Two cool plants: Creeping Phlox and Twisted Sedge

As I may have mentioned in previous posts, I've been laboring away to eliminate a backlog of un-curated photos. Some date back to 2016. Most come from the spring/summer seasons, when sometimes I would return from trips with scads of images, but immediately get sucked into all manner of activities upon return. So, some folders would go into a to-be-archived folder. Fortunately, there's only about 50-60 such folders, but it's still a lot of work. I do keep current on archival of most photos, fortunately. I'm particular about how images are labeled and archived. All of mine are tagged with metadata that at a minimum includes species name, scientific name, county, state, date, and often more specific site names. Sometimes other short notes as well.

Once the images are labeled, they go onto the Cloud (good to have a storage facility completely removed from base camp, I think) and on two hard drives (duplicity is good). Careful labeling helps me find things fast, no matter when they were taken, and I can drum up about any photo I'm looking for quickly. But it isn't just about me. Having detailed metadata associated with images could be useful in the distant future. Who knows how long our digital photos could hang around, but it could be centuries or more. Someone stumbling across my images in the year 2225 could have a treasure trove of well-documented photos at a time when the earth might be very different than it currently is.

Anyway, one of the fun elements of this photo curation is revisiting sites through the images. Here are a few plants from a trip to Hocking County, Ohio on April 28, 2017. I include them here in part because I think that both would make good, interesting plants for home landscaping. While I'd think some nurseries would sell Creeping Phlox, so that one probably is accessible, I doubt if any nurseries carry Twisted Sedge.

This streambank along a small creek in Hocking County, Ohio is covered with a dense stand of Twisted Sedge (Carex torta). The sedge is densely rhizomatous, and its cord-like roots bind the unstable soil. Twisted Sedge is a pioneer species of newly exposed banks and gravel bars in riparian habitats, usually smaller streams like the one in the image.

Sedges in the genus Carex offer quite the potential buffet for the adventurous gardener. In Ohio alone, there are over 180 species, and Carex is probably the most speciose genus in all of the eastern states. Unfortunately, the vast majority of them have not been brought into captivity, and most never will.

As always, click the photo to enlarge

Here's the flowering/fruiting culm of Twisted Sedge. It's quite ornate. The long, skinny terminal spike is comprised of the staminate (male) flowers. The three bristly lower spikelets are the pistillate (female) flowers, now mostly developed into fruit. In Carex-speak, the fruit are known as perigynia. And in this case, the perigynia are exceptionally striking. Their lime-green coloration is punctuated by rich chocolate-brown scales.

Twisted Sedge favors shady environs, which could be a further asset for the landowner having trouble finding interesting natives for such places. I hope to get some of this sedge next year, and experiment with it on my property. My hunch is it'll be pretty easy to successfully grow.

This photo was made in nearly the same spot as the Twisted Sedge above. Indeed, the grassy-looking clumps along the steam banks is that sedge. But this is also habitat for one of our showiest phloxes. And all phloxes are showy.

We move in on some Creeping Phlox (Phlox stolonifera). This image illustrates the common name. The plant sends out stolons (basically small rhizomes on the ground's surface) that creep about. A colony will often have relatively few flowering spikes relative to the number of leafy stolons.

It is no coincidence that this phlox and the Twisted Sedge have similar growth habits. Life along the stream means scouring floods. Because of their anchoring rhizomes and stolons, Creeping Phlox and Twisted Sedge can hold their ground.

The gorgeous flowers of Creeping Phlox, but are not the flowers of ALL phloxes gorgeous?

In addition to providing aesthetic beauty, the flowers lure Ruby-throated Hummingbirds, hummingbird clearwing moths in the genus Hemaris,  swallowtail butterflies, and all manner of other insects.

Creeping Phlox reaches the northern limits of its range in Hocking County, Ohio, where I made these shots. To the east of Ohio, in more mountainous areas, it extends all of the way north to southern Maine.

With its propensity for shady haunts, Creeping Phlox might also make an interesting native plant for tough-to-grow places.

