tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26621183685532664382024-03-18T16:50:12.409-04:00Saratoga woods and waterwaysFor more than thirty years I've been wandering the woods and waterways of Saratoga County, New York, and regions nearby, looking closely, listening carefully, and recording what I experience. We are blessed in this region with an amazing amount of wilderness right at hand. With this blog I share my year-round adventures here, seeking out what wonders await in my own Madagascar close to home.Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.comBlogger2036125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-91339803992492955892024-03-18T14:48:00.000-04:002024-03-18T14:48:04.974-04:00Skunk Cabbage Paradise!<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span> know, I know, I've been posting photos of Skunk Cabbage (<i>Symplocarpus foetidus</i>) for a couple of weeks now. But all those specimens were total wimps compared to the gigantic ones that thrive in a swale at the Orra Phelps Nature Preserve in Wilton. I'm not sure what kind of nutrients this particular mud provides, but the Skunk Cabbage plants that grow here are prodigious both in size and in the number of spathes that constitute a cluster. By my count, I discern EIGHT flowering spathes in this one.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeMkka5t4UAWEFuoKk9bO-Drcy1CMbT_3-PXOMqj3i9P6VzgjL2hGCSzTT8sVYC-Ku7wT5G6L7adPWy0NmypUZE71iasHK-bTH5uWNrVZSYt2jOs5kTqpoBVZIs88E2Si2WyTthLPQB042gb6znBYtxkOUH9g3kFLxfqNtEb6bYmvSJQRH3DOhdNnGWqgc/s3274/skunkcabbage,bigcluster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2266" data-original-width="3274" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeMkka5t4UAWEFuoKk9bO-Drcy1CMbT_3-PXOMqj3i9P6VzgjL2hGCSzTT8sVYC-Ku7wT5G6L7adPWy0NmypUZE71iasHK-bTH5uWNrVZSYt2jOs5kTqpoBVZIs88E2Si2WyTthLPQB042gb6znBYtxkOUH9g3kFLxfqNtEb6bYmvSJQRH3DOhdNnGWqgc/w640-h442/skunkcabbage,bigcluster.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>As for size of individual spathes, just <i>look</i> at how tall these gorgeously scarlet ones have grown!<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqK6t2YGxpbd9EPEQaJ_MStOZLhBFSeTlLEL-3dUzzl-A8q73o4knMNyvvt5uTdn-0rpJaEPIIzhXm8UmOv4BJAg9iOOfAz-2BuYQ_djzgyxGnrzCss26DAFewX9jl9BsZIZpwFvLV9UaaiORUW1wMQD7SMg51pdy0U4X8e_tPA1ayPHQwnGGCT_bzDL9F/s2334/02skunkcabbage,huge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1847" data-original-width="2334" height="506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqK6t2YGxpbd9EPEQaJ_MStOZLhBFSeTlLEL-3dUzzl-A8q73o4knMNyvvt5uTdn-0rpJaEPIIzhXm8UmOv4BJAg9iOOfAz-2BuYQ_djzgyxGnrzCss26DAFewX9jl9BsZIZpwFvLV9UaaiORUW1wMQD7SMg51pdy0U4X8e_tPA1ayPHQwnGGCT_bzDL9F/w640-h506/02skunkcabbage,huge.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>And this was my lucky day for photographing a cluster with spathes so wide open that their flowering spadices within were completely visible. How often have I found examples where both sexes of the florets -- pistillate (top left) and staminate -- were displaying within the same plant at the same time? Never, before I encountered this lovely clump.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfDh0eMtlX18NT2G14E_o_HLqDMZJLSKIRa31TO42UTE-UDBJDRNqPRHlZ1HytnDkV6PJd85E8AeZu7qk0yQnXWqEL1cZioAJvmTwq_UpGExdD9IXtVFNJu_2-3DY7N84aE-Ul9jy1VhP5PMM_MSkK5ibAv1KdPjyn1m09nu2WC8oWjtDlG4hbGf7OUInK/s2708/skunkcabbage,bothsex.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2291" data-original-width="2708" height="542" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfDh0eMtlX18NT2G14E_o_HLqDMZJLSKIRa31TO42UTE-UDBJDRNqPRHlZ1HytnDkV6PJd85E8AeZu7qk0yQnXWqEL1cZioAJvmTwq_UpGExdD9IXtVFNJu_2-3DY7N84aE-Ul9jy1VhP5PMM_MSkK5ibAv1KdPjyn1m09nu2WC8oWjtDlG4hbGf7OUInK/w640-h542/skunkcabbage,bothsex.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Sadly, while trying to get close enough to photograph these plants, I inadvertently stepped on one. In that mishap, my big foot crushed the spathe but did not damage the spadix within. And what a find this spadix was! Never before had I encountered a spadix displaying the spent pistillate florets yielding to the staminate ones emerging around the base of the pistillate ones! How cool it that?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_kov0ARTE37WCdBLmtsX_IpPqn-GgZBHkvlyOjcqJ7PrsKOVDFi7mLaC6CoWyPvaAk0d3zrcmU_Ky5Ov7kNDDpeK1Mub6CPHt8MUd5zjQ8X7cxtaf5q0RnllF8PMQomoXO-oaR9iMkBTGojw4Z1LM5DejspCDnpSyHaNI7kN5KhoefFevLtuxlDV4-SQL/s2532/skunkcabbagespadix,sexchanging.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1868" data-original-width="2532" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_kov0ARTE37WCdBLmtsX_IpPqn-GgZBHkvlyOjcqJ7PrsKOVDFi7mLaC6CoWyPvaAk0d3zrcmU_Ky5Ov7kNDDpeK1Mub6CPHt8MUd5zjQ8X7cxtaf5q0RnllF8PMQomoXO-oaR9iMkBTGojw4Z1LM5DejspCDnpSyHaNI7kN5KhoefFevLtuxlDV4-SQL/w640-h472/skunkcabbagespadix,sexchanging.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p></div>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-22704199204681517682024-03-17T20:43:00.007-04:002024-03-18T00:04:21.388-04:00Finds of the Fault Line and Forest Floor<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">'T</span>was a good day for the wearin' o' the green! So what better day than St. Patrick's Day to visit the woods at Skidmore College, where the forest floor is paved with calcareous boulders covered with moss as green as any moss that grows on the Emerald Isle!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgy4fjDVx1r5F5MMhPPLCVokDY3huQ2JxLLfvUoq7Y0XbOjx9aLhCNoYhpkcwaSoX3wdkWEhXXVNr7hJO71KjjRuluOenQ7MnzDfr1irJJsDljmI54XAJdGK-HP6xA3Cb4inW8dFPSSoi7U_oxw0CB02dotQpJ-hh6bV-ripp4FJU-NWF-LNO68HooEQ29/s3800/01forestfloor,rocks.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2622" data-original-width="3800" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgy4fjDVx1r5F5MMhPPLCVokDY3huQ2JxLLfvUoq7Y0XbOjx9aLhCNoYhpkcwaSoX3wdkWEhXXVNr7hJO71KjjRuluOenQ7MnzDfr1irJJsDljmI54XAJdGK-HP6xA3Cb4inW8dFPSSoi7U_oxw0CB02dotQpJ-hh6bV-ripp4FJU-NWF-LNO68HooEQ29/w640-h442/01forestfloor,rocks.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The Skidmore campus lies right along the geological fault that brought all the mineral springs to the city of Saratoga Springs and also paved the college's 200-acre woods with limestone and chert-embedded dolomite rocks. One might think that dry, hard rocks would not be hospitable as a home for growing plants, but here it is obvious that many mosses, liverworts, and lichens just adore it atop these rocks! As do some ferns and a few flowering plants. I came here today to see if any of the flowering plants were actually blooming yet.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguX5Wbv1XBOvE4Amz20T-tdVNRHO6MVuXiDXEa92aHhyphenhyphenqrb0L-Qh1NH9ySaFl5yroRbhRA3zqq0VlqXaXsc3MrkoJZVETrdgcQ4YoPmDLpW54mCnL4c8AKaFnxXFNqXsfBBD21PirZgcyz9btLj-tFs6ZP-jxGQT64GLETXn6EpH1T_j4EZI07JGGYE-CI/s3427/02boulder.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2498" data-original-width="3427" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguX5Wbv1XBOvE4Amz20T-tdVNRHO6MVuXiDXEa92aHhyphenhyphenqrb0L-Qh1NH9ySaFl5yroRbhRA3zqq0VlqXaXsc3MrkoJZVETrdgcQ4YoPmDLpW54mCnL4c8AKaFnxXFNqXsfBBD21PirZgcyz9btLj-tFs6ZP-jxGQT64GLETXn6EpH1T_j4EZI07JGGYE-CI/w640-h466/02boulder.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The mosses, liverworts, and lichens were certainly looking happy. And many of these organisms happily shared their rocks with one another, as this brown Dog Lichen-embedded, green Poodle Moss-carpeted boulder displayed.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEYmKuZu7MmCaRFB4RDjWi0QQaNOQKril4aLM7ZWGgaE5_NL4HFmxkTRnENucXHz6UX4B_DC1ICv_v3aEl8_aIDN3BxmYdWfNP_9izuCh8Q9tDx0PTjtkZtTYDvbfu2a9CJ0osHG0G1AAe8vucDTVowuObX-8Nm7TXBWtbjcdxRO0kcveEgz_hXnE9m2_a/s3421/03poodlemoss,doglichen.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2705" data-original-width="3421" height="506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEYmKuZu7MmCaRFB4RDjWi0QQaNOQKril4aLM7ZWGgaE5_NL4HFmxkTRnENucXHz6UX4B_DC1ICv_v3aEl8_aIDN3BxmYdWfNP_9izuCh8Q9tDx0PTjtkZtTYDvbfu2a9CJ0osHG0G1AAe8vucDTVowuObX-8Nm7TXBWtbjcdxRO0kcveEgz_hXnE9m2_a/w640-h506/03poodlemoss,doglichen.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This rock that was almost completely covered with <i>Porella</i> liverwort made room for a bit of <i>Hedwigia</i> moss.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbRu8FbJmv4cyVts5_xQnmPR7BtE45hSXEVTzX6XKKbcF-2AR8Exfa3G7ZolbhOgR6Y2FRQ7RXGtMJEHPhO7Kzo32SY23mdVnBiGGPkpKrkQhoQuy3oUaPSn34UsK8kRLbDi8wbrWD__-wgsQpA1XFuCdbW6xrcm8649yRPa_3rAKcbKqlk3At22OC-vY7/s3407/04liverwort,moss,mix.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2457" data-original-width="3407" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbRu8FbJmv4cyVts5_xQnmPR7BtE45hSXEVTzX6XKKbcF-2AR8Exfa3G7ZolbhOgR6Y2FRQ7RXGtMJEHPhO7Kzo32SY23mdVnBiGGPkpKrkQhoQuy3oUaPSn34UsK8kRLbDi8wbrWD__-wgsQpA1XFuCdbW6xrcm8649yRPa_3rAKcbKqlk3At22OC-vY7/w640-h462/04liverwort,moss,mix.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Some fluffy clumps of Wind-swept Broom Moss clung to chunks of pale-gray rock.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipxEMUzeG3FiWuwoCMb4RAuR2NBGGovsqJn8TmVN7gqvcc2nKTk0KqU6GcC4rGks9I_avWOZPKvpVhkf74_jPXfMO5lP0tgTOgRPokzR0sRzne4hezmiCaia1a11Sm8pBlzQYO367YwXaZjxAghMWNMR98yKbETxivzWUue7953aF6QcIRY_RotHQQXJGr/s3418/05moss,dicranum.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2811" data-original-width="3418" height="526" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipxEMUzeG3FiWuwoCMb4RAuR2NBGGovsqJn8TmVN7gqvcc2nKTk0KqU6GcC4rGks9I_avWOZPKvpVhkf74_jPXfMO5lP0tgTOgRPokzR0sRzne4hezmiCaia1a11Sm8pBlzQYO367YwXaZjxAghMWNMR98yKbETxivzWUue7953aF6QcIRY_RotHQQXJGr/w640-h526/05moss,dicranum.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And this gorgeous patch of Baby-tooth Moss is so happy here, it has produced just scads of spore stalks.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX9dYURaEB0TdB1iCAYu1z0JQ0O-Y5fjMPxHRUFAHImo86uhnikqaEx7nDLvKupKQO1awufpWbsSXGd1csSzEdAkztMrud-mdJEV46wO7GG2zLbEFWLYV7tC2g6Ht_Q2JqZ-mMQRNMLfc6R_OWQMop-S3EfqS45qiwilQZ4ugkh4cfkUvCx5dHdKzNfOQ3/s3607/06moss,plagiomnium.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2496" data-original-width="3607" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX9dYURaEB0TdB1iCAYu1z0JQ0O-Y5fjMPxHRUFAHImo86uhnikqaEx7nDLvKupKQO1awufpWbsSXGd1csSzEdAkztMrud-mdJEV46wO7GG2zLbEFWLYV7tC2g6Ht_Q2JqZ-mMQRNMLfc6R_OWQMop-S3EfqS45qiwilQZ4ugkh4cfkUvCx5dHdKzNfOQ3/w640-h442/06moss,plagiomnium.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><br /><p>A very few flowering plants prefer the stony habitat of a rock's surface, but that's exactly where I go to look for the earliest Hepaticas, both Round-lobed and Sharp-lobed, that will soon be blooming here. They are actually rooted within the cracks of the rocks, while spreading their leaves across the surface. Hepatica's leaves persist intact throughout the winter, which makes them easy to find once the snow is gone from the forest floor. And some of their leaves, such as these of this Sharp-lobed Hepatica, have turned a deep purplish brown color. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj1vwDDIaknaw6AkTNl6fPUnGEq68PcdRByK41xgk_EwmJEhy0RJ5Rh-0hv3XHBE4IW0OhKKYQSKdvh9u4HTmXxLXK1hrdxdaTAk7UQkenS-nfOvpB15cig7vUDOMJmBpnKLhN5ccSDvGFGzOAE6wKkB0l5dyjc0F2x1l7MTV-XniLS6G51XFEtEul8aT3/s2617/07hepatica,sharp,leaves.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2055" data-original-width="2617" height="502" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj1vwDDIaknaw6AkTNl6fPUnGEq68PcdRByK41xgk_EwmJEhy0RJ5Rh-0hv3XHBE4IW0OhKKYQSKdvh9u4HTmXxLXK1hrdxdaTAk7UQkenS-nfOvpB15cig7vUDOMJmBpnKLhN5ccSDvGFGzOAE6wKkB0l5dyjc0F2x1l7MTV-XniLS6G51XFEtEul8aT3/w640-h502/07hepatica,sharp,leaves.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I peek beneath those leaves to espy these furry flower buds unfurling, just about ready to poke their faces above their leafy cover.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLAbHiSJhl9HCTGN1lCIvNM6W5yMK6BMnVoUn_v8duAaEdG4kOYsOxyOjoMp5_LPFbx1Zfr3h6dOz8AZcH3WLz2GuYshvZIeI5o01QhQIc7pYLuVis2ID_07h8So3fh-ClGeqMt_g8SMjJ1Vtd6GEqfszHJ46kLEJvElqWDVeZJYsS0x0DNVjGqDFTXg1y/s1921/08hepatica,sharp,buds.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1363" data-original-width="1921" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLAbHiSJhl9HCTGN1lCIvNM6W5yMK6BMnVoUn_v8duAaEdG4kOYsOxyOjoMp5_LPFbx1Zfr3h6dOz8AZcH3WLz2GuYshvZIeI5o01QhQIc7pYLuVis2ID_07h8So3fh-ClGeqMt_g8SMjJ1Vtd6GEqfszHJ46kLEJvElqWDVeZJYsS0x0DNVjGqDFTXg1y/w640-h454/08hepatica,sharp,buds.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Oh! Oh! Oh! Here, the flower buds have not only emerged from beneath some mottled-green Round-lobed Hepatica leaves, but their furry bud scales have opened to reveal the pale-purple sepals within!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRFwHnowzGZemfSQqW-Q8rBUE5C4eERY28cee_ewHQutIte3IUoAJDUuwYEk-_9K83oCQbdutajV7Ieqph2RqoBcKipsUqdku6SQhXE3Jmk13DTMnl9Q9O7si4Kt4mgV3D1IXsWYTWjt_f8CT0o2nEzlculAXd6p8MZGSYkYrA9k_D7lgFoCdTJBLFMhhH/s2544/09hepatica,round.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1969" data-original-width="2544" height="496" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRFwHnowzGZemfSQqW-Q8rBUE5C4eERY28cee_ewHQutIte3IUoAJDUuwYEk-_9K83oCQbdutajV7Ieqph2RqoBcKipsUqdku6SQhXE3Jmk13DTMnl9Q9O7si4Kt4mgV3D1IXsWYTWjt_f8CT0o2nEzlculAXd6p8MZGSYkYrA9k_D7lgFoCdTJBLFMhhH/w640-h496/09hepatica,round.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>These flower buds were so open, I could peer into the flowers, where the anthers were already preparing to protrude.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif86hXkTnjYYCf2UGhgdSZB53ovRv21oCwhk_yuQJirdeujkowXO06rW3PF6cRzgYIn6d-lxGgIr77XXuONO7PVRf0-jikcHzSwUogRqrsO5Sx40nbqkWxQp7tiJjRAM5b9YkAPTe7-YmQ5-B-A3PUgNe-bSzAIvV04XP0LQ_SBZpoBDt3w_gy1pl3mQ3M/s1885/10hepatica,round,flower.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="1885" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif86hXkTnjYYCf2UGhgdSZB53ovRv21oCwhk_yuQJirdeujkowXO06rW3PF6cRzgYIn6d-lxGgIr77XXuONO7PVRf0-jikcHzSwUogRqrsO5Sx40nbqkWxQp7tiJjRAM5b9YkAPTe7-YmQ5-B-A3PUgNe-bSzAIvV04XP0LQ_SBZpoBDt3w_gy1pl3mQ3M/w640-h464/10hepatica,round,flower.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>Just a few more warm days, and Hepaticas of all the colors they come in -- from sparkling white or pale pink or bright blue to pale lavender to deep purple and even to deep magenta -- will be adorning the forest floor with one of our prettiest as well as one of our earliest-to-bloom native spring wildflowers.</p><p><br /></p><p>And then there were the fungi. All that I found today had fruited last fall but persisted virtually unchanged throughout the winter. Here's just a sampling:</p><p>The caps of Split-gill Fungus (<i>Schizophyllum commune</i>) seem to grow fur over the winter.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTs-0Niqpm2KLi9u2Sec_b2msappGQq-FL0eLB5AwojAvNXn0pSUUJM3xxcb6VXzkXP2yLICmJ8ivsl_lN5EMhp56EHlT9A48XUh6xUOFOpqsAhXtHhyWeQsVFRlD3NdOBUfe8kcghdQKoC-7D_cFzBqlaTmtkf-kE1mDM_UVY_RNOLlT4hw16oQYwNLQj/s2187/11fungus,splitgil,top.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1602" data-original-width="2187" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTs-0Niqpm2KLi9u2Sec_b2msappGQq-FL0eLB5AwojAvNXn0pSUUJM3xxcb6VXzkXP2yLICmJ8ivsl_lN5EMhp56EHlT9A48XUh6xUOFOpqsAhXtHhyWeQsVFRlD3NdOBUfe8kcghdQKoC-7D_cFzBqlaTmtkf-kE1mDM_UVY_RNOLlT4hw16oQYwNLQj/w640-h468/11fungus,splitgil,top.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I turn the Split-gill Fungus over to observe the split gills that suggested this amazing fungus's name.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Hev80CONc21-ph8W-IPFgJglR_AmEkOYL3zkMSkIc9HZFamRq7kaiZZBuXNslv9a7_U4S1yVn8NKpneUvf-flqbzT4-43mecmFh3a5AgVMAtOI0THC5PEvc_g6ij7iBv5_vrIp2Wa0v_WaCKzuUqTEc72Lz-NxLsoRMqFK2gmO6EISyWQqX5n3K8Ih6b/s2406/12fungus,splitgill,gills.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1660" data-original-width="2406" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Hev80CONc21-ph8W-IPFgJglR_AmEkOYL3zkMSkIc9HZFamRq7kaiZZBuXNslv9a7_U4S1yVn8NKpneUvf-flqbzT4-43mecmFh3a5AgVMAtOI0THC5PEvc_g6ij7iBv5_vrIp2Wa0v_WaCKzuUqTEc72Lz-NxLsoRMqFK2gmO6EISyWQqX5n3K8Ih6b/w640-h442/12fungus,splitgill,gills.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Split-gill Fungus is considered the most widespread mushroom in the whole world, and one with the amazing property of being able to dry out completely and then rehydrate to keep functioning sexually time and time again. Found on every continent except Antarctica (where there's no rotting wood for it to grow on), the Split-gill Fungus is one of the most studied mushrooms on earth, according to Tom Volk, author of the wonderfully informative mushroom site, <i>TomVolkFungi.net</i>. Mr. Volk featured this mushroom in a Valentine's Day tribute to one of the sexiest organisms imaginable, with at least 28,000 different sexes, according to mycologists' calculations. The process is too complicated for me to repeat in my blog, but my readers can learn all about it (plus lots of other fascinating facts) by going directly to Mr. Volk's site. Just click <span style="color: #ff00fe;"><a href="https://botit.botany.wisc.edu/toms_fungi/feb2000.html"><span style="color: #ff00fe;">HERE</span></a> </span>and prepare to be amazed.</div><p><br /></p><p>The striped caps of False Turkey Tail (<i>Stereum ostrea</i>) are just as beautifully colored now as when they first sprouted last fall. They can be distinguished from the real Turkey Tails by the lack of pores on the fertile surface of the caps.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIBWDCGMrRfFJHAdzAjLi8LBL3YeCIdOmEA6cZzTkmNWeND8HVUB5ObJZzW8Y_pB8xPPuF-fwPPeTG-0KPkEKc-Y2iSbtLtBTKKVNX9lUZMCtduzzsA9Zi17XJGAsFUmP6LvC8a2O66J_UUZSn-em4ZGgiyVPyowDMApun3pTFpaR8sfMXiMOSHayrJ0aC/s3090/11fungus,stereum.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2187" data-original-width="3090" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIBWDCGMrRfFJHAdzAjLi8LBL3YeCIdOmEA6cZzTkmNWeND8HVUB5ObJZzW8Y_pB8xPPuF-fwPPeTG-0KPkEKc-Y2iSbtLtBTKKVNX9lUZMCtduzzsA9Zi17XJGAsFUmP6LvC8a2O66J_UUZSn-em4ZGgiyVPyowDMApun3pTFpaR8sfMXiMOSHayrJ0aC/w640-h452/11fungus,stereum.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We are most likely to see the rubbery brown caps of Amber Jelly Roll Fungus (<i>Exidia recisa</i>) on the forest floor in spring, after winter winds or ice have brought down the dead tree limbs they've grown on.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV2L7sKPU9AzndIAkbcInbiNpStKpRUopXhkD4OjMhxZN4uGV-HmGhQvcDJTrhdcTvUm0v3ingd21UQ-ccAfz-vNBoznyo30r_2qfEuIZftmXpHD4IAtO7_EfMEHZNUzmxTWsISA3WCVNXLRSOa0_GmleEPiVFZEGcQIOVdnX4BfReUBiQkHhyphenhypheniofbaw9l/s2624/13fungus,amberjelly.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2206" data-original-width="2624" height="538" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV2L7sKPU9AzndIAkbcInbiNpStKpRUopXhkD4OjMhxZN4uGV-HmGhQvcDJTrhdcTvUm0v3ingd21UQ-ccAfz-vNBoznyo30r_2qfEuIZftmXpHD4IAtO7_EfMEHZNUzmxTWsISA3WCVNXLRSOa0_GmleEPiVFZEGcQIOVdnX4BfReUBiQkHhyphenhypheniofbaw9l/w640-h538/13fungus,amberjelly.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This abundant patch of Asian Beauty (<i>Radulomyces coplandii</i>) was so broad I failed to recognize it at first. In the few times I have come across it before, it has always fruited in narrow strips sprouting from cracks in dead wood. In this case, it was occupying a large chunk of peeling-away bark of a fallen tree.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQxw9TEKkQxaQu5fnwurstAaZ9PLuCsXCaXe1dn4KUaudBCWI4efWkM6tY64yIpcatSLL2n7v89jCwWdJVSFfKXmIWyOmNgJ4l3m19qAM2hZ122NcrqWnI6xCMJ8w4C21wFjMNkTk0VW0edrb4NLROj8n5aCQUEpmPZqn5MKzTEHfF6KhRf2FweWGTLWIh/s3335/14fungus,asianbeauty.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2011" data-original-width="3335" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQxw9TEKkQxaQu5fnwurstAaZ9PLuCsXCaXe1dn4KUaudBCWI4efWkM6tY64yIpcatSLL2n7v89jCwWdJVSFfKXmIWyOmNgJ4l3m19qAM2hZ122NcrqWnI6xCMJ8w4C21wFjMNkTk0VW0edrb4NLROj8n5aCQUEpmPZqn5MKzTEHfF6KhRf2FweWGTLWIh/w640-h386/14fungus,asianbeauty.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Asian Beauty is thought of as relatively recent introduction to North America, having shown up only about a decade ago. Today, it has been reported from more and more places. That has definitely been my own experience, too. It certainly produces lots and lots of spores on the slender teeth that protrude and point downward. But is it an invasive introduction? Here's <a href="https://learnyourland.com/attack-of-the-invasive-asian-beauty-fungus/"><span style="color: #ff00fe;">an interesting video</span></a> that discusses this possibility.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8EjcDcy7dmFDJcF0JBuiVXkvmv0Py3k0tEvyG9u7tjpUlxZSg6o_Q30F4nzsuPBzfWLBVIkFAcAa9kWRK9QeJ28OLf3LGtWF8as-M5Kq_yom1R9GaJDR67OeM3yge3CTTnBQoUdqrs7uqwRfeGLnMQMs-bqz1s3VEoktDfXxztonwGnmIsa_GIxdwhuHM/s1382/15fungus,asianbeauty,teeth.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1114" data-original-width="1382" height="516" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8EjcDcy7dmFDJcF0JBuiVXkvmv0Py3k0tEvyG9u7tjpUlxZSg6o_Q30F4nzsuPBzfWLBVIkFAcAa9kWRK9QeJ28OLf3LGtWF8as-M5Kq_yom1R9GaJDR67OeM3yge3CTTnBQoUdqrs7uqwRfeGLnMQMs-bqz1s3VEoktDfXxztonwGnmIsa_GIxdwhuHM/w640-h516/15fungus,asianbeauty,teeth.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Near where I have parked my car, the edge of the geologic fault is readily observable, as the terrain falls steeply off with a series of rocky ledges. In just a few weeks, these moss-covered ledges will be adorned with many spring wildflowers, such as Long-spurred Violets, Columbine, and Early Meadow Rue.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5D1IHpAdKtS7Hz_D1K6wbUb6EncD_JnqjosWJDkhCEmIrPGrz_jDYWR0ftESzQHjufB52NvsiuEmRtK2aT9aJ1eNNXRLG_YS7_s7Zurf3P4xV6QSaMzNm1AWWP64wpkZ1S0IYj9arVg2cyVf2EKQsjcOa35z8lrm0dwDlD4sSC4jQ3qu1xOowJnOFG1lz/s3682/16faultline.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2518" data-original-width="3682" height="438" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5D1IHpAdKtS7Hz_D1K6wbUb6EncD_JnqjosWJDkhCEmIrPGrz_jDYWR0ftESzQHjufB52NvsiuEmRtK2aT9aJ1eNNXRLG_YS7_s7Zurf3P4xV6QSaMzNm1AWWP64wpkZ1S0IYj9arVg2cyVf2EKQsjcOa35z8lrm0dwDlD4sSC4jQ3qu1xOowJnOFG1lz/w640-h438/16faultline.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Meanwhile, these ledges are not without botanical interest and beauty. I love the curvaceous and delicate-looking fronds of Maidenhair Spleenwort that emerge from deep cracks in the rock.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwURjhTyTjVzNsQq2TSWsHojuumtE2Qf-XpMtJfJF34ohmjnqPZeWBaQYedyFazHA7vbq0dy8pb6dKEToaoZdGtVHk5OTMfNuc9pYrsQRMEyIOyeMLTNaCa8Dlj62vchjxt8xxxUgqE7UXurItmGlKFM1-UOkQrPgJLChzLK9Arjn15Rec_RVTNtYii1BO/s2873/17maidenhairspleenwort.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2394" data-original-width="2873" height="534" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwURjhTyTjVzNsQq2TSWsHojuumtE2Qf-XpMtJfJF34ohmjnqPZeWBaQYedyFazHA7vbq0dy8pb6dKEToaoZdGtVHk5OTMfNuc9pYrsQRMEyIOyeMLTNaCa8Dlj62vchjxt8xxxUgqE7UXurItmGlKFM1-UOkQrPgJLChzLK9Arjn15Rec_RVTNtYii1BO/w640-h534/17maidenhairspleenwort.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Another ledge-clinging plant is this little native geranium called Herb Robert, which prefers to spring from patches of cushioning moss. These leaves have been green all winter and some show signs of how freezing can tatter them a bit. But they will soon be replaced by new leaves as well as small pink flowers.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEWmlVZG87PziymBQ4_lV_FkbxO3TWyqRnXbE9H44R64CnzpR_8U7dKEuRZJdaA-7IlRvtwERzmlI3_wT9kbED9bkGeyx_B5TDXnGqFDozhdcQYTAZfzNgv4HnCQNcZCeDwNLsiKHfV2O3-PwBVCwPi8Jw2gg_iliAIepyfTkcsPnF91rBeHAt951WQsL5/s3362/18herbrobert.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2616" data-original-width="3362" height="498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEWmlVZG87PziymBQ4_lV_FkbxO3TWyqRnXbE9H44R64CnzpR_8U7dKEuRZJdaA-7IlRvtwERzmlI3_wT9kbED9bkGeyx_B5TDXnGqFDozhdcQYTAZfzNgv4HnCQNcZCeDwNLsiKHfV2O3-PwBVCwPi8Jw2gg_iliAIepyfTkcsPnF91rBeHAt951WQsL5/w640-h498/18herbrobert.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Readers may note that I sometimes add scientific names to the vernacular names I have called these plants and fungi. And sometimes I do not. More and more, I am discovering that the scientific names in my old wildflower, bryophyte, and mushroom guides are out of date. OK, so be it. But I can't keep up. Happily, the vernacular names have usually stayed the same ones I have known for most of my life. Most folks know those names, too. If I fail to include a scientific name and you want to know it, just google the vernacular name and you will probably find the most up-to-date scientific one. As I near 82 years old, I myself no longer care about being <i>au courant</i>!</p><p><br /></p>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-60656685261506729782024-03-14T15:11:00.000-04:002024-03-14T15:11:08.979-04:00Spring Is Bustin' Out All Over!<p><span style="font-size: x-large;"> L</span>ate last week, we had just a dusting of snow. Will this be IT? Is winter (if we can call this puny one that) really over? All winter long, the snow in the woods was not much good for animal tracking, but at least I got to see these bird prints last week as a Starling made a bee line to the cat chow we put out on our porch for a feral cat. I thought the bird's trail looked as pretty as an ornamental frieze.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1uaxFCh-3-JHTknwvlXA9j0y7Sdw2qnA9FB9jNjOGi2I-lZm00XMXLBTS3VufaW4dSJWv7oKq1gxn6uDqoqNzb9f52-xzbxaExz3wHhKLk2uEUUEQWfkfkcy-U2yNV05aoYVBYVdJ3RMlX2UnNiXlKrxBwhGPdrmMSeFDgdojlLGyC1I3FvgYJBD3ge34/s3942/00birdtracks,snow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2214" data-original-width="3942" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1uaxFCh-3-JHTknwvlXA9j0y7Sdw2qnA9FB9jNjOGi2I-lZm00XMXLBTS3VufaW4dSJWv7oKq1gxn6uDqoqNzb9f52-xzbxaExz3wHhKLk2uEUUEQWfkfkcy-U2yNV05aoYVBYVdJ3RMlX2UnNiXlKrxBwhGPdrmMSeFDgdojlLGyC1I3FvgYJBD3ge34/w640-h360/00birdtracks,snow.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Today, it must have been close to 70 degrees under a clear blue sky, when I visited <b>Mud Pond at Moreau Lake State Park</b>. The pond was completely clear of all ice, and no snow remained on the ground. I walked the powerline that runs just north of the pond, curious to see if the American Hazelnuts (<i>Corylus americana</i>) that thrive there had come into bloom.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPD4mwW2u_bVAJdo__ebK9FK7BUWxAabg0AgSENZqxLmbIZo1D_3IHxZp2CPChbC2db5gefyM6a4ORD537BT2ER9wd6UAhIuEnoJaCelGMeTC6Kc-1ae8ZPRG1dBLb_g-VHOO5dSZ7rR5OopNX3KjGWduzrsX0u1VCbFBmYi3yL5dOTzNkhpAyQ9NcqV4T/s3963/01mudpond,noice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2756" data-original-width="3963" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPD4mwW2u_bVAJdo__ebK9FK7BUWxAabg0AgSENZqxLmbIZo1D_3IHxZp2CPChbC2db5gefyM6a4ORD537BT2ER9wd6UAhIuEnoJaCelGMeTC6Kc-1ae8ZPRG1dBLb_g-VHOO5dSZ7rR5OopNX3KjGWduzrsX0u1VCbFBmYi3yL5dOTzNkhpAyQ9NcqV4T/w640-h446/01mudpond,noice.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The dangling male catkins were evident on nearly every shrub, but it requires very close examination of every twig to espy the itty bitty female flowers. And with so many hazelnut shrubs at this site, there were thousands of twigs to examine.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-gExWEWCFY1nGNp9DKmBDoRrShW0hVhKNo9lZnuHezWSOAKCsDEGnTQcHJzZ7Fv4DC0n2PnPMKmj_S8oJ5uEJcBoGDDFyRNWosr_qDQPL53knokFmWUKGoGzt90_5OWfdB7PcdmX5JbyEego_4eFf4XFbAKDPrNMYN4eh5qoiNABSpdr2Kp0VVhUTfzy5/s3913/02hazelthicket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2635" data-original-width="3913" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-gExWEWCFY1nGNp9DKmBDoRrShW0hVhKNo9lZnuHezWSOAKCsDEGnTQcHJzZ7Fv4DC0n2PnPMKmj_S8oJ5uEJcBoGDDFyRNWosr_qDQPL53knokFmWUKGoGzt90_5OWfdB7PcdmX5JbyEego_4eFf4XFbAKDPrNMYN4eh5qoiNABSpdr2Kp0VVhUTfzy5/w640-h430/02hazelthicket.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Ta da! I found some! If the sun had not caused the tiny scarlet pistils to glow like miniature Christmas lights, I probably wouldn't have seen them, they are so small. These flowers vie with Skunk Cabbage to be the first flowers of spring.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZnz42K8mDJriLfgez6F6Np9yteDf8F34OGaW8jaIC5plbzTU89Dd8bfnEJlcoIS9i0ZqcO39XwRy7vKRAZDL-YHQNwwXdlqRGc2LwNOaPo8n4PSuSM6ReOyPYJ_0hgnOZgXqkG5GtfbQwlJgLMQAXgfixjj86oCQPix5Yh6ixK7ucWDhq3RkbP0pCjoTj/s2877/03hazelnutblooms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2067" data-original-width="2877" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZnz42K8mDJriLfgez6F6Np9yteDf8F34OGaW8jaIC5plbzTU89Dd8bfnEJlcoIS9i0ZqcO39XwRy7vKRAZDL-YHQNwwXdlqRGc2LwNOaPo8n4PSuSM6ReOyPYJ_0hgnOZgXqkG5GtfbQwlJgLMQAXgfixjj86oCQPix5Yh6ixK7ucWDhq3RkbP0pCjoTj/w640-h460/03hazelnutblooms.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I was surprised to see a few clusters of hazelnuts remaining on the shrubs. Usually, squirrels and other animals strip the shrubs of their nuts even before the nuts are fully ripe.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjedUr7h1G6G8PJnKIqoEuy2guCeSbote1L11ddg8bMIkg__pCz1KjKqt4xFHLbxXkScUGT4qsJOj6FNHSHUFCi-0S13amVWPASnYGp-lQ4A-1zlJVI2_QaaQeHWTxlfZ1muBJq9ajysvmZWh7feK9vRwJisXQW52-1m_5j-TzOvJ1O8NOvTyL68Lz2MbJv/s2522/04hazelnut,catkins,oldnuts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2051" data-original-width="2522" height="520" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjedUr7h1G6G8PJnKIqoEuy2guCeSbote1L11ddg8bMIkg__pCz1KjKqt4xFHLbxXkScUGT4qsJOj6FNHSHUFCi-0S13amVWPASnYGp-lQ4A-1zlJVI2_QaaQeHWTxlfZ1muBJq9ajysvmZWh7feK9vRwJisXQW52-1m_5j-TzOvJ1O8NOvTyL68Lz2MbJv/w640-h520/04hazelnut,catkins,oldnuts.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Aha! Holes in the nuts reveal that a female Hazelnut Weevil got there before the squirrels and bored a hole in each nut to deposit her eggs inside, where the larvae hatched and consumed the nut from within.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ4l1UuffAF8HyNtOF6BysbRbMqEACk0A-qHKbWDFkb2o_9qbax9AoeSlR8Ge1hr5vTEVBuHAsoVKRP7fC0Sd9PQwUsDKFV8m1WMecsbBBXxV54T2IJw8kCnzVKSCmaPoplJ21gIW5sgVFUFYAs8NwhISdxIN9psDPoMbaqHhdaOVI31Q0GxgVr_kUpPIx/s1860/05hazelhole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1274" data-original-width="1860" height="438" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ4l1UuffAF8HyNtOF6BysbRbMqEACk0A-qHKbWDFkb2o_9qbax9AoeSlR8Ge1hr5vTEVBuHAsoVKRP7fC0Sd9PQwUsDKFV8m1WMecsbBBXxV54T2IJw8kCnzVKSCmaPoplJ21gIW5sgVFUFYAs8NwhISdxIN9psDPoMbaqHhdaOVI31Q0GxgVr_kUpPIx/w640-h438/05hazelhole.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">W</span>ell, if the American Hazelnuts are blooming now, I surmised that the Skunk Cabbage plants (<i>Symplocarpus foetidus</i>) that thrive in the watery ditches along the <b>Spring Run Trail</b> in downtown Saratoga Springs should all be in full bloom, too. We've been finding occasional plants in bloom so far, but most plants in a given population had not yet opened by late last week. I next stopped off at the Spring Run Trail to check on the Skunk Cabbages' progress.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS__odPo1fQJC7NSeYcDCz6tA3p3tXRQw0E0POiHHyG30omil-87WquggzQxqvRbxu1E3pW-BxUD_MZYnq4xx_3Oh1A39mz-m-020lUNtIZpHDjmzXAcGGANUXVMSDPuR7Vgu3udioVxQxNM6u_APtnIgezYZxZfcZHSPH8XG0Fg5RZaiOWmX-OuDlcckW/s1440/06springrun,trail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1069" data-original-width="1440" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS__odPo1fQJC7NSeYcDCz6tA3p3tXRQw0E0POiHHyG30omil-87WquggzQxqvRbxu1E3pW-BxUD_MZYnq4xx_3Oh1A39mz-m-020lUNtIZpHDjmzXAcGGANUXVMSDPuR7Vgu3udioVxQxNM6u_APtnIgezYZxZfcZHSPH8XG0Fg5RZaiOWmX-OuDlcckW/w640-h476/06springrun,trail.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Oh yes, progress had occurred! Almost every Skunk Cabbage spathe was wide open now, with interior spadices covered with blooming florets.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXZDykkVlFdOb2o8JSHtldWvlL1AJ7EwtOqXYCIKWYbhTvHUONxbSa831mYps7hJoFQU3PLcyVzqiXe0MXyMRILhfGW9C1rwJNHRNj_wRVUvQkpcN1gF7TkrsNfS71-X02BhzQR_E7PPt9Xfo9-rMcXr7n4mjCDeEqbOWJoABqAOVk0e3A4j9NwqR6p2va/s2941/07skunkcabbage,blooming.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2375" data-original-width="2941" height="516" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXZDykkVlFdOb2o8JSHtldWvlL1AJ7EwtOqXYCIKWYbhTvHUONxbSa831mYps7hJoFQU3PLcyVzqiXe0MXyMRILhfGW9C1rwJNHRNj_wRVUvQkpcN1gF7TkrsNfS71-X02BhzQR_E7PPt9Xfo9-rMcXr7n4mjCDeEqbOWJoABqAOVk0e3A4j9NwqR6p2va/w640-h516/07skunkcabbage,blooming.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>All along the trail, many male Alder catkins (<i>Alnus species</i>) were already shedding pollen, even though the smaller female flowers on the same tree had not yet opened enough to receive the pollen as it wafted on the breeze (and dusted my hand). This is the Alder's strategy to avoid self-pollination. The females will open after the pollen from their own tree has been spent, ready then to welcome the pollen wafted from neighboring trees.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLHn5YB3LGCggq6jceZATOFnAe2YAzLeS3Wr0UwBIU0KG2g8L72mk5InWrzdlj43I3KnrongzYXPsZrprY4naXMrjExDa4mtKuQIBNyeP6NY7LMYLc0G0tSJ72H3qL7emWU52epUywowglne7gMJfHPWGHv2BmyGP8-CSSXDIi8NZUp-RlCpt0aOjwzgaG/s2438/08aldercatkins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1795" data-original-width="2438" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLHn5YB3LGCggq6jceZATOFnAe2YAzLeS3Wr0UwBIU0KG2g8L72mk5InWrzdlj43I3KnrongzYXPsZrprY4naXMrjExDa4mtKuQIBNyeP6NY7LMYLc0G0tSJ72H3qL7emWU52epUywowglne7gMJfHPWGHv2BmyGP8-CSSXDIi8NZUp-RlCpt0aOjwzgaG/w640-h472/08aldercatkins.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And here was the first wildflower of spring that actually LOOKs like a flower! An abundant patch of Colt's Foot (<i>Tussilago farfara</i>) had sprung up virtually overnight from the muddy bank of the Spring Run Creek.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8H18euxyRDCBuCIb_Mbv_EAD5Y1hhacm_M43fcu-H8-cyt-oLTn_YdNc9UNL7lgmKGb6a8Y0a927B1DMWL1v0PiuZnr7VH8RFqNJBuJq9yfYkq5gQojf20ujkjhGzBxQZveBWJ4oRauOW03q7tab-fu2zDHPKFymsN4qzmjBoDSrpxb8Md0pIx4fYBwhJ/s1914/09coltsfoot.trio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1326" data-original-width="1914" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8H18euxyRDCBuCIb_Mbv_EAD5Y1hhacm_M43fcu-H8-cyt-oLTn_YdNc9UNL7lgmKGb6a8Y0a927B1DMWL1v0PiuZnr7VH8RFqNJBuJq9yfYkq5gQojf20ujkjhGzBxQZveBWJ4oRauOW03q7tab-fu2zDHPKFymsN4qzmjBoDSrpxb8Md0pIx4fYBwhJ/w640-h444/09coltsfoot.trio.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>What a gorgeous sunburst of bloom, with staminate disc flowers already opening, surrounded by the wispy pistils. Colt's Foot is not a native of North America, but the bees that were visiting did not apparently disparage these immigrants.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwmVSUVelp7WkH4lbZZMsaaoEyIBKGJqh7JasrjgYb-ARQHzmTfWR80bAh3RhkA0j3ERKka2_ZTbDQ6ATNlFCDf9fdNptI8WtbL_U1YJr2Md5WkwYnrk7TUD7mDjch3PdiM2sbUWQAGdzRANFlHVhEX8jDLgrUqgDVRVEp3eKIF0K7Vt0UlzhuTy1ok1hB/s1994/10coltsfoot,close.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1555" data-original-width="1994" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwmVSUVelp7WkH4lbZZMsaaoEyIBKGJqh7JasrjgYb-ARQHzmTfWR80bAh3RhkA0j3ERKka2_ZTbDQ6ATNlFCDf9fdNptI8WtbL_U1YJr2Md5WkwYnrk7TUD7mDjch3PdiM2sbUWQAGdzRANFlHVhEX8jDLgrUqgDVRVEp3eKIF0K7Vt0UlzhuTy1ok1hB/w640-h500/10coltsfoot,close.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I</span> knew that if all these other wildflowers were blooming now, I would surely find masses of two super-early bloomers in an area enclosed by an old stone wall off <b>Parkhurst Road in Wilton</b>: Winter Aconite (<i>Eranthus hyemalis</i>) and Snowdrops (<i>Galanthus species</i>). And yes, I certainly did!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSo5ly3wl1Q9BpVjkPWOEGc-ydn2aWuq64mnjkZRxilX86AoEAlfA-GpMqETJbKD5EuEK5iFxjubX-5w1drXg28XAo2NFvcTbRzoHiklkDH1UEip0bKO9Drj4z-aZ_TM2x_xqqomzZ3rM8pkUKqWkmQxDTSwAu6gcDsigLEr9pBIBONHTy_sK2hdOf9PZ3/s2973/11aconitegarden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2397" data-original-width="2973" height="516" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSo5ly3wl1Q9BpVjkPWOEGc-ydn2aWuq64mnjkZRxilX86AoEAlfA-GpMqETJbKD5EuEK5iFxjubX-5w1drXg28XAo2NFvcTbRzoHiklkDH1UEip0bKO9Drj4z-aZ_TM2x_xqqomzZ3rM8pkUKqWkmQxDTSwAu6gcDsigLEr9pBIBONHTy_sK2hdOf9PZ3/w640-h516/11aconitegarden.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I don't know if these old stone walls surround a cellar hole or a former garden, but the latter seems a more likely spot for these two non-native species, popular with home gardeners for their exceptionally early bloom time. On other years, I have seen these flowers poking up right through the snow,</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNLYzVVQRoT4t1Ap6NEsgGKmC84mwclqmEXjJOylAOV2onAReUKfkpMS_H_UYiCcePisQ9HVnjT3cx1CPMjBeMrkyvB0knPMeG5lIBNajDqXjxLyEovYKl1qLSAe_u84Q5-0zIrtG6mVzITR-QGcCaF37NhS_1MH7xV0cdUR53FcJvNPr7PJyPmvTRo0aJ/s2698/12snowdrops.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2053" data-original-width="2698" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNLYzVVQRoT4t1Ap6NEsgGKmC84mwclqmEXjJOylAOV2onAReUKfkpMS_H_UYiCcePisQ9HVnjT3cx1CPMjBeMrkyvB0knPMeG5lIBNajDqXjxLyEovYKl1qLSAe_u84Q5-0zIrtG6mVzITR-QGcCaF37NhS_1MH7xV0cdUR53FcJvNPr7PJyPmvTRo0aJ/w640-h486/12snowdrops.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The Winter Aconite blooms are so sunny, they almost seem to produce their own warmth!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3HN9FQ3b99DNz0UF7uJYP2JIurg9ZYFJKn4eRlFil1qpSWRES-yUiYfwq0_mk3mJcTH7KbAR0PV2xAGBgSYbk4zjHrg2_AFEo00Y1L5vCD0Fbqr3z_af8-ucIq7HS2t_1XeNL1CDh05iz18fn_tzsBRez93ZKKJ4bxrfICYS9l67S3ZWkGFMOpFfzjfzr/s2453/13aconite,3:13:24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1789" data-original-width="2453" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3HN9FQ3b99DNz0UF7uJYP2JIurg9ZYFJKn4eRlFil1qpSWRES-yUiYfwq0_mk3mJcTH7KbAR0PV2xAGBgSYbk4zjHrg2_AFEo00Y1L5vCD0Fbqr3z_af8-ucIq7HS2t_1XeNL1CDh05iz18fn_tzsBRez93ZKKJ4bxrfICYS9l67S3ZWkGFMOpFfzjfzr/w640-h466/13aconite,3:13:24.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>So all these flowers must indicate that winter is truly over. Recalling a three-foot snow that fell on St. Patrick's Day a few years back, I acknowledge we might yet get a wintry surprise, but these early bloomers can all keep blooming despite such deep snowcover. I only wish we'd had such snow this past winter.</p>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-2256730030621206032024-03-11T23:41:00.003-04:002024-03-13T11:47:22.180-04:00Visual Treats in the Late Winter Woods<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">W</span>hile we wait for our local forest floors to be paved with colorful spring wildflowers, are there any visual treats to be found right now among the sodden and dull dead leaves that carpet the woods? Oh, there certainly are, as some friends and I discovered this week as we ambled about a swamp-sodden woods at Bog Meadow Brook Nature Preserve on the outskirts of Saratoga Springs.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRq8AwqsKZBsOW87U75oKE_NJ895ronG910ikfrE_pPIrKj5moKeq6qWT2IzIaT7zl97KQ7zi-ct6uLgWi_VUGSWn0xeH0adXcnBnWQLFxJXKqzRwxwygnfDmyiB_pM7M-OIUubdpSoMv_viyug8miGDxaCUPgyQChGqtFNbOJIC9SONpgXHaYKevp3Sk3/s3149/01swamp,friends.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2371" data-original-width="3149" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRq8AwqsKZBsOW87U75oKE_NJ895ronG910ikfrE_pPIrKj5moKeq6qWT2IzIaT7zl97KQ7zi-ct6uLgWi_VUGSWn0xeH0adXcnBnWQLFxJXKqzRwxwygnfDmyiB_pM7M-OIUubdpSoMv_viyug8miGDxaCUPgyQChGqtFNbOJIC9SONpgXHaYKevp3Sk3/w640-h482/01swamp,friends.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Before we even reached that swampy woods, we were halted in our tracks as we walked along an oak- and beech-leaf-littered trail. Wow! Just <i>look</i> at all these thousands of tiny snow fleas crawling and hopping about among the dry leaves! We usually find these springtails peppering the surface of late-winter snow, but these tiny critters are active all year wherever the forest floor remains damp. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvev__xQOLwS3944l6MQuFCCwtUwxjlHygHVeJh86CZlXvQXuyGR6P70OD0CKTlJZcXrUUsu7C21XA40YOO_O6u1K9K7OabzBYna9IzFEtvScXF_Wtlo2ELbDtlQTM-bvReZVnCvDN1R7dkeNnQ0Gvv479sDoTj435LvQyfqs-mly2Q2VB97oyidfX30_d/s3863/02snowfleas,mass.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2882" data-original-width="3863" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvev__xQOLwS3944l6MQuFCCwtUwxjlHygHVeJh86CZlXvQXuyGR6P70OD0CKTlJZcXrUUsu7C21XA40YOO_O6u1K9K7OabzBYna9IzFEtvScXF_Wtlo2ELbDtlQTM-bvReZVnCvDN1R7dkeNnQ0Gvv479sDoTj435LvQyfqs-mly2Q2VB97oyidfX30_d/w640-h478/02snowfleas,mass.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Despite possessing six legs, snow fleas are not true insects, but instead are members of the <i>Collembola</i> taxonomic class, a very large class with several thousand member species found throughout the world. All are tiny, wingless hexapods that can catapult impressive distances due to a spring-loaded organ called a furcula that is tucked up tight against their abdomens. Snow fleas are not rare at all, but it's always an unexpected treat to come upon masses of them.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And look at this! A genuine spring wildflower! Or should I say wildflowerS, since each of those yellow tufts adorning the interior spadix of this Skunk Cabbage spathe (<i>Symplocarpus foetidus</i>) is an individual male (staminate) floret, ready to offer pollen to any early pollinators. And to have those pollinators carry that pollen off to fertilize female (pistillate) florets covering the spadix of a neighboring Skunk Cabbage plant in bloom.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSEvlZlG5WGvgu_jMi6veFXgXndm0tDrU1xPF9pqILtm-WIDQiq8tCPKvYEqDOid8c5kvjgwgezmIpqwpRrxG6PeIRPnA3FZE-7BY5QkyqrEbuVsQ_gY2m8b6dtlt9T-krv2NqnGrbK_4BDWQpeTZncpc1U14ZDzzO3gQVAW0XuJ0MAGtHKAmqfAjG7nR8/s3581/03skunkcabbage,small.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2561" data-original-width="3581" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSEvlZlG5WGvgu_jMi6veFXgXndm0tDrU1xPF9pqILtm-WIDQiq8tCPKvYEqDOid8c5kvjgwgezmIpqwpRrxG6PeIRPnA3FZE-7BY5QkyqrEbuVsQ_gY2m8b6dtlt9T-krv2NqnGrbK_4BDWQpeTZncpc1U14ZDzzO3gQVAW0XuJ0MAGtHKAmqfAjG7nR8/w640-h458/03skunkcabbage,small.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>From the many dozens of Skunk Cabbage plants sprouting up from the muddy edges of a small creek, our friend Sue extracted two spadices, one with staminate flowers (left) and the other with pistillate ones, the sexes having bloomed sequentially, the pistillate ones first, ready to receive pollen from neighboring plants in staminate bloom. It isn't often we get to see the two kinds of florets so clearly.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Jf4NsCnT2ePjf5sfioHm5YyX6PHLik8VTNrfGWNrpt-CX3lXYEN13uARyvYlo-zFaAKjSXz_ZNN9GJd0vltETVr52huIJy0fCPoS8U4DWnljN3HW6qNE68oypmnCNAURzMmCLsmqbVtLHLjEJ3ziIInCGZ8Ph8UlG3Yn8_-69T6KX5FPaiVjEP1Ax1GI/s2772/04skunkcabbage,bothsex.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1815" data-original-width="2772" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Jf4NsCnT2ePjf5sfioHm5YyX6PHLik8VTNrfGWNrpt-CX3lXYEN13uARyvYlo-zFaAKjSXz_ZNN9GJd0vltETVr52huIJy0fCPoS8U4DWnljN3HW6qNE68oypmnCNAURzMmCLsmqbVtLHLjEJ3ziIInCGZ8Ph8UlG3Yn8_-69T6KX5FPaiVjEP1Ax1GI/w640-h420/04skunkcabbage,bothsex.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>The Skunk Cabbage plants were the only spring wildflowers yet to bloom, but we did find evidence that some gorgeous wildflowers will bloom here later in the summer. This prickly green basal rosette will eventually produce a towering stalk, well over 6 feet, to be crowned with bright-pink puffy Swamp Thistle flowers (<i>Cirsium muticum</i>).</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj69BIZ4Fnzgbjx0ROAWZm9SVSAQpb-efWHFyNi2YFjnVGNs4qbPKZXeaTjr40vxOaWLGNknzEUdCoARMYRQREVTxs6mCMytAwBMBD9oXK0dXzuZ7K3QaVuDmmi09ydjZQFeeGrFSMzoKBPZSI4x7J3JqKG5fwguo1sFcIAmpVzpaSB6O0GedI_BjoTsUmS/s3783/05swampthistle.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2858" data-original-width="3783" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj69BIZ4Fnzgbjx0ROAWZm9SVSAQpb-efWHFyNi2YFjnVGNs4qbPKZXeaTjr40vxOaWLGNknzEUdCoARMYRQREVTxs6mCMytAwBMBD9oXK0dXzuZ7K3QaVuDmmi09ydjZQFeeGrFSMzoKBPZSI4x7J3JqKG5fwguo1sFcIAmpVzpaSB6O0GedI_BjoTsUmS/w640-h484/05swampthistle.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And here was a pretty, rosy-hued leaf that offered proof that the native wildflower called Foamflower (<i>Tiarella stolonifera</i>) is a regular inhabitant of this swampy woods. The plant's new leaves have yet to appear, but when they do, they too will persist through next winter, their green color eventually yielding to this lovely pink before they fade away as new leaves emerge.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjji4c5Yts4kT1x35X617wF_x9eSCwyV2TurAzUr8jqqwnsamgoTXhEQq30oM19CtbqsUxoudQMza1tMGocFA2YCTUu5ZvG4kU8KGh1w1Wl9HeOOHP-QOKCyz_bCz7-UZzzW_oj-a5l6TbT7ZUoK6FwgOtHshRSFFq7V-L-WpnoXkjcivt_xzA1XSNDI1l-/s3445/06tiarella,pinkleaf.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2501" data-original-width="3445" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjji4c5Yts4kT1x35X617wF_x9eSCwyV2TurAzUr8jqqwnsamgoTXhEQq30oM19CtbqsUxoudQMza1tMGocFA2YCTUu5ZvG4kU8KGh1w1Wl9HeOOHP-QOKCyz_bCz7-UZzzW_oj-a5l6TbT7ZUoK6FwgOtHshRSFFq7V-L-WpnoXkjcivt_xzA1XSNDI1l-/w640-h464/06tiarella,pinkleaf.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I do not know how my friend Sue Pierce managed to spy these remnants of Yellow Bartonia flowers (<i>Bartonia virginica</i>), nearly invisible as they were among the yellow-brown forest-floor leaves. But Sue is famous among our friends for having such keen eyesight. The tiny flowers bloomed last summer, but the then-blooming florets did not look much different than these dried pods.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho30bk4JXNOC5H8-LTvxMf9T0YNNnVS0fbj9D1-kK_egpauzmhNwqb2s6VN91wtoRgF1GDbsr3r_fvk9OFp55siOWSepTdNp2Fr6WAeuWR64PLLCfYdqnEa2fulTVfotBCly13gdprTgPnUvG_gSboplVx15O4qNmQDH3jYjgfWluXT8K0c5w7dNDgLg6H/s2303/07bartonia.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1765" data-original-width="2303" height="490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho30bk4JXNOC5H8-LTvxMf9T0YNNnVS0fbj9D1-kK_egpauzmhNwqb2s6VN91wtoRgF1GDbsr3r_fvk9OFp55siOWSepTdNp2Fr6WAeuWR64PLLCfYdqnEa2fulTVfotBCly13gdprTgPnUvG_gSboplVx15O4qNmQDH3jYjgfWluXT8K0c5w7dNDgLg6H/w640-h490/07bartonia.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>These wiry stems of Dwarf Horsetail (<i>Equisetum scirpoides</i>) were abundant across this swampy tract, looking hardly any different from how they will appear in the summer. Among the five species of Horsetail that thrive in this place, this is the only one that retains its green color all year. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizXtgH6pfjB_70RXnbPowobzmoIy4L4t44wJ3pJWpRGig1sPQ85p9rjpWtPccgcEOSxtgH6hWbXQQ1iw7sRWxDHC1aoOXLX69L2OxC6vD586b-t5KyKrquViJ8ZjD_NlXyJzDq-PSDEO_ibdBJZCZ3t5d0BCJuubjOaTJ2rAT6JujhbpYF8FrrXNLkkqL5/s3118/08dwarf%20horsetail.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2261" data-original-width="3118" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizXtgH6pfjB_70RXnbPowobzmoIy4L4t44wJ3pJWpRGig1sPQ85p9rjpWtPccgcEOSxtgH6hWbXQQ1iw7sRWxDHC1aoOXLX69L2OxC6vD586b-t5KyKrquViJ8ZjD_NlXyJzDq-PSDEO_ibdBJZCZ3t5d0BCJuubjOaTJ2rAT6JujhbpYF8FrrXNLkkqL5/w640-h464/08dwarf%20horsetail.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Oh boy, look at this gold mine of treasures for those who love mosses and liverworts! Such a fallen log has reached the perfect stage of decomposition to provide just the right damp habitat for certain bryophytes to thrive on. My friends are leaning in for close observation. Since many mosses require microscopic examination to determine their species, I usually fail at accurate IDs, while content to admire their beauty.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvzx5_LbpjdSmkd3uhyphenhyphentWEuaO1v8cYG61UGeVdxyvja2WDg-NIdoYJyopv23G-VLRisX1XG32zWixXZsFTuZY4wbmLQX3p-nK_CykuXuh4-h2NSeq8w_blACAqs_TBDNU5twqeTFgqnnYBnNF6Dnblu_44AHMSRu4t2pJofsv1lxzuT56R1JxeJcV8gDQu/s3474/09mossylog,friends.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2547" data-original-width="3474" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvzx5_LbpjdSmkd3uhyphenhyphentWEuaO1v8cYG61UGeVdxyvja2WDg-NIdoYJyopv23G-VLRisX1XG32zWixXZsFTuZY4wbmLQX3p-nK_CykuXuh4-h2NSeq8w_blACAqs_TBDNU5twqeTFgqnnYBnNF6Dnblu_44AHMSRu4t2pJofsv1lxzuT56R1JxeJcV8gDQu/w640-h470/09mossylog,friends.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Among the beautiful mosses we found was this ample clump of lacy, fine-leaved loveliness, but it was growing on the ground instead of that log. I am still in the process of trying to ascertain its name and will return to identify it when I do. There were tiny water droplets among its miniature leaves that caused this moss to sparkle in the light.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPV5xovLJaoualJTi1omyaoVyq0lI7ZdnsDDCyNqLPGA_hBIppQx5r9lgr9dAIFDm6EQXSZCcoJaaUDFCIu9sZyS9I_q4wU__bvDa5W2NDx-J5N_KkzX8qdAzJkFCsF3MgUAaIFsPkqBcmhuCJLcIKAYqGKP1wGFDLlwbLXlmd_8kQzRR-bPJQgbjRI-o4/s3749/10moss,finelacy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2792" data-original-width="3749" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPV5xovLJaoualJTi1omyaoVyq0lI7ZdnsDDCyNqLPGA_hBIppQx5r9lgr9dAIFDm6EQXSZCcoJaaUDFCIu9sZyS9I_q4wU__bvDa5W2NDx-J5N_KkzX8qdAzJkFCsF3MgUAaIFsPkqBcmhuCJLcIKAYqGKP1wGFDLlwbLXlmd_8kQzRR-bPJQgbjRI-o4/w640-h476/10moss,finelacy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I did recognize this moss as a species of <i>Fissidens</i> (Pocket Moss), a genus that usually requires microscopic examination to identify as to species. I love its ferny appearance.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Bd68ydLlUbTngsuZqcazZhoyku9CEKM5j1UUQWuyOsDoyQAGmYdPHv-QquAPLXSjS9GmiEgNxauwzZ5X6T8RLloNNm8D2FpPzHQnAd51Jv7Iy_ukmsDtysvK__mV_NVF58qMApVIpIkBzY3UByup64RnsS8KR_Y3BLlcYZz1SM_DyJInbMNc6g4MV2GP/s2871/11moss,fissidens.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2293" data-original-width="2871" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Bd68ydLlUbTngsuZqcazZhoyku9CEKM5j1UUQWuyOsDoyQAGmYdPHv-QquAPLXSjS9GmiEgNxauwzZ5X6T8RLloNNm8D2FpPzHQnAd51Jv7Iy_ukmsDtysvK__mV_NVF58qMApVIpIkBzY3UByup64RnsS8KR_Y3BLlcYZz1SM_DyJInbMNc6g4MV2GP/w640-h512/11moss,fissidens.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Again, I could only admire this moss without knowing its name, delighting in the delicacy of its leaves and the drooping capsules atop its slender spore stalks.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAnx3MuCfXEMzuHhRA8G61FUATYWdOPwtrAbMiGkACV1uYCoHJFfFtnVhp7cjg8EvqavNS6E7sxxPV0Y37zf4SYkesbFAuR-OGNomVhQT6zeKJMjbP0cxKrivEPE8g9YkF-9LG_TKN7cZIJRTN3eD0mxoK6zfNIjxNQU7P4Bzl7LGUvhzx9RZWJ9Pl1tiY/s2952/12moss,sporestalks.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2139" data-original-width="2952" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAnx3MuCfXEMzuHhRA8G61FUATYWdOPwtrAbMiGkACV1uYCoHJFfFtnVhp7cjg8EvqavNS6E7sxxPV0Y37zf4SYkesbFAuR-OGNomVhQT6zeKJMjbP0cxKrivEPE8g9YkF-9LG_TKN7cZIJRTN3eD0mxoK6zfNIjxNQU7P4Bzl7LGUvhzx9RZWJ9Pl1tiY/w640-h464/12moss,sporestalks.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>At least I did recognize this clump of leafy liverwort with the texture of snakeskin that was sharing its space with tufts of moss poking through it. Or at least I think I do. I learned it as <i>Conocephalum conicum</i>, but scientific names are constantly being changed these days, as molecular research reassigns many species. It has several interesting vernacular names, including Snakeskin Liverwort (obvious) or Great Scented Liverwort, thanks to its distinctive scent.