Weedy Euphorbias: Field Notes

 Almost ten years ago I got very interested in the weedy spurges popping up all over the yard. I had let the mulch groundcover evaporate under the unremitting Florida sunshine, and it seemed that members of this genus, Euphorbia, were colonizing every available sandy spot, of which there were many, and also growing in between cracks between the bricks in the driveway.  

I started drawing them because their gracefulness and complexity intrigued me. I also attempted to decipher their structure and identify the different species. It seems that I am attracted particularly to subjects so tiny and complex that I nearly blind myself trying to sort them out, and my weedy Euphorbias are a perfect example. 

Unidentified Spurge

The ones I have tend to be small and multi-branched, which can make drawing them rather tedious.  Deciphering and depicting their very complicated blooming structures, called "cyathia, " is a huge challenge. 

It's a poor workman who blames his materials, but I got discouraged by the drawbacks of the magnification available to me, and the project sputtered to a halt. I also lost confidence that I was drawing accurately.

I noticed the plants again a few weeks back as I was strolling around with no purpose, and thought about resuming my old project. You have to get down to, or practically down to, groundlevel to appreciate these diminutive weeds. Getting down isn't so much a problem, but years later, getting back up is increasingly arduous! 

I dug out my old sketches, and was surprised by how far along I actually had gotten. Some were basically diagrammatic, but others showed, although crudely, a hint of the plants' innate gracefulness. In fact, I was gratified to go back to my field guides and discover that the common name of one, Chamaesyce hypericifolia, is "graceful sandmat."

Euphorbia  hyssopifolia?
Eyebane

This plant is graceful, but it seems more to resemble the species hyssopifolia than hypericifolia. The leaves as depicted bear some resemblance to hyssop leaves, which are about the same shape. It also resembles plants of this species as shown in Internet images. But my notes give no hint about the color of the cyathia, stems or leaves. I drew the 2 bottom-most  leaves seem with toothed margins, but I drew the margins as all the other leaves as smooth (entire). I also made a note about this, which could prove important. The drawing is pretty primitive, but it does show that the inflorescences are on stalks, and that they sit just above a pair of leaves or bracts.

Now the plot thickens. The descriptions of this plant that I can find show that it has finely serrated leaf margins. Is this another species? Did I not draw it correctly? I also have no notes about where it was growing. Most of our yard is dry and sunny but there are parts that are more moist and shadier. I have a note that the leaves have stipules, but I haven't drawn them, and that could be important. I didn't draw any seed, either, and now I find that seeds can be identifiers in Euphorbias. I also discovered that the plant has been reclassified as from Chamaesyce hyssopifolia to Euphorbia hyssopifolia.

The stems between leaves (internodes) look a little zig-zaggy, but I didn't make a note whether the plant was wilting or had a sort of drooping habit. At least I recorded a date, Nov. 11, 2015.

Is this the same species? Months later - Regardless, it is quite pretty.

This might or might not be the same species. Often drawings give more information that photos, and this photo clearly shows colors, serrate leaf margins, a slightly oblique, or unequal base, and a cymose inflorescence.  Since the photo is from the top, looking down, it doesn't give a good idea of the habit. If I had made more notes when I made the pencil drawing, I might be able to id both.

Now let's look at a sketch that has some color.

Euphorbia hypericifolia?
Graceful Sandmat?

Here the stems appear red and hairless. The stipules look magenta, which is characteristic of hypericifolia. The leaves have slightly toothed or irregular margins. The base of the leaf is not even, "oblique" in botanese, and are wider than the tip.  I have no notes regarding the hairiness or smoothness of the leaves.  I show a little of the branching pattern, but not enough to convey a clear idea of the habit. While it appears  to be upright, I don't indicate whether the specimen is the whole plant, or just a part.  There's no note as to whether it is multi-trunked, spreading, weeping, etc. The only thing I can glean about the inflorescences from this sketch is that they appear to be at the ends of the stems. 

One more sketch.

Details of Inflorescence

Even though the page is disorganized, at least I have recorded some hard information, such as relative sizes, notes about the seeds, and  a quick habit sketch. The leaf margins seem toothed or somewhat serrate, and the inflorescence is clearly cymose. Even so, I don't quite have enough information to make a solid identification. 

I know a lot more about botany and scientific illustration now than I did when I made these drawings, though one never knows it all. I have pages of such studies/sketches, and hundreds of photos. Since I have an actual body of work to evaluate, I can see clear deficiencies in my sketches and notes, and can start improving my work considerably. 

Some of my takeaways:

I need more patience and self-confidence while I am sketching and drawing. My old drawings of weedy Euphorbias in our yard aren't "bad," but they don't go far enough. If I'd had a little more patience, and a little more faith in my ability to record things accurately, I'd be much farther along.

I need to make detailed written notes along with my drawings, or at least label extensively and clearly. What seems clear at the moment may look ambiguous later - are there fine hairs on the stem/leaf/etc. or is my pencil line just blurry from the friction of the other pages in the sketchbook? More importantly, writing a summary first really would make me look at the plant that much more in detail and in its totality. 

I need to pay attention to all the parts, to the extent possible. I can't uproot a specimen in a protected area or cultivated garden, but if I don't recognize the plant, I don't know which details are going to be critical in the identification, so I need to record as much information as I can, and not just be seduced by graceful form, color, or leaf pattern. Obviously, I am not going to be able to find all stages from young leaves to seed on every plant I draw at any given time, so I need as many reference points as possible to connect later drawings to earlier ones.

The sketchbook format is not conducive to an intensive study of a species or genus. I love my sketchbooks, but when I am trying to zero in on specifics, I can't have dozens of disconnected drawings scattered through various pages and various books. I'm not going to give up my sketchbooks, but if I realize I am on the way to getting "hooked" I need to start keeping a specific portfolio, organized by real or tentative ids. That would mean drawing on separate sheets of paper that can be collated, revised, and stored so that the drawings don't get worn or fuzzy from rubbing against each other. I am reluctant to cannibalize my existing sketchbooks, but it may come down to that, too. 

