AN URBAN AMANITA AND SOME INTERESTING FINDS ON THE INTERNET

Two years ago, I found a rather charming Fly Agaric. 

Last week, I went back to look again and searched the spot. Nothing. But, about thirty feet away - this

Something which has been catching my interest a lot recently is how many plants grow wild in our towns and cities.

Look at this dandelion on a roundabout, almost under a flyover, close to the city centre in Reading.

A dandelion seed must have blown here from somewhere.

The history of the Fly Agaric (Amanita muscaria) I found last week may be more complicated. Although it is growing in a residential street where, by the look of them, the houses date from the 1960s or 70s, many of the trees in the area appear to be older than the buildings.

In this photo, taken the next day, you can see some of the houses.

Who lived here first? Humans or fungi?

The beauty of a Fly Agaric seems short lived, especially in rainy weather. Here it is on the third day. Rather dilapidated!

The next day, I came home. (This toadstool is a five hour journey away in Berkshire and, as interesting as they are, I hadn’t gone there specially to see them - so I’m not going back to find out what happened after that!)

The next bit, though, is even more exciting.

There’s a programme on BBC Radio 4 called ‘Saving Species’. I don’t specially like it but happened to turn on while they were describing a fungi foray in the New Forest (Hampshire).

For people unfamiliar with the New Forset - it’s old; pretty old. William the Conquerer set it up in 1079 to hunt in. (You know him - 1066 invasion.) If you want to know more, here’s a link.

We have family conections with the New Forest so I listened. Many readers will know how bloggers get to know each other through the internet (garden bloggers especially, it seems) and this group of fungus identifiers had met through a site called Ispot - a recording and identifying scheme set up by the Open University.

(Another digression and explanation for people unfamiliar with the Open University:-

Studying from home through the Open University is an established and well respected way to gain degrees and other qualifications. Like more conventional Universities, it organises learning events unconnected with degrees as well.)

The programme itself wasn’t very inspiring but there was a link from its own site to Ispot.

I’ve joined.

This is what it’s like.

You upload photos of things you see in the wild - insects, amphibians, birds, plants and so on . . . If you know what they are, you label them. If you don’t others tip in and help with the identification. The idea is to create a national record, to inspire people to take an interest in ‘nature’, to be a learning tool and to provide resources for the Open University itself. I think! I’ve only belonged for a few days and I’ve already discovered there’s a tension over what level of knowledge and expertise you need when you arrive. The introductory video makes it clear that you don’t need to know anything, either about what you are photographing or about your subject matter. Willingness and interest is what counts. This is exciting. (I find it exciting!) But I think it must be a bit frustrating too for people who have been members for a long time to have people turning up who press the wrong buttons and don’t provide the right angles on the subject matter. However, there is a lot of encouragement there too and I really would recommend those who live in Britain and Ireland to get involved. (And I’d encourage those of you who live elsewhere in the world to see if there’s a parallel scheme where you live.)

I’ve been uploading onto Ispot pictures of the toadstools I found amongst the urban trees of Berkshire. In some ways its been disappointing. I have what claims to be a pretty comprehensive fungi identification book (Collins Complete Guide to British Mushrooms and Toadstools). That such books exist suggests you can identify a fungus from its picture but I wasn’t managing very well. In fact, I wan’t getting anywhere at all! So I arrived at Ispot with great expectations that I’d be able to upload a picture and get a quick and accurate response. It turns out that even people who know a million things more than me can’t necessarily say what’s what and this is both disappointing and encouraging.  It’s disappointing to find there is no easy route to answers through pictures. On the other hand, I have gone back to being happy about making up my own names for things rather than risk misleading. One Ispot member said some fungi can only be truly identified, one from another, when spores are put under a microscope. You’ll find my  pasta and slug fungi keep their names for the present!

Here’s an example of a toadstool I reckoned I had quite a lot of information about. I supplied three angles.

Here they are.

Yet a decisive identification turns out not to be possible. Could it be an Amanita Pantherina? Or is it an Amanita Muscaria (a Fly Agaric) that is past its best? The solution may simply be to call it an Amanita and leave it at that. Beautifully vague!

Less vague than me though. I’d call it a Toadstool with  Iced-gem spikes. (Do you know those little biscuits?)

All very difficult!

See this?

It may be a Laccaria Laccata in an early stage.

And this may be a Laccaria Laccata at a later stage.

To my, untrained, eye they look very different and, until I uploaded the photos I had no idea they could be the same kind of plant. (I’m still not clear if I should even be calling them plants!)

And here’s another exciting thing. Through joining Ispot I found this site of nature photographs - it belongs to a very helpful Ispot expert.

And look at these fungi photos there!

So, all in all, a happy and interesting fortnight!

SEAWEED PART TWO

I know it's a bit odd to post a whole load of pictures without saying anything about them. However, while I'm not wanting these to get too dislocated from the time they were taken, I don't want to mislead by labelling them wrongly either.

At the moment, my printer isn't working properly. When it's back to normal, I'll take these pictures to the Nature Centre and ask for help in checking what's what! Then - I'll return to these seaweed posts and add labels.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy seeing these plants as much as I do.

Last week, I posted photos of leaves and fronds (I expect there's a better technical term - that's something else I need to find out) which had been detached by the sea or the season from wherever they have been growing during the year and had been washed up on the beach by the sea. This week, we're looking first at sea plants attached to rocks on the beach.

Like this

And here's a close up. Aren't they remarkable?

The plant above has found a place high on a rock. I don't know if it's ever covered by water or just spray-washed. It's the kind of thing I'd find it hard to check in person. I can hardly sit at the foot of the cliff and wait for the tide to come in. By the time I knew the answer, I'd be drowned - so I wouldn't be able to report back to you. I need to find a book!