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGCsK8VsKY8M1-3ZqUUR6Br3uJpUqiMjcuU0kLhwtHkxJXu0XyCQCDki1fFHnrSeHck0KaK68iozz3dRxCbjAy8peVNgznEopzwX1M84CBrqDLHz7xbKKMRoifkuIbbU8BkbD4ScZPA98t6Huje6yHyg8F-qu5iCogvP7ySQCONiJ0tUcCTCp7RGox-Exs/s3750/13liverwort,conocephala.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2788" data-original-width="3750" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGCsK8VsKY8M1-3ZqUUR6Br3uJpUqiMjcuU0kLhwtHkxJXu0XyCQCDki1fFHnrSeHck0KaK68iozz3dRxCbjAy8peVNgznEopzwX1M84CBrqDLHz7xbKKMRoifkuIbbU8BkbD4ScZPA98t6Huje6yHyg8F-qu5iCogvP7ySQCONiJ0tUcCTCp7RGox-Exs/w640-h476/13liverwort,conocephala.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Liverworts come in a wide variety of textures, including this fluffy stuff that I learned to call Lovely Fuzzwort (<i>Ptilidium pulcherimum</i>). The leaves of most liverworts look about the same in winter as they do the rest of the year, making them easy to identify at any time, once we learn learn their names.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRo6fTAoa5tPpQTe0EEqk7GiVYtdla0unrWaMYj9dLkDxoYUSPzPJTd2yzU7UGjQECr3y4p99rpsfzXtmW9jtzoj7QZinsVSIx1-oljt9kIVFfYJXcTKCg4rzIRZVbsZ3SRfOlcQaWRlZsR4753cPftJMErZCYZSnbrQKtmt6vn0veB1p2hOWcmoDqjOTc/s3139/14liverwort,lovelyfuzzwort.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2350" data-original-width="3139" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRo6fTAoa5tPpQTe0EEqk7GiVYtdla0unrWaMYj9dLkDxoYUSPzPJTd2yzU7UGjQECr3y4p99rpsfzXtmW9jtzoj7QZinsVSIx1-oljt9kIVFfYJXcTKCg4rzIRZVbsZ3SRfOlcQaWRlZsR4753cPftJMErZCYZSnbrQKtmt6vn0veB1p2hOWcmoDqjOTc/w640-h480/14liverwort,lovelyfuzzwort.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Two other liverworts shared the same rotting log as that Lovely Fuzzwort. The rusty-red ones with curling leaves is called Rustwort (<i>Nowellia curvifolia</i>), and the pale-green one with the toothed leaves is called Variable-leaved Crestwort (<i>Lophocolea heterophylla</i>). These two liverworts are often found close together, frequently intertwined.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4u82PnlHHzbVAXqKeprpBoYl-BT12Qi0oWMp5pTS6baDUG5BITThhfXIl7TPvOeHY99xpVfUigq3dmr3vTbe5FPMZnYH6YOnIzYJgiOWbQFheYiA7S4mv79UBtC3n6_qEPMe44zbLAUGOtgrG36Bvvp91Buz3KJOLRkbhZNriJ7wAt_pwJ73b7ZUi54_N/s1912/lophocolea.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1592" data-original-width="1912" height="532" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4u82PnlHHzbVAXqKeprpBoYl-BT12Qi0oWMp5pTS6baDUG5BITThhfXIl7TPvOeHY99xpVfUigq3dmr3vTbe5FPMZnYH6YOnIzYJgiOWbQFheYiA7S4mv79UBtC3n6_qEPMe44zbLAUGOtgrG36Bvvp91Buz3KJOLRkbhZNriJ7wAt_pwJ73b7ZUi54_N/w640-h532/lophocolea.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p><br /></p><p>And then there were the fungi! It's still a bit early for even the early fruiters to show up yet, but this interesting chunky one called Ceramic Parchment (<i>Xylobolus frustulatus</i>) can be found on rotting wood (most often oak) all year. It does bear a resemblance to ceramic tiles fitting together, and it's just about as hard as ceramic tile, too. <i>Wikipedia</i> states that the fruiting bodies are perennial, forming a new layer of spore-producing tissue on top of the old fruiting body every year. As a result, the zone lines around the edges represent old layers of growth, much like the rings of a tree. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlP-CUhCHNlqshmbS6miamxaeHOmUjtXva6tearws1zEez-AhRxHtim7s9Mway-ApuNtnYhgxEhe9P2TsrWDOkEYi6nQaBvswigZM2IgZcsiEu8ZYXU5yhPGVzXqetTn68vJyHvQO9yH-h-ul0qZ-NIZdU-1KcI9tGR2ZuC5ifD_P4gfMcL_VEBQ4B_tMO/s2715/16fungus,ceramic.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="2715" height="534" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlP-CUhCHNlqshmbS6miamxaeHOmUjtXva6tearws1zEez-AhRxHtim7s9Mway-ApuNtnYhgxEhe9P2TsrWDOkEYi6nQaBvswigZM2IgZcsiEu8ZYXU5yhPGVzXqetTn68vJyHvQO9yH-h-ul0qZ-NIZdU-1KcI9tGR2ZuC5ifD_P4gfMcL_VEBQ4B_tMO/w640-h534/16fungus,ceramic.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>The aptly-named Turkey Tail Fungus (<i>Trametes versicolor</i>) comes in a variety of beautiful colors, and it also retains much of its color through the winter. So although these specimens likely fruited last fall and not recently, they still looked quite beautiful.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjTmiAsTHX3PEcloIWvGa7Xv5SM4SckraA0tRFY4gtd_4fA-RR8inBmYGwHPLcqca1v7NJ9KOqZf1hR5p92QTx6_pErZN9OTIeNB-4qoeCGGtGDSFT5S7ruloc4Wh5MuZsSdQV1oScDS3f27KeVXY-6Ac2eSPZRIe7MBzTuvYS1LO3oJu73g1IES_uowyY/s3307/17fungus,turekytail.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2316" data-original-width="3307" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjTmiAsTHX3PEcloIWvGa7Xv5SM4SckraA0tRFY4gtd_4fA-RR8inBmYGwHPLcqca1v7NJ9KOqZf1hR5p92QTx6_pErZN9OTIeNB-4qoeCGGtGDSFT5S7ruloc4Wh5MuZsSdQV1oScDS3f27KeVXY-6Ac2eSPZRIe7MBzTuvYS1LO3oJu73g1IES_uowyY/w640-h448/17fungus,turekytail.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>If you tried to ID this fungus by Googling "avocado-green shelf fungus" you'd not have much luck. The fungus itself is actually the Violet-toothed Polypore (<i>Trichaptum biforme</i>) -- and it does have a purple edge when fresh. It's only green now because it is covered with a green alga. Luckily, we can still identify this fungus by its distinctive pore surface, even when covered with green stuff.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Baqcvgdxg6zLZjh7_XrM2926a1H3Te8GT0GEWVzFWhQ_-2RJ-CoO3HCGIiZEwQCMlEhOZWLH6Zs0bu-4Zc9_LA_Axe6srTv7Z1L3IEXmNxXwCz9-on8hwU9aomVdaSOd4w17OUVwQvsbWZr2Kp96VPAHT8mXFYe2q2cONqQO97MmetItGLG3nhroQYFa/s3801/18fungus,trichaptum,green.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2849" data-original-width="3801" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Baqcvgdxg6zLZjh7_XrM2926a1H3Te8GT0GEWVzFWhQ_-2RJ-CoO3HCGIiZEwQCMlEhOZWLH6Zs0bu-4Zc9_LA_Axe6srTv7Z1L3IEXmNxXwCz9-on8hwU9aomVdaSOd4w17OUVwQvsbWZr2Kp96VPAHT8mXFYe2q2cONqQO97MmetItGLG3nhroQYFa/w640-h480/18fungus,trichaptum,green.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Another clue to this fungus's ID requires a very close look. See all the itty bitty, almost invisibly small dark pin heads sticking up from the surface of the cap? Those are a second fungus called Fairy Pins (<i>Phaeocalicium polyporaeum</i>), and they are known to prefer the caps of Violet Tooth Polypore, especially when those caps are covered with green algae. In my experience, these Fairy Pins tend to occur most frequently quite late in the winter, after the growth of algae has succeeded in covering the caps.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK5P7NPn9Wk0fPUJ4cn_q6yBLql1xUE950qjisV6ASM8N6RZK-RLu_6UjA2mZNSmjKOvemf6JFrkb1LNBBTRzcsb7hchQ4UvJKIhPPcoWNsQUNfW0Wfluf6LXLyi3xIuq2ckxbjxFEcGVe_CdFoM1o5gbMrPOZH5zaHqMFweuoR9JhCVY-Sfs4EcxK2MfL/s1208/19fungus,trichaptum,fairypins.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="820" data-original-width="1208" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK5P7NPn9Wk0fPUJ4cn_q6yBLql1xUE950qjisV6ASM8N6RZK-RLu_6UjA2mZNSmjKOvemf6JFrkb1LNBBTRzcsb7hchQ4UvJKIhPPcoWNsQUNfW0Wfluf6LXLyi3xIuq2ckxbjxFEcGVe_CdFoM1o5gbMrPOZH5zaHqMFweuoR9JhCVY-Sfs4EcxK2MfL/w640-h434/19fungus,trichaptum,fairypins.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Here was another shelf fungus hosting a lovely growth of green algae. I wish I had paid attention to the species of tree it was growing on, for that might have helped me identify which shelf fungus it was. Sue found a possibility on iNaturalist, which suggested Lumpy Bracket (<i>Trametes gibbosa</i>), so we could go with that. Its top was certainly quite lumpy, and Lumpy Bracket is frequently colonized by green algae.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlK2jVqUaeiTnxvcxVPWwHl4F_p4dvt_NUxXVOfnYRR9aMzfTyWwPzWfqMyeWwsw71bJOTZzQk2p6zKbwPzGULzAb7Lee6Bwjz3ZoZWZiFosx-bx7bzBKj6z9GtQPot8wGtoZbtqCNq0fCBNrgAwN9zT2I7RbvG-TpUp16-w6Qgnq47vQ2hcFmvhLlAkbJ/s3257/20fungus,mazegill,green.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2227" data-original-width="3257" height="438" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlK2jVqUaeiTnxvcxVPWwHl4F_p4dvt_NUxXVOfnYRR9aMzfTyWwPzWfqMyeWwsw71bJOTZzQk2p6zKbwPzGULzAb7Lee6Bwjz3ZoZWZiFosx-bx7bzBKj6z9GtQPot8wGtoZbtqCNq0fCBNrgAwN9zT2I7RbvG-TpUp16-w6Qgnq47vQ2hcFmvhLlAkbJ/w640-h438/20fungus,mazegill,green.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Here's the pore surface of that fungus, displaying a maze-like texture that resembled that in photos of Lumpy Bracket. So let's go with that name for the present.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqxap8vpBgU1eLdpqOJyKYQJFoed6qymECs_un1XDRTUD9ZMEYGjOQdy7MMO-uCBhTtbx4rS3KRGK4oqq1oJMkyQ0AQA7-xsKqd87rRaZs5c-wW5dDG1I-oHAuzE95LL2FwJkH7-XaLw_6OgTi8fD8k9m4Zv5vBAXSWhsb-7irk0Fz2eoPFDXIxB5lLGqV/s3872/21fungus,mazegill,gills.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2724" data-original-width="3872" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqxap8vpBgU1eLdpqOJyKYQJFoed6qymECs_un1XDRTUD9ZMEYGjOQdy7MMO-uCBhTtbx4rS3KRGK4oqq1oJMkyQ0AQA7-xsKqd87rRaZs5c-wW5dDG1I-oHAuzE95LL2FwJkH7-XaLw_6OgTi8fD8k9m4Zv5vBAXSWhsb-7irk0Fz2eoPFDXIxB5lLGqV/w640-h450/21fungus,mazegill,gills.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Here was one last treat we found, and it was quite a vivid find! At first we wondered if it was some kind of fungus that had grown on old wasp nests. But I remembered seeing it before, many years ago, when I was surprised to discover it was not a fungus, but rather a slime mold species in its spore-producing stage, after its fruiting bodies had matured within those wasp-nest-like structures visible behind all the fluffy spore stuff. And guess what the name of this slime mold is! Why, it's actually called the Wasp Nest Slime Mold (<i>Metatrichia vesparium</i>)! A visual treat, indeed!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUwEQ2RlP6j3NgSsNt3cv3KlaLpHdiZhHjtrHx6TPe_d2jUBiTPvCjFYDor4djTJIiU-eKK6-KrpRJ5XRqdJye63kl-UQtVE9o2HI30S2vQRNBijiaqRpc87hdZYXGvBj3X3tCklQ_duyZ9Q6J-VVCUIM071TUV7mYOOWACzHAF4ER3YDeLNHG0jaReBWo/s2884/22slime,waspnest.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2086" data-original-width="2884" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUwEQ2RlP6j3NgSsNt3cv3KlaLpHdiZhHjtrHx6TPe_d2jUBiTPvCjFYDor4djTJIiU-eKK6-KrpRJ5XRqdJye63kl-UQtVE9o2HI30S2vQRNBijiaqRpc87hdZYXGvBj3X3tCklQ_duyZ9Q6J-VVCUIM071TUV7mYOOWACzHAF4ER3YDeLNHG0jaReBWo/w640-h462/22slime,waspnest.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-41542159186980842622024-03-04T14:01:00.001-05:002024-03-05T11:52:31.955-05:00Spring?<p><span style="font-size: x-large;"> W</span>ell, here it is, folks: our first flower of . . . Spring? Sadly, I'm finding it hard to feel excited about this portent of spring, this definitely flowering Skunk Cabbage plant that was blooming today along the Spring Run Trail in Saratoga Springs, when we haven't really had much winter this year. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvHqapvnYhCr-TginzzHCogB2h8kPZZx67PnPym7Uj6wSjO9pjiRBTD5B3w1VSxVx78puwqs4Xnay-VEAGNJb9JdYXsNxYBJTBrd_e_a24u6BUCQ8Ba0M1E4U6OAGIWBL85tsUPA68DffYQeqcq_se7aqXdSVTbIZ8TA98NsVw8BS_F-SpP3d3QlqM3szV/s2596/01skunkcabbage,stream.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1941" data-original-width="2596" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvHqapvnYhCr-TginzzHCogB2h8kPZZx67PnPym7Uj6wSjO9pjiRBTD5B3w1VSxVx78puwqs4Xnay-VEAGNJb9JdYXsNxYBJTBrd_e_a24u6BUCQ8Ba0M1E4U6OAGIWBL85tsUPA68DffYQeqcq_se7aqXdSVTbIZ8TA98NsVw8BS_F-SpP3d3QlqM3szV/w640-h478/01skunkcabbage,stream.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Little snow fell this year, and the bit that did hardly stayed on the ground before rain came to wash it away. The lakes never froze solid enough to venture across. I enjoyed no snowshoeing to follow animal trails in the woods; I never wandered among the ice fishermen to marvel over their catches; there was nothing much in the way of glittering crystalline ice formations along the tumbling creeks -- we had very little of the fun stuff that makes winter's coldness not just tolerable but also a big part of the season's pleasure. So yeah, I've given up waiting for winter, now that it seems we are having an early spring.</div><div><br /></div><div>Forgive my grumpiness. I was sick for a week with that damned Norovirus that would not let me venture far from my bathroom, followed by a second week of lethargy caused by the malnutrition and dehydration that virus caused. So I've been deprived of my regular nature therapy, or of any outdoor adventures worth blogging about. I'm finally feeling ready to venture out, and the nearby Spring Run Trail offered easy and pleasant walking. The trail is paved, it's just a mile long, and it passes through forest and swamp and along a rushing stream. And the bridges that cross it are handsome.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJLdN42-vNcIcUumIoU3UbpZSo1qKHREBs3tLedCnCJ-WVBbcjLwbqxUK9vSOHdxdvjMJwVxY2Ow0FTPVxqlA3J-p7g-fI3Olpnmu8GEbR_YuXWOWRWuy9NDiDCrWK707djitCVJdGwm3qpZcF9rZivBMTM3nKEhswVoJv7vteARpzrNK1p_IOZMvdUSmW/s3343/02bridge.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2336" data-original-width="3343" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJLdN42-vNcIcUumIoU3UbpZSo1qKHREBs3tLedCnCJ-WVBbcjLwbqxUK9vSOHdxdvjMJwVxY2Ow0FTPVxqlA3J-p7g-fI3Olpnmu8GEbR_YuXWOWRWuy9NDiDCrWK707djitCVJdGwm3qpZcF9rZivBMTM3nKEhswVoJv7vteARpzrNK1p_IOZMvdUSmW/w640-h448/02bridge.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I have read that being in the presence of rushing water is good, not just for the soul, but also our physical bodies, thanks to the creation of negative ions in the air. And I will attest that I lingered long by the Spring Run Creek, enjoying the babbling music and breathing in that altered air.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfChxdVedOheTt964gdavcshDBYUot6WfS4Eg-hOLwZj7Dfl5lCM1772EszOrQvRoj7fJY1PuTxlala3DPBmdVs0VBNEjqMpklr8nnXkSvXfV3fMsKmMdorOHuh1xy0EKF8qh27bAc9ehGG5npfEKjeTST-K0gRUOYUxuLCcGob-8IW7s-RbJRW4SDFlKw/s3471/03runningbrook.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2547" data-original-width="3471" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfChxdVedOheTt964gdavcshDBYUot6WfS4Eg-hOLwZj7Dfl5lCM1772EszOrQvRoj7fJY1PuTxlala3DPBmdVs0VBNEjqMpklr8nnXkSvXfV3fMsKmMdorOHuh1xy0EKF8qh27bAc9ehGG5npfEKjeTST-K0gRUOYUxuLCcGob-8IW7s-RbJRW4SDFlKw/w640-h470/03runningbrook.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Sadly, my good mood was quashed quite a bit when, while looking about for traces of spring greenery, these dog poop bags were the only green things I could find. Dog are so great. Too bad, many owners are not. Why the hell did they bother to bag that poop before hurling it into the bushes? If they'd just flipped it well off the trail so it wouldn't be trod upon, it would have naturally decomposed, eventually.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUB8cjT576z43_GvpTPc6NnF36pFW1zR_MFJST3EFeXHoN8QXjyYMZjU8ikgKiI8aOef0bQmEWyBspDBQbJJhCiDy4XRRbzWOzXnaDjd064dO6c0gWi-71pZyY7PBq4ksQd9MuE060YpefwgxlGDdleY0l4W8irLJ-mYH5z9a4BdOlH8awuJJdv7eX2Sfg/s1321/04dogbags.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1033" data-original-width="1321" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUB8cjT576z43_GvpTPc6NnF36pFW1zR_MFJST3EFeXHoN8QXjyYMZjU8ikgKiI8aOef0bQmEWyBspDBQbJJhCiDy4XRRbzWOzXnaDjd064dO6c0gWi-71pZyY7PBq4ksQd9MuE060YpefwgxlGDdleY0l4W8irLJ-mYH5z9a4BdOlH8awuJJdv7eX2Sfg/w640-h500/04dogbags.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I did find some colorful growing things, including this patch of Turkey Tail caps that were rimmed with bright yellow. The fungus itself could have sprouted on this log last fall, but I wonder if its yellow edges developed just recently.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeR3-v50yAhRb19J0WSwxPfDeYFrU_COlTmYvE1LQluezuW4Vie-GY_911pEVpc4YtzgUYX0IfCAmxtp1pCqCN5Jrs1T57EOwgBDtmzBoWCp7BxWyZq8lI3nU1XHNZJwLHVqh0QHg4hhD5Bg7Li1iGUKqHv2xZXRJo3zJ8aFnYt_kcSEp5voRWTHLdGkis/s3373/05turkeytail,yellowrim,patch.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2167" data-original-width="3373" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeR3-v50yAhRb19J0WSwxPfDeYFrU_COlTmYvE1LQluezuW4Vie-GY_911pEVpc4YtzgUYX0IfCAmxtp1pCqCN5Jrs1T57EOwgBDtmzBoWCp7BxWyZq8lI3nU1XHNZJwLHVqh0QHg4hhD5Bg7Li1iGUKqHv2xZXRJo3zJ8aFnYt_kcSEp5voRWTHLdGkis/w640-h412/05turkeytail,yellowrim,patch.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I might have thought, too, that the Witch Hazel shrubs along the trail were adorned with new yellow flowers. Except that I am well aware that those small yellow "posies" are simply the persistent bracts that held last fall's now long-fallen blooms. They are quite pretty, though.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOdYrzRUScpq6sNSUR5DxgGKexe7S2iKWHQzfCMbihkVWT0appf0FAkQaTcgxXxLhS0VUapDfUkfhOkMpYMAXI_bpI0LnQHwxNTfEqJSep5v2_aAZFAJusSGU4ChGMFB8rdzcu-xkirkkanvh4BzGy7BSfcY6BdCWW_fBacbs-uzqlx7Mf8pFxgTw9Qx4p/s2828/06witchhazel,calyces.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1805" data-original-width="2828" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOdYrzRUScpq6sNSUR5DxgGKexe7S2iKWHQzfCMbihkVWT0appf0FAkQaTcgxXxLhS0VUapDfUkfhOkMpYMAXI_bpI0LnQHwxNTfEqJSep5v2_aAZFAJusSGU4ChGMFB8rdzcu-xkirkkanvh4BzGy7BSfcY6BdCWW_fBacbs-uzqlx7Mf8pFxgTw9Qx4p/w640-h408/06witchhazel,calyces.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>As I neared the end of the mile-long trail, I took the handsome boardwalk that crosses a marsh, intending to return to the trailhead by walking along Excelsior Avenue instead of retracing my path on the Spring Run Trail. I noticed no signs of returning plant life in the marsh, but I certainly heard many cries from the Red-winged Blackbird males, only recently arrived to establish and guard prime nesting sites among the cattails.<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi35tnmqANLXOiD-r4Tdab_s__3SrezdLL2PDvMPyPTDcxe3LfTdjmv9lIyCTY0xgAnxhlMq1HJCxWcQcRBHaAZaTrcgNEoSVsmKyE_pSu7b3kPJKmVwJXfsPEOk_s8lRD8Eqa447l8T-aoliD-0qSIgB2cnQO5hN6hMassMp258aR2O116EP_6WlaavD5I/s3352/07boardwalk.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2277" data-original-width="3352" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi35tnmqANLXOiD-r4Tdab_s__3SrezdLL2PDvMPyPTDcxe3LfTdjmv9lIyCTY0xgAnxhlMq1HJCxWcQcRBHaAZaTrcgNEoSVsmKyE_pSu7b3kPJKmVwJXfsPEOk_s8lRD8Eqa447l8T-aoliD-0qSIgB2cnQO5hN6hMassMp258aR2O116EP_6WlaavD5I/w640-h434/07boardwalk.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Most of the blackbirds appeared as dark specks high in the trees or hidden among the cattails, but this one ventured close enough for my camera's zoom to capture his vivid red shoulders. Welcome back, dear blackbirds. Whatever the weather, your presence is definitely a sure sign of spring.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqMMJnqi0J4s5EqLPxFDwGEM3zfuJ00Fg3T-_7Iq007WZ3Mo2KkqJoc7Ru28SqmP1AFRCSpMeZEWot5DnE-oCbQxqyhOfPfnFFiyY1hEBp3h8Z3791gwOSI5S2wPJQOHm9flJtBJMxcVa4ZKZP6vSfgPkf83f4fA9NJFTEMEIB6aY2V2-qXDpKrPBNV32c/s2351/08blackbird2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1785" data-original-width="2351" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqMMJnqi0J4s5EqLPxFDwGEM3zfuJ00Fg3T-_7Iq007WZ3Mo2KkqJoc7Ru28SqmP1AFRCSpMeZEWot5DnE-oCbQxqyhOfPfnFFiyY1hEBp3h8Z3791gwOSI5S2wPJQOHm9flJtBJMxcVa4ZKZP6vSfgPkf83f4fA9NJFTEMEIB6aY2V2-qXDpKrPBNV32c/w640-h486/08blackbird2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p></div>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-26026089000707407752024-02-11T14:39:00.000-05:002024-02-11T14:39:07.047-05:00Non-Winter Wanderings<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">W</span>e've had a whole string of blue-sky spring-warm days, and even though I'm grumpy and fearful about our lack of wintry weather, I have enjoyed being outdoors in relative comfort. Here's just a digest of some of the sites I've visited this past week and a few of the fascinating things I have found there.</p><p><b>Return to the Old Cemetery</b></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I</span>n my <a href="https://saratogawoodswaters.blogspot.com/2024/02/spring-is-not-here-yet-but-neither-is.html"><span style="color: #ff00fe;">last post</span></a>, I described a recent visit not only to the Orra Phelps Nature Preserve in Wilton, but also to an old cemetery adjacent to this preserve. My photos of the various mosses that adorned the cemetery's old stone walls aroused the interest of my moss-loving friends Sue Pierce and Tom Callaghan, so together we returned to this site for further bryological explorations.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFFajEachVZsSEDlC7NXdZ80hlc-NCHY5AtuaSXYbkOKg3WOxqXrNyVKLfujZ-C6Uli_QwElHgia4DZSGmxf6kPIZ9JAnjt-aqhZWPu9V6Yp9_dOx7Iquw3jJdOLrjyKqXPd4sVM_p3G158Ntqpj95FUkuMnV-0WRa_HQ6FGlh1d9XFQKR4hWfQn_B8OmE/s4000/01cemeterywall.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFFajEachVZsSEDlC7NXdZ80hlc-NCHY5AtuaSXYbkOKg3WOxqXrNyVKLfujZ-C6Uli_QwElHgia4DZSGmxf6kPIZ9JAnjt-aqhZWPu9V6Yp9_dOx7Iquw3jJdOLrjyKqXPd4sVM_p3G158Ntqpj95FUkuMnV-0WRa_HQ6FGlh1d9XFQKR4hWfQn_B8OmE/w640-h480/01cemeterywall.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Many lichens also adorn these moss-covered stones, and this crustose gray lichen (Cinder Lichen?) appeared to be turning red. But thanks to my iNaturalist-savvy friends, I soon learned that this red stuff is actually a <i>fungus: </i>a lichen-inhabiting fungus called <i>Marchandiomyces corallinus</i>. I also learned that the fungus is probably consuming the lichen. It always amazes me to learn about so much drama occurring beneath our notice! <i>My </i>notice, anyway. I'm very grateful to my more internet-adept friends who can provide me with the names and behaviors of organisms I would never discover without their help.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiedtafRiuvUNbqLqUkzpUJ-RxCZ9hRzW8EOenT3BwDSPxSJn2kn0rtGEYYvRpwSdvUX2p8KpN69ML5NpzDMQyPdr8oDagZcVGeAuV0rIoCReVNSjW2plKqeifnQ51VNEKUyBGuU62DkV6cDEUJxPbYCCRxYGmHswo8CBHVtoOPeH2hutNlDzC7WqNXT3-Y/s3261/02redlichen.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2485" data-original-width="3261" height="488" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiedtafRiuvUNbqLqUkzpUJ-RxCZ9hRzW8EOenT3BwDSPxSJn2kn0rtGEYYvRpwSdvUX2p8KpN69ML5NpzDMQyPdr8oDagZcVGeAuV0rIoCReVNSjW2plKqeifnQ51VNEKUyBGuU62DkV6cDEUJxPbYCCRxYGmHswo8CBHVtoOPeH2hutNlDzC7WqNXT3-Y/w640-h488/02redlichen.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I can always count on my eagle-eyed pal Sue to detect many treasures my own poor eyesight would never espy. I don't know how on earth she noticed these itty-bitty mushrooms that had sprouted among the ground-level roots of a small American Beech tree. But notice them she did, and our friend Tom also found out from iNaturalist that they went by the name of Fenugreek Stalkball (<i>Phleogena fagina</i>). This is one of our mushrooms that grows in winter, and its curry-powder-like scent of fenugreek is said to grow stronger as the mushroom ages. The brown color of the caps indicated that this normally whitish mushroom was indeed aging, but it would have been difficult for me to get my nose down close enough to see if I could smell that distinctive scent.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4FAvMnYfPIXjOPCkbtZFJuJyGFExaCppRCsvrr_YYHeCOi2v_lSGfzrhyCVmi-1vMtoF2FVcgiiyiHmKN24WyoozT8EvrJmf920PhYlXVVvt0N9px7ynCMHuLbjUmkJsf9_-astihQ0jb1SJyyBfZjGgI5Qxk34hRjNi5G6IfvGh_GuWu0WyjgV4VMhHW/s2601/03tinyfungi.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1870" data-original-width="2601" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4FAvMnYfPIXjOPCkbtZFJuJyGFExaCppRCsvrr_YYHeCOi2v_lSGfzrhyCVmi-1vMtoF2FVcgiiyiHmKN24WyoozT8EvrJmf920PhYlXVVvt0N9px7ynCMHuLbjUmkJsf9_-astihQ0jb1SJyyBfZjGgI5Qxk34hRjNi5G6IfvGh_GuWu0WyjgV4VMhHW/w640-h460/03tinyfungi.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>Saratoga's Spring Run Trail</b></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">M</span>any friends from points further south have been finding Skunk Cabbage plants (<i>Symplocarpus foetidus</i>) already in bloom this over-warm winter, with open spathes and the interior spadices already covered with pollen-producing florets. So of course I had to go investigate our local wetland sites where Skunk Cabbage grows to see if I could find some for myself. One of those sites is the Spring Run Trail right in Saratoga Springs. At the far eastern end of this mile-long trail, a convenient boardwalk crosses an open marsh, leading me directly toward a low swale where Skunk Cabbage thrives.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitFPgKzZ5LYFgHoVku7utEY_Pq7VmWG9IGTsjJQ-b8rrUP6sbAol8CGSPpnPbcChjfzLGk5oZqcNpZ1FdYqpmJbu8Yyf0KVZjArQnuSQu4rQdPbtgxnNKxRcHSrVcAPL7I-INxuPsLnRhYUmXAyGimpYw2xpx2xfIOY5xYJg90X86YwxkeP79XZwNGZdgQ/s3794/04springrun,boardwalk.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2789" data-original-width="3794" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitFPgKzZ5LYFgHoVku7utEY_Pq7VmWG9IGTsjJQ-b8rrUP6sbAol8CGSPpnPbcChjfzLGk5oZqcNpZ1FdYqpmJbu8Yyf0KVZjArQnuSQu4rQdPbtgxnNKxRcHSrVcAPL7I-INxuPsLnRhYUmXAyGimpYw2xpx2xfIOY5xYJg90X86YwxkeP79XZwNGZdgQ/w640-h470/04springrun,boardwalk.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>While crossing the boardwalk, I was startled to see this cluster of Woolly Alder Aphids attached to an alder twig. These are not spring-feeding insects but are usually found in autumn, and these wingless individuals usually die off before winter begins, after producing a final generation of winged aphids that fly away to mate. A close examination revealed that these aphids were indeed no longer alive, most likely killed with the first hard frosts (despite their woolly-looking coats). How unusual to find a still-intact cluster of them in the middle of winter. Even in this over-mild winter.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXRfx5AK24HFMHHr00dIMNT8Sk-niZYc1BlREUHMXRXQT6draQj0PwQvafJXymdHlzIijrkWRBQh5nycRpSqPxzAhw-y-KfrIyjGphoyxs9cxTGoEn9XyeZih-EW6tamWcf-6yZB7lBm_BTttPueNKOVF5R1Xsu6_gpX1F9EXOmsYeYRJwp8WbpO9U77a5/s2907/05deadaphids.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2221" data-original-width="2907" height="488" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXRfx5AK24HFMHHr00dIMNT8Sk-niZYc1BlREUHMXRXQT6draQj0PwQvafJXymdHlzIijrkWRBQh5nycRpSqPxzAhw-y-KfrIyjGphoyxs9cxTGoEn9XyeZih-EW6tamWcf-6yZB7lBm_BTttPueNKOVF5R1Xsu6_gpX1F9EXOmsYeYRJwp8WbpO9U77a5/w640-h488/05deadaphids.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Well, I DID find some colored-up spathes of Skunk Cabbage that had burst through their pale winter bracts. Their spathes still closed tight, these were growing right in the middle of a tiny flowing stream. Most of the other plants at this site were still tightly closed within their winter bracts.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuQlB39Ec1K2TkG5nMx1Sg90tnmOS3sh2CX08KIPDyN57Z9gSNTP4E153-fQWOuCU1mUeEmeHyc05i5QGAv_a7SjdkuMldSOsqacFOo0e_FkPeEgKubg-fSea9Bj5tCZO0b-eg4PDrfXgHA3IDMX9BV_M-VJtOJEFveRJnWqHZDvxR9sAUapaZxLhL-fB_/s3017/06skunk,emerging.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2202" data-original-width="3017" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuQlB39Ec1K2TkG5nMx1Sg90tnmOS3sh2CX08KIPDyN57Z9gSNTP4E153-fQWOuCU1mUeEmeHyc05i5QGAv_a7SjdkuMldSOsqacFOo0e_FkPeEgKubg-fSea9Bj5tCZO0b-eg4PDrfXgHA3IDMX9BV_M-VJtOJEFveRJnWqHZDvxR9sAUapaZxLhL-fB_/w640-h468/06skunk,emerging.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Aha! Here was ONE that was fully open enough to invite any pollinators within. Problem is, few of Skunk Cabbage's pollinators are around as yet, and the interior spadix had yet to produce any pollen-bearing florets.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmiCd0C3ogsVOnH48_HmZimVWBXpbsTjkbJ3LoFDvOWVJK2gjJhn1jSLpTQhZ-1wdcgF7TAGdEhyphenhyphenl7yYT4oJtBrFvkrE1aQ4toVQUeoirC7KuPDMJvhQhpUmmo3eUAQyjAJoJGN6CjuTTiRJMCKegOZqyIVfMLNk9opuTygkZjKCyY0PYQvRXFTae11NEa/s2880/07skunk,open.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2099" data-original-width="2880" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmiCd0C3ogsVOnH48_HmZimVWBXpbsTjkbJ3LoFDvOWVJK2gjJhn1jSLpTQhZ-1wdcgF7TAGdEhyphenhyphenl7yYT4oJtBrFvkrE1aQ4toVQUeoirC7KuPDMJvhQhpUmmo3eUAQyjAJoJGN6CjuTTiRJMCKegOZqyIVfMLNk9opuTygkZjKCyY0PYQvRXFTae11NEa/w640-h466/07skunk,open.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div>I'm hoping these early-opening plants aren't pushing the season so fast that any true-winter sub-freezing weather that's likely still to come won't kill them as dead as those aphids were.<br /><p><br /></p><p><b>Graphite Range, Redux</b></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">W</span>hen I last posted <a href="https://saratogawoodswaters.blogspot.com/2024/01/new-trails-into-winter-wonderland.html"><span style="color: #ff00fe;">a blog</span></a> about this marvelous new preserve in nearby Wilton, the woods was a fairyland of fluffy snow. When I returned this week with my friends in the Thursday Naturalists, the trees were now bare of snow and the trails were now hard-packed and icy. And now the snow had receded from the steeper banks, allowing us to see what was growing there. My friend Sue alerted us that a most interesting moss was growing at this location.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEige-KivJGF3h0oeGaIdh_Rf5Ya857B3Cog8NNwT3helUs40o5taU_ilRx7Ib4fBWFOUg5WVE3L5OorXrw8_LRqce6Uf4RW2vhEtdapaYSS-6yugjplhQCg9OWewv0NfCycivXtvvjBEu7c_V_0cjAexnnH274N-tsLR8HRs8PPN_6wSct4tn-OR6lmu1UF/s3663/08sue,mossybank.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2844" data-original-width="3663" height="496" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEige-KivJGF3h0oeGaIdh_Rf5Ya857B3Cog8NNwT3helUs40o5taU_ilRx7Ib4fBWFOUg5WVE3L5OorXrw8_LRqce6Uf4RW2vhEtdapaYSS-6yugjplhQCg9OWewv0NfCycivXtvvjBEu7c_V_0cjAexnnH274N-tsLR8HRs8PPN_6wSct4tn-OR6lmu1UF/w640-h496/08sue,mossybank.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I couldn't see much of the "mossy" leaves of this moss, but the greenish, white-tipped, urn-shaped spore-capsules were much in evidence. Very odd-looking spore capsules!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9IXrIY6ofmt2klidqoiNvIjc-PdKkayTMKN9qGB_88Jg34vVaThtQodNLxI-P6vQF6oY8vC9KZMWUuIkELfeGmjOBoR8wLkemXqOUws1O_Pv_DqNgKpzWVAO1Yf6utBRdTtRgqVATNZ_D8t5gJbFKDDt_xMIGwh6sJABEHTa2S2-0d4jRhNYRDS-edlqo/s2801/09powdergun%20moss.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2147" data-original-width="2801" height="490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9IXrIY6ofmt2klidqoiNvIjc-PdKkayTMKN9qGB_88Jg34vVaThtQodNLxI-P6vQF6oY8vC9KZMWUuIkELfeGmjOBoR8wLkemXqOUws1O_Pv_DqNgKpzWVAO1Yf6utBRdTtRgqVATNZ_D8t5gJbFKDDt_xMIGwh6sJABEHTa2S2-0d4jRhNYRDS-edlqo/w640-h490/09powdergun%20moss.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><div>According to a site called <i>In Defense of Plants</i>, "These peculiar mosses have earned themselves the common name Powder Gun Moss (<i>Diphyscium foliosum</i>). The reason for this lies in those strange sessile capsules. Unlike other mosses that send their capsules up on long, hair-like seta in order to disperse their spores on the faintest of breezes, the <i>Diphyscium</i> capsules remain close to the ground. In lieu of wind, a Powder Gun Moss uses rain. In much the same way puffball mushrooms harness the pounding of raindrops, so too do the capsules of the Powder Gun Moss. Each raindrop that hits a capsule releases a cloud of spores that are ejected into an already humid environment full of germination potential."</div></div><div>How cool is that!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It was also quite cool to see such fresh-looking shiny-green leaves of the Round-lobed Hepatica (<i>Hepatica americana</i>) from dozens of plants that dotted the steep hillside along the trail. But lest you leap to the conclusion that these are new-sprung spring plants, these are actually the same leaves that sprouted <i>last</i> spring, just as the flowers were fading. They have persisted virtually all summer, fall, and winter and won't disappear until the new leaves sprout, following this year's blooms.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-t9_Tn1ZxCjla1KbCvl-8_8dVsPvxDiK52FiiJIaVayXEJPQb7wM4B2ZH9p1iuafwgzvfUksY-gBP1IYozTFpnwGv-EHBWKEzn5HxctDPW0GQlg2FYUAqrD19nUOeQy6OfOGQFqdMPTQUc80njU-W72yEXI-r-FVE52VWTiJG_6vJE6KWosnT11bJxlGs/s1814/10hepatica.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1400" data-original-width="1814" height="494" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-t9_Tn1ZxCjla1KbCvl-8_8dVsPvxDiK52FiiJIaVayXEJPQb7wM4B2ZH9p1iuafwgzvfUksY-gBP1IYozTFpnwGv-EHBWKEzn5HxctDPW0GQlg2FYUAqrD19nUOeQy6OfOGQFqdMPTQUc80njU-W72yEXI-r-FVE52VWTiJG_6vJE6KWosnT11bJxlGs/w640-h494/10hepatica.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>Bog Meadow Brook Nature Trail</b></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">S</span>aturday was the most spring-like day of all this past week, with temps approaching 60 degrees under a mostly clear blue sky (before a late-afternoon downpour). I just <i>had</i> to take a walk under that sky! Choosing the nearby Bog Meadow Brook Nature Trail, I entered it via the eastern Meadowbrook Road trailhead, which led me directly toward a large sun-warmed shrub swamp. What a colorful scene it was, the sedge-tussocks rendered golden in the afternoon light, and abundant numbers of Red Osier shrubs made vivid with scarlet twigs. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMf-BU3UdpBWUQxvIQY4KKdVFpYi6kSL718VMCubR5jI2zlcR1ggzdCAAPt-ExXEbYH8MGVkqKJkt3dBYJEiaCZk8ZxLhop4EMpxZgxeDoKRCG9GabpWaHDZxBWbv_ZlAWuP2IOzEylH3NwL5IjXtV0QAtTtsOJe4EqtNjtIlu-ISNJjoysRiztC27zQwz/s3615/11swampdock.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2923" data-original-width="3615" height="518" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMf-BU3UdpBWUQxvIQY4KKdVFpYi6kSL718VMCubR5jI2zlcR1ggzdCAAPt-ExXEbYH8MGVkqKJkt3dBYJEiaCZk8ZxLhop4EMpxZgxeDoKRCG9GabpWaHDZxBWbv_ZlAWuP2IOzEylH3NwL5IjXtV0QAtTtsOJe4EqtNjtIlu-ISNJjoysRiztC27zQwz/w640-h518/11swampdock.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Poking up from amid the tussocks were numerous stalks of seed-cluster-topped Swamp Dock (<i>Rumex verticillatus</i>), a plant I've been trying unsuccessfully to collect for several years. (A single plant can be seen in the center of this photo.) Our New York Flora Association Plant Atlas indicates that this plant is absent from Saratoga County, but that just means that no specimen has been contributed to state botanists for vouchering. That could be because it is not all that easy to collect. During the warm months when the plant is in flower, I cannot really wade out and pick one amid the tussocks, where I would sunk to my knees in muck. Also, during times of open water, the water here is mostly too shallow to allow for paddling. And even when the standing water here is mostly solidly frozen, the ice around the base of the tussocks is usually too weak to bear my weight. (Plus, winter-collected specimens promptly shed their seeds in the pressing process.) I just keep hoping that someday a blooming Swamp Dock plant will grow within grabbing distance from the shore.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>As for this day, I had another quest. Would I be able to find the pods of a tiny orchid called Loesel's Twayblade (<i>Liparis loeselii</i>) amid the jumbled dry vegetation along this trailside creek? I know where this orchid grows, but its pods are small and the same dead-grass color as everything else that grows here. But believe it or not, this little native orchid's presence is easier to locate now than it will be in June, when its tiny yellow-green flowers will be virtually undetectable amid all the other, now much taller, greenery.<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkPp1FOPIusKiDKankcVbfiujhNeH4SKgJfTfD3uO_xIdL04RNNZbDiCY0XAcCuLgs79HTxRZRrieCBUy5J6PXjf8zm6f_RnU65sadNXVD3oqLHY4NLLhkqcNQAucHlH1AKbmvl2He5I8l4Q6YrkLTLCwKb-yUaBQXuukPcxYYqcvNDR2UD67Jhkh-Ke1Z/s3365/12loeselslandmark.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2430" data-original-width="3365" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkPp1FOPIusKiDKankcVbfiujhNeH4SKgJfTfD3uO_xIdL04RNNZbDiCY0XAcCuLgs79HTxRZRrieCBUy5J6PXjf8zm6f_RnU65sadNXVD3oqLHY4NLLhkqcNQAucHlH1AKbmvl2He5I8l4Q6YrkLTLCwKb-yUaBQXuukPcxYYqcvNDR2UD67Jhkh-Ke1Z/w640-h462/12loeselslandmark.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And find it I did! Lucky for me, these two Loesel's Twayblade seedpods were visible against a deep-shaded background. Against a tangle of similarly colored grasses, two other plants only revealed their presence after I stooped to photograph these.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBEVZ1cI7hEsPpEGJnI3uebEugVnM3xXd3E79wEoAhbRt4mXxbCtEV5U2OxMFl-DYfoGcK5VNibv0SLMFEBCEV47VDqr5u51-FMmrhNHCasAO3Co3QCkub7nl5yCgKUWiZVNCzM7_VuknyE53D3gbAJyutoZSNhDqSWX-svnTYQJb8FJuYuV9gC91QT6NV/s2636/13twaybladpods.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1967" data-original-width="2636" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBEVZ1cI7hEsPpEGJnI3uebEugVnM3xXd3E79wEoAhbRt4mXxbCtEV5U2OxMFl-DYfoGcK5VNibv0SLMFEBCEV47VDqr5u51-FMmrhNHCasAO3Co3QCkub7nl5yCgKUWiZVNCzM7_VuknyE53D3gbAJyutoZSNhDqSWX-svnTYQJb8FJuYuV9gC91QT6NV/w640-h478/13twaybladpods.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p></div>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-12387658691417858132024-02-05T22:09:00.002-05:002024-02-06T14:16:33.473-05:00Spring is NOT here yet! But neither is real winter.<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">S</span>kunk Cabbage already in bloom?!!! Some friends from the Albany area are posting Facebook photos of Skunk Cabbage already in full flower, about 40 miles south of Saratoga Springs. Well, why am I not surprised? The beautiful snowy forest I pictured in my last post is now nearly completely bereft of snow, and every day this week will be sunny with temps quite a bit above freezing. But <i>still! </i>It is still way too early to expect to find this first flower of spring in actual bloom. We haven't even had any<i> real </i>winter yet. But that didn't stop me from heading over to the Orra Phelps Nature Preserve in nearby Wilton to check on the hundreds of Skunk Cabbage plants that grow there.</p><p>There was still a bit of patchy snow on the ground at Orra's, but the creek was running freely, with only a few persistent icicles adorning the limbs hanging over the rushing water:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcS0ArxppdKtdEdKqktJE9uHKqHZG9GC4IZ5riTN7tfBMr5EjcU6kBSNXDqIsgwtthTBZil4QX_1k-vtO0XgKzPKabLSQ_ZFjz9sIjtoFOl-uankmz2QFLNM2wL1PYXNPAg_yChEJzcC6HQxgCqP8cml0m64l4bTqtWCjrG7ojGSoQmGIFl3g-E4wISeug/s3682/01stream.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2870" data-original-width="3682" height="498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcS0ArxppdKtdEdKqktJE9uHKqHZG9GC4IZ5riTN7tfBMr5EjcU6kBSNXDqIsgwtthTBZil4QX_1k-vtO0XgKzPKabLSQ_ZFjz9sIjtoFOl-uankmz2QFLNM2wL1PYXNPAg_yChEJzcC6HQxgCqP8cml0m64l4bTqtWCjrG7ojGSoQmGIFl3g-E4wISeug/w640-h498/01stream.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3CEkbEFRKTH49hxiyzfK4VWHveAMrb7tH4OJuwqSVSLGBxxXTuhlq3ohMaGl3ngHORPuRqP1nWr6xltEm2whEkKd-1Ba4Y_U1upzGwfLHPzo6B3z4t0-W6xbEtnulatrMHWkKkc-iTfRDsVtSLRNHm36GCkcYHLXyw-JuNnxTeN-fcP5SnBJpt2r5p7u4/s3454/02icicles,creek.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2540" data-original-width="3454" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3CEkbEFRKTH49hxiyzfK4VWHveAMrb7tH4OJuwqSVSLGBxxXTuhlq3ohMaGl3ngHORPuRqP1nWr6xltEm2whEkKd-1Ba4Y_U1upzGwfLHPzo6B3z4t0-W6xbEtnulatrMHWkKkc-iTfRDsVtSLRNHm36GCkcYHLXyw-JuNnxTeN-fcP5SnBJpt2r5p7u4/w640-h470/02icicles,creek.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Next to the creek a low swale spreads out, and it's here in this muddy wetland that I always find dozens and dozens of Skunk Cabbage plants. They send up sharply pointed winter bracts every fall, and these tightly closed bracts remain visible all winter. What would they look like today?<div> <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpmVbh1o0lE4_pVAAy13YVVXCDVhQFwPFhyphenhypheneuXxdbRO06Lz-SV1TNg2E8GzTATYL6wblnwgAh1gcZbMWRvEexIM32liI99YQJ1yDtkN_WGU4IKI6irifxODGTr_zUJNNmtluh5_jiDeWQVgV-l1bgiG4QF4xj4ANY1V_2eyFbG74FP3pxrh_XbaeFvnFtE/s3254/03swale.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2587" data-original-width="3254" height="508" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpmVbh1o0lE4_pVAAy13YVVXCDVhQFwPFhyphenhypheneuXxdbRO06Lz-SV1TNg2E8GzTATYL6wblnwgAh1gcZbMWRvEexIM32liI99YQJ1yDtkN_WGU4IKI6irifxODGTr_zUJNNmtluh5_jiDeWQVgV-l1bgiG4QF4xj4ANY1V_2eyFbG74FP3pxrh_XbaeFvnFtE/w640-h508/03swale.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Sure enough, the winter-persisting plants were abundant across the swale, their sharply pointed bracts easily visible above the snow. But all remained as tightly closed as they'd been since they first shot up last fall. They might already be creating some internal heat, however, to judge from how the snow has seemed to melt in widening circles around each plant. Skunk Cabbage is one of the very few plants I know of that can generate such heat.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-_CnjyP7yfsJztLxyMN7u8BR6TH36irl5Rs9FZHkSYR5qGENn_1Q736Fe3h9tsGJyljdeidW3p-1A4UvZLJILV81Ciy80g17g8zLRJY_IRicJ3nC2Y1v6tfdgmnpZqBIQ0h9-Uq6iVcz0anH4JlNXMrzsVrgQ_jgqtFCty3NV_bADBWL1ngU1oIQhIuj/s2508/04skunkcabbage,snow.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1945" data-original-width="2508" height="496" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-_CnjyP7yfsJztLxyMN7u8BR6TH36irl5Rs9FZHkSYR5qGENn_1Q736Fe3h9tsGJyljdeidW3p-1A4UvZLJILV81Ciy80g17g8zLRJY_IRicJ3nC2Y1v6tfdgmnpZqBIQ0h9-Uq6iVcz0anH4JlNXMrzsVrgQ_jgqtFCty3NV_bADBWL1ngU1oIQhIuj/w640-h496/04skunkcabbage,snow.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Glancing around this low swale, I could see many patches of greenery, but not a one of them signaled the start of spring. Every large rock that protruded from the mud was completely covered with evergreen mosses, or in this case, a lovely lime-green liverwort called by the delightful name of Handsome Woollywort (<i>Trichocolea tomentella</i>). Most winters, these rocks and their cold-impervious bryophytes would be deep under snow, but not this year.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDg65F3axCSYYaBJIKY_eDQzMnvrP6snbtsRcfxgS7_c9q7czSApYwlmx1Knc-LY8Qb7Oof1gjeXQlfjO9N9sOXnsO4RDDju-oAUSeAFAp05jkW3miFiq4KJ20jlmar0ElZ2Z4Nfeln7Aa0nwh4Zn9GxcqHlgnb6VfTCG9ij-925vdJPdaXkYzeXOeWL24/s3551/05liverwort,woollywort.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2505" data-original-width="3551" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDg65F3axCSYYaBJIKY_eDQzMnvrP6snbtsRcfxgS7_c9q7czSApYwlmx1Knc-LY8Qb7Oof1gjeXQlfjO9N9sOXnsO4RDDju-oAUSeAFAp05jkW3miFiq4KJ20jlmar0ElZ2Z4Nfeln7Aa0nwh4Zn9GxcqHlgnb6VfTCG9ij-925vdJPdaXkYzeXOeWL24/w640-h452/05liverwort,woollywort.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Here's a closer look at the furry-appearing leaves that suggested the Woollywort's name.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDR-6YwgeXFwKEDrxEQGRyZLtakenf58cRN5lefl3_CghnVmP2CvbYeX4sTKuQZ9eEndtZlLX1MlqhWO9rIqZcDzSW1Ru4aCpkoa8A3CFL5gR6M56oPfrWcGEYFhsHIC6ZFh0SyJcDI9CJyhw5lg9l9uBKd1bc0xApO71NDYAhKA7ngN0wWNiUUtHMm6gr/s2385/06liverwort,woollywort,woolly.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1698" data-original-width="2385" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDR-6YwgeXFwKEDrxEQGRyZLtakenf58cRN5lefl3_CghnVmP2CvbYeX4sTKuQZ9eEndtZlLX1MlqhWO9rIqZcDzSW1Ru4aCpkoa8A3CFL5gR6M56oPfrWcGEYFhsHIC6ZFh0SyJcDI9CJyhw5lg9l9uBKd1bc0xApO71NDYAhKA7ngN0wWNiUUtHMm6gr/w640-h456/06liverwort,woollywort,woolly.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And look how fresh and green these violet leaves appear! But these are the leaves of Dog Violet (<i>Viola labradorica</i>), and they sprouted last summer when the pale-purple flowers first came into bloom. They remain green all winter, usually resting under the snow and not affected at all by freezing temperatures. I might have expected the lack of deep snow this year to have caused the leaves to shrivel or fade, but they looked as intact and freshly green as ever.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUXTwddRl_-3NaUqeplbm7BrO5KpO-xFqLIsNfd-eXPhYRLZ2BLwtDP5-Lo-7xqCw5k0uvhqE96Oo73oDWAgaeJ0dlhiAkdFlqD6fHm86w3XsQodLHD6ZfYg1rfJOkiE4ZfdjVL1z6vKuzWdFE_fc6uaGQR5FuW8uUq7VxpICKcTbT7B7nDtWlvBAxwMMu/s2667/07violetleaves.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2116" data-original-width="2667" height="508" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUXTwddRl_-3NaUqeplbm7BrO5KpO-xFqLIsNfd-eXPhYRLZ2BLwtDP5-Lo-7xqCw5k0uvhqE96Oo73oDWAgaeJ0dlhiAkdFlqD6fHm86w3XsQodLHD6ZfYg1rfJOkiE4ZfdjVL1z6vKuzWdFE_fc6uaGQR5FuW8uUq7VxpICKcTbT7B7nDtWlvBAxwMMu/w640-h508/07violetleaves.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>The large leafy lichen adorning this fallen tree limb is always green, as the vernacular name for <i>Flavoparmelia caperata</i> -- Green Shield Lichen -- would certainly indicate. Same color, whatever the season. But the nearly-white small shelf fungi sharing this limb do fade in color over the winter, losing the pretty purple edge that suggested its name of Violet-toothed Polypore (<i>Trichaptum biforme</i>). By now, it has paled so completely, it could be any of several small faintly-striped polypores that thrive in our area forests.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX2F2EuhmBKD_OxhtEdl_53Y5XEVoat5Cmc62cldh7Y29hrF03JAofDBfdBsLPmPiqoTiw6Rx25XzG1p9SpVmhr4zuMXSN5ar45Aj9PIuD7IGnGEzlEUqUl8aatfaFVmYybOqcNp45apeIYLiKD-WZEWDC8yXlBcZ4kW4A-olo0ahNufbRQLuI6Wz3B6Vb/s3016/08fungus,violettooth,greenlichen.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2286" data-original-width="3016" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX2F2EuhmBKD_OxhtEdl_53Y5XEVoat5Cmc62cldh7Y29hrF03JAofDBfdBsLPmPiqoTiw6Rx25XzG1p9SpVmhr4zuMXSN5ar45Aj9PIuD7IGnGEzlEUqUl8aatfaFVmYybOqcNp45apeIYLiKD-WZEWDC8yXlBcZ4kW4A-olo0ahNufbRQLuI6Wz3B6Vb/w640-h486/08fungus,violettooth,greenlichen.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>But a look at the fertile surfaces of the Violet-toothed Polypore reveals the distinctive cinnamon-brown color those surfaces become even after the violet edges have faded. And the tiny pores have "exploded" to become more tooth-like in appearance. Hence the epithet "tooth polypore!"</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-RNMcpSuY__MyYU7i397seXny2q3ezaJw7xXlCo-sMoxLzUJcTE_roZ9dvSGlw4Tf3qK40lqQojEQJw-8LqViTvDH5rll8uQXxsW__glRg9jdJms7X_FQiCTlhXofAklmpZy9Du8_ZRFHUcUx6O38uOj4W-_JH4asakWCJCYCy9PIg_mpn8myyJ6MGDN6/s3399/09fungus,violettooth,underside.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2029" data-original-width="3399" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-RNMcpSuY__MyYU7i397seXny2q3ezaJw7xXlCo-sMoxLzUJcTE_roZ9dvSGlw4Tf3qK40lqQojEQJw-8LqViTvDH5rll8uQXxsW__glRg9jdJms7X_FQiCTlhXofAklmpZy9Du8_ZRFHUcUx6O38uOj4W-_JH4asakWCJCYCy9PIg_mpn8myyJ6MGDN6/w640-h382/09fungus,violettooth,underside.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Here was a second rather plain-looking aging fungus, looking a bit like lumps of bread dough dusted with flour. But I know that this Luminescent Panellus fungus (<i>Panellus stipticus</i>) has a couple of other features that make it a far more interesting mushroom than its unassuming appearance might suggest.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd8mbgEYSLB27PRRuDx_nMFPEzTbxK8DfVlkt8gfyqrvsJ7L3PyR_T_5QHZhEQWc8Lzn0XrrjNFWx1Osh-X258F0vQY5tvjKblxIWOJ1P2E8SoWjAqsdAJKp0VSt2nc1kd2IwUYYuXdSg4BaMZ5zSj4fwdkFyLNxi6yYY-gutcE9KGLnYoQfik5B6NBsUq/s1857/10fungus,panellus,top.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="1857" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd8mbgEYSLB27PRRuDx_nMFPEzTbxK8DfVlkt8gfyqrvsJ7L3PyR_T_5QHZhEQWc8Lzn0XrrjNFWx1Osh-X258F0vQY5tvjKblxIWOJ1P2E8SoWjAqsdAJKp0VSt2nc1kd2IwUYYuXdSg4BaMZ5zSj4fwdkFyLNxi6yYY-gutcE9KGLnYoQfik5B6NBsUq/w640-h460/10fungus,panellus,top.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Just turn this limb over and those lumpy pale blobs reveal a far more beautiful underside, with orangish gills radiating from an off-center short and curving stalk. A second fascinating feature of this fungus can actually be seen only in pitch dark, when it emits an eerie greenish glow. Also, as its scientific species name of <i>stipticus</i> suggests, it is said that this fungus can be used to stop the flow of blood from a wound.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf08gyTDvSwZJhZrgkiJNBpXX688Bf6zVh5i2oHte3oTHdl837oEubnuz6FkwAq1ynUhdBIawvPm3UmigAFKL25gbrpKbTTKly6_NqQI-v0xCJTS32afwydJ9K2FTJFfM11O5E7CglvHKXdmF3WhJaKf2tMPLF85Zhl-2CinjISt4gYwaSgV9mgv6tjQqK/s2907/11fungus,panellus,underside.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1926" data-original-width="2907" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf08gyTDvSwZJhZrgkiJNBpXX688Bf6zVh5i2oHte3oTHdl837oEubnuz6FkwAq1ynUhdBIawvPm3UmigAFKL25gbrpKbTTKly6_NqQI-v0xCJTS32afwydJ9K2FTJFfM11O5E7CglvHKXdmF3WhJaKf2tMPLF85Zhl-2CinjISt4gYwaSgV9mgv6tjQqK/w640-h424/11fungus,panellus,underside.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Now, here was a mushroom that might be just as much of a sign of spring as a Skunk Cabbage flower. I was truly startled to find these fresh-looking bright-orange caps of <i>Polyporus mori</i>, for this is a mushroom that normally doesn't fruit until it is time to go hunting for Morels, which is usually in May. In fact, one of its vernacular names is Spring Polypore. It also has quite a variety of scientific names, since mycologists can't seem to settle on one that suits everybody. One of the more frequently mentioned (aside from <i>Polyporus mori)</i> is <i>Neofavolus alveolaris.</i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaUD-5owkw2opPUOXE2U8lKwL_gxlRUSkuTCnWW66KlJD4swyPnOllH_sDS-MCt3GKM5MbVgEPFGOdqKVb_Pnr8r32y4ROz7xIri_xYh2SaOiOCgJpB9GbWwnSgmyw6qwfXHXO309zy6cb1zO1Rrmh3VAkxkplqJdeeRNcGPQz_lqq5O7FeabkmqMd0_iD/s2524/12fungus,polyporusmori,top.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1839" data-original-width="2524" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaUD-5owkw2opPUOXE2U8lKwL_gxlRUSkuTCnWW66KlJD4swyPnOllH_sDS-MCt3GKM5MbVgEPFGOdqKVb_Pnr8r32y4ROz7xIri_xYh2SaOiOCgJpB9GbWwnSgmyw6qwfXHXO309zy6cb1zO1Rrmh3VAkxkplqJdeeRNcGPQz_lqq5O7FeabkmqMd0_iD/w640-h466/12fungus,polyporusmori,top.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="color: red;">UPDATE: I have since heard from someone obviously more knowledgeable about this mushroom than I am, a man named Garrett Taylor: "The current story is that it is likely that we don’t have <i>Neofavolus alveolaris</i> in North America. Of the three species that we know we have in this group, only the rare <i>Neofavolus americanus</i> has a name. The other two species have temporary code names, given by the authors of <i>N. americanus</i>, 'sp-SAV10' & 'sp-ADD05'. There appears to be a seasonality with them with SAV10 coming earlier than ADD05 which is more of a late spring mushroom. I would be extremely surprised to see an actively growing one before say late April. We currently separate them by the DNA barcode ITS. They all can be orange. Since the margin of this one is flared up, that is another clue that it may not be actively growing. When young the margin is usually curved (not inrolled but nearly). The new ones that we will start seeing in a couple months, those will probably be SAV10. If you find some on iNat that have been sequenced and given a 'Provisional Species Name' field you can right click on it and look for the 'Observations with this same field and value' in the drop down menu that appears. " </span></div><div><br /></div><div>As for me, I will stick to its most common vernacular name, which is Hexagonal-pored Polypore. Just turn over a cap, and it will be evident how it acquired that name.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5mPQejnNFieEUOGZoMWz_THwCqpXsO8PKUy1cMkPpeIhNKJuUW_vVnBl1ROAV6A0i8i0teI5-bWoWEreg5wM7GEsuTHSqfoTMFBpsm9vStdlH1I1eNmu_GytCmZHj-uZ_BBbjY8hwnUHRz0Z7uKP_iqcLWT3mW3wCaBrEpJVgptzf0TAKfHMvyhQhdpJf/s2842/13fungus,polyporusmori.