New Plant Species Discovered on Facebook

Photo by Paulo Gonella licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

There are many downsides to the amount of time some of us spend on the internet but there is no denying that there are some incredible benefits as well. Never before in human history has information been so readily available to so many people. Without Facebook, In Defense of Plants would not have anywhere near the platform from which I can interact with all of you wonderful plant folk. In what may be one of the coolest uses of social media to date, a new species of carnivorous plant has been discovered using Facebook! 

While exploring a mountain top in Brazil, amateur researcher  Reginaldo Vasconcelos snapped a few shots of a large sundew. Upon returning home, the pictures were uploaded to Facebook for the world to see. It didn't take long for scientists to notice that the plant in the picture was something quite special. 

Indeed, what Vasconcelos had photographed was a species of Drosera completely new to science! This is the first time that a new species has been discovered using social media. Experts have now published the first scientific description of this species. It has been named Drosera magnifica - the magnificent sundew. 

And magnificent it is! According to the authors of the paper, "It is the largest sundew in the Americas, and the second-largest carnivorous plant in the Americas. In this respect it is also a spectacular plant.” The plant was discovered in Minas Gerais, Brazil. Oddly enough, the mountain on which it was found is readily accessible. How this species went undiscovered for so long is quite a mystery. It just goes to show you how little we know about the world we live in. 

That sad part about this discovery is that the mountain it is endemic to is surrounded by cattle ranches as well as coffee and eucalyptus plantations. The future of this brand new species is by no means certain. Researchers have already elevated its status to critically endangered. Unless other populations are found, this species may disappear not long after its discovery. 

Photo Credit: Paulo Gonella

Further Reading:

http://www.mapress.com/phytotaxa/content/2015/f/p00220p267f.pdf

Yellow-Eyed-Grass

Over the last decade I have become quite familiar with the flora of western New York. I love and adore the species that call my neck of the woods home. For this reason, I get extra excited when I encounter something new. Identifying a plant I have never seen before is one of the best parts about botanizing. Having that species represent a family of plants entirely new to me is truly the icing on the cake. 

Bogs are some of my favorite habitat types. Their complexity in structure is well complemented by the myriad species that haunt the soggy terrain. They are made all the more wonderful when you consider their age. Bogs are glacial relicts, having existed unchanged since this region was freed from its icy grip. On a recent bog slog something different caught my eye. What appeared to be an odd clump of grass quickly revealed itself to be something new and different. 

Photo by Bob Peterson licensed under CC BY 2.0

Sitting atop some of the blades were leathery clusters of bracts. Poking out from between these bracts were little yellow tufts. A closer inspection revealed that these tufts were three delicate petals of a flower unlike anything I was familiar with. Field guides were consulted and this odd little plant turned out to be a member of the group commonly referred to as yellow-eyed-grass. My first thoughts on this went immediately to the genus Sisyrinchium, those not-so-iris-like members of the iris family. Though they are similar in appearance, the yellow-eyed-grasses are not related to blue-eyed-grasses at all. 

Yellow-eyed-grasses not only belong in their own genus - Xyris - they also belong in their own family - Xyridaceae. They are more closely aligned with grasses than they are other flowering plants. There are something like 5 genera nestled into this family but a majority of the representatives belong in the genus Xyris. The plant I had found was Xyris difformis, the bog yellow-eyed-grass. They are plants of wet places, specializing in wetlands, bogs, and shorelines. Their ecology is interesting in that they sort themselves out along wave gradients, with most species preferring enough wave action to provide the proper soil texture and to limit competition from other wetland plant species. 

This group is incredibly interesting. They are also quite beautiful. Some species are becoming rare in North America as we continue to turn wetlands into housing developments and strip malls. With a global distribution, many of you are likely to encounter a member of Xyridaceae in your neck of the woods as well. Simply keep you eye open for any strange "grasses" growing in wet areas. 