Three special understory warblers

I recently ran across the following images while doing archival and curation of my photos. All of them were made at the same locations and on the same day, May 1, 2022. The site was a remote locale in the Monongahela National Forest of West Virginia.

A Hooded Warbler (Setophaga citrina) tees up in a fascicle of Great Rhododendron (Rhododendron maximum) leaves. This site was quite warbliferous and I photographed a few species at this very spot. One of them is the second most coveted species of eastern warbler, but it can't hold a candle to the Hooded Warbler in the looks department. Hooded Warblers certainly breed in and around rhododendrons but occur in a variety of woodland understory habitats.

A male Black-throated Blue Warbler (Setophaga caerulescens) peeks from a rhododendron snarl, a favored breeding habitat in the Appalachian Mountains. This one is near the southern limits of the species' breeding range, in southern West Virginia. He little resembles the plain brown female, and early on males and females were considered separate species. Eastern Hemlock trees (Tsuga canadensis) often co-occur with Great Rhododendron, and I think this warbler species is more connected to that tree rather than the rhododendrons. Next photo is of the most coveted warbler in this habitat, even if it is the drabbest.

Here's the third warbler of my Appalachian rhododendron thicket series. And the most coveted, the Swainson's Warbler (Limnothlypis swainsonii). By numbers, it's the second rarest eastern warbler. Only the Kirtland's warbler is fewer in number. About 140,000 Swainson's warblers are thought to still exist. As a point of comparison, the most abundant warbler, the yellow-rumped warbler, has around 170 million individuals. The monotypic Swainson's warbler (only species in the genus Limnothlypis) favors two distinct habitat types: rhododendron thickets, and cane breaks (Arundinaria gigantea).

Interestingly, an apparently unmated male spent much of last summer in Shawnee State Forest in Scioto County, Ohio. The site is not too terribly far from West Virginia nesting populations, but breeding has never been documented in Ohio. I made a visit to see it last June and was surprised to find the largest wild stand of giant cane I've seen in Ohio nearby. Coincidence? Maybe, but it'll be interesting to see if Swainson's warblers return to this locale. Note the bird's huge toes. All the better to forage on the ground, in dense leafy detritus.

Red-shouldered Hawk, in autumnal foliage

A gorgeous adult Red-shouldered Hawk hunts from the boughs of a fruit-laden sycamore tree. By moving my position a bit, I was able to get a solid wall of autumnally tinted foliage behind the bird.

Shauna and I made a run up the Olentangy River last Tuesday, November 4, seeking fall colors to photograph, along with anything else that might be reveal itself. Highbanks Metro Park was one of our stops, and I spotted the raptor perched atop a bat house in Highbank's "Big Meadow" down by the river. Eventually some walkers flushed the hawk, and it flew to this much more visually pleasing spot and we set about making photos.

Red-shouldered Hawks are often fairly tame, especially when in regular contact with people. This bird is one of the local breeding pairs, and as Highbanks gets over 1.3 million visitors annually, its sees lots of humanoids. This species ranks high among our showiest raptors, and I'll never miss an opportunity to work with Buteo lineatus.

PHOTO NOTE: Although our primary goal on this relatively brief outing was landscapes and fall color, photographically I was armed for bear. One never knows when something like this hawk might present itself. As always, at least for the past 5+ years, I was armed with the Canon R5, a truly amazing mirrorless camera. It's update, the R5 II, emerged last year, and I'd like to update to that, but that's yet to happen.

Anyways, when I saw the hawk, I parked some distance away, and Shauna moved in with her handheld Nikon Z8 and 150-600 lens. She got some awesome shots. It took me a bit longer to get in position, as I installed the Canon 800mm f/5.6 lens, and Canon's 1.4x teleconverter, making for a focal length of 1120mm. It's almost always better to work as far from animal subjects, especially birds, as possible - or at least stay far enough away to not bother them.