I'm excited, though I'm not quite sure how I am going to develop my work, how to make the pages less random and more esthetically pleasing, and also how to integrate written comments with graphic notes. I also need to exert discipline so that it is clear which drawings are of the same specimen, and include dates. I have to discover a practical way of relating photos to specific specimens and drawings, and also to make notes on how and when and where the photos are taken. I've got to beef up my technical skills to find out what options my digital camera and smart phone offer in that regard.

I don't know whether I'll eventually make any contributions to the very real category of Citizen Science, or even who might eventually want to look at my work. I may be reinventing an old wheel. But regardless of those ends, I will be expanding my own education and enjoyment, and that in itself is worth every minute.

Once You Have Goldenrod . . .

 "Once you have goldenrod, you will always have goldenrod," was the cryptic remark of a stalwart in the Naples chapter of the  Florida Native Plant Society when I took home a specimen she had potted. I asked what she meant, and she just gave me a wry smile, and said, "You'll see."

It didn't take too long. Look up "goldenrod" on a search engine and you'll find topics like, " How do I control goldenrod in my garden," and "How do I get rid of goldenrod in my garden."

Besides being tough as nails, the species I got from Freda spreads vigorously by rhizomes. Pot it up, and it creeps out through every drainage hole. Pull it out, and it shows up across the path, or in a neighboring bed after a few weeks. It produces thousands of seeds, but they don't seem to be all that viable, because the plant doesn't jump all the way across the yard, but stays mainly in the general area where I first planted it. Maybe the seeds are mostly for the little creatures that must eat them.  

"Our" goldenrod grows outside the easterly wall, which is remarkably deficient in windows, so I don't have a good idea of what goes on with it. Still, I get the idea that the butterflies and skippers that visit us generally find other flowers in the yard more attractive. On the other hand, I rarely pass by it without seeing some manner of wasp or bee vigorously stuffing itself or collecting pollen. Often there may be several species feeding at the same time.

Paper Wasp on Goldenrod

The plant in our yard seems to fit the description of Solidago fistulosa, "Pinebarren Goldenrod," better than any others, but I'm making no guarantees. There are over 100 species of goldenrod worldwide, and they hybridize readily. On the other hand, according to the 1998 edition of Wunderlin's Guide to the Vascular Plants of Florida, only about 5 species occur naturally in southern Florida, and it doesn't really look like any of the other possibilities.

Goldenrod, Pen & Ink

It doesn't form a classic basal rosette like many members of the Aster Family, including some goldenrods, but just pops straight out of the ground, and reaches for the sky, unburdened by any side branches. Narrow, lance-shaped leaves, sometimes with toothed margins, alternate around a bristly stem. The leaves are attached directly to the stem, with no petioles. As the stem elongates, the lower leaves wither and may or may not fall off.

The inflorescence is somewhat pyramidal, and made up of graceful, arching wands, alternating around the stems, and bearing numerous saturated yellow heads. The heads have both disc and ray florets, but the latter are a little sparse. The stem usually forms just one inflorescence, at its end, but if you cut off a faded inflorescence, the remaining stem sometimes will produce more blooming wands on its sides. It won't make a new, blooming "pyramid." 

Goldenrod Sketch

The stems can get up to 6 feet tall (though mine don't get that high), and the leaves die from the bottom up, so eventually you have a cluster of dead heads and seeds atop a bare stalk irregularly flagged with withered leaves. That's definitely when it needs to be cut back hard, but being a negligent sort of gardener, I rarely do that in a timely manner. This trait could be masked a bit if the goldenrod were placed behind lower-growing plants. Some of ours have spread into a clump of lavender lantana, but it stays too low to hide the stems completely when they get unsightly. 

It's often windy here, and I should stake them. If our yard were bigger, and the  garden beds wider I could let the goldenrods droop,  but as it is, they flop over and obstruct the path, and become something of a nuisance. It's a magnificent plant, and I wish I had space for a grand swathe of it, bending and bowing in the breeze, instead of my constrained, small patch. But I wouldn't do without it. For one thing, it reminds me of the wisdom,humor, and lop-sided smile of a long-dead friend. 

Megachile Bee on Goldenrod

 

Twisted-Banded Airplant

 The twisted-banded airplants (Tillandsia flexuosa Sw.) in our yard bloomed most of the summer, and are producing seeds now. This "airplant" is neither rare nor common in Florida, though I suspect loss of habitat is making in more infrequent. It ranges as far north as central Florida, and southward through the Caribbean, parts of Mexico and Central America, Columbia, Venezuela, and the Guianas. It also is a plant of the lowlands, staying from sea level to about 400 meters in elevation. It is quite salt tolerant, thriving in our yard only a few bits  of barrier islands away from the Gulf of Mexico. Some of the plants mounted on small trees got blown 90 -180 degrees off their axes during Hurricane Irma in 2017, but they gradually grew back toward the light. 

Tillandsia flexuosa and pup

The typical plant could be described as "loosely wrapped," with around 10 -15 stiff, leathery leaves arranged in a loose spiral. After the plant has produced seeds it eventually falls apart. The size and appearance of Tillandsia flexuosa vary dramatically, depending on where the plants are growing. The specimens growing in the harsh scrub of the Naples Preserve or Rookery Bay's upland areas are gray/silver, sometimes with tinges of crimson, with darker gray horizontal bands. 

Young T. flexuosa in Naples Preserve

Those living in more shade are progressively a greener gray/almost white, with darker green horizontal bands. The leaves may recurve rather dramatically or remain more upright. I have observed the greatest degree of recurving in plants in fairly deep shade, and suspect it is the plant's way of seeking more light. The plant produces pups, and over time will form a small colony. Given the behavior of the plants in our yard, it germinates fairly easily as well.