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2157" data-original-width="2842" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5mPQejnNFieEUOGZoMWz_THwCqpXsO8PKUy1cMkPpeIhNKJuUW_vVnBl1ROAV6A0i8i0teI5-bWoWEreg5wM7GEsuTHSqfoTMFBpsm9vStdlH1I1eNmu_GytCmZHj-uZ_BBbjY8hwnUHRz0Z7uKP_iqcLWT3mW3wCaBrEpJVgptzf0TAKfHMvyhQhdpJf/w640-h486/13fungus,polyporusmori.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I understand that another of our commonly found winter-persistent fungi, the tiny yellow discs called Lemon Drops, also has a second scientific name. I have always known it as <i>Bisporella citrina</i>, but now I have learned that iNaturalist is calling it <i>Calycina citrina</i>. Sigh! I think I will stick to Lemon Drops, and I say the hell with <i>Calycina</i>. This is a very common winter-persistent fungus, and lots of it can be found at Orra Phelps Nature Preserve. As I did on my visit there this week.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIk_sBu_jeBAqqeJG72jl04dkbbcfc-Loc7-pzUSTd3ZZb9OaexNQ0XqAGQ1f2FLBZohqBVslio2CRDZ3HhtDV-3amZts3LXLzvet71CxmNVpIdZYHgFXu3_8CRDOleDA8OAjwE-W4AFBgkODwoAHTUY_LxJsoe-u6H314t7Z7WQ32Lh2nUv7Przkc_0Z-/s2620/14fungus,lemondrop.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2077" data-original-width="2620" height="508" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIk_sBu_jeBAqqeJG72jl04dkbbcfc-Loc7-pzUSTd3ZZb9OaexNQ0XqAGQ1f2FLBZohqBVslio2CRDZ3HhtDV-3amZts3LXLzvet71CxmNVpIdZYHgFXu3_8CRDOleDA8OAjwE-W4AFBgkODwoAHTUY_LxJsoe-u6H314t7Z7WQ32Lh2nUv7Przkc_0Z-/w640-h508/14fungus,lemondrop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">F</span>inding little more to detain me at Orra Phelps, I remembered that an old walled cemetery lay just up a rise from where I had parked my car. And a brief easy walk through the woods took me right to it. A lovely old cemetery it was, with some of the gravestones, barely legible, dating from the 1800s.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJYw42Iz8dO0UiyrDbteOkqCZJClhj8UPXmfj59CopZkioIvD4fRPuVFNkrDorePF4H0c66nONYzT78H7cvCQz2zv96vIEGuFdgCbBTimxJya-S_Ed-cKtVQXKZhiQMOW7WOxE3yS7LdWHkt6X7PN-jRE-ubmp0K22MLGitzuvjqxceBGX41rqeF7JM8kj/s3756/19cemetery,old.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2699" data-original-width="3756" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJYw42Iz8dO0UiyrDbteOkqCZJClhj8UPXmfj59CopZkioIvD4fRPuVFNkrDorePF4H0c66nONYzT78H7cvCQz2zv96vIEGuFdgCbBTimxJya-S_Ed-cKtVQXKZhiQMOW7WOxE3yS7LdWHkt6X7PN-jRE-ubmp0K22MLGitzuvjqxceBGX41rqeF7JM8kj/w640-h460/19cemetery,old.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And oh boy, just <i>look</i> at all the mosses growing on the old stone wall!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMnvBYZFJz5rW15NifPbNi-l_-lqqsVt8aErx2dfi04YD9O8AW-uFrvsnUttz57lSAohAL1xlW9-fIG0NLQRY9KfAqqHwPJbECfamI6oMp29duz3LcmXuVQdQE2WDRMQ2NsJeFZIf_m_PwfNVz-ihDRynzkPVeSRxx3nl4PrneP_MIkXe-cK5gYBz8ReNe/s3426/20cemeterymoss.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2410" data-original-width="3426" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMnvBYZFJz5rW15NifPbNi-l_-lqqsVt8aErx2dfi04YD9O8AW-uFrvsnUttz57lSAohAL1xlW9-fIG0NLQRY9KfAqqHwPJbECfamI6oMp29duz3LcmXuVQdQE2WDRMQ2NsJeFZIf_m_PwfNVz-ihDRynzkPVeSRxx3nl4PrneP_MIkXe-cK5gYBz8ReNe/w640-h450/20cemeterymoss.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I know the names of very few mosses, and although I am happy to learn some of them, I am also happy to let my friends be the experts. So I am simply going to post some photos of them here, and maybe my bryophile friends will chime in with their names. That doesn't mean I don't admire their beauty and variety. I just loved how many of the rocks bore thick cushions of beautiful greenery.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnr-TG9FI2Se3GPHxJSMHbyAlBBHGHszoBvKFZnGEJh3UBb5ZXi3eofyyZm66r5CiZVEmJtaJBlQ1ElBQiXCgds34V4p-oxxRObvIBUu7971JhJyNz_7V_EEqQMqafVixBR35KR8HIx_fFWxAGEHF5gvbGvCCoHsn2UA1pnFXFtIfGszBTP-5OYqXxgcFN/s2562/21moss,rocktopper.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2232" data-original-width="2562" height="558" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnr-TG9FI2Se3GPHxJSMHbyAlBBHGHszoBvKFZnGEJh3UBb5ZXi3eofyyZm66r5CiZVEmJtaJBlQ1ElBQiXCgds34V4p-oxxRObvIBUu7971JhJyNz_7V_EEqQMqafVixBR35KR8HIx_fFWxAGEHF5gvbGvCCoHsn2UA1pnFXFtIfGszBTP-5OYqXxgcFN/w640-h558/21moss,rocktopper.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I would not be surprised, though, to learn that this lovely clump was composed of <i>Entodon seductrix,</i> with its ropy stems and long skinny flat-topped spore capsules that were ringed with minute fringes.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj82acFSYSR9iJm_nf2G5-mRf0_BccPL7lfs4dEmGgkFRDoSh5-htRZe7XXreRiEEzdz0GVtpAob6WdbMJGd9VqHwFVgQnYWB-TV1yEY8e0fHCE_0ZouhbiEXu4c09uKDpRyCxKyDX8UrSCrsXEfUIzrty4Qsi-2i3TGRocK6VZNEpXrCBBslbGH5xrJfv1/s3320/22moss,entodon,capsules.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2455" data-original-width="3320" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj82acFSYSR9iJm_nf2G5-mRf0_BccPL7lfs4dEmGgkFRDoSh5-htRZe7XXreRiEEzdz0GVtpAob6WdbMJGd9VqHwFVgQnYWB-TV1yEY8e0fHCE_0ZouhbiEXu4c09uKDpRyCxKyDX8UrSCrsXEfUIzrty4Qsi-2i3TGRocK6VZNEpXrCBBslbGH5xrJfv1/w640-h474/22moss,entodon,capsules.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And here is one moss I DO know the name of! With its leafy crowns that look like tiny posies it just HAS to have a floral name. And it does: Rose Moss. Or, to be more scientific, <i>Rhodobryum ontariense</i>. Since I usually find this moss on calcareous rocks, I would not be surprised to learn that the rock it was growing on was either limestone or marble.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDLgMMgpKe00Z0ydLYCH3FMq0t6Mi2SgK9NuOzVrJ1i6nz8IsUbYFROkgX449JSbjUB4L8nodBv50gZ1Im5R4NGSX3nL3oB_6WsJYl8Tyo7L8Cnsu9VYpNkYMVbOVmf8cQJksTTnm06gdyqYepch5gpZcaUY3Cc3fH2aFe6-7aPPOEMHQIuewSlkjbyz2-/s2749/23moss,rhodobryum.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2265" data-original-width="2749" height="528" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDLgMMgpKe00Z0ydLYCH3FMq0t6Mi2SgK9NuOzVrJ1i6nz8IsUbYFROkgX449JSbjUB4L8nodBv50gZ1Im5R4NGSX3nL3oB_6WsJYl8Tyo7L8Cnsu9VYpNkYMVbOVmf8cQJksTTnm06gdyqYepch5gpZcaUY3Cc3fH2aFe6-7aPPOEMHQIuewSlkjbyz2-/w640-h528/23moss,rhodobryum.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And since this moss reminded me of the curly coat of a poodle, I'm going to guess it might be Poodle Moss (<i>Anomodon attenuatus</i>). Except that I usually associate that moss with the bark at the base of White Oak trees, not old stone walls. So I'm probably mistaken. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipIUfkXYeM1nUfuXwZvZDRbHAtNG4_i95dCLnNZkbflxs6iIdjnP_zxNokbQn5b1YNcmTMPDhSNA-Xujf4T1UU-jMqSR2PBqHqcYxcuqUzYSjELKvyHEGaKerJ6rFoQbJPAAMG_k56rWvVOttCSPuL40D4Ni3C0SabvLzmK5eSk5sa8dcFWGWErGdXdYQC/s2730/24moss,poodle.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1953" data-original-width="2730" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipIUfkXYeM1nUfuXwZvZDRbHAtNG4_i95dCLnNZkbflxs6iIdjnP_zxNokbQn5b1YNcmTMPDhSNA-Xujf4T1UU-jMqSR2PBqHqcYxcuqUzYSjELKvyHEGaKerJ6rFoQbJPAAMG_k56rWvVOttCSPuL40D4Ni3C0SabvLzmK5eSk5sa8dcFWGWErGdXdYQC/w640-h458/24moss,poodle.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I loved the spiky leaves on this moss, and I hope I will someday know how to call it by name.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRuEW17cM9p9wFv7KE3BhAH7OrnBburXvW3VixBZhBKU3J9BLhIqxECitda8NmTZau24HLghn43_9FGrGoQSdTM9djg23pK1c08DynLx9tvqC2pngFiP5S90QI7K2w1U4kd2BrHqWFIXqoU9VwZGLWsR7NwY1p1PlL1-ds5yJ6XW1ss6g5EN0fIrAkS2OK/s3243/25moss,spiky.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2403" data-original-width="3243" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRuEW17cM9p9wFv7KE3BhAH7OrnBburXvW3VixBZhBKU3J9BLhIqxECitda8NmTZau24HLghn43_9FGrGoQSdTM9djg23pK1c08DynLx9tvqC2pngFiP5S90QI7K2w1U4kd2BrHqWFIXqoU9VwZGLWsR7NwY1p1PlL1-ds5yJ6XW1ss6g5EN0fIrAkS2OK/w640-h474/25moss,spiky.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This moss was so tiny, I would need a microscope to even describe it, aside from "tiny."</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU0CxkmO2wUUVK5EbsOiC9vgp9Ryd-94czH66C9J8JMUu7uOi_iUbvrxHrVQLsjiQt0pXSD3FQbqAIKeKCSIaOX2xDfqn7cdKD1UkvqaOh2H22QmsrPZhQLnd3t2QDVF9ucMfBHLkCRNeTTahRttVdkY9XOwW4Q1ddmoVnDExAh9c752wXaolCqgWhOcJw/s2450/26moss,tiny.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1701" data-original-width="2450" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU0CxkmO2wUUVK5EbsOiC9vgp9Ryd-94czH66C9J8JMUu7uOi_iUbvrxHrVQLsjiQt0pXSD3FQbqAIKeKCSIaOX2xDfqn7cdKD1UkvqaOh2H22QmsrPZhQLnd3t2QDVF9ucMfBHLkCRNeTTahRttVdkY9XOwW4Q1ddmoVnDExAh9c752wXaolCqgWhOcJw/w640-h444/26moss,tiny.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I loved the dark-red sinuous sporestalks of this one, and how they appeared to be dancing.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisXRe1GZVo9hvF8kABsGaT6W6n6uFoeVtv4lX-NIphxVMdFfsm9bwaO1VdDkEHp1Zkc85Q0aloMJD0aGbhVD5KkULmByT_fCRLiuAth6wyT4_lCjkkOlx9-Ksg-BYFcf1aDC4ursskbyMH7fMEJMVd755P6s2_U9ATA8kzhdFISRCj2ZtG3eXIHfo1REI7/s2165/27moss,redslendersporestalks.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1704" data-original-width="2165" height="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisXRe1GZVo9hvF8kABsGaT6W6n6uFoeVtv4lX-NIphxVMdFfsm9bwaO1VdDkEHp1Zkc85Q0aloMJD0aGbhVD5KkULmByT_fCRLiuAth6wyT4_lCjkkOlx9-Ksg-BYFcf1aDC4ursskbyMH7fMEJMVd755P6s2_U9ATA8kzhdFISRCj2ZtG3eXIHfo1REI7/w640-h504/27moss,redslendersporestalks.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This stubby moss was quite colorful with its school-bus-yellow capsules.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEMqPA32bC4iLPIYS1rPcYmYvZVmfylJgyKMG-dpGtsctAB2BBRZHbagFNXSVWs_Wn1DODZ0m-t_LJvoR_72n3aH2Kn9RU9nCEwkI3ex6WcDJjFybdcxiUi9d3NiuahhaR_-1Njf11UZngP12WbMTIW9Qq9p_o40a1jv9XN_RDCLvn6AH3tx6NnqEjzsSJ/s2634/28moss,yellowcapsules.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1893" data-original-width="2634" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEMqPA32bC4iLPIYS1rPcYmYvZVmfylJgyKMG-dpGtsctAB2BBRZHbagFNXSVWs_Wn1DODZ0m-t_LJvoR_72n3aH2Kn9RU9nCEwkI3ex6WcDJjFybdcxiUi9d3NiuahhaR_-1Njf11UZngP12WbMTIW9Qq9p_o40a1jv9XN_RDCLvn6AH3tx6NnqEjzsSJ/w640-h460/28moss,yellowcapsules.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>At least I knew enough to know that this, with its overlapping leaves on upturning branches, was not a moss at all, but rather a liverwort. And I think it might be the liverwort called P<i>orella</i>, although its specific name remains lost on me.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiGb1xy6min_Fjm6LKj2bicbVw7MbTjAq5TS6PZ71TAEpCMb9ZlhSot_RJ3_OtNMq7Phn7t3fqVxzIB_OIYc4-Q6VRniDyiWwnULFQQinUWNVOAmJE9Rm-lNjBVpt468beFyjudM0p0wefjn1OkJQ0PYclx9wyAUJfxiQCwVCubW-K4bII9TRGx-73EpiX/s3549/29liverwort,porella.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2346" data-original-width="3549" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiGb1xy6min_Fjm6LKj2bicbVw7MbTjAq5TS6PZ71TAEpCMb9ZlhSot_RJ3_OtNMq7Phn7t3fqVxzIB_OIYc4-Q6VRniDyiWwnULFQQinUWNVOAmJE9Rm-lNjBVpt468beFyjudM0p0wefjn1OkJQ0PYclx9wyAUJfxiQCwVCubW-K4bII9TRGx-73EpiX/w640-h424/29liverwort,porella.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p></div>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-67871011132953964352024-01-31T21:34:00.002-05:002024-01-31T21:52:48.986-05:00New Trails Into Winter Wonderland<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">O</span>h my gosh, here it is, the last day of January! What have I been doing since I last posted here? Not much, besides sulking about how crummy our winter has been so far, with more rain than snow and no sub-zero temps to freeze the lakes solid enough to walk on or for tumbling creeks to create their elaborate crystalline iceworks. But we finally did have some snow, and some pretty snow, too, that stayed on the trees to transform the woods into winter wonderlands. Just in time, too, since I have offered to lead my fellow nature-loving friends on a visit to Saratoga County's newest nature preserve, the Graphite Range Community Forest, a few miles north of Saratoga Springs. I asked my friend Sue Pierce to join me on a scouting mission there this week, and here are just a few of the highlights of our most delightful visit.</p><p><br /></p><p>As the map on this welcoming kiosk demonstrates, visitors will have their choice of many trails, most of which are open to both bikers and hikers, although each group can find a trail here for exclusive venturing (and bikers are allowed to ride up but not careen downward on many of the trails). Most of the trails require only moderate endurance levels, although all lead up into the forested regions of the Palmertown Mountain Range. For more information about the development of this preserve, here's a <a href="https://www.timesunion.com/news/article/historic-graphite-forest-5-miles-trails-opens-18547280.php"><span style="color: #ff00fe;">link to a newspaper article</span></a> that provides considerable background regarding how this project came about.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1_GdRSp0GN5Wo1pcCjQHeuxTLy8zGNK-SS0QOzQo3oQ56FTuQDgQwJ3QO_mBPEAyRALQzubMoboIuksn0KmKZ4nzCw1CNMPJnEteWsUr5LsqXPpUk6fRpjOGpJcmclOeFhr6nIytfvv9sIxF2lFMwMHrgqQT3hN9QQVVAp_XE7vXf1c5h7WGihSO3GHq3/s3605/01kiosk.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2893" data-original-width="3605" height="514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1_GdRSp0GN5Wo1pcCjQHeuxTLy8zGNK-SS0QOzQo3oQ56FTuQDgQwJ3QO_mBPEAyRALQzubMoboIuksn0KmKZ4nzCw1CNMPJnEteWsUr5LsqXPpUk6fRpjOGpJcmclOeFhr6nIytfvv9sIxF2lFMwMHrgqQT3hN9QQVVAp_XE7vXf1c5h7WGihSO3GHq3/w640-h514/01kiosk.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>As this photo reveals, all trails from the ample parking area along Rte. 9 in Wilton start out on level ground along a grassy road that soon connects with trails that gradually ascend into more mountainous regions. Just a few inches of soft snow lay on the road when Sue and I visited, so we easily made our way without needing snowshoes.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6w1xziObZ7ABHSWRpWH4UENVLQ7oX4kBv5NZSWAqNVTwU6ynwOL3VogjGB3DakP6wOYDa8FnbypxXWa5ZDFd8qv2Q-_WxW0BeGyFuSEu9LOs5E-sh9lkUXeWS1Y5Qp5JKPRRjdL6xEg4jtCB5r6FRUje5AXDNreZb-owZODy9roxxgVs4Ci1bKTxY4ecp/s3416/02meadow.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2361" data-original-width="3416" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6w1xziObZ7ABHSWRpWH4UENVLQ7oX4kBv5NZSWAqNVTwU6ynwOL3VogjGB3DakP6wOYDa8FnbypxXWa5ZDFd8qv2Q-_WxW0BeGyFuSEu9LOs5E-sh9lkUXeWS1Y5Qp5JKPRRjdL6xEg4jtCB5r6FRUje5AXDNreZb-owZODy9roxxgVs4Ci1bKTxY4ecp/w640-h442/02meadow.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Rather than follow the road, we chose to take a trail that immediately led from the parking area to a more wooded path along a rushing creek.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd7u_68Mcpdlft8qBWl4CEGRAIix6CRaLrCGRqFJESv24S-FLlvIXtVfW0YOe7P9bcm9ZuNcPAnylLzlz7yprkuBGZpT0vT9tvp6qB_WxZ4hn8drNH_zTdc4HEI72n-0o3XfMZab6UsCxPprOcJnONvUxlEYikgaQ6qnOgKb8c1KedTa3thcX1dYc6DD1O/s3375/03creeksidetrail,sue.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2358" data-original-width="3375" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd7u_68Mcpdlft8qBWl4CEGRAIix6CRaLrCGRqFJESv24S-FLlvIXtVfW0YOe7P9bcm9ZuNcPAnylLzlz7yprkuBGZpT0vT9tvp6qB_WxZ4hn8drNH_zTdc4HEI72n-0o3XfMZab6UsCxPprOcJnONvUxlEYikgaQ6qnOgKb8c1KedTa3thcX1dYc6DD1O/w640-h448/03creeksidetrail,sue.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And oh, how lovely the woods appeared along this trail, each branch and twig of the surrounding trees coated with sparkling snow! </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_r3XXX7Sskas8MMUtzcDcyUY1W33o88NYbSYYer5h0ScJ1QSvORzCq8CgxW6RzY6LprEcbbevAufesdmfePaWcGUkLXIFli3ciV2ePXvSF3yW6tQosKxDM8DXIgLA2Nl1z3BQzH59aDq3o9bx5hWTC6pWD8NoC9dEXnEh7SRQEPmaHL1LII2YJFblt14i/s3883/04snowywoods.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2743" data-original-width="3883" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_r3XXX7Sskas8MMUtzcDcyUY1W33o88NYbSYYer5h0ScJ1QSvORzCq8CgxW6RzY6LprEcbbevAufesdmfePaWcGUkLXIFli3ciV2ePXvSF3yW6tQosKxDM8DXIgLA2Nl1z3BQzH59aDq3o9bx5hWTC6pWD8NoC9dEXnEh7SRQEPmaHL1LII2YJFblt14i/w640-h452/04snowywoods.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Our path led along a steep rocky gorge, where a small creek tumbled down from the mountains above.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik9BzErsVeDEinJH6zUJ3eg29n7G2fIOewh3zEBK8VbpZUEuz7lZkZju7BT1UMp-oiHzsOf3RN-zMxhYdnL1MiOMpRGRjcJNN8EIHhXU3kY5pvRrYGQOs8Fdz5yY6I-xSJM5WzLJEpfbPQcRaNyNgIqMzinv21sBiVxskGsoithyphenhyphen7YLJi_CLcFMS4Hlagj/s3634/05ravine.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2775" data-original-width="3634" height="488" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik9BzErsVeDEinJH6zUJ3eg29n7G2fIOewh3zEBK8VbpZUEuz7lZkZju7BT1UMp-oiHzsOf3RN-zMxhYdnL1MiOMpRGRjcJNN8EIHhXU3kY5pvRrYGQOs8Fdz5yY6I-xSJM5WzLJEpfbPQcRaNyNgIqMzinv21sBiVxskGsoithyphenhyphen7YLJi_CLcFMS4Hlagj/w640-h488/05ravine.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We were accompanied on this trail by the pleasant sounds of rushing water crashing over rocks.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYU_NdjhP1KM7Dxsf3w-ioaL2LNARLaZdVxgNqcKChnhFFauE5ZrxVdUYgvnUa-P0_FVrfL3EcrIm5UXkqCoGeHt8PQGVWnxM1mBqwhi_5R6bKFaM8tSYvbpRfPSxwmQSDiR9gM643TP6ELwaF8I00ZKuUfVtJZFucY3EquJv575CziSCmNq9W6q1U806F/s3438/06creek,tumbling.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2562" data-original-width="3438" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYU_NdjhP1KM7Dxsf3w-ioaL2LNARLaZdVxgNqcKChnhFFauE5ZrxVdUYgvnUa-P0_FVrfL3EcrIm5UXkqCoGeHt8PQGVWnxM1mBqwhi_5R6bKFaM8tSYvbpRfPSxwmQSDiR9gM643TP6ELwaF8I00ZKuUfVtJZFucY3EquJv575CziSCmNq9W6q1U806F/w640-h476/06creek,tumbling.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The droplets tossed up by the rushing water decorated the far bank with beautiful icicles.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgejkvyUxmXYkGr5FUDneDr4RHGmxrM60D3zSqSqK0bie8DNCK1X2vt06Mus8bSJ4t-2jjlAis7po5s5ThZqsndOi_w1c8nXinrMKhzfmYADQS69KXLzSpiWrTRy3yiHL4q0KuswKkA_cryQpmbh8NaSrgjhyPH8kSst4FomtS9g2eAQvbIxE-3tpY3-kyv/s3080/07creekbank,icicles.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2275" data-original-width="3080" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgejkvyUxmXYkGr5FUDneDr4RHGmxrM60D3zSqSqK0bie8DNCK1X2vt06Mus8bSJ4t-2jjlAis7po5s5ThZqsndOi_w1c8nXinrMKhzfmYADQS69KXLzSpiWrTRy3yiHL4q0KuswKkA_cryQpmbh8NaSrgjhyPH8kSst4FomtS9g2eAQvbIxE-3tpY3-kyv/w640-h472/07creekbank,icicles.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>At one particularly pleasant spot overlooking the stream, a pair of Adirondack chairs provided a place to rest and enjoy the surroundings. We noticed several other spots throughout the woods where other chairs invited hikers to sit a spell, either to rest or just to become one with the beauty of the place.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH2SLQIhWV_3MI8DI7pg6VYDk8a1xY0tTzS7lsMC-XeZPgnHy8r6VNO4C3NUsGhEJgjSXETVlhn5i16nPFtEL6ZsIPIFLnVoJ4-u4IxraLWXhifXtdT_4r8HnTdgc1WnqbuB0668bxGhaq4cra4cuE8daPRlDlpSqcJBYAap7ZkfmQ5Ed4dDE-qBxZ5P3b/s3597/08chairs.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2702" data-original-width="3597" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH2SLQIhWV_3MI8DI7pg6VYDk8a1xY0tTzS7lsMC-XeZPgnHy8r6VNO4C3NUsGhEJgjSXETVlhn5i16nPFtEL6ZsIPIFLnVoJ4-u4IxraLWXhifXtdT_4r8HnTdgc1WnqbuB0668bxGhaq4cra4cuE8daPRlDlpSqcJBYAap7ZkfmQ5Ed4dDE-qBxZ5P3b/w640-h480/08chairs.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Sue and I chose the Old Mine Road to follow toward our destination, the several abandoned graphite mines toward which I hope to lead our Thursday Naturalist friends when we meet on February 8. The mines are located just about a half-mile from the parking area.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQjjsPH_b-pW_i5f3I8xoLty5JM4CTQPDu14XQfjWqMYorHpQF3usOga5McIw8JtL705IFM802bWgW9BFrUFaSJ2TeIuYXdkwhAnPtAsKTfhHkishj73kue4J5iVYnLuPKgi-9KWCbgyOIesWGdvz6Tt2EUcdaMujHmCcC1wXGPT_8gmhdBbnQaZaaNvC0/s3477/09trailtomines.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2676" data-original-width="3477" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQjjsPH_b-pW_i5f3I8xoLty5JM4CTQPDu14XQfjWqMYorHpQF3usOga5McIw8JtL705IFM802bWgW9BFrUFaSJ2TeIuYXdkwhAnPtAsKTfhHkishj73kue4J5iVYnLuPKgi-9KWCbgyOIesWGdvz6Tt2EUcdaMujHmCcC1wXGPT_8gmhdBbnQaZaaNvC0/w640-h492/09trailtomines.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Although we had wished that more of the preserve's trails would be reserved for hikers only, we were happy to learn that bikers should not be charging downhill towards us if we happen to crouch to observe a plant or insect near the ground. That's if the bikers observe the restrictions, anyway.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQvNr4IchNzSg6P0tHNyJCXl6Uwr55GdzapEWAMoxifT7lPYqpj0Lbc0LyvWLYfppbMC25iFmAXL5FgvujQ2pzXkJoYsmVW9iesi9zaUkUxYZnNtU9z53yfohBaTvQRm_lH1OiWrae9npdkZnzZZsUzWiEZKSuFG4BPUwEHDdj8Mjd2kxQKxFaU3JeWBNP/s3384/10trailsigns.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2491" data-original-width="3384" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQvNr4IchNzSg6P0tHNyJCXl6Uwr55GdzapEWAMoxifT7lPYqpj0Lbc0LyvWLYfppbMC25iFmAXL5FgvujQ2pzXkJoYsmVW9iesi9zaUkUxYZnNtU9z53yfohBaTvQRm_lH1OiWrae9npdkZnzZZsUzWiEZKSuFG4BPUwEHDdj8Mjd2kxQKxFaU3JeWBNP/w640-h472/10trailsigns.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>At one point we branched off the Old Mine Road to explore a bit further along the Upper Works Road, walking as far as a bridge that crossed the creek, widened now and flowing more quietly through a level area in the forest.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZpMfN5Wgoti4at8bVpLEUzqIPjMaXHl9GqXcP8fMJemNnl7s6eJ-LXE0WrPH5lwfLXR2uDFDoXUkTXB3y_DeiWdlHuhuYj8xHhXVQCsct1ae56K36Hl_QZOpY7SLo5tGAUurh3sB0Y9YpVaOnvrfzHWDCQPFeUnUealxbaprvjy4AbEEhOP89LkoQSdBL/s3644/11bridge.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2629" data-original-width="3644" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZpMfN5Wgoti4at8bVpLEUzqIPjMaXHl9GqXcP8fMJemNnl7s6eJ-LXE0WrPH5lwfLXR2uDFDoXUkTXB3y_DeiWdlHuhuYj8xHhXVQCsct1ae56K36Hl_QZOpY7SLo5tGAUurh3sB0Y9YpVaOnvrfzHWDCQPFeUnUealxbaprvjy4AbEEhOP89LkoQSdBL/w640-h462/11bridge.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This Upper Works Road passed by some impressive old stone foundations, the remains of structures that must have served the graphite mining operations in some way. Perhaps in the future explanatory signs will be posted that tell of the history and purpose of these old stone ruins.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOSvTZatJjyZpJlxG9l3yKMzdz4jtfErw64n8j3HqHoJWxnWQbt7Jjj9K6T5FleVHNBjl7jj1cErNO8CgIwNiyq0IXLbDJMzdCaaFoAflTQT8hAJmAVEYZbkCynPaBKUrYZ_gFzYTuPG6gZCfq2zeTGs_WH4BGH62Awvs9jincFjeB22MP1evwLHIHpE0T/s3730/12oldstonefoundations.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2446" data-original-width="3730" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOSvTZatJjyZpJlxG9l3yKMzdz4jtfErw64n8j3HqHoJWxnWQbt7Jjj9K6T5FleVHNBjl7jj1cErNO8CgIwNiyq0IXLbDJMzdCaaFoAflTQT8hAJmAVEYZbkCynPaBKUrYZ_gFzYTuPG6gZCfq2zeTGs_WH4BGH62Awvs9jincFjeB22MP1evwLHIHpE0T/w640-h420/12oldstonefoundations.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It was near these old ruins that we chanced upon mossy banks that contained outcroppings of a crystalline kind of rock (marble or quartzite?).</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLkKE6ddcz3Z-NZg7b9WljlvZv7Z69tk2S1F-9xWfArqY8arBsLwPmvOclAJbO0a6fhWBZoXMEBPhN7yy2Oe-z0t3sNYR6952AKYDfcrwEwomBYtUu7537aSb_pXP6eQjwb7ya1HxZZECXhK1Ly3CMeUI4LlKcd78rw03p_qcoahTeepTzN4uZSDZmf2rG/s3730/13mosses,rockcrystals.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2620" data-original-width="3730" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLkKE6ddcz3Z-NZg7b9WljlvZv7Z69tk2S1F-9xWfArqY8arBsLwPmvOclAJbO0a6fhWBZoXMEBPhN7yy2Oe-z0t3sNYR6952AKYDfcrwEwomBYtUu7537aSb_pXP6eQjwb7ya1HxZZECXhK1Ly3CMeUI4LlKcd78rw03p_qcoahTeepTzN4uZSDZmf2rG/w640-h450/13mosses,rockcrystals.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>On a section of bank that was carpeted mostly with Delicate Fern Moss, we also noticed a moss with broader fern-like leaves. This moss reminded me of one of the species of <i>Fissidens</i> moss, but I cannot be certain of the species.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHuKc_q7EpciwnkScoA9jKpDWnjuFqx4zRDzG3Jhgj3KBkWTamFt5K4QTboiNosMhBDzaW2F_qk6ZTqAlN9VvyOW37RTQCCbxHFKJDLSecax5PLiN8CM-q0mmBMDrZRrtci5bCIsmMYeaaTSGmmUmZGXCLoGK3qSb8mtb35h0-DnyMcKvXssgaMnK4NSkF/s2999/14moss,fissidens.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2309" data-original-width="2999" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHuKc_q7EpciwnkScoA9jKpDWnjuFqx4zRDzG3Jhgj3KBkWTamFt5K4QTboiNosMhBDzaW2F_qk6ZTqAlN9VvyOW37RTQCCbxHFKJDLSecax5PLiN8CM-q0mmBMDrZRrtci5bCIsmMYeaaTSGmmUmZGXCLoGK3qSb8mtb35h0-DnyMcKvXssgaMnK4NSkF/w640-h492/14moss,fissidens.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The presence of American Beech trees in this area was revealed by the still-visible remains of Beech Drops, a forest-floor wildflower that needs no green leaves to garner its nutrients, since it is parasitic on the roots of beech trees.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQsTs3BzeyHenpXvjTds-sSIgMuPmcxNdi3WO0a1JpcEz_d-qR7Nu3xAicV2VXSKBW7okTOg1OQAPMCm5i7jr4ygGm5wKdDzHL6Ej-kNimUoQ1s6AKbBhXrAvdyfgnPkkutLTr2PNG5UD3doGKCaOVcF_1QnzNVGCwqlb6fZ4r2f82WpLmtiI3m6kCZkb6/s3030/15beechdrops.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2653" data-original-width="3030" height="560" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQsTs3BzeyHenpXvjTds-sSIgMuPmcxNdi3WO0a1JpcEz_d-qR7Nu3xAicV2VXSKBW7okTOg1OQAPMCm5i7jr4ygGm5wKdDzHL6Ej-kNimUoQ1s6AKbBhXrAvdyfgnPkkutLTr2PNG5UD3doGKCaOVcF_1QnzNVGCwqlb6fZ4r2f82WpLmtiI3m6kCZkb6/w640-h560/15beechdrops.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>We also detected the presence of occasional Witch Hazel shrubs, their snow-covered branches knobby with numerous ripening seedpods.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhABY01R8tVVi_qWbNb2hrG0SL19K51F4iTCMh2YTrcPP51o1ZeX8OtxWcHcP6uqywyprvNqs0SO79U3nXEuX4DCNYTDF9hE9-0FTb2m-6DWShmEKCkEI6vDojIFNRfstorLqWgQBHEvxSKsJcjP8c8XDN8DzXR69ke3XYMY17kjopCh0bZ1msl2EJfh3UA/s3233/16witchhazelpods.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2181" data-original-width="3233" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhABY01R8tVVi_qWbNb2hrG0SL19K51F4iTCMh2YTrcPP51o1ZeX8OtxWcHcP6uqywyprvNqs0SO79U3nXEuX4DCNYTDF9hE9-0FTb2m-6DWShmEKCkEI6vDojIFNRfstorLqWgQBHEvxSKsJcjP8c8XDN8DzXR69ke3XYMY17kjopCh0bZ1msl2EJfh3UA/w640-h432/16witchhazelpods.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We soon back-tracked to re-connect with the Old Mine Road and continued on our journey toward the mines.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirIappaKUh1GK4QtecnF9ls-UitBnwrPOtGyT20p7odRlU_W1Aj1uoIVVZ8SXAdJ1nTCNnxPDkpU5IsL3SXOC9_-zPjB-xbj-r-kEcfLWFYxZ0deQo_Jw8LiJTugGSyCri2BJW9tuIXp-omm2qRpbqnLLfrjbMw0NLorBnxD-YuLlgQsqj8j6jKZzegv_S/s3501/17oldmineroad,snowy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2537" data-original-width="3501" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirIappaKUh1GK4QtecnF9ls-UitBnwrPOtGyT20p7odRlU_W1Aj1uoIVVZ8SXAdJ1nTCNnxPDkpU5IsL3SXOC9_-zPjB-xbj-r-kEcfLWFYxZ0deQo_Jw8LiJTugGSyCri2BJW9tuIXp-omm2qRpbqnLLfrjbMw0NLorBnxD-YuLlgQsqj8j6jKZzegv_S/w640-h464/17oldmineroad,snowy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Our journey was not only onward now, but also UPward, and we wondered if the rise in elevation was the reason the surrounding branches were even more snow-whitened than those we had admired at a lower elevation. Was it possible that hoarfrost had settled on every twig up here, whitening them even more than the snow did?</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjowMZYFJRq0xiIRp6uAxAZjq4i32MuU5eMpRHBahhJjkDty1bO95NHsQBvuLtrapzzX_Reyr9UtxQwsfEQEpdsdAcQqwrNV9O9tlRbOB1kBgmecpaiv_80liczmYUfyBMzcE_z44wblCiM24PGYtG7UqKcSGdeWuDQ3pVLPJZr3rXiLOjNxRLm9VYH9-MS/s3495/18snowbentbranches.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2557" data-original-width="3495" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjowMZYFJRq0xiIRp6uAxAZjq4i32MuU5eMpRHBahhJjkDty1bO95NHsQBvuLtrapzzX_Reyr9UtxQwsfEQEpdsdAcQqwrNV9O9tlRbOB1kBgmecpaiv_80liczmYUfyBMzcE_z44wblCiM24PGYtG7UqKcSGdeWuDQ3pVLPJZr3rXiLOjNxRLm9VYH9-MS/w640-h468/18snowbentbranches.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I'm glad that Sue was wearing such a bright-colored coat. Otherwise, my photos of this snowy woods looked as if they were shot in black-and-white, not full color.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia8V-L11HI7aL3gIN96UH-5MYfl98lr4713cO-D39dAcNB_8sbUxqZ5uHJ_aKX0aAqSkvzBAuuJS4-N8kLz-QNmv7mRb-R36KueXpBAhnNgAZ9SA2bH8MTOCHjRbUHHEu5WfILC5Z7_jgEZXzE2QulwXHlwxCVc0hHzphB4pmwa9z9xg2BWYKT6TIqnInE/s3272/19snowyshrubs,sue.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2569" data-original-width="3272" height="502" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia8V-L11HI7aL3gIN96UH-5MYfl98lr4713cO-D39dAcNB_8sbUxqZ5uHJ_aKX0aAqSkvzBAuuJS4-N8kLz-QNmv7mRb-R36KueXpBAhnNgAZ9SA2bH8MTOCHjRbUHHEu5WfILC5Z7_jgEZXzE2QulwXHlwxCVc0hHzphB4pmwa9z9xg2BWYKT6TIqnInE/w640-h502/19snowyshrubs,sue.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>The twigs were actually puffy with frosty snow!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDJ5xlO_1oGlp8dKDukNDk4h3Bq8x7wpE_x4eQxH_JeAN6Dch1LCsLGveKv6mRvf6caJRVTLsK-fyqLOmf8_TQnJ73VmmTeB_10SLb9sv5IzGVjbQbq3PpwoHk8jD0WYMaz3jwvutqg1Syk-7TuiObi7vhFr4_YJAZ5uhzq1vjAgyyuSyYRSDH1blZ9-O6/s3522/20snowpuffedtwigs.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2513" data-original-width="3522" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDJ5xlO_1oGlp8dKDukNDk4h3Bq8x7wpE_x4eQxH_JeAN6Dch1LCsLGveKv6mRvf6caJRVTLsK-fyqLOmf8_TQnJ73VmmTeB_10SLb9sv5IzGVjbQbq3PpwoHk8jD0WYMaz3jwvutqg1Syk-7TuiObi7vhFr4_YJAZ5uhzq1vjAgyyuSyYRSDH1blZ9-O6/w640-h456/20snowpuffedtwigs.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Since I had failed to carry drinking water on this hike, I found these snow- and ice-tipped twigs could offer me easy refreshment if I just popped them into my mouth.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZkyYdrk7UXB1eJEWkc_ufXaqDAo6EyV52VDEMUrppd4GkmqJjXVQQEhEb-O0zcJLeEF9DV86arCB13GXsx8Tm5dt_rHbNUvLH8WV4X7-CHneFETsVW4JNG-jmgUmwZRwLYshr7zKaMmtlzfu0BZLYTZghxGygBYEOodbSFLV3kVD-FL1T_cMYRVBSKs6/s3214/21snowtippedtwig.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="3214" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZkyYdrk7UXB1eJEWkc_ufXaqDAo6EyV52VDEMUrppd4GkmqJjXVQQEhEb-O0zcJLeEF9DV86arCB13GXsx8Tm5dt_rHbNUvLH8WV4X7-CHneFETsVW4JNG-jmgUmwZRwLYshr7zKaMmtlzfu0BZLYTZghxGygBYEOodbSFLV3kVD-FL1T_cMYRVBSKs6/w640-h478/21snowtippedtwig.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And here are the entrances of the old mines. Quite an impressive site!A placard here describes some of the history of these mines, which produced the mineral to be powdered and used as a lubricant for machines. When more abundant sources of graphite were later discovered in Asia and Africa, these mines were abandoned in the early 1920s.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ZqOb1S29oiD-XPF09e2XMetl6HDo_drA_u0ES1nxjv7KiYAQdYTdos_ZWyUOL4jkKqQgWKB6kPNvEMTdcGKkz4bLCkZXVQgGlWsFqQhGKsWPgeFswByaia2ToagSH_7fsQyjng4xh-p0hMM-yWeVI-5EEpfaGih0du-X2CrdT7fKiJaB-K_lX7JnpHZD/s3591/22minesign.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2556" data-original-width="3591" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ZqOb1S29oiD-XPF09e2XMetl6HDo_drA_u0ES1nxjv7KiYAQdYTdos_ZWyUOL4jkKqQgWKB6kPNvEMTdcGKkz4bLCkZXVQgGlWsFqQhGKsWPgeFswByaia2ToagSH_7fsQyjng4xh-p0hMM-yWeVI-5EEpfaGih0du-X2CrdT7fKiJaB-K_lX7JnpHZD/w640-h456/22minesign.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I found an interesting <a href="https://www.saratogian.com/2012/03/02/history-lesson-wilton-rocked-the-mining-industry/"><span style="color: #ff00fe;">article</span></a> from <i>The Saratogian</i> newspaper that provides some additional history of these mines. </div><div><br /></div><div>The mine openings may appear to tempt us to explore within, but such entry is restricted now, with the area fenced off to make access difficult. Also, water fills the floor of the mines, making for slippery ice in winter and knee-deep sloshing in warmer months. Better just to marvel at this dramatic sight (and site!).</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3KIEYUoocM6NVFMgKSWgGXo3nHrlC0Mm5GbkvLLnrcugN77wZqXeiAUdqNDOKTZrNPeHtuD3-FnLRkca7kkdP-nao2PWGE2uiKKSisH7CWeR0OVDHRTrtZB-jWV_AYiVBGSOZ2acqZDm1ecA7TfQIRT1uwZGujLS7_ANqK_hNAsc0Nrv8vSloMFXAKQUM/s3480/23mineentrance.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2544" data-original-width="3480" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3KIEYUoocM6NVFMgKSWgGXo3nHrlC0Mm5GbkvLLnrcugN77wZqXeiAUdqNDOKTZrNPeHtuD3-FnLRkca7kkdP-nao2PWGE2uiKKSisH7CWeR0OVDHRTrtZB-jWV_AYiVBGSOZ2acqZDm1ecA7TfQIRT1uwZGujLS7_ANqK_hNAsc0Nrv8vSloMFXAKQUM/w640-h468/23mineentrance.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-88289512877612902652024-01-14T16:13:00.003-05:002024-01-14T16:22:48.892-05:00Ascending to Porcupine Haven<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">M</span>y nature buddies and I had one more day to enjoy the snowy woods before the rains returned on Friday. And what better way could we spend that day but by hiking up the mountain at Moreau Lake State Park to see if the Porcupines still claimed a series of caves up there as their denning territory? </p><p>Although the temps rose into the 40s, snow still covered the forest floor (the better to follow the Porkies' trails), and the stream we call Zen Brook was flowing exuberantly down the mountainside. It's quite a steep climb up to Porcupine Haven, a cluster of small grottos carved into marble outcroppings, most likely created by the same flowing waters that fill this brook. This climb was a first test of my injured legs since their bashing in a car crash a month ago, and I was quite delighted to discover I managed it okay.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_NSWr4m42JinTq86IXUJGdYEMEdqGziMuvcMHUqRo-Ky3ixnzl-sqb2WgFvyFwpN2D4yamrtN6GuK9XOfxVdv4binyGFXB4LW34ZJsdiXeqEcL-X2J_W198WokqY9pMMauAnWNBxZ7F1JWci68ujSXeNOQj9SkbmzQJ5xnNGrc6j0-0qR5I7-orwvhru-/s3806/01mountainstream.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2797" data-original-width="3806" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_NSWr4m42JinTq86IXUJGdYEMEdqGziMuvcMHUqRo-Ky3ixnzl-sqb2WgFvyFwpN2D4yamrtN6GuK9XOfxVdv4binyGFXB4LW34ZJsdiXeqEcL-X2J_W198WokqY9pMMauAnWNBxZ7F1JWci68ujSXeNOQj9SkbmzQJ5xnNGrc6j0-0qR5I7-orwvhru-/w640-h470/01mountainstream.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>As soon as we entered a dense Hemlock forest near the mountain's summit, we found abundant evidence of Porcupine travels, their low-slung bodies creating troughs through the snow that were pocked with the tracks of their wide flat feet. Unlike many other wild animals that wander the woods in search of food, a Porcupine finds a likely tree to feed on and returns to the same site again and again, eventually packing the trail to the point where the individual footprints can no longer be discerned.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_avME-x6pdQDRceIZ5Vop6NKo-voIe9lDska-pdotaXeEZRkKSwBWEX02FZ9oOOEh2aXu64v8Y7vuwo1gXANOgyQ2gU__o34OcSlLJu5otVPgMgyVyhSs_hozKG8c7IpRJA_BsOKQEKwzTXrQ6AeqT_RwvrrFooRDO_A4U8cbdgOt1AhV5oovKN4Cu7Of/s3252/02porkytrail,woods.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2771" data-original-width="3252" height="546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_avME-x6pdQDRceIZ5Vop6NKo-voIe9lDska-pdotaXeEZRkKSwBWEX02FZ9oOOEh2aXu64v8Y7vuwo1gXANOgyQ2gU__o34OcSlLJu5otVPgMgyVyhSs_hozKG8c7IpRJA_BsOKQEKwzTXrQ6AeqT_RwvrrFooRDO_A4U8cbdgOt1AhV5oovKN4Cu7Of/w640-h546/02porkytrail,woods.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>All we had to do to find a den was to follow a well-packed trail to where it disappeared within the dark depths of a cave in the rocky outcroppings. The trails were also marked by dribbles of yellow urine, shed hairs, and occasional quills, if we needed further evidence that such trails belonged to Porcupines. In this photo, Porkie's comings and goings appeared quite evident.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm5bvf-vQpNQnO3ylAw-FwVwI7opMpSYBuEnq-Ha_JQC5Lpp-FC2mtObYJ-AHDzLRUaXqZC_rftbvmiTDgVxWZL8Z104aaF0gasrf0sapqYRsR6vL_SjZkOh1SP6Gn0TH7q2OPMmV9y-wvHnQnTrtNFebygh3YU7lQGoBEREprI29mh-S7-yZHyJNlH24R/s3362/03porkytrails,den.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2822" data-original-width="3362" height="538" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm5bvf-vQpNQnO3ylAw-FwVwI7opMpSYBuEnq-Ha_JQC5Lpp-FC2mtObYJ-AHDzLRUaXqZC_rftbvmiTDgVxWZL8Z104aaF0gasrf0sapqYRsR6vL_SjZkOh1SP6Gn0TH7q2OPMmV9y-wvHnQnTrtNFebygh3YU7lQGoBEREprI29mh-S7-yZHyJNlH24R/w640-h538/03porkytrails,den.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Nearby was a second cave that obviously was providing shelter to another Porcupine.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg0PuMgSOPZyNvmBBDj2N-ePZQTyHjD6Q2uj8zXc0TVQSXLp6gU5uEoU912rcGKtWLWBm_hgS1QppUKjHvYMEjlKyeeBoJEkBLNjw28JBfwD0RLXOJEdIeuHbdA9CrI0G8ewa2yy8HGzgYb0_Hr7CPFZmWS_ZZ_bjYwDKdKmfz-8pD-JmmIv__062z71Ze/s3851/04secondden.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2948" data-original-width="3851" height="490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg0PuMgSOPZyNvmBBDj2N-ePZQTyHjD6Q2uj8zXc0TVQSXLp6gU5uEoU912rcGKtWLWBm_hgS1QppUKjHvYMEjlKyeeBoJEkBLNjw28JBfwD0RLXOJEdIeuHbdA9CrI0G8ewa2yy8HGzgYb0_Hr7CPFZmWS_ZZ_bjYwDKdKmfz-8pD-JmmIv__062z71Ze/w640-h490/04secondden.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>At one den site, friends Nancy, Noel, and Tom examine the animal tracks near the mouth of one cave, as well as the plants that cover the rocky outcroppings. In the foreground, Sue is perusing the various mosses that thrive near a second cave.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbwUUG2vY4MHk8guptZaUyEPhJIXECxVTQa0hDq3JE3m6nXI1NClrYMokqkv9xkYOPSPzUMCh8DmIGLRUJYObfdkcw0DsPjU9sxW4SlNCN8t94230-I91cm_o_rQEYF7At7AorGLoHgbp5nWcP9NONBt_N86gHp6TYn4jBiu2Py5LE2k1HjGlrOuFL2q4_/s3849/05porkyden,friends.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2897" data-original-width="3849" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbwUUG2vY4MHk8guptZaUyEPhJIXECxVTQa0hDq3JE3m6nXI1NClrYMokqkv9xkYOPSPzUMCh8DmIGLRUJYObfdkcw0DsPjU9sxW4SlNCN8t94230-I91cm_o_rQEYF7At7AorGLoHgbp5nWcP9NONBt_N86gHp6TYn4jBiu2Py5LE2k1HjGlrOuFL2q4_/w640-h482/05porkyden,friends.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>A third cave opening reveals a stream coursing through it, rendering its interior inhospitable for any Porcupine den. But the watery habitat only made it more welcoming to insects that find winter shelter amid such damp spaces. I could detect a number of tiny flying insects darting around the dark interior.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh3QWfEPRr4UunbIa-8eTZcU3nLr56gRixgb796xwWtEb4vwR9YOaFTyvnXlC_10CArvaNZQTqePEvFSZHAoPYSgdt1QkzoULiJd3YFEhW8srUyQuMGsXAwxCIVo_pJ4Lzzrs9kKZ3PSeXKsQmHvwxHrPH7Pbn3bnZdX9HqvZQnSiCZbRz5YLKnoD_R7T3/s3888/06cave,watery.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2946" data-original-width="3888" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh3QWfEPRr4UunbIa-8eTZcU3nLr56gRixgb796xwWtEb4vwR9YOaFTyvnXlC_10CArvaNZQTqePEvFSZHAoPYSgdt1QkzoULiJd3YFEhW8srUyQuMGsXAwxCIVo_pJ4Lzzrs9kKZ3PSeXKsQmHvwxHrPH7Pbn3bnZdX9HqvZQnSiCZbRz5YLKnoD_R7T3/w640-h484/06cave,watery.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Since some of these insects were performing an up-and-down bobbing dance in the air, I could assume they were male Winter Craneflies engaged in their distinctive mating behavior, intended to entice the ground-dwelling females to rise up to join the males in mid-air, before returning to the ground to lay their now-fertilized eggs in the leaf litter.</div><div><br /></div><div>One of the insects did land on the snow, which helped to confirm its identity as a Winter Cranefly (<i>Trichoceridae</i> genus). I also noticed a Porcupine hair sharing the snowy surface.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh23OcdSH3qXeGGD1YXMMH_ywLGegcBqqdDZZUxbAxsbogjTFNjLFetV3VPHqHBa5Fj4nNjNNZTcWh-5gTKGytGK_NR0D7M_wXL9vu4NYMz05kCIvp6P0XSYIygD4PQTSbnspIO6zl5v-K86FUJOt2-AtOhmQ5SnfOVnYikhY2jw5DKJz1qIsra-__-OhXo/s640/07cranefly.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="441" data-original-width="640" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh23OcdSH3qXeGGD1YXMMH_ywLGegcBqqdDZZUxbAxsbogjTFNjLFetV3VPHqHBa5Fj4nNjNNZTcWh-5gTKGytGK_NR0D7M_wXL9vu4NYMz05kCIvp6P0XSYIygD4PQTSbnspIO6zl5v-K86FUJOt2-AtOhmQ5SnfOVnYikhY2jw5DKJz1qIsra-__-OhXo/w640-h442/07cranefly.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>The calcareous nature of these rocky outcroppings could be deduced from the various plants that thrive on them, since many of these plants would occur only on lime-rich rocks such as limestone or marble. That would be true for the round puffs of Rose Moss (<i>Rhodobryum ontariense</i>) seen here poking up from amid the slender fronds of Walking Fern (<i>Asplenium rhizophyllum</i>), a distinctive fern that travels across its moss-covered rocky habitat by creating new plants wherever the tips of its long skinny fronds touch down.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ph_ZBVeK3BXuFkwIWrJIxmhNnHsDa8iki3u29ApL_TIpTs-BOPVOa1p8UUECvvdLRCSaJlDA5RoFEh1t_1dFnmN7NzxMG2f44tp__mK1dRBx_hRMNIv1LU-dGsJCsgMxQyZ3T236RXLSilvxUjuPDTmLSxX3E-NpZ7wBMgYaYfnX10BMpMTADor8Xm9a/s3381/08moss,fern,lichen.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2653" data-original-width="3381" height="502" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ph_ZBVeK3BXuFkwIWrJIxmhNnHsDa8iki3u29ApL_TIpTs-BOPVOa1p8UUECvvdLRCSaJlDA5RoFEh1t_1dFnmN7NzxMG2f44tp__mK1dRBx_hRMNIv1LU-dGsJCsgMxQyZ3T236RXLSilvxUjuPDTmLSxX3E-NpZ7wBMgYaYfnX10BMpMTADor8Xm9a/w640-h502/08moss,fern,lichen.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I never did learn which moss Noel and Nancy were examining here, but it might have been a species of <i>Hedwigia</i>, a moss that can grow on either calcareous or acidic rock.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw6rGbYF3ZXlDAUVYj877Br0UDMWZqtus2f0IeGFQBWayPXSJUnBwMfOCbo6kQt5X2of9Bppj1oL-rXwA1LQacOqvrOeDQgRoYKNaiMIzvSAHMrZRwP5E1DCXctyHMRADzf123BitL88dT2uwwoHqKd6vQ6WLsCSfNR_s5YM8cOlwdSV0UFuaNVZ3s7l3K/s3101/09noel,nancy,mossers.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2445" data-original-width="3101" height="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw6rGbYF3ZXlDAUVYj877Br0UDMWZqtus2f0IeGFQBWayPXSJUnBwMfOCbo6kQt5X2of9Bppj1oL-rXwA1LQacOqvrOeDQgRoYKNaiMIzvSAHMrZRwP5E1DCXctyHMRADzf123BitL88dT2uwwoHqKd6vQ6WLsCSfNR_s5YM8cOlwdSV0UFuaNVZ3s7l3K/w640-h504/09noel,nancy,mossers.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Sue is here searching amid the flowing water of a nearby stream for a moss known to prefer just such a wet habitat.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPEZU73Dp_nH2dPcCkOGs4_zcDwUdIOpiIV8AkB6OcwSxCYcKXQSMFipnhf7RH0pqh2qMKMv0xtGXGOL0TvQksT4NXkSWktzJql86OuGZ0BLztye9dFNbNXqWOAAWfe2pC_0iDfaIkKAptzcbHO0TFcWIUlgo0nLDpw3BOL57nJIZJqrCG3UUihm8OPp-E/s639/07mossystream.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="446" data-original-width="639" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPEZU73Dp_nH2dPcCkOGs4_zcDwUdIOpiIV8AkB6OcwSxCYcKXQSMFipnhf7RH0pqh2qMKMv0xtGXGOL0TvQksT4NXkSWktzJql86OuGZ0BLztye9dFNbNXqWOAAWfe2pC_0iDfaIkKAptzcbHO0TFcWIUlgo0nLDpw3BOL57nJIZJqrCG3UUihm8OPp-E/w640-h446/07mossystream.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>And find it, she <i>did</i>! The moss is called <i>Fontinalis antipyretica</i> (or Common Water Moss), a moss that grows underwater with long trailing stems that flow with the current.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDn5ZhNiOrFnphaC5DQMBBwLR7LpFMBboSymP6KnKchVoQoF85WHzeweF8c8z4zTfXN6DTvySTTRem0IFmhTEbSCWwMqRhkhwkRjS0Ju3cly6fOQKAg5nobTBYXCtqAGBf4FnFSSInMUx_x_Oyo6xbyVhJOqEonyGxxNPdYX9lpCPyzerJdWm7MjWLUahV/s640/10moss,underwater.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="444" data-original-width="640" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDn5ZhNiOrFnphaC5DQMBBwLR7LpFMBboSymP6KnKchVoQoF85WHzeweF8c8z4zTfXN6DTvySTTRem0IFmhTEbSCWwMqRhkhwkRjS0Ju3cly6fOQKAg5nobTBYXCtqAGBf4FnFSSInMUx_x_Oyo6xbyVhJOqEonyGxxNPdYX9lpCPyzerJdWm7MjWLUahV/w640-h444/10moss,underwater.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>A close examination of its leaves revealed that they were folded sharply along a midline, the fold-line forming a prominent keel, which suggested another vernacular name for this aquatic moss, the Keeled Water Moss.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifMFbTFpRj72SwOxu0VErmECCQcSPrH74IwkcmjGq4JLorcxXsudnFgIlCnq-5Q4q23v_Ja5TDjWV1qQxOE_jVfiyKluE-hvwgqCGW7GJXgL9w0Rz0mLNU1VLShaKB-gmwzh0cNEUWVG4Iu6rholZ0tQ3uUnt4clxc84LdV-pVBMk6vzDym-L5YQPflahL/s2406/11moss,fontanalis.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1887" data-original-width="2406" height="502" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifMFbTFpRj72SwOxu0VErmECCQcSPrH74IwkcmjGq4JLorcxXsudnFgIlCnq-5Q4q23v_Ja5TDjWV1qQxOE_jVfiyKluE-hvwgqCGW7GJXgL9w0Rz0mLNU1VLShaKB-gmwzh0cNEUWVG4Iu6rholZ0tQ3uUnt4clxc84LdV-pVBMk6vzDym-L5YQPflahL/w640-h502/11moss,fontanalis.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>We were also intrigued by the variety of fungi still evident in the winter woods. Among the more interesting was this Ceramic Fungus (<i>Xylobolus frustulatus</i>), with small, hard, flat crust-like clusters that resemble broken pieces of ceramic tile. My Baron's mushroom guide indicates that this distinctive and unusual fungus that grows on old debarked oak logs is "widely distributed but not common."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjeWPFQ-TPV72vkDnzw-nvb7Y1UyR4RgP7R5kmddNLPTNLb-8PJcd_UJbbMM6jcmn0r3b-VSQkKlsQGEmanMWfExVkTR8hxdqd_0zba-T9vceurVpT1i359cZ5563tQy-KGDaVXqBrAeGTJ7yc3jpK7RrxjFbRRNfEaR2ovZyH_XvOA6W8Pv1f6qNWXZJb/s2634/12fungus,ceramic,close.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1967" data-original-width="2634" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjeWPFQ-TPV72vkDnzw-nvb7Y1UyR4RgP7R5kmddNLPTNLb-8PJcd_UJbbMM6jcmn0r3b-VSQkKlsQGEmanMWfExVkTR8hxdqd_0zba-T9vceurVpT1i359cZ5563tQy-KGDaVXqBrAeGTJ7yc3jpK7RrxjFbRRNfEaR2ovZyH_XvOA6W8Pv1f6qNWXZJb/w640-h478/12fungus,ceramic,close.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This large patch of overlapping striped caps had me thinking they must be a species of <i>Stereum</i> fungus, they were so uniformly and vividly colored and thin and tough.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKLVVSO2Ahz77Vo0yEsYXdjXLCiOUChPakOVTpuoHBwDs7c2yG9poz9laAa9mye2FWTms6c0m9U-XHRAjLRB2MvgFWac7G9f6lBjKdhnEWSDm4BebPysEpYVFRnYEfgvL56ekLMzelbqKWa_hL2NsKGtw8smNAd7cZ-ONv5LJz9qkkhpxm6-1XGMMZ6_Nc/s3538/13fungus,stereum.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2751" data-original-width="3538" height="498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKLVVSO2Ahz77Vo0yEsYXdjXLCiOUChPakOVTpuoHBwDs7c2yG9poz9laAa9mye2FWTms6c0m9U-XHRAjLRB2MvgFWac7G9f6lBjKdhnEWSDm4BebPysEpYVFRnYEfgvL56ekLMzelbqKWa_hL2NsKGtw8smNAd7cZ-ONv5LJz9qkkhpxm6-1XGMMZ6_Nc/w640-h498/13fungus,stereum.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>But then, I looked at the underside and discovered a fertile surface covered with tiny pores. As far as I knew, all <i>Stereum</i> species have a smooth underside with no visible pores. All these tiny pores indicated I must be looking at the <i>real</i> Turkey Tail Fungus (<i>Trametes versicolor</i>) and not the Stereum species called False Turkey Tail.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkxJZN_2OkTzGUbleOEOj_BO0O9cJzcJdW_plXOcrNNWXdj0ota6i4IIWl762iNSv35iGY6D4rA69Vtc-o_B78N4H7A217IX7LaPQ7VAXR6WHbf2nVMUgh9p9ktP6WnUrZmL6ibQ7GYmhLfIN1UcRBRX1U7V0KJc7616GWLWwldHnzU-vQCP6MKeFZjz8V/s2140/fungus,smallpores.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1518" data-original-width="2140" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkxJZN_2OkTzGUbleOEOj_BO0O9cJzcJdW_plXOcrNNWXdj0ota6i4IIWl762iNSv35iGY6D4rA69Vtc-o_B78N4H7A217IX7LaPQ7VAXR6WHbf2nVMUgh9p9ktP6WnUrZmL6ibQ7GYmhLfIN1UcRBRX1U7V0KJc7616GWLWwldHnzU-vQCP6MKeFZjz8V/w640-h454/fungus,smallpores.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We were all stymied by these small patches of rubbery red pustular stuff on a fallen log, especially when Nancy used her cellphone to access iNaturalist, which named it as a species in the order <i>Cantharellales</i>. That can't be true, I thought at first, since <i>Cantharellales </i>is the order that includes Chanterelle mushrooms, and I could not imagine how that stalked edible fungus could be related to these rubbery gelatinous blobs. Well, it turned out that iNaturalist was right. The name of this red stuff turned out to be <i>Tulasnella aurantiaca</i>, and it is indeed included in the order Cantharellales. Who would have thought?!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicxyoDoZhh2TLOjrTyOC5uf0AUPrZ6N4ZX1MFkB_4BQ6VV9fc61MepuDncrhIZSxGJjlJe5BqFCVMZdmHMCpyCuNDzwgGiQrarkfkGfg3lc6gBf9aH0yTopHz2Bkbq7fBxqn1R0IElQgFK7FQzIHulwX4LIZYemNquwpPq4PP0ykcCa5LYafSWFcU2_D-b/s2482/14fungus,Tulasnella%20aurantiaca.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2283" data-original-width="2482" height="588" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicxyoDoZhh2TLOjrTyOC5uf0AUPrZ6N4ZX1MFkB_4BQ6VV9fc61MepuDncrhIZSxGJjlJe5BqFCVMZdmHMCpyCuNDzwgGiQrarkfkGfg3lc6gBf9aH0yTopHz2Bkbq7fBxqn1R0IElQgFK7FQzIHulwX4LIZYemNquwpPq4PP0ykcCa5LYafSWFcU2_D-b/w640-h588/14fungus,Tulasnella%20aurantiaca.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Here's a closer look at <i>Tulasnella aurantiaca </i>to better indicate its texture and size. Apparently, this fungus is not that uncommon, but its small size makes it easy to overlook. It should be hard to miss that red color, though.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQF382J6_2NKZ3uNQoEeYp8ZfaDNPipk1u8mALsC98WS1VUmZv7A_VjqOQ9laRQ1Lf1ASoMUutN_Qf3H_TttP5pzrB5IuWlEoBvD-UnCzGOsAK5tgK6kCayjDxRxB0M1nr9g684odwbe0KRw3L108LD8e6ZNdMHQWzwwG1L_u10Zh5RBSpUUU0YnoGcs5S/s2189/15fungus,redjelly,finger.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1670" data-original-width="2189" height="488" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQF382J6_2NKZ3uNQoEeYp8ZfaDNPipk1u8mALsC98WS1VUmZv7A_VjqOQ9laRQ1Lf1ASoMUutN_Qf3H_TttP5pzrB5IuWlEoBvD-UnCzGOsAK5tgK6kCayjDxRxB0M1nr9g684odwbe0KRw3L108LD8e6ZNdMHQWzwwG1L_u10Zh5RBSpUUU0YnoGcs5S/w640-h488/15fungus,redjelly,finger.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>We never know, each time we venture out to the woods, what new marvels we might find.</p><p>Here was one last amazing find: a pair of Porcupine footprints, clearly defined in the soft wet snow and showing the claws as well as the soles of the feet. Rare indeed is the opportunity to see such clear footprints, since Porkie's habit is to trample its own prints over and over again in its daily travels along the same trail.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiG3krYWl9HKexrh55wFIgAsbyS5tjPlBISmPPl1U_dYovcY-LWdCrI8ro22YA8yYvopThCNpmjcH8_Ic4Rne1GMshesarFhlsPxqM2mB-EDxjCSDqQBW2QWDbva1EdloA0csyyOiEFtEaMQCyMI-HlB0PNB1UiBQxSwyTYo74PJ_0MSnBwTIKu09JXT3j/s2630/16porkyprints.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1741" data-original-width="2630" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiG3krYWl9HKexrh55wFIgAsbyS5tjPlBISmPPl1U_dYovcY-LWdCrI8ro22YA8yYvopThCNpmjcH8_Ic4Rne1GMshesarFhlsPxqM2mB-EDxjCSDqQBW2QWDbva1EdloA0csyyOiEFtEaMQCyMI-HlB0PNB1UiBQxSwyTYo74PJ_0MSnBwTIKu09JXT3j/w640-h424/16porkyprints.jpg" width="640" /></a></p></div>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-34800222269990891712024-01-09T15:32:00.003-05:002024-01-09T15:38:49.550-05:00For One Brief Shining Moment . . . <p><span style="font-size: x-large;">"D</span>on't let it be forgot, that there was once a spot, for one brief shining moment that was known as . . . ." Well, not exactly Camelot, but mighty close to it: a perfect winter's day at Moreau Lake State Park. At least, so far this winter. If the forecasts come true, this gorgeous blue-sky sparkly-snow scene will soon be melted and rained on. But along with my friends Dana, Sue, and Tom, we made sure to make the most of it yesterday by immersing ourselves in as many of its glories as we could.