The 800mm can turn in mixed results with a teleconverter attached. It's more glass to shoot through, focus acquisition slows a bit, and achieving tack-sharp images can be difficult. I also have Canon's 2x teleconverter, which makes the 800mm a whopping 1600mm. That sounds good on paper, but in reality, it's very hard to get sharp, crisp images with the 2x, and you lose two stops, so f/11 is the lowest aperture one can shoot at. It's f/8 with the 1.4x. You'll want lots of light to attempt the 2x. But if the subject is close enough, especially larger subjects, the 1.4x/800 combo can produce nice images. I don't know exactly how far I was from this hawk, but it was distant enough that it paid me no mind. I was really hoping it's drop down and grab a gartersnake - it was warm enough for one to be moving about - and return with it to a convenient perch for snake/hawk pics. Red-shoulders eat lots of herps: amphibians and reptiles.

I made this image at f/8, 1/500 shutter speed, and ISO 1250. I used a tripod, of course - handholding the 11.5 pound R5/800 unit is tough, and the keeper rate will plummet without a tripod.
 

Why I disagree with those defending turf grasses

 

Drifts of native plants threaten to engulf the author's front yard/Jim McCormac

Why I disagree with those defending turf grasses

NATURE
Columbus Dispatch
November 2, 2025

A friend recently sent me a column entitled “Dispelling social media myths about gardening, pollinators and more.”

Myth-busting is always a step forward in our intellectual progress, whether said myth originates on social media, or anywhere else. The problem with this column, which is making the rounds, is that it perpetuates many falsehoods, rather than correct them. It essentially appears to be a defense of turf grass, and other biodiversity-reducing landscape activities.

Turf grass, sod, lawn — whatever you want to call it — is conspicuous and pervasive. An estimated 40-50 million acres of the stuff blankets America, and perhaps two million acres cover Ohio. It’s highly likely that most readers manage a lawnscape, as do I (but a much diminished one).
Lawn is typically a monoculture of one species, often bluegrass, fescue, or perhaps rye grass. They’re not species native to North America, hailing from Eurasia. These species are selected for traits such as shallow root systems and quick growth. They create a high-maintenance and utterly artificial ecosystem that supports little in the way of biodiversity.

For much of the growing season, turf grass requires weekly mowings. Such maintenance in the pursuit of superficial aesthetics uses an estimated 800 million gallons of gas annually in America, which is fed to mowers that emit much higher rates of pollution than cars do. The U.S. EPA estimates that 17 million gallons of gas are spilled annually in the pursuit of lawn mowing.

Worse yet, America’s lawns — which collectively blanket an area about the size of New York state — are doused with an estimated 2.4 million tons of fertilizer each year. Turf grass is the United States’ third largest crop, after corn and soybeans. Fertilizer usage pales compared to herbicides, fungicides and pesticides. About 80 million pounds of 2,4-D, malathion, azoxystrobin and all manner of other unpronounceable nasties are dumped on lawns each year. Most of them have deleterious — even fatal — effects on bees, birds, mammals, fish and other aquatic species. Furthermore, these toxins don’t just stay in your yard. Most of them have been detected in groundwater.

I noticed that the column did not mention any of the statistics cited above. The author did cite an expert who informs us that fireflies are not declining. This apparently is part of making a case that light pollution and turf grass has no impact on these charismatic flashers. In other words, don’t worry about leaving those nightlights on and turf grass is just fine for the bugs. That’s not the consensus among groups like The Xerces Society, which is devoted to the study and conservation of invertebrates. I wrote my column of July 20, on fireflies: “Fireflies are scarcer than a few decades ago.” The evidence leaves little doubt that “lightning bugs” are in a downward slide, and lawns and nightlights are part of the problem.

Elsewhere in the columm it is stated: “Many on social media suggest lawns are sterile and have no use.” Guilty as charged, and I do not know of a botanist, ecologist, entomologist or zoologist who wouldn’t feel like I do. And I know a lot of those types.

Biodiversity plummets in largely sterile monocultures of nonnative turf grass. Most of our native insects — the base layer of the food chain — are tightly tied to native flora. This makes sense, as those relationships were forged over very long time periods, far longer than the comparatively recent arrival of Europeans in America and the Old-World flora that they brought and continue to bring.