T. flexuosa seedlings on Fiddlewood

Do you see the anole?

The inflorescence, which can grow up to a meter tall, is branched, with flowers on alternate sides of the branches. Each branch ends in a pair of bracts, one  normal-sized and one much smaller and sterile.  The bracts and flowers grow at fairly wide angles to the branches - often near 90 degrees, which gives a slightly zig-zag appearance. I imagine that this, and the slight curvature of the areas between the bracts gives the branch greater strength and stability, since the process of flowering and seed production is fairly long. 

Inflorescence

The flowers are a deep, warm pink, and open over a long period, so the plant produces points of intense color, rather than a large display. Once the seeds have dispersed the insides of the bracts reveal themselves to be a deep, rich maroon, which also is attractive. A flower arranger probably would love the dried inflorescences. 

A non-local variety of the plant is viviparous, meaning that the seed germinates in the fruit before the fruit is detached. The mangrove "pencil" is a good example of vivipary. I have noticed seedlings on the dried branches of the inflorescence, and assumed that they had fallen and been trapped by residual fibers, but obviously I need to observe my plants much more closely next year.  The photo below shows somewhat out-of-focus green seedlings on the right of the inflorescence.

 

My first plants came from a legal rescue in the Panther Reserve, just north of the Fakahatchee Slough. Several large trees had been felled to make room for a greenhouse for native orchids, and I and fellow members of a botanical identification course visiting for the day were welcomed to harvest the epiphytes. (The trees were going to the shredder). Since then, I've become an active parking-lot stalker, especially where there are old live oak trees. Usually the fallen epiphytes are the ubiquitous ball moss (T. recurvata L) and wisps of Spanish moss(T. usneoides L), but I've found a fair number of the twisted-banded airplants as well. I haven't found that many lately, so maybe the supply has been exhausted.

I occasionally find pot-belly airplants (T. paucifolia Baker)  and Southern needleleaf (T. setaceae Sw) on or under declining shrubs. I don't take any from a healthy host, but if the shrub is definitely headed for the shredder, I will break off dead branchlets and the airplants. I stopped picking once, because I felt greedy, only to notice the next week that all the plants had been uprooted and replaced, so I won't have as many scruples now when it comes to harvesting from dying shrubs in parking lots. 

Our plants thrive in the shade and branches  of a Fiddlewood. It never has flourished, and I fear it eventually will die, but in the meantime it provides a perfect habitat for the Tillandsias and other epiphytes.

For more on Spanish Moss, see my post on April 12, 2019, "Southern Gothic - Spanish Moss."

See also "Parking Lot Potbelly." Feb. 27, 2019.

August in the Garden

 I've spent most of my outside hours pulling things out of the yard lately, when the weather allows it.  It's gotten horribly overgrown with lots of  rain and neglect. I'm not the earliest of risers, and the day quickly heats up. The heat and humidity are such that it's easy to flirt with heat exhaustion doing "just one more thing." Some days the relative humidity is just about as high as the temperature. This is summer in southwest Florida, and even though I get uncomfortable and worry about hurricanes, it's my favorite season.

 

I spend a lot of time drinking coffee and staring at a Spanish stopper  through the dining room window. This tree/shrub is unassuming almost to a fault, and since it has a short blooming time, it's easy to miss its "glory days" altogether. But because of my coffee habit, I usually know what's going on with it.

Spanish Stopper, Eugenia foetida

Even the most modest natural things, living or not, can possess an element of striking beauty that is visible only to the passer-by who chances to pause and look. Spanish stopper is a typical wallflower, present, but not noticed. It has rather narrow, vertical habit, so is good for small spaces and hedges. Despite its species name, it does not stink. 

Spanish stopper has its moments of glory when clusters of white flowers clothe the branches. The petals are shell-like and delicate, and the flower itself is adorned with numerous stamens. They are intensely beautiful, even though they have to be observed closely, even with a handlens, to be seen clearly. They make the shrub look like it has been dusted with snowflakes. The flowers don't last very long, especially if it rains, but they are superb while they last. 

One reason our yard is such a mess is that I tend to leave plants that seem "interesting" to me for one reason or other, and a lot of them turn out to be weeds. West Indian pink root, Spigelia anthelmia, isn't the most rampant, and I'm not sure I'd even call it a pest. It's not quite showy enough, even for my taste, to merit cultivation, yet I'm loathe to pull all of it out. The deeply veined leaves are almost sculptural, the tiny flowers attractive, and the general form graceful.

 Dried extract of leaves, roots and stems is available on the Web for homeopathic treatments of nervous disorders and headaches. All parts of the plant are toxic, though. But then again, so are many drugs. It has been used as well to treat worms - hence the species name "anthelmia." As far as I've looked, none of the plants in my yard have had pink roots, not even in cross-section.

Spigelia anthelmia

I have several vines, both planted and uninvited (morning glory) on the fence between us and one set of neighbors. I trim them when they tumble over into the neighbors' space too much. I try to keep the worst of my horticultural untidiness confined to our yard. 

Among the "casualties" of my  pruning were numerous sprays of coral honeysuckle, Lonicera sempervirens.  Native to much of the United States and Mexico, it isn't vouchered for Collier County, but it grows well here nonetheless.  It slows down periodically, but I don't think it every ceases flowering completely. It's a great favorite with hummingbirds and some butterflies. It's on the side of the yard, though, so I don't often see it or the visitors, which is a pity. In this sketch I agonized less about getting the trumpet shaped flowers in correct perspective, and just went for the energy.

