Final orchid paintings, aloha to Hawaii, mahalo to all

My last evening here in Hawai'i, in the village of Napo'opo'o. The waves crash, yet the air is still. I reflect on the closing of orchid painting workshop, and the lovely work done by all. Amber, our chef par excelence, who made yummy healthy meals of fish, fruit, and lots of leafy greens, here looking very serious (as she is preparing pupus and pizzas for 15 of us at our final dinner):

I like the pens hanging off her apron! Sue, with her work on the wall (we share our art with the neighbors during this closing "show" and dinner celebration):

Here is Sue's final piece:

(Pardon quality of scans, but isn't this a beautiful painting?)

Her sister Jane's with her work, and following that, her final piece:

Lovely work Jane; I especially like the foliage. Last but not least, Robyn with her work, and her final piece for the workshop:

Again, lovely. Robyn would want me to tell you that the "alien" painting near her head is actually a straight-on look at an orchid column, cap removed, and not a portrait of a friend or family member!

In addition to Amber, who is nothing short of incredible, and the students, who were a dream to work with, I wish to thank Pam and Mike, our hosts, Christopher (owner/operator of Pacific Orchid Farms, and supplier of our orchids), and all of the understanding and supportive neighbors of this wonderful little village. Pictured below, Christopher, his lovely lady Keala, and neighbor Nancy Griffith (an extremely interesting person...deserving a blog of her own...) at our evening celebration. Mahalo to all, until next year, Linda

Painting Leaves and Stems

Morning at Kealakekua Bay, aloha. Orchid painting participants Sue, Jane, and Robyn are gone: thanks to them for being such wonderful students and just lovely individuals. It is not yet 7 am, have been up since 5, I like to feel the day begin. It is now full on morning, birds are on the downside of their morning wake-up party. Surge of waves a bit calmer than earlier, but I still expect a splashy day. Amber, our magnificent chef (and proprietor of North Shore Cafe, in White Salmon, Washington) leaves this morning, I leave tomorrow. But let me share with you some of our last lessons, and the final paintings of Sue, Jane, and Robyn.

After some quick sketches and rough painting on hot and cold press paper, doing value studies of the flowers, and practicing painting white flowers, it was time to work on painting orchid foliage. Stems first. Below is my sample page where I worked on creating demos; as always I learn as much from preparing the demo as from the actual demonstration for others.

One of the first excercises before painting orchid stems (or other plant stems) is to practice brush work painting lines. Some stems can be brushed with one stroke only, making sure to hold the brush in line with the stem being painted, rather than the normal brush position. This is because when painting, one edge of the brush stroke (the top) often is smooth, whereas the other is rough (the bottom). See below:

Look at the stem you are painting: a common mistake is to start too dark, in that like other parts of the flower the color will (or can, your choice) be built up in layers. The first layer is to establish the stem's width and overall shading or value, the next is to emphasize values, the last to add lines for veins, or any color markings. The next image shows 4 stem paintings (note...these are very quick and rough). The first (farthest to left) was made by laying down a stroke for the stem, then lifting up paint with a brush with a little bit of water, and no pigment. Voila, three-dimmnsionality. The next (to right), was made by laying down one stroke for the stem, then adding a bit of darker green to one side, to emphasize that the stem is round. The stem second from the right has lines over preliminary layers, implying veins, and the final, rightmost stem, has a bit of red coloration as the final layer.

Bottom line, as per usual: practice, practice, practice! As for leaves, below is my practice demo sheet for painting orchid leaves (and pseudobulbs, below leaves):

First a nice clean drawing is done, with leaves folded and curved in various ways, for interest. Next light layers of green are applied, using a larger brush (7 or 8 round, Winsor Newton series 7), for the larger areas. Layers are let dry before the next is applied; each layer should show something about the shape of the leaves...indicated by the value of the areas to be painted. As with stems, the final layers can be line work to show veins. Below is a detail of the above demo:

Enough for now. My next entry will show Sue, Jane, and Robyn's final pieces. They each took only one day to do these: I was favorably impressed!

Painting white flowers

Aloha from Kealakekua Bay and more orchid painting. As students focus on completing one final painting for the workshop (after a very fun field trip to Pacific Orchid Farms at the other side of the island) I am sharing some of their studies created 2 days ago, when they worked on painting white flowers.

