Rose apple

Rose apple (Eugenia malaccensis) blooms, also at the Eymar Franco home.

Flowers

I photographed these flowers in the yard of Eymar Franco, who lives very close to Bosque Santa Lucia.

Muiratinga, continued

A few posts back I talked about the muiratinga tree (Maquira sp.) and the oddity of fallen branches from the tree. I attached an image of a caruara (the oddity) next to the trunk of the tree. I didn't realize at the time that the two would blend into one and the same because of the the fungi on both. Today I present another image of caruaras in a different setting. As a matter of fact, the two objects in the image aren't from the muiratinga tree next to the Bosque reception center. They are part of a wood collection at the center, pieces which have been around for a few years. I don't remember where they came from, but maybe from people who insist on playing jokes on newcomers.

From the unknown to the known

On occasion I show images of unknown trees and plants at Bosque Santa Lucia and I write off nomenclature as part of tropical biodiversity in the Amazon. Such was the case of the seedpod in the attached image. I didn't know the name of the tree myself; my caretaker didn't know the name; my neighbors didn't know the name; nobody knew the name, despite the fact that it was a beautiful tree with very unique seedpods. One local person took a stab at identifying it, but he turned out to be a trickster, who thought he would pull one on me. Well, most unknowns remain unknown, but deep inside I figure that there's always a possibility that someone out there might come to the rescue. Such was the case when Robin Foster at the Field Museum in Chicago happened to open my blog, I assume because he has a professional interest in tropical biodiversity. He posted a remark on this particular entry identifying the tree! The family is Flacourtaceae; and the genus is Lindackeria. I spent some hours researching these names on the internet and it's possible that the species is Paludosa, but I'm not qualified to say for sure. Regardless, I appreciate Robin having contacted me. He also made some additional identifications, which I'll be sharing with my readers. One of the little joys in life is learning the name of an unknown tree!

Colors of Cupuaçu

The new leaves of cupuaçu (Theobroma grandiflorum) sure present a lot of beautiful colors. I've seen a lot of the leaves, but I never remember seeing a color as intense as this one. It's hard to believe that when it matures a bit, it'll be just like any other green in the forest.

Rubber trees

I figure that there are around 200 old rubber trees (Hevea brasiliensis) on the Bosque Santa Lucia property. Most of them have been around for many years, maybe 50-70 years. I discover these two trees off a trail just last week. What impressed me were the very deep cuts on the trunk of the tree, much deeper than would normally be allowed in any rubber tapping operation. And they seem to be more recent, so I calculate that some woodman or tour guide is responsible.

Wild passion fruit, continued

Another bunch of passion fruit flowers and buds.

Wild passion fruit flowers

This passion fruit stem came developed from a huge vine that has been in the making for many years. It climbed high enough to the find the right amount of light to form buds and flowers.

Moth

This moth was taking a break on the front porch of the reception center. Some years ago I saw one of those giant moths, the size of a bird, on one of the walking trails. I'd love to see another one.

Cicadia, continued

Over the years, I never remember seeing so many discarded cicada skins, if that's the right word. They're everywhere. I haven't seen that many live ones, but the forest rings with the sound of them. I've probably said it before and I'll say it again, it's amazing how those creatures get out of that outside skeletal skin. In both images you can see the open area on the back where they emerge. And they leave a perfect image of themselves behind, including legs and even eyes. What a way to start all over!

Egg on the ground

I was just beginning my walking tour with Sister Alice, her two visiting brothers from the United States and Sister Mary Lou, when Alice spotted this bird egg on the ground next to the mumbaca palm. I guess what impressed me immediately was the size of the egg. The social flycatchers nest is real close to the palm, but the egg was much too large to have come from their nest. Cleuson told us it was probably a great ani egg, since he had spotted them in the palm over the last few days. I felt comfortable with that explanation, but then I wondered why the egg was on the ground. Somewhere in the back of my old feeble mind, I remember this big black bird having fame for impolitely asking other birds to hatch her eggs. I haven't researched this yet, but if it's true, then it's possible that the owners of the nest may have tossed the ani egg out. And all these blue marks on the egg? Scratches from the act of getting the egg out?

Mumbaca palms

Mumbaca (Astrocaryum gynaconthum) is one of our native palms at Bosque Santa Lúcia and there are plenty of them. We left two large clumps near the reception center, but we always warn visitors not to get too close. They have long, hard, sharp thorns that you won't forget anytime soon, if you don't heed the advise. The palm produces bunches of bright orange-colored fruit which monkeys and some birds like. I have never figured out how they manage to avoid all those thorns which cover the palms from head to food (ground to crown). Most recently we've noticed birds nesting in this particular clump of palms. Then yesterday a visitor, Sister Alice, spotted an egg on the ground, which could only have come from a nest up above. Image coming up.