Coral Honeysuckle, Sketchbook Pages

Finally, with all the rain we've been having, everything is very green and lush. A few days ago we had the largest flock of white ibis we've seen for a long time grazing in the vacant lots across the canal from us. They will forage unperturbed even in a fairly heavy rain. They've adapted well to the suburban landscape. I don't know how many get poisoned by lawn fertilizers and pesticides, but as long as they stick to the vacant lots they probably are safe. Ibis are common along the beach, too. I don't know whether some prefer salt and some fresh, or whether they use both here. Inland, they would have only freshwater prey, obviously.  Old-time Floridians, like my father, call(ed) them "curlews." There were still a few immature (brown) birds mixed with the flock.

Ibis

This was the quickest of sketches - just an impression of  the birds as they grazed and squabbled. They were gone a few minutes later.

-------------------

I have a longer post about the Spanish Stopper:

https://flbysb.blogspot.com/07/07/2020

I also have a longer post about Spigelia Anthelmia:

https://flbysb.blogspot.com/06/08/2018.

Mistletoe Cactus

When it comes to mistletoe cactus, Rhipsalis baccifera, there's not much "there" there, to steal a phrase from Gertrude Stein. It certainly is not a show-stopping plant. It doesn't even look like a cactus. Its white berries and slender stalks give it a very superficial resemblance to mistletoe, but mistletoe has leaves and is a parasite, and not even distantly related to cacti.

Pendant Stems of Mistletoe Cactus

Rhipsalis baccifera is an epiphyte that has adapted to the extremes of sea-level mangrove swamps and the high altitudes of the cloud forest, and everything in between. The general assumption among botanists is that cacti are exclusively New World plants, and have evolved relatively recently. Mistletoe cactus fits that theory, being native to 2 counties in southern Florida, the Caribbean, eastern Mexico, Central America and throughout much of tropical South America. But it also is widespread, and considered native in tropical Africa, South Africa, Sri Lanka, Madagascar, and parts of India. How it got there  has had scientists scratching their heads for generations.

  Rhipsalis the largest genus of epiphytic cacti, and Rhipsalis baccifera has numerous subspecies. The classification probably needs cleaning up, but the fact remains that the species is highly polymorphic (appears in many different forms). The vast differences in geography and habitat would account for these differences. It even varies on the cellular level, with most New World species being diploid, while Old World species are commonly tetraploid. 

 Like other so-called "airplants," it uses its roots mainly for anchoring and stabilizing rather than for absorbing water and nutrients. It sometimes also grows on rocks. Trailing stems of my plants have rooted in the upper layers of potted plants standing lower on my shelves, which makes me think that it would creep happily in a layer of humus or porous light soil at ground level. Rhipsalis baccifera, subsp. baccifera is the form found in Florida and much of the New World tropics.

The stems of the Florida native are about the diameter of cooked spahgetti, hence its second common name, "spaghetti cactus." Stems of other subspecies may be thicker, angular, or flattened. The stems can grow up to 9 meters long, though they generally are shorter. My plants have stems only about 2-one-half feet long, but that is because I haven't found a good place for them, and they don't grow as lushly as they should.

The stems hang downward and may branch into multiple stems, which also branch. They are tender and succulent, though become somewhat woody at the base. The main feature that distinguishes cacti from other spiny species is the presence of an areole, a generally raised, cushion-like structure from which the spines arise. The stems of mistletoe cactus have only rudimentary areoles, which tend to disappear with age. With a hand lens you can see a few hairs emanating from these very basic structures. New growth is reddish, and quite spiny/hairy. 

Areoles on Opuntia (Prickley Pear  Cactus)

In all the years I've had my plants, I've never managed to catch them in bloom. That's mainly because I've just left them under a tree or bush and forgotten about them. In fact, I'd forgotten I even had them until  Hurricane Irma in 2017 exposed one clinging for life in a crotch of a defoliated 7-year apple (Genipa clusiifolia). By all accounts the flowers are small and insignificant, though with the aid of a hand lens, "insignificance" sometimes can spring into beauty. Translucent whitish berries are borne directly on the stems or on a very short stalk. Birds eat the berries, helping to disperse the species. 

Adventitions Roots, New Growth, Rudimentary Areoles

In fact, the plant is so unassuming, yet vexing in its variability, that a specialist named Ken Friedman wrote, "So many species are named R. baccifera that it is almost impossible to tell an original. Four or five  growing in my greenhouse  have different vegetation although the flowers are similarly inconsequential. If anything, they are large weeds that take up more room than they are worth." 

So how did this modest plant colonize such a large portion of the globe? The theories that exist are not exactly convincing on their own. 

The least likely theory is that the  plant was spread by the shipping trade in the 15th century and onward. But the plant is widespread into interior regions of the Old World, and not limited to the port areas. That kind of spread normally wouldn't occur in a matter of hundreds of years. Even more problematical is the fact that Old World subspecies differ significantly from the "ur-type," R. baccifera, and such evolution normally requires eons, not centuries to occcur. The plant also is prominent in Ayurvedic medicine, which some believed began as early as the Bronze Age. It is possible that it was a later addition, but it still takes a long time for something to become entrenched in regional  medical lore.

The next theory involves continental drift. This theory holds that the plant was well-established before the breakup of the supercontinent Gondwana. The fly in the ointment here is that Gondwana probably began to break up around 180 million years ago. If cacti as a group didn't evolve until some 30 million years ago, as is generally accepted, that leaves a huge gap. In that case Rhipsalis would have to be an atypical, extremely ancient genus. Since cacti leave few, if any, fossil records, nobody really knows when Rhipsalis evolved, but it probably was well after Gondwana's destruction.

That leaves us with birds, which we know are frequent vectors of plant dissemination. It certainly makes sense for the distribution within the New World. Many of Florida's native plants were brought by birds  from the Caribbean and the Bahamas. A problem with this theory is that most birds migrate north to south or the reverse. I'm not aware of any seed-eating birds that currently migrate over the Atlantic from the Americas  to Africa and beyond. That would be a vast distance for a seed-eating bird to traverse, and also a vast distance for a seed-eating bird not to poop. We don't yet have any fossil record of any ancient bird prototype that would have been up to the trip either.

