the water that can literally scour away entire populations from the base of trees and logs. Another major threat are changes to upstream habitats. Any alteration to the watersheds of wetland habitats can spell disaster for the cypress-knee sedge. Alterations to creeks, streams, and rivers, as well as changes in ground water infiltration rates can severely alter the water levels in the swamps that this sedge depends on for survival.

Closeups of the infructescence showing details of the perigynia (fruit).

Less obvious threats also include changes in plant cover. If the wetlands in which it grows become too dense, the cypress-knee sedge quickly gets out-competed. To thrive, the cypress-knee sedge needs slightly more sunlight than a densely forested wetland can provide. In fact, some have even noted that cypress-knee sedge populations can explode after selective logging of such wetlands. Such explosions have been attributed to not only extra sunlight but also the addition of woody debris, which provides much needed germination sites. That being said, such explosions can only be maintained if woody debris is left in place and further wetland disturbances do not continue.

The plight of the cypress-knee sedge stands as a reminder of just how poorly we treat wetlands around the globe. Aside from providing valuable ecosystem services for the human environment (flood control, water filtration, etc.), wetlands are home to countless unique species. Only by treating wetlands betters and attempting to restore some of what has been lost will we ever do better by wetland species like the cypress-knee sedge. Hopefully by showcasing species like this, people will begin to feel a little more compassion towards the ecosystems on which they depend. Please consider supporting a wetland conservation and restoration initiative in your region!

Photo Credits : LDWF Natural Heritage Program [1] & Paul Marcum (Midwest Graminoides) [2] [3] [4]

Further Reading: [1] [2]

Resurrecting Café Marron

Photo by Tim Waters licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Back in 1980, a school teacher on the island of Rodrigues sent his students out to look for plants. One of the students brought back a cutting of a shrub that astounded the botanical community. Ramosmania rodriguesii, more commonly known as café marron, was up until that point only known from one botanical description dating back to the 1800's. The shrub, which is a member of the coffee family, was thought to have been extinct due to pressures brought about during the colonization of the island (goats, invasive species, etc.). What the boy brought back was indeed a specimen of café marron but the individual he found turned out to be the only remaining plant on the island.

News of the plant quickly spread. It started to attract a lot of attention, not all of which was good. There is a belief among the locals that the plant is an herbal remedy for hangovers and venereal disease (hence its common name translates to ‘brown coffee’) and because of that, poaching was rampant. Branches and leaves were being hauled off at a rate that was sure to kill this single individual. It was so bad that multiple layers of fencing had to be erected to keep people away. It was clear that more was needed to save this shrub from certain extinction.

Cuttings were taken and sent to Kew. After some trial and tribulation, a few of the cuttings successfully rooted. The clones grew and flourished. They even flowered on a regular basis. For a moment it looked like this plant had a chance. Unfortunately, café marron did not seem to want to self-pollinate. It was looking like this species was going to remain a so-called “living dead” representative of a species no longer able to live in the wild. That is until Carlos Magdalena (the man who saved the rarest water lily from extinction) got his hands on the plants.

The key to saving café marron was to somehow bypass its anti-selfing mechanism. Because so little was known about its biology, there was a lot of mystery surrounding its breeding mechanism. Though plenty of flowers were produced, it would appear that the only thing working on the plant were its anthers. They could get viable pollen but none of the stigmas appeared to be receptive. Could it be that the last remaining individual (and all of its subsequent clones) were males?

This is where a little creativity and a lot of experience paid off. During some experiments with the flowers, it was discovered that by amputating the top of the stigma and placing pollen directly onto the wound one could coax fertilization ans fruiting. From that initial fruit, seven seeds were produced. These seeds were quickly sent to the propagation lab but unfortunately the seedlings were never able to establish. Still, this was the first indication that there was some hope left for the café marron.

After subsequent attempts at the stigma amputation method ended in failure, it was decided that perhaps something about the growing conditions of the first plant were the missing piece of this puzzle. Indeed, by repeating the same conditions the first individual was exposed to, Carlos and his team were able to coax some changes out of the flowering efforts of some clones. Plants growing in warmer conditions started to produce flowers of a slightly different morphology towards the end of the blooming cycle. After nearly 300 attempts at pollinating these flowers, a handful of fruits were formed!

From these fruits, over 100 viable seeds were produced. What’s more, these seeds germinated and the seedlings successfully established. Even more exciting, the seedlings were a healthy mix of both male and female plants. Carlos and his team learned a lot about the biology of this species in the process. Thanks to their dedicated work, we now know that café marron is protandrous meaning its male flowers are produced before female flowers.