Lake Maria, continued

As summer dries everything out, Lake Maria is showing its bottom side (smile). For those readers joining us more recently, the so-called "lake" is a low-land area that turned into a swamp about a year ago. The main road going to Bosque Santa Lúcia and some communities beyond passes right through the middle of the mud hole that takes on gigantic proportions during the rainy season. Except for large trucks, traffic came to a halt over the last several months. Even the soybean trucks had their share of breaking down and getting stuck as they moved harvest to the Mato Grosso mill, which appears in the upper right-hand portion of the image. Cargill sent in heavy equipment to lower the level of water, but it didn't help very much. Over the rainy season, I found myself stranded in the city quite often. There were times when I turned my small Fiat car into a boat by forcing it into the water, hoping that I would get to land on the other side before sinking into the mud. One time I hit a piece of timber someone had left in the mud, which tore up a tire. Our insurance company sent a tow truck to get us back to town. More recently, I've been invading the harvested soybean fields to get to the Bosque. Only last week did Lake Maria dry up enough that I could return to my normal route of getting to our forest reserve. All appeals to the local government have been met with deaf ears. I've talked to the Secretary of Tourism at least three times asking for help. Community representatives have made countless visits to the mayor's office asking for assistance. It seems that the city has been given the priority in terms of street building and maintenance. It's election year and votes are concentrated in the urban areas. Ah, again for new readers, I came to call this mud hole Lake Maria because our mayor's name is Maria. The idea isn't original with me. It's quite common here to refer to potholes and mud holes as someone's hole, normally naming the head of government.

Sunbaked

Well, here we are in September again. This one isn't any different than any other, in terms of weather. We're well into our summer (verão), which is the dry season for this part of the Amazon. It seldom rains, so it's very necessary to water plants and newly planted trees. What's different about this September is that we now have a well at Bosque Santa Lucia and electricity to run the pump. Plus, we now have a full time employee to get the water where it's needed. These are dramatic novidades for me because over the last 25 years I've kept things alive by literally hauling water from the city in whatever vehicle I had at the time. I couldn't begin to provide the water that plants needed. A liter here, a half-liter for this plant. This one doesn't get water today. So it went ... and needless to say, I lost many plants from season to season. It's now another world having a plentiful supply of water. Attached image: clay-like soils out in the open crack open this time of the year.

Lilies

Iris germanica (lower image) is blooming again. This is the flower that some people call an orchid, which it isn't of course. Strange enough, a yellow variety (top image) bloomed too and from the same vase. It's the first time that I've seen this one.

Old leaf

I wonder what happened to these leaves? They're so covered with fungi, they're more fungus than a leaves. Notice that there are other leaves around them, all fresh, slick and green.

Muiratinga, continued

Hang on folks! Don't click on that "inappropriate material" button provided by your blogger company. This isn't jungle porn. It's only part of tropical biodiversity in the world of trees. As explained in the previous post, the muiratinga trees lose their branches, much like plants, i.e., the branches disconnect themselves from the trunk of the tree taking with them the nodule that for the world takes on the image of a penis. Obviously, mankind makes of it what they want, including stories, legends, jokes and even porn. When I came to Santarem in 1979, I remember it was quite common for local folks to present me with the muiratinga oddity, in great jest of course. The local name is caruara, which comes from the Indian language. Strange enough, I haven't been able to find reference to this word anywhere on the internet or in my library. As a matter of fact, there is almost nothing on the topic. The only reference I found was a book of Indigenous stories written by Betty Mindlin, called Barbecued Husbands And Other Stories from the Amazon. The excerpt from the book is explicit enough that I need not say anything else. Only that the word muiratinga means "the white tree". At least that's the best translation I could concoct from the words muira (tree or wood) and tinga (white). A word about the image: the tree is muiratinga, from which the branch fell.

Muiratinga - caruara

No, those aren't walking sticks leaning up against the two muiratinga trees ( Maquira sp.). They are actually branches from the tree that have fallen in a very unique way. Much like many plants, the branches break off from the trunk of the tree taking with them the "socket" that joined them with the tree. This socket, for the lack of a better botanical name, takes on the physical appearance of a penis with the foreskin pulled back, or a circumcised penis. Next image, please.

Flower brightens trail

Red brightened a trail covered with decaying leaves. A lone flower without any signs from where it came.

Frog on bench

I sat down next to this frog. It didn't turn into a princess, but we had a great conversation.