With the caveat that you should have an knowledgeable plant person confirm any identification, let me quickly outline how you figure out if that plant is Giant Hogweed or something else.

The confounding factor here is all four plants above have white flowers in an umbel (a botanical term to describe the arrangement and shape of the flowers—I’ve included an illustration of what an umbel structure looks like below).

Giant Hogweed Dichotomous Key

So beginning with the assumption that you have a plant with an umbel of white flowers in the GTA, you can try your hand at identification with this key. Please be aware that this key will only work with a mature plant, and Giant Hogweed can take two years to reach the flowering stage. The key is dichotomous, meaning that you will be given two choices. Answer each question with one of the provided choices, go to number and you will come up with an identification.

1: Look at the flower.
If it is 15 cm in diameter (measured from flower edge to flower edge) or larger, go to 3
If it is 14 cm in diameter (measured from flower edge to flower edge) or smaller, go to 2

2: Good news! A small flower means that this is probably not Giant Hogweed. When mature, Giant Hogweed will have flowers up to 1 meter in diameter. It could be Queen Anne’s Lace or Water Hemlock. Note that Water Hemlock is extremely toxic if consumed.

3: Look at the stem of the plant. Is the stem reddish or purple, with spots and stiff bristles?
If yes, go to 4
If no, go to 5

4: This plant is probably Giant Hogweed. To confirm, have a look at the flower. Giant Hogweed has flowers with over 50 rays (a part of the flower structure which I’ve illustrated above). Cow parsnip will have between 15-30 rays.

5: Good news! This plant is probably Cow parsnip. It will have fine hairs, but no stiff bristles. The stem may be purplish, but is mostly green with no blotching or spots. Keep in mind that Cow Parsnip is phototoxic, too.

Keys to a Giant Hogweed ID

Just in case you hate the idea of a dichotomous key, or have questions about a non-flowering plant, here are the key differentiators between Giant Hogweed and other similar-looking plants:

• large plant, often over 2.5 m high (when mature)
• flowers in umbel shape, larger than 15cm in diameter
• flowers have more than 50 rays
• hollow stems are between 3-8 cm in diameter
• stems have stiff white bristles
• stems have spots or blotching, red or purple in colour
• large, lobed leaves up to 1m in size
• leaves compounded in three

There is no doubt in my mind, especially seeing an event like this, that having cetaceans in captivity is not what ought to be done. What is fascinating, however, is to see the reactions of the other companion Dolphins and False Killer Whales. At 1:00 of the footage, the cetaceans watch (I hear echo-locating going on too, but it would be hard to determine from a video like this which of the cetaceans were making the noise) their companion through the pool’s glass enclosure.

I watch this and it makes me sick to my stomach. In part, because I feel deeply empathetic for that whale. Falling out of a pool can’t be enjoyable. While many shows like this one include the cetaceans “gliding out” of the water, the mammals do this on their stomach and are still can get themselves back into the water. Here, the False Killer Whale has no ability to do that. Imagining what that whale is thinking lying there on the concrete is overwhelming.

But it is interesting to hear the crowd’s reaction in the following clip:

As I watched this for the first time, I thought (always the researcher), “Boy, this would be a rich source of data if you could interview these people.” I wondered if this would be some kind of ethically crystallizing moment where a new perspective about whales in captivity could erupt—literally. As you listen to the reactions of the crowd, I hear gasps and giggles. More than anything, perhaps, this event simply reinforced people’s perspectives on whales—there to entertain or as innocent natural objects (or something else). That could be an interesting research question.

Ivakhiv announced a few weeks ago that a loose configuration were going to come together in a virtual reading group to read Vibrant Matter. I knew nothing of the book by Jane Bennett but popped over to amazon and was intrigued. Earlier today, one of those people I discovered posted on his blog that he was going to participate.  So I decided what the hell, why not get the book and join in the fun.

With that in mind, I’ll post a copy of Ivakhiv’s original call here, just in case anyone in the ether want to join in too:

The previously announced ‘Vibrant Matter’ reading group will take place across five blogs over five weeks, beginning May 23 and ending June 26. Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things is the latest book by Johns Hopkins University political theorist Jane Bennett. Philosophy in a Time of Error has posted a very useful overview of the book, along with an interview with its author. Anyone interested in participating is invited to read these, and to order your copy of the book in time for the first session. (I’ve asked Duke University Press about a possible discount for participants, but not heard back from them. Here in the States, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Overstock.com offer the best deals at the moment.)

The reading schedule will be as follows:

May 23-29
Host blog: Philosophy in a Time of Error (Peter Gratton)
Under discussion: Preface & Chapter 1, “The Force of Things” (and overview/interview).