The "answer," if there is one, is probably a combination of continental drift and the birds. The breakup of Gondwana didn't exactly occur overnight, but over the course of millions of  years. In fact, we are still moving. What eventually became Africa and South America would have been much closer at varioius points in geological history than they are today, and there most likely would have been islands and mountaintops that are now submerged or destroyed. Then island-hopping by birds would make sense.

Personally, I rather like the "space aliens" theory put forward by "Laidback Gardener" Larry Hodgson, who suggests that, "millions of years ago, space aliens moved the plant around, just to mess with scientists trying to understand how R. baccifera got around." Why not?

Further Reading:

“The Cactus That Traveled the Globe.”Larry Hodgson. Http:/laidbackgardener.blog/2018/12/03/the-cactus.://

Rhipsalis baccifera (JS Meuller) Stern. In Cactus Journal (Croyden) 7:107 (1939). With comments and photographs by Ken Friedman. www.Rhipsalis.com/species/baccifera.

“I Havana a Clue How I Got Here; Cactus Goes for a Drink in Cuba, Wakes Up in Cape Town.” Jan. 27, 2014 by alieyres. http://blogs.reading.ac.uk/2014/01/rhipping-yarns.

 

 

Simpson's Stopper

 Simpson's stopper, Myrcianthes fragrans, generally grows as a shrub or small tree up to 25 feet tall.  It is vary variable in form, and also can be pruned into any shape desired. It's formally pruned in many parking lot hedges, which is kind of too bad, since the constant whacking back vastly reduces flowering and fruiting. So even though many people in South Florida see it regularly, they don't notice it. On the other hand, the resulting dense growth produces a good nesting place for mockingbirds. 

 The Simpson's stopper in the front yard could be healthier, which is worrisome.  It's one of my very favorite plants, and it plays a vital ecological and esthetic role in our yard. Anchoring the front landscape design (such as it is), is not the least of its virtues. If it goes, it will leave a big hole. 

It started out as a multi-trunked containerized plant. I liked the outward spread of the trunks, so I left them. As it grew, I removed lower branches, partly because they were intruding on the path. The open, tiered canopy that developed is one of the plant's charms now. I just wish it were a bit fuller. "Limbing" it up also reveals the gorgeous bark, sometimes a perfectly smooth pale tan, as though it were sanded, and at other times turning reddish and peeling, a little like a crepe myrtle. The smooth bark phase is likely the source of one common name, "naked-wood."

Removing lower limbs also keeps the landscape more open and less-congested. It makes a nice screen between us and our neighbors to the left, but it isn't so dense that I can't see through it to their magnificent large Opuntias or the houses across the street.  No matter what your viewpoint is, you can see through and beyond the plant, so you are tempted to explore further. One of these days I am going to relocate one of my waterlilly pots so that birds can flit down for a drink or bath, and then retreat into the protective shade of the stopper.

The plant is evergreen, with opposite, mostly ovate leaves about 1 to 8 cm long,  and 1 to 4 cm wide. They are tough and leathery, with slightly underturned margins to reduce water loss. Depending on sun exposure, the leaves range from bright yellow-green to dark olive. The underside is a paler green. The leaves are covered with small glands, which appear as bumps on the upper side and as black or green dots on the underside.  I've never noticed any fragrance emanating from the leaves like it does from firs or spruces. Crushing the leaves, though, releases a fresh minty aroma something like eucalyptus oil. That's not surprising, since both are members of the Myrtle family, Myrtaceae.

In contrast with the leaves, the flowers really live up to their species epithet,  fragrans.  The plant blooms and fruits several times a year, depending on rainfall and temperature. When Simpson's stopper is in flower the air around it is filled with a spicy sweetness somewhere between the heavy, almost cloying odor of gardenias and the light, fleeting sweetness of citrus. When it is flowering I visit it several times a day, especially in late afternoon or early evening, just to breath deeply, as though I somehow could capture an olfactory  memory. Who needs mind-altering drugs when it is possible to wallow in pure sensation just by standing near a fragrant shrub and inhaling?

The all-white flowers grow in clusters on stalks that arise in the angle between leaf and stem. I think normally there are 5 tiny petals, though the one in my sketch above has 4. The numerous fine white stamens provide the main attraction, though. They practically obscure the petals, and a Simpson's stopper in full bloom looks like  the fairy godmother has waved her sparkle-trailing magic wand over it. The flowers are constantly humming with various pollinators, including beetles. Butterflies don't seem particularly fond of them, though. 

Flowers give way to rounded or somewhat pear-shaped fruits, often borne in pairs  - hence another common name, "twinberry stopper." They eventually reach a size somewhere between a blueberry and small olive, starting out green, then passing through yellow and orange stages before their final bright red. Mockingbirds gorge on the fruits, and if they happen to be frequenting the yard at the time, bluejays and cardinals also gobble the berries. The fruits are edible, somewhat sweet and not too dry, but for me leave an unpleasant bitter aftertaste. Volunteers pop up around the yard, evidence of the bird's activities. The plant also suckers, and probably could be propagated by severing them, too.

Apart from its other virtues, the Simpson's stopper functions as a kind of activity center in the yard. Even when they aren't feeding, birds like to perch on its branches. One July morning I made notes of what was going on around me while I sketched the fruits. I sat quietly enough that a mockingbird that had been flushed by my initial setup returned to the opposite side of the plant to continue eating. A shiny June beetle had its head stuck into a fruit, so intent on gorging that it let me manipulate foliage around it to make a photo. You can see a bit of my finger at the top of the photo.

Small bees and wasps buzzed amid the foliage and remaining flowers. Two other species of beetles were devouring fruits. Two strange insects that I couldn't ID were mating in the shrub's interior. A green darner dragonfly reconnoitered in search of prey or just patrolling its territory.  