The first day of the workshop we worked on value studies and understanding the parts of the orchid, such as shown for the cultivar Bllra. Tahoma Glacier 'Sugar Sweet' as illustrated below:

When painting white flowers, such as this orchid or similar ones (like the one imaged below), an artist must think "white isn't really all white", and think of ways to show the orchid so that it isn't the floral equivalent of a picture of a snowman in a snowstorm!

The photograph above demonstrates one of the most spectacular ways to paint white flowers: make the background dark, such as the dark foliage in this image.

Robyn and Jane graciously allowed me to share their studies with you. First Robyn made some thumbnail sketches to decide what would be the most effective color to use as a background to her orchid painting:

She decided on the color she liked the best, carefully painted in the background around her full-sized pencil drawing of her orchid flower, and then painted the orchid. You can paint the orchid flower first, but it takes much longer, and if you make a mistake on the background painting it is really annoying (to say the least) to then have to repaint the more complicated orchid flower.

I think she chose a great color for the background, don't you? Here is her test strip juxtaposed with the painting, so you can think about what the other backgrounds might have looked like:

Jane decided on a color for her background, and experimented with varying the color in it a bit. For example she added the green in the lower right to balance with the green color in the stem and flower buds in the upper right. She also worked on differing the look of the flower in the background, where you see the back of the flower, with the flower in the foreground, where you see all of the detail of the orchid labellum (lower lip) and column (pistil and stamens fused together):

I think the upper flower really pops, and was impressed with how well the subtle painting of the back flower worked to create three dimmensionality.

Two other ways to paint white flowers are to outline in pen and ink, as in my image below:

Or, one can exaggerate the values of the flower, with white areas in the foreground tinted with warm colors such as yellow, and areas that recede tinted with cool colors such as blue. The trick here is that warm colors tend to move forward, and cool colors tend to recede.

All three methods of painting white flowers can be seen in my study of Calla Lily (which is of course not a flower, but a sheath-like spathe enclosing the spike of flowers, the spadix):

Sue's Day One Orchid Paintings

Sue bravely said she would share her paintings from Day 1 of our orchid painting workshop with the world.

First, her 15 minute sketch of a white-flowered Oncidiinae orchid:

She thought it was a great loosening up exercise.

Next her value study of the same orchid (a way to get to know the orchid better, and study darks and lights):

Sue's comments on the value study were, "oops", the lower sepal on the left was hiding behind the rest of the orchid flower, so she would, on her next painting, use "artistic license" and put it in. She also commented that getting the right value is harder than you might think, but it makes you focus on bringing the image into 3D.

At this point she had two different perspectives of the same orchid flower, so she decided to put them together in one piece:

This image was made by tracing each of the two previous flowers in the positions that they would be in if they were on the same plant. This painting is on hot press using Winsor Newton "Neutral Tint" (a blackish-gray color); the previous painting was on cold press, also using Neutral Tint. NOTICE: the added lower left sepal that was missing in the previous painting! Sue's comment on this final piece for the day is: "practice, practice makes perfect!"

Aloha from Hawaii Orchid Painting

Some quick postings to give a feel for this year's orchid painting workshop. My guests arrived Sunday evening, and we had a wonderful meal presented by Amber, our chef, started to get to know each other, and then retired to our various sleeping places to dream of orchids and painting, sounds of waves, warm tropical breezes.

Yesterday was our first day drawing and painting, so we started with a 15 minute sketch of a flower to warm up and begin to feel relaxed about drawing....to get in the groove. Here is mine.

Next we spent some time sketching some details in the flower.....

as a great way to get to know the orchid a little better. The final assignment for the day was to try a value study on both cold press and hot press watercolor paper. I went to dark to fast on my cold-press version:

and finally a version on hot press watercolor paper:

 More about today's endeavor's, but on a lighter note, look what we had for lunch today:

yummy!

Painting is painting is painting

This writing from 17 September 2012, just posted today (16 October).

Preparing for a show to be hung tomorrow, been emersed in painting on silk, and painting with watercolors. The same, yet different. I have been doing watercolors for many years now, and understand the colors, the texture of paint, how to layer (as in onion image below), how much load the brush should carry for the effect I want. Here is the painting process for watercolor.