However, the story doesn’t end here. Something surprising happened as the seedlings continued to grow. The resulting offspring looked nothing like the adult plant. Whereas the adult plant has round, green leaves, the juveniles were brownish and lance shaped. This was quite a puzzle but not entirely surprising because the immature stage of this shrub was not known to science. Amazingly, as the plants matured they eventually morphed into the adult form. It would appear that there is more to the mystery of this species than botanists ever realized. The question remained, why go through such drastically different life stages?

The answer has to do with café marron's natural predator, a species of giant tortoise. The tortoises are attracted to the bright green leaves of the adult plant. By growing dull, brown, skinny leaves while it is still at convenient grazing height, the plant makes itself almost invisible to the tortoise. It is not until the plant is out of the range of this armoured herbivore that it morphs into its adult form. Essentially the young plants camouflage themselves from the most prominent herbivore on the island.

Thanks to the efforts of Carlos and his team at Kew, over 1000 seeds have been produced and half of those seeds were sent back to Rodrigues to be used in restoration efforts. As of 2010, 300 of those seed have been germinated, opening up many more opportunities for reintroduction into the wild. Those early trials will set the stage for more restoration efforts in the future. It is rare that we see such an amazing success story when it comes to such an endangered species. We must celebrate these efforts because they remind us to keep trying even if all hope seems to be lost. My hat is off to Carlos and the dedicated team of plant conservationists and growers at Kew.

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

Further Reading: [1] [2]

Meet the Pygmy Clubmoss

Photo by Leon Perrie licensed under CC BY 4.0

No, these are not some sort of grass or rush. What you are looking at here is actually a member of the clubmoss family (Lycopodiaceae). Colloquially known as the pygmy clubmoss, this odd little plant is the only species in its genus - Phylloglossum drummondii. Despite its peculiar nature, very little is known about it.

The pygmy clubmoss is native to parts of Australia, Tasmania, and New Zealand but common it is not. From what I can gather, it grows in scattered coastal and lowland sites where regular fires clear the ground of competing vegetation. It is a perennial plant that makes its appearance around July and reaches reproductive size around August through to October.

Reproduction for the pygmy clubmoss is what you would expect from this family. In dividual plants will produce a reproductive stem that is tipped with a cone-like structure. This cone houses the spores, which are dispersed by wind. If a spore lands in a suitable spot, it germinates into a tiny gametophyte. As you can probably imagine, the gametophyte is small and hard to locate. Indeed, little is known about this part of its life cycle. Nonetheless, like all gametophytes, the end goal of this stage is sexual reproduction. Sperm are released and with any luck will find a female gametophyte and fertilize the ovules within. From the fertilized ovule emerges the sporophytes we see pictured above.

As dormancy approaches, this strange clubmoss retreats underground where it persists as a tiny tuber-like stem. Though it is rather obscure no matter who you ask, there has been some scientific attention paid to this odd little plant, especially as it relates to its position on the tree of life. Since it was first described, its taxonomic affinity has moved around a bit. Early debates seemed to center around whether it belonged in Lycopodiaceae or its own family, Phylloglossaceae.

Recent molecular work put this to rest showing that genetically the pygmy clubmoss is most closely related to another genus of clubmoss - Huperzia. This was bolstered by the fact that it shares a lot of features with this group such as spore morphology, phytochemistry, and chromosome number. The biggest difference between these two genera is the development of the pygmy clubmoss tuber, which is unique to this species. However, even this seems to have its roots in Lycopodiaceae.

If you look closely at the development of some lycopods, it becomes apparent that the pygmy clubmoss most closely resembles an early stage of development called the “protocorm.” Protocorms are a tuberous mass of cells that is the embryonic form of clubmosses (as well as orchids). Essentially, the pygmy clubmoss is so similar to the protocorm of some lycopods that some experts actually think of it as a permanent protocorm capable of sexual reproduction. Quite amazing if you ask me.

Sadly, because of its obscurity, many feel this plant may be approaching endangered status. There have been notable declines in population size throughout its range thanks to things like conversion of its habitat to farmland, over-collection for both novelty and scientific purposes, and sequestration of life-giving fires. As mentioned, the pygmy clubmoss needs fire. Without it, natural vegetative succession quickly crowds out these delicate little plants. Hopefully more attention coupled with better land management can save this odd clubmoss from going the way of its Carboniferous relatives.

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

The Tecate Cypress: A Tree Left Hanging in the Balance

Photo by Anthonysthwd licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

The tecate cypress is a relict. Its tiny geographic distribution encompasses a handful of sights in southern California and northwestern Mexico. It is a holdover from a time when this region was much cooler and wetter than it is today. It owes its survival and persistence to a combination of toxic soils, a proper microclimate, and fires that burn through every 30 to 40 years. However, things are changing for the Tecate cypress and they are changing fast. The fires that once ushered in new life for isolated populations of this tree are now so intense that they may spell disaster.