I am wearing out the phrase, "superlative native plant," but that is because so many Florida native plants are, indeed, superlative. From its undemanding nature, repeated flowering and fruiting, glossy evergreen foliage, wildlife and landscaping value, Simpson's stopper certainly qualifies. It needs little water or fertilizer after it is established, and ours has survived major hurricanes Wilma and Irma with minimal damage. Though it gets pretty well defoliated by the salt-laden wind, it recovers quickly. 

It is named in honor of Charles Torrey Simpson (1846-1932), a noted South Florida plant explorer, snail expert, naturalist and nature writer. True stoppers are in the genus Eugenia, which also is in the Myrtle family. Simpson's stopper resembles them superficially, hence the most common common name.

August

This August has been something of a slog. And now we're already in the 3rd week of September! Medical procedures, mounds of paperwork, and heat indices into the 'teens have combined to keep me inside. Outside, things are occurring in the yard at a frantic pace. While spring ushers in a flurry of new growth in anticipation of rain, late summer shows a mad rush to grow and reproduce before the dry season begins.

There have been several waves of polydamas swallowtails after I blogged about them in July. In fact, a new adult was flying around last week. Predatory yellow jackets have been in evidence most, but not all, of the time. I don't know whether the butterflies hatched here or flew in from elsewhere. I've looked for chrysalids, but our badly overgrown yard offers a vast number of places to hide one. 

Our yard is home to many native plants. While they may struggle in their actual habitat, put them into a garden where they receive a modicum of care in somewhat amended soil, and they can run rampant. Mother Nature doesn't know a lot about sharing, and just about any plant that grows reasonably well here will try to take all the space. I try to scan all the bushels of vegetation I pull out or  prune back for evidence of caterpillars, cocoons or chrysalids, and baby tillandsias, but I'm sure I miss some.

 I  keep several water garden pots though I don't have any native waterlilies or lotus. The waterlilies bloom most of the time, which reminds me that I haven't even gotten around to fertilizing these heavy feeders yet. The lotus are mostly bloomed out by the end of July, and even beginning to go dormant by this time, but I had a few isolated late bloomers much to my delight.

                                                    Lotus, "Green Maiden"

Coral honeysuckle, Lonicera sempervirens, blooms most of the year here. It was in full flower in the middle of March. It may not make as impressive a show now, but the flowers haven't stopped. I couldn't get it established in Georgia, where it is native, but it flourishes here in sw Florida, which is south of its normal range.  It is a favorite of hummingbirds during their migrations to and from more southern climes, as well as many species of butterflies. Problem is, I've got it planted along a fence on the side of the house, so we miss most of what goes on with it. It is another proverbial "trouble-free" and "drought-tolerant" plant, and it also tolerates our flooding rains.

                                                Coral Honeysuckle

I finally got the bird pepper (Capsicum annuum, var. glabriusculum) that I bought way back in March  into a bigger pot. It was beginning to decline seriously before I did anything, but has responded beautifully to better circumstances. The birds weren't finding it where I put it, so I moved the pot to under a Simpson's Stopper (Myrcianthes fragrans), which is a favorite perching and foraging space for mockingbirds. Some of the fruits have disappeared, so something is eating them. 

This tiny pepper is a form of the ancestor of all our  peppers. It has a real bite, but the sting doesn't continue to linger and burn like many hot peppers. It's a great addition to all sorts of dishes, especially Tex-Mex and stir-fry. It's a  diminutive plant for starters, and its structure is so dense and compressed that it's hard for me to figure out just how things are arranged.

An invasion of Eurasian collared doves was an unwelcome event. Sadly, they discovered the Jamaica Caper, and literally shook the small tree with their clumsy weight as they stripped its fruits. The mockingbirds got some, but these aliens, imported years ago for hunting, probably got most. Our native mourning doves are delightful and coo melodically, but these boors have a call like "Raaaalf!" I always think of somebody barfing when the Eurasian collared doves are around.

The starry rosinweed (Silphium astericus) which I bought at the same time as the bird pepper, but planted right away, has outdone itself and already formed a second flowering clump. It has dark green, coarse leaves that can get 6 inches long or more, and the basal rosette is persistent. The erect, branched flowering stalks grow at least 18 inches tall. It has been blooming nonstop since late April/early May. I think I have the variety simpsonii, which occurs naturally along Florida's coastal plain, and is more tolerant of heat than some other forms. It will be interesting to see what it does once the rains stop. The butterflies and other pollinators were quick to discover it.  

                                        Starry Rosinweed

Elliott's aster (Aster elliotii) has produced its usual weedy-looking mass of skinny stems. I keep it because it is so stunning in full flower. Otherwise it is something of an eyesore, and since it spreads by rhizomes it will colonize any area that is even slightly moist. No illustration here - it is surprisingly difficult to draw or photograph a mess!

Last, but not least, one of my ponytail palms, Beaucarnia recurvata, bloomed. This one was a sort of gift from my late next door neighbor who didn't want it and suggested I take it. I have a problem letting things die ( one reason the yard is so overgrown - I don't pull out all the volunteers) so I took it. It was humming with honeybees and perhaps some other smaller pollinators.

This stem succulent has a very swollen base, and is not closely related to palms at all. It eventually will grow too large for this yard, but by then I will be long gone. Given the way old houses here are scraped away and replaced with narrow, 3-story mansionettes built all the way out to the setbacks, my tiny piece of semi-natural habitat will vanish too. It's a melancholy thought.

Florida Elephant's Foot

I've been remiss in keeping my nature notes this year. The first reference to Florida elephant's foot (Elephantopus elatus Bertol.) in our yard is a sketch done on July 30th, but it already had been blooming so long that I was afraid it was now or never in terms of drawing it. My notes from 2019 mention it around the end of June, which is not to say that it wasn't flowering before then. It's late August now, and the flowering is still going strong.

