“Rattlesnake!” I cried out as I stopped
abruptly and shifted my pack so I could look down at the ground. Excitement
(not fear) was surely evident in my voice, but not many people would recognize
the source of that excitement. No snake, but several whorls of grayish-green
leaves with white markings hid within the leaf litter along the Minong Ridge
Trail on Isle Royale. The checkboard pattern that adorns the leaves is said to
look like a rattlesnake’s mottled camouflage, while the broadly oval leaves are
similar in shape to plantain leaves (a common plant of yards and disturbed
areas). Together, these features resulted in the name “rattlesnake plantain
orchid” for this beautiful little plant.
Throughout my hike on Isle Royale, I
continued to see clusters of the three different species of rattlesnake
plantain orchid along the trail, as well as several other less distinctive
orchids, already past flowering. The family Orchidaceae is one of the two most
diverse plant families (Asteraceae is the other), and contains more than 22,000
species across the globe. The flowers range from extravagantly beautiful to
dinky and unobtrusive. Many orchids have evolved highly specialized pollination
systems. Some look just like female bees, and attract amorous male bees to do
their cross-pollinating. Many have special landing pads on their petals, and
distinctive scents wafting out to entice visitors.
What fascinates me the most, though, is
what happens after an orchid is pollinated. The seeds that form are almost
microscopic, and over a million of them can fit into the capsule that develops
from a single flower. Being so tiny, they lack an endosperm. This little packet
of starches, oils, and proteins usually gives seeds the energy they need to
germinate, grow their first leaves and roots, and get along until they can
sustain themselves. Corn, beans, and squash are great examples of seeds with
large energy reserves, and their seeds sustain us, too.
Orchids have found another way.
In order for a dust-like orchid seed to
germinate, it must first be infected by a specific fungus. Not all orchids form
a symbiosis (a close living relationship between two species, whether or not
they both benefit) with the same fungus, but each orchid has just one fungal
species, or maybe a few, that will work for it. The fungal mycelia provide the
seed with sugar and nutrients in place of the endosperm. It is unclear if the
fungus receives anything in return. The seeds can’t germinate without their fungus,
except in lab conditions with a source of sugar. Once colonized, a baby orchid
plant, called a protocorm, grows, and eventually produces leaves and roots. Some
orchids never produce leaves or chlorophyll at all, and live out their days
entirely parasitic on a fungus.
Knowing these basics of orchid
germination, the question I’d been asking everyone and everything on the island
baffled me even more: “How did you get here!?” How could these tiny, fragile
seeds make such a long and treacherous journey, 14 to 20 miles across the lake,
and then just happen to land where their friendly fungal partner was already established?
My amazement only deepened when I used
the latrine near our Rock Harbor campsite for the first time. The educational
poster on the inside of the door bragged that Isle Royale is home to 32 species
of orchids. Thirty-two times--at least--over just several thousand years, this
amazing coincidence happened. Wow.
When I shared my amazement with a
mycologist friend, though, he was less impressed. “It’s almost inevitable,” he
shrugged. As it turns out, the numerous, minuscule seeds of orchids are well-adapted
to wind dispersal – in much the same way that pine pollen drifts on the breeze.
That’s how orchids colonize tree trunks in the rainforest. Likewise, fungal
spores are often wind-dispersed, even over many miles, and the species of fungi
that orchids parasitize are quite common.
A little more research revealed that
Ontario –the province just upwind of Isle Royale – has over 50 species of orchids
on its mainland. So maybe 32 species on Isle Royale isn’t that impressive after
all.
With this new information, my amazement
at the simple fact of orchids being on Isle Royale shifted to admiration for
the adaptations that brought them to the island in the first place, and the
intricacies of their symbiotic relationships. Perhaps my question “How did you
get here?” should refer not to the island, but to this moment in time, and the
state of exquisite adaptation housed in a ground-hugging, snake-skin patterned
cluster of grayish-green leaves.
How
quietly, and not with any assignment from us, or even a small hint of
understanding, everything that needs to be done is done. –
Mary Oliver, Luna
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