May 30-June 5
Host blog: Critical Animal (James Stanescu)
Under discussion: Chapters 2 and 3, “The Agency of Assemblages” and “Edible Matter.”

June 6-12
Host blog: Naught Thought (Ben Woodard)
Under discussion: Chapters 4 and 5, “A Life of Matter” and “Neither Vitalism nor Mechanism.”

June 13-19
Host blog: An und für sich (Anthony Paul Smith)
Under discussion: Chapters 6 and 7, “Stem Cells and the Culture of Life” and “Political Ecologies”

June 20-26
Host blog: Immanence (Adrian Ivakhiv)
Under discussion: Chapter 8, “Vitality and Self-interest,” and the book as a whole (final overview).

All welcome!

photo credit: Explore The Bruce

Knowing individuals is the exception and not the rule for birders’ relationships with birds, largely because the motivations behind these interactions are not mutual enjoyment. Rather, as I have described, because birding is centred on the detection and identification of individual birds to species, collecting these observations is often the underlying motivation. This notion of collection is not as simple as it sounds. Based on the acts practised by the birders I interviewed, birding at its core is an activity of watching. This watching of birds is an emotional experience – leading to all kinds of feelings – but reinforced through the emotional catharsis, I theorize, of getting to see a bird. While watching birds implicitly foregrounds the visual nature of the activity, as you are drawn into watching birds, the activity expands beyond the visual to include the auditory and even the tactile. Knowing (or wanting to know) what you are seeing, hearing or touching still hold the practices together.

If this watching birds can transition into the act of birding, then it is steeped in first-hand experience, with sightings occurring when bird and birder at found in the same place at the same time. Human sensory limitations coupled with a Euclidean understanding of time and space frame what counts as bird sightings, in turn limiting acts of birding to these experiential moments.

With a birder and a bird together, a sighting is made and the process of identification can take place. These acts of identification rely on a birder’s sensory abilities to pick out important aspects of a bird’s identity, but also take into account the larger ecological context – the relationship between the components of the bird and birder’s surroundings – of the bird sighting. In this sense, identification occurs in a larger context and is, in fact, a hybrid act. Identification blends a clinical, reductionist approach to breaking birds into a set of field markings (e.g. “has complete eye ring”) and a more holistic, even phenomenological approach leading to the gestalt of a bird (e.g. “that bird just looked like a great-blue heron”). I have personally experienced and found with some birders that the emergence of a phenomenological approach to birding is coupled to an expanded awareness of bird life around them. This sensory attunement to the presence of birds is developed through the overt act of birding. It, in turn, leads to moments outside planned birding excursions where present birds can unexpectedly enter the consciousness and draw attention. I have described these moment as the chance encounter in birding.

If a species of birds holds one or a combination of perceived characteristics (beauty, rarity or transience) they then are ascribed more power by birders. These birds are subsequently sought out or attracted in more often than birds that do not hold these characteristics. Birders also work to predict when and where these kinds of birds can be seen. This act of prediction expands beyond sought-after species and expands into the whole practice: birders work to improve their ability to predict the highest concentration of birds and species. In order to increase their success birding, and in part a reaction to the unpredictable nature of birds, birders share their sightings with others. Sightings are perishable objects and birders work to share the information before the sightings start to decay. They also work to accrue or reinforce the reputation of a birder – being the first to see a valued bird is something valued in the birding world.

photo credit: cliff1066™

Being a naturalist is something that I’ve been thinking about personally and academically for a while now. Now when I say naturalist, images such as this painting of John James Audubon may come to mind. Being a 19th century naturalist was one of collecting and cataloguing, attempting to create order out of the perceived chaos of the natural world. While this work did manage to order the natural world in a particular way, it was undertaken in places like North America by Europeans without regard for value of local knowledge. In this way, it was an extension of the colonial act of “settling” an empty land. As we can now acknowledge, North America was anything but empty.

Significantly, scientific knowledge left the practice of natural history behind as the official way of coming to know the more-than-human. And, if we look at Audubon with his rifle — his instrument of collection — perhaps that fine. Because when I speak of being a naturalist, I am not interested in reproducing this violent, romantic and gendered way of coming to know the more-than-human. But I do think that our personal, intimate and material understanding of our lives is impoverished. And I think that a certain practice of natural history can offer opportunities to discover the networks of material relations that we have between the many actors implicated in our lives. Today, being a naturalist means attempting to broach the divide between human and non-human.