Florida Elephant's Foot - Individual Florets at Bottom Right

The foliage is much grayer and hairier than depicted.

Unspectacular, even slightly ungainly, Florida elephant's foot belongs to that class of plants delightful mainly to the observant eye, for it easily gets lost in a crowd. A flat rosette of coarse leaves wider at the tips than at their bases sends up grayish, wiry branching stalks which can reach up to 3 feet tall according to the books. Mine are closer to 18-24 inches. Each branchlet (in botany language a pedicel)  ends in a pyramidal structure composed of 3 overlapping bracts packed with individual disk florets. Florets are a delicate pale lavender-pink. The florets in any given head open  somewhat sequentially, not all at once, so the effect is subtle, hardly spectacular. 

Florida Elephant's Foot - Habit

                                                

The gray-green clusters and delicate florets seeming to hover untethered over lower-growing plants, or  among grasses, give the scene a wonderfully airy and ephemeral effect. My plant is being supported by the grassy leaves of spiderwort ( Tradescantia ohiensis). Spiderwort isn't native to this part of Florida, but does pretty well - in fact, too well at times. I will have to thin this batch to keep it from overshadowing and outcompeting the elephant's foot. I suppose elephant's foot would have to be staked in a more formal garden, but loosely, so as not to destroy its peculiar charm.

There are 4 species of Elephantopus native to Florida, but elatus, the "tall elephant's foot," is the only one that occurs in SW Florida. This species is found in throughout most of Florida and parts of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia and South Carolina. In Florida its status is "Threatened." It can take rather dry to reasonably moist situations, and is commonly found in pine flatwoods.The Florida Native Plant Society lists it as a "short-lived perennial." 

Though it is quite drought-hardy, and used to sandy soils, I find that the plant does better in our hot yard with a little moisture and shade. I don't need to water it in its present place where it gets runoff from the eaves and protection from the afternoon sun, but the ones I planted elsewhere, in full unabated sunlight, died out. 

A Head and Ray Florets
(I've rotated this photo several times and still can't figure out which end is up)

Over time, Florida elephant's foot will form clumps, like many plants in the Aster Family. It also grows from seed. In our yard it goes dormant in the dry season, disappearing entirely until the rains resume.

Though it works wonderfully blended with other plants, a large plot of Elephantopus alone in bloom is quite and quietly spectacular. When he was still in high school my much younger brother tilled up a section near the woods to grow corn. The raccoons got most of the corn, but there obviously was a dormant seedbank for elephant's foot, because it flourished in that spot thereafter. More than 40-50 years later, there are still scattered plants there in spite of repeated disturbance. In fact, the plant in our yard is a descendent of these north-Florida individuals.

Colony of Elephant's Foot  under Serenoa repens
Naples Preserve

Florida elephant's foot doesn't seem overly attractive to butterflies, but is very popular with wasps and bees. The photo below shows what I believe to be a spider wasp nectaring. Spider wasps paralyze spiders and inter them as food for their larvae. They can manipulate a spider far larger than they are themselves. Though they can sting, they usually aren't aggressive. This one didn't mind my getting up close. 

Florida elephant's foot is so named because from overhead, the outline of the basal rosette supposedly resembles the footprint of an elephant. That takes some imagination. For one thing, the elephant would have to have toes  all around its foot, not just in the front. 

A garden full of divas would be pretty jarring and incoherent. It needs a complement of modest and unassuming plants like Florida elephant's foot to furnish the backdrop so the stars can shine.

Spanish Stopper

June has come and gone, and I can't say where it went. The first half of the month was very wet, and the second half was unusually hot, with heat indices hitting 3 digits by 9 AM. Salt-water mosquitoes also were abundant, but I try not to complain about them because they are so important in the food chain. Probably not so coincidentally, we had lots of dragonflies too.

The yard just erupted with flowers, butterflies, new growth and new weeds. I'm hoping for cooler temperatures so l can restore some order there as well as resume outdoor sketching. Instead of trying to catch up, I am just going to jump in where we are now, with Spanish Stopper in full bloom. This year's flush is probably the best we've ever had, so I'm hoping for a lot of berries.

Delicate, Ephemeral Flowers of Spanish Stopper

Spanish Stopper (Eugenia foetida) is a shrub or small tree to about 20 feet tall in the Myrtle family. It is native to southern Florida, somewhat farther north along the state's east coast, the West Indies, Bahamas, and Central America. Despite its name it does not have a fetid odor, in or out of bloom.  Some sources claim the flowers of Spanish stopper smell unpleasant, but I can detect only a faint odor, and it's not at all unpleasant. The same goes for crushed leaves. Pruning cuts do stink for a few hours.

Eugenia foetida, habit

So I either have an outlier, or the species name foetida is a misnomer. The stink honor goes to the white stopper (Eugenia axillaris), whose leaves emit a pronounced skunky odor, which is picked up and transported by the breeze. Oddly enough, your neighbor down the street is more likely to notice it than you would standing right by the plant.

Spanish stopper has a very upright, rather than outward-spreading form, so it is good for small or tight spaces. The leaf posture accents this impression, because the leaves often are held upright, with the lower ones overlapping those higher. You may see more leaf undersides than topsides because of this ascending habit. In "botanese" the leaves are "obovate," which means that the bases are quite narrow while the tips are broad and rounded. Spanish stopper is the only one of our native stoppers whose leaves do not come to a sharp point at their tip.

Leaves are opposite, have quite short petioles, and smooth margins. Veins are not very noticeable, with only the midrib prominent on the underside. The leathery leaves are dark green on the top side, and a lighter, somewhat gray-green on the underside.

The bark is gray to brownish-gray, with newer twigs somewhat rusty in color. It is not deeply fissured, but the closely-spaced leaf scars make good "hold-fasts" for lichens and bromeliads.

