In Praise of Electrified Cat's Tail, Pimpled Kidney, and Others of Their Ilk

At this time of year (nearly) all of Portland has, at the very least, a patina of moss--if not a shaggy suit of moss armor. It's glorious, and I love everything there is to love about these tough, tiny, tenacious spore-bearing plants. I've been taking a closer look at them lately. Worth it!



I've been doing some superficial research, too. That is, I've been skimming my copy of Plants of the Pacific Northwest Coast to see if I might be able to identify some of the many different types of moss I've been scrutinizing. The common names I've run across are wonderfully vivid and imaginative. "Electrified cat's tail moss," "hairy lantern moss," "goblin's gold," and "lanky moss" are a few of my faves.



Once a person gets down on her hands and knees to inspect moss, she can't help but notice that this town is also lousy with lichen (but in a good way!).

Lichens are odd and fascinating organisms. There is some debate about how to classify them, but my book hails them as the "banners of the fungal kingdom," although I'm not sure why. They are fungi, I guess, but they "farm" algae inside their own structures. The algae carries out photosynthesis on behalf of a lichen and supplies it with nutrients. Wacky!

But not nearly as wacky as the common names that have been given to various species of lichen. As great as a name like "electrified cat's tail moss" is, how can it possibly compete with lichen names like "punctured rocktripe," "lettuce lung," "freckle pelt," "pimpled kidney," "questionable rock-frog," "ragbag," "devil's matchstick," "false pixie cup," or "blood-spattered beard"?

And lest you think that I've just cherry-picked the weirdest names I could find and that these bizarro lichens are known only to a select group of mycologists, let me assure you that any Portlander willing to inspect a retaining wall in his or her neighborhood or take a short stroll in any of our urban forests will see some of these crazy-ass lichens.

Right here, taken a few blocks from my house, is some false pixie cup, growing on a mossy rock in someone's front garden. It's very common. And cute.



And here's a two-fer: A hemlock cone nestled among blood-spattered beard and ragbag. Nice. Taken in Forest Park. Not hard to find at all.

Heads on Sticks

B. and I have lived in Portland for 8 years, but yesterday we discovered a strange new neighborhood only a 15- to 20-minute walk from our house. We walk around a lot (like, every day), so how is it possible we had never run across the Yard of Disembodied Pig and Rabbit Heads before?

Entombed

Does this freak you out?

What about this?



Actually, I love these and was absolutely delighted that I happened to spot them, especially since it's now moss season again and they are looking at their spiffiest. I've walked by this retaining wall probably a dozen times, but it was usually at night, so I never noticed these mossy fellas before. They're very close to the ground, too (about eye level for cats, i.e., in the catmosphere), which also means that probably very few people ever notice them. But how great is it that the homeowner built these into the wall just for those of us who just happen to be a little bit obsessed with retaining walls?

Moss Mania

I’ve been giving my mania for moss and mossy things full rein lately. A crisis may be imminent. What do you think?



This actually represents the marriage of two of my manias: moss and ridiculous anthropomorphization (if that’s a word). That’s golden club moss standing in for the little guy's hair. Factoid: Dinosaurs ate this stuff for breakfast.

And I saw this on a hike in Forest Park on Sunday. Very Blair Witch-like and right here in Portland, too. Shiver!!!!



The Stumps Have Eyes!

Of course, there was nothing but moss, lichens, and ferns on the trails I hiked at the Oregon Coast last week. As part of my pact with myself to take it slow and easy, I found myself taking note, more than usual, of the rustic benches that show up—sometimes in the weirdest and most remote places—here and there on the trails.

Here’s my favorite.



Now, I wouldn’t want to sit on that thing (rising damp, you know), but I love the way it looks. Note the whopper specimens of shelf fungus growing out of it! And I love the fact that some trail maintenance person decided to make furniture out of a fallen tree. Why ever not? It sure beats schlepping a prefab bench up the trail.

So all of a sudden, I’m totally into trail benches even though, in the recent past, I scoffed at them and the idea that someone could be so wiped out after a short incline or (sometimes) no incline at all that he/she would need to collapse onto a bench. (How typically intolerant of me.)

Maybe I still do think that a little bit, but I must say I have come to appreciate the charms of these benches.

Here’s another supercool one, located near Upper Kentucky Falls.



Didn’t it once belong to Fred and Wilma Flintstone? I seem to recall seeing it in their rumpus room. And guess what? I actually sat on this one for a while and enjoyed the view (and ate some chocolate-covered peanuts [if you must know]).