trying to do the right thing

Peo­ple often try to do the right thing, but along the way things some­things can go astray.

san-clemente-canyon-spring-green

Sat­ur­day I was hik­ing one of our local urban canyons, San Clemente Canyon, with some other plant peo­ple. Like the rest of our local canyons, the plants you find there are a mix of native and intro­duced species. It’s not pris­tine, by any means, par­tic­u­larly when you con­sider that there’s a free­way a cou­ple hun­dred feet behind where this photo was taken. But many of the really big plants are orig­i­nal to the canyon. You can get a good impres­sion of what it was like two cen­turies ago, and hope­fully that’ll moti­vate peo­ple to pre­serve what’s left.

wrong-poppies-in-san-clemente-canyon

Dur­ing that walk every­one paused at a big clear­ing in the trees. It was a broad area that had been cleared of the inva­sive species and replanted with Cal­i­for­nia plants. The project was financed by the city author­ity that main­tains the sewer lines that run through the park. The main­te­nance roads eat into the native habi­tat, and for ever acre of road, the agency did an off­set of five acres where they tried to mit­i­gate the dam­age done by the bull­dozed access routes. It’s a pretty rea­son­able way to deal with some­thing a big city needs to operate–sewers–and at the same time improve the integrity of the semi-wild spaces.

After oohing and awing at the improve­ments, sev­eral of us noticed the pop­pies. Cal­i­for­nia pop­pies, yes they were, but big, tall orange ones and not the petite yellow-to-gold ones that you typ­i­cally find in the local environment.

wrong-poppies-in-tecolote-canyon

A trip yes­ter­day to Tecolote Canyon, another of the local urban canyons, revealed exactly the same thing in a restora­tion in progress there.

Tech­ni­cally, under cur­rent botan­i­cal sys­tems, both ver­sions of the poppy are con­sid­ered the same species. But a quick look at them yells you that they’re as dis­tinct from one another as cousins in a fam­ily, and they have genet­ics that evolved to mak­ing them appro­pri­ate for their dif­fer­ent environments.

Take a look at their leaves, to start. The one on the left, below, is from the clas­sic “Cal­i­for­nia poppy” that peo­ple know (Escholzia cal­i­for­nica). The one on the right is from the ver­sion found around here (at once clas­si­fied as Escholzia cal­i­for­nica mar­itima). The one on the left has less leaf sur­face, and to me looks like it’s evolved to deal with more drought.

escholzia-californica-typical-form-form-leaf-detail

escholzia-californica-maritima-form-leaf-detail

Grow­ing the two ver­sions side-by side in the gar­den also reveals another dif­fer­ence. The reg­u­lar Cal­i­for­nia poppy devel­ops pow­dery mildew this cool and humid time of year, whereas the local ver­sion seems to be close to unaffected.

So when you com­bine the plant size, flower size, flower color and the plants’ resis­tance to pow­dery mildew, you can see that the plants are quite dif­fer­ent, and that the coastal ver­sion is prob­a­bly bet­ter suited for liv­ing here. (In gar­dens the typ­i­cal orange form is pretty rugged and no slouch, but its dis­ease issues give it a dis­ad­van­tage to being as spec­tac­u­lar as it might be in a drier region like the Antelpe Val­ley, the loca­tion of the Cal­i­for­nia Poppy Pre­serve.)

Recon Native Plants, a San Diego whole­sale native plant nurs­ery that spe­cial­izes in habi­tat restora­tion, takes extra pride in know­ing exactly where their plants come from. Their site advertizes:

For exam­ple, an Artemisia cal­i­for­nica from the Sierra Nevada and an Artemisia cal­i­for­nica from coastal San Diego County are the same species, how­ever they have evolved and adapted with dif­fer­ent genet­ics for dif­fer­ent envi­ron­ments. With the source iden­ti­fied, RECON Native Plants can tell our clients within 5 miles, the ori­gin of each plant and the client can select the loca­tion most appro­pri­ate to their project.

It’s a good illus­tra­tion of the dif­fer­ence between plant­ing a gar­den and going the extra dis­tance to effect a suc­cess­ful habi­tat restora­tion project. Many gar­den­ers would pre­fer the splashier Ante­lope Val­ley ver­sion of the state flower, but that’s not the form that makes most sense for our local flora. Some­where along the plan­ning, imple­men­ta­tion or sourc­ing of these two habi­tat restora­tion projects, some­thing went a lit­tle astray. It’s a small detail, but it’s one that many peo­ple con­sider impor­tant as we try to keep our open spaces as wild as we can.

EDIT, April 7: Check out another post on two dif­fer­ent poppy forms over at Dry­S­tone­Gar­den.

April 06 2009 | Categories: landscape | Tags: | 7 Comments »

domesticated

Amy Stein’s new book of pho­tographs, Domes­ti­cated, sits some­where between the mun­dane and poetic, the beau­ti­ful and the jarring.

Left: Amy Stein. Howl [ source ]

A coy­ote howls at the moon in a snow-covered park­ing lot. A young girl in a bathing suits stands on a swim­ming pool div­ing board to con­front a black bear star­ing at her over the fence. A hunter stands in his back yard as he aims his rifle at a wild turkey pass­ing just a few feet away.

The lit­tle fleet­ing vignettes of life in a small Penn­syl­va­nia town illu­mi­nate life at the bound­aries where the back yard ends and some­thing you might call the nat­ural world begins. Some­times the close prox­im­ity of nature makes things amaz­ingly con­ve­nient (the hunter and the turkey). Other times it comes too close for com­fort (the girl and the bear).

Left: Amy Stein. Back­yard [ source ]

These slices of life at first amaze you with that “Wasn’t it amaz­ing that she was able to be right there at the right time to take that pho­to­graph” reac­tion. But the photographer’s work­ing method tricks you a bit. She col­lected news­pa­per pieces and oral sto­ries of life in and around Mata­moras, a town bor­der­ing state for­est in the north­east part of the state. Next she pro­ceeded to recre­ate the events in the sto­ries using town res­i­dents and what­ever props necessary–including taxi­der­mied animals.

Stein calls her images nat­ural his­tory dio­ra­mas, and that’s exactly how they func­tion. But with these scenes tak­ing place inside the edges of a pho­to­graph, they seem to have a higher sense of real­ity to them than the dust-covered tableaux you’d find at your local museum. Picasso said famously that art is a lie that tells the truth. Even though you know that these images are staged, they speak to a deeper knowl­edge that we know is true.

It’s fas­ci­nat­ing, worth­while work.

Check out Amy Stein’s web­site, port­fo­lio of the other Domes­ti­cated images, or get the book.

December 07 2008 | Categories: artphotographyplaces | Tags: | 1 Comment »