One insect group that does not flourish in turf grass are the so-called grass skipper butterflies. “Do you like skipper butterflies? Turfgrass is needed for many species of skippers as their larvae feed on insects in the turfgrass.” So states the column.

All grasses are not created equal, and the native grasses such as bluestems, redtop and rice cutgrasses far outshine turf grasses. Of the 16 species of grass skippers that regularly occur in Ohio, all of their caterpillars feed on native grasses (not “insects in the turfgrass”).

Moths are far more speciose than butterflies and vital to food chains, especially their caterpillars. Their diversity sinks to nearly nothing in turf grass meadows. A handful of species can endure the botanical desert, such as some armyworms, cutworms, grass-veneers and sod webworms. Lawns are effective at creating biological dead zones.

Those who wish to help wildlife and create a more environmentally friendly landscape should look to using native plants. There are over 1,800 native plants species in Ohio, and an ever-increasing number of them are finding their way into the nursery trade. As I and scores of others know from experience, adding native flora fosters fireflies, skipper butterflies and all manner of cool moths. Birds such as Carolina wrens, tufted titmice and migrant warblers benefit as a result.

Naturalist Jim McCormac writes a column for The Dispatch on the first and third Sundays of the month. He also writes about nature at jimmccormac.blogspot.com.

Moth talk and hike, Highbanks Metro Park, November 8, 3 pm.

 

Thanks to Claire Whillans, naturalist at Highbanks Metro Park, for creating this nice flyer!

On Saturday, November 8, I'm giving a talk about moths and their amazing roles in food webs and ecology, at Highbanks Metro Park just north of Columbus, Ohio. It's free, and all are welcome.

After the talk, we'll - at least those that wish - will talk a mile or so stroll around Highbanks, seeing what we can see (and hear). While moths will probably be in short supply, birds and botany won't and we'll look at whatever presents itself. A natural history free-for-all, if you will.

Hope to see you there!

Gibellula fungus, a spider killer

 

An unfortunate spider, engulfed by a Gibellula fungus. If an airborne Gibellula spore lands on a suitable victim, the fungus will grow and enter its body, eventually consuming much of the spider's soft inner parts. In a grisly last hurrah, fruiting bodies erupt from the carcass's corpse, sending legions of spores into the air stream to seek new spider victims. And to think, you have probably had many of these microscopic spores land on you. Hopefully the fungus never manages to jump ship to Homo sapiens, or some tough times lay ahead. Highland County, Ohio, July 16, 2022.

NOTE: I am laboring hard to delete my photographic backlog and am making great strides. There have been periods where I was taking FAR more images than I could curate and archive, so some of those folders got stuffed into a "to-do" file. Now is the time to buckle down and get all of these images into my system, where I can easily lay hands on them if needed. So, from time t time, I will probably out a photo or two from the past, as I come across temporarily forgotten gems (although I'm not sure anyone would consider a Gibellula fungus and its unfortunate victim a "gem").

Lawrence's Warbler

A scrubby successional habitat in Medina County, on a fine morning. I visited this site on June 11, 2025, to seek a very special bird. Letha House Park is part of the Medina County Park District, and it contains a diverse mixture of habitats: old fields, young forest, wetlands, a pond, and most germane to this story, young shrubby thickets.

On April 29, the rare hybrid Lawrence's Warbler was discovered in the very patch in my photo above. The white flowers, by the way, are Smooth Beardtongue (Penstemon digitalis). It wasn't that herb that lured the Lawrence's Warbler, though, it was the mixture of young pole-sized trees and associated brushy growth.

While I can't recall now who found the bird, I think it was Debbie Parker, and/or Joe Wojnarowski. Both reported the bird to eBird on April 29, the first date it was reported. I watched the reports with great interest as time went on but was too busy with various activities to make the trip, although the Lawrence's was reported daily throughout May.