The taxonomy of the Tecate cypress has undergone a few revisions since it was first described. Early work on this species suggested it was simply a variety of Cupressus guadalupensis. Subsequent genetic testing revealed that these two trees were distinct enough to each warrant species status of their own. It was then given the name Cupressus forbesii, which will probably be familiar to most folks who know it well. Work done on the Tecate cypress back in 2012 has seen it moved out of the genus Cupressus and into the genus Hesperocyparis. As far as I am concerned, whether you call it Cupressus forbesii or Hesperocyparis forbesii matters not at this point.

The Tecate cypress is an edaphic endemic meaning it is found growing only on specific soil types in this little corner of the continent. It appears to prefer soils derived from ultramafic rock. The presence of high levels of heavy metals and low levels of important nutrients such and potassium and nitrogen make such soils extremely inhospitable to most plants. As such, the Tecate cypress experiences little competition from its botanical neighbors. It also means that populations of this tree are relatively small and isolated from one another.

Photo by Stan Shebs licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

The Tecate cypress also relies on fire for reproduction. Its tiny cones are serotinous, meaning they only open and release seeds in response to a specific environmental trigger. In this case, it’s the heat of a wildfire. Fire frees up the landscape of competition for the tiny Tecate cypress seedlings. After a low intensity fire, literally thousands of Tecate cypress seedlings can germinate. Even if the parent trees burn to a crisp, the next generation is there, ready to take their place.

At least this is how it has happened historically. Much has changed in recent decades and the survival of these isolated Tecate cypress populations hangs in the balance. Fires that once gave life are now taking it. You see, decades of fire suppression have changed that way fire behaves in this system. With so much dry fuel laying around, fires burn at a higher intensity than they have in the past. What's more, fires sweep through much more frequently today than they have in the past due in large part to longer and longer droughts.

Photo by Stan Shebs licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

Taken together, this can spell disaster for small, isolated Tecate cypress populations. Even if thousands of seedlings germinate and begin to grow, the likelihood of another fire sweeping through within a few years is much higher today. Small seedlings are not well suited to cope with such intense wildfires and an entire generation can be killed in a single blaze. This is troubling when you consider the age distributions of most Tecate cypress stands. When you walk into a stand of these trees, you will quickly realize that all are of roughly the same age. This is likely due to the fact that they all germinated at the same time following a previous fire event.

If all reproductive individuals come from the same germination event and wildfires are now killing adults and seedlings alike, then there is serious cause for concern. Additionally, when we lose populations of Tecate cypress, we are losing much more than just the trees. As with any plant, these trees fit into the local ecology no matter how sparse they are on the landscape. At least one species of butterfly, the rare Thorne's hairstreak (Callophrys gryneus thornei), lays its eggs only on the scale-like leaves of the Tecate cypress. Without this tree, their larvae have nothing to feed on.

Thorne's hairstreak (Callophrys gryneus thornei), lays its eggs only on the scale-like leaves of the Tecate cypress. Photo by USFWS Pacific Southwest Region licensed under CC BY 2.0

Although things in the wild seem uncertain for the Tecate cypress, there is reason for hope. Its lovely appearance and form coupled with its unique ecology has led to the Tecate cypress being something of a horticultural curiosity in the state of California. Seeds are easy enough to germinate provided you can get them out of the cones and the trees seem to do quite well in cultivation provided competition is kept to a minimum. In fact, specimen trees seem to adapt quite nicely to California's cool, humid coastal climate. Though the future of this wonderful endemic is without a doubt uncertain, hope lies in those who care enough to grow and cultivate this species. Better management practices regarding fire and invasive species, seed collection, and a bit more public awareness may be just what this species needs.

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

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

Saving One of North America's Rarest Shrubs

Photo by Stan Shebs licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

The chance to save a species from certain extinction cannot be wasted. When the opportunity presents itself, I believe it is our duty to do so. Back in 2010, such an opportunity presented itself to the state of California and what follows is a heroic demonstration of the lengths dedicated individuals will go to protect biodiversity. Thought to be extinct for 60 years, the Franciscan manzanita (Arctostaphylos franciscana) has been given a second chance at life on this planet.

