Free Ancient Places by Jack Nisbet Page A

with
Lomatium gormanii,
that would be far too simple. There are actually three different small, early flowering biscuitroot species in the Columbia country that feature white petals and purple anthers. All three also share many characteristics of leaf and stem. All three have edible roots, though not as large or as popular among tribal families as cous. All three spread across the Columbia’s shrub-steppe habitats with subtle variations. All threemay be found in association with others of their kin, and their identification can confound the most dedicated of plant lovers. Although a professional botanist, Pam Camp readily admits to struggling with these biscuitroots and is sympathetic to a layperson trying to navigate the taxonomic maze.
    She directed my attention to the ground. I already knew that an inch or so below the earth’s surface, the root of each salt and pepper forms a garbanzo bean–sized globe of almost perfect roundness. But I didn’t know that the root of a closely related cousin does the same. In order to tell them apart, Camp explained, we were supposed to look for subtle differences in the tendrils that sprout from the bottom of the root, in the simplicity of the plant’s growth form, and in other features that would not appear until later in the season, such as the pattern of the oil ducts of its mature fruits. And if we became frustrated, she added, we should keep in mind thatsome botanists insist these two species cannot be separated in the field—not so long ago, in fact, they were lumped together in the species
confusum.
    To further the confusion, there is a third species that bears an almost identical bite-sized tuber. But on its very bottom point, where its two close cousins sprout a few hair-like rootlets, this one extends a stringy root that swells into another tuber. If a plant is particularly robust, this root may continue to grow, sprouting several more distinct swellings, like beads on a delicate necklace buried ever deeper in the rocky soil.The Okanagan Salish word for this deceptive plant translates as “something tied up on the end”—a good name, if you can ever find the necklace’s elusive final clasp.
    Camp and I considered the challenge of teasing those extra beads out of the ground without breaking the connecting strands, for if they were lost on the first stab, we would misdiagnose thespecies. As we discerned more and more of the tiny white parasols peeking above the ground, we wondered if maybe this would be the year that each of us, in our own way, would circle around to some kind of understanding of the biscuitroots. Or at least of this early group of three, with anthers as purple as sea urchins.
    Camp unfolded a pocketknife and set to work. I slid a sharpened hardwood stick between two rocks and wriggled it around, attempting to pry out a tuber that had sprouted between two stones. I thought I was making some progress when the stem snapped off just below ground level. After the same thing happened twice more, I began grubbing with my hands, easing stones out of the way until I finally levered a little round root up from below. Upon closer examination, I discovered what might be the nub of a single broken string on its bottom.
    Perhaps a little impatient, I broke off several more roots and stems before realizing that I was fighting frozen clumps of soil. Fingers numbed, I looked up to find Camp in the same claw-handed situation. On this particular morning, we were not going to define any species of salt and pepper for certain. Defeated but exhilarated—a whole season of biscuitroot searches lay ahead—we trudged back up the frost-rimmed slope. “How can it be spring for them,” Camp asked, “when it’s still winter for us?”
Unsettled
    The biscuitroots of the Columbia Plateau have been dealing with the challenging environment of their homeland for a very long time. They have adapted to the short and early growing season, the stiff winds, the cold winters, and the long