Flowers appear in the angles between branches. Up close the small blooms are spectacular, with 4 white petals and numerous long stamens. At first glance they appear to be stuck directly to the branches, but if you look closer you'll see that they grow from tiny stems. The buds resemble miniature golf balls set on tees. The flowers do not last long, and the blooming season is  short. In only one or two days, the ephemeral white flowers are already shriveling. But if you are lucky enough to catch it at the right time, a Spanish stopper in full bloom, with masses of delicate snowy white flowers wreathing the stems, is truly beautiful. The fruits are globular, turning black when ripe, and are attractive to birds.

Spanish Stopper Flowers

Though our stopper is putting on its quiet show now, blooms actually may appear throughout the year. Blooming may be triggered by rain after a dry spell, or warmer weather after a cold snap.

Spanish stopper is a pioneer hammock plant, and well-suited to Florida's highly alkaline soils. Once established it is absolutely bullet-proof. I rarely water ours, and it never has shown any signs of insect or disease infestation. Though it isn't spectacular, it does have its place in the landscape as a trouble- free evergreen with wildlife appeal. It can be pruned to any shape or height desired.

Like its relatives, it derives its name from accounts that a tea made from its leaves or berries effectively treated diarrhea.

Tillandsia fasciculata - The "Cardinal" Airplant

 Tillandsia fasciculata is in the process of blooming now. Some in the yard have flowered already, but others are just getting started. It is one of our most striking Tillandsias, and people often mount it on driftwood or trees in their front yards. This species of Tillandsia makes pups, and will form large colonies over time. Sometimes people traveling through the Big Cypress mistake large T. fasciculata colonies in the treetops for squirrel nests.

The colony below started as a tiny rosette - the windblown seed obviously found a foothold in the rough bark of the palm tree. I didn't put it there. It's even bigger now, because this photo is several years old. The plants in our yard were here when we bought the property in 1994. They have grown exuberantly over the years. I have several additional young specimens that obviously started from seeds.

Tillandsia fasciculata
Probably var. densispica

This species sends up a branched inflorescence. As is the case with Tillandsias, the bracts, not the flowers, are the main show. Immature bracts are mostly pinks, yellows and greens. The illustration below isn't the greatest, but it  gives some idea of the colors and shape of the immature inflorescence.  Side branches are just beginning to form.

Young Bloom Spike, Tillandsia fasciculata

As the plant matures the bracts take on much more saturated colors. The sketch below shows one fully opened purple flower, and 1 flower bud. Both the mealy, "scurfy" texture of Tillandsias and the shininess of the bracts can be hard to capture in watercolor. To suggest the scaly surface, I have tried light applications of colored pencils, dry brush watercolor technique, going over the dried surface with white watercolor or marker,  granulating watercolors, and combinations of techniques. (Granulating watercolors are made of pigments that don't dissolve evenly, but form little clumps of color as they dry. They are great at creating the illusion of texture. I use them for things like bark, rocks, sand, rust, or hairy surfaces). I still haven't found a one-size-fits-all technique.


Reds and greens in watercolor look shiny while wet, but dull considerably as they dry. (This actually can be a problem with watercolor in general). In the study below, I went over some of the red bracts with colored pencil to give them more punch. It's pretty obvious which ones I retouched.

Watercolor and Colorerd Pencil Study
Tillandsia fasciculata

 The scurfy texture of  Tillandsias  comes from specialized structures covering the leaves called trichomes. "Trichome" in general is a term meaning hair, or hairlike extension. In the case of Tillandsias, it refers to specialized structures consisting of both live and dead cells which absorb water and nutrients. On these species they are roughly cup-shaped, and mounted on a stem leading to the middle layers of the leaf where photosynthesis occurs.

Rough Sketch of Much Magnified Trichomes covering Tillandsia Leaf from  Above
Stems don't Show

The trichomes are very good at reflecting light, often giving the plants a silvery or "haloed" appearance. This feature reduces water loss by the leaves, and also protects them from harsh sunlight.  Most of Florida's native tillandsias look more silvery than hairy, but the trichomes are obvious under magnification. (Tillandsia pruinosa, the "fuzzy-wuzzy" airplant, is the exception).  In general, the hairier  the  plant, the more drought it can survive.

Tillandsias also reduce water loss by using the photosynthetic process seen in cacti and many succulents, "Crassulacean Acid Metabolism, or CAM. It's complicated, so I'm just going to say here that the stomata of the leaves stay closed during the day, and open at night. Another way of putting it is that it is sort of the opposite of regular photosynthesis, which goes on during daylight hours.

Once common, this airplant is now state listed as threatened due to illegal collecting, habitat loss and the ravages of the Mexican bromeliad weevil. In the early part of the 20th century, truckloads of blooming Tillandsias and orchids were harvested for sale "up North." Though the beetle has been documented in our county, the Tillandsias in our yard have been spared so far. I  keep an eye on them and hold my breath.

Tillandsia fasciculata
Briggs Nature Center Boardwalk

Tillandsia fasciculata grows in hammocks, cypress swamps and pinelands. It occurs in the Florida Keys through the north-central peninsula, Mexico, the West Indies, Central America, and northern South America. There are several varieties.  I am assuming that the ones here are var. densispica, because the other native varieties are rare and limited to Dade County. Tropiflora Nursery in Sarasota sells a rare white variety, Tillandsia fasciculata var. densispica alba.

They receive no care at all in our yard, but are protected in or under shrubs or trees. If I am watering something  nearby, I may give them a sprinkle too. If one falls off onto the ground, I stick it back between branches to reduce the chance of rotting.

Insects, lizards and other small animals may shelter in their leaves. Once a beautiful corn snake crawled out from a large bromeliad I had brought indoors to draw. Catching it to take it back outside was no easy matter! I have seen a photograph of a Florida panther sheltering/hiding behind a large Tillandsia fasciculata colony.

All in all, it is yet another of Florida's beautiful native plants, and like too many of them is besieged by our activities.