CHAPARRAL MALLOW UNDERSTORY
When I am studying to live up to the title of botanist, I will flip through the names of thousands of plants. What a thing to know, what an expectation for myself to understand! I fumble for genus names, species names, and subspecies. What are their defining characteristics? What detail must I see? Is it the millimeter difference of a bract, or the width and shape of a leaf? Glume, petal, sheath? Answered with study, ruler, and belief. These questions are sought in the heavy Jepson Manual, where the observations of phytophile build upon one another. More importantly, they are found when I kneel before these small cotyledons, exchange the gift of breath, and something less methodical presents itself to blanket the grief of misunderstanding.
It is the details that give us context. It is the letters that make the words, and the words that form the sentence. Walking and seeing these individuals within populations, I see the story come together. This spring, while doing a survey through a stand of chaparral mallow, Malacothamnus nuttallii, I was surprised by a plant I knew so well. As an individual, it has deep sea-green leaves with a dustiness to its look, defined by minute star-shaped hairs. It grows tall, then spreads through relentless rhizomes. This plant follows fire, and I often find myself looking out onto the foothills below the sharp-toothed peak of White Ledge, where the dusty lime green is swathed across the hills.
I assumed that this plant, seeming so aggressive, would crowd out other plants. And yet, it had a diverse understory providing dappled shade for smaller perennials and annual flowers. Seemingly lonely and robust, the space danced with delicacy. I crawled between the mallow among fellow surveyors, rattling off the names of countless plants. There was a gleeful twining snapdragon (Antirrhinum kelloggii). From the smallest pedestal, as thin as a string, the violet flower twined and levitated with a quirky disposition. Whispering bells (Emmenanthe penduliflora) glowed among the openings. Golden yarrow (Eriophyllum confertiflorum), laden with orange blossoms, sat next to the lemon maple aroma of pearly everlasting (Pseudognaphalium californica). May I go on? Purple nightshade (Solanum xanti), a consistent and early flower forever tied to Southern California understories, bordered a population of elegant Fremont’s star lily (Toxicoscordion fremontii). We filled out survey papers with notes and plants as emerald green native bees buzzed among the flowers.
I paint this moment to share the details that web together the landscape of Ojai at this point in time. The genus Malacothamnus is a fire follower, so though it is common now, in mature stands of chaparral its populations diminish over time. So, in this moment, I ask myself, how resilient are these communities? How do they set the stage for future generations? I find the roots of the answer within the understory. With more layers of natives, comes more complexity in the habitat, and in turn, greater resiliency. The adaptability and flexibility of the ecosystem is founded on these seemingly small relationships. There is no doubt that the hills will change, creating different forms of mosaics of plants.
However, within the seed bank, these communities are preserved in time. With this in mind, our teams can help build and replicate these communities in places where the seed bank is exhausted and suppressed by years of non-native species and human disturbance. More importantly, it gives us an understanding of the details that create the web we live within.
Sophie McLean, Native Plant Specialist