California is known the world over for its staggering biodiversity. Thanks to a multitude of factors that include wide variations in soil and climate types, California boasts an amazing variety of plant life. Some of the most Californian of these plants belong to a group of shrubs and trees collectively referred to as 'manzanitas.' These plants are members of the genus Arctostaphylos, which hails from the family Ericaceae, and sport wonderful red bark, small green leaves, and lovely bell-shaped flowers. Of the approximately 105 species, subspecies, and varieties of manzanita known to science, 95 of them can be found growing in California.

It has been suggested that manzanitas as a whole are a relatively recent taxon, having arisen sometime during the Middle Miocene. This fact complicates their taxonomy a bit because such a rapid radiation has led manzanita authorities to recognize a multitude of subspecies and varieties. In California, there are also many endemic species that owe their existence in part to the state's complicated geologic history. Some of these manzanitas are exceedingly rare, having only been found growing in one or a few locations. Sadly, untold species were probably lost as California was settled and human development cleared the land. 

Such was the case for the Franciscan manzanita. Its discovery dates back to the late 1800's. California botanist and manzanita expert, Alice Eastwood, originally collected this plant on serpentine soils around the San Francisco Bay Area. In the years following, the growing human population began putting lots of pressure on the surrounding landscape.

Photo by Daderot (public domain)

Botanists like Eastwood recognized this and went to work doing what they could to save specimens from the onslaught of bulldozers. Luckily, the Franciscan manzanita was one such species. A few individuals were dug up, rooted, and their progeny were distributed to various botanical gardens. By the 1940's, the last known wild population of Franciscan manzanita were torn up and replaced by the unending tide of human expansion into the Bay Area.

It was apparent that the Franciscan manzanita was gone for good. Nothing was left of its original populations outside of botanical gardens. It was officially declared extinct in the wild. Decades went by without much thought for this plant outside of a few botanical circles. All of that changed in 2009.

It was in 2009 when a project began to replace a stretch of roadway called Doyle Drive. It was a massive project and a lot of effort was invested to remove the resident vegetation from the site before work could start in earnest. Native vegetation was salvaged to be used in restoration projects but most of the clearing involved the removal of aggressive roadside trees. A chipper was brought in to turn the trees into wood chips. Thanks to a bit of serendipity, a single area of vegetation bounded on all sides by busy highway was spared from wood chip piles. Apparently the only reason for this was because a patrol car had been parked there during the chipping operation.

Cleared of tall, weedy trees, this small island of vegetation had become visible by road for the first time in decades. That fall, a botanist by the name of Daniel Gluesenkamp was driving by the construction site when he noticed an odd looking shrub growing there. Luckily, he knew enough about manzanitas to know something was different about this shrub. Returning to the site with fellow botanists, Gluesenkamp and others confirmed that this odd shrubby manzanita was in fact the sole surviving wild Franciscan manzanita. Needless to say, this caused a bit of a stir among conservationists.

The shrub had obviously been growing in that little island of serpentine soils for quite some time. The surrounding vegetation had effectively concealed its presence from the hustle and bustle of commuters that crisscross this section of on and off ramps every day. Oddly enough, this single plant likely owes its entire existence to the disturbance that created the highway in the first place. Manzanitas lay down a persistent seed bank year after year and those seeds can remain dormant until disturbance, usually fire but in this case road construction, awakens them from their slumber. It is likely that road crews had originally disturbed the serpentine soils just enough that this single Franciscan manzanita was able to germinate and survive.

The rediscovery of the last wild Franciscan manzanita was bitter sweet. On the one hand, a species thought extinct for 60 years had been rediscovered. On the other hand, this single individual was extremely stressed by years of noxious car exhaust and now, the sudden influx of sunlight due to the removal of the trees that once sheltered it. What's more, this small island of vegetation was doomed to destruction due to current highway construction. It quickly became apparent that if this plant had any chance of survival, something drastic had to be done.

Many possible rescue scenarios were considered, from cloning the plant to moving bits of it into botanical gardens. In the end, the most heroic option was decided on - this single Franciscan manzanita was going to be relocated to a managed natural area with a similar soil composition and microclimate.

Moving an established shrub is not easy, especially when that particular individual is already stressed to the max. As such, numerous safeguards were enacted to preserve the genetic legacy of this remaining wild individual just in case it did not survive the ordeal. Stem cuttings were taken so that they could be rooted and cloned in a lab. Rooted branches were cut and taken to greenhouses to be grown up to self-sustaining individuals. Numerous seeds were collected from the surprising amount of ripe fruits present on the shrub that year. Finally, soil containing years of this Franciscan manzanita's seedbank as well as the microbial community associated with the roots, were collected and stored to help in future reintroduction efforts.