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4mSSMvNfE0n0-NAnPia_D3U9a3oecH_vaTYTFwbT08EqXVNQMD-Lhbf2lHO5-hFqTSgZjfkGdgafwvlmb_YhQOhskK_5FClWgv9tvePhDZinRjrtkjGKJt_x6BDOSf0PH_7zBhWjzFQnEfWKcsIk-i2hJeJQmBDF9oTVU_CBlOJQKkl5DYvoaiwu00xcn/s3793/01lake,friends.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2877" data-original-width="3793" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4mSSMvNfE0n0-NAnPia_D3U9a3oecH_vaTYTFwbT08EqXVNQMD-Lhbf2lHO5-hFqTSgZjfkGdgafwvlmb_YhQOhskK_5FClWgv9tvePhDZinRjrtkjGKJt_x6BDOSf0PH_7zBhWjzFQnEfWKcsIk-i2hJeJQmBDF9oTVU_CBlOJQKkl5DYvoaiwu00xcn/w640-h486/01lake,friends.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Here we are, setting off under a radiant sky and snow-laden towering trees to reach a favorite destination, where a mountain stream we know as Zen Brook flows beneath a bridge along the Red Oak Ridge Trail.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh983IyzVO8axkq9_lP5ASyHsBnXSgy2m_E_N1NnAIubc7zjFBifAfIPCGGgTreaKat9ZuZZaDxucx-ce7Ls0tWRxDYSV4U8tnia9T_YNtLTpqyqeDYCg1FL0m-97ChSUCrfN6nEM7P11lslw3FHFb8ZQu2I-GEyoBN6wLoEAcKuYdT10BJtS9ai6ML-8Tt/s3552/02road,friends.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2619" data-original-width="3552" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh983IyzVO8axkq9_lP5ASyHsBnXSgy2m_E_N1NnAIubc7zjFBifAfIPCGGgTreaKat9ZuZZaDxucx-ce7Ls0tWRxDYSV4U8tnia9T_YNtLTpqyqeDYCg1FL0m-97ChSUCrfN6nEM7P11lslw3FHFb8ZQu2I-GEyoBN6wLoEAcKuYdT10BJtS9ai6ML-8Tt/w640-h472/02road,friends.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Due to recent rains, water still danced and splashed among snow-covered rocks. We are still waiting for sub-freezing cold to transform that splashing water into fabulous crystal creations, but the sparkling mounds of soft fluffy snow were lovely enough in their own way.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWIfgFwuRuHflGnqaxR2ggXMNsfRoycACMUHI1042t4tfy8avhS0AUSDHzgCUYLM1NxZaCyHYJzT9fuc2dZQli5ckMP71ivQTFGtproSC-LY8UXFiLunMnEYIVIz2dRk6e-Ku32tpcESus7-VLnLn6-F1QPrcL7P_XgEklFLQXa5FjdyovGPzOFcK1Sc1K/s3536/03bridge,snowy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2703" data-original-width="3536" height="490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWIfgFwuRuHflGnqaxR2ggXMNsfRoycACMUHI1042t4tfy8avhS0AUSDHzgCUYLM1NxZaCyHYJzT9fuc2dZQli5ckMP71ivQTFGtproSC-LY8UXFiLunMnEYIVIz2dRk6e-Ku32tpcESus7-VLnLn6-F1QPrcL7P_XgEklFLQXa5FjdyovGPzOFcK1Sc1K/w640-h490/03bridge,snowy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Our friend Sue is the one who once thought to call this tumbling mountain stream Zen Brook, for it doesn't take many moments of hearing its music before tranquillity overcomes any stress we might be harboring.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkehyphenhyphenl6z0fzfwww4_JsLHsi_MRVlrcvnmj68LjBXSidTT6j_Pbd1Ogk6FmkGzE6iBDvY7jP0i0sUQxvPIvrfiY4uqAE5W9CI-PdkRXY9WekG1RCRvtoogAATGnYjNY4gEonBmH4DMszQBDwo9rNJUUr4Oa7UdJBhJssIaAyBbQ0VHheO6G99_zMHCXSRK0/s3519/04brook,sue.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2471" data-original-width="3519" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkehyphenhyphenl6z0fzfwww4_JsLHsi_MRVlrcvnmj68LjBXSidTT6j_Pbd1Ogk6FmkGzE6iBDvY7jP0i0sUQxvPIvrfiY4uqAE5W9CI-PdkRXY9WekG1RCRvtoogAATGnYjNY4gEonBmH4DMszQBDwo9rNJUUr4Oa7UdJBhJssIaAyBbQ0VHheO6G99_zMHCXSRK0/w640-h450/04brook,sue.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>As we continued along the Red Oak Ridge Trail, we noticed several young trees that had bent to form graceful arches: perfect frames to showcase us jolly companions. Left to right, here are Dana Stimpson, Tom Callaghan, and Sue Pierce, among the best co-nature explorers I could ever hope for.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw6agXxxBHzD7v_GH2VG9VaOu9zlhQSXBjhpuysYrD9H-iN_zqb_TOXtDZ3FuXcsFDVEXrEoNaVtL0BCrRbB8TPdU4PDHySYMWLVUK9YYDjRoYxQmiVZ-w1qfcH8iIeWgS1LuG6rxBBl_QaaVom5Kicw6wDiZGqwwV3GrGCuv3vJW09gw4r1UWOg6mrcoA/s3914/05arch,friends.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2969" data-original-width="3914" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw6agXxxBHzD7v_GH2VG9VaOu9zlhQSXBjhpuysYrD9H-iN_zqb_TOXtDZ3FuXcsFDVEXrEoNaVtL0BCrRbB8TPdU4PDHySYMWLVUK9YYDjRoYxQmiVZ-w1qfcH8iIeWgS1LuG6rxBBl_QaaVom5Kicw6wDiZGqwwV3GrGCuv3vJW09gw4r1UWOg6mrcoA/w640-h486/05arch,friends.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And, oh, what a gorgeous day we had to explore such wintry beauty! Here, mounds of fluffy stuff caught in the twigs were rendered translucent by rays of golden sunlight.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_d2n9TS8QhI8z0GYR3QJH45rHHN9IHtCK1O79z1pSA7FLM92Uqgkxk3SsSEuC7bdc-gGNuFQtq6gjV6ieqbXMH6KWdhzX9XPqgT7QGP0CNuuTdz5I4mizT_T5e-E5H24oO0PLncdXLa_LhrMqsT_XzhErzP9Tmp5LhtIPD_wD1X75PWfA34QFHM3b6_yN/s3807/06twigs,snowladen.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2817" data-original-width="3807" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_d2n9TS8QhI8z0GYR3QJH45rHHN9IHtCK1O79z1pSA7FLM92Uqgkxk3SsSEuC7bdc-gGNuFQtq6gjV6ieqbXMH6KWdhzX9XPqgT7QGP0CNuuTdz5I4mizT_T5e-E5H24oO0PLncdXLa_LhrMqsT_XzhErzP9Tmp5LhtIPD_wD1X75PWfA34QFHM3b6_yN/w640-h474/06twigs,snowladen.jpg" width="640" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This gracefully curvaceous snake of snow appeared to be winding its way among snow-capped baby beech leaves.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd8XEOZu1SP1GeTovTg4iHOTTmtflvZBGKLs20tF6mkL0WSeK1qh-qiN09L-hUvgXMJ_bkQocWtLoCaFprw2rXJt6qDXchQ8ilrSXvfqOvV1EnSB4dv7oHln8p771anjXfeaOEVALUDYzEyNOTIhgJedKw80SF5AVDq7CnFduPFibVPsjWGETidl9tSii0/s3860/07snowsnake.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2806" data-original-width="3860" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd8XEOZu1SP1GeTovTg4iHOTTmtflvZBGKLs20tF6mkL0WSeK1qh-qiN09L-hUvgXMJ_bkQocWtLoCaFprw2rXJt6qDXchQ8ilrSXvfqOvV1EnSB4dv7oHln8p771anjXfeaOEVALUDYzEyNOTIhgJedKw80SF5AVDq7CnFduPFibVPsjWGETidl9tSii0/w640-h466/07snowsnake.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This lichenous limb appeared to be trimmed with ermine fur!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS0Ndaji4lN-vpp9iuuFjM4N6mvPopHw9UlH3UyhybuH5TA5kRjcP3B2Svw95En9ET5hRJwPS2geWfhaS19q9SdCgdc3Aqhuf4DS13LTVAV0cx9P_xRz83JbKM7Ty0IOzhLKHd7uKxYzJvzmRE6LgSeuL5flpqciRwlB-QmSKnfGQjsAxZzxq01ir4PYUL/s2852/08lichenlimb.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2395" data-original-width="2852" height="538" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS0Ndaji4lN-vpp9iuuFjM4N6mvPopHw9UlH3UyhybuH5TA5kRjcP3B2Svw95En9ET5hRJwPS2geWfhaS19q9SdCgdc3Aqhuf4DS13LTVAV0cx9P_xRz83JbKM7Ty0IOzhLKHd7uKxYzJvzmRE6LgSeuL5flpqciRwlB-QmSKnfGQjsAxZzxq01ir4PYUL/w640-h538/08lichenlimb.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>The snow was so clean and white and fresh, still cold enough this morning that the flakes still kept their spiky shapes intact. It was also refreshing to taste, and I picked up dollops of it on my finger to place on my tongue.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPuxW2RTrem9lzoeU01zgLLw18gBjUnD45HseLpErlK504r2Jh8wxWuiil_0GHNLXI5ry3qRMQ42wIE_Fx71rQlwoR5snpooC2JNazNq19iXXcGrldNKWT8PpKO_kNNUfptoFyCRToM6HlPuTx28SbV5_dJ7tbysi_O8sxIQbG7JvzIvyRSdHFdkIQdOGH/s2408/09fluffysnow,finger.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1753" data-original-width="2408" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPuxW2RTrem9lzoeU01zgLLw18gBjUnD45HseLpErlK504r2Jh8wxWuiil_0GHNLXI5ry3qRMQ42wIE_Fx71rQlwoR5snpooC2JNazNq19iXXcGrldNKWT8PpKO_kNNUfptoFyCRToM6HlPuTx28SbV5_dJ7tbysi_O8sxIQbG7JvzIvyRSdHFdkIQdOGH/w640-h466/09fluffysnow,finger.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>There was little wind on this sun-drenched morning, but every so often an overhead branch would shed showers of glittering snow, filling the air with sequin-sparkle and prickling our faces with icy kisses of cold.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9KHttk1VB6fiTpCiTW4zDN8LzE8ACt06JekZWVOkP0rSxMOhOTvP073bCs3Up5slwE_80pL7yBIum5wT05fSyQaXp73l1-aoJM_hLaYlwbtfO-_Xbr9jTqfQrJkr1qHTLHTdtEnVgyzLDmVYmIXpH-2fqwkueAXDG4UHSGp9Rq48XE8DTYg0DS0Z2VPDF/s2430/10snowshower.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1816" data-original-width="2430" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9KHttk1VB6fiTpCiTW4zDN8LzE8ACt06JekZWVOkP0rSxMOhOTvP073bCs3Up5slwE_80pL7yBIum5wT05fSyQaXp73l1-aoJM_hLaYlwbtfO-_Xbr9jTqfQrJkr1qHTLHTdtEnVgyzLDmVYmIXpH-2fqwkueAXDG4UHSGp9Rq48XE8DTYg0DS0Z2VPDF/w640-h478/10snowshower.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Sue must have enjoyed that sensation so much, she found some snow-laden hemlock boughs to create a personal snow-shower beneath!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBGuzOg7Lcbr1nuoEyCJNxvedjngBKJbKq-LhjSkyDIF-p5KAHkedhZ4Dl2fkmetsNq1QB5bQQM_gze83RjXi1_OxNQr_pbSD_lQOJj5J3BHgUzrFA__dm5NfDGTH1uF87PQt46HFvm-ZNIX5SrRg0rXqFCA0bW-9UtZVebzJJMl_9_0Ef6CQEuDUXFFHX/s2709/11sue,snowshower.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2118" data-original-width="2709" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBGuzOg7Lcbr1nuoEyCJNxvedjngBKJbKq-LhjSkyDIF-p5KAHkedhZ4Dl2fkmetsNq1QB5bQQM_gze83RjXi1_OxNQr_pbSD_lQOJj5J3BHgUzrFA__dm5NfDGTH1uF87PQt46HFvm-ZNIX5SrRg0rXqFCA0bW-9UtZVebzJJMl_9_0Ef6CQEuDUXFFHX/w640-h500/11sue,snowshower.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>We continued our explorations until we reached the lake's back bay. Here, we pondered why this large section of the lake always froze over completely before any ice at all had formed along the shore of the lake's main body. Today, the ice cover was dotted with these mysterious dark "spiders," probably formed by water welling up through weak spots in the opaque ice, spreading out in rays, and then transparently refreezing. I wonder if this phenomenon has ever been recorded in time-lapse photography.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgffDM4Gd_JdV7si3LWzKO2jhvgYCuDDNG86ZFvUjrcGJOowjyJq1NpdjCpR18_2YfSJE9FIE4nA-Zf6gBXH9XCDu25Q2qCc88CUjPL_WR-4s4XXb4gVmOwMv07Q0oTiPABjwuLT0Zhw1WIPpGsa8EwTr1s6cUP42Z4lROjCtYZAGYAVXqpF3YWGxVU9ENG/s3173/12icespiders.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2573" data-original-width="3173" height="518" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgffDM4Gd_JdV7si3LWzKO2jhvgYCuDDNG86ZFvUjrcGJOowjyJq1NpdjCpR18_2YfSJE9FIE4nA-Zf6gBXH9XCDu25Q2qCc88CUjPL_WR-4s4XXb4gVmOwMv07Q0oTiPABjwuLT0Zhw1WIPpGsa8EwTr1s6cUP42Z4lROjCtYZAGYAVXqpF3YWGxVU9ENG/w640-h518/12icespiders.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I enjoyed one last look at the lake, which lay wide open and calm enough to reflect the blue sky. A beautiful and yet troubling scene. We are well into January now, when skaters and fishermen ought to be traversing a frozen lake. This "one brief shining moment" of cold and snow we had yesterday had better not be the last we will have all winter.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVBuS1hVe8bOubbC1gtP88zfB5Asm_zD7NnjA7zetUA-h7FlFnRzjNieKasORNwBn5Xcl59ZZC7yMDq0X9cCr1LIdDsjfAQtD2mZUkHt3pmo19Ky1Qa6ts3znFxPP8umtK8ofz8MK2dXLDccqHy-e-wp5Itm-Git5ey-RVsFvpwwRzZs-Go5Y3AdBxPVgH/s3676/13openwater.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2531" data-original-width="3676" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVBuS1hVe8bOubbC1gtP88zfB5Asm_zD7NnjA7zetUA-h7FlFnRzjNieKasORNwBn5Xcl59ZZC7yMDq0X9cCr1LIdDsjfAQtD2mZUkHt3pmo19Ky1Qa6ts3znFxPP8umtK8ofz8MK2dXLDccqHy-e-wp5Itm-Git5ey-RVsFvpwwRzZs-Go5Y3AdBxPVgH/w640-h440/13openwater.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-13810968797345211992024-01-07T19:37:00.000-05:002024-01-07T19:37:06.924-05:00Forecasters' Hype DID Come True!<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Y</span>es, they got it right this time. We DID have a snowstorm, and just a nice amount: about 6 inches of fluffy stuff. Once the front walk was shoveled (we have only 40 feet to deal with), the car was brushed off, and the birdseed area cleared, there was nothing to do but enjoy the beauty. Sadly, temps now will rise above freezing the rest of the week, with rain predicted by Thursday. So this wintry wonderland won't last long.</p><p>I'm glad I got out in my yard to take a couple of photos:</p><p>My Three Graces garden statue acquired a busby-tall snow bonnet. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNC0RjuXqEo-GMLoDMU2IAfrbYblZo2q9aSxdj4cKd8W0VqnjCs8DQ9jpoXW7oDmIAa4ni3Cw-0Ufcmq3jXeohW8bQqwtOzUnyJ3nfgsVh6kO0CU6fOLrcmVOEzLWUkYAktGgcqsb_ACraG9-bxLWdif8T4tt_ls6DjnJ0HRWbwnv0BZQbOAgFUeyhEp1T/s4000/snow,threegraces.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNC0RjuXqEo-GMLoDMU2IAfrbYblZo2q9aSxdj4cKd8W0VqnjCs8DQ9jpoXW7oDmIAa4ni3Cw-0Ufcmq3jXeohW8bQqwtOzUnyJ3nfgsVh6kO0CU6fOLrcmVOEzLWUkYAktGgcqsb_ACraG9-bxLWdif8T4tt_ls6DjnJ0HRWbwnv0BZQbOAgFUeyhEp1T/w640-h480/snow,threegraces.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The Winterberries looked extra vividly red in contrast with the white snow.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwCZXSYoJAlTGGh_vtTjdAr1PNtpUZsgdmer9pSqan_9RHxno5yipl7bid0hBBHLGJ0E_021kvOvN5eZGjQxwh5EJOsq6UAiJATo40nXdbmupT9eCMwhPXyxrbX_T8mxRNVwUdc01r2r9aTbVzPzMa3UvrV5SNh0utxCsGGE0e0g2MxuafKYQDrGRbkoeU/s4000/snow,winterberry.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwCZXSYoJAlTGGh_vtTjdAr1PNtpUZsgdmer9pSqan_9RHxno5yipl7bid0hBBHLGJ0E_021kvOvN5eZGjQxwh5EJOsq6UAiJATo40nXdbmupT9eCMwhPXyxrbX_T8mxRNVwUdc01r2r9aTbVzPzMa3UvrV5SNh0utxCsGGE0e0g2MxuafKYQDrGRbkoeU/w640-h480/snow,winterberry.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-7160088591156242632024-01-06T16:57:00.001-05:002024-01-07T14:36:20.159-05:00Back Outdoors in Time to Welcome Winter<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span>f the weather forecasts prove true, we should be getting some snow tonight. All I can say is, it's about time! I will be happy about that. It was also about time this past Thursday for me to venture out on my accident-injured legs, now healed enough for me to walk on the level and snow-free shore of Moreau Lake. I was also really happy about that, too. Especially since my pal Sue Pierce was my inspirer and companion.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When we arrived at the lake about 10am, the water was mostly open and mirror-calm, reflecting a lovely mostly blue sky and sun-dappled mountainsides. The air was cold and calm and perfect for being outdoors in my longjohns, warm scarf, and down coat.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzr5rUxJKGFfc4J4n_MxRGDD9WGfz47SzoYAOtYoeBzIA_Wjg5_BLPajI3a7VqnzAE5pOYbR8uMCgbWP0cA83k_fJHuD8McnJNX_w0FE62M3UqteZcZVGJuJhN1lZGobC4AyNVLMdXD57T3moN6ZPI8ewjwjnf7uShUE_VSVzstTwbpbz7KON2kdnjpmga/s3869/01calmlake,bluesky.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2566" data-original-width="3869" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzr5rUxJKGFfc4J4n_MxRGDD9WGfz47SzoYAOtYoeBzIA_Wjg5_BLPajI3a7VqnzAE5pOYbR8uMCgbWP0cA83k_fJHuD8McnJNX_w0FE62M3UqteZcZVGJuJhN1lZGobC4AyNVLMdXD57T3moN6ZPI8ewjwjnf7uShUE_VSVzstTwbpbz7KON2kdnjpmga/w640-h424/01calmlake,bluesky.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>As we walked on the sun-bathed, soft-sand beach at the north end of the lake, it felt quite warm for a January outing. But soon we heard the wind starting to roar from off to the north, and the formerly sunlit mountainsides became veiled by a fine mist of snow. My excitement picked up with the wind velocity and occasional crystals prickling my cheeks. Snow at last!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwKf1qCtcFREA5PQ3tosNwhkpQRgvpnou8L_viczTwmk2nWhRHFbh6HXHtYT-nSzv5Oh8LyjrWwHs0mJGBwn9qGpDjaCxsO6uDU0CQTSg37A7Y9W-QtAa7XQbFCruk2wxxVzjQF6QZQssMsS1BNT37tBGc2Qb3MwXvbgPPIYPZa-6k5ZrcM-pM9_fcYBoV/s3599/02snowstarts.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2617" data-original-width="3599" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwKf1qCtcFREA5PQ3tosNwhkpQRgvpnou8L_viczTwmk2nWhRHFbh6HXHtYT-nSzv5Oh8LyjrWwHs0mJGBwn9qGpDjaCxsO6uDU0CQTSg37A7Y9W-QtAa7XQbFCruk2wxxVzjQF6QZQssMsS1BNT37tBGc2Qb3MwXvbgPPIYPZa-6k5ZrcM-pM9_fcYBoV/w640-h466/02snowstarts.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>As more and more of the mountainside disappeared from view, the air became flecked with visible flakes of snow.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHEuuf1P4Q-M03GMWSZLMhKp-o85CMy5C8O0ZjOaaGzYJNH0bHQbRjK9orXW-WudidRuMTGHMRLFpcHPGGi2127adm5WzLtyza0MBfKwdVXeZJJAb03b_fTrzgNnkxekCZh21XEFyYbSQ1kvDdW5HKkEC2xjG_CiH1N3BeArfVZH6ZcdCkLJibxsB7bBF-/s3366/03moresnow.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2378" data-original-width="3366" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHEuuf1P4Q-M03GMWSZLMhKp-o85CMy5C8O0ZjOaaGzYJNH0bHQbRjK9orXW-WudidRuMTGHMRLFpcHPGGi2127adm5WzLtyza0MBfKwdVXeZJJAb03b_fTrzgNnkxekCZh21XEFyYbSQ1kvDdW5HKkEC2xjG_CiH1N3BeArfVZH6ZcdCkLJibxsB7bBF-/w640-h452/03moresnow.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Soon the lake appeared to be covered with fog, the snow was so thick in the air.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4vRF45-o2P9B5IXv8joZpyofM5HvL_-Dh5ugxT5m8H11SgfkCzDowpNgrYWsQEDn2raS_JNb4zBzabFUOjZyO22blrXhH61BJlup8gLCGPTMMPbLyEi8Felx3fFIZAFd1oZg0QuZ-cQTdLaLIsxEveciE0tr5EjT0G2pzkhb78X9lTivrv_AL4_JKTeV3/s3814/04snowfog,trees.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2502" data-original-width="3814" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4vRF45-o2P9B5IXv8joZpyofM5HvL_-Dh5ugxT5m8H11SgfkCzDowpNgrYWsQEDn2raS_JNb4zBzabFUOjZyO22blrXhH61BJlup8gLCGPTMMPbLyEi8Felx3fFIZAFd1oZg0QuZ-cQTdLaLIsxEveciE0tr5EjT0G2pzkhb78X9lTivrv_AL4_JKTeV3/w640-h420/04snowfog,trees.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>At first the flakes came gently down, transforming the woods to Christmas-card loveliness.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2PU9Ygeq6iMHy2twCQsVTb9J61cN7rJyzputEzNlQaX1a_YRZ30V2y_plg964LXSFbsbQjiqzy4azQ0w-2bF3cnah6vGhEaOWtSFVejJXquih6cnLme2x_sIc3XYO5rJETCuPZjaepJjcRUO-cci_FR96bm-1AvM_8quqJLBWTtvsVTChPFRfAGt7XMX5/s3782/05snowfilledair.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2869" data-original-width="3782" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2PU9Ygeq6iMHy2twCQsVTb9J61cN7rJyzputEzNlQaX1a_YRZ30V2y_plg964LXSFbsbQjiqzy4azQ0w-2bF3cnah6vGhEaOWtSFVejJXquih6cnLme2x_sIc3XYO5rJETCuPZjaepJjcRUO-cci_FR96bm-1AvM_8quqJLBWTtvsVTChPFRfAGt7XMX5/w640-h486/05snowfilledair.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>But soon the wind grew more exciting as it began to drive the snow sideways and whip the tall canes of Phragmites into a mad dance.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8bxQRZIv_MefHPOPRv9Cb3wU_u6xuXGaB0T36amjpFy9N0PbnuJZBZW0CfK38cOuVA8ylIAoyrhs08-S7kOIEKyNoLNZgR12Mve93kFqYRanN6G2RSgb6cVlWoDq_Lvs45zpUCxkyf6YGTXJQDe-9WCii5xPUqLTYwZRlefoyRoJ-y5QQcCZto6Oo6ZsQ/s3472/06sidewayssnow.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2532" data-original-width="3472" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8bxQRZIv_MefHPOPRv9Cb3wU_u6xuXGaB0T36amjpFy9N0PbnuJZBZW0CfK38cOuVA8ylIAoyrhs08-S7kOIEKyNoLNZgR12Mve93kFqYRanN6G2RSgb6cVlWoDq_Lvs45zpUCxkyf6YGTXJQDe-9WCii5xPUqLTYwZRlefoyRoJ-y5QQcCZto6Oo6ZsQ/w640-h466/06sidewayssnow.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Did we rush to our nearby cars to get out of this driving snow? Are you kidding?! Both Sue and I felt like kids in a candy store, thrilled that genuine winter appeared to be arriving at last. If you want to see evidence of why we love winter so, you can look back over 15 years of my January blog posts and view many, many photos of how beautiful and exciting winter can be in these woods and along these waterways.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdNyyAC1JPpI4aCPYuOrKQTC08awwDMFFJj72LWs1iwAxz23pGi48zUPvHlB7AOR7ZJddlsxL7WaxfD7YvwBD9UsY6CRapvavrpH8teG5Ef2KW8XeSzup_jwkkXaYuQ5lbaWhqx3sjUiU5wlbrCOSSKWhq0RyC-LRFrXH71tswUbfYh8pufJ-5CrngvEnD/s3787/07suelaughs.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2794" data-original-width="3787" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdNyyAC1JPpI4aCPYuOrKQTC08awwDMFFJj72LWs1iwAxz23pGi48zUPvHlB7AOR7ZJddlsxL7WaxfD7YvwBD9UsY6CRapvavrpH8teG5Ef2KW8XeSzup_jwkkXaYuQ5lbaWhqx3sjUiU5wlbrCOSSKWhq0RyC-LRFrXH71tswUbfYh8pufJ-5CrngvEnD/w640-h472/07suelaughs.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>When Sue shared photos of this happy day on her Facebook page, she included this photo of me, looking ecstatic to be out in this beautiful place, and especially to be with her. Thanks, Sue, for taking one of the most cheerful photos of me I have ever seen. I feel so blessed to have such a friend as Sue.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTUQI2ix6k6p-C_gdLJS7iDNFDJeAI1gHO0_zJEkP0QcZ6LjgQQg79XXRfWCCOjjmR3UNhIKcO9Un_vrKu_4chyaWpHrqtBwtGKG972-Qjb_hGvuvmVwqzDLc95rjDqGOalLau9WTQexArkXToVhW1WcBSvwAWCYvMp3DD3CRkPpkcnT-eOQZFxB3xzw8y/s2048/jackie,happy.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTUQI2ix6k6p-C_gdLJS7iDNFDJeAI1gHO0_zJEkP0QcZ6LjgQQg79XXRfWCCOjjmR3UNhIKcO9Un_vrKu_4chyaWpHrqtBwtGKG972-Qjb_hGvuvmVwqzDLc95rjDqGOalLau9WTQexArkXToVhW1WcBSvwAWCYvMp3DD3CRkPpkcnT-eOQZFxB3xzw8y/w640-h480/jackie,happy.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Photo by Sue Pierce</i></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>That snow shower did not last long as the clouds moved off to the northeast and a bluer sky edged in, the air now dotted with only a few scattered flakes that twinkled in the emerging sunlight.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpRlafBirzVhMzXEERTGQhAGh0GI4A_pl8F8E4P6QfPL5zsmYk6PPlCYWgCfxNEv7lA0gznUhX9EWHG1gwzhhfAsjwvzPOyvI0T1FYAyzEUCS6i_yYao_liYO6t8f5VfakazZIqGTqLbJ0oRYIqZtdqrdfkdADwRlxCs9PzsyQuF727j0e2LzZIllqL3SD/s3842/08stormpassed,bluesky.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2803" data-original-width="3842" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpRlafBirzVhMzXEERTGQhAGh0GI4A_pl8F8E4P6QfPL5zsmYk6PPlCYWgCfxNEv7lA0gznUhX9EWHG1gwzhhfAsjwvzPOyvI0T1FYAyzEUCS6i_yYao_liYO6t8f5VfakazZIqGTqLbJ0oRYIqZtdqrdfkdADwRlxCs9PzsyQuF727j0e2LzZIllqL3SD/w640-h466/08stormpassed,bluesky.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Now we shall see if the forecasters' hype about the coming snow comes true. If so, I may have to spend my still-limited energies digging out my car and shoveling my walk, but I certainly hope to be back on this blog to report on winter's wonders very soon.</p>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-4753411191528712402023-12-14T22:08:00.001-05:002023-12-15T14:47:19.321-05:00Couple of Breakdowns, and I'm Taking a Break<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMKy79cpgkjeUY89uaTVKva42fCB8JGC78hyphenhyphenL1bfZiu1rMlA2MW5fPtNYguz37csQNhGNBFjs6nSxD-34FYLlKoHKTC9FYWcYIS9ouqBTbiAgdAl74ySV4qGBaMG_tkVQIPWZ3JJ3xmsawcWCEtebWsi1zfLo7t3uUJpyU0zslN1efPYqU_brPepCfDcOz/s4000/IMG_3757.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMKy79cpgkjeUY89uaTVKva42fCB8JGC78hyphenhyphenL1bfZiu1rMlA2MW5fPtNYguz37csQNhGNBFjs6nSxD-34FYLlKoHKTC9FYWcYIS9ouqBTbiAgdAl74ySV4qGBaMG_tkVQIPWZ3JJ3xmsawcWCEtebWsi1zfLo7t3uUJpyU0zslN1efPYqU_brPepCfDcOz/w640-h480/IMG_3757.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>I guess I won't be driving for a while -- not this car or any. On December 8, I got slammed hard while turning left right into the path of an oncoming car going full speed, and it was my fault. I just did not see it coming, and that error will haunt me for a very long time. Luckily, it appeared that no one in the other car was injured (at least not visibly). But I was, although not in any life-threatening way, thank God. I don't know how both legs got bashed, but now I can barely walk, and five days after the accident, I still can't bend my left leg more than a few degrees without severe pain, and the leg certainly can't lift my weight, although, thankfully, it can bear it. So I can hobble. That knee was already damaged from a previous injury, so maybe it's time to do what my orthopedist had been recommending and have a knee replacement. Maybe after Christmas.</p><p>At any rate, the woods and waters and winter wonderlands will not have me wandering them for quite a while, so I won't have anything new to report here on this blog for some time. And then my old iMac crashed as well, with my harddrive still accessible but with no connection to the internet. I'm composing this post on a new computer, but I cannot access 15 years' worth of photos still on my old drive until I have a friend's help to load them onto this one. But before that, I'm going through thousands of old photos to eliminate duds and duplicates in the meantime, in case my new computer doesn't have room to store them accessibly.</p><p>What I'm saying is that I'm taking a break from blogging for a while, although with every intention of returning when I am more able-bodied. But after nearly 15 years of keeping this blog (first post was on January 2, 2009), there's lots of material here to be perused, and if I say so myself, some of it's still pretty interesting and informative. There's an archive in the right-side sidebar that will carry a reader back to all posts from all times of year, and a search bar at the top left that can lead a reader to all mentions I've posted on hundreds of plants and dozens of places. I hope some of my dear followers will find something to interest them among past posts, and also check back here from time to time to see if I'm posting anew. This project has been the focus of my life for so long, I cannot imagine I will abandon it for long.</p><p>Meanwhile, I want to express my gratitude for the blessings that I experienced in the middle of my distress. With all the evidence of human wickedness in the news these days, I cling to any and all evidence of human kindness I encounter. And oh my, did I encounter human kindness after my car crash. I had not realized how battered I was when I crawled out of my smashed vehicle and limped, stunned, to a nearby bench. But a kind young man from the Malta Emergency Services quickly appeared and invited me to come out of the damp cold and enter the emergency vehicle standing by. At first I declined, just hoping my husband would soon arrive to take me home, but the young man's gentle prodding convinced me I should let the EMTs take my vital signs and check me for injuries and so I accepted the invitation to climb onto the gurney. As it happened, I was experiencing cardiac and blood pressure abnormalities that indicated I should go to the hospital for further examination. Which I did, and there underwent scans from my head to my toes, which revealed no life-threatening conditions or injuries, thank God. I don't know how my legs got so battered and bruised, but at least I won't die from not being able to walk for a while. And I have no-fault insurance that will cover many of my material losses as well as my medical bills. All will be well, eventually, so now my fear has given way to enormous gratitude to all those kind people who looked after me in my distress. I especially want to thank Justin and Scott, the two EMTs who cared for me so solicitously and helped me to feel I'd be OK. How wonderful that such good people feel called to this caring and life-saving work. And that goes for all the good people who cared for me at the Saratoga Hospital Emergency Room, who treated me with such competence, respect and gentleness. Of course, I must thank my husband Denis, who now must drive me around to all errands and appointments that I once drove myself to. And many friends who have reached out in love and/or with foodstuffs and other offers. I thank God for all such caring people around the world, wherever there is disaster and distress. I have been so disheartened by news of wars and natural disasters, but I am grateful to be reminded that still there are those good people who rush to give hope and healing to people in need.</p><p><br /></p>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-88607402202722836162023-12-04T13:26:00.001-05:002023-12-04T13:34:59.002-05:00Rare Plant Remnants Along the Shore<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">D</span>ue to a recent painful bout of ocular rosacea, I've neglected both cold-weather outdoor walks and extended computer use for a while. And my blogging has been on hold. But one rather dark and not-too-cold day last week, I did venture up to Moreau Lake State Park. I had not been able to explore the shore of the lake all summer, because of high water levels, but now the sandy and pebbly sections of shore have emerged and are beckoning my return. I particularly wanted to walk the shore of a cove that is home to some of our state's rarest plants. How had these plants fared from being flooded all summer?</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5U9_Uz8k3D0Vs0Rt_ITt_CYqEVMwRF6uX4ekp8DbeZDUWFpyy38KJz3arVgDRHniODaM_6Vdb8Q9VDrTp_Syt8j2LLxLe7hYokbIw1Lz9yDOp8YmxusBCGnPZGSVTLbmaWkN3bue1JqBBFS9jIA1y8rlBu6BKPH05gOqvNfhjeAnK3O18F_qfP6Fafj9Z/s3902/01coveshore.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2711" data-original-width="3902" height="417" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5U9_Uz8k3D0Vs0Rt_ITt_CYqEVMwRF6uX4ekp8DbeZDUWFpyy38KJz3arVgDRHniODaM_6Vdb8Q9VDrTp_Syt8j2LLxLe7hYokbIw1Lz9yDOp8YmxusBCGnPZGSVTLbmaWkN3bue1JqBBFS9jIA1y8rlBu6BKPH05gOqvNfhjeAnK3O18F_qfP6Fafj9Z/w640-h417/01coveshore.jpg" width="640" /></a></p><p><br /></p><p>At first glance, the vegetation appeared to be shriveled beyond recognition, but I knew very well that certain plant remnants do persist in a recognizable state all year. And I also knew that many of them clustered about the base of a certain shoreline Cottonwood tree.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6NVoSi71XiHt9VykhKH2ArbmbIigAq-HY98eSG3Oq2g09iSGHtsM1zaOKnY2Ir2-93iLo-EqjJOpP2tTOL6dZ2qqfXPiJ7AEpLa0p5UJXS5jn4LBR4EHoBL4qte9YuzwxvjJ2P5GLpprZQznv8ceM14mbneJ_6Avw1KNxxcMq5Ys4D6iCL5lzYm_k83dQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="238" data-original-width="320" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6NVoSi71XiHt9VykhKH2ArbmbIigAq-HY98eSG3Oq2g09iSGHtsM1zaOKnY2Ir2-93iLo-EqjJOpP2tTOL6dZ2qqfXPiJ7AEpLa0p5UJXS5jn4LBR4EHoBL4qte9YuzwxvjJ2P5GLpprZQznv8ceM14mbneJ_6Avw1KNxxcMq5Ys4D6iCL5lzYm_k83dQ=w640-h476" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>Sure enough, these puffy gray balls that once held the seeds of Whorled Mountain Mint (<i>Pycnanthemum verticillatum</i> var. <i>verticillatum</i>) were easily seen, still standing on stems that held them above the surrounding brown vegetation. And because the summer's high water had not reached this far up the shore, a healthy population of a dozen or so plants remained intact. This plant is one of New York's rarest species, rated as Endangered, so I always feel reassured to find it still surviving here on the shore of Moreau Lake.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDqzvgzkZBit4mLJYb44Nfbgf5VWLP4m4g_r2Bv_kRcrI2fuv42BwL1bNiZg4CbGEDfMQkH23jqHLpN2OBUBOHH552RLkWhRrnmbGh-rc3-5CL4CbXvR9lVT0BRizd74mOz_TRjN1lnskFyTexF2gp0YLLWfjJdsDzx5zRv1z79qeW-WldmpYRNn44R0fm/s3248/03mountainmint,dry.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2430" data-original-width="3248" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDqzvgzkZBit4mLJYb44Nfbgf5VWLP4m4g_r2Bv_kRcrI2fuv42BwL1bNiZg4CbGEDfMQkH23jqHLpN2OBUBOHH552RLkWhRrnmbGh-rc3-5CL4CbXvR9lVT0BRizd74mOz_TRjN1lnskFyTexF2gp0YLLWfjJdsDzx5zRv1z79qeW-WldmpYRNn44R0fm/w640-h478/03mountainmint,dry.jpg" width="640" /></a></p><p> Sadly, though, the population of Whorled Mountain Mint has declined substantially since I first discovered it here <a href="https://saratogawoodswaters.blogspot.com/2013/11/rare-mint-confirmed-for-moreau-lake.html"><span style="color: #ff00fe;">10 years ago</span></a>, and a state rare-plant monitor later <a href="https://saratogawoodswaters.blogspot.com/2014/07/whorled-mountain-mint-thrives-at-moreau.html"><span style="color: #ff00fe;">assessed its numbers</span></a> along this cove's shoreline to be more than 270 healthy specimens. Because Moreau Lake is a kettle lake, dependent for its water mainly on rainfall and snowmelt, its water levels rise and fall substantially from year to year. Recent years of high water have eliminated much of this rare plant's growing space, but at least enough plants remain intact to provide a seedbank for continued survival along this particular cove's shoreline. We have not found other populations of Whorled Mountain Mint anywhere else around the lake, or anywhere else in Saratoga County. </p><p><br /></p><p>A second rare plant that shares this same shoreline is the Mustard-family plant called Green Rockcress (<i>Borodinia missouriensis</i>). Because this plant possesses distinctive arching seedpods that persist through the winter, it is easy to spot this time of year, and indeed, I saw dozens of persisting plants along this cove, both out on the sand and also higher up on the forested banks. Although Green Rockcress is rated as a Threatened species in New York, <a href="https://saratogawoodswaters.blogspot.com/2019/07/stalking-rare-wild-plants.html"><span style="color: #ff00fe;">several hundred specimens</span></a> have been recorded at Moreau Lake State Park, at several locations around the park as well as out here on the cove. We have no reason to think that this species is threatened within this park.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPBsm65lzg2T5Dfc0d51T4DZGA8syZ_T5G64OnihSSx2i_o_JJkVulTq8flpY8LQgW23VtaIeS6BT_Abfvl6SPwYON8xKSxV8OyloT9EL5oi8nIvm5wzlSuo8CcAKwgLpNEHz6KvbWQRx_84m4f96QPvYSyo3M58ohemCmIBr7PEyBoPbLU25uTHGNJjsg/s3794/04borodinia,dry.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2735" data-original-width="3794" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPBsm65lzg2T5Dfc0d51T4DZGA8syZ_T5G64OnihSSx2i_o_JJkVulTq8flpY8LQgW23VtaIeS6BT_Abfvl6SPwYON8xKSxV8OyloT9EL5oi8nIvm5wzlSuo8CcAKwgLpNEHz6KvbWQRx_84m4f96QPvYSyo3M58ohemCmIBr7PEyBoPbLU25uTHGNJjsg/w640-h462/04borodinia,dry.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As I continued my walk around the cove, it became evident to me that the last few years of high water had diminished the shoreline habitat for the Whorled Mountain Mint significantly for other reasons than simply water covering the sand on the shore. During the first couple of years I had personally monitored this habitat, there existed a walkable clear area between the shoreline Buttonbush shrubs and a steep forested bank, and this is the area where I first found the most abundant population of this Endangered species, with specimens numbering into the hundreds. High lake levels over the past few years have apparently pushed the Buttonbush shrubs closer to the steep forested banks, and the shrubs now occupy the space where the Whorled Mountain Mint once thrived abundantly. On this visit, I found fewer than a dozen. I guess this kind of naturally occurring habitat loss may be one of the reasons this species is Endangered.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM3zynu71iquxOtPRw3zDcC_Tdba3X4P-xqRwU6uCo1OA_lCX_fxpKyF8Q9wNGQ1HjH6nAy6np25JwU0eOtdyjHeHNOWOTMk8N_twAN-Aa66YID0mZeASXt2ufP1bfCDERgkNOgXChrP-mCEzw-qbjbMPdKEUsuyZ907-03VdgUvoqr98KtgcayXY3kCMa/s3920/05overgrownshrubs.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2729" data-original-width="3920" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM3zynu71iquxOtPRw3zDcC_Tdba3X4P-xqRwU6uCo1OA_lCX_fxpKyF8Q9wNGQ1HjH6nAy6np25JwU0eOtdyjHeHNOWOTMk8N_twAN-Aa66YID0mZeASXt2ufP1bfCDERgkNOgXChrP-mCEzw-qbjbMPdKEUsuyZ907-03VdgUvoqr98KtgcayXY3kCMa/w640-h446/05overgrownshrubs.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When I reached the point where I met the main lake, I decided to continue along the lakeshore. A couple of years ago, a state rare-plant monitor and I found <a href="https://saratogawoodswaters.blogspot.com/2018/09/the-dwarf-bulrush-hunt-continues.html"><span style="color: #ff00fe;">another truly rare plant</span></a>, the Endangered species called Small-flowered Dwarf Bulrush (<i>Cyperus subsquarrosus</i>), on the shore of Moreau Lake. And we found this tiny plant growing by the <i>thousands</i> all around the lake, on both sandy and pebbly habitat. Including this very stretch of shore. Unfortunately, its recognizable remnants tend to disappear after hard frost. Would I find any trace of them now?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpmGmAB9KsH-iTI85X0HjAcB6xHxxzUi94DZ3doEAMoLvORQEp8e9atZ9ajHpT2dgNEaSO6TYpv_u0W23ttqQ5027Z2s9TKZtrG64YSf3whX5P0-hjZYr0ZmftcmGmwP6VrOP6MRqHQM7swk6EUQ33ffySl5zV_jkSvRwX_GvruFTtVVF7VzIrTDPUqrDQ/s3556/06stonyshore.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2641" data-original-width="3556" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpmGmAB9KsH-iTI85X0HjAcB6xHxxzUi94DZ3doEAMoLvORQEp8e9atZ9ajHpT2dgNEaSO6TYpv_u0W23ttqQ5027Z2s9TKZtrG64YSf3whX5P0-hjZYr0ZmftcmGmwP6VrOP6MRqHQM7swk6EUQ33ffySl5zV_jkSvRwX_GvruFTtVVF7VzIrTDPUqrDQ/w640-h476/06stonyshore.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>I searched and searched among the pebbles and found no recognizable remnants of Small-flowered Dwarf Bulrush. I suppose these wispy brown threads could have been what I was looking for, but I definitely was not certain.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJJNUrLm2LLuZJNwgi_bbHwFpnPYJjsHH_H23NfQiMAn-5fEM4RCcOZ_yWpHi3wLzIdfuk6ve4O1F1SN6_X-wtHKhNCRX-ePIELB6QVo66CzHUPlp7l3Tz55uyLbKbR6T-HfznUfZq2KW6VBt2b0kxk40VPbJH41WQ7Ef-2A9RgpJm5yPiLmnoeLpOmdWt/s3418/07drystones,plantremains.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2655" data-original-width="3418" height="498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJJNUrLm2LLuZJNwgi_bbHwFpnPYJjsHH_H23NfQiMAn-5fEM4RCcOZ_yWpHi3wLzIdfuk6ve4O1F1SN6_X-wtHKhNCRX-ePIELB6QVo66CzHUPlp7l3Tz55uyLbKbR6T-HfznUfZq2KW6VBt2b0kxk40VPbJH41WQ7Ef-2A9RgpJm5yPiLmnoeLpOmdWt/w640-h498/07drystones,plantremains.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Here's what Small-flowered Dwarf Bulrush looked like in September, before a hard frost, with its curving gray-green leaves and stubby little cone-like spikelets. Nothing I found today looked enough like this to convince me I had found the plant I was looking for. But I knew it was there, and it would be back again.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilfeb1tOuE6RVcdyhmWbUHK7FRV8OLnnXP_fTg0PGuOmuP_CZRWvDlwAQzle807n586uqdwhXrYKagWwqEtTtAiSDDhtmDQR1Gz_nl3mLukSYiy2vYCDchOYoEOqsRJTfQbckXx7ez-3q4CtvW5bQaEfxJQUGWy7_iQmsmLkC960GbxMb_67krWI5N_LHG/s958/08dwarfbulrush,stones.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="958" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilfeb1tOuE6RVcdyhmWbUHK7FRV8OLnnXP_fTg0PGuOmuP_CZRWvDlwAQzle807n586uqdwhXrYKagWwqEtTtAiSDDhtmDQR1Gz_nl3mLukSYiy2vYCDchOYoEOqsRJTfQbckXx7ez-3q4CtvW5bQaEfxJQUGWy7_iQmsmLkC960GbxMb_67krWI5N_LHG/w400-h301/08dwarfbulrush,stones.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>Despite not finding any recognizable remnants of <i>Cyperus subsquarrosus</i> today, I saw lots of other tiny green plants snuggled in among the stones. And I loved looking at the colorful mix of pebbles that cover this shore. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_m1JB-s5WVZPNj9kMS65U2e_ANujD_tXL0eBwa1W5zVDDhMwCvZGVScp_T9zFUTV7UFxnTGN0qgkG9A6rw2NxCt8Kgl818vkP_G1a2FsdUvp_hGBpHClZvyGxxtIN11Zc-TFtMM_FXDsRttMhS9_eLnOVdMCvSpXw_02gSgtK_XvBXnQA7TdzphEaEPNO/s3861/09stones,dry.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2891" data-original-width="3861" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_m1JB-s5WVZPNj9kMS65U2e_ANujD_tXL0eBwa1W5zVDDhMwCvZGVScp_T9zFUTV7UFxnTGN0qgkG9A6rw2NxCt8Kgl818vkP_G1a2FsdUvp_hGBpHClZvyGxxtIN11Zc-TFtMM_FXDsRttMhS9_eLnOVdMCvSpXw_02gSgtK_XvBXnQA7TdzphEaEPNO/w640-h480/09stones,dry.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>And as lovely as those pebbles looked when dry, just see how gorgeous some others were when covered by an inch or so of clear water, with golden ribbons of sunlight rippling across them. I was grateful that a break in the clouds brought not only some shoulder-warming rays on this otherwise cold day, but also this transforming brilliance to the shore of Moreau Lake.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmBKGwRaluCW2Xvl-fZBGdWYwuAAj0NkC_3tFHbze1C4G0vZlru6NeKzfVhC8zCkO4Yo7B6YSeZWbj7f6tkgN1WIvDqWZB203a09X27AYc9AqapZnjw-bvdUE5XyjUamTrj-sUuAEIkmgl6o9q59uxn_vDHJDPbpob60U2zFJmZQkMz77bI2JuYLskVGj6/s1600/10underwaterstones.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1237" data-original-width="1600" height="494" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmBKGwRaluCW2Xvl-fZBGdWYwuAAj0NkC_3tFHbze1C4G0vZlru6NeKzfVhC8zCkO4Yo7B6YSeZWbj7f6tkgN1WIvDqWZB203a09X27AYc9AqapZnjw-bvdUE5XyjUamTrj-sUuAEIkmgl6o9q59uxn_vDHJDPbpob60U2zFJmZQkMz77bI2JuYLskVGj6/w640-h494/10underwaterstones.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-54364022759177250202023-11-18T16:23:00.000-05:002023-11-18T16:23:55.119-05:00Still Out There, Still Finding Cool Stuff<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span> am one of those odd folks who actually loves November -- this brown and bronze season as our warm-weather plants settle down for their long restorative winter naps. But darn it all, old age has imposed on me a painful eye condition called Ocular Rosacea that is triggered by cold weather. It makes my eyes feel as if there were grit beneath my eyelids as inflammation causes the lower lashes to turn inward and poke at my eyeballs. That stings! And spending hours looking at a computer screen exacerbates the condition. I have managed to keep going outdoors, even on frosty days, but the work of editing photos and writing blogs has been a painful chore I have been avoiding. I did, though, manage to choose a few photos from several recent outings that I want to post here. I do like to keep this blog going, even if just for myself, since it serves me as a phenological record of what happens when, in my natural surroundings. By New Year's Day, 2024, my blog will consist of 15 years of botanical explorations of this northeastern part of New York State.</p><p><b>First Frost at Mud Pond</b></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I </span>don't know if November 2 is an especially late date for first hard frost in northern Saratoga County, but I do know that my friend Sue Pierce and I had been waiting and waiting what seemed a long time for it this year. And this was our lucky day. First Frost is a day we wildflower nerds celebrate as the day to go Frostweed hunting. And the sandy-soiled powerline easement just north of Mud Pond at Moreau Lake State Park is the place we know we will find it.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAFff4qCTXQe5dsNA5VeTRg9g0Rewne-u9ESdulFBmK6zvU5ZuL8HVdCywuL7YkGO4-CWWCA9DH296NuxsAaA2rjyvc3cyVoHKcBj836dlkU2Xz1NFqfRNzTZ3OA1KY9kBOYSQ1zKeVZ-B4Wsq9T_-7q20W4KSysXwBCpP1kuoeXh4TKEvAm6Jm2mr-L-L/s3159/01MPpowerline.crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2384" data-original-width="3159" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAFff4qCTXQe5dsNA5VeTRg9g0Rewne-u9ESdulFBmK6zvU5ZuL8HVdCywuL7YkGO4-CWWCA9DH296NuxsAaA2rjyvc3cyVoHKcBj836dlkU2Xz1NFqfRNzTZ3OA1KY9kBOYSQ1zKeVZ-B4Wsq9T_-7q20W4KSysXwBCpP1kuoeXh4TKEvAm6Jm2mr-L-L/w640-h482/01MPpowerline.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p> But it can't be just any old First Frost morning. The night must be clear for optimum radiational cooling of the land, cold enough for the fluid in the stems of the Frostweed (<i>Crocanthemum canadense</i>) to freeze and expand and split the stems of this native wildflower, and it has to be a night and a morning without a breath of wind that would quickly dissipate the emerging vaporous fluid as it curls around the stems. Sometimes those curls look as frothy as clouds, while today they appeared like fine threads of ice spooling around the stems.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6wwMtcaLrRrqQ4tYSpUbLf2nkDkFqt7w7qDcEqKHVa8SsxolCaTODAXNopQmVdQJN_HYLNolIX69TL9KELZbnloABDRlhoZlH47B6UeZUBYrP-avBxK0Ww-FdVI10E1W2BPBq0rwopCfsCWP_39ewHrBEAFt7kBuKly2C73yyjqyQpAzBIIoMeQNa6aoV/s2230/02MPfrostweed,threads.crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1731" data-original-width="2230" height="496" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6wwMtcaLrRrqQ4tYSpUbLf2nkDkFqt7w7qDcEqKHVa8SsxolCaTODAXNopQmVdQJN_HYLNolIX69TL9KELZbnloABDRlhoZlH47B6UeZUBYrP-avBxK0Ww-FdVI10E1W2BPBq0rwopCfsCWP_39ewHrBEAFt7kBuKly2C73yyjqyQpAzBIIoMeQNa6aoV/w640-h496/02MPfrostweed,threads.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The frost also spangled all the plants that grow in the open area below the power lines. These British Soldier lichens (<i>Cladonia cristatella</i>) added a dash of brilliant red among the ice crystals.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjwlLct55vmGr9ypL6_9N7LJQ64L-fMbgIlTI_Bs_pAVc1XaCDIeKARr1C5cSm0DoRZ1r1SMWYuK8FyiZOzxEhRTnHZuiRCz_TWv3Fv8mdnOO0JT23QimvZjbdMNBd7h-Q-QNxaET1r81YMLd3E9uuLuyvw6MAlquMxmpqpn9swXpM-1vBoPLbEDsCLXhF/s2278/03MPbritishsoldiers,frost.crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1794" data-original-width="2278" height="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjwlLct55vmGr9ypL6_9N7LJQ64L-fMbgIlTI_Bs_pAVc1XaCDIeKARr1C5cSm0DoRZ1r1SMWYuK8FyiZOzxEhRTnHZuiRCz_TWv3Fv8mdnOO0JT23QimvZjbdMNBd7h-Q-QNxaET1r81YMLd3E9uuLuyvw6MAlquMxmpqpn9swXpM-1vBoPLbEDsCLXhF/w640-h504/03MPbritishsoldiers,frost.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The Clubmoss called Running Pine or Wolf's Claw (<i>Lycopodium clavatum</i>) looked as if it had sprouted white fur all over instead of just at the tips of its branches.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimEqIq0xCJguu2UiJDVJ5GJsMPw1j23dwRAeOMfhd01QrpG1HrFFHjsvgBlkLhiwN9VokCCn1IFm4EBdwFA6d9ci_fdKwEBI-AQDSJCkv8dadthBEoFdL92LbzIzMjSIG7KHWye7NACa0TC_kLFDVSApJpu_FFhgyFWYcyFSIOdzyW4g-JRDdEP6_ss75Y/s3029/04MPclubmoss,running,frosty.crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2201" data-original-width="3029" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimEqIq0xCJguu2UiJDVJ5GJsMPw1j23dwRAeOMfhd01QrpG1HrFFHjsvgBlkLhiwN9VokCCn1IFm4EBdwFA6d9ci_fdKwEBI-AQDSJCkv8dadthBEoFdL92LbzIzMjSIG7KHWye7NACa0TC_kLFDVSApJpu_FFhgyFWYcyFSIOdzyW4g-JRDdEP6_ss75Y/w640-h466/04MPclubmoss,running,frosty.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>These small taupe-colored mushrooms looked quite silvery amid this frosted patch of Juniper Haircap Moss (<i>Polytrichum juniperinum</i>).</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9mBHJE9s5mzPdPWeKVWrjYaxBL4AKB4QpN9RUNXiihIrIo-OHK1NWG8MLb-yQKhBGO1k02_V8Kwd8cNlGB7ImgVtEeo5YSMI2qnqBx4papw874FgEcDfw_Kwypm_5asgmSnVl3OWR52s8Bo_2Gi791LDArw7TzLC5J83XxBZzepVfv7krJJK_RARbU07F/s2909/05MPhaircap,mushrooms.crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2229" data-original-width="2909" height="490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9mBHJE9s5mzPdPWeKVWrjYaxBL4AKB4QpN9RUNXiihIrIo-OHK1NWG8MLb-yQKhBGO1k02_V8Kwd8cNlGB7ImgVtEeo5YSMI2qnqBx4papw874FgEcDfw_Kwypm_5asgmSnVl3OWR52s8Bo_2Gi791LDArw7TzLC5J83XxBZzepVfv7krJJK_RARbU07F/w640-h490/05MPhaircap,mushrooms.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><br /><p>Sadly, my photo of these deep-pink tufts of Small Red Sphagnum moss (<i>Sphagnum capillifolium</i>) could not display how twinkly they sparkled as the sun touched the crystals of frost.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoSSs0hn16b36EXIXz_FJXGXejC_-RPzs6vVeKOotYfKGf-52kpfxCDRUVGvhELNacN2BF7Oy6dROouJLvhGRxG5VVj7xqK1EzVuMEoPr3X4iqfJRQrP9T6Cybqy-s2DhZ0XIXEBD7ET8VTxCOvVCcLsQX3t3TWegBHA1sCizAnS5gqDwfKb2CMMFmZndn/s2417/06MPpinksphagnum.crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1834" data-original-width="2417" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoSSs0hn16b36EXIXz_FJXGXejC_-RPzs6vVeKOotYfKGf-52kpfxCDRUVGvhELNacN2BF7Oy6dROouJLvhGRxG5VVj7xqK1EzVuMEoPr3X4iqfJRQrP9T6Cybqy-s2DhZ0XIXEBD7ET8VTxCOvVCcLsQX3t3TWegBHA1sCizAnS5gqDwfKb2CMMFmZndn/w640-h486/06MPpinksphagnum.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></p><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>As the frost dissipated when the morning sun's warmth reached the powerline, Sue and I continued our walk on the forested trail around Mud Pond.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPoh_tFcxqp119Vd3VGn3-ZG_giEsBGR-qsGpY2vHwFCmkapAcJt862xzv5nv-gavTwuyzztx-yBJHq2LM2YTd2sWoyw-t_BOgCxt-CcQ83vZnkRDuA-HQ1upeQAWNE9_PadaTlxRBcX0CZAJF4I5gPQ_ZEeT5WRXIW-5Fg7uDdzFJAJl32Ja55K-cgTVw/s3942/07MPmudpond.crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2960" data-original-width="3942" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPoh_tFcxqp119Vd3VGn3-ZG_giEsBGR-qsGpY2vHwFCmkapAcJt862xzv5nv-gavTwuyzztx-yBJHq2LM2YTd2sWoyw-t_BOgCxt-CcQ83vZnkRDuA-HQ1upeQAWNE9_PadaTlxRBcX0CZAJF4I5gPQ_ZEeT5WRXIW-5Fg7uDdzFJAJl32Ja55K-cgTVw/w640-h480/07MPmudpond.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We always search for the evergreen basal leaves of two orchids that thrive in the pine-needle carpeted woods that surround Mud Pond. We did find many pale-green basal rosettes of Checkered Rattlesnake Plantain (<i>Goodyera tesselata</i>).</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBw09rC7zfQ9iR67e9OdOiz9j6i-Q-AhhZkLckQsa2MtNV5HTxf1heJy1n0dzXpDGH-w_6ArqwTxdXZc7m94C5iZW8uKsnaE58K_SrUO0-Is1fBZTkStcy2eJBTl4q-1Hr235f2SR4fdWZXhDCB9UBcAA-hvMRtlODFDtHdePXScPhGRi__DPqcpqvpLpx/s2814/08MPgoodyera,checkered.crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2117" data-original-width="2814" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBw09rC7zfQ9iR67e9OdOiz9j6i-Q-AhhZkLckQsa2MtNV5HTxf1heJy1n0dzXpDGH-w_6ArqwTxdXZc7m94C5iZW8uKsnaE58K_SrUO0-Is1fBZTkStcy2eJBTl4q-1Hr235f2SR4fdWZXhDCB9UBcAA-hvMRtlODFDtHdePXScPhGRi__DPqcpqvpLpx/w640-h482/08MPgoodyera,checkered.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>But we found only one small patch of Downy Rattlesnake Plantain (<i>G. pubescens</i>), its darker-green leaves distinctively marked by a very pale central vein.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwt_Rak2N_L8HmwDRe2CVwZC8ynISPTYECMwCjwlt0Jbu_SGbVxr79aZz2W3qrEuFOZxCwtwBLRTP3H6PSEpZFJlsAxj7XWvUMgQrI41bbQ2AIn_0SXDwZXhcwwt5J2aI0xxclPOWteCdhcb4byNrlW_RrINAGdHxYIBSWVlDk0DbPFGi6Y-jD6GQJmS1y/s3090/09MPgoodyera,downy.crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2484" data-original-width="3090" height="514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwt_Rak2N_L8HmwDRe2CVwZC8ynISPTYECMwCjwlt0Jbu_SGbVxr79aZz2W3qrEuFOZxCwtwBLRTP3H6PSEpZFJlsAxj7XWvUMgQrI41bbQ2AIn_0SXDwZXhcwwt5J2aI0xxclPOWteCdhcb4byNrlW_RrINAGdHxYIBSWVlDk0DbPFGi6Y-jD6GQJmS1y/w640-h514/09MPgoodyera,downy.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>What a charming find this was, these itty-bitty orange mushrooms sprouting up from within a lush green patch of <i>Atrichum</i> moss.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV-9vQ-LLj8h1hqMC2RxegyMijPsvry_xL9-SisdpYyjDlaylMAZJU3daq-pRsYpEmOakZ7T1unT5k0sNrUTWecsdtLRjQw_ATmg2xvcjYIssyr3bBTwy1vXTNg5ELSJPrpb7obF1QF2GGTkNE31s5uSW-9o1fH6E8DeDFkfy7LTLSxru5DWjpY8bkJ0xV/s1393/10MPtinyfungi,atrichum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1146" data-original-width="1393" height="526" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV-9vQ-LLj8h1hqMC2RxegyMijPsvry_xL9-SisdpYyjDlaylMAZJU3daq-pRsYpEmOakZ7T1unT5k0sNrUTWecsdtLRjQw_ATmg2xvcjYIssyr3bBTwy1vXTNg5ELSJPrpb7obF1QF2GGTkNE31s5uSW-9o1fH6E8DeDFkfy7LTLSxru5DWjpY8bkJ0xV/w640-h526/10MPtinyfungi,atrichum.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This, too, was a charming find, the tiny ear-shaped fruiting bodies of a fungus much more frequently seen as a blue-green stain on rotting hardwoods. <i>Chlorociboria</i> is the genus, while whether its species is <i>aeruginosa</i> or <i>aeruginascens</i> can only be determined by microscopic examination of its ascospores. The two look very much alike, both displaying this vivid teal color so remarkable to see in a mushroom. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0mrheyvvOtwbkikffRvfFi0c0ul2RtvkbkNETX6Mx-_lIHRl7QIkg-sedOZUT8_bd3MoK7mOJxHQo2vnM8mlqVdUC_m41mWYzgWkeUY7scwE74NeLf5AMDizbRreizwLFwSjrrvuPPSkUgNqkm3_mh5v5-3CLA7F692T8buRX3d5NW65vcl7Tsva3-MuZ/s2744/11MPbluestainfungus.crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2258" data-original-width="2744" height="526" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0mrheyvvOtwbkikffRvfFi0c0ul2RtvkbkNETX6Mx-_lIHRl7QIkg-sedOZUT8_bd3MoK7mOJxHQo2vnM8mlqVdUC_m41mWYzgWkeUY7scwE74NeLf5AMDizbRreizwLFwSjrrvuPPSkUgNqkm3_mh5v5-3CLA7F692T8buRX3d5NW65vcl7Tsva3-MuZ/w640-h526/11MPbluestainfungus.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>As the trail that circles the pond reconnects with the powerline, there is a patch of brilliant red-berried American Climbing Bittersweet (<i>Celastrus scandens</i>) sprawling in the grass. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF7Erzh8vDrIJLit9ORytpgDkxfbI-plaAa2_t_INTjPSkSomEUeOLYrCTGcw88nvdyuoDqFemCmWenVH-FhkDYwkgIByyCNFwPBD9WC1Ou_kllLvmDqQDHmPGalhXEN21ZXLTRGm4J9wMzMFu99lpdK86ElqBqU-KO0aEwJS9Kdmv7JRl3GWRihsqk22b/s2796/12MPamericanbittersweet.crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2018" data-original-width="2796" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF7Erzh8vDrIJLit9ORytpgDkxfbI-plaAa2_t_INTjPSkSomEUeOLYrCTGcw88nvdyuoDqFemCmWenVH-FhkDYwkgIByyCNFwPBD9WC1Ou_kllLvmDqQDHmPGalhXEN21ZXLTRGm4J9wMzMFu99lpdK86ElqBqU-KO0aEwJS9Kdmv7JRl3GWRihsqk22b/w640-h462/12MPamericanbittersweet.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>This native species of bittersweet can be distinguished from the highly invasive Asian Bittersweet (<i>C. orbiculatus</i>) by the way its berries are borne in terminal clusters at the ends of its stems. The berries of the Asian import are borne in the leaf axils along the vines. The leaves look quite different, too, with those of our native species being longer and narrower, with sharply pointed teeth, while those of the Asian species are nearly round with blunt teeth. Our native bittersweet is quite a rare find these days, as it has been seriously supplanted or hybridized by the invasive non-native species. I feel quite fortunate to know where this patch of it can be found.</p><p>Heading home to Saratoga Springs by driving over Mount McGregor, I was struck by the brilliant and beautiful abundance of fruit on the Winterberry shrubs (<i>Ilex verticillata</i>) this year. Especially in this little swamp that borders the Wilton Mountain Road</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiihMNsMY78ngqLHS3JDRqM0vjXD0PCwId8v87WkzkEKgmsBHFzazf_UXDezWqpkQQNQa3Hwqrf_kyfYa5dOPwtGH5NANDT3wxntrAWv9OfZ88CuW_ljvsaKL8sdwDg4I2yses8CbKBIohHB2T-p44GCHr4jPR0eQrWHTh1D7IHGw8JXnqLBabTmOCqengl/s3927/13MPwinterberry.crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2982" data-original-width="3927" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiihMNsMY78ngqLHS3JDRqM0vjXD0PCwId8v87WkzkEKgmsBHFzazf_UXDezWqpkQQNQa3Hwqrf_kyfYa5dOPwtGH5NANDT3wxntrAWv9OfZ88CuW_ljvsaKL8sdwDg4I2yses8CbKBIohHB2T-p44GCHr4jPR0eQrWHTh1D7IHGw8JXnqLBabTmOCqengl/w640-h486/13MPwinterberry.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>Roadside Rocks and a Waterfall Climb</b></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">L</span>ast May, I was truly dismayed while driving along Spier Falls Road where the road closely follows the Hudson River at Moreau, and steep cliffs of the Palmertown Mountains rise from the side of the road. These cliffs hold many ledges where a marvelous mix of native mosses and wildflowers grow, constantly watered in every season by springs that drip down the face of the cliffs. But <a href="https://saratogawoodswaters.blogspot.com/2023/06/oh-no.html"><span style="color: #ff00fe;">back then</span></a>, a roadwork crew had scraped all vegetation from these roadside cliffs and ledges. Wondering what those rocks would look like today, I returned to the site late last week.</p><p>As I approached, the rocks still looked very bare, the stone still bearing the scars of being scraped clear of vegetation.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBhvAltkpRachyphenhyphenTGMHLHNo5mZQh22u7Gcdjbmc-qjMFUuEGtuYEIvfjQHj1f3SV1WE6SmhQl4NZW1WOe7HG25-c8Ex2_58Ob0nYFXbFf_WfG250gdp2EL1d2oTXg1XtOOyPGw_lusFnRdVIFcHBKmAw4V16JDNskbW0ay-_ZU0uSFhWJWynVrkQyhkZcJs/s3874/14SFroadsiderocks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2670" data-original-width="3874" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBhvAltkpRachyphenhyphenTGMHLHNo5mZQh22u7Gcdjbmc-qjMFUuEGtuYEIvfjQHj1f3SV1WE6SmhQl4NZW1WOe7HG25-c8Ex2_58Ob0nYFXbFf_WfG250gdp2EL1d2oTXg1XtOOyPGw_lusFnRdVIFcHBKmAw4V16JDNskbW0ay-_ZU0uSFhWJWynVrkQyhkZcJs/w640-h442/14SFroadsiderocks.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>But as I drew closer, I could detect patches of green stuff reclaiming these rocks as their home, and the evergreen pink-edged basal rosettes of Early Saxifrage (<i>Micranthes virginiensis</i>) had reasserted their place among the marvelous mix of spring-dampened mosses. Here's hoping masses of their tiny white flowers will once again transform these bare rocks to spectacular rock gardens next spring.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl1P54sw_h1MFwbO4VwXQBLzXb3_rVw-9BgMz2-etvv1WDQeF_luTSv3bSylliXG4Ns8So-KVLiJsMo89vfJsgNN2BrDw3nO0AB2gL6CpJb2sw_qjF5Wi1dje4vCvy6x6wlL9Bus349uVguWOIz_hc-7i0-esZ83beGCDLs9HacUc7g67Ytr3s7BIlgHMp/s3389/15SFsaxifrage,moss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2464" data-original-width="3389" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl1P54sw_h1MFwbO4VwXQBLzXb3_rVw-9BgMz2-etvv1WDQeF_luTSv3bSylliXG4Ns8So-KVLiJsMo89vfJsgNN2BrDw3nO0AB2gL6CpJb2sw_qjF5Wi1dje4vCvy6x6wlL9Bus349uVguWOIz_hc-7i0-esZ83beGCDLs9HacUc7g67Ytr3s7BIlgHMp/w640-h466/15SFsaxifrage,moss.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Nearby, I could hear the music of water splashing from rock to rock, and I was delighted to find this long waterfall plunging its precipitous white-water way down the mountainside. It beckoned me to ascend its course, up and up and up, to explore some wide meadows along a high powerline road. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOXSemq5Apd4O_Fp-OmGmfkKzP6Sjwavb_pY34qgkkatp1b9ZclrH0gfv7Ad5TGk2xnm1o26N9wKvqA8iuw9lQMcGvSO6ybl2zj-HcjvSryLvJALg4p_1B0EpRLo3fYV1mc5z2rWHF5mYn6PYRzqwWAZ1kKzJOHhaHNuKM7MM4nRxxPuDxlswRdn3n0X-X/s3951/16SFwaterfall2.crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2914" data-original-width="3951" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOXSemq5Apd4O_Fp-OmGmfkKzP6Sjwavb_pY34qgkkatp1b9ZclrH0gfv7Ad5TGk2xnm1o26N9wKvqA8iuw9lQMcGvSO6ybl2zj-HcjvSryLvJALg4p_1B0EpRLo3fYV1mc5z2rWHF5mYn6PYRzqwWAZ1kKzJOHhaHNuKM7MM4nRxxPuDxlswRdn3n0X-X/w640-h472/16SFwaterfall2.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The wet banks of the waterfall are home to many different mosses, including this sprightly patch of a Sphagnum species. Many other lovely mosses covered the waterside rocks, but, being alone, I did not want to risk a fall by venturing out on such slippery surfaces to examine those mosses more closely.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRyzIBAD4BOKr4Z3R6t21jOPh-1ow7zHurHUevjJW7C26ATfcbXy0vSih3WHTlG-mtsWO2KumRandYJ1aO_7RDQuFqcYFxgsZ3K_u7_ky_S9cp43MBykqAfaZqGD5dAwM1dyt7KrWPGeuPqs5EsxoG8w2BNJxOe8oL2VG9EDrhrO2hs1vWKaUUz6j0GD3/s2568/17SFsphagnum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2050" data-original-width="2568" height="510" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRyzIBAD4BOKr4Z3R6t21jOPh-1ow7zHurHUevjJW7C26ATfcbXy0vSih3WHTlG-mtsWO2KumRandYJ1aO_7RDQuFqcYFxgsZ3K_u7_ky_S9cp43MBykqAfaZqGD5dAwM1dyt7KrWPGeuPqs5EsxoG8w2BNJxOe8oL2VG9EDrhrO2hs1vWKaUUz6j0GD3/w640-h510/17SFsphagnum.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>As I emerged from the forested mountainside to the wide meadows along the powerline, I was happy to find that many tall clumps of Switchgrass (<i>Panicum virgatum</i>) had retained their vivid yellow color this late in the season. Although this perennial bunchgrass is native to most of North America east of the Rockies, I have rarely found it growing wild around here, except in areas of grassland restoration. Or in ornamental plantings. And also along this high mountainside powerline.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt2VIum4OrVGNH8VPgjEqmgdgj560XcSboiMrBpV_AqNPwZxjSuG9AV6u6rYTXPeYoVjpzKJqC99gVgevaDVc8-LcMS3FTznabhlX2qKijkNXAuRAnEEWt1DDDenpz-Dyhe_MQCDm_J0KCQc-B7quPE2n9UzARC_uuOKJm_vbtXmuZ0AnueNs1_Nr_M2ei/s3543/18SFswitchgrass.crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2534" data-original-width="3543" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt2VIum4OrVGNH8VPgjEqmgdgj560XcSboiMrBpV_AqNPwZxjSuG9AV6u6rYTXPeYoVjpzKJqC99gVgevaDVc8-LcMS3FTznabhlX2qKijkNXAuRAnEEWt1DDDenpz-Dyhe_MQCDm_J0KCQc-B7quPE2n9UzARC_uuOKJm_vbtXmuZ0AnueNs1_Nr_M2ei/w640-h458/18SFswitchgrass.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>Old Friends, New Finds in Cole's Woods</b></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">T</span>his past Thursday promised to be sunny and pleasant for our friends in The Thursday Naturalists to walk in Cole's Woods, a many-acred forest right in the center of Glens Falls. But lucky for us, it was still a bit below freezing when we first arrived. That meant we were treated to an extensive patch of Frostweed doing its frosty thing down in the tall grass.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJpigStzbd8T965ZHRxAlY52cdt-5Hrro9_n3B0cFvSr6Vz2NFdu8psMdNLrHJ1_ogomgxgjoVsoAur5J8F48JOoY2X2rLlHDf_gKHZu9I7ScXatTB-sCTm1eo5PWToYHjrq_gllRW20NV-rb68szP4CYZw2o1B738VlNwzonnfg46TJ2ASHt3IspNjwOB/s3783/19CWnaturalists,gazing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2589" data-original-width="3783" height="438" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJpigStzbd8T965ZHRxAlY52cdt-5Hrro9_n3B0cFvSr6Vz2NFdu8psMdNLrHJ1_ogomgxgjoVsoAur5J8F48JOoY2X2rLlHDf_gKHZu9I7ScXatTB-sCTm1eo5PWToYHjrq_gllRW20NV-rb68szP4CYZw2o1B738VlNwzonnfg46TJ2ASHt3IspNjwOB/w640-h438/19CWnaturalists,gazing.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Even though the Frostweed (<i>Crocanthemum canadense</i>) was surrounded by tall stands of Little Bluestem Grass, its frothy stark-white curls were immediately visible to our searching eyes. By the time we passed this sun-warmed patch again on our way home, there wasn't a wisp of these icy curls left.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxdKHK0g_W63Lird6Q4x56q7hF1tMz4yDocK0FSiG5t8tujPpZAjL4FTAUZRTBUD0KMYAG4T8FgREwuonGLR-8iXXGZvyGEbC5bVTaX-q3TEFyoCepL-aWSnMPzeOshIrXRX0_a4Ux6xUE7hxVWenrpLNOehBK7F8Uu_8SQnY2-KRy0Ji-o3L1628-sfWu/s2955/20CWfrostweed.crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2227" data-original-width="2955" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxdKHK0g_W63Lird6Q4x56q7hF1tMz4yDocK0FSiG5t8tujPpZAjL4FTAUZRTBUD0KMYAG4T8FgREwuonGLR-8iXXGZvyGEbC5bVTaX-q3TEFyoCepL-aWSnMPzeOshIrXRX0_a4Ux6xUE7hxVWenrpLNOehBK7F8Uu_8SQnY2-KRy0Ji-o3L1628-sfWu/w640-h482/20CWfrostweed.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Cole's Woods is home to many interesting native plants, many of which we would not be able to locate, even as remnants, this time of year. But Green Rock Cress (<i>Borodinia missouriensis</i>) is probably at its <i>most</i> visible now, with its long arching pale-colored seedpods standing tall and wafting in the breeze. This native Mustard-family plant is actually rated as a Threatened species in New York State, and as Rare to Extremely Rare in New England states as well. But you'd never guess it was such a rare plant from the large population that grows right here in Cole's Woods.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj_1_LkvHnfwonrDDOQw0p8Tc6XvVycqU_trLccf1b5fDN0cFMerAiq2or7Qla2_vmP42nsNNsQBNtVTL8LW7RS5airc8X6chXm43SK6SGYi5wu9Frw-OY79lfzrjiES5ZuKg2mcqXfDp6bDsBQWQaUoO-0xUS0pmVvxbHuT20-sQv5elRpWMHGQEO65WV/s2767/21CWgreenrockcress.crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2030" data-original-width="2767" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj_1_LkvHnfwonrDDOQw0p8Tc6XvVycqU_trLccf1b5fDN0cFMerAiq2or7Qla2_vmP42nsNNsQBNtVTL8LW7RS5airc8X6chXm43SK6SGYi5wu9Frw-OY79lfzrjiES5ZuKg2mcqXfDp6bDsBQWQaUoO-0xUS0pmVvxbHuT20-sQv5elRpWMHGQEO65WV/w640-h470/21CWgreenrockcress.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>One of our destinations today was an old rotting tree trunk we had visited on a previous walk in this woods. Back then, we had found many different species of fungi residing on this trunk, but this time we found just the two different species of Eyelash Cups, the larger (but still quite small) deep-orange ones called <i>Scutellinia scutellata</i> and also the teeny-tiny yellow ones, <i>Scutellinia setosa</i>. Both species occupied this knot on the trunk.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0_KDHN8SeXTHzl7nhquvA-lMepktjxArbV-WoeJ4-3SFdviw77hO-9J_a2m9_SQu-oQm3g01QoUouON6GysPpGUxs0-5tKuu1kv_b04wrPHkQUTaafjYOXn8d60dWp4CbX4R8BerDV402bKPQXjv6qYsqd2U5053x-Nwv9I-5-BlJ_tbUup7aFoy-iRl5/s2509/23CWeyelashcups.crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2509" height="490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0_KDHN8SeXTHzl7nhquvA-lMepktjxArbV-WoeJ4-3SFdviw77hO-9J_a2m9_SQu-oQm3g01QoUouON6GysPpGUxs0-5tKuu1kv_b04wrPHkQUTaafjYOXn8d60dWp4CbX4R8BerDV402bKPQXjv6qYsqd2U5053x-Nwv9I-5-BlJ_tbUup7aFoy-iRl5/w640-h490/23CWeyelashcups.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Here's a whole bunch of the itty-bitty <i>Scutellinia setosa </i>scattered across the rotting wood.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7KKq2mkaS4xgi-nCwBgQkGDiVy9lylUYP9hxrFlbF6ql8VZU9n754iHgsdhg83V3Yh1BQR7eadSqBxxdHd6sWRLojfOjYIjNgdKi35VhodcVYT6m5Gl7B9Evjuek5hUpVEFVNUJnBA_o4RlLaMgPzNaHT352E0vPC4wjpDv_1MtaTdT-xmuLCTROzyZzI/s2199/24CWeyelashcups,small.crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1728" data-original-width="2199" height="502" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7KKq2mkaS4xgi-nCwBgQkGDiVy9lylUYP9hxrFlbF6ql8VZU9n754iHgsdhg83V3Yh1BQR7eadSqBxxdHd6sWRLojfOjYIjNgdKi35VhodcVYT6m5Gl7B9Evjuek5hUpVEFVNUJnBA_o4RlLaMgPzNaHT352E0vPC4wjpDv_1MtaTdT-xmuLCTROzyZzI/w640-h502/24CWeyelashcups,small.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>When I first passed this stand of Spotted Alder and noticed a colony of Woolly Alder Aphids occupying a twig, I hardly slowed my pace, since I often find these bunches of woolly-looking all-female wingless clones this time of year. And this population appeared to be nearing the end of its seasonal stay, since it appeared that many had already died and dropped off, having cloned a final population of winged aphids that flew away.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFC0qlH8UA4AYAdZxE7q6CWubNhY2kuK6W1U4qgwSiwajtqm1dnb7Jf0Mx0kvd0bdVfhTqdyaG92XtfB9U4rm9Hc4_8Wnd-GjyAElUUrIvJb7usUs96KptRDGxB1PtTg4-ZR4XEm2IZi2aSwlPLj3c9FGPG-DhHDfM2SvGbnS2bcw70fZhaGN_pk0B4SRh/s3175/25CWwoollyaphids,hand.crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2399" data-original-width="3175" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFC0qlH8UA4AYAdZxE7q6CWubNhY2kuK6W1U4qgwSiwajtqm1dnb7Jf0Mx0kvd0bdVfhTqdyaG92XtfB9U4rm9Hc4_8Wnd-GjyAElUUrIvJb7usUs96KptRDGxB1PtTg4-ZR4XEm2IZi2aSwlPLj3c9FGPG-DhHDfM2SvGbnS2bcw70fZhaGN_pk0B4SRh/w640-h484/25CWwoollyaphids,hand.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>But wait a minute! What the heck are those black spongy blobs attached to the alder twigs right below where the aphids had been feeding! I had read about how a black mold often grows on the honeydew secretions the aphids produce. Could this be that? But I thought that that mold was a flat sticky stuff. These growths were puffy and soft, not sticky at all.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7z_v-8MUoiPGvJcCRDFby8x7LCKvKcBvKjGdNxdOt57q1j-UKjWBuFHW6vZISeRjlqIqkbpk5bZ6sMN0G387qV7aEF1NUbCZysaJVgAg2lidhPaURm5kxs76cjaLlG5ULb6lCWnI3VUPK820BqVs_63zaBLST4hdleb0y-lulaPDzvC-xFPta7vsR_9BD/s3124/26CWhoneydewfungus,twig,hand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2583" data-original-width="3124" height="530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7z_v-8MUoiPGvJcCRDFby8x7LCKvKcBvKjGdNxdOt57q1j-UKjWBuFHW6vZISeRjlqIqkbpk5bZ6sMN0G387qV7aEF1NUbCZysaJVgAg2lidhPaURm5kxs76cjaLlG5ULb6lCWnI3VUPK820BqVs_63zaBLST4hdleb0y-lulaPDzvC-xFPta7vsR_9BD/w640-h530/26CWhoneydewfungus,twig,hand.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>When I pulled a blob off and examined it closely, its greenish thready interior looked more like one of those bearded lichens that grow on tree limbs. But those lichens tended to be dry and crispy. This stuff was soft and spongy.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi60Yn05Mb9jegylV090zbH6fVKpF6C0oPHEJX2R-iRwrjGriPDb7OkkvIVlQM9-149bYmGY_i9Zj6cIv7z2IIG4kyQp7WgohtQW_7MN1DfbzoOcgDDmAEqhL_d-JK5pWFYM4WDKthX-RtQ0dejdrHuvbZ8b98853bp3drCQps5B4wkfAZcqzr5HzBXXbKo/s1795/27CWhoneydeweaterfungus.crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1464" data-original-width="1795" height="522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi60Yn05Mb9jegylV090zbH6fVKpF6C0oPHEJX2R-iRwrjGriPDb7OkkvIVlQM9-149bYmGY_i9Zj6cIv7z2IIG4kyQp7WgohtQW_7MN1DfbzoOcgDDmAEqhL_d-JK5pWFYM4WDKthX-RtQ0dejdrHuvbZ8b98853bp3drCQps5B4wkfAZcqzr5HzBXXbKo/w640-h522/27CWhoneydeweaterfungus.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Well, thanks to our dear fellow-naturalist friend Tom Callaghan and his cell-phone access to iNaturalist, we promptly obtained an accurate ID of this stuff: the Honeydew Eater Fungus (<i>Scorias spongiosa</i>), a sooty mold fungus that grows on aphid honeydew, but only on the honeydew produced by aphids that feed either on beech or alder trees. (Luckily, these were Woolly Alder Aphids, not the Woolly Beech Aphids, which create disease on beech trees. The aphids who feed on alders do not harm their host.)</p><p>This was certainly a first find for me. I have been observing Woolly Alder Aphids for at least 10 years and never found this spongy stuff in connection to them. And believe it or not, I found a U.S. government medical site on Google that claims that <i>Scorias spongiosa</i> is not only edible, but it also has multiple anti-inflammatory and antioxidant medical benefits. But please don't take my word for that.</p><p><br /></p>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-55312281194136340882023-11-01T20:22:00.000-04:002023-11-01T20:22:03.392-04:00Back to Bog Meadow<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">W</span>hen an <a href="https://saratogawoodswaters.blogspot.com/2019/10/fall-finds-along-bog-meadow.html"><span style="color: #ff00fe;">old blog post</span></a> of mine from October 31, 2019, showed up on my Facebook Memories yesterday, I was struck by how gorgeously colorful the Bog Meadow Brook Nature Trail had been on that date. So off I went to see if this year's experience there would match the one from four years ago.</p><p>Well, it didn't, quite. At least, it didn't seem to at first.</p><p>As this photo of the trail reveals, about the only color that now remained was in the still-green leaves of all the invasive honeysuckle that thrives along the first half-mile of this otherwise wonderful wooded wetland trail.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdd19IsuKglrBDoy692hWYbjABc7PvIiz451wEde8hEqF79sZsoIsipUh6ulzQQDpXztLXa3qO_4_mlCQsIUP-fz7YGTiW68H0yX4RfqdDS8VsOXV_siN7RioDgNbjqlJqkM_mmZcBgyPnlsRow4jDkfqkHNI-35wnLQkW9vMu4pzWfHhqp_Sw9KkT2VDy/s3820/01bridge,trail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2845" data-original-width="3820" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdd19IsuKglrBDoy692hWYbjABc7PvIiz451wEde8hEqF79sZsoIsipUh6ulzQQDpXztLXa3qO_4_mlCQsIUP-fz7YGTiW68H0yX4RfqdDS8VsOXV_siN7RioDgNbjqlJqkM_mmZcBgyPnlsRow4jDkfqkHNI-35wnLQkW9vMu4pzWfHhqp_Sw9KkT2VDy/w640-h476/01bridge,trail.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, this trail, even when not so colorful, is always interesting. I could see that the beavers were trying again to raise the water level in the trailside swamp. This was just one of their recently built dams.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihJwVvUFGULZ2qUgDAv1WvCm9-Eb-V0ik0cH9V7XnJi4HMJFsWqj5VwMTQ2xBHfrrg6qIvsP0aKdzn0Zn-vapzZmXboULPGTvi4dTKizLzaMoX88pxPwHFTbVNOJb5gUQQ64tH-J5BrA98WTybrWTiSOYvPJvzHmLEuTCoJWFZTB3DmSQOkLix8OuNDc7N/s3544/02beaverdam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2616" data-original-width="3544" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihJwVvUFGULZ2qUgDAv1WvCm9-Eb-V0ik0cH9V7XnJi4HMJFsWqj5VwMTQ2xBHfrrg6qIvsP0aKdzn0Zn-vapzZmXboULPGTvi4dTKizLzaMoX88pxPwHFTbVNOJb5gUQQ64tH-J5BrA98WTybrWTiSOYvPJvzHmLEuTCoJWFZTB3DmSQOkLix8OuNDc7N/w640-h472/02beaverdam.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The Gray Dogwoods that looked so beautiful four years ago had already lost their white berries, and their vivid red pedicels were now dark. But the Poison Sumac trees that thrive in the trailside swamps were festooned with many dangling clusters of off-white fruit. We humans may not appreciate them, but the birds will be happy to find such abundance of nutritious berries when other late-fall food sources have been consumed. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaVMWKu7vBrdv-yj8vmdiQteUPlVi_672_SbgW23umoID0HXhQWEKcu4SFvxl7Kf8LeAjJR6s_-_r71_utvZ_ljhUmHexxekE3D7J9ySmh2a4Oo_dcJYcdM8wTa8DPznF9L4wcDYluRKg3sZfyTRZ9Yjm79DUok-qVbGxJ5E1OnDD2FkdXM-30hjKStGtX/s2978/03sumac,berrycluster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2410" data-original-width="2978" height="518" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaVMWKu7vBrdv-yj8vmdiQteUPlVi_672_SbgW23umoID0HXhQWEKcu4SFvxl7Kf8LeAjJR6s_-_r71_utvZ_ljhUmHexxekE3D7J9ySmh2a4Oo_dcJYcdM8wTa8DPznF9L4wcDYluRKg3sZfyTRZ9Yjm79DUok-qVbGxJ5E1OnDD2FkdXM-30hjKStGtX/w640-h518/03sumac,berrycluster.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The tufts of Virgin's Bower seeds are hardly colorful, but they are certainly still attractive in their own fluffy way.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxIAs3Uun4JnnTIM4RiJSqTo8mBFP2MKLdocULeFQN1edEFaSxt949NAAR8cG780Tcx8DjXN7ZHNdOovDy1TSdXpnWdXiMv0J_l1W0wYndTCiuxvEALyP1DxnPwD1TTtvyoUjys3XJR4cPSxaTYKzMyMGP-UNZdOKbGxnRoX1lhHv-wKBvhiqPU5MSBABY/s2910/04clematispuff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2233" data-original-width="2910" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxIAs3Uun4JnnTIM4RiJSqTo8mBFP2MKLdocULeFQN1edEFaSxt949NAAR8cG780Tcx8DjXN7ZHNdOovDy1TSdXpnWdXiMv0J_l1W0wYndTCiuxvEALyP1DxnPwD1TTtvyoUjys3XJR4cPSxaTYKzMyMGP-UNZdOKbGxnRoX1lhHv-wKBvhiqPU5MSBABY/w640-h492/04clematispuff.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>And these prettily curvaceous young fern fronds (some evergreen Intermediate Wood Ferns?) contributed a lovely surprise of spring green to this old moss-covered stump.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC7oVEAk_vbswwFiK4EQSs3bowNYv9BZ-MJ_tpZfqnrG-QfINQuGTMzqjaqi1GuXlG30LCXP32GcyUmiISAl8WZZhTklsSO6bVGQy-q2QjGlyHWQmrOVVPEFC0uktjQ34X6HdyovqO6Lzr658Nl2OPWMaIi_pqOngbfD6I8sGRZOdNGQenopcpQtS2w5YD/s3258/05ferns.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2354" data-original-width="3258" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC7oVEAk_vbswwFiK4EQSs3bowNYv9BZ-MJ_tpZfqnrG-QfINQuGTMzqjaqi1GuXlG30LCXP32GcyUmiISAl8WZZhTklsSO6bVGQy-q2QjGlyHWQmrOVVPEFC0uktjQ34X6HdyovqO6Lzr658Nl2OPWMaIi_pqOngbfD6I8sGRZOdNGQenopcpQtS2w5YD/w640-h462/05ferns.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The now-rosy leaves of Spotted Geranium added their bright color to the otherwise fading trailside plants.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3le3rYGAnbW0gE_1UFOZ0DbSbUCj-pXbrJEjutY65Y9OWd4Z5UwDSOMfKEWPV570CtHhqRIYoCuskgVIY8kCDmEBYfcsdcl2_dhriJGD3TjXPXBpvpZUEMGOQYRyARG3lT5N52FMiVg7jZIHJcGzl6zWLjtmms8bKbZtHou2lj279zBvcRUf3pJdttzMf/s2830/06geraniumleaves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2286" data-original-width="2830" height="516" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3le3rYGAnbW0gE_1UFOZ0DbSbUCj-pXbrJEjutY65Y9OWd4Z5UwDSOMfKEWPV570CtHhqRIYoCuskgVIY8kCDmEBYfcsdcl2_dhriJGD3TjXPXBpvpZUEMGOQYRyARG3lT5N52FMiVg7jZIHJcGzl6zWLjtmms8bKbZtHou2lj279zBvcRUf3pJdttzMf/w640-h516/06geraniumleaves.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And WOW! What could match the brilliance of even a single bough of this Winterberry shrub?</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdx4gCUNgdNg5v-lpKx_ltshAaCFjnOsBbfc73V7RmpTjXwNhuNqG5fg_1zmdWG69JD_jH0K_K9u6zQDWbJeHKvl_BsPzN6xb6YoBlZwGBUtsU9oUvX94-1pL1P7COlDc9BuSVLYHAK_6kfgWgmQv8LN-K4VGoLN-q4JMRXgEOuxdnMuUx4lQcDGf2Gpye/s3780/07winterberries.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2824" data-original-width="3780" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdx4gCUNgdNg5v-lpKx_ltshAaCFjnOsBbfc73V7RmpTjXwNhuNqG5fg_1zmdWG69JD_jH0K_K9u6zQDWbJeHKvl_BsPzN6xb6YoBlZwGBUtsU9oUvX94-1pL1P7COlDc9BuSVLYHAK_6kfgWgmQv8LN-K4VGoLN-q4JMRXgEOuxdnMuUx4lQcDGf2Gpye/w640-h478/07winterberries.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>By the time I reached the section of trail that bordered an open marsh, an occasional sunbeam managed to poke through the otherwise almost complete cloud cover, brightening the scene.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzc38Rmv-fEgWlESMc7WoC4chBYCUGnOGYeWdBAcBn2um0Fj0YQvMN5ILWOWjUA69nJQs6THzvHp76OB_eEDUlwirvW3zbHr0DZyJ-hDX74ynp_7XR_hvDoDBpxnhRO15VGEfncgKBGgU4cn_dRFd8lyJs1t-d9RXwYlrRdT4G07SazN2_JP4TOcqTUUGE/s3702/08marshtrail,sunlit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2786" data-original-width="3702" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzc38Rmv-fEgWlESMc7WoC4chBYCUGnOGYeWdBAcBn2um0Fj0YQvMN5ILWOWjUA69nJQs6THzvHp76OB_eEDUlwirvW3zbHr0DZyJ-hDX74ynp_7XR_hvDoDBpxnhRO15VGEfncgKBGgU4cn_dRFd8lyJs1t-d9RXwYlrRdT4G07SazN2_JP4TOcqTUUGE/w640-h482/08marshtrail,sunlit.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>A forest of mainly oaks on the far side of the marsh grew much more vividly colorful in this enhanced light.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpWJSaxSpCM62tlzT-pIL9LO8dUmHacYj7TUHGdzOd8wzDU_0wdx0_ihJu10snPi-QFKuF3aQqSpXnrpLSYny5SH13bqmcP7XCgWm840PqRklJ7m_5FeV07iZqHbJ6eVHIE6ZX_iA9Z_A1EDBbQ9OyPrV_BG_dkpZAi7x8imzgFp7qa_ey_gwh0T72aI4Z/s3708/09marsh,trees.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2414" data-original-width="3708" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpWJSaxSpCM62tlzT-pIL9LO8dUmHacYj7TUHGdzOd8wzDU_0wdx0_ihJu10snPi-QFKuF3aQqSpXnrpLSYny5SH13bqmcP7XCgWm840PqRklJ7m_5FeV07iZqHbJ6eVHIE6ZX_iA9Z_A1EDBbQ9OyPrV_BG_dkpZAi7x8imzgFp7qa_ey_gwh0T72aI4Z/w640-h416/09marsh,trees.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Even as the sun was once again thinly veiled by clouds, the leaves of this Silky Dogwood shrub retained their rosy glow.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiga2INYS0Md_l_ImP_6veckjLgE0zpsOe6L6KxrcPmMbJ9dXQ2BQSiW4sd4R97Pz5bN5PnSRZPMUUBBtd7767E-gr8wTvOr84nRhCIe3GHd9_0uRnULWbpw3JBo3HpYiqmwWxktcjQexCIBQjCPa2GDq9On7rHJx9us-96AnTcxTcShDGWZ21CsEx1RvZF/s2228/10dogwood,marsh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1661" data-original-width="2228" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiga2INYS0Md_l_ImP_6veckjLgE0zpsOe6L6KxrcPmMbJ9dXQ2BQSiW4sd4R97Pz5bN5PnSRZPMUUBBtd7767E-gr8wTvOr84nRhCIe3GHd9_0uRnULWbpw3JBo3HpYiqmwWxktcjQexCIBQjCPa2GDq9On7rHJx9us-96AnTcxTcShDGWZ21CsEx1RvZF/w640-h478/10dogwood,marsh.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The richly coral-colored leaves of this Swamp Rose appeared almost as bright as flames.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD_kRvS2ckjD5_t-BwVQUw1-JJDljDpfUcw3Z5sTd-BL1fQkEBoQGSQnJ4p1u_7zpiVAWoik5x5ftYjPYUeL723sqqYtXwnNhJ8lwIpoT60U-ppHy9ZkhC6XJeAqu9h15sjZBK8x41SUUSzMK91Y6_b2uJXH1wPTFyCTf7eo2bMMM_6fbvY8C8NSNJDIbT/s3949/12swamprose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2952" data-original-width="3949" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD_kRvS2ckjD5_t-BwVQUw1-JJDljDpfUcw3Z5sTd-BL1fQkEBoQGSQnJ4p1u_7zpiVAWoik5x5ftYjPYUeL723sqqYtXwnNhJ8lwIpoT60U-ppHy9ZkhC6XJeAqu9h15sjZBK8x41SUUSzMK91Y6_b2uJXH1wPTFyCTf7eo2bMMM_6fbvY8C8NSNJDIbT/w640-h478/12swamprose.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The vivid leaves of small Red Maple saplings all lived up to their colorful name.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjNc_DNvUcUUGDHS3H5XICJJzUgg1v_kai9N1Zj5wqGhmbnc_sugMlEgiKNNRTgCLvPylObpp6AW9v4AFEl5gZEuPT-39h1iL1zeXoOlzTAJV4nTA8mx1Bir0L-Zh6UGZz9VFb5qlgwZX7FLrIAOQVkpqjcIKcusH8j0IHk0YpxejWquZdXHz3i6UFOMHs/s2272/13redmapleleaves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1652" data-original-width="2272" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjNc_DNvUcUUGDHS3H5XICJJzUgg1v_kai9N1Zj5wqGhmbnc_sugMlEgiKNNRTgCLvPylObpp6AW9v4AFEl5gZEuPT-39h1iL1zeXoOlzTAJV4nTA8mx1Bir0L-Zh6UGZz9VFb5qlgwZX7FLrIAOQVkpqjcIKcusH8j0IHk0YpxejWquZdXHz3i6UFOMHs/w640-h466/13redmapleleaves.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Even the fading seedpods of Buttonbush provided some lovely color to the watery edges of the marsh.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFp1VOdfTgpqxZIzcsn7y-cJF-r05UmIeyUidbgD4KTwaYyQBQUlQodWuS8Uo7R6GksPOaOgRk7XJwIXkX0uf8CpFpOyq2opMUGVZjua6fkPTYDoJ4k3rHX_gXXSP2XDsqdAU73bUXPsShq1X3zkNubdt-rOMyFQAk145CP-3uHUJaf2sTeS0qzUO9y_U9/s2847/11buttonbush,pods.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2190" data-original-width="2847" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFp1VOdfTgpqxZIzcsn7y-cJF-r05UmIeyUidbgD4KTwaYyQBQUlQodWuS8Uo7R6GksPOaOgRk7XJwIXkX0uf8CpFpOyq2opMUGVZjua6fkPTYDoJ4k3rHX_gXXSP2XDsqdAU73bUXPsShq1X3zkNubdt-rOMyFQAk145CP-3uHUJaf2sTeS0qzUO9y_U9/w640-h492/11buttonbush,pods.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Here was a final treat: a fluffy cluster of Woolly Alder Aphids being tended by a guardian ant. As ants do with other species of aphids, they "milk" them for the sweet fluid called "honeydew" the aphids excrete, and the ants also fiercely drive any likely predators of the aphids away. I do often find these clusters of aphids, but not very often in the company of their guardian ants.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8yG_bMBiDcl5J3flP49c9i_VyEjvovf7X7-VckiBPRV6_jPvFXI44TywVkfT2zcTJ14K8X9N8MA8cn9H_qD4ThOudpDgwkWskYuzBhKKcdtvd-nXhfVINg2uKOjxaE49t6DnfbHkxoyUdl9fM-d8puVr8UiqH3Y7QS7MEYiYH1MiloBHThKcRNnTXkDR-/s2922/14alderaphids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2113" data-original-width="2922" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8yG_bMBiDcl5J3flP49c9i_VyEjvovf7X7-VckiBPRV6_jPvFXI44TywVkfT2zcTJ14K8X9N8MA8cn9H_qD4ThOudpDgwkWskYuzBhKKcdtvd-nXhfVINg2uKOjxaE49t6DnfbHkxoyUdl9fM-d8puVr8UiqH3Y7QS7MEYiYH1MiloBHThKcRNnTXkDR-/w640-h462/14alderaphids.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>Why would I consider finding a bunch of bugs a treat? Well, these are some truly amazing insects, almost miraculous, from a human point of view. For all of these little aphids, their bodies covered with an extruded white waxy "fur" to protect themselves from weather and predators, are the wingless female offspring not only of a single winged female aphid but also of each other, clones of the single wingless clone that the winged female first deposited on this alder twig. At the end of their feeding season and before dying and dropping away, these individual females will each produce a WINGED clone of herself, and some of these will be <i>males</i>! (How a female clones a male clone I have yet to comprehend!) Then all these winged Woolly Alder Aphids will fly off to some Silver Maple trees to find mates and lay eggs on the maple bark. The cycle than begins again next spring.</p><p>Meanwhile, many winged Woolly Alder Aphids are currently wafting about on the air, tiny pale-blue bits of fluff we now call "Fairy Flies." Here's a photo of one I chanced to capture a few years ago. Isn't she (or maybe it's a <i>he</i>) so lovely?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLtBgOfU9hT7ibZSFNy1D9rbp9JPtvcu8IA-Tho3EtZH7DmcB8EI7mMT1UyGYt5UdXp_JDMn283RMhpbRvExzeSDDOc0R7ut8d_2MuAqIBQsoKBe_tb_gfa2AHSe-SqU9xZUGb7GYNShflJeiaLNwtvcdgA49FgG4bzRSZ-nCuO8p5-W8MGOcvqLq7BHMJ/s1510/woolyaphid,winged.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1156" data-original-width="1510" height="490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLtBgOfU9hT7ibZSFNy1D9rbp9JPtvcu8IA-Tho3EtZH7DmcB8EI7mMT1UyGYt5UdXp_JDMn283RMhpbRvExzeSDDOc0R7ut8d_2MuAqIBQsoKBe_tb_gfa2AHSe-SqU9xZUGb7GYNShflJeiaLNwtvcdgA49FgG4bzRSZ-nCuO8p5-W8MGOcvqLq7BHMJ/w640-h490/woolyaphid,winged.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-63735369000414763192023-10-27T14:05:00.004-04:002023-10-27T19:37:53.563-04:00Autumn Color: In Saratoga's Woods and On the Waterways<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">S</span>ometimes I can't believe how lucky I am. While much of the world is in terrible turmoil, from savage warfare or scorching wildfires, shattering earthquakes or ravaging hurricanes, death-dealing famines or years-long droughts, here I live in peace and plenty, the weather so far only moderately affected by climate change, among people who mostly solve their differences without killing each other's children. I also live in one of the most beautiful places on earth, surrounded by millions of acres of forest and mountains made lovely by lakes and rivers and tumbling streams. And all I have to gripe about is how dull our autumn foliage seems to be this year. Well, shame on me! In fact, our autumn is plenty beautiful, as I discovered this past week, while visiting two favorite Saratoga County woods and waterways. Here's some of the evidence to prove it.</p><p><b>Moreau Lake, Back Bay Trail</b></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">O</span>ne place I'm always sure to visit in autumn is Moreau Lake State Park, where masses of Black Huckleberry shrubs line the north shore of the lake. These shrubs are famous for their vividly scarlet foliage in the fall. But darn it all, they sure looked pretty drab this year!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaeo6_x5ijFc3ayeoBRoUEl0bVGy4fzo_Exp3rh4JUz9uW7rLXgeccbk2lD2pymRvJoRacfwLkMNnOjH9eBV02PZh3_5Q9jlR0lbG8I-aPGpCGuS2k7O7zuzchAycr1EwgdMSIIhXFJc8Zmevp1-kmR4UOSWI5bbu316451DCzxvUF65rbZfpCci3Zwh4R/s3709/01huckleberries,dull.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2594" data-original-width="3709" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaeo6_x5ijFc3ayeoBRoUEl0bVGy4fzo_Exp3rh4JUz9uW7rLXgeccbk2lD2pymRvJoRacfwLkMNnOjH9eBV02PZh3_5Q9jlR0lbG8I-aPGpCGuS2k7O7zuzchAycr1EwgdMSIIhXFJc8Zmevp1-kmR4UOSWI5bbu316451DCzxvUF65rbZfpCci3Zwh4R/w640-h448/01huckleberries,dull.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>But just a few steps beyond this disappointing scene, I gazed upon this spectacular sight across Moreau Lake's back bay: Red Maples in all their autumn glory! Okay, then, off I headed to walk the trail around the back bay.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmFIbX69yj5q1Pol6iyR7Dp6TAPr1OZZkb6-wsE01Bl3aZbuEql81MA0Os-4zWxg85aIOD-Akhyphenhyphenau8yl-0Z6FVlwKLtj1jesHHv9iurY935ZZfSlkSaoeNHCyIYXVE3yNzkkRBhSegiSOuY5Lbttxpfiiv-f6kBldRHcfefvMdh1XlYeXu8riuMm0BHnQW/s3823/02backbay,longview.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2047" data-original-width="3823" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmFIbX69yj5q1Pol6iyR7Dp6TAPr1OZZkb6-wsE01Bl3aZbuEql81MA0Os-4zWxg85aIOD-Akhyphenhyphenau8yl-0Z6FVlwKLtj1jesHHv9iurY935ZZfSlkSaoeNHCyIYXVE3yNzkkRBhSegiSOuY5Lbttxpfiiv-f6kBldRHcfefvMdh1XlYeXu8riuMm0BHnQW/w640-h342/02backbay,longview.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Oh my, how gorgeous, to walk beneath these boughs as bright as fire!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhYo2Bupkh3EU9HIVftesQImuK-sDysU_YJIjXkr2D63hyphenhypheny5WooNlDWbKnQQ_KzxQyl-A5dTwbxHJIlWzrQ4O-x-XGEzkrxSi-ZDkr6roevK6x6uyWDgtaFPU6EOCsRdgz3E7lTkc_KdqnRIXsPQyaRhS0fi6om3vea98mI307IVrA7-nNA8LUgo_dM0mi/s3932/03redleaves,beneath.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2937" data-original-width="3932" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhYo2Bupkh3EU9HIVftesQImuK-sDysU_YJIjXkr2D63hyphenhypheny5WooNlDWbKnQQ_KzxQyl-A5dTwbxHJIlWzrQ4O-x-XGEzkrxSi-ZDkr6roevK6x6uyWDgtaFPU6EOCsRdgz3E7lTkc_KdqnRIXsPQyaRhS0fi6om3vea98mI307IVrA7-nNA8LUgo_dM0mi/w640-h478/03redleaves,beneath.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And the trailside woods was a lovely crazy-quilt of vibrant color.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Kb1Kdj6OxSV8G91rS6Y0xhLkBSnJPzqhTHxafXIeSnhK4egBf-Im4-IDYJY5sEXRcv4aQ_SCTEdd0ioDQPvt2jVVkG322fvGojWvzm85G0R_DdwDsX4W51au8S54NyVfKPTFa0tMVXzM9luDmfDsXd5oHIbj18jsSgmZUO7w8-10gaxO0gvp3AMZK5vT/s3912/04woodlandcolors.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2771" data-original-width="3912" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Kb1Kdj6OxSV8G91rS6Y0xhLkBSnJPzqhTHxafXIeSnhK4egBf-Im4-IDYJY5sEXRcv4aQ_SCTEdd0ioDQPvt2jVVkG322fvGojWvzm85G0R_DdwDsX4W51au8S54NyVfKPTFa0tMVXzM9luDmfDsXd5oHIbj18jsSgmZUO7w8-10gaxO0gvp3AMZK5vT/w640-h454/04woodlandcolors.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>What a surprise! In contrast to the disappointingly drab ones out on the sunlit shore, back here in the shaded woods the Black Huckleberry shrubs were as vivid as any I'd ever seen.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh23mPBCcyQGiq6wRhj9XogC_aTtGNiiDZ3rS3pyPDiBNbdaj7vvdjd3PC9nTE8QAsGUdD_vpOQHYDfBpxqm_GI9hRq9zrHFFcYM97f0rmTvy6PLPOG9wVs_DNa0RZECvuQpnX7OKdMb5dzNWHD07QPXAgchvf5jq7Fdo0pXx3dnZg1f0a3BlfFdpVi5g9i/s3946/05huckleberries,vivid.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2568" data-original-width="3946" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh23mPBCcyQGiq6wRhj9XogC_aTtGNiiDZ3rS3pyPDiBNbdaj7vvdjd3PC9nTE8QAsGUdD_vpOQHYDfBpxqm_GI9hRq9zrHFFcYM97f0rmTvy6PLPOG9wVs_DNa0RZECvuQpnX7OKdMb5dzNWHD07QPXAgchvf5jq7Fdo0pXx3dnZg1f0a3BlfFdpVi5g9i/w640-h416/05huckleberries,vivid.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>When I reached the north shore of the bay, I was delighted to find I could walk along close to the water, since all summer long, the lake's water level had risen right up to the woods. My friend Sue Pierce and I call this stretch of the shoreline "the Odonata Shore," because it is always alive with dragonflies and damselflies, but we hadn't been able to walk here yet this year.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlv7FCiVqOuXEt9mkPbAq2eo2BOlle7PKiiKjJOIejyuXdjJecYlL0AraH5PVTt1Bw-TKbIysA40Wu2tbfFPSORutgUBk1vkNy3GY1Yzp1lx-Apd5fwX5QOyRuT3X6kutCNl0L_r-pFSYIaeQpN2XPGS5e_RiDTI-WR5RPs5-IynAPcFsc3KmSYmJIOOfA/s3238/06odonatashore.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2670" data-original-width="3238" height="528" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlv7FCiVqOuXEt9mkPbAq2eo2BOlle7PKiiKjJOIejyuXdjJecYlL0AraH5PVTt1Bw-TKbIysA40Wu2tbfFPSORutgUBk1vkNy3GY1Yzp1lx-Apd5fwX5QOyRuT3X6kutCNl0L_r-pFSYIaeQpN2XPGS5e_RiDTI-WR5RPs5-IynAPcFsc3KmSYmJIOOfA/w640-h528/06odonatashore.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And look who was here to welcome me back to our Odonata Shore! The scarlet abdomen and black-lace wings suggest to me that this was the dragonfly called Autumn Meadowhawk.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPgwrXsJoFFog7G1Bv5nuEoBSZuyCLd7Tow6OkMhY7cavDxg898TWyOoxle0_kDsWGhAtB_DZd29wi4TQXXveidrOqoQyhMtylW4XJtPaOTjJiWqVSiZYxAbtbDnOoOnPVAgGzkOFSqGSNucVbGRiIMpktixnQQvwrtTqc_vnrJJD-dZ_kIv1etBcRnqVr/s3135/07dragonfly.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2289" data-original-width="3135" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPgwrXsJoFFog7G1Bv5nuEoBSZuyCLd7Tow6OkMhY7cavDxg898TWyOoxle0_kDsWGhAtB_DZd29wi4TQXXveidrOqoQyhMtylW4XJtPaOTjJiWqVSiZYxAbtbDnOoOnPVAgGzkOFSqGSNucVbGRiIMpktixnQQvwrtTqc_vnrJJD-dZ_kIv1etBcRnqVr/w640-h468/07dragonfly.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yes, indeed, the trees here were spectacular, but I also enjoyed smaller beauties scattered across the forest floor. These fluffy tufts atop the still-green leaves of Whorled Aster were even prettier than its rather scraggly white flowers had been when in bloom.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi30Pn7Fy9g4Sw-qyJHaUETZyL3N8qdB5heVSuOlYJINIHh_ZNdzhQxpaVfNyyW1SSDI1rh1SEN7-DCbtKs4PHXtdaOwQWnx6CXqApJDvvkbHKeV2wIsIV64Tpbxo0pxiBl-gwj6RWIGpMZcv7c3PqMS1UmjpRhdCAD35mrqUv_J8O217AYSKdn2y5Fx-8W/s3152/08whorledaster.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2436" data-original-width="3152" height="494" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi30Pn7Fy9g4Sw-qyJHaUETZyL3N8qdB5heVSuOlYJINIHh_ZNdzhQxpaVfNyyW1SSDI1rh1SEN7-DCbtKs4PHXtdaOwQWnx6CXqApJDvvkbHKeV2wIsIV64Tpbxo0pxiBl-gwj6RWIGpMZcv7c3PqMS1UmjpRhdCAD35mrqUv_J8O217AYSKdn2y5Fx-8W/w640-h494/08whorledaster.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The leaves on this sapling Round-leaved Dogwood were a remarkable shade of pinky coral.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_x4deiZ3VyC7XdKpEGTI1OmiucjRJCOr6dqiPxZ9Lv4qeEcDaFFygCD0FgDemVdCh9dG0PnT4H2C6JMxQUBzU28dgmbiP7RQHmSpr76vSZZciW3UAPzJ7kf8hPTIIz0Ry0noZWQW6dmtPQ0fephwC4hd4Q1YA04LC4a3mtTe0XrU_ygZ1Vv2y5NH7gYrp/s3401/09roundleafdogwood.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2595" data-original-width="3401" height="488" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_x4deiZ3VyC7XdKpEGTI1OmiucjRJCOr6dqiPxZ9Lv4qeEcDaFFygCD0FgDemVdCh9dG0PnT4H2C6JMxQUBzU28dgmbiP7RQHmSpr76vSZZciW3UAPzJ7kf8hPTIIz0Ry0noZWQW6dmtPQ0fephwC4hd4Q1YA04LC4a3mtTe0XrU_ygZ1Vv2y5NH7gYrp/w640-h488/09roundleafdogwood.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I couldn't remember whether this plant was Spreading Dogbane or the related Indian Hemp, but whichever it was, its golden-yellow leaves on scarlet stems were strikingly colorful.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHD7Fa12BHOm7dMT9UlOtm8jcBHuSzUoLtBvOCuEk6rDSpZYso7L9aWkh0SvKH9E89XmKjE7mep19HQvCxytF8MH2ep1MF_BAr0heBQvk1eR1SaiP4kOYhc0EpfLvM2JJbxXP4enFPwgRYbS5geLw6wuQ4okRebSck2GN2539IM8Vk-JyuL5x9GfNVN484/s3321/10dogbane,yellow.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2490" data-original-width="3321" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHD7Fa12BHOm7dMT9UlOtm8jcBHuSzUoLtBvOCuEk6rDSpZYso7L9aWkh0SvKH9E89XmKjE7mep19HQvCxytF8MH2ep1MF_BAr0heBQvk1eR1SaiP4kOYhc0EpfLvM2JJbxXP4enFPwgRYbS5geLw6wuQ4okRebSck2GN2539IM8Vk-JyuL5x9GfNVN484/w640-h480/10dogbane,yellow.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Here was one more delightful find along this shore, although few people would ever notice it, it being invisibly small as well as not at all colorful. This is one of New York's rarest plants, a miniature flatsedge called Small-flowered Dwarf Bulrush (<i>Cyperus subsquarrosus</i>), rated as an Endangered species in our state but abundant on Moreau Lake's shores.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNArP6L9eL4xaUM8UAgIXV6Zt12N2gfjRoJr4_uSjtLrEhfLiXBdwVf90GA15SKvWfCoLc0VCyd2FY_Q4O4d1W7auIi4fsmE1n8kspECHISPmSLz99iF6p91qyV7mcZRkWkG6bT1ejxJ_oA30wDnTeIoLGmx5tUxpoOGm5qoHJNXHrndfvrTjdmNnkKPfK/s2075/11dwarfbulrush.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="2075" height="494" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNArP6L9eL4xaUM8UAgIXV6Zt12N2gfjRoJr4_uSjtLrEhfLiXBdwVf90GA15SKvWfCoLc0VCyd2FY_Q4O4d1W7auIi4fsmE1n8kspECHISPmSLz99iF6p91qyV7mcZRkWkG6bT1ejxJ_oA30wDnTeIoLGmx5tUxpoOGm5qoHJNXHrndfvrTjdmNnkKPfK/w640-h494/11dwarfbulrush.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Nearing the end of my circuit around the back bay, I stepped out onto this handicapped-accessible fishing pier to take in one last view of this gorgeous scene. How wonderful that this view of the bay can be enjoyed by even those who must use a wheelchair to access it!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLbD3RrIxK-zXnU170bykEQIqCB652vty8uBJ5OkToRSNqs9Aqsz5BM40Z-YmqGjEdwzwSf5LTksrFrRnZffUAXV36KQRCXO9GhskglBySkTnvwNSwXRT5Z5VNF6KViWkiNgxRkMz6-6J0Ts2_lL2cUdD18gxQQwXj1SQmYM0EbGnyDPTUOk_xOnPpQd0x/s3876/12fishingpier.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2830" data-original-width="3876" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLbD3RrIxK-zXnU170bykEQIqCB652vty8uBJ5OkToRSNqs9Aqsz5BM40Z-YmqGjEdwzwSf5LTksrFrRnZffUAXV36KQRCXO9GhskglBySkTnvwNSwXRT5Z5VNF6KViWkiNgxRkMz6-6J0Ts2_lL2cUdD18gxQQwXj1SQmYM0EbGnyDPTUOk_xOnPpQd0x/w640-h468/12fishingpier.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>The Hudson River at Moreau</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">T</span>his stretch of the Hudson below the Spier Falls Dam is lovely in every season and every weather. But this day for paddling here with my friends Sue Pierce and Ruth Brooks was so gorgeous it made me weep for joy. Perhaps a few of those tears were sad because it was our last paddle of the year with Ruth before she leaves for her winter home in Florida. But mostly it was joy I felt, for friends so dear, a day so warm and pleasant, and a place so gorgeous to enjoy these blessings together.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbt4EAleMAtzWZoGQFG2V5v1udwkE7O2Nd94oUCs9ERQEENUsI-ktF-I5x3ARRy-YJioGRnMGB-eiCY9W9fRM5GOZBAOR0HSOOz9BaGOPkwIdG9FUC2hvTSx0jKnpudb0dFDBNUrc02xB0t947XJZhugsclY3tZ9LosnXvccLoYAk5s5lbbFkjz-Sw7LHE/s3922/13pals,canoes.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2919" data-original-width="3922" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbt4EAleMAtzWZoGQFG2V5v1udwkE7O2Nd94oUCs9ERQEENUsI-ktF-I5x3ARRy-YJioGRnMGB-eiCY9W9fRM5GOZBAOR0HSOOz9BaGOPkwIdG9FUC2hvTSx0jKnpudb0dFDBNUrc02xB0t947XJZhugsclY3tZ9LosnXvccLoYAk5s5lbbFkjz-Sw7LHE/w640-h476/13pals,canoes.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p>It is truly impossible to imagine a scene more beautiful or welcoming to paddlers than this one was, with the river so still it perfectly mirrored the surrounding forested mountains in all their autumn glory.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoWJ7cmKZRzEe5CniMm-3OZzyYw-PMQGo0DnX1SOJbusOO1mPeBHw1GAjqpUPY4JjJB-iRmbJjIOHJbUv_9TUFWq2-TvlIWflS4Wv-DhUIRpMOK-KzsOJr_CbOfqzRemge-qqJXRJBFvlOObeqtPTu0kKyvY7QAtIQXgAH4PGromRiXgJF-vHTAf5F3hOM/s3111/14calmriver.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2111" data-original-width="3111" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoWJ7cmKZRzEe5CniMm-3OZzyYw-PMQGo0DnX1SOJbusOO1mPeBHw1GAjqpUPY4JjJB-iRmbJjIOHJbUv_9TUFWq2-TvlIWflS4Wv-DhUIRpMOK-KzsOJr_CbOfqzRemge-qqJXRJBFvlOObeqtPTu0kKyvY7QAtIQXgAH4PGromRiXgJF-vHTAf5F3hOM/w640-h434/14calmriver.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>We were in no hurry to charge up or down the river, but were delighted to drift along close to the shore, in and out of coves, or mosey around the tiny islands that dot the river in this stretch.<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7UbS2W91aho4Fo3WPOwDCxhN2_FPmD6ek3-IvyvO0hsp7dLpfUWUJ1dDnq1BtGkGkXbFrC_B_Y_SXtG1We9OryrRomKNLpciPNL0d4UeRvQQs07Y7ybOJloa8fZrwMeiY2kPDAhfe-Zxs7hINuOZzaJDuyhUEym80-ESG8OOAQnEGZcmvH7rmfXjhVLVO/s3593/15riverislets.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2510" data-original-width="3593" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7UbS2W91aho4Fo3WPOwDCxhN2_FPmD6ek3-IvyvO0hsp7dLpfUWUJ1dDnq1BtGkGkXbFrC_B_Y_SXtG1We9OryrRomKNLpciPNL0d4UeRvQQs07Y7ybOJloa8fZrwMeiY2kPDAhfe-Zxs7hINuOZzaJDuyhUEym80-ESG8OOAQnEGZcmvH7rmfXjhVLVO/w640-h448/15riverislets.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Here, too, the Black Huckleberry shrubs were showing off their vivid autumn color, their beauty so perfectly mirrored in the still water.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAzKpXO4-cJ_-28MeGraKo4rUaG9PfO8FeKWF_Yw8qBwpuKOnS4EntQ8_NQtmI5loEuzZBOEUBo1ZTcineAAb2jZg7H2yDDGrxLWCGK_1ksmDGQOPqwSEPmcdTFYeh6KQJfZ22Ftmr_IYEq6HmpEj0tTksdYrHH0Vbk2Guy563ke5hnOkRl5H1OHMH8mul/s3487/16huckleberries,rocks.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2753" data-original-width="3487" height="506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAzKpXO4-cJ_-28MeGraKo4rUaG9PfO8FeKWF_Yw8qBwpuKOnS4EntQ8_NQtmI5loEuzZBOEUBo1ZTcineAAb2jZg7H2yDDGrxLWCGK_1ksmDGQOPqwSEPmcdTFYeh6KQJfZ22Ftmr_IYEq6HmpEj0tTksdYrHH0Vbk2Guy563ke5hnOkRl5H1OHMH8mul/w640-h506/16huckleberries,rocks.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>This day was warm and partly cloudy, with occasional bright sunlight suddenly flooding the scene with added brilliance!</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9a6sdNqAKR9SbIWzQNL2jq5VZR_bQ3VID4Tt3RFJqDyAllSxeF0cG6LYia86AyXPuiI_eTcpy8NMspa7zE-aPIsddqK_UfpCHz9imVldqbXaeLObc-4TQ4j1vaZBgWnQKPy7fdIi0FMXjrSsf59tWXe-nocBucGEH-k3Z6TTwiIiBhDcRxy6_jrscLJ92/s3958/17sunlitrocks.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2810" data-original-width="3958" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9a6sdNqAKR9SbIWzQNL2jq5VZR_bQ3VID4Tt3RFJqDyAllSxeF0cG6LYia86AyXPuiI_eTcpy8NMspa7zE-aPIsddqK_UfpCHz9imVldqbXaeLObc-4TQ4j1vaZBgWnQKPy7fdIi0FMXjrSsf59tWXe-nocBucGEH-k3Z6TTwiIiBhDcRxy6_jrscLJ92/w640-h454/17sunlitrocks.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Deep in this shady cove, Ruth (a serious student of mosses) found much to engage her interest on this moss-carpeted bank.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZsjeD0DWadvvNq9t7bgz46CIZjkI6Bkc6iMzqBQGsAqew6e1prpVykUufU-nfd0IE06x1T6-Jg7vwK_8giK94VyWKFqCz58zI3VWDhoxi9LZbKbSw_CxJHrt4_CjGFQ3_V8HGxU2MAn9fOeU-JiUg6BubW30crajLbuEthKDg8v_nM-RJRuaedn2Qfedu/s3233/18mossybank,ruth.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2694" data-original-width="3233" height="534" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZsjeD0DWadvvNq9t7bgz46CIZjkI6Bkc6iMzqBQGsAqew6e1prpVykUufU-nfd0IE06x1T6-Jg7vwK_8giK94VyWKFqCz58zI3VWDhoxi9LZbKbSw_CxJHrt4_CjGFQ3_V8HGxU2MAn9fOeU-JiUg6BubW30crajLbuEthKDg8v_nM-RJRuaedn2Qfedu/w640-h534/18mossybank,ruth.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>So lush and lovely and oh, so green!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA_ib4V_tPUQEHr0R3IhIGPE4vhIXINGky38MjON-Rf6hPe-MDnk2cNVSh4GdO3cyriNlkLXxOtNlJJQz9r7JZbljMhP2AqJQ2oy578A2qyeUv5m7EPLHIjU0fj_bn22JIOEhomklJ5Lk7jkC1fZ3zSd6Ud4i3XbTOi2va8wTXMIYbqCOEfVMCAHXLOGkw/s3332/19mossmix.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2445" data-original-width="3332" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA_ib4V_tPUQEHr0R3IhIGPE4vhIXINGky38MjON-Rf6hPe-MDnk2cNVSh4GdO3cyriNlkLXxOtNlJJQz9r7JZbljMhP2AqJQ2oy578A2qyeUv5m7EPLHIjU0fj_bn22JIOEhomklJ5Lk7jkC1fZ3zSd6Ud4i3XbTOi2va8wTXMIYbqCOEfVMCAHXLOGkw/w640-h470/19mossmix.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I knew the names of only a few of those mosses, including this favorite of mine, called <i>Bartramia pomiforma</i>. It's also known as Apple Moss, because of its apple-shaped spore capsules.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbl-sPPxXdI4tsF7wiJP68YmurEoQfSvAHgbdB-0ahoEh3gjgCyxA1-Ej9rd2H_3vvx6VZGT35UI19UHL5Ihi3CywJ20NpELJyy0Legx7pW1AXvSFw2d5aUqaF7Sg6vCmrgA7wRjd8bWyBpmeP4pxVevtjt4qXX9jbKMIE0htSwxjir7tXDh6bsVzTKKfs/s3571/20bartramia.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2324" data-original-width="3571" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbl-sPPxXdI4tsF7wiJP68YmurEoQfSvAHgbdB-0ahoEh3gjgCyxA1-Ej9rd2H_3vvx6VZGT35UI19UHL5Ihi3CywJ20NpELJyy0Legx7pW1AXvSFw2d5aUqaF7Sg6vCmrgA7wRjd8bWyBpmeP4pxVevtjt4qXX9jbKMIE0htSwxjir7tXDh6bsVzTKKfs/w640-h416/20bartramia.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This same shady cove was home to tree-trunks that had fallen into shallow water, eventually to serve as nursery logs for many mosses, lichens, and fungi. This Orange Jelly fungus looked so vivid amid the gray-green spires of a Cladonia lichen.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvfFF5Lx_NsJ_vj9PVJQh6dttesLpLo6PSNLHd2dGMu9d4fi0UGGVDCrxV7sNsW76y1BiuRUJOqAjEJkQ4ePrKoHu-iK5ebHvqoOUVMNfq2l309N-GBMc2OG8xJ_mBmQWd92T0mzdLb4G6SLC1F3zzKSRkmhDxICNuPjrREDxrqKMJMdWOAnsBt1lOtupD/s3193/21orangejelly.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2458" data-original-width="3193" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvfFF5Lx_NsJ_vj9PVJQh6dttesLpLo6PSNLHd2dGMu9d4fi0UGGVDCrxV7sNsW76y1BiuRUJOqAjEJkQ4ePrKoHu-iK5ebHvqoOUVMNfq2l309N-GBMc2OG8xJ_mBmQWd92T0mzdLb4G6SLC1F3zzKSRkmhDxICNuPjrREDxrqKMJMdWOAnsBt1lOtupD/w640-h492/21orangejelly.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>To enjoy our picnic lunches, we paddled into a tiny cove made bright by the golden leaves of American Beech, punctuated by a scarlet bough of Flowering Dogwood. Here we climbed out of our canoes and stretched our legs on the mossy bank, enjoying the warmth of this balmy day, our views of the beautiful river mirroring the surrounding mountains, and the pleasure of each other's companionship. Such blessings are to be treasured, indeed!