Barry Lopez echoes this (or I echo Barry Lopez) in a 2001 article published in the autumn issue of Orion magazine. In short (and I encourage you to read the whole thing because he is saying many things), he sees naturalists who are attentive to the mystery of nature (and I acknowledge that this does have a bit of a romantic ring to it, so I would say attentive to the more-than-human and in firm grasp of the limitations of what and how we know ), as a new kind of political actor.

And this is key. Naturalists from every era, whether stated explicitly or not, have always acted politically in this world. In the case of 19th century white men coming to the new world, it was a particular kind of politics that they were rendering — it did not deviate much from the larger cultural script of ordering and expansion. Today, however, naturalists have the opportunity to enact a kind of politics that does deviate from the larger cultural script. As witnesses with understanding fostered by skills of observation and reflection, they can say meaningful things about our cultural relationship to the natural world. Words and actions that rough up the flat perspectives and shallow moral obligations that currently are the status quo. This is the naturalist re-cast.

]]> http://www.gavan.ca/visual-media/photos/daily-photo/at-pearson/feed/ 0 http://www.gavan.ca/visual-media/photos/daily-photo/at-pearson/ http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/GavanCentral/~3/oOdk_OF_P54/ http://www.gavan.ca/visual-media/photos/daily-photo/somewhere-over-the-midwest/#comments Thu, 06 May 2010 17:05:29 +0000 Gavan http://www.gavan.ca/visual-media/photos/daily-photo/somewhere-over-the-midwest/

Somewhere over the midwest, originally uploaded by Gavatron.

Deep blues up at 30000 feet

Things have been busy since mid-March with two funerals, a dissertation chapter, a paper for a conference and a chapter for a book. Got to go out birding for the first time in what feels like forever today, and boy was it great just to be out.

Earlier this week, I noticed Ruby-crowned Kinglets and saw this one today, so they appear to be making their way through Toronto right now.

Nana in 2006, at 92

I’m flooded with snapshots of memories: her life-worn hands being able to snatch out a hot home-made teabiscuit when mine had recoiled in pain; having a March picnic in the sun along the foundation of the old barn complete with apples in eighths, cored and cut to look like canoes; making up ad-hoc rules for Monopoly and her still playing along; trips to the Children’s Museum in London; preserves and jams labelled with her hand-written script: Black Currant Jam, 1984 or Peaches, 1986; teaching me the basics of cribbage; patience when I went through the pantry and made some strange frozen banana dish; her obvious pride in being able to see me graduate from my master’s program; her resolute positive attitude in light of whatever situation she found herself, like when I visited her in hospital last January: it wasn’t the manifestation of her heart’s slow progression to failure, it was a chance to get a tune-up; I could go on.

These are my personal memories of the thirty-two years we got to share with each other. And I’m sad that she had to go. I also know we are all mortal and that, intellectually, this time would come. But right now its painful to think it has all come to an end.

So, rather than dwelling on the pain, I’ll take a page from Nana’s book and focus on the positives of her life: she managed to live on her own terms, by herself, until late last year. It was incredible to see and hear about her life as a nonagenarian and I can only hope that all my loved ones live life, as long and on their own terms, as she did. Her spirit and ethic of sharing was inspiring. I remember, for example, being brought to the Dearness Home, a long-term care facility, during my various visits and wheeling residents to and from the chapel on site. She took leadership roles in the organizations she belonged to: secretary of the McIlwraith Field Naturalists and President of the London Horticulture Society, for example. While never rich, per se, my grandparents donated a great deal of their money: to their church, to local environmental organizations. Generosity is a word that comes to mind: time and money. As a child of the depression, she was re-using and recycling before they were ever considered a thing to do. Locavore? Nana likely heard of the word, but she and my Opah, Bill, grew a large market garden on their property each year. A member of the local field naturalists since 1934, her memoirs are full of stories of time spent exploring the more-than-human. She lived a life that acts as a model in our hyper-consumptive, disconnected world.

While I can’t do justice to all she was in life, let me take an imperfect stab at generating a list: naturalist, horticulturalist, aunt, parishioner, teacher, environmentalist, mother, wife, birder, volunteer, caregiver, donor, friend, grandmother, family genealogist, sister.

Love you and miss you. Today is bittersweet.

Having a look at the trunk cookies now sitting on the ground, there wasn’t anything wrong with the tree. It had lost one limb and there was some rotting of the heartwood there, but this was not widespread and wasn’t at risk of weakening the tree to the point of causing it to fall. That’s just my humble opinion.

Word around the neighbourhood was the city hadn’t issued a permit, now The Star is reporting that it had, in fact, done so. Disappointing if that is the case. Disappointing that it had to be cut down.