Finally, the day came when the plant was to be dug up and moved. Trenches were dug around the root mass and a dozen metal pipes were driven into the soil 2 feet below the plant so that the shrub could safely be separated from the soil in which it had been growing all its life. These pipes were then bolted to I-beams and a crane was used to hoist the manzanita up and out of the precarious spot that nurtured it in secret for all those years.

Upon arriving at its new home, experts left nothing to chance. The shrub was monitored daily for the first ten days of its arrival followed by continued weekly visits after that. As anyone that gardens knows, new plantings must be babied a bit before they become established.  For over a year, this single shrub was sheltered from direct sun, pruned of any dead and sickly branches, and carefully weeded to minimize competition. Amazingly, thanks to the coordinated effort of conservationists, the state of California, and road crews, this single individual lives on in the wild.

Of course, one single individual is not enough to save this species from extinction. At current, cuttings, and seeds provide a great starting place for further reintroduction efforts. Similarly, and most importantly, a bit of foresight on the part of a handful of dedicated botanists nearly a century ago means that the presence of several unique genetic lines of this species living in botanical gardens means that at least some genetic variability can be introduced into the restoration efforts of the Franciscan manzanita.

In an ideal world, conservation would never have to start with a single remaining individual. As we all know, however, this is not an ideal world. Still, this story provides us with inspiration and a sense of hope that if we can work together, amazing things can be done to preserve and restore at least some of what has been lost. The Franciscan manzanita is but one species that desperately needs our help an attention. It is a poignant reminder to never give up and to keep working hard on protecting and restoring biodiversity.

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

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

Botanical Gardens & Plant Conservation

Botanical gardens are among my favorite places in the world. I find them both relaxing and stimulating, offering something for all of our senses. Botanical gardens are valuable for more than just their beauty. They serve a deeper purpose than simply showcasing endless poinsettia varieties or yet another collection of Dale Chihuly pieces (a phenomenon I can't quite wrap my head around). Botanical gardens are vitally important centers of ex situ plant conservation efforts.

Ex situ conservation literally means "off site conservation," when plants are grown within the confines of a botanical garden, often far away from their native habitats. This is an important process in and of its own because housing plants in different locations safeguards them from complete annihilation. Simply put, don't put all your endangered eggs in one basket.

I don't think botanical gardens get enough credit for their conservation efforts. Sadly, such endeavors are often overshadowed. That's not to say we don't have a good handle on what is going on. In fact, a study published in August of 2017 looked at the status of ex situ plant conservation efforts around the globe.

The paper outlines a conservative estimate of the diversity of plants found in botanical gardens and highlights areas in desperate need of improvement. Utilizing a dataset compiled by Botanic Gardens Conservation International (BGCI), the team found that the world's botanical gardens contain somewhere around 30% or 105,209 of the 350,699 plant species currently known to science. In total, they estimate humanities various living collections contain representatives from roughly 90% of the known plant families. That is pretty impressive considering the scale of plant diversity on our planet.

Proportions of the world's plants represented in botanical garden collections (Source)

Their research didn't stop there either. The team dove deeper into these numbers and found that there are some serious discrepancies in these estimates. For instance (and to my surprise), botanical gardens house more temperate plant species than they do tropical plant species. They estimated that nearly 60% of the world's temperate plant species are being grown in botanical gardens around the world but only 25% of tropical species. This is despite the fact that most of the world's plants are, in fact, tropical.

Similarly, only 5% of botanical garden collections are dedicated to non-vascular plants like mosses and liverworts. This is a shame not only because these plants are quite interesting and beautiful, but they also are descendants of the first plant lineages to make their way onto land. They are vital to understanding plant evolution as well as plant diversity.

Orchid conservation at the Atlanta Botanical Garden (learn more)

As I mentioned above, ex situ conservation efforts are critical in fighting plant extinctions across the globe. With 1/5 of the world's plants at risk of extinction, the authors of the paper were particularly interested in how botanical gardens were doing in this regard. They found that although various institutions are growing nearly half of all the known threatened plant species on this planet, only 10% of their collection space is devoted to these species. It goes without saying that this number needs to improve if we are to stave off further extinctions.

Taken together, this study paints an interesting and informative picture of botanical garden collections on a global scale. They are doing amazing work to protect and showcase plant diversity. However, there is always a need for improvement. More space and effort needs to be made in ex situ plant conservation efforts. More plants, especially little known tropical species, need to be brought into cultivation. More space must be devoted to propagating threatened and endangered species. Finally, more attention must be given to natural plant diversity rather than gaudy cultivars. If you love botanical gardens as much as I do, please support them. As the authors so eloquently summarize, "Without deep sustained public support, the plant conservation movement will struggle."

Further Reading: [1]