<br /><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicSAiBvfVnpmUdW2wpnXw9LOAhcxFShfPtfKgXUYSjQ9WdZooDMQ9GxH37BJXs3FpGTczGqekxwUQ9wKKx1N7S7S-nlYaaAShyphenhyphenYjqbo9yW2yPa2Py8niHgmFKeRG4kZiJDEqMtaGP_dTc8skysVZXx3luEIRvfCkf6tXr8BlnicNRNTz6SgfDGPgsqida0/s3410/22dogwood,beech.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2614" data-original-width="3410" height="490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicSAiBvfVnpmUdW2wpnXw9LOAhcxFShfPtfKgXUYSjQ9WdZooDMQ9GxH37BJXs3FpGTczGqekxwUQ9wKKx1N7S7S-nlYaaAShyphenhyphenYjqbo9yW2yPa2Py8niHgmFKeRG4kZiJDEqMtaGP_dTc8skysVZXx3luEIRvfCkf6tXr8BlnicNRNTz6SgfDGPgsqida0/w640-h490/22dogwood,beech.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We'd seen so few mushrooms along the banks, but here was an old stump adorned by tiers of beautifully striped Turkey Tail Fungus.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEing2cLaO_KNwzyKentoYCXDof5ox6UeS84B8aD63SLGxX5kYgjKzv7KaK-lXJdULtBtlLSn1IrPxWCYkITCcyXOI-XI9jxuUizD7Fv72Q4Ym0h1M1GfhKPukKKnHM-AwaNUQR5qUCC8rf_iKDaYjq2qILMOvI3VFC0Cv5jsq70whL1OAQ_PuoIFSSsQA73/s3739/23turkeytail.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2637" data-original-width="3739" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEing2cLaO_KNwzyKentoYCXDof5ox6UeS84B8aD63SLGxX5kYgjKzv7KaK-lXJdULtBtlLSn1IrPxWCYkITCcyXOI-XI9jxuUizD7Fv72Q4Ym0h1M1GfhKPukKKnHM-AwaNUQR5qUCC8rf_iKDaYjq2qILMOvI3VFC0Cv5jsq70whL1OAQ_PuoIFSSsQA73/w640-h452/23turkeytail.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Paddling back to our launch site and our good-byes to our dear friend Ruth, we were blessed with one more remarkable gift, a single perfect bloom of Closed Gentian, still fresh and royally blue, when all other gentian flowers had darkened and withered. May this be an omen of goodness for Ruth, who soon returns to her Sanibel Island winter home still not yet completely restored from last fall's horrific hurricane damage.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqnpYOaFIy67pCgXNH5fXTtve-Lq0qqFkAAbmiuXM3U8vrr_ZBbYdfrDqv-j_mtnSqaZJ_cr-mISZU3D1rWEx5b9dTCqbULDO1u7DnJE3PcXfmElTyEOvdRwfRtYVg6-p69xi5jMIYpJc-WdWFNxBwRcQyHzkNY_nhwnSKzLoPHQH9cr_W2itcQ5CE9dTq/s2859/24gentianblooms.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2096" data-original-width="2859" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqnpYOaFIy67pCgXNH5fXTtve-Lq0qqFkAAbmiuXM3U8vrr_ZBbYdfrDqv-j_mtnSqaZJ_cr-mISZU3D1rWEx5b9dTCqbULDO1u7DnJE3PcXfmElTyEOvdRwfRtYVg6-p69xi5jMIYpJc-WdWFNxBwRcQyHzkNY_nhwnSKzLoPHQH9cr_W2itcQ5CE9dTq/w640-h470/24gentianblooms.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Heading home, I pulled off the road to take one more long gaze of this mirror-calm river and its fall-foliage-beautified banks. What an image of peace and well-being! Would that all who are suffering so terribly in our world could come to know such well-being and peace.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFdtFSWBQs1MfYVcmsjI2j7jZDGqcwLhkg2nuhBvl0JYj84WWzUlJSkoHs9x9l7kS-01jr8ImX3cWe4iADpsZResLyp9uoxtpCXhD3ofdJvtoz2CycYPegAIpXPjS9jNNgiYxdgirBfycivjafc6HPuLgOGtcY8ommG7NfgEyHXPErVm-Zs4i8N7lQBK54/s3919/25riverview.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2861" data-original-width="3919" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFdtFSWBQs1MfYVcmsjI2j7jZDGqcwLhkg2nuhBvl0JYj84WWzUlJSkoHs9x9l7kS-01jr8ImX3cWe4iADpsZResLyp9uoxtpCXhD3ofdJvtoz2CycYPegAIpXPjS9jNNgiYxdgirBfycivjafc6HPuLgOGtcY8ommG7NfgEyHXPErVm-Zs4i8N7lQBK54/w640-h468/25riverview.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-17027048780047126002023-10-17T20:55:00.004-04:002023-10-19T13:33:32.521-04:00Off the Couch, Back Outdoors!<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">W</span>hen I woke up yesterday morning, it was as if a cloud had moved away from the sun. I actually felt pretty good, after 10 days of upper-respiratory misery that was threatening to move down lower into my lungs. But it seems to have stopped. I didn't yet feel ready to climb a mountain, but I did feel well enough to take an easy walk along that same rolling powerline height I had featured in my last post. I wondered if it would appear as spectacularly gorgeous as it had on that October day 10 years ago. </p><p>Well, not quite. (Check the same view in my previous post.) But gorgeous enough, even if the foliage is not as brilliant this fall. But the rolling hills, surrounding mountains, and multicolor landscape sure offered a more pleasing sight than the four walls of my sick rooms.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiknPzpldtdHB6p9BvKGaZLrcPndBSppHR1dh3bZFv0Bu7wLE2fJ78j-He-GG6pXorcYgXgENQ1St32TLXz4vCA8wHDPVZjC1TsjCz_7ZWOpAsboq-D7EGvDUP8wcLrbNnnJLmbiNk8FwADwRYO5DONwoIBRsJULhzjfgQ7cZgZKsGIS8-qETdFAS2Ln1EU/s3761/01rollinghills.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2666" data-original-width="3761" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiknPzpldtdHB6p9BvKGaZLrcPndBSppHR1dh3bZFv0Bu7wLE2fJ78j-He-GG6pXorcYgXgENQ1St32TLXz4vCA8wHDPVZjC1TsjCz_7ZWOpAsboq-D7EGvDUP8wcLrbNnnJLmbiNk8FwADwRYO5DONwoIBRsJULhzjfgQ7cZgZKsGIS8-qETdFAS2Ln1EU/w640-h454/01rollinghills.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>The Hay-scented Ferns were as lovely as ever, even in their decline, with curving fronds of lime green, golden yellow, and cinnamon brown.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqSToHF_oPmpPohpdKQ3JtkcKJQiVVFHF0nAsLT-QXzi88SG6uVGgq3LLS6cCQrUJHe4GsVWOAL_B7Q7xV2y0aEDxwJKiIEzLQZHA2Dq-60Qh4mQGoKKIO4fDEQwYvqF97ryDDgg6xVhbcmbiXFJUe7qYUxv3CtiI5yO2JI8rPr5S1MpMYPAJpitmGxEIG/s3931/02hayscentedferns.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2895" data-original-width="3931" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqSToHF_oPmpPohpdKQ3JtkcKJQiVVFHF0nAsLT-QXzi88SG6uVGgq3LLS6cCQrUJHe4GsVWOAL_B7Q7xV2y0aEDxwJKiIEzLQZHA2Dq-60Qh4mQGoKKIO4fDEQwYvqF97ryDDgg6xVhbcmbiXFJUe7qYUxv3CtiI5yO2JI8rPr5S1MpMYPAJpitmGxEIG/w640-h472/02hayscentedferns.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The summer flowers may be but a memory now, but their seed-holding remnants offered nearly as much of beauty as their flowers had when in bloom. In fact, if I did not know that these pretty tufts of Pearly Everlasting held seeds instead of disc florets, I would have assumed I was still looking at flowers instead of seedheads.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf8GYtR_66zy64LTqpPv2yl-2i2KZ_qiHz4Bji7LK-JKoCC4rRrURnjVyUqGZ9ayBe14aKIzrRi5bnMA8iPr7lJCtvhQvC2l9CZ3fvObqR0frCfJSqveH0RKtIE8ZiY-OD6dvfOUCeIDVfhW-Z2QSHnjq6-11OJySswHEvEyXCBV-8c5D_p0rGt1_JEWs-/s3075/03pearlyeverlasting.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2371" data-original-width="3075" height="494" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf8GYtR_66zy64LTqpPv2yl-2i2KZ_qiHz4Bji7LK-JKoCC4rRrURnjVyUqGZ9ayBe14aKIzrRi5bnMA8iPr7lJCtvhQvC2l9CZ3fvObqR0frCfJSqveH0RKtIE8ZiY-OD6dvfOUCeIDVfhW-Z2QSHnjq6-11OJySswHEvEyXCBV-8c5D_p0rGt1_JEWs-/w640-h494/03pearlyeverlasting.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>These arching flowerheads of Rough Goldenrod still graced the landscape, even after trading their yellow florets for tufts of fluffy seeds.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0Hu1tZL1oXzjlnS-9DayJgfIDL7u48X-NezcHr0Uedj7TQE34tnVUH1OEgdbfmjO2fzZxLe9Qd6r0_hA7gffeInEfGdv05w1HMkbC0sIVvK2sGX6dDWcdMP_KOn48VvOUZM8WtwLo8SZakes_CAKrkwYoxaNG3WCSDDCioKuao5OhtZb-cagXAm9QyX-/s3669/04goldenrod,puffs.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2707" data-original-width="3669" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0Hu1tZL1oXzjlnS-9DayJgfIDL7u48X-NezcHr0Uedj7TQE34tnVUH1OEgdbfmjO2fzZxLe9Qd6r0_hA7gffeInEfGdv05w1HMkbC0sIVvK2sGX6dDWcdMP_KOn48VvOUZM8WtwLo8SZakes_CAKrkwYoxaNG3WCSDDCioKuao5OhtZb-cagXAm9QyX-/w640-h472/04goldenrod,puffs.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Virgin's Bower vines had long-ago dropped their demure white flowers to make way for these voluminous puffs of silky down, each delicate golden fiber shining in the sun.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7VHTu4a4cTFVbMvEgLaj1_0bwrfRRwqXq2X0Se6Yh8KYvC1ieZRwkmirEFT4RWOJdz1PRCnjxF89hNOVt-l2wcXmSi6gLqwiW_Fxi_FsJyBpm-sWUO46h2w1t-yseFHQ56XbBBmzEM4AjfXZbtu1mpNIiaO7YShvinIGqQ-N9SJDBWtn__877rV1Lcgj_/s3617/05clematis,puffs.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2632" data-original-width="3617" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7VHTu4a4cTFVbMvEgLaj1_0bwrfRRwqXq2X0Se6Yh8KYvC1ieZRwkmirEFT4RWOJdz1PRCnjxF89hNOVt-l2wcXmSi6gLqwiW_Fxi_FsJyBpm-sWUO46h2w1t-yseFHQ56XbBBmzEM4AjfXZbtu1mpNIiaO7YShvinIGqQ-N9SJDBWtn__877rV1Lcgj_/w640-h466/05clematis,puffs.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Okay, I will grant that the cardboard-brown chambered domes of Wild Bergamot's seedheads could not compete for loveliness with the puffs of pale-purple, arching florets their stiff slender stems once held. But they still displayed a sturdy and handsome presence, standing tall above the green and gold grasses of this high meadow. Extremely minty-smelling, too, if you pinch one and breathe in its scent.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaQaLKEBb486Ovg8PL5NImBW26TdiRHiGDFqKLGK1RkZtR2W_gBEqfK7Ov7Me3gk1UWMb87Oj5nwjOGY0uAIXyLI7D37TNOE5a5Wuf-JZhpZWEJzR-wB8iK9R4XnSCb9zWdxX7GsxBnbCIE03MoxSHXQbd-sQG80X1Ypigl2j86h990loeRn3nGFaFT29r/s3558/06monardas.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2444" data-original-width="3558" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaQaLKEBb486Ovg8PL5NImBW26TdiRHiGDFqKLGK1RkZtR2W_gBEqfK7Ov7Me3gk1UWMb87Oj5nwjOGY0uAIXyLI7D37TNOE5a5Wuf-JZhpZWEJzR-wB8iK9R4XnSCb9zWdxX7GsxBnbCIE03MoxSHXQbd-sQG80X1Ypigl2j86h990loeRn3nGFaFT29r/w640-h440/06monardas.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>From up here, I could see across the trees that lined the Hudson River below, all the way to the tops of the Luzerne Mountains that rise from the far riverbanks. It sure looked as if there will be lots more colorful foliage to come, judging from all the green.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik81gk2P_d_lGVyw-2YfXv246R6Lk-aaAp-z0sYWqgPRUgJ2MH-VaMiZojnDSUO6kjhJVWpVSizNiznQSmQEoT2vxBuVlWp78ur_Fqtxt5irKefUjLk_HCtUKn3mYu_v7cXZwDWdmQzguT2X0BdiSNnbY-OUVLfN-MnrKs2bPLFQm9yaETFcp6JbVUcelC/s3898/07autumnvista.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2716" data-original-width="3898" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik81gk2P_d_lGVyw-2YfXv246R6Lk-aaAp-z0sYWqgPRUgJ2MH-VaMiZojnDSUO6kjhJVWpVSizNiznQSmQEoT2vxBuVlWp78ur_Fqtxt5irKefUjLk_HCtUKn3mYu_v7cXZwDWdmQzguT2X0BdiSNnbY-OUVLfN-MnrKs2bPLFQm9yaETFcp6JbVUcelC/w640-h446/07autumnvista.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>I could also see patches of bright blue shining through breaks in the branches of the trees directly below. Time to make my way down these hills to the shore of the river.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDEnhxrFwTLfBsIf6jWftGI3ptpfo6AGoU05lYa7C_-o1-HdHOfj4sT4smcyu9Cur3CyTGpfT5-SdLPX1ZCOgG6gZaWfxOKO_w-adPs2X7WPQy6u6iWirIJMiUQpcEpfy89s3i-CS4lo_OU_wIp3cEQMBNA2YiMc-EyTMFZGft8WgMJJPbAVrSIolvT-WO/s3415/08riverglimpse.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2647" data-original-width="3415" height="496" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDEnhxrFwTLfBsIf6jWftGI3ptpfo6AGoU05lYa7C_-o1-HdHOfj4sT4smcyu9Cur3CyTGpfT5-SdLPX1ZCOgG6gZaWfxOKO_w-adPs2X7WPQy6u6iWirIJMiUQpcEpfy89s3i-CS4lo_OU_wIp3cEQMBNA2YiMc-EyTMFZGft8WgMJJPbAVrSIolvT-WO/w640-h496/08riverglimpse.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Ah, my beautiful Hudson, winding among forested mountains, its waters studded with tiny islands, some big enough to be home to tall pines, others offering just enough space for a ruddy patch of Marsh St. John's Wort to find a home.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyLDRhvrZh809TF8BLHz_SMUqp4g1rZx1gd3OGZ6ZJmJiGuAcKvtLMkicaybuQFhrBSGiWcVxCXmFJXR12TpnLrtVcwR67kQH-ZzksicoKT_EI8EcU8_Vyds2ONu1eFXmG5JglznD1MalXMZtCVCH0kuM-9E2F8S4JUPXamD4AvYynozdxVx0FO0FEAuCO/s3948/09river.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2679" data-original-width="3948" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyLDRhvrZh809TF8BLHz_SMUqp4g1rZx1gd3OGZ6ZJmJiGuAcKvtLMkicaybuQFhrBSGiWcVxCXmFJXR12TpnLrtVcwR67kQH-ZzksicoKT_EI8EcU8_Vyds2ONu1eFXmG5JglznD1MalXMZtCVCH0kuM-9E2F8S4JUPXamD4AvYynozdxVx0FO0FEAuCO/w640-h434/09river.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>An American Hornbeam arched its boughs over the water, each twig adorned with dangling clusters of coral-colored seedpods swaying with the breeze.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFGkl8JHIPKjRBKJetLphblLnx9VLgm4qZh_3tguIwHOt6h4oGZzUhAYC_0CShNIxyGXHXYgZrYx8-sUWCke8a8H8rAY9WQULCcO9Gpcz0hNCSkpgycE4GCZOGweZk2vo8m2vIDHPRcm2UEZOGJCGK1QNukkoIn6LO8GxcJMSrstLR1iBjYNTZExjh6LHY/s3143/10hornbeamseeds,river.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2251" data-original-width="3143" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFGkl8JHIPKjRBKJetLphblLnx9VLgm4qZh_3tguIwHOt6h4oGZzUhAYC_0CShNIxyGXHXYgZrYx8-sUWCke8a8H8rAY9WQULCcO9Gpcz0hNCSkpgycE4GCZOGweZk2vo8m2vIDHPRcm2UEZOGJCGK1QNukkoIn6LO8GxcJMSrstLR1iBjYNTZExjh6LHY/w640-h458/10hornbeamseeds,river.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>I have described these American Hornbeam seed clusters as "stacks of angel wings" that adorn their branches as prettily as any ornament on a Christmas tree.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhALv6eDrx9lK6TP8_AWsquHuHDCzQsO7d-Q2Crbrh1HzrZwgTRl9YjOBpMxo5UO-BjrY6VReHcVAQPihnqmyQL3CZYMHfVaSPd4Mcz7pU0DO349MTMFeMgPQ-OngmKyTiSA40Xgui9LFAnJbLVTWeYLtZBxpruPaPdmSViX0gYzfidxgOqMTsD7iRq7BLe/s2041/hornbeampod.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1400" data-original-width="2041" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhALv6eDrx9lK6TP8_AWsquHuHDCzQsO7d-Q2Crbrh1HzrZwgTRl9YjOBpMxo5UO-BjrY6VReHcVAQPihnqmyQL3CZYMHfVaSPd4Mcz7pU0DO349MTMFeMgPQ-OngmKyTiSA40Xgui9LFAnJbLVTWeYLtZBxpruPaPdmSViX0gYzfidxgOqMTsD7iRq7BLe/w640-h440/hornbeampod.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>As I walked back to my car, I glimpsed this wild Asparagus plant along Spier Falls Road, with feathery green leaves and bright-red berries.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGaOwEvtJg3dzsDH_SUVUWXYggAUp5Qpfr6ETkeEuCXeoTEhIfVgRJu_2CT1UIX7i5_-w_UK7dfwyiUB-HufKR_qDKkSVAmrBLhZq24v0bzl0eYBu7VL3LbRnWOXpCk0HqBPcUAyDlNcXo3_e0HBUOYR7QV7Wcb0iGkScxlQsj5z_reONJ4H6LLif3U9Vd/s2824/11asparagus,plant.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2529" data-original-width="2824" height="574" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGaOwEvtJg3dzsDH_SUVUWXYggAUp5Qpfr6ETkeEuCXeoTEhIfVgRJu_2CT1UIX7i5_-w_UK7dfwyiUB-HufKR_qDKkSVAmrBLhZq24v0bzl0eYBu7VL3LbRnWOXpCk0HqBPcUAyDlNcXo3_e0HBUOYR7QV7Wcb0iGkScxlQsj5z_reONJ4H6LLif3U9Vd/w640-h574/11asparagus,plant.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Here's a closer look at that beautiful Asparagus fruit. Too bad the shiny red balls won't persist until Christmas. I have read that birds love to eat them.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaZosYp1phg_gilQgQzcRlPY1BmOeR_0_gfnCglPjq7k-qjthej9X-TX_31ZzVpesiFnqDLbxSsB-yy6dMfyRp4dsnTmfyhNx01uelXO7QHVfLBMCoP59WXdFW1sdgoVr5iT9gmUjXMaD1AyLTGTfiI0M_ENvAaTruXAJ3fxOTQlBFrx7aK5FZnOCXSNFj/s2055/12asparagus,fruit.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1601" data-original-width="2055" height="498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaZosYp1phg_gilQgQzcRlPY1BmOeR_0_gfnCglPjq7k-qjthej9X-TX_31ZzVpesiFnqDLbxSsB-yy6dMfyRp4dsnTmfyhNx01uelXO7QHVfLBMCoP59WXdFW1sdgoVr5iT9gmUjXMaD1AyLTGTfiI0M_ENvAaTruXAJ3fxOTQlBFrx7aK5FZnOCXSNFj/w640-h498/12asparagus,fruit.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Seeing tons of invasive Oriental Bittersweet climbing the trees along Spier Falls Road reminded me to go visit a small patch of our native American Climbing Bittersweet that grows sprawled on the ground under a powerline that runs just north of Mud Pond, so that's where I went next. I saw a nice patch of its bright-orange fruit almost as soon as I stepped from my car. The orange husks will soon split and peel back to reveal shiny scarlet berries within. This native bittersweet grows rarer and rarer as the invasive non-native encroaches on its habitat. I feel very lucky to know where this grows.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgjffeGAdG8PmZ7QsBvUmjd_zHGibgnLGK66Hj0vQwpNUcSyVHpb0HD86JwCjg5vZUKayslU7Chim2E61FPppyJYWP7l8pVyKxt6r1iX795EQDMzUM3pasMl3qEzqIweKPCuaz_D6p4UuP63ygoRcHQMpULkNMFtFc4ttwRezYBD92Az11geuvU6v9dunR/s2859/13bittersweetpatch.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2335" data-original-width="2859" height="522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgjffeGAdG8PmZ7QsBvUmjd_zHGibgnLGK66Hj0vQwpNUcSyVHpb0HD86JwCjg5vZUKayslU7Chim2E61FPppyJYWP7l8pVyKxt6r1iX795EQDMzUM3pasMl3qEzqIweKPCuaz_D6p4UuP63ygoRcHQMpULkNMFtFc4ttwRezYBD92Az11geuvU6v9dunR/w640-h522/13bittersweetpatch.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Growing along a powerline trail near the bittersweet, these shiny blue-black fruits on hot-pink pedicels looked especially beautiful, backed by the mottled-rose and lime-green leaves of Maple-leaved Viburnum. The green on the leaves will eventually yield to an intense coral-rose, a unique color that distinguishes this forest shrub from all other colorful shrubs in the autumn woods.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRGbPvvCyB1fB24cF91Gyi7B7zfFTR1agsjjSa5OccNanVFVU7NTO_i_kpgPvYuMYZ4KTPqKvRTpJkt9cRvi7czluhuO79uj-l5E03Wa9swb9nY4hPKsLsOdWVt3f2evrLbjlX0fUnBIKN9m-3rwHpV4PF7nfHvbUjvb2uZrHwFsycr3hg7e1hTsWW304H/s3575/14viburnum.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2725" data-original-width="3575" height="488" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRGbPvvCyB1fB24cF91Gyi7B7zfFTR1agsjjSa5OccNanVFVU7NTO_i_kpgPvYuMYZ4KTPqKvRTpJkt9cRvi7czluhuO79uj-l5E03Wa9swb9nY4hPKsLsOdWVt3f2evrLbjlX0fUnBIKN9m-3rwHpV4PF7nfHvbUjvb2uZrHwFsycr3hg7e1hTsWW304H/w640-h488/14viburnum.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>In search of even more colorful leaves, I ventured further along this powerline trail to see if I could find some clumps of baby oaks, which are noted for producing leaves that possess every color of autumn in each single leaf. Sadly, lots of rain this past summer encouraged lots of fungi and molds that have disfigured many tree leaves. Most of the baby oaks I found were quite unlovely, but this little clump was less disfigured than others, and its leaves displayed something of that multicolored magnificence I remembered.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz9gID5C6mvwxN4EP3GDhe0O8Z1iaYqGbY1IqldQdc6Y-mv5wNm3riGk-Ply5jLS-N3V9E7CfkJRvmkqgP5zRsbAtx2bdQjtbq1NGyZDA0mx1SF8V-kbvZ1jUvXxwNGc3dcft3TkqvV9bBW8I56S2-l071KwKBglPd5qOscpg4fFJxhcXJsG-Aew9yd0BQ/s3778/15oakleaves.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2832" data-original-width="3778" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz9gID5C6mvwxN4EP3GDhe0O8Z1iaYqGbY1IqldQdc6Y-mv5wNm3riGk-Ply5jLS-N3V9E7CfkJRvmkqgP5zRsbAtx2bdQjtbq1NGyZDA0mx1SF8V-kbvZ1jUvXxwNGc3dcft3TkqvV9bBW8I56S2-l071KwKBglPd5qOscpg4fFJxhcXJsG-Aew9yd0BQ/w640-h480/15oakleaves.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>What pretty golden puffs atop this plant! Since the stalks were bare of leaves, I had little evidence for parsing out its species, but I did recall that earlier this year I found many plants of our native Rough Hawkweed growing here at this same site. So I bet that's what this plant is. Most other species of hawkweed bear seedheads that are not so yellow.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOOOewYJMsLVRVeD5ZhBD5ryn9EN_M55JsI-57fZeEWZb2_BuZn5LgNARcxHmmrxRCMsLZLhvELnYaCGH-Fi20vhYdwGD5XLXnFkdvyiTEeLzTr87bai4Kq_1EV3y2pV5CoweyjXbEcyxa78KVS1hfSDE8a9IqVXhwuDJm3mnaH4q76zWVvXEX6hvh54-O/s3499/16hawkweed,puffs.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2463" data-original-width="3499" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOOOewYJMsLVRVeD5ZhBD5ryn9EN_M55JsI-57fZeEWZb2_BuZn5LgNARcxHmmrxRCMsLZLhvELnYaCGH-Fi20vhYdwGD5XLXnFkdvyiTEeLzTr87bai4Kq_1EV3y2pV5CoweyjXbEcyxa78KVS1hfSDE8a9IqVXhwuDJm3mnaH4q76zWVvXEX6hvh54-O/w640-h450/16hawkweed,puffs.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Then, what a surprise, to find nearby some Rough Hawkweed plants still bearing leaves and still producing flowers!<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvnDhB1NGrlUshXA-AdorsBNxVf8wdM1Z9j1Zo_T2NdyT4MLniE7TOj0HLLA_qTjKLQnGGGf1NGf9cc73th3oqUEGWBvK7TNNFVcXONacrhHo0Sc2HqnCaomgOPTYz7DLmJcYMmbIfuvrSUZPRnrhGsZx3JJX00ueGceRPFykWvabNqJWpi6O85EGi6FIV/s2259/17roughhawkweed,flowers.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1857" data-original-width="2259" height="526" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvnDhB1NGrlUshXA-AdorsBNxVf8wdM1Z9j1Zo_T2NdyT4MLniE7TOj0HLLA_qTjKLQnGGGf1NGf9cc73th3oqUEGWBvK7TNNFVcXONacrhHo0Sc2HqnCaomgOPTYz7DLmJcYMmbIfuvrSUZPRnrhGsZx3JJX00ueGceRPFykWvabNqJWpi6O85EGi6FIV/w640-h526/17roughhawkweed,flowers.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It was no surprise, though, to find a nearby Witch Hazel shrub in full bloom. This is probably our latest flowering shrub to open its flowers, by October at its earliest, usually. I have even found it still in bloom in December. On cold days, when frost might damage its flowers, those long ribbon-like petals curl up tight, only to unfurl again on balmier sun-warmed days. Having freshly opened, the flowers still bore their delightful faint scent, as fresh as the smell of clean laundry dried in the sun and breeze.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQbekBDfVLsTG-4-aJxENImsmSG9jtctZyaU5VclgH46_XPAbzw-kMpEc3R3n0V2Ilbl9IvPPWcNig-vnjzk2H8aewbJwvmOxgk-hfukENtCeKfvsZ_IMsrPOQj2PMU6VNUGtEpUKG9PGPpMnLoLdpQ_r86i0Rvl_qOEGmk14rdB5Vm0W0oLgddgCtaj1z/s2498/18witchhazel.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1847" data-original-width="2498" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQbekBDfVLsTG-4-aJxENImsmSG9jtctZyaU5VclgH46_XPAbzw-kMpEc3R3n0V2Ilbl9IvPPWcNig-vnjzk2H8aewbJwvmOxgk-hfukENtCeKfvsZ_IMsrPOQj2PMU6VNUGtEpUKG9PGPpMnLoLdpQ_r86i0Rvl_qOEGmk14rdB5Vm0W0oLgddgCtaj1z/w640-h474/18witchhazel.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>I was so grateful my respiratory infection had cleared by now, so that I could breathe in deeply the refreshing scent of Witch Hazel. And wander high rolling hills again, and gaze with delight at our most beautiful woodsy, watery world, so far from so many worlds entrenched in war. Or ravaged by earthquakes, wildfires, or raging floods. I sure do feel awfully lucky.</p></div>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-83297741225093166512023-10-14T14:35:00.000-04:002023-10-14T14:35:27.734-04:00A Kaleidoscope of Autumn Color: Redux<p><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">O</span>h man, what an awful week to be too sick to venture outdoors! For this is just the week in October when Autumn is in her glory in Saratoga County, and I've been stuck at home. Although I finally saw my doctor and started medication to treat my gagging, painful, sleep-depriving sinus infection, I'm still feeling too wobbly to stray too far from my sofa and cup of hot tea. I have been wandering around my old blog posts from mid-October, however, and one of them from 10 years ago brought me nearly as much pleasure as actually engaging in the powerline walk it represents. So I'm repeating it here and now. The blogpost, I mean, not the walk, from the comfort of my couch. I'm hoping some of you, my readers, will enjoy this post as well. God knows, with all the horrors occurring in other parts of the world, I need to rest my eyes on images other than those in my newspaper or on my TV screen.</i></p><h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: #fefdfa; color: #596544; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; position: relative;"><span style="font-size: 22px;"><a href="https://saratogawoodswaters.blogspot.com/2013/10/a-kaleidoscope-of-autumn-color.html" style="color: #596544; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; text-decoration-line: none;">A Kaleidoscope of Autumn Color</a> </span><span style="font-size: small;">(Oct. 5, 2013)</span></h3><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">O</span><span style="font-size: small;">ur string of cloudless, blue-sky days came to an end on Friday, bringing welcome rain to a thirsty earth and overcast skies that continued on through Saturday. Those pearl-gray skies cast an even, shadowless light across the autumn landscape, a light in which the colors of changing leaves and grasses and ferns and flowers glowed even more richly than on bright sunlit days.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDTt8myHMreGu0x81nAe9ioPCi_T511a1MxTUk2qqVDNwYYGVE4KeD0Ftvq7U3JEkSjfkxFcFFHOq_l4MWo-E0vcyiTFuqu2ftODbV5z_Cr-Sm6WSRrgHddYmOPK3PhgoaPcLj-k86gaF4reiQa-N5kR_BeaopsgeI4YHX2jZ5tcH7BzZS5SSd1TUo7AyN/s1600/01powerline.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="970" data-original-width="1600" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDTt8myHMreGu0x81nAe9ioPCi_T511a1MxTUk2qqVDNwYYGVE4KeD0Ftvq7U3JEkSjfkxFcFFHOq_l4MWo-E0vcyiTFuqu2ftODbV5z_Cr-Sm6WSRrgHddYmOPK3PhgoaPcLj-k86gaF4reiQa-N5kR_BeaopsgeI4YHX2jZ5tcH7BzZS5SSd1TUo7AyN/w640-h388/01powerline.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>As I walked a high and curvaceous powerline trail above the Hudson River at Moreau today, I marveled at how, with every turn of the trail and climb of a hill, the magnificent colors were rearranged in ever-changing arrays of green and gold and ruby and amethyst, as radiant and wondrous as the patterns formed by chips of jewel-like glass in a kaleidoscope.</div></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeSlMVc2ta9Z6A79eLeR4NNEzAwAYYowcMzxBH-84isu8tZeFVr1r2FJsJgYjTUpfF39LpmK9WCGIXY19CiGkLZOynqxFSv9MPIYxXl-QAcF6jMbsSf69lTEcQXZ1FBGSDQetY2b39KEAUHYnsE5vRLCV0WEjC6BaUbNp5EvvZZlgAPH8q7gncbNy_YTJt/s1600/02kaleidoscope.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1007" data-original-width="1600" height="402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeSlMVc2ta9Z6A79eLeR4NNEzAwAYYowcMzxBH-84isu8tZeFVr1r2FJsJgYjTUpfF39LpmK9WCGIXY19CiGkLZOynqxFSv9MPIYxXl-QAcF6jMbsSf69lTEcQXZ1FBGSDQetY2b39KEAUHYnsE5vRLCV0WEjC6BaUbNp5EvvZZlgAPH8q7gncbNy_YTJt/w640-h402/02kaleidoscope.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwmwhHN4c11odM8Rcs5yGLX0DbS6ooJyHB_FneipSbRg2ehp03rDlMnBGaNOna0PZLk5XvhAWd4Y2L5181yzlNNpFQS30EmhrlsSuTDBqUIpoNBfkujHJRH4jGjtWJbBxxaz8fYgv64lJL5Pp5W4PPfabkKeeJfZdRzMw-n0ultoH6IqdVWpwCmqFy534P/s1600/03kaleidoscope2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1082" data-original-width="1600" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwmwhHN4c11odM8Rcs5yGLX0DbS6ooJyHB_FneipSbRg2ehp03rDlMnBGaNOna0PZLk5XvhAWd4Y2L5181yzlNNpFQS30EmhrlsSuTDBqUIpoNBfkujHJRH4jGjtWJbBxxaz8fYgv64lJL5Pp5W4PPfabkKeeJfZdRzMw-n0ultoH6IqdVWpwCmqFy534P/w640-h432/03kaleidoscope2.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVe33IJV9qi00_m0z5YACunw2ZgNu-9A_NhK8uaQaCfiKn6eY8pmsVa0CgSDWaNA62KwICMCRCv5WkS_7Uo8bwuOSJ_yc6MjfyGsnUAPCG07_gst1Kj51Um_j84adzh0u8sdF166whu_iZERKWePSeUh1O4OtaXvBEmgr50fFgFzIbNobYsIeGlmo4lnrG/s1600/04trees,ferns.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="995" data-original-width="1600" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVe33IJV9qi00_m0z5YACunw2ZgNu-9A_NhK8uaQaCfiKn6eY8pmsVa0CgSDWaNA62KwICMCRCv5WkS_7Uo8bwuOSJ_yc6MjfyGsnUAPCG07_gst1Kj51Um_j84adzh0u8sdF166whu_iZERKWePSeUh1O4OtaXvBEmgr50fFgFzIbNobYsIeGlmo4lnrG/w640-h398/04trees,ferns.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;">The fruit-bearing trees and shrubs and vines are heavy with fruit this fall, as evidenced by this Hawthorn tree burgeoning with berries, its boughs also weighted with climbing grapes.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicilJ-3KXkyqfBnMmW3g3gi8GHcF3WR71YMXAZekwwsr_8bc2zi9ICsrgm3xyQOv9y7cikVgx6LUDNLSCjOGVtKvEACAHozrT2kbtx0mmI1NRhdISC1SEYS1YLqgXCHbQ7_zw9yLd1-v2gh-P8ip6hFWVT3DE9u97dP86fTNn2ZXk1xjpOYOkQqchhg_z-/s1600/05hawthorn.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1205" data-original-width="1600" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicilJ-3KXkyqfBnMmW3g3gi8GHcF3WR71YMXAZekwwsr_8bc2zi9ICsrgm3xyQOv9y7cikVgx6LUDNLSCjOGVtKvEACAHozrT2kbtx0mmI1NRhdISC1SEYS1YLqgXCHbQ7_zw9yLd1-v2gh-P8ip6hFWVT3DE9u97dP86fTNn2ZXk1xjpOYOkQqchhg_z-/w640-h482/05hawthorn.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I even found a tree with ruby-red apples growing wild! A deer trail worn through shoulder-high grass led me right to the tree with its windfall bounty littering the grass beneath and filling the air with the fragrance of ripe fruit.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsA2XW6gyutsp_-p6vlOioTr36Po8CoQN-av1l_WRKZTgkAgIyRVPIFNUDAwVZea9x_DHLDrSjNouLa0TzPjvWSC2TnlvjFkkvUrWxjrEsC2UqLPAmXnFxYrBkONhRniWm1kEcKUX_EWnOxHgbNvzGCQwK_Sau3YvHwoesqw0OxIFzhLDfC1PSzDtgfbHf/s1600/06apple.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1212" data-original-width="1600" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsA2XW6gyutsp_-p6vlOioTr36Po8CoQN-av1l_WRKZTgkAgIyRVPIFNUDAwVZea9x_DHLDrSjNouLa0TzPjvWSC2TnlvjFkkvUrWxjrEsC2UqLPAmXnFxYrBkONhRniWm1kEcKUX_EWnOxHgbNvzGCQwK_Sau3YvHwoesqw0OxIFzhLDfC1PSzDtgfbHf/w640-h484/06apple.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I love the color combination of dark-blue berries and crimson leaves on Virginia Creeper vines.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibmLS_Og2Fcb0IK_BuxwaAWKE9WdbvqzngJjnS_ywpfYVqaQ2Or3T2FgeKMgb81mQMq9EV6ndmaPbT7VfWnvm4sOXI1CEmJHQ0-riLcKIhEdfqNdqobUCITL8ucJR188ZlFEeN-5i6K0wnUFCAgTx7R6M9lMZDfo5gUoDFrt_-kMmXgezq3B2SdcQhg-1E/s1600/07creeperfruit.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1341" data-original-width="1600" height="536" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibmLS_Og2Fcb0IK_BuxwaAWKE9WdbvqzngJjnS_ywpfYVqaQ2Or3T2FgeKMgb81mQMq9EV6ndmaPbT7VfWnvm4sOXI1CEmJHQ0-riLcKIhEdfqNdqobUCITL8ucJR188ZlFEeN-5i6K0wnUFCAgTx7R6M9lMZDfo5gUoDFrt_-kMmXgezq3B2SdcQhg-1E/w640-h536/07creeperfruit.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>These Cladonia lichens, too, seemed extra bright, the fruiting bodies glowing a deep, rich red against the gray-green thallus.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGkkRE8RdsAcAAxStar5aziO-FJ5BJnUgKWHzvlUpLLnIo5CfxJG4YQd36_p2nY6VQVPBCGFMLdXkIWNtSmJjm7v56yYNR2_abYMkm4C0FQtMzXRqdQ5gMAYx0Xv5nJaZlzMJD-awlg2fyvjj9AYnhrGrwFTudzfFjL020W6ZdugdKwYGlJ-Th3BjcYC-t/s1600/08lichen.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1112" data-original-width="1600" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGkkRE8RdsAcAAxStar5aziO-FJ5BJnUgKWHzvlUpLLnIo5CfxJG4YQd36_p2nY6VQVPBCGFMLdXkIWNtSmJjm7v56yYNR2_abYMkm4C0FQtMzXRqdQ5gMAYx0Xv5nJaZlzMJD-awlg2fyvjj9AYnhrGrwFTudzfFjL020W6ZdugdKwYGlJ-Th3BjcYC-t/w640-h444/08lichen.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div><br /></div><div>Brilliant color everywhere! Even underfoot!</div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjicZ6697LVt8yHvZdLOo4XaKln-ghvassIEcDJULphjoUWlcIPPDqCgQ5kUXsT_TLe8K0V3tGC-46-Z-M8k4OiLe2t8XMiMjPBdpmoNKfBmTUHYWVGe6brQI_w03qvIFidRYJX8vQenWA-dFJs46KGC9vaW6J0m_SZc7Tmzk17ZJERlLVhAJNc4g3HrUFr/s1600/09aspenleaves.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1198" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjicZ6697LVt8yHvZdLOo4XaKln-ghvassIEcDJULphjoUWlcIPPDqCgQ5kUXsT_TLe8K0V3tGC-46-Z-M8k4OiLe2t8XMiMjPBdpmoNKfBmTUHYWVGe6brQI_w03qvIFidRYJX8vQenWA-dFJs46KGC9vaW6J0m_SZc7Tmzk17ZJERlLVhAJNc4g3HrUFr/w640-h480/09aspenleaves.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg34CdmsKHMeH7F00l5uoaXrZQuxEIn4iRDI1iizsAzG5VDTz9kldQlOf_Wr3gzbeRq9i6JcCqhUxBndnUOhvSlNNwbu2Km8b6mFVyuZ1RTpcUA5MkAJ-xuTLdUKSi9QiyoTudmhjh-AqEW-oAjnWPqVHaN4-oM0JSXSEjE2Fw-cGGiH68fakQiHPEmZNNr/s1600/10beechleaves.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1182" data-original-width="1600" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg34CdmsKHMeH7F00l5uoaXrZQuxEIn4iRDI1iizsAzG5VDTz9kldQlOf_Wr3gzbeRq9i6JcCqhUxBndnUOhvSlNNwbu2Km8b6mFVyuZ1RTpcUA5MkAJ-xuTLdUKSi9QiyoTudmhjh-AqEW-oAjnWPqVHaN4-oM0JSXSEjE2Fw-cGGiH68fakQiHPEmZNNr/w640-h474/10beechleaves.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;">The high trail along the mountain ridge eventually descended to the river, where I lingered to take in the beauty of the reflections.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjMvf8czHPoQhO4eCVVugui3zypPVkXKlW56WevH6I-2Biy3dKKWUOGcNzeE34Zb4yITDt3gDX-Lhe3PJTGeTf_LuyZAjzot9r1frOuVQyn7OIwK51FKt_VD6vMyUvjoSVYeVL-pdnM3SPRbEfGM9HXSOd4P-YvAYRLwSYSqIxboxGAGkDnQgYBV7n1u0P/s1600/11riverhills.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1082" data-original-width="1600" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjMvf8czHPoQhO4eCVVugui3zypPVkXKlW56WevH6I-2Biy3dKKWUOGcNzeE34Zb4yITDt3gDX-Lhe3PJTGeTf_LuyZAjzot9r1frOuVQyn7OIwK51FKt_VD6vMyUvjoSVYeVL-pdnM3SPRbEfGM9HXSOd4P-YvAYRLwSYSqIxboxGAGkDnQgYBV7n1u0P/w640-h432/11riverhills.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Purple-stemmed Asters continue to bless the roadsides with their beauty, as they also bless some rather sleepy Bumble Bees with flowers still heavy with pollen.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBCZwmru11ZCKTY16ChGIX91GkwI5f-Qc24okwGwCTi3yxl7Non_9EQMesXfP-9vpYy3AYh9h3Zf4a9ImaJp_g4DQOCCtImvMqWOKsXlUUS-88WXDlnmILo70Wxrbo2663TdwwnyRWsAa-da4STEdW8InxRBkS_FlE1AW0Leqh_dGKf3e1G-b3RYojuV1w/s1474/12bee.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1167" data-original-width="1474" height="506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBCZwmru11ZCKTY16ChGIX91GkwI5f-Qc24okwGwCTi3yxl7Non_9EQMesXfP-9vpYy3AYh9h3Zf4a9ImaJp_g4DQOCCtImvMqWOKsXlUUS-88WXDlnmILo70Wxrbo2663TdwwnyRWsAa-da4STEdW8InxRBkS_FlE1AW0Leqh_dGKf3e1G-b3RYojuV1w/w640-h506/12bee.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-38620888345170534562023-10-06T16:21:00.004-04:002023-10-07T16:11:10.841-04:00Return to My Personal Paradise<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf_u8qvOMmC-a1tZ8jUnjAZNmqb20g0e6ePpTWvpUfH5Tr5V6ktxQDkt_GM8F5F30Kh3Q-ZquRoH15EJsH4neloOHTyM3IZV3VCeFVzH1glHGQXEqzYrr0yFd64n4vxZUv_zA5QFDvCGHvilwfQrRk-RouZd6tggGWyrHgTHqXvz5ZcVw78gsnoVtwubG5/s3938/01lakeview.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2982" data-original-width="3938" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf_u8qvOMmC-a1tZ8jUnjAZNmqb20g0e6ePpTWvpUfH5Tr5V6ktxQDkt_GM8F5F30Kh3Q-ZquRoH15EJsH4neloOHTyM3IZV3VCeFVzH1glHGQXEqzYrr0yFd64n4vxZUv_zA5QFDvCGHvilwfQrRk-RouZd6tggGWyrHgTHqXvz5ZcVw78gsnoVtwubG5/w640-h484/01lakeview.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;">M</span>y eyes filled with tears as I beheld the scene pictured above. I had thought I would never again visit Pyramid Life Center, a place of great natural beauty and profound spiritual resonance for me, located on Pyramid Lake in the Adirondacks. But thanks to dear friend Margie Litwin, who helped me find my way back here, I once again stood on this shore and gazed across the lake's still waters this week. I could even hear the loons' haunting calls, and interpret them as their way of welcoming me home.<p></p><p>Pyramid Lake is certainly one of the jewels of the Adirondacks. But this crystal-clear wilderness lake encircled by forested mountains had meant far more to me than just a pretty place to visit. It was to this spiritual retreat center that I fled in the summer of 1991, full of anguish over the war my nation had waged against Iraq, angry and sad that my fellow Americans were so excited and proud and happy to go to war. And here, at a retreat with the late Jesuit priest and anti-war activist Daniel Berrigan, I found I was not alone in my feelings of alienation. And more than that, here I found heroes -- social workers, drug counselors, healthcare providers, advocates for the homeless and poor -- whose witness gave me the courage to choose for myself a more authentic way to live. I left a job that required me to be very nice to the very rich just because they were very rich, to learn how to care for the dying as a nursing assistant for Hospice -- a choice that brought me far more joy and spiritual riches than I ever dreamed possible. So yes, my love for Pyramid Life Center runs very deep, indeed.</p><p>I expressed my deep love for this place by volunteering twice a year, both in the spring to prepare the center for offering a wide variety of life- and spirit-enhancing retreats, and again each October, to help ready the center's rustic accommodations for the long winter ahead. I did this for 27 years. And I was preparing to do so again in 2019, when Pyramid Life Center's beloved founder and director, Sister Monica Murphy, was killed in an auto accident. A replacement director was quickly found, and in addition to having to cope with taking over the duties of managing the retreat center, the new director had to cope with restrictions required by the Covid pandemic. No volunteers nor casual visitors were allowed to even set foot on the property. While I acknowledge the severe strains that this situation posed for the new director, a number of us former volunteers felt disrespected and therefore alienated from this deeply loved place. I had given up hope of ever returning.</p><p>But as it happened, my friend and fellow volunteer Margie Litwin (pictured below), had managed to maintain a good relationship with Pyramid Life Center, and when a new (and far more accommodating) director of the center took over recently, she invited me to return to this deeply missed place and enjoy a paddle with her. For several years, Margie and I had labored together to clean and refurbish the many guest rooms in the center's main lodge, so she knew very well how greatly I had missed feeling welcome here.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWtMe2eE_roqUrXAxae1n1rfnPxFvrXe0bsvSevwpEpTjh9DEfsiVGNgW8Xd7AOBcTXAf6TJyrL2K1jRcO0mNZW-0O3_bIeBoEzOWyg0fcrq6OuyC8rx_zh9lOVVcRVmeki8HLOvzLIBHyxjRiIUm0VF4TXh_J8HWx09eRdV3BD-LgDOHzFABRtJFr963o/s3814/02Margi.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2474" data-original-width="3814" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWtMe2eE_roqUrXAxae1n1rfnPxFvrXe0bsvSevwpEpTjh9DEfsiVGNgW8Xd7AOBcTXAf6TJyrL2K1jRcO0mNZW-0O3_bIeBoEzOWyg0fcrq6OuyC8rx_zh9lOVVcRVmeki8HLOvzLIBHyxjRiIUm0VF4TXh_J8HWx09eRdV3BD-LgDOHzFABRtJFr963o/w640-h416/02Margi.jpg" width="640" /></a></p><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I cannot imagine a more beautiful day to celebrate my return to Pyramid Lake. Sunny and warm, with barely a breeze to riffle the still water that reflected the splendor of forest and mountains in full autumnal beauty.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5xH9BUEN0EXsh6UyMO_k0khzbrzpr2-0cy6YCUf2XiFxxc7wAXJqUjp_t0MMIeuYJmeS7z442LU9r3KFD_1v5jLFOaDWdbMnK9meGIDx9udcQDjgEPqML2X4n7OEbTknWt600qtndUA3ELrCGSmfdW0bOI__yzFLTmWNTjd4cwq1FZtUGVqVoF-NMQJ17/s3934/03eastend.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2987" data-original-width="3934" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5xH9BUEN0EXsh6UyMO_k0khzbrzpr2-0cy6YCUf2XiFxxc7wAXJqUjp_t0MMIeuYJmeS7z442LU9r3KFD_1v5jLFOaDWdbMnK9meGIDx9udcQDjgEPqML2X4n7OEbTknWt600qtndUA3ELrCGSmfdW0bOI__yzFLTmWNTjd4cwq1FZtUGVqVoF-NMQJ17/w640-h486/03eastend.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, how I had missed the voluptuous curves of the shoreline here, made especially gorgeous with autumn color!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsWrgQsC9dhB4xK8facQd3YmuNmPWf8nLDnQjngcx2mtUL6Gm2F_YBosVOYhvcE-vjxgpCVZtq2QsYWL8IME7UBrdlxTKPBQGjJY500yQm9Qn4HdC5-9llynIhQXDwepyqShkuDk-bXCxtb-QnvZm9bf-yOrjGy5t_qQI-mUT3Wb6Mjlvps0JLddHcgjom/s3953/04shorelineprofile.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1875" data-original-width="3953" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsWrgQsC9dhB4xK8facQd3YmuNmPWf8nLDnQjngcx2mtUL6Gm2F_YBosVOYhvcE-vjxgpCVZtq2QsYWL8IME7UBrdlxTKPBQGjJY500yQm9Qn4HdC5-9llynIhQXDwepyqShkuDk-bXCxtb-QnvZm9bf-yOrjGy5t_qQI-mUT3Wb6Mjlvps0JLddHcgjom/w640-h304/04shorelineprofile.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhgKBTYjxAUZKBDC6TnT6_EjPvOopQCxTMK_zLsEcWVDA8groxjuozb56Ea9d__RpYzbmRSgnkaKqcGWTPKHtH2s-7uPxU9Iq-A_kz73oJAY9TEJ3CD2wVEblOhcA0leYv9tIMfRz9ih6zKkvRucqZpXF0gdubycgDlEle6i-NaDQbBM-OBcLBh6mYgmxB/s3947/05shoreline,bow.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2840" data-original-width="3947" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhgKBTYjxAUZKBDC6TnT6_EjPvOopQCxTMK_zLsEcWVDA8groxjuozb56Ea9d__RpYzbmRSgnkaKqcGWTPKHtH2s-7uPxU9Iq-A_kz73oJAY9TEJ3CD2wVEblOhcA0leYv9tIMfRz9ih6zKkvRucqZpXF0gdubycgDlEle6i-NaDQbBM-OBcLBh6mYgmxB/w640-h460/05shoreline,bow.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Each of us has a special part of the lake we love to re-visit, and I also cherish this favorite of Margi's, a quiet bay where great boulders (actually resembling pyramids!) rise from the shallow water.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi46EmLpt8YLNp8aWdS_vC9iRYxtRATCe8oAAsMMvSkVhvyZEyTN_9JvrPYQInKmHVK1F6_lcrqJS0gllqxfhqYcNjPfM0vzRyUet9EaIyqA5I8c2HycJd3y0ptlBgA0RrtUvpuoWdIn9gYfntDSE5CjBz08Ohx13oiC656ZOngsxcwvwL6l8T4UCbUtExB/s3934/05pyramidrocks,bay.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2939" data-original-width="3934" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi46EmLpt8YLNp8aWdS_vC9iRYxtRATCe8oAAsMMvSkVhvyZEyTN_9JvrPYQInKmHVK1F6_lcrqJS0gllqxfhqYcNjPfM0vzRyUet9EaIyqA5I8c2HycJd3y0ptlBgA0RrtUvpuoWdIn9gYfntDSE5CjBz08Ohx13oiC656ZOngsxcwvwL6l8T4UCbUtExB/w640-h478/05pyramidrocks,bay.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0m89i3oZIaxiCReuVvlpS0v2p_H6OvB1JwED4rYYoMyBgyhEHEoXH67R03-7XUigwkipxL3oxEksjoJ9nPHOO5WUK4UOmyGPg-4n5mIJv9n-sH8rt3Nh_gzkTw8JgVqvtX4M3PheAdS5SR_Xvj3pes3FPxnuK7bhiiFoXmUxcHVNtdomaBTduoLuMo2Z0/s2977/06pyramidrocks.side.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2572" data-original-width="2977" height="552" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0m89i3oZIaxiCReuVvlpS0v2p_H6OvB1JwED4rYYoMyBgyhEHEoXH67R03-7XUigwkipxL3oxEksjoJ9nPHOO5WUK4UOmyGPg-4n5mIJv9n-sH8rt3Nh_gzkTw8JgVqvtX4M3PheAdS5SR_Xvj3pes3FPxnuK7bhiiFoXmUxcHVNtdomaBTduoLuMo2Z0/w640-h552/06pyramidrocks.side.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Both of us also love to explore the swampy ends of the lake, where our lightweight Hornbeck canoes are ideal for floating over very shallow water.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi54iDapF-xZxY07-uu-T1OJ5yzKpzX1TdFBMkfQrC4hwQUb7Xnw7V-D6q6CUNwf6fHY5ePfLeqzcd_tuA-pxhLiFff47wnC4JRhRvvsK6ff1vliLbEp5zzRyHOAmk6WtlAf1dRAruALMPJ9ZY1rjNriXD8AKDP3fkoreTVCd7nf4nxsujAS-JWt9D_Sit2/s3584/07swamp.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2562" data-original-width="3584" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi54iDapF-xZxY07-uu-T1OJ5yzKpzX1TdFBMkfQrC4hwQUb7Xnw7V-D6q6CUNwf6fHY5ePfLeqzcd_tuA-pxhLiFff47wnC4JRhRvvsK6ff1vliLbEp5zzRyHOAmk6WtlAf1dRAruALMPJ9ZY1rjNriXD8AKDP3fkoreTVCd7nf4nxsujAS-JWt9D_Sit2/w640-h458/07swamp.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>From this western end of the lake, we can gaze across the open water to where Bear Mountain rises, its lakeside face made rugged by steep cliffs of bare rock.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqMxjKNIJmVk0w_IwbSRWurhcwyVfG_ZnSiLZNUzz4N_64_dGIFBulqp4TbXZlKZ3oVyMKDL-uNppEb5IvDtjdljxGdkNMToNfB871KjAoAFIgKoNty67osA6id0dMROrd9zhAWyd40jbxVefyvtOzANsCTD_Rpr8P5RqOeDOqHTL85TJDYrAIIsy_VuNe/s3667/08mountain,cliffs.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2544" data-original-width="3667" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqMxjKNIJmVk0w_IwbSRWurhcwyVfG_ZnSiLZNUzz4N_64_dGIFBulqp4TbXZlKZ3oVyMKDL-uNppEb5IvDtjdljxGdkNMToNfB871KjAoAFIgKoNty67osA6id0dMROrd9zhAWyd40jbxVefyvtOzANsCTD_Rpr8P5RqOeDOqHTL85TJDYrAIIsy_VuNe/w640-h444/08mountain,cliffs.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>As we pushed our way over mats of underwater vegetation, we noticed thousands of tiny green Nostoc balls, which contain colonies of cyanobacteria enclosed within membranous spheres. This is not the toxic "blue-green algae" that pollute some lakes, but rather an organism found in mainly very clean waters. I once carried a sample of them to Skidmore Biology Professor David Domozych, who showed me the colonies under a microscope. He was quite happy to have these Nostoc specimens, explaining that these balls are quite uncommon, occurring in only about 2% of lakes and ponds. Here's a <a href="https://saratogawoodswaters.blogspot.com/2009/09/green-ball-mystery-solved.html"><span style="color: #ff00fe;">LINK</span></a> to my blogpost reporting on this visit to Dr. Domozych, including the magnified images and explanations.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlHd9POWnLp8uBPIWkNKejgvNL7WqFCeObGANuPaL1UCKoZu5sBJMjhTl6-stAR4WMKOMqNgHLIqzcIW-GGCRsY9sv4SlJXxJ1DlVnj7TngAaFHiFcBCKZYaNfPaO_2j4DuLf-DW3L8SAsKaw_EyPmteXSudQTLy8yv4S09XTRy5VSnuzWfwsmAmG6l0G0/s2175/09nostoc.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1585" data-original-width="2175" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlHd9POWnLp8uBPIWkNKejgvNL7WqFCeObGANuPaL1UCKoZu5sBJMjhTl6-stAR4WMKOMqNgHLIqzcIW-GGCRsY9sv4SlJXxJ1DlVnj7TngAaFHiFcBCKZYaNfPaO_2j4DuLf-DW3L8SAsKaw_EyPmteXSudQTLy8yv4S09XTRy5VSnuzWfwsmAmG6l0G0/w640-h466/09nostoc.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Poking up from mats of floating vegetation were a few of the tiny bladderworts called Humped Bladderwort (<i>Utricularia gibba</i>). We could also see the thread-like underwater structures by which the bladderworts obtain nutrients. Numerous tiny sacs are attached to these threads, and these sacs suck in underwater organisms that are then digested to provide nutrients to the leafless plants.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjntLKXGkwex_DzPm29OHI9v1YzRXTAq5vaDRZ4N9jxj_q64s6dUdVHWapDYS0pohnW1QxT8pY7g2RCmGlSxMR6lnol7ooDnc8cBsG69mTgsASz7TdgXB6ZWlC8mYFocpPU0b9zF8J4qMMriYIyy46t08ytDaZWHDZ-eN4iW8jfeE9vcINsCyI103GWAhYL/s2355/10gibba,mud.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1740" data-original-width="2355" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjntLKXGkwex_DzPm29OHI9v1YzRXTAq5vaDRZ4N9jxj_q64s6dUdVHWapDYS0pohnW1QxT8pY7g2RCmGlSxMR6lnol7ooDnc8cBsG69mTgsASz7TdgXB6ZWlC8mYFocpPU0b9zF8J4qMMriYIyy46t08ytDaZWHDZ-eN4iW8jfeE9vcINsCyI103GWAhYL/w640-h472/10gibba,mud.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I reached into this muddy mass to try to extract some of the bladderworts' underwater threadlike structures, but when I lifted this thready growth in the photo below, I detected a certain "skunky" smell that informed me I had obtained not a bladderwort growth but rather a specimen of <i>Chara</i>, a green alga known as Muskgrass or Skunkweed because of its pronounced odor.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD785PieKhkLIx1KfLatsT0SS7IoyJYmp0H3ELXpedoc5jOwzKZV2UbfzIadPMPId4WwcRfjv_d5eHdcJPayLUOux2p0jWavPNMLQJl_LoKRSaZI99vC4JAoM8wFxD_Pg2xEVeTknWGQ8ZduERY4r2DLacHKewVoBvYBtqbdWUU4jH5b7a0m7u8GrdqJMp/s3260/11chara.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2424" data-original-width="3260" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD785PieKhkLIx1KfLatsT0SS7IoyJYmp0H3ELXpedoc5jOwzKZV2UbfzIadPMPId4WwcRfjv_d5eHdcJPayLUOux2p0jWavPNMLQJl_LoKRSaZI99vC4JAoM8wFxD_Pg2xEVeTknWGQ8ZduERY4r2DLacHKewVoBvYBtqbdWUU4jH5b7a0m7u8GrdqJMp/w640-h476/11chara.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p><i>Chara </i>superficially resembles land plants because of stem-like and leaf-like structures. These algae are found in freshwater, particularly in high pH areas throughout the northern temperate zone, where they grow submerged, attached to the muddy bottom. I was aware that Pyramid Lake was more alkaline than acidic, thanks to its underlying calcareous substrate. Because <i>Chara</i> algae are covered with calcium carbonate deposits that give them a gritty texture, they are sometimes known as stoneworts.</p><p><br /></p><p>Paddling back toward the open waters of the lake, I detected another interesting underwater growth, a colony of bryozoans ("moss animals") called <i>Pectinatella magnifica</i>. This solid, heavy mass is composed of tiny filter-feeding animals that attach themselves to underwater tree limbs and secrete the dense jelly-like substance that holds all the creatures together on the surface of the mass. These colonies are often found underwater along the shores of many Adirondack lakes.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb-0z5lE5l97415MS2o1qC-MkKngoaZigM2JTzsywGMx9fAapOCV5VJpDtbgvAo3WBj3IKsDE-F_NT362VV4u4pg8CW3kOJbkqEW1WSExOluFC06DW8C4o37Vraa_tHXdMLQ1yvs1r_0AvBQ2K62aXG2WdMeuiFeQLUV_plSG8OMA0Zb_UYmaVG6qwAtWN/s3879/12pectinatella.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2812" data-original-width="3879" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb-0z5lE5l97415MS2o1qC-MkKngoaZigM2JTzsywGMx9fAapOCV5VJpDtbgvAo3WBj3IKsDE-F_NT362VV4u4pg8CW3kOJbkqEW1WSExOluFC06DW8C4o37Vraa_tHXdMLQ1yvs1r_0AvBQ2K62aXG2WdMeuiFeQLUV_plSG8OMA0Zb_UYmaVG6qwAtWN/w640-h464/12pectinatella.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Paddling back to shore, I lingered to take in this view of both Bear Mountain and the shore of an island where I had camped several times, once with my eldest granddaughter. Here, I'd been thrilled by the experience of true wilderness, with no sign of human habitation visible from this side of the island, the only sounds that of wavelets lapping the shore, the soft sighing of wind in the pines, the calls of loons echoing off the mountainsides, and the sweet lilting song of a Winter Wren to wake me at dawn. All the surrounding forest is part of the Pharaoh Lake Wilderness Area, over 46,000 acres of forever-wild Adirondack Forest Preserve. There are few other sites in this wilderness area so accessible to me, which is part of the reason I felt so sad those years I had been denied ready access to it.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDHmY_C_PBt4zjjIRsZWiMp9BDzg7_eT-zJq5zB1PdGDTE4JpMi2naPuby-CeWCxr1zFZtOoOtImCXwjs8JKsD13n_xi0zihsSba32PsyVptKua44TE_02pQYRUOu-YGRl_U789_Ii-idBRfXatnEyPrmpAV7HszD8akkr9L9bfXAD4zbPR-WjM6t0vt4A/s2955/13island,cliffs.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="2955" height="554" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDHmY_C_PBt4zjjIRsZWiMp9BDzg7_eT-zJq5zB1PdGDTE4JpMi2naPuby-CeWCxr1zFZtOoOtImCXwjs8JKsD13n_xi0zihsSba32PsyVptKua44TE_02pQYRUOu-YGRl_U789_Ii-idBRfXatnEyPrmpAV7HszD8akkr9L9bfXAD4zbPR-WjM6t0vt4A/w640-h554/13island,cliffs.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I could understand why the former director did not want me to participate in group activities during the Covid pandemic, but all I really wanted to do was check on a thriving population of state-ranked Endangered plants that grew by the dining-hall's trash bins. I explained I would not interact with other folks at all. But rules are rules, and I didn't challenge them. Nor did the then-director invite further conversation. But now, before I left this beloved place, I made sure to visit these Large-leaved Avens plants (<i>Geum macrophyllum</i>), which I was heartily relieved to find still flourishing, even in a high-traffic spot. Now I can look forward to visiting them again in July, when they will be in bloom with yellow flowers. Like so many other aspects of Pyramid Life Center, these native wildflowers are truly treasures.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzwnSXuqgAIm16hr1nVZ9g-ZpndBqdNqeFncGqavkoUjSX4VngdBPwc_LGH-ZiIxzv5TO1SF-LXVZMF2DLWEmH8jgbVZRmMX8SHCG0YkQp8U6Y_NiNEAVJ9EIjIAXOo7vrFy8CUba3h_Aa6CWDVDNbQ97bBe1uhYJFM9jhcyaKVj9CDU6fWIXfl-ORXn1J/s3604/15avens.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2554" data-original-width="3604" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzwnSXuqgAIm16hr1nVZ9g-ZpndBqdNqeFncGqavkoUjSX4VngdBPwc_LGH-ZiIxzv5TO1SF-LXVZMF2DLWEmH8jgbVZRmMX8SHCG0YkQp8U6Y_NiNEAVJ9EIjIAXOo7vrFy8CUba3h_Aa6CWDVDNbQ97bBe1uhYJFM9jhcyaKVj9CDU6fWIXfl-ORXn1J/w640-h454/15avens.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-40430533607011019782023-09-29T22:29:00.004-04:002023-10-01T14:11:13.948-04:00Autumn Color Everywhere!