As a student studying lichens at the NYBG, Jessi Allen offers a unique perspective on these fascinating organisms–symbiotic combinations of fungus and algae. She first joined the NYBG as an Herbarium intern in the summer of 2011, and began her graduate studies this fall.
Collecting lichens calls for hammer and chisel.
During Hurricane Sandy, many trees fell throughout the Garden. At least a few of those caused damage to buildings or left gaps in the landscape. However, the silver lining of this cloud came in the form of giving NYBG botanists a chance to collect data that we usually don’t have access to.
Of the trees that fell, one of them was a big oak near the Pfizer Lab that, luckily, landed in the parking lot. The day immediately following the storm, I was working in the lab and saw Mike Nee, one of our curators, climbing through the tangled branches taking cores from this tree, and I thought, “That looks like fun!” According to Mike, the tree was about 90 feet tall and close to 100 years old. Rarely are we able to collect lichens from the tops of such large trees, so I went and grabbed a hammer and chisel, common tools for collecting specimens.
High in the cloud forests of the Tropical Andes, picking her way through the misted foliage of Las Orquídeas National Park, NYBG botanist Paola Pedraza-Peñalosa goes about the business of collecting plant specimens. This northwest Colombian landscape is renowned for its biodiversity–it is said to have more examples of plant, animal, and microbial life than almost any other ecosystem on earth. But that’s not necessarily the only reason that Pedraza, a Colombian native and Associate Curator of our Institute of Systematic Botany, has returned. While her work is indeed groundbreaking, her motivations extend well beyond the everyday specimen collections that take place day and night here in South America.
Far from the mere process of cataloging plant life, it is the shrinking timeframe and the aggravating factors surrounding it that make Paola’s undertaking so significant.
Once controlled by armed revolutionaries, indicative of the struggles facing Colombia throughout its late history, Las Orquídeas–named for some 200 species of orchids that grow there–remained off limits to the efforts of botanists. Recording the diversity of plant life within its borders became a pipe dream for an academic community anxious to uncover the Andres’ secrets. But the recent withdrawal of these militias has opened the park to exploration and conservation efforts. And with the proverbial gates now open, scientists face a new suite of challenges–many of them a greater threat to the plants and animals being studied than the armed gunmen ever were.
This is an image of a mushroom that I have never seen on the NYBG campus as long as I’ve been here (around 28 years) and I am 99.9% sure it has never before been reported here.
There are several unrelated genera of mushrooms that seem to prefer growing on wood chip mulch as a substrate and seemingly have a global distribution. Right now after the recent rains, the mushrooms that favor this artificial habitat are in nearly every flower bed on campus.
The name of the mushroom is Leratiomyces ceres, described for the first time from Australia in 1888.
Roy E. Halling, PhD is the Curator of Mycology at the Institute of Systematic Botany at The New York Botanical Garden.
Arlene Ellis bridges the gaps between science, art, and fashion with her in-depth study of natural patterns, many of which she details on her website, Organic Lyricism. Here, she relates how her first trip to The New York Botanical Garden informed her latest clothing designs.
I had never heard of textile design while growing up, despite aspiring to become a designer or an artist. In fact, I only became familiar with the word “textile” last fall, a bit weird considering I began drawing patterns at age 15. This was the year that I discovered the phenomenon of fractals in nature.
Fractals are geometric shapes that can be divided into smaller parts, each resembling the overall shape of the whole, regardless of scale. After learning about these fascinating designs, I began noticing them everywhere–in trees, ferns, snowflakes, and in natural formations. This preoccupation eventually sparked my interest in the ultimate fractal-like structure: the brain. In college, however, I soon proved to be more interested in drawing these patterns than I was in studying my neuroscience textbooks.
My interests were leaning heavily in one direction, but despite my constant drawing of patterns, textile design was still a foreign concept to me. It wasn’t until I began taking courses at New York’s School of Visual Arts that this changed. I learned that textile design would help me to unite my love for biological patterns with my love for art. I grew to understand that textile design plays a pivotal role in our daily lives; these patterns adorn our clothes, our bedding, our carpets and furniture. And I realized that I could use these visuals to communicate the beauty of nature to people on an intimate level. After visiting The New York Botanical Garden for the first time in June, that’s just what I set out to do.
For all of our scientific advances–our satellite imaging systems and mapped genomes–the realm of botany is still a field explorer’s game. As often as there are microscopes and lab coats, there are more muddied hiking boots, cans of bug spray, and long days spent trekking through unforgiving wilderness in search of that next spirited discovery. But above all, there are discoveries yet to be made in this increasingly small world, and the Garden’s science team is on the hunt.