And here's an independently minded individual which sits like a King of Shellfish (see them?) on its castle. This plant must be happy to be submerged by the tide. What a strange life!

In other places many varieties crowd for space.

I was going to count how many there are on this rock but realised I was getting confused. At different stages they change appearance. For instance, leaves which are flat grow the balloon-like bits (technical term to be learnt!) which are fun to pop and make it look like a completely different plant. I'm also uncertain how much colour is affected by light. Can the same plant change colour depending on the light available to it?

There are other confusions. This little snail looks bright and vulnerable.

Draw back - and we can see why bright yellow turns out to be good camouflage.

Flat Periwinkle (Littorina obtusata) on Fucus vesiculosus

It's also interesting to find leaves out of context. Amidst this pile of this and that seaweed a . . .

a Sycamore leaf!

It's non-stop variety and colour. Story books give the impression that seaside and seaweed are almost synonymous but that's as daft as expecting to find apples in spring or snowdrops in summer. The sea and its contents (don't quote me!) seem to have their seasons too.

LEAVES FROM THE SEA - ONE . . . (There will be more!)

I walked to town and back this morning. I wanted to buy a book about seaweed. Failure. I looked in the library too but the only book about seaweed was illustrated with drawings - and I wanted photos; photos so I could be sure of what I had seen the day before.

The sea has been churning up seaweed.It's what it does at this time of year. In some places the waves pile it high like bonfires. In others, it arranges it in deep in deep, huge, flat carpets. Elsewhere, almost every bit is distinct and separate, or gathered and grouped but in clear, small lumps. I took these photos yesterday (12th October 2010.) I could hazard identification but I'll not put labels until I'm not sure of them all. This, I suggest, is no worry. Seaweeds look just as interesting, just as beautiful, whether you know their names or not.

And another . . .

And a leaf from that group close to . . .

More - like red worms . . .

Almost limitless in variety . . .

Sometimes, beautiful . . . sometimes slimy . . . (but still beutiful!) . . . 

Non- stop seaweed . . . some small scraps (see the footprint next to the one below) . . .

Weird and wonderful

 in endless styles . . .

In the sidebar, there's a link to the Natural History Museum's UK seaweed survey. See if you can take part!

And there's a bonus picture on Pictures Just Pictures. The little yellow snail sitting on the seaweed is less than half an inch long. One day, I'll remember to take a ruler when I go out walking!

HEDGES, WALLS, WEBS AND HUMANS IN BLEAK AND DRIZZLEY WEATHER

Clearly, the season is turning. Some days, everything is crisp and warm and breezy. Other days, it's grey and drizzly and cold and webs in the bushes become sinister. For most of the time, they are almost invisible. Come the rain and it turns out the place is covered in them.

It's raining. Webs are full of drips.
Leaves are limp.
Haws are red.
Alexanders seeds are black.
(Not because of the rain.
Black is their colour.)
I could have brightened the image,
made it look as if the sun was shining
- but then you wouldn't see what
this bundle 
of bushes is really like
on a dull, autumn afternoon
- messy, wet and muddley.
It's not pretty!

It's a mixture and a muddle. Leaves darken and drop, berries brighten. Much dies. Other plants pop back for a final fling. Some flower unseasonably. I'm always excited by these. The seasons sometimes feel relentless. They, and the whole of nature with them, plod along the groove and there's nothing we can do except live through what comes. When a primrose rebels against autumn and waves a flag for spring by flowering in September - I salute it! When it whithers I grieve more for it than for the rest of its family when it drew back earlier in the year. 


But there are other plants which grab their chance to re-surge and, like bad memories, do their very best to stay through winter. New Buddleia is already on a fight-back, springing out of drains and bursting out of walls. If previous years are anything to go by, ground elder will soon march up to join the newly growing nasties. There's a silly song 'Old judges never die, they don't even fade away.'. I think it's by Instant Sunshine - someone will know (? ? ?). Nettles are old judges in the hedge rows. They grow threadbare and lean a little but stay. New nettles grow up round them. Little barristers.

In the photo (above) of the web smothered hedges, you'll see a window in the upper right hand corner. Humans (as well as spiders) live round here. How else would the hedge be there? And where am I? I'm on an old railway line which is now a path for pedestrians and a cycleway. (I've taken against cyclists. Pensioners on racing tanks too. I think The Council should take the names of pedestrians going onto the path and check them off at the other end to make sure they've survived!) Back to the point. That window in the corner decided me to make this a wall post as much as a hedgerow one. An 'oh look humans are here after all' sort of essay instead of pretending we are the only two-footers on Earth as I usually do.

So . . . here is a 'not a hedge'.

 I drew attention to the vegetation in this wall in a previous post and wondered whether it might fall because of it. A while after, the buddleia was cut away but plants know where they like to live - Aspleniums find it an especially congenial home. This wall is north-facing and right on a dull, lots-of-traffic road. If I were a gardener and this were my garden, I'd welcome them. (Until the wall fell down!)

Buddleia too!

Lichen likes a stone wall and will be here all winter (for ever!?).

On the old railway line itself, in front of a platform (in effect, a the foot of a wall) - this.

And on the opposite platform . . . what it one day will be?

Here is some other new life.

Cheerful weather!

Disgusting if you look close. Some caterpillars are nice. These are not. En masse, they are horrid. Their nest is about four inches long and strongly built. If you want to see them, you'd better click the picture.

And here's how the seasons are muddled in with each other. The same nest, a few days later.

Winter seems closer when it rains!