I make a drawing that is as precise as possible, without a lot of detail, but with all lines clean and clear so that they won’t show up in my final artwork. Then I build up the colors gradually; the first layer is very light pastels…as much as anything to dampen the paper a bit so the next layer will go on readily, with edges forming smooth lines rather than rough edges. At all times I think about where I am going with the piece; what I would like the final image to look like. And with each brush stroke, and each layer, I am walking towards that final destination: my mind’s image of the final product. But as with any journey, the road offers up unexpected adventures and the endpoint is often not exactly what I had imagined!

Botanical paintings usually are represented by two separate color palettes: one for the flowers themselves (in a lily example yellows and oranges), and one for the foliage (various greens). I like to use two different palettes for mixing these different suites of colors.

I lay down a layer from one palette, the flowers for example, and while that layer is drying, I switch and lay down a layer from the other palette, in this case the leaves. I switch back and forth between the two palettes, letting layers dry as I switch to a different part of the painting, all the time being very careful not to smudge or drip on the painting!

At this point I’d like to bring up a phrase so commonly used to describe painting with watercolor: “they are unforgiving”! Well, they are, and they aren’t. Let’s take the latter first. Most think of watercolors as unforgiving because you can’t just erase or white-out mistakes, and that is very true. But also, some hues in watercolor stain the paper, and those (like viridian) should be used very cautiously, because once they are applied no amount of washing up can bring the paper back to anything even resembling white. But save for staining colors I find watercolors to be very forgiving in that colors can be lifted up as well as laid down.

There are several ways to lift color. The swiftest is to blot up color that one has just applied with the brush. My favorite tool is a paper towel, and I always paint with brush in one hand and paper towel in the other. If a quick blot doesn’t do the job, or one needs more precise and selective lifting, applying water to an area with the brush, next drying the brush, then using the dry brush as if painting results in lifting up the paint. Sometimes it is necessary to take an older brush and “scrub” the paper where you wish to remove color. In botanical art with the traditional white background artists sometimes use a very fine abrasive (such as “magic eraser” cleaning product) to sand off a blotch or drip (or cat paw tracks) that mysteriously appeared on the background area.

Each painting for me has a predictable emotional ride. It is relaxed and methodical in the beginning: I have my tools laid out, my work area is clean, I have my subject in front of me to reference frequently as I work. I select color for my palette, and mix those to use for the first layers of my painting. As I build up the layers, I begin to get increasingly anxious, as the painting walks further and further away from my imagined result (something much more perfect and impressive than photo-realism…). Then I persevere, having a mental argument with myself that all will be OK, just don’t get so frustrated and impatient that I start being sloppy (as this is NOT a sloppy endeavor). Finally toward the final layers, I begin to see that a beautiful painting might be taking shape, and by the time I add the line details which really make the painting “pop” I begin to relax and feel that is OK to be a painter.

Lilies to Lilies

Spring and summer for me are times of packing, leaving, fieldwork, returning, regrouping, packing, leaving…and so on. My last trip did not disappoint. I taught a four-day intensive plant identification workshop, which I lovingly refer to as my “Crash Course”….you get the idea? Emphasis on intensive… but fun too. Next a day in the field, a day of rest (laundry), followed by three days of meeting with the Native Plant Society of Oregon (NPSO): and this all at the amazingly lovely Deer Creek Center, home of the Siskiyou Field Institute (SFI).

            I have been coming down to this region of southwestern Oregon, the western Siskiyous, since 1978, first to botanize and revel in the amazing diversity of plants (like Lilium bolanderi shown above, WOW!), and later as the location of my field studies on the genus Arabis, or rockcress (Arabis aculeolata, the Waldo Rockcress, shown below being visited by a bombyliid fly).

 

I can’t recall when I started leading field trips for SFI, but it was long ago, and in recent years I frequently meet folks who attended one of my earlier hikes. Those were the dog-friendly days, and as much as people remember the places and plants, they remember my most feisty and energetic rock dog, tail-chasing Jack Russell Terrier, Josie.

 

Now SFI has its own field station (my deepest thanks to the anonymous donor), complete with accommodations for campers and those needing a room, and a wonderful classroom with dissecting microscopes for all! Hurrah for botany! I had 12 in my group this year, and we alternated classroom time including slides, lectures, and keying plants, with time in the field, reinforcing what we learned.

Day one: local Pitcher Plant fens and drive up the TJ Howell Memorial Highway (a forest service road named for one of Oregon’s pioneer botanists). I cannot list here the variety of native plants we saw, but one highlight was the purple milkweed (Asclepias cordifolia) above and below), complete with tiny monarch butterfly larvae—milkweeds are always an interesting place to look for insects.