Flower photo: Bob Peterson (http://bit.ly/1IcamFN)

Further Reading:

https://gobotany.newenglandwild.org/species/xyris/difformis/

http://www.nrcresearchpress.com/doi/abs/10.1139/b85-169#.VavIZipViko

http://www.nrcresearchpress.com/doi/abs/10.1139/b85-082#.VavIcCpViko

Spurge of the Sidewalk

Photo by Harry Rose licensed under CC BY 2.0

Meet the prostrate spurge aka Euphorbia supina aka Euphorbia maculata aka Chamaesyce maculata. Whew, that is a lot of names for such a small plant. Taxonomic struggles aside, many of you have probably seen this small forb growing all over. From fields to parking lots, and even city sidewalks, this small member of the spurge family is an early colonizer of waste places where not much else can grow. I have seen this plant my whole life but never took any notice of it's flowers. I can't say I blame myself considering their diminutive size. Like many members of the spurge family, the latex-like sap can cause a skin rash in some people, so be aware of this when weeding your garden. It is native to the lower 48 but has been introduced far and wide thanks to human activity and it's resilience in poor habitats. In at least one study, leachates from prostrate spurge were shown to inhibit nodule formation on the roots of legumes. In essence, this species may be inhibiting other early succession plant species in order to maintain open habitat for itself for as long as possible. I must say, after finally taking a closer look at this species, I have developed a new found respect for it. 

Photo Source: Wikimedia Commons

Further Reading:

http://plants.usda.gov/core/profile?symbol=chma15

http://www.jstor.org/discover/10.2307/2441417?uid=4&sid=21102522714117

Rattlesnake Master

I first heard of rattlesnake master (Eryngium yuccifolium) in William K. Stevens' book “Miracle Under the Oaks: The Revival of Nature in America.” Ever since then I have been enamored by this species. Who could blame me? Such a common name deserves a deeper inquiry. It would take a few years before I would be able to see an actual tall grass prairie and lay eyes on this wonderful, albeit strange member of the carrot family. 

Rattlesnake master gets its common name from the erroneous belief that the roots of this plant could be used to cure rattlesnake bites. I don't know about you but I certainly will not be chancing it. Its specific epithet "yuccifolium" comes from the resemblance its leaves have to that of Yucca. Unlike most carrots, which have dissected, lacy foliage, the leaves of rattlesnake master are strap-like and pointed with teeth running up the margins.

The clustered flowers exhibit protandry meaning the anthers mature and senesce before the pistils become receptive. This reduces the chances of self-fertilization, which increases the amount of genetic variation in a population. Being a member of the carrot family, rattlesnake master develops a very deep taproot making it a difficult species to transplant. Despite this fact, it grows readily from seed making it an excellent addition to a native prairie planting. What's more, the caterpillars of the Eryngium root borer moth (Papaipema eryngii) live solely off the roots of rattlesnake master. Without this plant, the moths could not survive. 

Photo Credit: [1]

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

Gaywing

Fringed polygala (Polygala paucifolia) is out and about. I love this little plant. The odd flowers are an amazing adaptation for efficient pollination. When an insect lands of the fringed part of the keel it causes the reproductive organs to push up into the pollinator, thus forcing pollen transfer.

Sedges!

Spring is not only a good time of year to see showy wildflowers in bloom, it is also a good time of year to check out the flowers of some of our frequently overlooked native grasses and sedges.

There are so many species of grasses and sedges out there and their habitat preferences are just as varied. Most are quite a challenge to identify in my opinion. One must take a microscopic view of the flowering structures along with the seeds to really narrow it down. Either way, you don't necessarily need to know what species it is to enjoy it.

Get down and take a look at how each species presents its flowers. The structures can be quite elaborate and, with the aid of a hand lens, quite beautiful. Being mostly wind pollinated, there tends to be a pattern in which anthers are placed on top of the flowering spike and stigmas tucked below.

Sedges and grasses also occupy a very important ecological role in communities where they are native. They are food plants, shelter plants, and soil stabilizers. They can even serve as a growth surface for other plant species. Many different kinds of birds will nest in and around grasses and sedges as well. Some species are pivotal in the succession of different habitat types. 