In the last year, as with every year, NYBG scientists have spent days, weeks, and months wandering the globe in the search for undiscovered plant species, working to bring our understanding of the world around us just a little closer to complete. And they’re getting the job done. The last 12 months brought to light 81 new plant and fungi species described to science by our experts, found from the jungles of Southeast Asia to the Great Smoky Mountains of North Carolina. In addition to these 81, the findings resulted in two new plant orders and four new genera. That’s not exactly pocket change when it comes to science news.
Ed. note: This is a guest post from Andrew Hill, Senior Scientist at Vizzuality, a small company specializing in data, GIS, and the Web. As an organization that is deeply concerned with biodiversity and conservation, the Garden is invested in using technology as a scientific tool, and I feel EcoHackNYC is an event worth sharing with the rest of the New York-area scientific community. If you’re a scientist or researcher, please consider joining this event. — Ann
This weekend, for the second time in under a year, we are throwing an event to bring together scientists, developers, designers, and others to work collaboratively on environmental projects that matter. We call this event EcoHackNYC. It is a free (un)conference where a small group of people present projects, problems, or data they think need to be developed, and then larger groups of enthusiasts and experts work tirelessly to develop solutions (also check out last year’s event here). For us, this is a special event.
Off on a side table, just inside one of the treated glass superstructures of the Nolen Greenhouses for Living Collections, there stands a spray of stems headed with humble, star-shaped flowers. The aesthetic is nothing wildly exotic–a deep crimson defines the petals. The plant is otherwise unremarkable next to a common garden petunia. And yet the “DO NOT TOUCH” sign hand-written and jabbed in alongside the plant is evidence of its peculiar value. Is it fragile, or perhaps toxic?
Neither in particular. This plant, Petunia exserta, is one of incredible rarity.
February 6, 2012; Isla Londonderry, Bahía Isabel, approximately 54º59’S, 70º52’W
The engines started early this morning, and shortly afterward we hit rough seas. Those who had stayed up late had been warned. I was not amongst them, but fortunately, I found it a pleasant surprise. When we came out onto the deck we were in a secluded harbor, surrounded by snow-covered peaks. In short order the sleet started up again, and in no time at all, it was accumulating on the deck. I guess it is a bit colder than usual, but I haven’t noticed that.
February 5, 2012; Isla Londonderry, Puerto Fortuna, approximately 54º54’S, 70º26’W
Last night after dinner, I stood under the tarp that tents the hold where our dryers are kept, listening to the rain. Juan came out and said, “You enjoy this weather!” I looked at him quizzically, and he continued, “I can tell by the expression on your face.” And you know what? It’s true! I love bad weather–maybe not snow, it’s too soft–the aural component is critical. As long as I can remember I have loved rainy days, and the local version with sleet only adds to my delight. And a good thing too!
After everyone has been dropped off to their collecting sites, a big storm begins to roll in
This morning we moved to another harbor on Isla O’Brien. The weather forecast was not encouraging. However, the sun kept trying to come out, and all day it shone brightly, on and off, but only for a few minutes at a time. In this region, the weather is a losing battle. Those little bursts of sunshine provided momentary false hope in a day that ended up being dominated by sleet. In between the bouts of sun, the clouds would thicken, the wind would blow, and the sleet would pelt us relentlessly. Thank the heavens for good rain gear!
February 4, 2012; Isla O’Brien, Caleta Americana, approximately 54º53’S, 70º23’W
I told myself last night, shortly after I went to my bunk, that I would have a better attitude today.
The ship moved in the early morning to our field site for the day, Seno Ventisquero in Isla Grande de Tierra del Fuego. I was summoned to the bridge from my bunk, so I quickly dressed and went upstairs. The seas were very rough and the captain wanted to explain that rather than heading for our tentatively agreed upon site, we would instead be tying-up in a calm harbor at approximately 54º45’S, 70º19’W. I always leave these decisions to him anyway so it was just a formality.
Last chance to collect next to a glacier
The day didn’t look like it was going to be a good one; the clouds were so low that they seemed to be barely hovering above the waves, and sleet pelted the ship’s deck. As a consequence, most of us were a little slow in getting ready to head into the field. Lily and I boarded a Zodiac and were taken to what appeared to be a coastal southern beech forest with a small river running through it. Throughout the entire ride we suffered through continual sleet, but, the moment we stepped ashore it stopped! Surely a good sign!
