Two robust colonies of Trillium (Trilliam ovatum) grow along one of the hidden trails in the Forest. I have been watching them for close to 20 years now, and remember the delight I had the first time I found perhaps a half dozen blossoms right there by the trailside. The other frequent walkers knew of them too, but spoke gingerly of their presence. We feared that too much information could bring in humans who might not understand.
Trillium (Trillium ovatum)
The frequent walkers speak of this trail as Where Trillium Grows. We begin to search in mid January, knowing that nothing will be there but anticipating the promise of their presence. Every year in mid-February there is whispered gossip, "the Trillium are up", and each of us makes a solitary pilgrimage, pushing aside brush and winter's fallen branches to visit the place Where Trillium Grows.
This year I counted over 80 blossoms. Fully 80 blossoms and as many non-blooming stems and so many babies, two and three leaved youngsters coming up. Trillium are a threatened species here, and are especially threatened in the Forest's tiny fragment of original ecosystem. It takes seven years or more for a Trillium seed to grow from sprout to blossom.
On April 11 I posted a rant, which contained this:
Sometime over the last two days, someone picked almost a quarter of the plants from one of the colonies. Perhaps 20 stems, maybe more. Only a half inch of ragged stem remained where each plants used to be.
I tried to imagine how this could have happened and how I might excuse it. My scenario had a young couple wandering through the woods, clueless and in love. One saw blooming trillium and exclaimed over their beauty. The other, doing their best to impress, waded in to bring up an arm full of love. OK, I would still have yelled at them had I met them in the afterglow, but I would have yelled in a kind manner.
We were out of town for a bit after that. On returning, my first visit to the Forest drew me directly to Where Trillium Grows. The colony seemed even more diminished, but I couldn't quite say how. Still, one fat healthy clump remained, knee high, its flowers beginning to purple up and many babies at its feet.
On Thursday I visited again and the last plants were gone - strafed from ground level, no blossoms, no leaves, no babies. Gone. I could not believe what I saw, could not understand why anyone would go to such lengths to take a whole Trillium colony from a public park. I yelled, very loudly, using words that my parents told me were quite unladylike. Later in the evening I did the unthinkable, called upon whatever Trillium Goddess there might be to curse the culprits with boils, huge festering boils between each and every one of their toes.
More below the orange imprecation-->
Something kept nagging at me as I thought about the damage - almost every plant had been taken. Humans go for flash. There's no reason that a human might destroy a whole colony of threatened plants, unless out of utter spite or for some arcane ceremonial purpose. I could imagine the first, but had a hard time imagining anyone walking all that distance to a hidden place, more than once, to do such a thing. No one I spoke with had any knowledge of the second.
This was in the background when I began working with some of the frequent walkers and a few like-minded individuals in the city Parks Department to design and post educational signs at the entrances to the Forest. Our hope is that these signs will help visitors become aware of the Forest's importance as a glimpse of the city's original landscape, and to encourage them to protect and nurture this tiny fragment of old forest.
It was too late to put up signs about the fragility of the Trillium colonies, but we'd made a deadline of Sunday night to gather photos and text explaining the roles of other Forest inhabitants. One of my jobs was to find good images of Spotted Towhee, Douglas Squirrel and Mountain Beaver. As I searched I found a photo of a Mountain Beaver burrow with neat piles of harvested vegetation gathered by its entrance. (I'm not sure if it's OK to post this photo, but you can find it here. It's the one on the bottom row.)
In looking at the photo I began to consider the possibility that the Trillium thief might not be human.
Saturday afternoon I went back and did a thorough search around the area where the Trillium had been harvested. About 8 feet from the center of the late colony was the entrance to an active Mountain Beaver burrow. In and around the entrance of the burrow were snipped off Sword Fern fronds and Big Leaf Maple seedlings.
Sunday afternoon I returned to search the burrow entrance. There were no piles of vegetation visible, just a few ivy leaves and Big-leaf Maple seedlings scattered around its edges.
April 29, 2012. Entrance to Mountain Beaver burrow.
When I looked closer I caught a glimpse of bright green just inside the entrance.
April 29, 2012. The glimpse of bright green, circled.
I pulled it out. A second fragment was just under the first. I unfolded them on a fallen log,
April 29, 2012. Unfolded bright green fragments.
and then compared them to the leaves of one of the surviving Trillium plants.
April 29, 2012. Leaf fragments and surviving Trillium.
Given the similarity of the leaf fragments to those of the intact Trillium I'm almost certain about the identity of the creature who would take a whole colony of threatened plants:
Aplodontia rufa, the Mountain Beaver.
Mountain Beaver were plentiful in the Forest until Coyote arrived few years ago. The Parks workers welcomed Coyote. With no predators, Mountain Beaver had taken over parts of the Forest, in some places stripping the ground of all of its vegetation. Coyote provided some relief. Unfortunately, Coyote raised just one family and then moved on. Mountain Beaver stayed and has apparently thrived.
So let it be known that tonight I take back the boils. Instead, I call upon whatever Coyote Goddess there might be to bring her creatures back to the Forest. And please, make it as soon as possible.