Take some time to get to know these great plants. More nurseries are beginning to wake up to their potential as landscape plants. Definitely consider some species that are native to your neck of the woods next time you are in the mood for some gardening.

Further Reading:

http://plants.usda.gov/java/profile?symbol=CAPL5

http://www.illinoiswildflowers.info/grasses/grass_index.htm

Deaf Plants

Photo by Barney Livingston licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0

As we continue to make advances in the field of genetics, the cost of genome sequencing is getting cheaper and cheaper. We are sequencing entire genomes seemingly overnight. As we learn more about this code that programs every living thing on this planet, the more surprises we uncover. One such surprise came when researchers sequenced the genome of a little mustard known as Arabidopsis thaliana. As it turns out, this lowly little plant has more in common with our own genetic lineage than we ever thought possible. 

One interesting thing that turned up in the genome of Arabidopsis were a handful of genes associated with hearing in humans. For all intents and purposes, plants can't hear. They don't have ears nor do they have a nervous system capable of translating vibrations into what we know as sound. Why, then, were these genes present in a plant? 

Humans contain over 50 genes associated with hearing. A mutation in any of these can cause hearing loss. Arabidopsis shares at least 10 of these genes with us. In humans, one of these shared genes codes for proteins that are involved in forming the microscopic hairs within our inner ear that pick up sound waves. Again, why would a plant need this? When researchers mutated this gene within Arabidopsis, a surprising thing happened. 

Plants produce hair-like structures from their roots. These root hairs vastly increase the amount of surface area the root has for soaking up water and nutrients in the soil. A mutation in one of these hearing genes causes the root hairs to fail to elongate. As a result, the plant then has trouble absorbing things. 

Hearing genes are by no means the only genes we share with plants either. Within the genome of Arabidopsis, researchers have discovered over 100 genes involved in human diseases including breast cancer and cystic fibrosis. Though the differences between humans and plants seem insurmountable, we nonetheless share a common ancestor. The genes that control the development of an organism were laid down long before our lineages became distinct. It would appear that many genes don't change but are simply adopted for different purposes. It is discoveries like these that stand as a stark reminder that so-called "science for the sake of science" is incredibly important. 

Photo Credit: virken (http://bit.ly/1DI50Qz)

Further Reading:

http://www.plantphysiol.org/content/146/3/1109.short

http://nar.oxfordjournals.org/content/31/4/1148.short

Plant "Sight"

As the sun rises higher into the sky and our days get incrementally longer, I am thinking about plant sight. I'm not talking sight as you or I know it but rather their own unique brand of knowing where the light is and how to respond to it. Anyone that has ever grown plants will have undoubtedly recognized the way in which houseplants lean towards the nearest window or sunflowers track the sun's path through the sky each day with their blooms. Plants need the light and know how to respond to it but how do they do this without eyes, nerves, or a brain to process the world around them?

One of the first tantalizing pieces of evidence to this puzzle came from none other than Darwin himself. With the help of his son he carried out a series of experiments on seedlings using a candle lit room and rather ingenious methodology. They knew that seedlings naturally bent towards candle light so they were curious as to which part of the plant was responsible for this response. They cut off some of the seedling tips, covered the tips of some with light-proof caps, and covered others with transparent glass caps. There were also control seedlings as well as seedlings in which they only covered the stems, leaving the tips exposed. What they found was that only the seedlings with their tips cut off as well as those with light-proof caps didn't bend. 

So, it appeared that the tip of the plant was where "sight" occurs, at least when plants are trying to figure out where the light source is emanating, however, this is not the full picture. Plants can also measure the length of day. Known as photoperiodism, many species of plants will regulate growth and flowering based on day length. Long-day plants will only flower when days are at their longest. The opposite is true for short-day plants. But the question remains, how do they know? Scientists quickly figured out that they could mess with this photoperiodism in the greenhouse by turning lights on in the middle of the night, a technique that is a boon to the horticulture industry. 

