The fairies have landed!

Fairy parachutes. Sometimes I wonder how certain mushrooms got their common names: Man on Horseback, Earpick, Train Wrecker, for local examples. Some people have vivid imaginations. This one, Fairy Parachute, though, was an obvious choice. But there must be a lot of fairies landing in our forest!

Fairy Parachutes, Marasmiellus candidus.

Seen from above. Same twig, further along.

These tiny mushrooms grow in clusters on twigs and canes, especially of salmon- and thimble-berries (Rubus spp.), and on ferns. They are gilled mushrooms, but with few, widely-separated gills, connected by veins in the translucent cap.

Here are some on a live salmonberry stem.

Same stalk. I count 48 parachuting fairies in this group.

These look similar, but they're growing on a live red alder tree. Suggestions welcome.

More about names: the scientific genus name, Marasmiellus comes from the Greek word, marasmos, meaning "drying out", referring to the ability of these mushrooms to wither when dry, then flesh out again when it rains. And the species name, candidus, means "shining white".

This low-lying, soaking wet area beside the river had several mushrooms I haven't noticed before: I'm plodding on, searching through websites and my new BC mushroom book. Tomorrow: four kingdoms, one photo.

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Paracaídas de Hadas. Así se llama este honguito en inglés. (En español el nombre común no es tan descriptivo: Marasmio candido.) A veces se me ocurre considerar como es que se originaron los nombres comunes de ciertos hongos; (traducidos del inglésa) Hombre sobre un Caballo, EscarbaOrejas, Destructor de Trenes, por ejemplo. Hay gente que goza de una imaginación muy original. Este nombre, en cambio, es apropriado y perfectamente descriptivo. ¡Pero parece que habrá gran número de hadas aterrizando en nuestros bosques!

1. Paracaídas de Hadas, Marasmiellus candidus.
2. Otra sección del mismo tallo, con los hongos vistos desde arriba.
   
   Estos honguitos pequeñitos crecen en grupos sobre palitos y cañas, especialmente las de salmonberry y thimbleberry (Rubus spp.), y sobre helechos. Son hongos con laminillas, pero estas son escasas, unidas con venas en el sombrero translúcido.
3. Un grupo en la caña de un salmonberry (Rubus spectabilis).
4. En la misma caña. Aquí veo que han aterrizado 48 o más hadas en este sitio.
5. Estos hongos se parecen, pero están creciendo en el tronco de un aliso rojo. Se solicitan sugerencias.

Y algo más acerca de los nombres: el nombre científico del género, Marasmiellus, se deriva del Griego, "marasmos", que quiere decir, "secándose", y se refiere a que estos hongos se pueden secar completamente, encogiéndose, y luego volverse a revivir cuando llueve. Y el nombre de la especie, candidus, se traduce como "blanco brillante".

En este humedal bajo al lado del rio encontré varios hongos que no había observado antes. Ahora voy buscando entre sitios web y mi libro nuevo sobre hongos de Colombia Británica. Mañana: cuatro reinos en una foto.

Fishy

Growing up, I learned to call them fish: starfish, jellyfish, even sunfish. Why, I wonder? They're not fish; it makes no more sense than if I were to call the crabs, "crabfish" or "hermitfish". And I had also learned never to call a whale a fish; that would be silly.

Common names are sometimes really odd.

This is a purple sea star, Pisaster ochraceus, or, translating the Latin, ochre starfish. Yes, the "fish" part is there in the Latin, too; Pisaster is a combination of Piscis, fish, and Aster, star.

Scientific names are sometimes really odd, too.

I had automatically named the file, "Starfish". The habit is deeply ingrained.

And these are moon jellies, Aurelia labiata, not jellyfish. "Labiata" derives from the Latin, "Labiatus", lip. There is probably a good reason for that name, but I can't find it.

At the border between gentle waves and wet sand.

A second moon jelly, exposed on the sand at low tide.

The four lilac semi-circles are the animal's gonads. The female's are usually a paler pink, or even whitish.

Just a reminder:

... plastic bags that end up in the ocean often look like jellies to animals that depend on these drifting creatures for food. Thousands of turtles and birds die each year after swallowing indigestible wads of plastic mistaken for jellies. (From Monterey Bay Aquarium)

If you see a plastic bag on the beach, pick it up and trash it, please!

The marital status of moths

I found this moth on the washroom eaves at Reifel Island Migratory Bird Sanctuary.

Solitary underwing. Catocala sp.

Before I sent it in to BugGuide, I spent a while scanning their photos to see if it was there already. And I found a match; the Betrothed Underwing, Catocala innubens. Except that its range is 'way over on the East coast.

I gave up and submitted my photo. A few minutes later, I had an answer; it was possibly either the Once-married, unijuga, or the semirelicta, which translates as "Half-widowed", both very similar, but found on this coast.

Researching these, I found mentions of other look-alike underwings: the Old-wife, palaeogama, the Little Wife, the Connubial, the Mother, the Sweetheart (amatrix), the Bride (neogama), the Widow, the Divorced (repudiata), the Cheater (adultera), and even the Girlfriend.

Some are named after interesting women from history and legend: Delilah, Magdalen, Sappho, Scarlett, Aholibah, Helen (of Troy?), Andromache, Desdemona.

Or they are named after their mood: Dejected, Tearful, Sad, Mourning, Penitent, Inconsolable. I didn't see any happy underwings, although one is called Serene.

The common names given to species of Catocala are often fanciful and arbitrary. (BugGuide, Unijuga page)

I noticed.

For a more complete list, look at this Moth Photographers' Group page, or the Wikipedia list of Palearctic species.