A good friend of mine has started to build his native plant collection and I am proud to say that I have helped him along with a couple beautiful specimens. We have an informal agreement that says he will work on different websites for groups I am associated with (FOCL LCW Stewards); cook me food once in a while; impart his knowledge regarding environmental issues, art and geology; and I give him a plant and an occasional book. I owe him a big Christmas card to say the least. Anyway, I was staring at my salt marsh plants trying to think of which plant to give him when I found that one of my Jaumeas put it’s creepers into another pot, dropped some roots and set up shop. I figured since it had decided to move, I would help that process along by clipping the stolon, thereby keeping the new baby for myself and giving the parent to my friend. This magnificent act of rebirth and revival motivated me to look closely at the plant.
To start with, I have heard that it is pronounced: zjoma: rhymes with coma but with a buzzing ‘j’ in front of it (thanks Jen). Odd name, because for years I have called it the much more appropriate and less odd: jow-may-a. Either way it is a special name for this special plant. The genus references a French botanist who studied plants during and after the French Revolution. Jean Henri Jaume Saint-Hilaire was also concerned with forest conservation after many of the French forests were destroyed for their resources during the war and counted many of the subsequent French laws regarding forest restoration to his credit. Seems like a cool guy. The species, carnosa, means ‘fleshy’ and refers to the almost succulent leaves of the halophyte.
I was first introduced to this plant in none other than the Los Cerritos Wetlands-big surprise, I know. But, I gained an appreciation for Jaumea’s abilities after I visited the Golden Shore wetland. Here, Jaumea (also known by its common name: Salty Susan) blankets much of the intertidal area and creates what looks like a very comfortable green mat with an occasional yellow flower popping up every once and a while. I always enjoyed when picking up trash in the Jaumea patches that you can watch your footprints swallowed in the green carpet.
Jaumea is stoloniferous (fancy botanist word for growing by means of stolons or runners that can root at each node) and spreads, to some degree, through each level of the marsh. It is a unique representative of the Asteraceae (Sunflower) family as it is, from what I can think of, the only sunflower in the marsh.
According to Calflora, the plant is not found growing above sixteen feet above sea level. This is natural for many salt marsh plants as they have found ways to thrive within the salty tidal influence, being outcompeted on land where stronger plants have relegated them to the coast. Until reading the elevation constraints though, I had never thought of the fact that you cannot find this plant above what is essentially a one-story house. That is a very small region in our topographically heterogeneous state. This understandably makes me think of the many factors affecting our coastal wetlands here in Southern California: habitat loss from development of residences, oil operations, hotels, industry, ports, beaches and marinas to name a few. Considering each coastal salt marsh plant is both a literal and symbolic bastion of habitat preservation, it is appropriate that Jaumea takes its name from a wise French botanist with some foresight.
Enjoy,
Taylor
To start with, I have heard that it is pronounced: zjoma: rhymes with coma but with a buzzing ‘j’ in front of it (thanks Jen). Odd name, because for years I have called it the much more appropriate and less odd: jow-may-a. Either way it is a special name for this special plant. The genus references a French botanist who studied plants during and after the French Revolution. Jean Henri Jaume Saint-Hilaire was also concerned with forest conservation after many of the French forests were destroyed for their resources during the war and counted many of the subsequent French laws regarding forest restoration to his credit. Seems like a cool guy. The species, carnosa, means ‘fleshy’ and refers to the almost succulent leaves of the halophyte.
I was first introduced to this plant in none other than the Los Cerritos Wetlands-big surprise, I know. But, I gained an appreciation for Jaumea’s abilities after I visited the Golden Shore wetland. Here, Jaumea (also known by its common name: Salty Susan) blankets much of the intertidal area and creates what looks like a very comfortable green mat with an occasional yellow flower popping up every once and a while. I always enjoyed when picking up trash in the Jaumea patches that you can watch your footprints swallowed in the green carpet.
Jaumea is stoloniferous (fancy botanist word for growing by means of stolons or runners that can root at each node) and spreads, to some degree, through each level of the marsh. It is a unique representative of the Asteraceae (Sunflower) family as it is, from what I can think of, the only sunflower in the marsh.
According to Calflora, the plant is not found growing above sixteen feet above sea level. This is natural for many salt marsh plants as they have found ways to thrive within the salty tidal influence, being outcompeted on land where stronger plants have relegated them to the coast. Until reading the elevation constraints though, I had never thought of the fact that you cannot find this plant above what is essentially a one-story house. That is a very small region in our topographically heterogeneous state. This understandably makes me think of the many factors affecting our coastal wetlands here in Southern California: habitat loss from development of residences, oil operations, hotels, industry, ports, beaches and marinas to name a few. Considering each coastal salt marsh plant is both a literal and symbolic bastion of habitat preservation, it is appropriate that Jaumea takes its name from a wise French botanist with some foresight.
Enjoy,
Taylor
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