Day two: a hike to Babyfoot Lake, shown below, to see the effects of the Biscuit Fire on its 10-year anniversary (and swim in the lake--a classic Vorobik field trip). Day three: botanizing the montane meadow and area around Bolan Lake (and swim). Day four: back at the lab with an intensive day of learning plant family characteristics and keying (and noon potluck).

The annual meeting of the Native Plant Society of Oregon was special for me, in that I have been involved with it since 1980, edited its bulletin and its journal, and this society includes many mentors and friends. During my talk I spoke a bit about the 2002 Biscuit Fire, as it was one of the largest that year at 500,000 acres in size, and came within a very few miles of the Deer Creek Center.

As our climate changes and droughts become more frequent and extreme, many of us have experienced wildfires. The two that are intimately in my history are the 1991 Oakland, CA firestorm that destroyed the homes of some of my friends, and the 2002 Biscuit fire, that transformed the Babyfoot Lake Botanical Area from an old growth conifer forest, including huge Sugar Pines, Douglas firs, and the Klamath endemic, Brewer’s Spruce, into a fire-ravaged moonscape, at least in places. (Above: the moderately burned rocky outcrop within the Babyfoot Lake Botanical area, with lewisias, penstemons, stonecrops, and 3 beautiful little rock ferns. Below: fire-ravaged forest in 2002).

The fire’s occurrence provided an excellent teaching opportunity. For many years before the fire I led field trips to the lake, to look at the plants, hike, and swim (a botanical baptism of sorts). We would enjoy the cool of the dark forest, and look at several different orchids, including Fairy Slipper Orchids, Phantom Orchids, and Coralroot Orchids. Post fire, the suite of plants had changed, but from the ashes comes re-growth!

There are several plants that are now conspicuously absent from the dead forest, notably all of the aforementioned orchids, but most of the shrubs came back vigorously from crown-sprouting. And wildfires do not burn uniformly…some spots are devoid of life immediately after the fire, some are passed over.

Though the character of this place has completely changed, I cannot communicate the optimism I experience when I re-travel these paths, and see the thriving shrubs, the white waves of blooming beargrass, and lower down, smell the sweet-scented Shasta Lilies in full flower.

Darlingtonia fens (real American Beauty)

I am off for another field adventure, to teach, give a talk, show my art, and all in the amazing Siskiyou Mountains of southwestern Oregon. These are not the majestic Sierra, nor the emerald Cascades, but rather a mosaic of many rivers and old eroded landscapes, where the influence of glaciers has been minimal, and because of this and other factors, the plant diversity is great. Darlingtonia, Darmera, Vancouveria, Calochortus, Trillium, violets, butterworts, calypso, coralroot, and lady slipper orchids!

Here on Lopez, the day before the 4^th of July, the sun is just working its way through the clouds, clouds that dropped a heavy load of moisture on hopefully not-too-unhappy campers early this morning. The moist air, the cool of it all, reminds me of my first trip to the Siskiyous. I was working for The Nature Conservancy out of Portland, with my Bachelor’s degree still freshly pocketed, and had heard about how interesting the Siskiyous were. One weekend Bonnie Brunkow, my dog, and I piled into Jack Poff’s VW bug for the five hour drive south. Bonnie, who later served many years as the Director of the Leach Botanical Garden; Jack, who was the gardener for the Berry Botanical Garden; and Tuka, who proved to be “best dog ever”. I remember the trip as being gray and rainy, like today, but though our clothes where damp, our spirits danced to the music of serpentine landscapes and to us, exotic habitats with their  fascinating plants.

Darlingtonia, for example. The cobra lily or “California” pitcher plant, Darlingtonia californica,  occurs in some extensive fens (bog-like wetlands that occur on slopes, less acidic than bogs, with a different suite of accompanying mosses) in the vicinity of Eight Dollar Mountain, where I teach through the Siskiyou Field Institute. The cobra-like leaves entice in the neighborhood midges and spiders (from my poetic point of view) with cathedral deception: the hooded tops of the leaves have clear “windows” that must, from the fly’s perspective, look like stained glass. What to do but to fly towards these beauteous panes? …only to bump into the hood’s ceiling, and be lured downward into the tube, but alas! …downward-pointing hairs making escape impossible, and decent into the pool of insect-dissolving enzymes inevitable.

