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the cemetery’s staff might have removed the lichens from many gravestones because lichens can camouflage names and dates, much to the displeasure of family members as well as the cemetery’s photo-taking tourists. Let me add this tidbit of information:


certain lichen species like Rhizocarpon geographicum have such a consistent growth rate that, if they’re measured, they can provide a good estimate of the data on the gravestone they might have camouflaged. Lichens not only can conceal a


gravestone’s names and dates, but they can also damage their substrate — i.e., the gravestone itself. Particularly, the ones on calcareous stones can alter that substrate chemically with oxalic acid, thus aiding and abetting its deterioration. Since the degree of deterioration tends to increase with age, older stones are more susceptible to colonization by lichens, that previously hadn’t been able to get a foothold — or, more accurately, hypha-


hold — on the stone. (Note: a lichen uses the endolithic hyphae on its lower side to penetrate a rock surface.). Here I should mention that the


removal of lichens from a gravestone can damage not only the stone itself, but also the environment, particularly if a biocide like bleach is used. If a cemetery’s crew uses metal tools or even wire brushes, well, good luck — the lichen’s thallus (vegetative tissue) might be removed, but its hyphae may still remain in the stone, penetrating as deeply as 20 mm. Penetration by these hyphae can cause a slow fragmentation of a gravestone’s surface. But I should also mention that


certain lichens can serve as guardians of their gravestones, especially if those gravestones happen to be made of porous rocks like limestone. Tey’re able to perform this duty by reducing the water level inside the stone, an act that helps deter abrasion from wind, rain, and other abiotic factors. Some lichens might, just might, be


capable of stabilizing poorly cemented gravestones, too. I suspect that one’s dear departed


granny would be quite happy if the marker of her final resting place was decorated by a bright orange Xanthoria parietina lichen … far happier than if that marker was simply a sterile upright marker. And if that granny had been a supporter of “green” causes, it’s likely she’d also be pleased to have a nice green Xanthoparmelia cumberlandii decorating her gravestone. Less pleasing to her, perhaps, would be the white residues of calcium oxalates left on her gravestone by dead lichens. As for myself, I’d also be pleased, no,


delighted to have lichens adorning my own gravestone. In addition to their esthetic appeal, they’d be an indication of the biodiversity of the natural world, whereas plastic or polyester flowers placed at the base of the stone wouldn’t be an indication of anything other than a business transaction.


Lawrence Millman For Leif Ryvarden


I


f you took an introductory botany course before 1968, your teacher doubtless would have informed you


that fungi are plants, albeit lowly ones. After all, they have rigid cell walls, and most of them grow in the soil. Te teacher also would have ignored the fact that their cell walls are made of chitin, not cellulose, and likewise that fungi are heterotrophs — incapable of producing their own food, they must acquire food from other organisms. In 1959, the plant ecologist Robert


Whittaker wrote a paper in the American Review of Biology in which he proposed that fungi should be in their own kingdom. He was even more adamant about this idea in a 1968 paper in Science, so adamant, in fact, that his idea was more or less taken up by the scientific community. As a result, fungi were no longer considered ignoble plants. And ever since Whittaker’s second paper, they’ve been steadfast


inhabitants of their own kingdom (Kingdom Fungi) regardless of how many other kingdoms have been proposed or denied for other organisms. As it happens, Whittaker had a


predecessor. Let’s venture back to late 19th century Norway and a fellow named Gustav Olsen. Have you heard of him? Probably not, although he was the first individual to construct a phylogenetic tree that included more than two kingdoms (Plantae and Animalia). Born in 1860 in Hamar, Norway,


Olsen became passionate about fungi in his early youth, and when he was only 23, he published his first book, entitled Spiseleg Sop (Edible Mushrooms). Given his knowledge about this subject, he secured a number of state grants to travel around Norway and give lectures to locals who probably thought the only good mushroom was a kicked over one. Especially, he was asked to visit military bases, for what would soldiers eat if they ended up marooned in some remote place? Here I ought to mention that Olsen


wasn’t simply a fungal enthusiast. In fact, he is better known in Norway today for having created a method for making condensed milk without sugar, which he did in 1889. He patented his product, called Viking Milk, and its facility at Toten in eastern Norway was bought by the Swiss company Nestlé; Olsen became Viking Milk’s scientific advisor, a position he held until 1925. He was also an ardent admirer of Charles Darwin and published the first book in Norwegian in support of Darwin’s evolutionary theories. Finally, he wrote articles about a subject that you mightn’t think would have interested him — reindeer husbandry. Olsen’s 1893 doctoral thesis at the


University of Norway, entitled Om Sop pat levende Jordbund (On Fungi Living in the Soil), contained what might have been an eyebrow-raising idea for its time — namely, that fungi should be in a kingdom of their own. In 1897, he wrote an article for the periodical Ny Tidsskrift in which he was more explicit about his claim. Tere is


Fall 2021 FUNGI Volume 14:4 43


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