<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">A</span>utumn's glory approaches its fullness! And where better to witness this glory's arrival than paddling a quiet Adirondack lake, especially one ringed by forested mountains? When I joined my friends Ruth and Sue at Lens Lake in Warren County this week, we could see that the colorful foliage had yet to reach full crazy-quilt vibrancy, but there was no denying that it was surely beautiful, while yet promising even more vibrant colors to come.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Y542bECSKrgW1k8ixZSRx2Xcz0uQu5CFXdITiiZNkHSlKjai9y60EcZ48rNFFSqfYVE9Ka_0aW3NjtMs-ANfK6DdDtm4InnNbLeCISufsSfzhhyphenhyphenMb306lZZT1sQ7k1zSG51Ikwegp7_HjQj_Q8I847NKdVZYq-P1_sAlfGj_BY08dFT0530wADV7jCS1/s3941/01lake.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2900" data-original-width="3941" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Y542bECSKrgW1k8ixZSRx2Xcz0uQu5CFXdITiiZNkHSlKjai9y60EcZ48rNFFSqfYVE9Ka_0aW3NjtMs-ANfK6DdDtm4InnNbLeCISufsSfzhhyphenhyphenMb306lZZT1sQ7k1zSG51Ikwegp7_HjQj_Q8I847NKdVZYq-P1_sAlfGj_BY08dFT0530wADV7jCS1/w640-h470/01lake.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Even the Fragrant Water Lily pads were assuming warm hues to match the shoreline trees, the sphagnum-carpeted bog mats, and the shrubs that crowded the boulders along the rocky banks. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirfShinbEhapWy_UFf7u_q0WPAtszZbi6az1pPMEiWhnJf0jG_-4KeTJdoIw4K6ADS4L-KEYGv72rGlJqsnIqak99VWbHZp-tv7ZkPKmKAg_Y1_az_MynqDoamML9v8EeAlNui3E8KcIy4XdERg6pyxrzf2mo4G8mdrZGKx4c6vpyFIx65fxjrSDXZVRYq/s3930/02shorelinecolor.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2878" data-original-width="3930" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirfShinbEhapWy_UFf7u_q0WPAtszZbi6az1pPMEiWhnJf0jG_-4KeTJdoIw4K6ADS4L-KEYGv72rGlJqsnIqak99VWbHZp-tv7ZkPKmKAg_Y1_az_MynqDoamML9v8EeAlNui3E8KcIy4XdERg6pyxrzf2mo4G8mdrZGKx4c6vpyFIx65fxjrSDXZVRYq/w640-h468/02shorelinecolor.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Before we headed out to explore the bog mats, we drifted closely along the shore, where quiet backwaters were lined with colorful shrubs, and the still water reflected lovely gardens that had sprouted from waterlogged fallen trees.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvPsEWKQOxx3Y2rSsEeQaRXL0_CPe-LjvbMIJ3p_hdHVcnvnMlg-y6FidseHEuq6OB3YnHPOQYAbFQZSb843zVITRGpTl3YhBfah1pT-oxyjQNudbUxXEbLGWJsupWwBLaIWotg9EwSfAuNioX0Q-h3XxQz56rxVo6pgjXQPteMH1VZWvvMF9yr4kHuX2d/s3918/03backwater.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2906" data-original-width="3918" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvPsEWKQOxx3Y2rSsEeQaRXL0_CPe-LjvbMIJ3p_hdHVcnvnMlg-y6FidseHEuq6OB3YnHPOQYAbFQZSb843zVITRGpTl3YhBfah1pT-oxyjQNudbUxXEbLGWJsupWwBLaIWotg9EwSfAuNioX0Q-h3XxQz56rxVo6pgjXQPteMH1VZWvvMF9yr4kHuX2d/w640-h474/03backwater.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6tpku_z3kQKUEfEmFkzIwKkL3dGRmihewI-7JrQcZy6_u6pZao5IBlsJfcaD57Hs7X3CGvAPaBT4PZSkFpyrpkkv9PNbQSIBazdzW-QJ6nDQOIvKkqQvinRfkTheSw635GR7EvQ-qQlqlV7Eiz8FY8b-Oiam2iz39nLwXP_3ueYAAzbkMMnELcCploW3i/s3568/04log%20garden.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2383" data-original-width="3568" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6tpku_z3kQKUEfEmFkzIwKkL3dGRmihewI-7JrQcZy6_u6pZao5IBlsJfcaD57Hs7X3CGvAPaBT4PZSkFpyrpkkv9PNbQSIBazdzW-QJ6nDQOIvKkqQvinRfkTheSw635GR7EvQ-qQlqlV7Eiz8FY8b-Oiam2iz39nLwXP_3ueYAAzbkMMnELcCploW3i/w640-h428/04log%20garden.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>My moss-loving pals found much to engage their attention among the moss-covered logs and lichen-frosted stumps.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX1geb7vGCZCtTIGvncjSl0TbcJppMGq7u4MkRQZuvsg9iJgDV7qbzKjUhMdDwpZPWayU3rKZn7_i8BeyvkgaFJb4Xl9qrI9bWGvWha47oJtP9T0sAsYKSZzqd6W9u8PeET5yqhnfqEo1QY1258soXx-Vlz-fklMv2ZqKAuxWQ4fAjif2CuEbqckvdvxg3/s3466/05friends,mossing.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2525" data-original-width="3466" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX1geb7vGCZCtTIGvncjSl0TbcJppMGq7u4MkRQZuvsg9iJgDV7qbzKjUhMdDwpZPWayU3rKZn7_i8BeyvkgaFJb4Xl9qrI9bWGvWha47oJtP9T0sAsYKSZzqd6W9u8PeET5yqhnfqEo1QY1258soXx-Vlz-fklMv2ZqKAuxWQ4fAjif2CuEbqckvdvxg3/w640-h466/05friends,mossing.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I felt less obsessed than usual to put names to every beauty I found, and let my eyes instead of my intellect have full rein today. I did happen to know the name of these dew-spangled Round-leaved Sundew plants, but even if I hadn't, just enjoying their rosy sparkle was adequate and joy-filled satisfaction.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkL5aMRQzdzrLKhfNlVAU6e-EYZs-MYgNChAJqBcP5cMHf14gOEbchoBu61L85EcR8eeahECbFdTmW_whuBsukLBwxbSdhqdPCEFsqq5bkUwk_BADQNRHQPZB2JCYdJuuedENC4K8xvGaeXC8VY7fUbzV2TkmR1vmBgK1wgwzroEEbMBr18ArM8lLiwVaq/s2701/06log,sundew.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1801" data-original-width="2701" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkL5aMRQzdzrLKhfNlVAU6e-EYZs-MYgNChAJqBcP5cMHf14gOEbchoBu61L85EcR8eeahECbFdTmW_whuBsukLBwxbSdhqdPCEFsqq5bkUwk_BADQNRHQPZB2JCYdJuuedENC4K8xvGaeXC8VY7fUbzV2TkmR1vmBgK1wgwzroEEbMBr18ArM8lLiwVaq/w640-h426/06log,sundew.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgkCpdHHTMxQnVYoj6CSGq-0udYWNYt2tbs-OZyvw1iWIjOPXfDi6PcsvgI0lxpZbsY-XMxbrdhTgesBi6eTbAlG9dTRR7fcYaM7vT-k_0QCjb4mF2dbufBMpWPCdvBigq4TpfETVEkHTodJx4wC7rIuR60Z9msEdwAU-PXVjtuzO1m10H7Yz8_3fHC4Zg/s2414/07sundew,pad.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1699" data-original-width="2414" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgkCpdHHTMxQnVYoj6CSGq-0udYWNYt2tbs-OZyvw1iWIjOPXfDi6PcsvgI0lxpZbsY-XMxbrdhTgesBi6eTbAlG9dTRR7fcYaM7vT-k_0QCjb4mF2dbufBMpWPCdvBigq4TpfETVEkHTodJx4wC7rIuR60Z9msEdwAU-PXVjtuzO1m10H7Yz8_3fHC4Zg/w640-h450/07sundew,pad.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The same, for these tiny red-capped fruticose lichens poking up from a verdant velvety moss. Even if I did not already know that they were called Lipstick Powderhorns, I bet I could have assigned them that name, just from the way they looked.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOt0cuTTWvnW7-o1kmZRs7byOYar2IgComvA_ropgkoAjAEwkoAgY0-oWzKB9GFz0LzQ0OsEgiydw_uRgP1zhA8I8Em1oqcJCE-65qkppmBACUMpV2M67nNtjTmM1L8n1dvdHnvDmvai5-FUQ_TlIIGS4Ua7lOpCD_nnWEMsB58aUPvZvhwa7b0M7XmQ5r/s3351/08powderhorns.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2097" data-original-width="3351" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOt0cuTTWvnW7-o1kmZRs7byOYar2IgComvA_ropgkoAjAEwkoAgY0-oWzKB9GFz0LzQ0OsEgiydw_uRgP1zhA8I8Em1oqcJCE-65qkppmBACUMpV2M67nNtjTmM1L8n1dvdHnvDmvai5-FUQ_TlIIGS4Ua7lOpCD_nnWEMsB58aUPvZvhwa7b0M7XmQ5r/w640-h400/08powderhorns.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>The flowering shoreline shrubs held just as much beauty as they had held when they first bloomed last June, the Sheep Laurel actually putting out a second explosion of bright-pink flowers.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd0A-a0jgmTC_ZghL_yyYcJhLawiolI22BjbhrGEDd-hlQYYYKbsyC1QiM_WH3y2KYf1OeusxhSV_ReYUU7fLluZNSEI6qGN9gqGMAbvpu0k9YDVo-bfaT1CzI0fH4SUQ-r_K-vb5G-dvYrecTBQrj6jrph2gHOz0c9PO19xai-fIice3khyphenhyphenCiZE-5VpN4/s2507/09sheeplaurel,flowers.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1839" data-original-width="2507" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd0A-a0jgmTC_ZghL_yyYcJhLawiolI22BjbhrGEDd-hlQYYYKbsyC1QiM_WH3y2KYf1OeusxhSV_ReYUU7fLluZNSEI6qGN9gqGMAbvpu0k9YDVo-bfaT1CzI0fH4SUQ-r_K-vb5G-dvYrecTBQrj6jrph2gHOz0c9PO19xai-fIice3khyphenhyphenCiZE-5VpN4/w640-h470/09sheeplaurel,flowers.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And the Labrador Tea shrubs were studded with pretty pink terminal "buds," but not buds that were due to open soon. These cone-shaped growths won't open until next spring, when clusters of pretty white flowers will emerge.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAb1Q5gvkp9VHzIsLCUQ5bVVFKfywoQGa1jeOJH5oGoYaLo4vm1ap2YvtUKt1JuSpzP-7m8G5zadQotIiKWM5vwVdWXx42XlJ-tNrVGc5S8RgkrXN6vv1jN0O3qwTllCJ7F5H3xwKUl-AXAk7A_Dq0ecvXGGG_rAjjeLvGDVwyssLPnLc5Pe7kMbury9wy/s1600/10labradorbud.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1131" data-original-width="1600" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAb1Q5gvkp9VHzIsLCUQ5bVVFKfywoQGa1jeOJH5oGoYaLo4vm1ap2YvtUKt1JuSpzP-7m8G5zadQotIiKWM5vwVdWXx42XlJ-tNrVGc5S8RgkrXN6vv1jN0O3qwTllCJ7F5H3xwKUl-AXAk7A_Dq0ecvXGGG_rAjjeLvGDVwyssLPnLc5Pe7kMbury9wy/w640-h452/10labradorbud.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This fallen log was covered so thickly with such a variety of colors and shapes, it reminded me of a colorful medieval tapestry. I could almost imagine a Unicorn prancing amid the tiny Large Cranberry leaves and its bright-pink orbs, the urn-shaped pot-bellied green leaves of a Purple Pitcher Plant, and the scarlet-blotched leaves of a baby Red Maple.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzjSAa_mE5jFGg6dTst_6trRUrFC6seLByio8HoSzJGj5AW4KCx0jFAt2As1O27GCZyAAMr7Ku1oGssGBJp-LfhbgJ8PG46WTr7Ojl2ZNz90aVwcEd9iMNe40Me9FwtvAAcqc3wk33elVPIWa-BfhR8vtIAmixmm7P7B-8_7dcMwf-nG36U15CrmtUzIIt/s3917/11plant%20tapestry.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2840" data-original-width="3917" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzjSAa_mE5jFGg6dTst_6trRUrFC6seLByio8HoSzJGj5AW4KCx0jFAt2As1O27GCZyAAMr7Ku1oGssGBJp-LfhbgJ8PG46WTr7Ojl2ZNz90aVwcEd9iMNe40Me9FwtvAAcqc3wk33elVPIWa-BfhR8vtIAmixmm7P7B-8_7dcMwf-nG36U15CrmtUzIIt/w640-h464/11plant%20tapestry.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>But the bog mats soon beckoned, glowing gold and surmounted by multi-colored mountain slopes.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-YBQJDvwcY3KfjXmfPcT49tdxYVOD1c-v7_zDSJhQqG7P7RWeq354Rcjp7LrIBUFpgYpXJSaqFubAU65aO-s4DTvvXcJ6N37Q5juSaguD9NqGfRdyogr0ixqD7CgyfSZtNXcXBGNqxxS3ITey7NI4NfjzxJAhfvARB3d1ok1RmazqAFH1jdWOCcxDgPsm/s3904/12bogmat,mountain.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2788" data-original-width="3904" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-YBQJDvwcY3KfjXmfPcT49tdxYVOD1c-v7_zDSJhQqG7P7RWeq354Rcjp7LrIBUFpgYpXJSaqFubAU65aO-s4DTvvXcJ6N37Q5juSaguD9NqGfRdyogr0ixqD7CgyfSZtNXcXBGNqxxS3ITey7NI4NfjzxJAhfvARB3d1ok1RmazqAFH1jdWOCcxDgPsm/w640-h458/12bogmat,mountain.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Drifts of white-tufted Cottongrass floated above the carpets of red and gold sphagnum moss. The Cottongrass tufts danced in the breeze, and also danced again in rippling reflections.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjclgDJ2wyQWZyza7yQQrp9NWGrf44P6BmdEhdHMb0EvSzGyE1Mr9_26wITvvvrIoneAKP96K7sJFqAyW8c_xRirA1N5tQ8qG3T3LtgfqIxYba09P5Q23QuKLxfvR5_HC4pZOGCYQKkAzGa-Z1DA7JZiTyYS0czB0T5aerlzyKoILARX6QK2d57OVl733vH/s3346/13cottongrass,reflection.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2786" data-original-width="3346" height="532" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjclgDJ2wyQWZyza7yQQrp9NWGrf44P6BmdEhdHMb0EvSzGyE1Mr9_26wITvvvrIoneAKP96K7sJFqAyW8c_xRirA1N5tQ8qG3T3LtgfqIxYba09P5Q23QuKLxfvR5_HC4pZOGCYQKkAzGa-Z1DA7JZiTyYS0czB0T5aerlzyKoILARX6QK2d57OVl733vH/w640-h532/13cottongrass,reflection.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This clump of glossy scarlet and lime-green Pitcher Plant leaves was remarkably robust.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRvzsN_wJc7TQJuvGPBZOWWR0K0wsjYOfkXDE77vZu6jlM7PvszKUazZUpOIEZzEZB8ocpy3qLBGA1u7TvZ3z7lJ7pnYtikuI15R1VqXsicpkQ5OfcN_vD2anp4H6Pj6JiGwWgmn6SRlXD0CPmlW4bBbse756n3UHNv7_2SUF7tucDg6Qfa_LdZ3Cwlv-e/s3740/14pitchers.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2686" data-original-width="3740" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRvzsN_wJc7TQJuvGPBZOWWR0K0wsjYOfkXDE77vZu6jlM7PvszKUazZUpOIEZzEZB8ocpy3qLBGA1u7TvZ3z7lJ7pnYtikuI15R1VqXsicpkQ5OfcN_vD2anp4H6Pj6JiGwWgmn6SRlXD0CPmlW4bBbse756n3UHNv7_2SUF7tucDg6Qfa_LdZ3Cwlv-e/w640-h460/14pitchers.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Two different species of sphagnum, one red, one gold, mingled their colors like those in a Persian carpet.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgboim-d7JdCo6jlH_JADK04DrCfWFghRNwN15ipenHXNqy58CvtBsBVWfj57_k_Mv-E2gWpNROYVqH_jpR7rmg0VnrzDGU8iB31kjFWn4uMoFRFXtA7vtjJHHIVTMQ5TbLgMdbblElpc5SYmcFlmRK5a-VzKOJRGRiqTkLhPHVxCL1kbbOG0WsNpu0DamF/s3896/15sphagnum,bicolor.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2715" data-original-width="3896" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgboim-d7JdCo6jlH_JADK04DrCfWFghRNwN15ipenHXNqy58CvtBsBVWfj57_k_Mv-E2gWpNROYVqH_jpR7rmg0VnrzDGU8iB31kjFWn4uMoFRFXtA7vtjJHHIVTMQ5TbLgMdbblElpc5SYmcFlmRK5a-VzKOJRGRiqTkLhPHVxCL1kbbOG0WsNpu0DamF/w640-h446/15sphagnum,bicolor.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Studding the golden sphagnum were many ripe red fruits of Large Cranberry.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx_MQJ5zr__34wX1T1Dp3-YgR2pD3LILqElRs2KcdqhJy03JxjwgZ4gGjNheFMtCcYwt1rLfnb0QF-MYFKvdLbC1wyPkExE8847uq4m5AZ82x-_4TaL3eafI1Xc-hp2k1VU8Rb-2VEtaM5Ppem7MRqozOPGqMVYx09IYxOi7_2aE_FViY41ZC5jIBCCLMw/s2048/16cranberries.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1509" data-original-width="2048" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx_MQJ5zr__34wX1T1Dp3-YgR2pD3LILqElRs2KcdqhJy03JxjwgZ4gGjNheFMtCcYwt1rLfnb0QF-MYFKvdLbC1wyPkExE8847uq4m5AZ82x-_4TaL3eafI1Xc-hp2k1VU8Rb-2VEtaM5Ppem7MRqozOPGqMVYx09IYxOi7_2aE_FViY41ZC5jIBCCLMw/w640-h472/16cranberries.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>The formerly pink and green leaves of Marsh St. John's Wort had assumed their autumnal ruby red.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh51oPbzsX2IdIgSAXrsQ_MzYnGeb5fNaTSMnBStlyDQ_YhB-oOBkilGxPm8TvXjo0Q2hFiTdfjOigTTqtiQPfEfL-u7nus32ZrO_hPqsPCAnPIx8aTO13bK0tCctdyG01fMvDgwP7wS7KXAdc-EmkpvUzYTmvM3w7Adz9k9xCE8xmnLG69lyZFVd-azTcG/s3242/17stjohs,bogmat.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2540" data-original-width="3242" height="502" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh51oPbzsX2IdIgSAXrsQ_MzYnGeb5fNaTSMnBStlyDQ_YhB-oOBkilGxPm8TvXjo0Q2hFiTdfjOigTTqtiQPfEfL-u7nus32ZrO_hPqsPCAnPIx8aTO13bK0tCctdyG01fMvDgwP7wS7KXAdc-EmkpvUzYTmvM3w7Adz9k9xCE8xmnLG69lyZFVd-azTcG/w640-h502/17stjohs,bogmat.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>A second St. John's Wort species also decorated the bog mat, but this one, called Dwarf St. John's Wort, had much daintier leaves of a gentler shade of rosy red.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2i0Vi0GvHJXupu7QJvS7Gu2_R-bJKU_-JxG3DsPOy-mcxv1uZF7xt6LmWgQzL8FS4DsoBkBAUH5hljXw9_OS-HCiiNygW_BdlN1o3PWWWgnI3GBnnNzFIjjkhF1Iel-mT3eJb9EhvkYeHPhFKFAHPL_YxM4m4OlDZqob0BOjeLmgqGgIwVUClbFBsqRZu/s2874/18dwarfstjohns.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2162" data-original-width="2874" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2i0Vi0GvHJXupu7QJvS7Gu2_R-bJKU_-JxG3DsPOy-mcxv1uZF7xt6LmWgQzL8FS4DsoBkBAUH5hljXw9_OS-HCiiNygW_BdlN1o3PWWWgnI3GBnnNzFIjjkhF1Iel-mT3eJb9EhvkYeHPhFKFAHPL_YxM4m4OlDZqob0BOjeLmgqGgIwVUClbFBsqRZu/w640-h482/18dwarfstjohns.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Small floating mats bore the meandering yellow-green ropey branches of Bog Club Moss,which shared its crowded muddy habitat with the spiky remains of Yellow-eyed Grass, Pipewort, and White Beaksedge.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN99KksHSNt_xnUCSORXaWaUxuPc9W0DCEKvpvQAqEhgfR6XRZt__CsJyk9xd6EN8f8-a05zzhYHg3pjls89GTMqcZPYicQfaxSxGP1OkNI7vxLHkOO7FZm7uZ_VP1ulDgwqc2AqSJYus2rcUxV2XqvmDNOfgOf1qslDdrY8_NA4D4cthVyV_-3yeBhooF/s3677/19boglycopodium.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2487" data-original-width="3677" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN99KksHSNt_xnUCSORXaWaUxuPc9W0DCEKvpvQAqEhgfR6XRZt__CsJyk9xd6EN8f8-a05zzhYHg3pjls89GTMqcZPYicQfaxSxGP1OkNI7vxLHkOO7FZm7uZ_VP1ulDgwqc2AqSJYus2rcUxV2XqvmDNOfgOf1qslDdrY8_NA4D4cthVyV_-3yeBhooF/w640-h432/19boglycopodium.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Here and there on the vast bog mats, small young Tamarack Trees still held onto their bright-green needles, which soon will turn golden before dropping off for the winter. This common denizen of bogs is our only deciduous conifer.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjch072o7O6fyykaQGxwkHp9AUVEvoTTey3NeUQ_viZFf-fr4iRgZEabulKwTuL9dsSliSU2A9iNDNgAdAHCO1rmgXUNiaGG3MV7QH5NjHqFmV_lWCGr3_P3zhEkLDuOr0XDKmprmLBf92l408FsWC3ag6MdgZ0byjt07PL0JwCBJHhbYbG2DgDb7RunsET/s3488/20tamarack,babies.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2499" data-original-width="3488" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjch072o7O6fyykaQGxwkHp9AUVEvoTTey3NeUQ_viZFf-fr4iRgZEabulKwTuL9dsSliSU2A9iNDNgAdAHCO1rmgXUNiaGG3MV7QH5NjHqFmV_lWCGr3_P3zhEkLDuOr0XDKmprmLBf92l408FsWC3ag6MdgZ0byjt07PL0JwCBJHhbYbG2DgDb7RunsET/w640-h458/20tamarack,babies.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Tamaracks can grow quite tall, but none will ever grow taller than our native White Pines, some of which have attained astonishing heights on the rocky islands that dot the surface of Lens Lake.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy_rTOD1y6UDt4kYHd_o6sjm2AINfHR2CNV39BR0NGQSPurO-xQSnilTEopOEpbudxhTFtBV4PTLttmVB602ydgzSsBd8GTLX0e1nnPcIIzFTBn8D4TM5K8ElKKLtAhTjDC0WUYnPeroupaKMP9eqMvbADlf2wd2lgRv8wx7QfWPs07etlWRaMn-CVVwY6/s3910/21tallpine.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2942" data-original-width="3910" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy_rTOD1y6UDt4kYHd_o6sjm2AINfHR2CNV39BR0NGQSPurO-xQSnilTEopOEpbudxhTFtBV4PTLttmVB602ydgzSsBd8GTLX0e1nnPcIIzFTBn8D4TM5K8ElKKLtAhTjDC0WUYnPeroupaKMP9eqMvbADlf2wd2lgRv8wx7QfWPs07etlWRaMn-CVVwY6/w640-h482/21tallpine.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>One Red Maple stood out from others along the shore, both for its height as well as for the vibrancy of its scarlet leaves.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuOuJuyz-w6lcS4MpqapfRaADbE_MU10nrzmh2dBJZvalBsV9zLdVBXf-OjyCZq9QYmFajl8oTekcki2ZJbmVpfd5331093nv6cbwbsejITUvHv4fOx_vFvabhD6PYAp3PcVLwwzpmh83krjQ-dI_V-RXKSu0hQ4LH8EH8R0AdYKeXv1NyMWYnQ-lRiWy5/s3680/22tallmaple.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2660" data-original-width="3680" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuOuJuyz-w6lcS4MpqapfRaADbE_MU10nrzmh2dBJZvalBsV9zLdVBXf-OjyCZq9QYmFajl8oTekcki2ZJbmVpfd5331093nv6cbwbsejITUvHv4fOx_vFvabhD6PYAp3PcVLwwzpmh83krjQ-dI_V-RXKSu0hQ4LH8EH8R0AdYKeXv1NyMWYnQ-lRiWy5/w640-h462/22tallmaple.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>From craning my eyes to admire these tall trees, I next turned my gaze to see what I could see beneath the water's surface. I soon spied some feathery ropes of Common Bladderwort floating free while submerged, and a few of them held bulbous green orbs at their tips. These orbs are called "turions," and they are the winter buds of these bladderworts. The turions will sink into the mud after the rest of the plant disintegrates from freezing, and a new plant, a clone of its parent, will sprout from the turion in the spring. Although these bladderworts do produce above-water flowers and are capable of reproducing sexually by the production of seeds, they also continue to spread their populations by this vegetative method.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8_MSF5Gtgc7VAwNRS96Us3Z3uioA08ZQshyCfEQ0bmk596UxIX5rAInoW_ivK8E-R1tSupnP8oAdf-VBALhut_IROQ3_Mdsuue493LkfWRz1KAqB9XqzvWX9ZG9HHpSzOjtAiJriJ74s8Mhe-3tbrwSAm2ElQhOpbMaT_5Gri2zLCbJrqlk1pARyKQIcU/s1436/23bladderwort,turion.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1082" data-original-width="1436" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8_MSF5Gtgc7VAwNRS96Us3Z3uioA08ZQshyCfEQ0bmk596UxIX5rAInoW_ivK8E-R1tSupnP8oAdf-VBALhut_IROQ3_Mdsuue493LkfWRz1KAqB9XqzvWX9ZG9HHpSzOjtAiJriJ74s8Mhe-3tbrwSAm2ElQhOpbMaT_5Gri2zLCbJrqlk1pARyKQIcU/w640-h482/23bladderwort,turion.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Paddling over some sunken tree limbs, we saw what looked like lengths of green yarn caught in the twigs and waving around underwater. I lifted up a portion of this "green yarn" to examine it more closely. Its gritty texture, composed of silica, convinced me that this was Freshwater Sponge, a colony of tiny animals that filter water through their bodies, absorbing oxygen from the water and feeding on waterborne food particles. Their presence in a lake is usually an indication of clean water.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhchmGSl97YdR9vB4l08xeSD3tbvXyBhSpWsb20_8DCfRABLtoG0wktSNiQbci4psh9XQ5I46ciM4SQn3QRYCPOVLPBM860W5v0wE9AIEg3EBk2HX1kd1V6fHkEAxQj6NOM7M49o1t9fdw0brqVSRmZUpRZfafOA6GmMU5FLa1E-kgND3-I1BVm-h6EWaWE/s3163/24sponge.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2307" data-original-width="3163" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhchmGSl97YdR9vB4l08xeSD3tbvXyBhSpWsb20_8DCfRABLtoG0wktSNiQbci4psh9XQ5I46ciM4SQn3QRYCPOVLPBM860W5v0wE9AIEg3EBk2HX1kd1V6fHkEAxQj6NOM7M49o1t9fdw0brqVSRmZUpRZfafOA6GmMU5FLa1E-kgND3-I1BVm-h6EWaWE/w640-h466/24sponge.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>But here was the most amazing underwater "being" we saw today, a bulbous mass of transparent greenish jelly submerged in shallow water close to the shore. These blobs, which occur frequently in this lake, are formed by a colonial microscopic single-celled protozoan called <i>Ophrydium versatile</i>. As I once learned from the <i>Ask the Naturalist</i> blog, these colonies can be found all over the world in fresh water. The individual cells line up side-by-side and attach themselves to a jelly-like substance they secrete, eventually forming blobs of different sizes, from as small as a marble to as big as a bathtub. They are symbiotic with microscopic <i>Chlorella</i> algae that live inside the <i>Ophrydium</i> cells and give the blob its green color. When the sunlight illumines these colonies beneath the water, they assume a wonderfully mysterious green glow!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKtH-5VJw7EPOKpfzjVR1iCHMulYWyhS8jEcauf5Ag1HQagPzeUHK4GQG7Ojh8Xf_gVxRAPbR6VAmmd1kBut7lqiN1DcnjnH3ISv5jLAOjT9KuOU9HxOVvZRd770jGKyYNQB_1z3Dcv-MAUm4_RdPaEtt8HcjbpdB8Ud1TI6uR5lHzI2p3bjoQO2f_P9Pw/s3416/25ophrydium.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2653" data-original-width="3416" height="498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKtH-5VJw7EPOKpfzjVR1iCHMulYWyhS8jEcauf5Ag1HQagPzeUHK4GQG7Ojh8Xf_gVxRAPbR6VAmmd1kBut7lqiN1DcnjnH3ISv5jLAOjT9KuOU9HxOVvZRd770jGKyYNQB_1z3Dcv-MAUm4_RdPaEtt8HcjbpdB8Ud1TI6uR5lHzI2p3bjoQO2f_P9Pw/w640-h498/25ophrydium.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Here was one last amazing thing we found at Lens Lake this day: a mass of baby spiders, still residing in their webby nest before wafting off on breeze-lofted filaments of their own web. Sue saw this mass first, attached to the twigs of a waterside shrub. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPsg00ewabVuF-gNvxsIf18MOgGKLZoH-4RXgycR3wm1jcYXScDiTAVaVzCrtxXq-7j1FbTQG3CJLumBMaUH4yihq9hIqnahb-tRe0kmRVZ21SRuwDH9hB_mNZbdJrFDRr904IxnEWlseH2FEQzvm_gZqjOQfNNYSKdp59cUZJSPjSCSKuGifQUbb14mld/s3957/26spiders.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2826" data-original-width="3957" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPsg00ewabVuF-gNvxsIf18MOgGKLZoH-4RXgycR3wm1jcYXScDiTAVaVzCrtxXq-7j1FbTQG3CJLumBMaUH4yihq9hIqnahb-tRe0kmRVZ21SRuwDH9hB_mNZbdJrFDRr904IxnEWlseH2FEQzvm_gZqjOQfNNYSKdp59cUZJSPjSCSKuGifQUbb14mld/w640-h458/26spiders.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>At first, especially when I saw the pale, dry, cast-off skins of the molting spiderlings, I was concerned that all were dead, perhaps killed by frost. But then I spotted the larger, darker spiderlings that were definitely wriggling around. They were too small for me to determine their species, so I will just call them Adorables. This was just one more delight of this absolutely delightful day in one of the most beautiful places on earth.</p>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-22320924554662602182023-09-25T19:38:00.001-04:002023-09-25T21:55:01.300-04:00Powerline Perambulations<p> <span style="font-size: x-large;">A</span>n east/west powerline intersects a north/south lane in the middle of the densely wooded Daniels Road State Forest Preserve, just north of Saratoga. Two straight lines, easy walking, no way to get lost in the woods. A friend had told me about an abundant patch of Purple Milkwort (<i>Polygala sanguinea</i>) alongside this powerline, the flowers massed just steps from the preserve's parking area, he said. So on Friday, off I went to find them, driving north about a mile into the woods to the parking area, then headed east on the powerline. I could easily see this intersection pictured below from where I parked my car.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWyHWLfG5madvqNU1fxfeaHmkJLQoTbGVQZGhVs9jVw8rUDlc75Lx7pEiVdMsbLHOCmJ8h4uwt-96oJjFAw54UpcuS4CtNdH9HapglY6SY2mzy2ok7S2NVPYpzkS8U51YzcActrRAwxBgiVhqOnHIn6KLA6aplJQ5yaUF9dMyx0QDltUNhDHATNL65Nv0r/s3921/01intersection.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2489" data-original-width="3921" height="406" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWyHWLfG5madvqNU1fxfeaHmkJLQoTbGVQZGhVs9jVw8rUDlc75Lx7pEiVdMsbLHOCmJ8h4uwt-96oJjFAw54UpcuS4CtNdH9HapglY6SY2mzy2ok7S2NVPYpzkS8U51YzcActrRAwxBgiVhqOnHIn6KLA6aplJQ5yaUF9dMyx0QDltUNhDHATNL65Nv0r/w640-h406/01intersection.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Here's what Purple Milkwort looks like. It's small (similar in size to a clover flower), but such a bright pink I was sure I couldn't miss it. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSlNQ7wIQQeQJpSxln37VAm3CNt2AlWBLJG1AzZQ5dwbPlQP-koH0_g0ByibYij2UPBhr_dVNb1zLR0cCJEZZJdWegBwZ5GbC_6MMEqfpeq7pUpQTWaklgMg4Q-mic1JCvZHN_2Pn_6q5jBKX6_VTLk95IfDt_KqCFEfWIpWT2anGe-gNIuGDr2Uh9kDnr/s2822/02milkwortpair.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2017" data-original-width="2822" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSlNQ7wIQQeQJpSxln37VAm3CNt2AlWBLJG1AzZQ5dwbPlQP-koH0_g0ByibYij2UPBhr_dVNb1zLR0cCJEZZJdWegBwZ5GbC_6MMEqfpeq7pUpQTWaklgMg4Q-mic1JCvZHN_2Pn_6q5jBKX6_VTLk95IfDt_KqCFEfWIpWT2anGe-gNIuGDr2Uh9kDnr/w640-h458/02milkwortpair.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>But miss it, I did! I walked and walked and walked along the powerline, heading east, searching the grass along either side, but found no dots of bright purple. Hmm, I thought to myself, I must be walking the wrong side of the powerline. (I'd forgotten my friend's directions.) Better go back to the lane I drove in on and continue on the powerline heading west. But just as I thought this, I spied some beautiful Yellow Ladies' Tresses (<i>Spiranthes ochroleuca</i>) off trail near the woods. Oh boy, I rarely see these! Better get some good photos. So I knelt down, circling around the plants to get shots of it from all angles. That was my first mistake.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5kuk8_306VR0ue1mSpIPOZRmhvYbNSPUwelMwJ8moe8gKKj22bp5WTCud8BvqHdcBzVmNnteG-eG2VvV8vffFJx_IX6NyAqk9HB5ZKA7mxCV5Fi8D2ghW4XKKN5ViHUanplR0Rvy5EktajnpiTkD1HSd7nKm7gTkQa1F_pcO77tQdZSuu5DyCcL1TiLSM/s3942/03ochroleuca.crop.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2909" data-original-width="3942" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5kuk8_306VR0ue1mSpIPOZRmhvYbNSPUwelMwJ8moe8gKKj22bp5WTCud8BvqHdcBzVmNnteG-eG2VvV8vffFJx_IX6NyAqk9HB5ZKA7mxCV5Fi8D2ghW4XKKN5ViHUanplR0Rvy5EktajnpiTkD1HSd7nKm7gTkQa1F_pcO77tQdZSuu5DyCcL1TiLSM/w640-h472/03ochroleuca.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>But I did not realize my mistake until some time later. When I rose from my knees I started walking what I assumed was back toward the lane, not realizing that I had got myself turned around and was actually walking <i>away</i> from the lane. I walked and walked and walked, feeling a bit amazed that I had come so far. But then I started noticing trailside features that I <i>knew</i> I'd not passed before. WHAT?!!! Oh dear, I must be going the wrong direction! So I turned around and walked and walked and walked and walked and never found the lane. Stunned and disoriented, I questioned my sense of direction once more, and after repeating my exertions again and never finding the lane in either direction, I totally panicked. I had enough sense to know that I had left the lane by traveling east, so all I had to do was keep heading west and that lane would eventually appear. But clouds had covered the sun so there were no afternoon shadows to indicate east from west, and I had no compass. (Lesson learned: never leave home without one!) Frightened and exhausted, but lucky there was cell service here and I had a charged-up cellphone, I stationed myself by a numbered power pole and dialed 911. Long story short, a dear young sheriff's deputy found me not 15 minutes after my call for help and escorted me out through the woods to where he had parked his patrol car nearly a mile away. He then drove me back to where my car was parked. Oh boy, did I feel stupid! I could not thank my escort enough, but he told me he'd much rather help a lady find her way out of the woods than stop somebody for speeding. How dear and kind of him! He made me feel very happy that my taxes go to provide such help for the lost.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I still felt much chagrin that I had made such a stupid mistake, and even worse, that I'd never found the flowers! So back to the scene of the drama I returned the next day, full of strategies about how to determine directions, as well as clear instructions from my friend about exactly where to find the Purple Milkworts, just steps from the parking area. This time I headed WEST on the powerline. And I kept turning around to keep the lane well in view. I also gazed beyond the lane to where I could see mountains rising far to the east. I could see no mountains, even from a rise in the path, by gazing to the west. So now I had a sure reference. Those mountains weren't going anywhere. Now I could relax and enjoy the walk.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-BlLEVeQ7ZlzNorMoH2p6ewFl05aTYaqcoWvoa3O3Z33Aj51xBhCZO8SGfV7_152wMvpEERjjgfRTho_vXxbkob_JB4N0b_vVQ4xlEszigF30toga-DE-kDA0b8Phbuavjkb346kOnsz621BrORe-leu9sMs95Jq1QJuej_vvBo_iHEJDPmRRGggya5J5/s3869/04powerline,west.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2925" data-original-width="3869" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-BlLEVeQ7ZlzNorMoH2p6ewFl05aTYaqcoWvoa3O3Z33Aj51xBhCZO8SGfV7_152wMvpEERjjgfRTho_vXxbkob_JB4N0b_vVQ4xlEszigF30toga-DE-kDA0b8Phbuavjkb346kOnsz621BrORe-leu9sMs95Jq1QJuej_vvBo_iHEJDPmRRGggya5J5/w640-h484/04powerline,west.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Just as my friend had told me, the milkworts were only a few yards away from the intersection of powerline and roadway. And oh my gosh, there were HUNDREDS! I could hardly walk among them without fear of trampling them.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEUVjlFnOm6p4dJNJz5IG-stOjreu0lJzX-hiP2c2Ax_GfdK1CNTQ2U355KgM0d5uPM4ZJOrN3kAzF2OVq6WPNsWhPaABSjtHtB2DhJZjwrhdly4QmzSxKCgFmHZ458869WAAqfJSvnBfMJ5l-fgNrnLGk4vpMFkGt0KuCZRgKWVrtHpfzMarVW0zYFqhX/s2494/05milkworts,shoe.crop.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1839" data-original-width="2494" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEUVjlFnOm6p4dJNJz5IG-stOjreu0lJzX-hiP2c2Ax_GfdK1CNTQ2U355KgM0d5uPM4ZJOrN3kAzF2OVq6WPNsWhPaABSjtHtB2DhJZjwrhdly4QmzSxKCgFmHZ458869WAAqfJSvnBfMJ5l-fgNrnLGk4vpMFkGt0KuCZRgKWVrtHpfzMarVW0zYFqhX/w640-h472/05milkworts,shoe.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I have seen this lovely flower before, but never with blooms of such an intense color.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW3Blxi77V-bphAcaTCE_VnzWdffNqCKlLOPiznR5j5GitV8AILMv0WMxv-FTJWZFATOavK5IXNzcCKpe8pEBPufRohxcgSXPEs2hAGiThSkoiTPF6V9FrkUbN4NjCMqAcGLUeWl0yI0dsrFZpy5cHXoF1dYdEd9T0hyieOTBnvI6K0RSd7YlyfLPF1vOx/s2210/06milkwortcluster.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1660" data-original-width="2210" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW3Blxi77V-bphAcaTCE_VnzWdffNqCKlLOPiznR5j5GitV8AILMv0WMxv-FTJWZFATOavK5IXNzcCKpe8pEBPufRohxcgSXPEs2hAGiThSkoiTPF6V9FrkUbN4NjCMqAcGLUeWl0yI0dsrFZpy5cHXoF1dYdEd9T0hyieOTBnvI6K0RSd7YlyfLPF1vOx/w640-h480/06milkwortcluster.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Secure that I could still see the lane from a kneeling position, I once again knelt down to closely admire and photograph the blooms.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgK52MWk5VPvBGOr8IO-gawKrnBBNkOVERB_s6vV0Pc37a-08PeVZLaflrOUFdECBAXQdgr4ahKPtMKXGdAktVQGTMiR5rWNPBMVvUuJQgX5Vhdn0xKkJmdtdoA6X8ITaagsI9BJEQwVVAvXobwogurVpw3u68wjWlapUlAvFi9Filq1q7knm9oE2fMtM0/s2998/07milkworthandful.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2168" data-original-width="2998" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgK52MWk5VPvBGOr8IO-gawKrnBBNkOVERB_s6vV0Pc37a-08PeVZLaflrOUFdECBAXQdgr4ahKPtMKXGdAktVQGTMiR5rWNPBMVvUuJQgX5Vhdn0xKkJmdtdoA6X8ITaagsI9BJEQwVVAvXobwogurVpw3u68wjWlapUlAvFi9Filq1q7knm9oE2fMtM0/w640-h462/07milkworthandful.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Just <i>look</i> at the teeny tiny multicolored flowers held within the surrounding purple bracts! Like a tiny bouquet wrapped in purple tissue paper. They remind me of those Italian porcelains called Capodimonte, which render tiny delicate flowers, often contained in little porcelain baskets. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0c-c0vijD_9Y21PBNkHnpWcQ-6PdipRc7XfLIu5MoQuGi5W_t-MI9ehRQEF39lhk8rygjb1YFcy0MFZSQ81SPsUwEhQvR5erE2t4097ETujq56BiFXN2uMX5G0d3n8evJVrLw6N1QBYWPjZMCww4cfBVE9C9nrsNtlCKLTDhPz5VbxVdEjX-hZMUAtKiR/s2111/08milkwort,interior.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1604" data-original-width="2111" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0c-c0vijD_9Y21PBNkHnpWcQ-6PdipRc7XfLIu5MoQuGi5W_t-MI9ehRQEF39lhk8rygjb1YFcy0MFZSQ81SPsUwEhQvR5erE2t4097ETujq56BiFXN2uMX5G0d3n8evJVrLw6N1QBYWPjZMCww4cfBVE9C9nrsNtlCKLTDhPz5VbxVdEjX-hZMUAtKiR/w640-h486/08milkwort,interior.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>These flowers must keep blooming for quite a long time, continuing to add new tiers of delicate bracts as the blossoms age. Evidently, these Purple Milkworts have been blooming for quite a while!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSzoh-4CJ_cXhe0dSArlDkqp0e4Z0utvtaxGCrv1nNj_5HhsQQwYzVIdV_UMamkIU3XjZZ8BOXGpfd91AVLMEfM4MjAn49f8NrqyiwCNk2icsWoUon9Oaq5y6hiIb-esdsc96BA_-B2iocN9y00gW8NK-UkfjIeL9NMIdVYbrjJZjBESR9g-YmnsQ2iy5a/s2775/09milkwort,aging.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2387" data-original-width="2775" height="550" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSzoh-4CJ_cXhe0dSArlDkqp0e4Z0utvtaxGCrv1nNj_5HhsQQwYzVIdV_UMamkIU3XjZZ8BOXGpfd91AVLMEfM4MjAn49f8NrqyiwCNk2icsWoUon9Oaq5y6hiIb-esdsc96BA_-B2iocN9y00gW8NK-UkfjIeL9NMIdVYbrjJZjBESR9g-YmnsQ2iy5a/w640-h550/09milkwort,aging.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Mission accomplished and shame assuaged, I continued walking west on the powerline clearcut, delighting in many of the other wildflowers along the way. The wayside meadows were a sea of goldenrods, probably of several species, but I was content to enjoy their beauty without having to know their exact names. This bumblebee didn't care whose nectar it was imbibing.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisexQyEu8FeqCxtk7QWIsug8dHdY5gpdxpmE3phu483wgT8bFawQfLVZOsj6zCTBtZ_xcBk9YEpKD6Y7fkP1-XuckUENLNqGNJtE6MZtAOX2-1Pfypiup21-XQhoG0gVZvnD2YlxQeMWkY92NM2ETQ8bKOeklY9G9Td7nEiEvfMrxnBiGL6PE_DUdGmVHv/s3275/11goldenrod,bee.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2318" data-original-width="3275" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisexQyEu8FeqCxtk7QWIsug8dHdY5gpdxpmE3phu483wgT8bFawQfLVZOsj6zCTBtZ_xcBk9YEpKD6Y7fkP1-XuckUENLNqGNJtE6MZtAOX2-1Pfypiup21-XQhoG0gVZvnD2YlxQeMWkY92NM2ETQ8bKOeklY9G9Td7nEiEvfMrxnBiGL6PE_DUdGmVHv/w640-h452/11goldenrod,bee.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I did recognize these small yellow flowers as belonging to Rough Hawkweed (<i>Hieracium scabrum</i>), one of our native hawkweeds and one with roughish leaves that climb the hairy stems.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5C7aBp2hlQ6ac6_NjCDCfuJpc7KzjUPT2py7GR_Ovbj245acMOk6EpqVlurHGqvRKAatuTcHYA8zQ5ddUPiA_oIqn0gBKXACPOppJSZVAnarPD_ecVwo509aei4GW3gp_5zeXBY1PddiQHDLpqvpdfL9WZgxpcZP_kSqOJcwDtp9IZYtNbWNvW7yJ0heO/s3154/12roughhawkweed.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2399" data-original-width="3154" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5C7aBp2hlQ6ac6_NjCDCfuJpc7KzjUPT2py7GR_Ovbj245acMOk6EpqVlurHGqvRKAatuTcHYA8zQ5ddUPiA_oIqn0gBKXACPOppJSZVAnarPD_ecVwo509aei4GW3gp_5zeXBY1PddiQHDLpqvpdfL9WZgxpcZP_kSqOJcwDtp9IZYtNbWNvW7yJ0heO/w640-h486/12roughhawkweed.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>At first glance, I surmised that these starry white flowers were those of Frostweed Aster (<i>Symphyotricum pilosum</i>), because of their relatively large size and the plant's open habit of growth. But wait: these stems were smooth, not hairy, as the specific name "<i>pilosum</i>" would indicate. So this aster is likely the hairless variety of <i>S. pilosum</i> called Pringle's Aster: <i>Symphyotrichum pilosum</i> var. <i>pringlei</i>.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxMS587CkQmvUPM2m9FeNLT184R8pii-b9BSi2El6bFusGIb1dN9XEoJPIUKYarHGtTDyyKk9PFPOnIwiywgzKNWhyLJW531E07HIzhLmMhJikYpwUC2waNyDpgZLrUUhVUmfr1S8zOEwzs_sbIGlUNKp7VPbt1xq7GKeESvMuK_vCN4rTGafoHnGhKl_y/s2879/13pringlesaster.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2173" data-original-width="2879" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxMS587CkQmvUPM2m9FeNLT184R8pii-b9BSi2El6bFusGIb1dN9XEoJPIUKYarHGtTDyyKk9PFPOnIwiywgzKNWhyLJW531E07HIzhLmMhJikYpwUC2waNyDpgZLrUUhVUmfr1S8zOEwzs_sbIGlUNKp7VPbt1xq7GKeESvMuK_vCN4rTGafoHnGhKl_y/w640-h484/13pringlesaster.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This thickly florabundant pale-purple aster could be the Wavy Aster (<i>Symphyotrichum undulatum</i>), to judge from how the pedicels of its lower leaves widened before they met the stems. But I am never sure of species when it comes to asters. We have so many species, and they do hybridize with each other at times.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCG9aPvdcPKFkz8D5lIg1BZ6m78j_87vHuOjYG5m79jpRI_fGbv307LrTXIw2GVKORShVsnlod6eKl38VRPdMcHBBCq6cRVzjxqsMZnMItXKZQv0l4KXdD0Fj_Eexb2eVR8TkXLbx62gHyzFhBKORxC56e1FHo1TVnZh13i3_HJCooI8U6xwPo529ukBaW/s3401/14wavyleaf%20aster.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2809" data-original-width="3401" height="528" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCG9aPvdcPKFkz8D5lIg1BZ6m78j_87vHuOjYG5m79jpRI_fGbv307LrTXIw2GVKORShVsnlod6eKl38VRPdMcHBBCq6cRVzjxqsMZnMItXKZQv0l4KXdD0Fj_Eexb2eVR8TkXLbx62gHyzFhBKORxC56e1FHo1TVnZh13i3_HJCooI8U6xwPo529ukBaW/w640-h528/14wavyleaf%20aster.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This bumblebee was feeding on what I at first assumed was Spotted Knapweed. But then I noticed the slender lance-like leaves along the stem, not the deeply-cut leaves of that very invasive non-native weed. I then decided this must be Brown Knapweed (<i>Centaurea jacea</i>) instead. The Brown Knapweed (a species introduced from Europe) is possibly just as invasive in the U.S. as the Spotted Knapweed, but I do find it growing wild much less often and much less abundantly in the places I usually visit.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_b5fKfs34s2FUnVAI0TqlJJTPI5rQToyJGTw4dKehfHIG9ERAMHQFi5kd6vEgkZi1Cx1GJpEQcVMRREhvLmDvUEhp5is57R7B5uCCyI9AnHK8ukE7gSEwhirBwxL8_b6OyNMZ3coN5QZt5_DTWeusPSPGNh_1hdWHn_uDVTR-BvYK_7i3T2GU9W7GnE9U/s2913/15brownknapweed.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1906" data-original-width="2913" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_b5fKfs34s2FUnVAI0TqlJJTPI5rQToyJGTw4dKehfHIG9ERAMHQFi5kd6vEgkZi1Cx1GJpEQcVMRREhvLmDvUEhp5is57R7B5uCCyI9AnHK8ukE7gSEwhirBwxL8_b6OyNMZ3coN5QZt5_DTWeusPSPGNh_1hdWHn_uDVTR-BvYK_7i3T2GU9W7GnE9U/w640-h418/15brownknapweed.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The brown fringed bracts on the Brown Knapweed's involucre are one of the keys to its identification, along with those narrow uncut leaves.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizKWB8Mk_uLn38LPyBLp-AHFp_nUBsOo8rH1LvAdVrYN7tDIB-BHvYL47c3UkvOM3nd4vVnV9KBB_0UZPltyhNtWBJ5IDUGx2qrjwC0IlIif6iO-BMf-ySAJ539uGkNnGSUOisbdhMwtFmGYGvS_RPWndb0AcuLXuvDU9IRP4sj1DCjogactHci_JgILZc/s3286/16brownknapweed,bracts.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2639" data-original-width="3286" height="514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizKWB8Mk_uLn38LPyBLp-AHFp_nUBsOo8rH1LvAdVrYN7tDIB-BHvYL47c3UkvOM3nd4vVnV9KBB_0UZPltyhNtWBJ5IDUGx2qrjwC0IlIif6iO-BMf-ySAJ539uGkNnGSUOisbdhMwtFmGYGvS_RPWndb0AcuLXuvDU9IRP4sj1DCjogactHci_JgILZc/w640-h514/16brownknapweed,bracts.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>When I saw the bright-yellow blooms of Nodding Bur-marigold (<i>Bidens cernua</i>), I guessed that it had found its way to a bit of a wetland beneath these powerlines. Sure enough, as I approached, I stepped down into a swale that was thick with the barbed stems of Arrowleaf Tearthumb grabbing at my pantlegs, and my feet could feel soft damp soil beneath my shoes.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSeol-uEil0GyFNTYrWg-SAgjghO1XAxTizFxsN2L1nSX1gVMnxWCWPX6m8xwr1KNLI0Hvkyx28fr0DbUXf8eJLpYZl6i6RB50BCWOeppLV3CirpvdGuNqF-kLcBXAdMyqiLpHZQv6WwQqpDeJLGMcaJyr7ffb0HBfSecfh19e3mw4MZaoKu5QfCVEwODb/s3611/17burmarigold.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2694" data-original-width="3611" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSeol-uEil0GyFNTYrWg-SAgjghO1XAxTizFxsN2L1nSX1gVMnxWCWPX6m8xwr1KNLI0Hvkyx28fr0DbUXf8eJLpYZl6i6RB50BCWOeppLV3CirpvdGuNqF-kLcBXAdMyqiLpHZQv6WwQqpDeJLGMcaJyr7ffb0HBfSecfh19e3mw4MZaoKu5QfCVEwODb/w640-h478/17burmarigold.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Slender Agalinis (<i>Agalinis tenuifolia</i>) is another denizen of damp places, and sure enough, I found in this little swale a few of its pretty purple flowers still blooming among the frothy remains of its many plants now gone to seed.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOwiqKPPcWYomz1-S7IlyGFDf7wYmYGpj8vi5vqM8bE6XH7aGiXC7PHB_qwkjz7iNK_bjAMqzT9n7c_SGPL_q5djFf94yaQm8y2a4oPMotI1eUG4XQ-51_TV83IqSZ4AAYiohsmctmja-ShbY1pEbkbIqgCBwDclZStWNPkeyu2RnkOPZD6Tbv-pN6kpjJ/s2433/18agalinus.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1787" data-original-width="2433" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOwiqKPPcWYomz1-S7IlyGFDf7wYmYGpj8vi5vqM8bE6XH7aGiXC7PHB_qwkjz7iNK_bjAMqzT9n7c_SGPL_q5djFf94yaQm8y2a4oPMotI1eUG4XQ-51_TV83IqSZ4AAYiohsmctmja-ShbY1pEbkbIqgCBwDclZStWNPkeyu2RnkOPZD6Tbv-pN6kpjJ/w640-h470/18agalinus.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And sure enough, here also bloomed the well-named wetland denizen called Swamp Aster (S<i>ymphyotricum puniceum</i>). Another name for this aster is Purple-stemmed Aster, although it doesn't always have a purple stem. But it does always grow where the soil is damp. And it always has a hairy stem. Since "<i>puniceum</i>" means "pink" in Latin, I'm still pondering why it earned that name, since its flowers look more blue than pink. This is our earliest showy aster to bloom, and it keeps on blooming very late in the season.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMI-8h1JuHPKOE95qxoClr6Sfv3tQd1rk95oJlHfuLJFFjbum74dz7NnRvM0EngelrDlJzV7e-sS_hXie_O1uFTGnZOv4quhiEpTgHiFRn8pXfCbhnwiee3FAp7XAPiBHkx8ynS4q6FyGsw0zd2TZX5e87U8eS1xv3RxA8Fbpcpt9OnPIDdY-ULMbn175U/s3124/19swampaster.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2576" data-original-width="3124" height="528" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMI-8h1JuHPKOE95qxoClr6Sfv3tQd1rk95oJlHfuLJFFjbum74dz7NnRvM0EngelrDlJzV7e-sS_hXie_O1uFTGnZOv4quhiEpTgHiFRn8pXfCbhnwiee3FAp7XAPiBHkx8ynS4q6FyGsw0zd2TZX5e87U8eS1xv3RxA8Fbpcpt9OnPIDdY-ULMbn175U/w640-h528/19swampaster.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>There were also rocky outcroppings along the powerline, perfect habitat for many interesting mosses and lichens and clubmosses. I recognized the spiky Bristly Haircap Moss (<i>Polytricum piliferum</i>) poking up through these wavy-leaved mounds of a gray-green lichen, but I will have to ask one of my bryologist friends to help me put a name to the lichen. I found it beautiful, but it was quite unfamiliar to me.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguV9gVlWfXIfUYwvcY_nPJHB_38rHLkbcQtc6QqVuo1q3w4783Py0sCZukImY0HlNLGPv5sEtmgub25puPllmjapWpNMvV4MBzG01A3cn6WIGo492KSvSxGw6E3YrShKWPGlQ5ASDoScVyDC9QoHNuF5D0u4WXK93OPBRA8V0EkDvW79Ircm1XibvB-5Bj/s2526/20lichenpillows.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1836" data-original-width="2526" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguV9gVlWfXIfUYwvcY_nPJHB_38rHLkbcQtc6QqVuo1q3w4783Py0sCZukImY0HlNLGPv5sEtmgub25puPllmjapWpNMvV4MBzG01A3cn6WIGo492KSvSxGw6E3YrShKWPGlQ5ASDoScVyDC9QoHNuF5D0u4WXK93OPBRA8V0EkDvW79Ircm1XibvB-5Bj/w640-h466/20lichenpillows.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I did recognize these pale fruiticose lichens as one of the Reindeer Lichens (Cladonia species), but my attention was taken up almost entirely by the green spiky tufts of Rock Spikemoss (<i>Selaginella rupestris</i>), which is not really a moss, being more closely related to ferns. Although it is quite widespread in its range, it is not a very common find.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyPhoryEWXL8lbVjMiZ_sM71Rl5XouAAEJHE_-Y9F49jhlGKH0Ktvz1tKLY292U8eutd11fvCYT-ndhIVmN_5B9_a5tATXCCBOTtr-m54FBR0yP2r5hf4PCPQYobk9xueiQKV-T28Y31QB3MqdLPlDHvHm3i_lXfbFtPeeU9ZuFcmDk41_ZfZx5O0-FcHn/s3333/21selaginella.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2508" data-original-width="3333" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyPhoryEWXL8lbVjMiZ_sM71Rl5XouAAEJHE_-Y9F49jhlGKH0Ktvz1tKLY292U8eutd11fvCYT-ndhIVmN_5B9_a5tATXCCBOTtr-m54FBR0yP2r5hf4PCPQYobk9xueiQKV-T28Y31QB3MqdLPlDHvHm3i_lXfbFtPeeU9ZuFcmDk41_ZfZx5O0-FcHn/w640-h482/21selaginella.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The white tufts on the ends of these Running Clubmoss branches have suggested other vernacular names for <i>Lycopodium clavatum</i>: Wolf's Claw and Stag's Horn among them. The yellow candelabras are the clubmoss's spore stalks.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1BWeqQxBDIHnrJ5HpEznFFYxR-6qGUvTqw8kp784q8y78XMa_h48ludR3yfCQYK27dnckAHyYxZqLUZ8j66TrvlHzTt-NRyZymZcVM5PDNrJ5xOlEyTbQaT_1dfn9wxixloiVg1kOc-dt0j7R67gr35HUbR1zcRQx2MEOUubo25B4Q-YbKEf1Mez36msk/s3440/22wolfstongue.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2559" data-original-width="3440" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1BWeqQxBDIHnrJ5HpEznFFYxR-6qGUvTqw8kp784q8y78XMa_h48ludR3yfCQYK27dnckAHyYxZqLUZ8j66TrvlHzTt-NRyZymZcVM5PDNrJ5xOlEyTbQaT_1dfn9wxixloiVg1kOc-dt0j7R67gr35HUbR1zcRQx2MEOUubo25B4Q-YbKEf1Mez36msk/w640-h476/22wolfstongue.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Here was another clubmoss, a species called Blue Clubmoss (<i>Diphasiastrum tristachyum</i>), although it's only a little bit bluer than other <i>Diphasiastrum</i> species. What distinguishes this one is that its stolons run beneath the surface of the ground instead of along the top. And yes, a bluish cast to its green leaves.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiixqX6vR7OdIr3aUQdEq4eWDIpUXiORU9lDJzO46SjyBZ7YGiM3sjghQAFQKg-Dd6oJt4jpIu6yyeZ-2rCMCTsleZSVqqZ--Ssad0SyULhH72lGQYGjFXa0r76C4bUDpMeppN3VcA9dbCizQ2-JqlOklq5uU3r-wX5T1IkrCg9TNOjo-sFc57wqPAT9hZp/s3902/23blueclubmoss.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2462" data-original-width="3902" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiixqX6vR7OdIr3aUQdEq4eWDIpUXiORU9lDJzO46SjyBZ7YGiM3sjghQAFQKg-Dd6oJt4jpIu6yyeZ-2rCMCTsleZSVqqZ--Ssad0SyULhH72lGQYGjFXa0r76C4bUDpMeppN3VcA9dbCizQ2-JqlOklq5uU3r-wX5T1IkrCg9TNOjo-sFc57wqPAT9hZp/w640-h404/23blueclubmoss.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>The grassy meadows under the powerline had their own way of being beautiful. I particularly love our native Little Bluestem Grass (<i>Schizachyrium scoparium</i>) in the fall, when its fine stalks (more red than blue!) hold fluffy tufts of the seedheads all along the stems.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifLcWy8uMQQovtyJhy8IicENuDq9vzUYqvsejd0K78pXlV1P_XGUPD32f4WY3ZDGkcQSeMFIflry5mNT4K5OMw9zc39MST1J2Zs5AiwKIGI4JO_lHQvKHNUrUyuDAXKGNphVSIMGK6E59qTpYG5h6EdvtkLA7rTMnjxbvUsIX8OFn3sUb9VcNFn2VNxnIF/s3897/24bluestemgrass.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2908" data-original-width="3897" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifLcWy8uMQQovtyJhy8IicENuDq9vzUYqvsejd0K78pXlV1P_XGUPD32f4WY3ZDGkcQSeMFIflry5mNT4K5OMw9zc39MST1J2Zs5AiwKIGI4JO_lHQvKHNUrUyuDAXKGNphVSIMGK6E59qTpYG5h6EdvtkLA7rTMnjxbvUsIX8OFn3sUb9VcNFn2VNxnIF/w640-h478/24bluestemgrass.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There was one section where the grass was distinctly yellow, and its seedheads looked like fluffy yellow-orange caterpillars. Can any one of my readers put a name to this pretty grass? I confess that grasses are one of my areas of ignorance. But that doesn't mean my appreciation for their beauty is lacking.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfPj629gCQq4ZPNC9Un_NA-WgjQe87eDRJbfDhrRQAci_Am1yTWbrDNA-MUuLFabnC7i4owkrNZHgKBKmy3JpKypvEPsvmUPiXNzfsKqRJW4RYaXFGOwYeu9Y-ssnUG875u-zTBLuvDoabR8qeqWk5aM0pQ0OAE18Xsqssq6KR5QQ7QVDt8NnSkyhflcEi/s3713/25yellowgrass.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2794" data-original-width="3713" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfPj629gCQq4ZPNC9Un_NA-WgjQe87eDRJbfDhrRQAci_Am1yTWbrDNA-MUuLFabnC7i4owkrNZHgKBKmy3JpKypvEPsvmUPiXNzfsKqRJW4RYaXFGOwYeu9Y-ssnUG875u-zTBLuvDoabR8qeqWk5aM0pQ0OAE18Xsqssq6KR5QQ7QVDt8NnSkyhflcEi/w640-h482/25yellowgrass.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I did see some small yellow butterflies along the way, very busy among the asters, but none would hold still for the picture-taking. But this handsome fellow (gal?) did hold still. A beautiful insect indeed! Note that it was perched on the hairless stems of a Pringle's Aster!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEA2mowBR2iRtvpHmDUJApGdZ3Ur1iJHSjN-QlgaYOLGDzCvjw0rgndT1XYnEUeSDMGohAMjeMt0oWJKSUm9oHaRi58kLNiGYufzkHk9KpUy6Lk51aNDEppbAMv85MsLqQfTYrdKVKJ2BenTHclEnISB73V4gfXICEgKGuoreGOpOIScrgUOxZP1ayebVW/s3422/26grasshopper.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2650" data-original-width="3422" height="496" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEA2mowBR2iRtvpHmDUJApGdZ3Ur1iJHSjN-QlgaYOLGDzCvjw0rgndT1XYnEUeSDMGohAMjeMt0oWJKSUm9oHaRi58kLNiGYufzkHk9KpUy6Lk51aNDEppbAMv85MsLqQfTYrdKVKJ2BenTHclEnISB73V4gfXICEgKGuoreGOpOIScrgUOxZP1ayebVW/w640-h496/26grasshopper.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>On the other hand, this little critter did not hold still at all! It was all I could do to hold onto this wee little Dekay's Brown Snake as it wriggled and swayed in my hand -- let alone get its cute little face in focus! I've been told that this snake never gets much bigger than this, so I'm glad to know my grip wasn't terrifying a helpless little baby. I promptly let it go.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyXiBsyH9oxlBoyKcClPAziZedfw-4ZkoS1yZJ8jNPygFn95OnZN8uhTm9E18osajAEH76FeVKS3VXlxwQ1nWO0jg-j8aL6qtvxRsrGy8vaEebORVuz6LdBCIug0glf7-QgWOInTzFaQBMuV7YXRsWjzlAGv6H99jMJQ1y9YIB8-dX34UafZycllWUXvyS/s2361/27DeKays%20Brown%20Snake.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1575" data-original-width="2361" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyXiBsyH9oxlBoyKcClPAziZedfw-4ZkoS1yZJ8jNPygFn95OnZN8uhTm9E18osajAEH76FeVKS3VXlxwQ1nWO0jg-j8aL6qtvxRsrGy8vaEebORVuz6LdBCIug0glf7-QgWOInTzFaQBMuV7YXRsWjzlAGv6H99jMJQ1y9YIB8-dX34UafZycllWUXvyS/w640-h426/27DeKays%20Brown%20Snake.