To the insect the fen may be a dangerous place, with carnivorous pitcher plants, as well as butterworts (Pinguicula macroceras), their leaves that act like fly paper, or Drosera rotundifolia, with leaves that catch small flies and other insects with round “dew drop” glands on its leaves (thus the name sun dew?), not to mention the presence of other non-photosynthetic carnivores (such as the yellow-legged frog?...).

But to the botanist the fen is a wonderland. Imagine being in a land whose serpentine soils are desert-like, due to their non-garden-like qualities: baked dry and hard in the summer, and sticky wet in the spring, where the harsh iron-magnesium-nickel environment discourages most plants from growing or at least thriving, such that bare ground is not unusual. And in the midst of this gray-green desert is the oasis of the fen, heralded by the sweet fragrance of western azalea (Rhododendron occidentalis) and the beauty of a showy native orchid, Cypripedium californicum.

Drawing lines

I am drawing today, so a few notes about warm-ups, and drawing lines:

Do you have rituals to get you in that creative art groove? I definitely do, as the blank sheet of paper is a scary thing. The very first thing I do is to clean my drawing space...sometimes it starts with my entire house (....it depends on how artistically blocked I am), sometimes it is just a matter of tidying up my drafting table. That done, I arrange the materials I am going to use, usually just a 0.5 mm mechanical pencil, and some kind of paper. For warm ups, the backsides of printouts that are in the recycle box work great.

I sit down, I breathe, I straighten my posture by imagining that I am suspended from that string attached to the top of my head. Strong string! It lets the body hang, the back is straightened not by pushing with muscles up, but by suspension from the gods above....lord help me if they remember that I am just their puppet.... I breathe again, deeply, reminding my body that it is oxygen that gives me life. Life, what a wonderful thing: to be able to sit at my drawing table and prepare to draw. Ahhh....

On to the warm-up mechanics. Pencil in hand, paper below, arms hanging at my side, gently. Let go of tension in shoulders, in hands. Breathe. First lines are straight, I pull them towards me, making them flow with my exhale. Breathe in, pull line towards me, making line as straight as possible, relaxed as possible. I fill the page with pulled straight lines. Note: Some have excellent hand-eye coordination naturally, (especially if they haven't had too much caffeine), a few have a natural tremor and will never be able to remove the quiver from their lines.

Next step: curved lines. Same process. Breathe in, relax, exhale, pull the line toward me, but this time in an arc, and drawing the arc from the inside, as if I am the center of this drawing universe, and the line I am creating encircles me. Curved lines, smooth and beautiful, drawn from the inside, like frowns, but with smiley energy. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

Next step: parallel lines. Or, more precisely, equidistant lines. This is the tough stuff in botanical art. Master this and you can go a long way. What are stems? Just parallel lines. Draw two lines with one line heavier (wider) than the other, and you have drawn a shaded stem. Start with the straight lines. Try drawing a few lines equidistant from the straight lines you have already drawn. Not so easy, is it? Now, think about what you are doing. You have to look at the line you have already laid down, and let your eyes rest on it a few millimeters (or an eighth of an inch, if you will), in front of the point of your pencil. The eye coordinates with the hand. They eye looks and leads. Leads the hand to follow the course of the line, keeping the second line at the same distance from the first. Parallel lines. If this is tough for you, rest assured, it was tough for me too! Practice, practice, practice. Good drawing skills must be learned; think of yourself as a musician, honing your skills.

Next step. Lines equidistant from the curved lines you have drawn. As in the last paragraph, but follow the curved lines.

Final step. Circles. Draw circles. Let the lines flow smoothly, start and stop without breaking. Try using the whole arm, or whole body to create the circle. The goal is to have a nice round circle, with the lines meeting perfectly. No overlap. Try big circles; try little ones. Lots of little ones (great exercise if you are stuck on hold).

If you have managed to read through this, and are not an artist or an aspiring artist, wow, thank you! I will tie it in to life a bit. Good botanical art needs good lines, good lines come from focus, and practice, and relaxation. Good botanical art is a meditation. An escape? Perhaps. To me, a journey to a place that I really enjoy.