As always, click the photo to enlarge

Finally! June 11 arrives and so does a free and clear day. I hit the road long before sunup and arrived on a beautifully sunny morning with excellent light for photography. I don't think I had even fully exited the vehicle before I heard the hybrid's distinctive buzzy song and soon found the singer in a young sycamore.

The Lawrence's Warbler is a hybrid between the Blue-winged Warbler (Vermivora cyanoptera) and Golden-winged Warbler (V. chrysoptera). The former parent species remains fairly common where appropriate habitat remains, while the latter parent has declined alarmingly across much of its range.

If one uses the Biological Species Concept as a framework for deciding what constitutes a species (as many scientists do), they will be confronted with this tenet: The biological species concept defines a species as members of populations that actually or potentially interbreed in nature, not according to similarity of appearance. Although appearance is helpful in identifying species, it does not define species.

Differing visual appearances sometimes have little to do with speciation. Take the Eastern and Western meadowlarks (Sturnella magna and S. neglecta). Most birders would struggle mightily telling those two apart visually. But their songs are different as night and day and with the slightest experience, anyone would instantly recognize them. Those songs probably serve as a primary barrier in limiting contact between the two. There is a narrow band of overlapping range, but even there, hybridization is apparently very rare.

Yet the Blue-winged and Golden-winged warblers look completely different. Anyone would think they were different species with just a glance. And indeed, they are and always have been treated as separate species. But should they?

The Medina County Lawrence's Warbler strikes a pose. I would argue that it is more beautiful than either parent species, or its fellow hybrid the Brewster's Warbler.

About 190 years ago, the legendary frontier ornithologist John James Audubon wrote a letter to his mentor and confidant, John Bachman, in which he speculated that Blue-winged and Golden-winged warblers were the same species. Audubon, a keen observer if there ever was one, no doubt noted mixed pairings and similarities in songs and structure.

It wasn't until 1886 that the inaugural American Ornithologists' Union Checklist of North American Birds appeared, over 50 years after Audubon's prescient Blue-winged/Golden-winged observations noted in his September 15, 1835, missive to Bachman. This checklist is widely considered the standard for North American bird nomenclature. Numerous editions and supplements to the checklist have been published since, but from the first to the current checklist, Blue-winged and Golden-winged warblers have been maintained as separate species. I would note that the scientific name of the Blue-winged changed three times over the checklist's history, and the Golden-winged's twice. English names tend to be far more stable than the ever-shifting landscape of scientific nomenclature.

In the mid-2010's, scientists with the Cornell Lab of Ornithology undertook an intensive study of the genetics of the Blue-winged and Golden-winged warblers. The results weren't very surprising, in my estimation, but provide solid evidence of their genetic similarity. In short, the two "species" are 99.7% genetically identical. Only six regions (0.3%) of the genome reflect distinct differences. This is basically akin to the differences between a human with red hair, and one with blond hair. The Cornall researchers note that the genetic differences between the two groups of Swainson's Thrush (each comprised of three subspecies) are greater than the differences between the two warblers.

When they come into contact, Blue-winged and Golden-winged pairings result in two distinct - and fertile hybrids: the Brewster's Warbler, and Lawrence's Warbler. Brewster's manifests the dominant traits such as the yellow throat and white underparts, while the Lawrence's Warbler manifests recessive traits such as the black throat and yellow underparts. Brewster's hybrids occur more frequently, hence my interest in seeing and photographing the protagonist of this blog post (only the second Lawrence's that I've seen).

The only other member of the genus Vermivora is the now extinct Bachman's Warbler, named for Audubon's confidante and a great naturalist in his own right. That species, which was a specialist of canebrake habitats in the southeastern U.S., is now extinct with the last documented observations dating back to the 1960's.

Blue-winged and Golden-winged warblers have probably long hybridized, and for whatever reasons this species complex never fully separated. Their hybridization may serve them well; in helping the Blue-winged/Golden-winged group (I don't think they should be treated as separate species) adapt to changes in the environment, much of which is man-caused. While the recessive and more fragile Golden-winged group of this species complex may die out (and I certainly hope that it does not!), at least the species in the bigger picture may carry on.