Research into this revealed that different wavelengths of light have different effects. Blue or green light, for instance, does not do anything to upset a plants flowering schedule whereas red light does. Even stranger, the relative shade of the red light also has an effect. Shining a bright red light on a long-day plant in the middle of the night will cause it to flower while you can cancel this effect by shining dark red light right after. This may seem weird but it makes sense when you consider how these plants evolved.

It is not actually the length of day that plants measure, but rather the length of night. Shorter nights mean longer days, an excellent cue that the environment is favorable for flowering. By turning on lights in the middle of the night, you are effectively simulating short nights. In nature, plants receive bright red light when the sun is rising in the sky and dark red light as it sets. Bright red light activates chemical cues for flowering and dark red light turns them off. Only when the bright red signal is turned on longer than the dark red signal will the plants actually flower. 

The chemical responsible for this "color vision" in plants is known as "phytochrome." Unlike Darwin's experiments, shining light on the tip of the plant has no effect on phytochrome. However, shining light on even a single leaf will elicit a response. Plants in which the leaves have been pruned will not react to red light at all. Though I can't speak for leafless plants like cacti, I am sure the concept remains the same, albeit more adapted to their lifestyle. 

In total, roughly 11 photoreceptive compounds have been identified in plants. Though they do not perceive images as you and I do, their sense of "sight" is nonetheless quite sophisticated. Plants feed on light so it is no wonder that they have quite the chemical arsenal for responding to it. 

Further Reading:

http://www.plantphysiol.org/content/125/1/85.full

Moss Matriarchy

Photo by Wolfram Sondermann licensed under CC BY-ND 2.0

Mosses have been around for a long time. They also retain some interesting features of early land plants. Like their algal precursors, mosses have motile sperm that must literally swim their way to a female gamete. Of course, this process requires water. For some mosses, living on land makes reproduction difficult, even at the scale of a few centimeters. Distance is not the friend of diminutive, sexually reproducing mosses.

There are some groups of mosses that have evolved an interesting way around the issue of distance. Though it occurs in plenty of other genera, I would like to focus attention on one genus in particular, the Dicranum mosses. You can find these hairy-looking mosses growing in tufts or mats in forests throughout North America. Like all bryophytes, they exhibit an alternation of generations. The green gametophytes house the sexual organs and, after fertilization, give rise to the stalked sporophytes that produce and disseminate their spores. 

An inspection of Dicranum patches in the wild may reveal that all of the gametophytes seem to be female. Despite this observation, there would seem to be no shortage of sporophyte stalks poking above the mat. How is this possible? How does sperm make it from some undisclosed male population to fertilize the eggs of these entirely female mats? The answer is to be found only after you observe the females under a microscope. 

Dwarf males growing on the stem tomentum of Dicranum polysetum. Photos: L. Heden€ as [SOURCE]

Under magnification, you will notice that many of the female gametophytes appear to have hairy little outgrowths scattered around their tiny leaves. Under a higher powered lens you may then notice that these hairy outgrowths contain antheridia, the sperm producing organs of males. What is going on here? Are these mosses hermaphroditic? Nope! What you are seeing are indeed the males of this species. 

Spores of Dicranum don't start out as either sex. Instead, their fate in the environment determines what they eventually develop into. If a spore makes it to new terrain, it will become a female. Females are larger and can handle the rigors of establishing new territory. If a spore lands on another clump of moss, something different happens. The female gametophytes emit hormones which direct the development of that spore into one of these dwarfed males. Settled in among a forest of females, this tiny male individual is now primed and ready to release sperm. They are essentially live-in sperm donors.

For this genus, it doesn't make sense fore males to grow into full blown adults in such situations. The bigger a male gets, the more distance separates his sperm from the eggs of females. A reduction in size allows the males to insert themselves into colonies made entirely of females to serve as the reproductive agent for that grouping. Quite a fascinating life history trait if you ask me. Mosses have also been at the survival game much longer than pretty much all other forms of life we encounter on land. I think it goes without saying that they certainly deserve a greater recognition. 

Photo Credit: [1] [2]

Further Reading: [1] [2]