April 2012 took me to the book-signing of the second edition of "The Jepson Manual"--I was principal illustrator. It was good to see other contributors, the production team, old friends, but the real treat of travel was what was to come: I was off to the Sierra Nevada for a botanical foray. When you say you are "off to the mountains," many would think of hiking or skiing or other high elevation adventures. But to the botanist, "off to the foothills," where I was headed, can be equally thrilling. For botanists follow the spring: as the year warms up we visit the desert to see what is blooming, next the low elevations, along the coast, and as the season's temperatures rise, up we go, often ending our botanical year in the alpine.

            Off I went, and on my first morning out, driving up the beautiful Kern Canyon, I was rewarded with seeing the Kern County Larkspur (Delphinium purpusii) for only the second time in my life. It is a big plant, with oddly wrinkled spurs (the reflexed, tube-shaped sepal that holds a nectar reward for pollinators). I was as much amazed by the fruits of this species as by the flowers. By larkspur standards, they were HUGE, and nice and green and shiny too. The canyon had many flowers to see, but was less floriferous than during what botanists refer to as a "good year," where the rain is just enough and comes just at the right times.

            I missed this year's desert trip: it was planned, but there wasn't much rain this year (and it came at the wrong time), I had a debilitating flu, so didn't make it south. But on this trip I had to at least travel over Walker Pass (in the southern Sierra) to see for myself, and found that all the rumors of a dry desert were true. Some shrubs were flowering (they almost always do), but the annuals that on a good year can make rainbows out of hillsides, were tiny and few. I brushed the dust from my boots, turned around, and headed for wetter ground.

            Just west of the summit of Walker Pass there is a spot that the hard-core botanists know of, where the plants are in an unexpected jumble of east-meets-west. Imagine sagebrush (Artemisia--found on the east side of the mountains, especially in the extensive Basin and Range country) meets flannelbush (Fremontodendron-typically on the west side of the mountains). Here there are a few scattered gray pines and juniper trees, sagebrush, and redbud (Cercis occidentalis-another west side species), the latter in full and glorious flower ,as pictured below. I could say so much more about this interesting spot, this vortex in the map of vegetation types, but in words I travel on.

            Up I go, towards one of the Kennedy Meadows (the other that I know of is on the Sonora Pass Highway, north of Yosemite), on the east side of a large ridge, but northwest of Walker Pass. Here there are always some desert wildflowers, as I am higher in elevation. Indeed, the coreopsis was in full bloom, and bush lupine. One of the joys of my botanical forays is that the hours of expected scenes and plants are punctuated by natural anomalies. First there was the fun of seeing Parry's Nolina, an uncommon leaf succulent endemic to southern California, with its flowering stalks ready to burst.

Just below these 8 foot tall monocots,(with their gigantous asparagus-like flowering stalks), there were two bush lupines, side-by-side, one with normal blue-purple flowers, and a genetic variant (not a different species, subspecies, or variety) with pink and white flowers!

      Trying to edit myself down to the highlights (and I say this as a true and full-blooded botanical nerd) is tough. So I will share one more "nerd-highlight," which brings my story back to the character of this particular spring. I traveled from the Walker Pass area north around Lake Isabella, over Greenhorn Summit (which, by the way, was where Purpus--yes, who that larkspur I mentioned is named for--collected the specimen from which Plagiobothrys torreyi var. perplexes was described), headed west towards Highway 99, suffered some freeway time, and then went up into the hills again near Fresno. Here the foothills again gave evidence of little rain and less snowpack (around 50% of normal in the Sierra for the year). Usually at this time of year the rounded granite summits would sheen dark with water, water that seeps through soil and vegetation, over the open rounded rock faces, and collect in streamlets below.

This year there was dry rock, some green, some flowers. But still thriving was the tenacious fern ally, Hansen's spikemoss.

John Game, one of my favorite botanical photographers, has a great picture of the wondrous mats that this little plant forms on the CalPhotos site. Many of thes mats are several feet wide, forming significant continuous groundcover. How much these mats must contribute to capturing and holding water, thus providing more habitat for the growth of other less sturdy plants.

I saw many more species of plants, and I recognized most. This led me to a medium-sized epiphany: it is time to focus more on the actual writing (as opposed to field work) of my book on Sierra Nevada Plants. What a great time to start a blog...perhaps some of you will share this experience with me.

(Pictured below: fruits of Lace Pod, Thysanocarpus curvipes, one of the foothill regulars).