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-59908375952648853402023-09-20T17:47:00.003-04:002023-09-22T12:16:24.197-04:00Late-summer Pleasures Paddling a Pond<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">H</span>ow to choose a favorite season of the year? As a naturalist, I feast so thoroughly in what natural wonders each season has to offer, I always feel ready to move on to the next "course." But oh my, I do think late summer-early autumn is especially delightful. High-summer's sweltering heat has given way to mornings when a sweater feels comforting and the midday warmth is welcome. The explosion of autumn's brilliant foliage is still a few weeks away, but the berry bushes are heavy with colorful fruits and the meadows appear like tawny seas as the wind moves in waves through the tufted grasses. I can't think of any better way to enjoy this season than paddling a quiet Adirondack pond. Especially the pond my friend Ruth Brooks and I chose to paddle this week, a beaver-formed pond in northern Saratoga County, with a varied shoreline that offers several diverse habitats: sedge meadow, forested rocky banks, muddy shallows, and boggy shores.</p><p><b>Sedge-meadow Shore</b></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">A</span> bright overcast sky turned the pond's quiet surface to liquid silver as we set off along the sedge-meadow shore, where a wide swath of sedges, rushes, and low shrubs stood between the water and the vast forest that surrounds the pond.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX9oJGhVqFKLZC8U88YuTRy9Blh7xCYi81NtEtCt0XD9eVBFYeo2YYcrv-UTO4RghuNuuUlxqZA8xl6bqspYXMz0XBZJPO2BhYYYO6uCzP7v6qnwT-MMWQcXftlVj0g-NTAhr9Qz1FOD_-YzTI1-Z6jw2w17c9uvyYStQOkRH-IIrVqTs1mpH2vtLU0ywD/s3918/01pond.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2859" data-original-width="3918" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX9oJGhVqFKLZC8U88YuTRy9Blh7xCYi81NtEtCt0XD9eVBFYeo2YYcrv-UTO4RghuNuuUlxqZA8xl6bqspYXMz0XBZJPO2BhYYYO6uCzP7v6qnwT-MMWQcXftlVj0g-NTAhr9Qz1FOD_-YzTI1-Z6jw2w17c9uvyYStQOkRH-IIrVqTs1mpH2vtLU0ywD/w640-h468/01pond.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>It was obvious from our first paddle strokes that this pond itself was once forested land, before the beavers dammed its outlet stream at its northeastern end. Dotting the shallows are numerous stumps of long-drowned and toppled trees, the woody remains now populated by marvelous mixes of mosses, lichens, fungi, and flowering plants.<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdNLFSKN2SwTotnjuIU80MeqLnQ70DR4L7fEm264BfloQnArlTmHPAvB2TfieInRLDXo8o9TzNfw2wY_bR4B28VruwyaCp-Q0nbL8okOHkqHT0EOHiXbOmfEfewH8qnvoUCcAfGsC33BhTTYPVwP0UIvBMUtp21ZRSEqA2Ww7x8rD2VJlJql1eOmVylWbT/s3782/02stumpgarden.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2875" data-original-width="3782" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdNLFSKN2SwTotnjuIU80MeqLnQ70DR4L7fEm264BfloQnArlTmHPAvB2TfieInRLDXo8o9TzNfw2wY_bR4B28VruwyaCp-Q0nbL8okOHkqHT0EOHiXbOmfEfewH8qnvoUCcAfGsC33BhTTYPVwP0UIvBMUtp21ZRSEqA2Ww7x8rD2VJlJql1eOmVylWbT/w640-h486/02stumpgarden.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The most colorful of those flowering plants right now are masses of Marsh St. John's Wort (<i>Hypericum virginicum</i>), with pink-tinged lime-green leaves, scarlet stems, and glossy ruby-red seedpods.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPUNdWgwvd8dyh_64EV15V9SEdnN6XgdbnCjIbu_L2-RSZp2c8dlyMjM4Y9KDF15fidPDdVKMvLMWPoiCEtUh8RgG7a8Z-Fd7xqvBxlnAaD3Wtjik5aXp74vfyRXiH8DG4deny9NmW-v6WoDyZ142KIXBjdmloTLTLW3npvjCgLLJUggJKfaP9glZRkXdb/s3782/03marshstjohns,stump.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2784" data-original-width="3782" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPUNdWgwvd8dyh_64EV15V9SEdnN6XgdbnCjIbu_L2-RSZp2c8dlyMjM4Y9KDF15fidPDdVKMvLMWPoiCEtUh8RgG7a8Z-Fd7xqvBxlnAaD3Wtjik5aXp74vfyRXiH8DG4deny9NmW-v6WoDyZ142KIXBjdmloTLTLW3npvjCgLLJUggJKfaP9glZRkXdb/w640-h472/03marshstjohns,stump.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Ruth is an avid student of mosses, so she found much to engage her interest in the mosses that carpeted the stumps.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaGwNoNp4NKam1ViHn3kGD47Ls_7Cf_z1Gn17n284kxwqT9L26w-Qy2Y36_-j4b0xgoWDD7gLOm1nAz7AbZXUehs28Xb2_al27W5f1a0VlyYdANVDWbuY-VHtIBHiBaEg1esCA8nOlvVJIWj7AX1XTDXAZleFhRgaiBz4PJz3HQ-S44cdd4QbyQjNM-wQ5/s3500/04ruth,stumpgarden.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2209" data-original-width="3500" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaGwNoNp4NKam1ViHn3kGD47Ls_7Cf_z1Gn17n284kxwqT9L26w-Qy2Y36_-j4b0xgoWDD7gLOm1nAz7AbZXUehs28Xb2_al27W5f1a0VlyYdANVDWbuY-VHtIBHiBaEg1esCA8nOlvVJIWj7AX1XTDXAZleFhRgaiBz4PJz3HQ-S44cdd4QbyQjNM-wQ5/w640-h404/04ruth,stumpgarden.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was grateful to have Ruth's tutelage, for although I admired this velvety green moss with its spiky reddish sporestalks, I did not know what name to call it by until Ruth told me it was <i>Dicranum flagellare</i>, also known as Fragile Broom Moss.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVUotRbi38wdylMTtSX347Han-wNmsE45QdJurAtxTkCRDegFvE0WneE3CeQ1ZtgekSzJ737DRQztvxG2GV51QAZ69_zOD0t8WMPC2f-J8JdjjY_fy473s21QH_8ZckpWiiHxJE13FUynbbGPAO-CneEVMysWiHbqkjpOzRcjRuPivbEoMwR0A6rT4u3mx/s1642/05dicranum%20flagellatum.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1208" data-original-width="1642" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVUotRbi38wdylMTtSX347Han-wNmsE45QdJurAtxTkCRDegFvE0WneE3CeQ1ZtgekSzJ737DRQztvxG2GV51QAZ69_zOD0t8WMPC2f-J8JdjjY_fy473s21QH_8ZckpWiiHxJE13FUynbbGPAO-CneEVMysWiHbqkjpOzRcjRuPivbEoMwR0A6rT4u3mx/w640-h470/05dicranum%20flagellatum.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Ruth was also able to put a name to this fluffy-looking lime-green moss that carpeted another stump: <i>Aulacomnium palustre</i>, or Ribbed Bog Moss.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil824VcMRxBHH3qZZ4ifJM2KMYa_m-qqESsSkVMRQ2yVNRS36fWghvpJdBVOuTx_-c_KXn84PE2cea0Tul-Da3XElfaG0uaWekhn16FgHqYg4Q8amSsSl6JFMEuU5o5flyk85kcF5z1ng6Ic4XcFdDXr06vx5MhtkJM4hCDGbgaedCyyyM8pz9YBfd6Fju/s3029/06ribbedbogmoss.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2001" data-original-width="3029" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil824VcMRxBHH3qZZ4ifJM2KMYa_m-qqESsSkVMRQ2yVNRS36fWghvpJdBVOuTx_-c_KXn84PE2cea0Tul-Da3XElfaG0uaWekhn16FgHqYg4Q8amSsSl6JFMEuU5o5flyk85kcF5z1ng6Ic4XcFdDXr06vx5MhtkJM4hCDGbgaedCyyyM8pz9YBfd6Fju/w640-h422/06ribbedbogmoss.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>At least I did recognize this spiky denizen of many stumps, the carnivorous insect-eating pads of the wetland-dwelling wildflower called Round-leaved Sundew (<i>Drosera rotundifolia</i>). Those spiky "hairs" are tipped with a sticky fluid that is attractive to insects, who land on the pads expecting a snack, only to become the plant's meal when the pad folds over the now-trapped insect and digests it for its own nutrients.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzDrPO1hU8EsjwmH384aSMZzgjzR1I3bgL8_4Oi-gPs-GDQaxIJZbhOy5rov6DMhxItuh8Rz9Y7qtvaxjx5XK1Bq_isPsIeBn7MBC1mlQ0ndzSde9MxYksf9ejXFGe48KNj-hCeKFfdCIbWXxY2p_EenaMJbv3DCbpfoRqcr4rtpgK4JFZq4OZqb5Tfe-g/s3587/07sundew,green.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2762" data-original-width="3587" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzDrPO1hU8EsjwmH384aSMZzgjzR1I3bgL8_4Oi-gPs-GDQaxIJZbhOy5rov6DMhxItuh8Rz9Y7qtvaxjx5XK1Bq_isPsIeBn7MBC1mlQ0ndzSde9MxYksf9ejXFGe48KNj-hCeKFfdCIbWXxY2p_EenaMJbv3DCbpfoRqcr4rtpgK4JFZq4OZqb5Tfe-g/w640-h492/07sundew,green.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Along this shore, wide swaths of <i>Carex lasiocarpa (</i>also known as Slender Sedge) fill the shallows between the forest and the open water. That vernacular name is so descriptive of this lovely grass-like sedge, with its gracefully curving slender tips. It is soft and fine, not stiff like many other sedges, so it is almost constantly swaying either slowly or briskly, according to how gentle or strong is the wind that sets it to dancing.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1SHFToHDgMJ5WpSvlg5MPSEFAFML0HDKpAhQw8LSwj7FQDr_qET4l07ELFnnDri9I3x01dphXwW0wEzljW8mTmTlOElhZ1hwXj0s9-_MbQjHEzGn46ZtMfKKBizYJ0EpXKuXvNgiBSsFXkWa1XgSv_f37d4qG3HcoeN-ehiUSS4KY2IGs69G-4B4usa1E/s3705/08shoreline,lasiocarpa.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2888" data-original-width="3705" height="498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1SHFToHDgMJ5WpSvlg5MPSEFAFML0HDKpAhQw8LSwj7FQDr_qET4l07ELFnnDri9I3x01dphXwW0wEzljW8mTmTlOElhZ1hwXj0s9-_MbQjHEzGn46ZtMfKKBizYJ0EpXKuXvNgiBSsFXkWa1XgSv_f37d4qG3HcoeN-ehiUSS4KY2IGs69G-4B4usa1E/w640-h498/08shoreline,lasiocarpa.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The Slender Sedge's tawny monoculture is livened by occasional patches of Marsh St. John's Wort, with its leaves of an almost incandescent hot-pink.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4k0De3QbFAapkD8XEiOVyEuI3gMkUzPlBZBlH8DmEbJ0Hxmu8ejNiPYB6KTxtLINrerd5Ln2gWULzAoWpjmUVA3xjGbXxxzsXuNpJUCUSaTJNoZ_Z4HJNGwmOhLnU0dGMMbUeHUmjlp7EDD9pIJXeCFKClfryagGwWRLslO_s7ojZBG_H9lkEHudSDnxf/s3650/09lasio,stjohns.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2829" data-original-width="3650" height="496" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4k0De3QbFAapkD8XEiOVyEuI3gMkUzPlBZBlH8DmEbJ0Hxmu8ejNiPYB6KTxtLINrerd5Ln2gWULzAoWpjmUVA3xjGbXxxzsXuNpJUCUSaTJNoZ_Z4HJNGwmOhLnU0dGMMbUeHUmjlp7EDD9pIJXeCFKClfryagGwWRLslO_s7ojZBG_H9lkEHudSDnxf/w640-h496/09lasio,stjohns.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Not a ridged-stem sedge but rather a round-stemmed rush, Canada Rush (<i>Juncus canadensis</i>) was bearing dark-maroon spikelets that stood out against the background of pale Slender Sedge.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtSrqOwRh_XP9Z_QHYitvgri4AicguYIZHC1OHu6qR4yWERGfdur07MIJtm3ZpyUfhtHF-aqsMQv3W0WBT11jJK2JWuwxyYEQ2BB5z-ZnIZqIu-Sp0bTlU-2Psux9Bes_VEQ3CsiAKUvN0oefPhi7VuFvojtrff4vGfOnHwBSq-WFVZT3m1C0CjgcET72/s2888/10canadarush.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1969" data-original-width="2888" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtSrqOwRh_XP9Z_QHYitvgri4AicguYIZHC1OHu6qR4yWERGfdur07MIJtm3ZpyUfhtHF-aqsMQv3W0WBT11jJK2JWuwxyYEQ2BB5z-ZnIZqIu-Sp0bTlU-2Psux9Bes_VEQ3CsiAKUvN0oefPhi7VuFvojtrff4vGfOnHwBSq-WFVZT3m1C0CjgcET72/w640-h436/10canadarush.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Wetland shrubs like Leatherleaf and Sweet Gale punctuate this sedge meadow, and we were astounded to find this Hornworm clinging to a Sweet Gale twig, its body covered with the pale larval cocoons of a parasitic wasp, most likely the wasp <i>Cotesia congregata</i>. Sometime earlier, the wasp used her ovipositor to lay her eggs inside the Hornworm, where the larvae hatched and fed on the insides of the caterpillar. Eventually, the larvae emerge onto the caterpillar's skin, where they attach and spin cocoons from which the next generation of wasps will emerge. Of course, this eventually kills the Hornworm, but it still looked very much alive on this Sweet Gale leaf. Poor thing! Very interesting, of course. But still . . . .!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3lF1cKM8HtIZmeFwls2lueQDV3i-adV0Tw216cem7Vp1hXdmym3JPOhgU16qH3xOkjtxYXe84W0uAxpEfPqr8kWbkr1w4koyEdo3CkR7xv9wbwxhZpf2NtFQJegiw8hzQjvoy84N1UwHr4YA23b43tdB7Oal5vcuNsq0AnghHlrfsqe33SwkEBFLn0jiv/s3299/11hornworm,larvae.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2514" data-original-width="3299" height="488" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3lF1cKM8HtIZmeFwls2lueQDV3i-adV0Tw216cem7Vp1hXdmym3JPOhgU16qH3xOkjtxYXe84W0uAxpEfPqr8kWbkr1w4koyEdo3CkR7xv9wbwxhZpf2NtFQJegiw8hzQjvoy84N1UwHr4YA23b43tdB7Oal5vcuNsq0AnghHlrfsqe33SwkEBFLn0jiv/w640-h488/11hornworm,larvae.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Behind the sedge meadow, thousands of acres of state forest spread for miles. I photographed this short stretch of the forest because I was intrigued by how so many of the typical conifers of the Adirondacks were clustered here along the shore. The two small trees are Balsam Fir (left) and White Pine (right), while a tall skinny Tamarack (yellowish needles) rises left of center. I am pretty sure the darker conifers include both Northern Hemlock and Black Spruce, but I could not get close enough to examine their needles for positive ID.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIk1UG6BgoCilcbrHe5YHOAm2meKjmkONLX4KO-wJscQKJOVETEd3cY5Ll7w35TgLZcJTifSWtXn7hq7XRrsgflZcb1cYSiF40XwfnM4VjYNsQa7O3S1ZHWr1NhpsCFtKlkrQJLr_NBanEoqkMduJ_QeVMoyDjaiFk-NTfvePoEFkaQIivPypcxibaTQ8T/s3657/12conifermix.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2570" data-original-width="3657" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIk1UG6BgoCilcbrHe5YHOAm2meKjmkONLX4KO-wJscQKJOVETEd3cY5Ll7w35TgLZcJTifSWtXn7hq7XRrsgflZcb1cYSiF40XwfnM4VjYNsQa7O3S1ZHWr1NhpsCFtKlkrQJLr_NBanEoqkMduJ_QeVMoyDjaiFk-NTfvePoEFkaQIivPypcxibaTQ8T/w640-h450/12conifermix.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Forested Rocky Banks</b></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">W</span>e soon turned into a quiet bay that offered quite a different, steeply rocky forested shoreline that directly met the water's edge with no intermediate strip of shoreline sedges. At the far end of this bay stretched a long beaver dam, an impressive construction of logs and branches and rocks and mud that held back all but a trickle of the pond's entire water. A few years ago, we could not paddle this pond because this dam had been breached, and the water in the pond was too low to paddle on. But beavers didn't earn their epithet "busy" for nothing, and that dam was soon repaired.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx0erhZVpKDbdiLGMpWjQDvufgPWeee6IN1LoHdUR3sWAC0Pj27jCRAuAq7-YDSzwXXTpaUYXqxTKjm5fCaBox5zROSkDguVAyD6z20YHlRkMn6ZkLBgAUL16kxf6cnODcBTJdpSx5ZpZq6sppzhFLHUDCpxDqqa_IfLRrapOVo1bMASo4nPm7Eo10ZG-y/s3921/13beaverdambay.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2875" data-original-width="3921" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx0erhZVpKDbdiLGMpWjQDvufgPWeee6IN1LoHdUR3sWAC0Pj27jCRAuAq7-YDSzwXXTpaUYXqxTKjm5fCaBox5zROSkDguVAyD6z20YHlRkMn6ZkLBgAUL16kxf6cnODcBTJdpSx5ZpZq6sppzhFLHUDCpxDqqa_IfLRrapOVo1bMASo4nPm7Eo10ZG-y/w640-h470/13beaverdambay.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We could paddle right up to the edge of the dam, the top of which stood at least eight feet above the wet meadow that lay below.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPldpZS-1gSY9J6Oig4_qnoz3K3mk1agCF8UCHs93om_3I-3GyJq6OPhCxVDOGkCrAp4yyNdUu5QJcjpuDPTOzaC33cB9WfcrMH4-OUTR0uFehbYy_uKclQvcwM2XgLFVWJV3M39tvZF97wbryuNKzsAg2uWEwDpbScUuiu666AHKM-gAjmmJTnCl75tdG/s3922/14dam,edge.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2772" data-original-width="3922" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPldpZS-1gSY9J6Oig4_qnoz3K3mk1agCF8UCHs93om_3I-3GyJq6OPhCxVDOGkCrAp4yyNdUu5QJcjpuDPTOzaC33cB9WfcrMH4-OUTR0uFehbYy_uKclQvcwM2XgLFVWJV3M39tvZF97wbryuNKzsAg2uWEwDpbScUuiu666AHKM-gAjmmJTnCl75tdG/w640-h452/14dam,edge.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The beaver dam allowed enough of the pond's water through to feed the small creek that flowed away toward the woods.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf3BvNr6ktuTcXKsbbYxudcUn3KiBQmKWD8LZPvpEH-ql3GVEN3OW8A_T0XwmGLpxE0_AhBGtQ8jf7O2J-OPQd35BfRO-Oh-BMPkBt-2O0YgfjN_Y0hpXm7xfkJKZTgQKuKrwFYm79_GHECXyUBa3frLJq_3UJlGkhPUqYTz9_uhICb5xgSUELaEMdGCmN/s3183/15beavermeadow.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2495" data-original-width="3183" height="502" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf3BvNr6ktuTcXKsbbYxudcUn3KiBQmKWD8LZPvpEH-ql3GVEN3OW8A_T0XwmGLpxE0_AhBGtQ8jf7O2J-OPQd35BfRO-Oh-BMPkBt-2O0YgfjN_Y0hpXm7xfkJKZTgQKuKrwFYm79_GHECXyUBa3frLJq_3UJlGkhPUqYTz9_uhICb5xgSUELaEMdGCmN/w640-h502/15beavermeadow.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>As we paddled very close along the rocky banks of this bay, we were startled to see abundant patches of Narrow-leaved Gentians, fading now but still vividly blue. This species of closed-flowered gentian (<i>Gentiana linearis</i>) started blooming at least a month ago, and the now-browning flowers attested to the aging of these plants.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-T9DltAeoQFrX2xnfX_jXIZNjjtnaJcG66lB0hHAOJiJSSlTt3w_1iinBKG7eS1a7grsluxGaaytNbqqf7isPn564QX0VGHcuVe7LZ65G3CVyi1DavuCvD2I372fbiTeiiSfq4e_LpHWfrwBF_03KfQmNTrZL3Ps571GUXmYWRzUrNlW1ZHYbtEg7ayxW/s3479/16gentianpatch.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2675" data-original-width="3479" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-T9DltAeoQFrX2xnfX_jXIZNjjtnaJcG66lB0hHAOJiJSSlTt3w_1iinBKG7eS1a7grsluxGaaytNbqqf7isPn564QX0VGHcuVe7LZ65G3CVyi1DavuCvD2I372fbiTeiiSfq4e_LpHWfrwBF_03KfQmNTrZL3Ps571GUXmYWRzUrNlW1ZHYbtEg7ayxW/w640-h492/16gentianpatch.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>It amazed us, though, to see the quantity and brilliance of blue the flowers retained.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9y1VKwhMWIi2iHLB1ZGKZgdm_Po2lE4aPI14DKGAJxZ_SdIbJk8tbZXUJByusdPRnKxr3mszT6SCPD3lNF3xewp_TQBIVw5q9lUbTQE6sGd3PBMLq1_Zf5JbYnJ_j_gKFVXoMJnAGvYBA6kMy4lBi5PynUftpEWkGx4eJidcpe0IPTsUBOVdPC2KLcWI_/s3188/17gentian,narrow,fading.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2361" data-original-width="3188" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9y1VKwhMWIi2iHLB1ZGKZgdm_Po2lE4aPI14DKGAJxZ_SdIbJk8tbZXUJByusdPRnKxr3mszT6SCPD3lNF3xewp_TQBIVw5q9lUbTQE6sGd3PBMLq1_Zf5JbYnJ_j_gKFVXoMJnAGvYBA6kMy4lBi5PynUftpEWkGx4eJidcpe0IPTsUBOVdPC2KLcWI_/w640-h474/17gentian,narrow,fading.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Just as amazing was the presence of newly blooming flowers on the shrubs of Sheep Laurel (<i>Kalmia angustifolia</i>) that grew right at the water's edge. This species of laurel first blooms in late June/early July, but it does occasionally bloom again in the fall.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7djSMlyI17e7HWlcDJ-EJv42ma76YeFDQkOkyBd-K--Xcqxmr_whBL6pBLLrj7u0g5dmoJ-xlWQ_NuejZ4ariTNCPfNFe-yAVC9-WegsYUMlNjg6tczMStRfJWXYqxZSy03zsUghr0cJrDrXfq_3LuvdlgsIoLwY0j4zkp-kcAwA42-uSCfxJB2yAI3s/s3500/18sheeplaurel,flowers.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2549" data-original-width="3500" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7djSMlyI17e7HWlcDJ-EJv42ma76YeFDQkOkyBd-K--Xcqxmr_whBL6pBLLrj7u0g5dmoJ-xlWQ_NuejZ4ariTNCPfNFe-yAVC9-WegsYUMlNjg6tczMStRfJWXYqxZSy03zsUghr0cJrDrXfq_3LuvdlgsIoLwY0j4zkp-kcAwA42-uSCfxJB2yAI3s/w640-h466/18sheeplaurel,flowers.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>And the presence of these tightly folded Sheep Laurel buds were an indication that this shrub still had some blooming to do!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_hT11Wh_Jt13ipSFDvSTuLct_Q5BLVkLi1XZPCpXjQpHejBEOGr6LrOlia005mY20SFxq7XDKgw3BtQx6ibxVWVQcxAvaB6DkXoguSgi6inUN8CuZvV-9_u5Qsx-ceHexI3wqfRG2CC6FryKtErN7r8hEYDpk1j5caBKak2tfkmhVNmIyUDvko8heddj/s2384/19sheeplaurel,buds.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1762" data-original-width="2384" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_hT11Wh_Jt13ipSFDvSTuLct_Q5BLVkLi1XZPCpXjQpHejBEOGr6LrOlia005mY20SFxq7XDKgw3BtQx6ibxVWVQcxAvaB6DkXoguSgi6inUN8CuZvV-9_u5Qsx-ceHexI3wqfRG2CC6FryKtErN7r8hEYDpk1j5caBKak2tfkmhVNmIyUDvko8heddj/w640-h474/19sheeplaurel,buds.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><b>Muddy Shallows, Sphagnum Bog </b></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">P</span>roceeding around the pond, we came to an area so shallow that each paddle-pull lifted mud and released the gagging swamp-smell of methane gas. I sometimes had to push my canoe instead of paddling it, to creep a little closer to these mats of ruby-red glistening Spatulate-leaved Sundew (<i>Drosera intermedia</i>) that were studded with the bright-yellow tiny flowers of Humped Bladderwort (<i>Utricularia gibba</i>). I have seen these species of sundew and bladderwort individually on other sites, but it is only on this pond that I have ever seen this truly delightful combination. Worth the struggle, for me!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBdci_BigsuiVO5YbRGaGtOMKP4FnJU_dvB-eBQRepiPbw7pR8YAgLS-Uv7znk2yC5VIV4F3Tel-6rAl_sB5zPdpqV6wYzeeD4v3-Ax47fHuJyHRJ2_SOzxhJI4Q6qg_5AZ_99nrfOJsO_O81EejyPlFOS0jmzSqCTO6qnT4GOF5_1BaWLoLZwZxXjrUyq/s3807/20sundew,gibba.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2441" data-original-width="3807" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBdci_BigsuiVO5YbRGaGtOMKP4FnJU_dvB-eBQRepiPbw7pR8YAgLS-Uv7znk2yC5VIV4F3Tel-6rAl_sB5zPdpqV6wYzeeD4v3-Ax47fHuJyHRJ2_SOzxhJI4Q6qg_5AZ_99nrfOJsO_O81EejyPlFOS0jmzSqCTO6qnT4GOF5_1BaWLoLZwZxXjrUyq/w640-h410/20sundew,gibba.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Here's a closer look at the tiny blossom of Humped Bladderwort, revealing how it might have acquired its vernacular name. This is a bladderwort species I have always found firmly embedded in mud, even when protruding from the water, not freely floating as some other <i>Utricularia</i> species do.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyg97stAc70Dube27Xl3nSQc9tkuTw4zH1XxmUpOmJcMMakb9z3jh2VpPBFZSloCJC0g_ARR8igvOPF_thz_lmOauE-FmERuk8Fz-NTQDKg9qMz8gWN7cdh7AgCPOwBnPGJ5cZeIibQRL0sisps6kd6zifhwoi_V5osbN78Qh2POOhkQv4zlJoCXoh6jG_/s2769/21gibba,flower.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1938" data-original-width="2769" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyg97stAc70Dube27Xl3nSQc9tkuTw4zH1XxmUpOmJcMMakb9z3jh2VpPBFZSloCJC0g_ARR8igvOPF_thz_lmOauE-FmERuk8Fz-NTQDKg9qMz8gWN7cdh7AgCPOwBnPGJ5cZeIibQRL0sisps6kd6zifhwoi_V5osbN78Qh2POOhkQv4zlJoCXoh6jG_/w640-h448/21gibba,flower.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>We were right on the edge of a vast Sphagnum bogmat, where masses of Cottongrass waved their white terminal tufts in the now-stiff breeze. The Cottongrass was waving so wildly, none of my photos of it were in focus. I did manage to spy another typical denizen of bogs right at the edge of the mat, sheltered enough from the wind that it sat quietly for the picture-taking. A Pitcher Plant (<i>Sarracenia purpurea</i>), its now-aging flower still held aloft above its vase-shaped carnivorous leaves. These leaves hold water, along with digestive enzymes, so that any insect that happens to fall in will be drowned and digested.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLGsztpMi4RLEvlRY_6cP_Ih4BjViFYv-pVtKuYEttLMZfLRFxRuvgJcGNTjRjipcOzvKq4QWAJ0cWmr2mbaeXJXhds4AuptCDBpGe9LS6KPfKXfmaWR_6lF4Cf3TPaX4QsmNBVfTAZc4FoCDyrFhaQMbHgXO4himrHAgSb4x6zCc9fiPlQLA-ozJZRRcD/s3497/22pitcherplant.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2717" data-original-width="3497" height="498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLGsztpMi4RLEvlRY_6cP_Ih4BjViFYv-pVtKuYEttLMZfLRFxRuvgJcGNTjRjipcOzvKq4QWAJ0cWmr2mbaeXJXhds4AuptCDBpGe9LS6KPfKXfmaWR_6lF4Cf3TPaX4QsmNBVfTAZc4FoCDyrFhaQMbHgXO4himrHAgSb4x6zCc9fiPlQLA-ozJZRRcD/w640-h498/22pitcherplant.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>Heading Home</b></p><p>Growing a bit tired from pushing against both mud and a stiffening wind, Ruth and I headed back toward where we'd launched our canoes. I felt a moment's panic as I surveyed the far shore and could not detect our put-in place. But then I recalled that we had lingered there to admire some berry-laden shrubs, the likes of which we had not seen anywhere else on our circuit around the pond. So all we had to do was look for the raspberry-red fruits of Wild Raisin (<i>Viburnum cassinoides</i>).</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDr3y1Tyh6w-M3QT6iGctI9TBfQvdJcN74YdhHLeQl3NLeAGxuewEcmWnz1DYNP1vN2-4kiIuU0MTUSY_29sxJNo2rQGBFtmnZinkooXtsf-ECo8w8ozRKab8pCRm0JMxqrcE_a5VU8D-DBCosTkrZAtkUlbeyMfxU4ghm-8lNnjak_K9CnDJvTp03gf7s/s3464/23wildraisin.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2422" data-original-width="3464" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDr3y1Tyh6w-M3QT6iGctI9TBfQvdJcN74YdhHLeQl3NLeAGxuewEcmWnz1DYNP1vN2-4kiIuU0MTUSY_29sxJNo2rQGBFtmnZinkooXtsf-ECo8w8ozRKab8pCRm0JMxqrcE_a5VU8D-DBCosTkrZAtkUlbeyMfxU4ghm-8lNnjak_K9CnDJvTp03gf7s/w640-h448/23wildraisin.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Near that Wild Raisin was an Arrowwood shrub (<i>Viburnum dentatum</i>) that bore blue-black fruits.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn7dTbdL65samHIEmRNrF4Xr9DySFu6DlxuK8AYjPuqH2GOmDhMA5dro0VmdlF_cmQvR26Dlx7jhTo74h7NtlBRoamvZELyRF05O1IPJr_IHBBijY7soVL5c2v3n_uq5uGE29q3Kk-D4TYRdMsdmhgpYjO9Z6e8fv4BKXamQ1jmJ-OwfHsk7NLdm0YQXGA/s2728/24arrowwood,berries.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2093" data-original-width="2728" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn7dTbdL65samHIEmRNrF4Xr9DySFu6DlxuK8AYjPuqH2GOmDhMA5dro0VmdlF_cmQvR26Dlx7jhTo74h7NtlBRoamvZELyRF05O1IPJr_IHBBijY7soVL5c2v3n_uq5uGE29q3Kk-D4TYRdMsdmhgpYjO9Z6e8fv4BKXamQ1jmJ-OwfHsk7NLdm0YQXGA/w640-h492/24arrowwood,berries.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And a lower-growing shrub called American Bush Honeysuckle (<i>Diervilla lonicera</i>) bore leaves that had already turned wine-red, and each twig held clusters of brighter-red seedpods of a most amusing shape, like something that Dr. Seuss might have invented.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRI0yK31q-mOzC6kfiUdeJ7QQXr_t8wKz9mgdR89juFH1VQzUdsiG9fDCA8mZO6PRK35dbuyALlLuT3WOJtIAXuEth3RW9ALgRz_iflzFV5Bg4lqiS6NlmBldKNeisJqHcwWwqw_LFR8-iba1i4XkXiXKrOAWX5bEM2fX8IN9LNtXZKV1vOr1kGrNoKLf9/s3603/25diervilla,pods.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2834" data-original-width="3603" height="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRI0yK31q-mOzC6kfiUdeJ7QQXr_t8wKz9mgdR89juFH1VQzUdsiG9fDCA8mZO6PRK35dbuyALlLuT3WOJtIAXuEth3RW9ALgRz_iflzFV5Bg4lqiS6NlmBldKNeisJqHcwWwqw_LFR8-iba1i4XkXiXKrOAWX5bEM2fX8IN9LNtXZKV1vOr1kGrNoKLf9/w640-h504/25diervilla,pods.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Those three colorful shrubs served as very reliable guideposts, and we easily found our trail to where we had parked our cars. Nature saved one last treat to top off our already wonder-filled time on this pond. As we lifted our canoes to dry land, right there in the shoreline grasses was a gorgeous Ladies' Tresses Orchid (<i>Spiranthes sp.</i>), shining so white, like a beacon. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZI2wnrWrG7uaLilYCVibHjXxcIPk0l91UIusrFVVGONI8inptmUCLY2Q3HC6G36_LcrxhhiSrp4nrE2HrOOH2LBGEhDjvdTAOnSQl839Xg2LS439AkjrlQoX8J7znpZkL2StXv-XyFmfkxf0Gkwas9CfZm0MRz13SfeMgS5N3UpRFlh2z_xui3paSyQw/s3182/26spiranthes,shore.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2557" data-original-width="3182" height="514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZI2wnrWrG7uaLilYCVibHjXxcIPk0l91UIusrFVVGONI8inptmUCLY2Q3HC6G36_LcrxhhiSrp4nrE2HrOOH2LBGEhDjvdTAOnSQl839Xg2LS439AkjrlQoX8J7znpZkL2StXv-XyFmfkxf0Gkwas9CfZm0MRz13SfeMgS5N3UpRFlh2z_xui3paSyQw/w640-h514/26spiranthes,shore.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div> How could we have missed this beautiful flower when we first launched? I think we were focused on what wonders awaited us on the water, and we overlooked a marvel like this that was growing on land. This orchid was like a perfect dessert that crowned a delicious meal!<br /><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p></div>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-56680316984432198122023-09-13T19:55:00.002-04:002023-11-20T02:39:18.985-05:00A Changing Scene Along the Hoosic and Hudson<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">S</span>ome places are so rich in botanical treasures that I return to them several times each year. Canal Park at Lock 4 of the Hudson River/Champlain Canal is just such a place. Here, the canal bypasses the Hudson rapids at Stillwater, NY, and rejoins the main river just downstream from where the Hoosic River flows into the Hudson from the east. All that watery shoreline along both rivers, steep shale banks, surrounding forest, and alluvial floodplain provide habitat for a marvelous variety of native plants, easily accessed along trails that follow the waterways and wend through the woods. The nature group I belong to, called the Thursday Naturalists, has visited this site many times, but we are always up to returning to sites as rich as this, especially when some of its most unusual plants are blooming. Mid-September is one of those times, so I paid a visit to Canal Park this week to check on how these plants were doing. Perhaps it was time for our group to revisit.</p><p>Standing at the junction of the rivers and gazing downstream toward the bridge at Mechanicville, I could see right away that the water in both rivers was higher than normal. Many of the plants that thrive along both shores were now well under water, and the sandy strip of shoreline I usually explore at this point was now inaccessible without wearing waders.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggRmq4SkGKYurOXCrkyf59lRjxFmyR10ctnWeUkIIRw1Lz0JgrjctcotiZeLCZq0CFW4CzgD7pG80fCxfCXu2_0nBWzn87mPlkm3y0hvGyGG6s4gy8o5HrgscL6OagAIBL_SYmP4Y93ZkoCAOZS0EHy-luc2NKbqc3bAi3Y0jd_nCQPjhLfbaLQelYdtI1/s3953/01confluence.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2811" data-original-width="3953" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggRmq4SkGKYurOXCrkyf59lRjxFmyR10ctnWeUkIIRw1Lz0JgrjctcotiZeLCZq0CFW4CzgD7pG80fCxfCXu2_0nBWzn87mPlkm3y0hvGyGG6s4gy8o5HrgscL6OagAIBL_SYmP4Y93ZkoCAOZS0EHy-luc2NKbqc3bAi3Y0jd_nCQPjhLfbaLQelYdtI1/w640-h456/01confluence.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I next made my way through the woods to a low floodplain where a curve of the Hoosic delivers rich alluvial sediments that encourage the plants there to grow to prodigious size. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj263nABVesPCs8rmJNwcsCZGfDX7VjG2uUi--cxy3uXkqVb1o4etJ8O-HRcaTxcb-V-S-fTepUjcDIksxfWuWQ6BPCqTiMpZ4cXRKOuidYWOdX_4jq6w_p3xgNPwNInmsH2v6dFHcZrmvU2Cj_eoNIgC4QLjYJWUBGCiNgQl7vW_eHeJ7x-Q06u0obqHb7/s3862/02hoosic,upriver.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2581" data-original-width="3862" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj263nABVesPCs8rmJNwcsCZGfDX7VjG2uUi--cxy3uXkqVb1o4etJ8O-HRcaTxcb-V-S-fTepUjcDIksxfWuWQ6BPCqTiMpZ4cXRKOuidYWOdX_4jq6w_p3xgNPwNInmsH2v6dFHcZrmvU2Cj_eoNIgC4QLjYJWUBGCiNgQl7vW_eHeJ7x-Q06u0obqHb7/w640-h428/02hoosic,upriver.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I was not prepared for the scene that met my eyes. Gigantic Sycamores still towered over the site, but an equally huge Cottonwood tree had crashed to the ground, littering the flat area with heaps of broken limbs and leafy branches</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin-SEWKVnODxLxSR0DadNl3CG6i-mEjfGmmvWeqKgE3MkcgwsH4HY84vnrLBiPQrHdtRLfeiEXVzZsL1cdJ6zy06pCRktmyxRQV3ooZN6AA0KA83cie68oTFVUfgfTuC7gGg7CkxGL3r3QyYY-vq9777kaYAZCFq1MFArcHWoBmXcXCA7oqs_8NmeQHgHm/s3735/03cottonwood,fallen.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2702" data-original-width="3735" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin-SEWKVnODxLxSR0DadNl3CG6i-mEjfGmmvWeqKgE3MkcgwsH4HY84vnrLBiPQrHdtRLfeiEXVzZsL1cdJ6zy06pCRktmyxRQV3ooZN6AA0KA83cie68oTFVUfgfTuC7gGg7CkxGL3r3QyYY-vq9777kaYAZCFq1MFArcHWoBmXcXCA7oqs_8NmeQHgHm/w640-h462/03cottonwood,fallen.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>While violent winds had toppled those Cottonwoods, raging floodwaters had delivered heaps of river-borne flotsam that now covered the trails we once walked to reach the shore. The footing here now seemed too treacherous for some of my Thursday Naturalist friends to navigate.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirCwKRdVIIlf_RnuiJjjaWFIU1fwA5OFr_rNh7RrV7SHq25JsYiXP9gSmRgPJBWim7YhrGzASBqRph5IMbeR0QZYvlxTlZawmG7Z5kJY3hoOJFaouzbXo9GoHggV-3dM1W-7XMqBBYcZIo4OocfFsDtsbub3da4Xo7RImfUVM5f2OIU0-UNKlfiR1j5HIq/s3899/04trail,flotsam.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2831" data-original-width="3899" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirCwKRdVIIlf_RnuiJjjaWFIU1fwA5OFr_rNh7RrV7SHq25JsYiXP9gSmRgPJBWim7YhrGzASBqRph5IMbeR0QZYvlxTlZawmG7Z5kJY3hoOJFaouzbXo9GoHggV-3dM1W-7XMqBBYcZIo4OocfFsDtsbub3da4Xo7RImfUVM5f2OIU0-UNKlfiR1j5HIq/w640-h464/04trail,flotsam.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> I myself managed to teeter through this jumble of limbs and logs with hopes of finding a few of the many Green Dragon plants (<i>Arisaema dracontium</i>) that normally thrive to enormous size at this site. And to my surprise, I did find one plant still standing, its cluster of brilliant-red fruit still attached to its stem and with rather tattered leaves still intact.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt64o4XU-blhpKkmewgUCMRcyZu6Azo0gNT6GR4owqyW3AsUnVAtsO2AekLHu-EiR9LJuselutnkIBlFouKz2KZju7VtC7NJs98wuoLiwtERYLlM6nNeZoQO4NtLjB6v3_E4972bqkEO_xSUly3Od_0knt5hDk3724aILks38-tc5eeu1KgdecMEnqg6w7/s3523/05greendragon,fruit.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2456" data-original-width="3523" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt64o4XU-blhpKkmewgUCMRcyZu6Azo0gNT6GR4owqyW3AsUnVAtsO2AekLHu-EiR9LJuselutnkIBlFouKz2KZju7VtC7NJs98wuoLiwtERYLlM6nNeZoQO4NtLjB6v3_E4972bqkEO_xSUly3Od_0knt5hDk3724aILks38-tc5eeu1KgdecMEnqg6w7/w640-h446/05greendragon,fruit.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks to that brilliant red color, I could spy many other Green Dragon berry clusters, crushed beneath heaps of Cottonwood limbs. I hope the plants that sprout next spring can make their way through the maze of all this blow-down.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEemDWyV5lOiAGKSyowwJmNTZz5rtkl03n8IBF19DElDRr9mhjPrn1xkfAcSLITncEBPYL19TmOVn1ALCNTzVB9MjPrvkqa2jXHEj8tF1PEuL5esD0s0r9qcHNlBhURX211U2PJedB1OPFvLchgkqdQSFDev1K3v_Pig83-L8Ko5AWd5rqFUm0QW4_6Q-C/s3742/06berrycluster,cottonwoodleaves.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2743" data-original-width="3742" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEemDWyV5lOiAGKSyowwJmNTZz5rtkl03n8IBF19DElDRr9mhjPrn1xkfAcSLITncEBPYL19TmOVn1ALCNTzVB9MjPrvkqa2jXHEj8tF1PEuL5esD0s0r9qcHNlBhURX211U2PJedB1OPFvLchgkqdQSFDev1K3v_Pig83-L8Ko5AWd5rqFUm0QW4_6Q-C/w640-h470/06berrycluster,cottonwoodleaves.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I could see down the shore bright flashes of blue that told me Great Lobelia still bloomed some distance upstream, but I did not risk a fall by trying to get close enough to take a photo. The footing along the flotsam-heaped sandy shore was truly daunting. Instead, I moved downstream to where shale banks rose steeply from the water's edge. I had hoped to navigate a rocky ledge beneath the banks, but that ledge was now underwater, too slippery to risk wading over (as I knew from previous experience!).</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjY_URSbmWblvqGJBVjcia6H6yW_iaACH1XqZK1H7-MymZ12aLM7OgIlIJeVU52awNVoz1SOOk7KvVZH0pkc-YkjoTuiJ2kK5AuK9U4Sga7_bpDl-R4t_j4Gm1nSw_hvj5c_yfPrr1jMXBDvx_2FXsRPeTOppzueDfY8SUCOyUX21tAljcJvgJ-cvofOHz/s3872/07shalebank,steep,highwater.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2772" data-original-width="3872" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjY_URSbmWblvqGJBVjcia6H6yW_iaACH1XqZK1H7-MymZ12aLM7OgIlIJeVU52awNVoz1SOOk7KvVZH0pkc-YkjoTuiJ2kK5AuK9U4Sga7_bpDl-R4t_j4Gm1nSw_hvj5c_yfPrr1jMXBDvx_2FXsRPeTOppzueDfY8SUCOyUX21tAljcJvgJ-cvofOHz/w640-h458/07shalebank,steep,highwater.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>At least I was able to access some parts of these shale banks, where one of New York State's rarest plants was still thriving. I had counted over 200 basal rosettes of Provancher's Fleabane (<i>Erigeron philadelphicus</i> var. <i>provancheri</i>) on these banks a couple of years ago, and there may still be that many, sprouting from banks I could not see today. I did count a few dozen leafy rosettes clinging to the vertical shale banks that I <i>was</i> able to access. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbquBJuO8Uo5-u94R1AIsk6Rhn9f8RWlZ4c7is2SHtQnTZDtqA1jfoVa6NGEAs-zvX8IblvMzuWpnazifaLMdJmXsRs4x2Hk-L2GxxtBGQdSRL2ls_7EsptjlIQg62szr71T7xJGsBVDdn7YAgiVRqUlsxW4CZH_NJt9h5WrvoGUyg8_Mckyi1siKqlN2L/s2977/08provanchers,leaves.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2495" data-original-width="2977" height="536" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbquBJuO8Uo5-u94R1AIsk6Rhn9f8RWlZ4c7is2SHtQnTZDtqA1jfoVa6NGEAs-zvX8IblvMzuWpnazifaLMdJmXsRs4x2Hk-L2GxxtBGQdSRL2ls_7EsptjlIQg62szr71T7xJGsBVDdn7YAgiVRqUlsxW4CZH_NJt9h5WrvoGUyg8_Mckyi1siKqlN2L/w640-h536/08provanchers,leaves.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>There were even a few Provancher's Fleabane plants still blooming. The flowers look very much like those of the ordinarily abundant variety of Philadelphia Fleabane, so how can this very-rare variety be distinguished? Its distinctive habitat -- seasonally exposed and scoured calcareous bedrock of large rivers -- is a major clue, but the smaller flower size, shorter stem, scarcity of stem leaves, and the persistence of basal rosettes late in the year are further evidence that convinced a state botanist that the fleabanes growing here were indeed the real deal.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMrNE3QDQjdI9kZSVYJdwALLeIItyghuECWi5gYMV4l9hXMdzBk7Jcx3ovERdAs3Ddj3VV46FWjPF5tDYSvaDpuARMbFCxF5uyfLU68-_1z8t8t3zQv4VRHKMAXQI6gCCIMT-9LeYB86jFfhwa24GOyeiq85NtMeSOeM1k9E3S34qZ7XT_fVFEa8tkmrcf/s3064/09provanchers,flower.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2283" data-original-width="3064" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMrNE3QDQjdI9kZSVYJdwALLeIItyghuECWi5gYMV4l9hXMdzBk7Jcx3ovERdAs3Ddj3VV46FWjPF5tDYSvaDpuARMbFCxF5uyfLU68-_1z8t8t3zQv4VRHKMAXQI6gCCIMT-9LeYB86jFfhwa24GOyeiq85NtMeSOeM1k9E3S34qZ7XT_fVFEa8tkmrcf/w640-h476/09provanchers,flower.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Many other interesting plants thrive on these steep shale banks, and I was particularly interested in two green leafy liverworts that were actually "in bloom" (meaning, they had developed some reproductive parts). These flat leaves ("thallus") of the liverwort called <i>Marchantia polymorpha</i> are dotted with what are called "gemmae cups," receptacles that contain the developing sex organs. Later, two different structures, male and female, will emerge, the females looking like tiny palm trees, the males like miniature parasols.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA6d-HlDtnIJPIPyP1S-BmcjtKE2vq9zftGsPCcAYS5Pm6wymk3oMOyulHrgmGjq0MS22gYWty64RW44Q4Y6TE2FjXPyuV20a78ZuqSSHapBEZf1SB-zwkv68xArppvC2aKRu5U9pcxqojf0DTYY3Fi-zIhtzu4Vfzx1Th-zuqCcNehx_Gly3niUu9unkM/s3336/10marchantiapolymorpha,cups.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2376" data-original-width="3336" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA6d-HlDtnIJPIPyP1S-BmcjtKE2vq9zftGsPCcAYS5Pm6wymk3oMOyulHrgmGjq0MS22gYWty64RW44Q4Y6TE2FjXPyuV20a78ZuqSSHapBEZf1SB-zwkv68xArppvC2aKRu5U9pcxqojf0DTYY3Fi-zIhtzu4Vfzx1Th-zuqCcNehx_Gly3niUu9unkM/w640-h456/10marchantiapolymorpha,cups.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This second green leafy liverwort is called <i>Marchantia</i> (formerly <i>Preissia</i>) <i>quadrata</i>, and I can see that some small reproductive parts have formed on the leathery thallus.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7fqsOBDOTSEs2vUJnHZfhwP1e62QVglb_HACz7TogOwz1MgzGU42lZYD5fLxLLmejHYFs07IocN6lCwRRFtGYxxM03ES26FatfyIAfi4NB7YV8GlVUjd2ppEoNiLk5vbPKDpcyIVgRcfw-BGLs9TK9yk3s2b8kXrBBea7L5XW0P6jbwOvKjC0uxYLgRfT/s2388/11marchantiaquadrata.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1798" data-original-width="2388" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7fqsOBDOTSEs2vUJnHZfhwP1e62QVglb_HACz7TogOwz1MgzGU42lZYD5fLxLLmejHYFs07IocN6lCwRRFtGYxxM03ES26FatfyIAfi4NB7YV8GlVUjd2ppEoNiLk5vbPKDpcyIVgRcfw-BGLs9TK9yk3s2b8kXrBBea7L5XW0P6jbwOvKjC0uxYLgRfT/w640-h482/11marchantiaquadrata.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Here's a closer look at one of those reproductive parts, but I am not sure exactly how this species of liverwort produces its young and what function this tiny four-sided organ plays. If a liverwort expert informs me, I will return with details. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWEF1sjJEc1zy207OEZmALl6Jk4X7ZcpPVbhqbszT-JFaczycaLU3vQFLOOaazYJDg4Q0PkIA_7S5tfZE4nj0zwomlWBJ5Ux6pekEMSE7_0ZIXEmnmkTSEnnchVAItQDAzlhiLUEzpJKVBv43qQ1XWYenXREA43ZY9Jp6QRNhZor2yvbe_SyjImSEYthwu/s2239/12marchantiaquadrata,fruit.crop.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1670" data-original-width="2239" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWEF1sjJEc1zy207OEZmALl6Jk4X7ZcpPVbhqbszT-JFaczycaLU3vQFLOOaazYJDg4Q0PkIA_7S5tfZE4nj0zwomlWBJ5Ux6pekEMSE7_0ZIXEmnmkTSEnnchVAItQDAzlhiLUEzpJKVBv43qQ1XWYenXREA43ZY9Jp6QRNhZor2yvbe_SyjImSEYthwu/w640-h478/12marchantiaquadrata,fruit.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>The trail back to the parking area leads through a mixed hardwood/conifer forest high above the Hoosic river atop steep shale cliffs. I could hear the full river rushing rapidly below. In other years, when the river was low, I could walk at the foot of these cliffs, enjoying the many interesting plants that grew there. Not today.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDSuNsAeqH7H5azcIOET4lWu2KRwysJoz1EJMrIhLnntpLxZcWbQD-w12P399bUCFodJve3CMo7eU-6fRKQH5UTXhEuTBtOublHWBLFMrapo5jM3h9lkfHZQfusqb4uoLwBh06bXunSbDsc1TKIBE2hZcj1afkfwFdiYfawP-SrkgVvsz25dVzICIJANZ-/s3847/13hoosic%20cliffs.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2824" data-original-width="3847" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDSuNsAeqH7H5azcIOET4lWu2KRwysJoz1EJMrIhLnntpLxZcWbQD-w12P399bUCFodJve3CMo7eU-6fRKQH5UTXhEuTBtOublHWBLFMrapo5jM3h9lkfHZQfusqb4uoLwBh06bXunSbDsc1TKIBE2hZcj1afkfwFdiYfawP-SrkgVvsz25dVzICIJANZ-/w640-h470/13hoosic%20cliffs.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I did spy an interesting MOSS on the cliff face, however: little mounds of moss tipped with silvery "hairs". The moss looked like a number of little mice all napping on the rock. I dangled my feet over the edge of the cliff, trying to get a better view. But I had to lie down on my belly to reach down, clutching a nearby shrub with one hand, while I peeled off a small specimen. Such an unusual color for a moss!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjszUGbQPnBTH2RuwkrY2f4PZZqSVqRien3gD-8sEjCrRygaaOx32h3yTq_j5V3M13eYgPD03Vd-1bipeOk44_AWL0xRXNuHUvTrI9V-VduloBmcZ_QTHM8Rwl3j6LTuLO7h3KehwrfkE2SE_A4AE_neK7jZC3KgCkbyt0C1CbKieUM7K0hK7I7pKGF-eMP/s3674/14moss,feet.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2521" data-original-width="3674" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjszUGbQPnBTH2RuwkrY2f4PZZqSVqRien3gD-8sEjCrRygaaOx32h3yTq_j5V3M13eYgPD03Vd-1bipeOk44_AWL0xRXNuHUvTrI9V-VduloBmcZ_QTHM8Rwl3j6LTuLO7h3KehwrfkE2SE_A4AE_neK7jZC3KgCkbyt0C1CbKieUM7K0hK7I7pKGF-eMP/w640-h440/14moss,feet.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It does look like a small furry creature, doesn't it? I believe it is the moss called <i>Grimmia pilifera</i>, but if somebody who knows mosses better than I do corrects me, I will be back to add the correct name.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOJ-mLDvJTbgzZ5OQQl4CyjFFFWmnFqXKiaIYIgX0l7b3s7GmCkD4BRxtodpEsTmTetB6tBuii15qDg_Z_-vR08fKI9Stb2_2v1057ch7oyoZlrzFmt-GHvhnSslp6QKpALu9IlTenOzF0_rm-MgeOy7I1S00dYqWe_G2RjyLUC4zOA7FVNHzeUiuD-D6p/s1577/15silvertipmoss,hand.crop.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1209" data-original-width="1577" height="490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOJ-mLDvJTbgzZ5OQQl4CyjFFFWmnFqXKiaIYIgX0l7b3s7GmCkD4BRxtodpEsTmTetB6tBuii15qDg_Z_-vR08fKI9Stb2_2v1057ch7oyoZlrzFmt-GHvhnSslp6QKpALu9IlTenOzF0_rm-MgeOy7I1S00dYqWe_G2RjyLUC4zOA7FVNHzeUiuD-D6p/w640-h490/15silvertipmoss,hand.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><span style="color: red;">UPDATE: Turns out that this moss is NOT what I thought it might be, but is rather the globally rare species called <i>Cosinodon cribrosus</i> (Sieve-toothed Dry Rock Moss), as has been confirmed by expert bryologists, and my tiny specimen has been sent on to the New York Botanical Garden to be preserved in their permanent collections.</span><br /><p><br /></p><p>I was so happy to find a truly thriving population of Stiff Aster (<i>Ionactis linariifolia</i>) looking so perky and pretty. Since their natural habitat is sunny, dry, and sandy soil, they sometimes look a bit dehydrated. But we had lots and lots of rain this summer. I think these asters were happy about it. (The little spider seems happy, too.)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9L-d67K9fSAzgiIqPQMm709xz58ynMGICsyh60Ra7hblsejUNZylW5jq469OoZjF08JjVM8O5Zm7N-sMgOcyUndCKoF5vlSVIdwmBjJHA776PyqlnuuRn6i1-bGGFFE8Wc3QhryMeU5kg1FHRZgt3csFCIC8V87q0YiKaW8Sx97wK-qI-xvl5xiF7qasC/s2526/16stiffaster.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1917" data-original-width="2526" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9L-d67K9fSAzgiIqPQMm709xz58ynMGICsyh60Ra7hblsejUNZylW5jq469OoZjF08JjVM8O5Zm7N-sMgOcyUndCKoF5vlSVIdwmBjJHA776PyqlnuuRn6i1-bGGFFE8Wc3QhryMeU5kg1FHRZgt3csFCIC8V87q0YiKaW8Sx97wK-qI-xvl5xiF7qasC/w640-h486/16stiffaster.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I don't think this Creeping Bushclover (<i>Lespedeza repens</i>) liked the weather this summer, though. I came here this week expecting this rare species of bushclover to be fully in bloom with its pretty pinky-purple flowers. But the hot days must have pushed its bloom time earlier, because all I could find were seedpods today, and its leaves were starting to turn yellow. Despite its presence in Rensselaer County not being recorded in the New York Flora Association's Plant Atlas, two ample populations do thrive at Canal Park. But they are not blooming now.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTAgcZu_7aFXMGB-coPciUZ-4wvE6QeWJ7osLjMiC0k3FCXzhUYpQn5LGxGKoWQq2yETJfAD-wEBxmJzDRlXityWRnRHWsvxa8PPPgB2uzobQ1J8L3HRWr8hBUXHa_cs0eaRIHhDt3lXnDPhOtgg34H-aRUKpNYddvkONPEROG8W-b7NEihwaUWzHkZQMR/s1966/17creepingbushclover,seeds.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1791" data-original-width="1966" height="584" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTAgcZu_7aFXMGB-coPciUZ-4wvE6QeWJ7osLjMiC0k3FCXzhUYpQn5LGxGKoWQq2yETJfAD-wEBxmJzDRlXityWRnRHWsvxa8PPPgB2uzobQ1J8L3HRWr8hBUXHa_cs0eaRIHhDt3lXnDPhOtgg34H-aRUKpNYddvkONPEROG8W-b7NEihwaUWzHkZQMR/w640-h584/17creepingbushclover,seeds.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And here was another disappointment. The tiny Whorled Milkwort with alternate leaves (<i>Polygala verticillata</i> var. <i>alternifolia</i>) is hard enough to find when it's in full bloom, but today it was obviously past its prime, with most of its florets and leaves long gone. I felt grateful to have found at least this withered remnant, since I have not found this milkwort at any other place than Canal Park.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidikG3-8mGW5p1sLvJqRMgOiUAykkwnnK0iUtp9hCfvKh_QU-nrbN1wjY77wypz9T6Bfz-TFD50oOFpQC7fQOMJdxDeYiWXSxHhcsoXkLKWKNaqbR_3FFXov1s8zAQdmYhdrGrfZzIs2vaIVmK-kLTokezxfZpevOoUg0_AZTXMpOqWyWW41x667lmRhig/s1983/18whorledmilkwort.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1344" data-original-width="1983" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidikG3-8mGW5p1sLvJqRMgOiUAykkwnnK0iUtp9hCfvKh_QU-nrbN1wjY77wypz9T6Bfz-TFD50oOFpQC7fQOMJdxDeYiWXSxHhcsoXkLKWKNaqbR_3FFXov1s8zAQdmYhdrGrfZzIs2vaIVmK-kLTokezxfZpevOoUg0_AZTXMpOqWyWW41x667lmRhig/w640-h434/18whorledmilkwort.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>But this sad little has-been of a flower was the clincher: this is not the year for the Thursday Naturalists to visit Canal Park in September.</p>Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662118368553266438.post-77100565141448880072023-09-10T20:14:00.002-04:002023-09-10T20:14:21.676-04:00Late-summer Color at Orra Phelps Nature Preserve<p><span style="font-size: x-large;">A</span>s summer draws to a close, I love to visit the Orra Phelps Nature Preserve in nearby Wilton, hoping to visit some of my favorite late-season wildflowers. Standing on the bridge that spans the usually rushing Little Snook Kill, what I mostly saw (aside from the lack of rushing water!) was vast amounts of green. Would I find many colorful wildflowers today?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioaZxz3kubccOxGr8uRUGjN7aB10yX2me2QmHOic8I7m_gdYKsarfOCJKRF4LH81lWAwJGfCBPpgGwfYzJVwd1F8Krbv1h9-DCcvDiNSXFfbQ4_vmeCeefp2k27N4VLBiLs06LveJB2mshk1Od-dViy9z86zXwrm6KUCESWE03MXHRhuGCNoKetSA4VcPK/s3861/01creek.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2776" data-original-width="3861" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioaZxz3kubccOxGr8uRUGjN7aB10yX2me2QmHOic8I7m_gdYKsarfOCJKRF4LH81lWAwJGfCBPpgGwfYzJVwd1F8Krbv1h9-DCcvDiNSXFfbQ4_vmeCeefp2k27N4VLBiLs06LveJB2mshk1Od-dViy9z86zXwrm6KUCESWE03MXHRhuGCNoKetSA4VcPK/w640-h460/01creek.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I certainly saw lots of lush green mosses, including this patch of lacy moss called (most appropriately) Delicate Fern Moss (<i>Thuidium delicatulum</i>). And there, popping right out of all this lacy green stuff was a tiny mushroom of the most vivid shade of orange!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjghyNe9kw1stY6j9ge_XW9ZJ5YUtA-7TkyNzlC1Xy7KB1Wi5igqsvZP91l2mrJQLXxhtytn1GbpWZh8zcdY-0wqXl5trJ0d34AAmf_pGPH2mufM4NKkKlpIjLRFY8H5Hgfyoq4j82gd_goVhcLBtCpqboCrAhX6_FphtfNPoY72wF4u4maXXrq3YY4BcMM/s2377/02moss,mushroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1796" data-original-width="2377" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjghyNe9kw1stY6j9ge_XW9ZJ5YUtA-7TkyNzlC1Xy7KB1Wi5igqsvZP91l2mrJQLXxhtytn1GbpWZh8zcdY-0wqXl5trJ0d34AAmf_pGPH2mufM4NKkKlpIjLRFY8H5Hgfyoq4j82gd_goVhcLBtCpqboCrAhX6_FphtfNPoY72wF4u4maXXrq3YY4BcMM/w640-h484/02moss,mushroom.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And nearby was a Russula mushroom with the most gorgeous deep-pink cap.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO5RcqC8JauYkLg10BQnw_rabA09NRQOolEz636KWAzm6UrSZ0IK-HIBx9Nr53b5WY-os1uX67H-awiA5yXCtqyCf48g08DhJPtsV5cKm7MduPqFF0Ny7hsjHZ9e_7TOWZYPC0lVSRYCE8hoVgwvdWuABqVjRqQj6kbnHAKny3KNe4ae-tsQ0A4ryYtamn/s3062/03pinkmushroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2323" data-original-width="3062" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO5RcqC8JauYkLg10BQnw_rabA09NRQOolEz636KWAzm6UrSZ0IK-HIBx9Nr53b5WY-os1uX67H-awiA5yXCtqyCf48g08DhJPtsV5cKm7MduPqFF0Ny7hsjHZ9e_7TOWZYPC0lVSRYCE8hoVgwvdWuABqVjRqQj6kbnHAKny3KNe4ae-tsQ0A4ryYtamn/w640-h486/03pinkmushroom.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The most colorful part of Jack-in-the-Pulpit (<i>Arisaema triphyllum</i>) shows up as the rest of the plant withers away. You just can't miss the blazing red of its glossy berries!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1_vaGebse8DvSwiV0bQ2amELlY89gr_PpvuvYZ_IcOIxb-kG39adWLB1eJ6cwCUx3f6Gtlx5XUNhOeWHPsPiQLMZke3S3BeNsiDduXY5zuEdizubJCj5fKXB1MDe5-ZrD3gQCnA4jGF_En9lURC7gBEwFkZkLGqwyDTJn4gDP3EJuQ21yxwaIXytPHCap/s2822/04jackpulpitfruit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2107" data-original-width="2822" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1_vaGebse8DvSwiV0bQ2amELlY89gr_PpvuvYZ_IcOIxb-kG39adWLB1eJ6cwCUx3f6Gtlx5XUNhOeWHPsPiQLMZke3S3BeNsiDduXY5zuEdizubJCj5fKXB1MDe5-ZrD3gQCnA4jGF_En9lURC7gBEwFkZkLGqwyDTJn4gDP3EJuQ21yxwaIXytPHCap/w640-h478/04jackpulpitfruit.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Indian Cucumber Root (<i>Medeola virginiana</i>) spends most of its growing season kind of hiding amid all the other greenery of the forest floor, with its small, spidery flowers dangling mostly unseen beneath its top tier of leaves. But as fall approaches, those small flowers move up to the top and produce shiny blue-black berries standing erect on red pedicels. And those berries would be showy enough in their own right, but the leaves beneath them create a fine foil for the fruit by splashing the center of the leaf cluster with brilliant scarlet.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiISJqrWuVwLWqFoGMOYIfZfPDkNtkXcqulLLMrYqLH8yh3aEGLMNqO8yIqT-eJvKk1Qi5wIyIB7AKkAPMvQru4j60wiJE6ZvMJNLpVdd68qr6KcMnwiLC-SVKmLePOZOfAEYqaBC3VwlLb3kM8yNFe_SIV77_RbXgia33yPTMKlv2Elo51ZI4AHLWzorG3/s3441/05indiancuke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2744" data-original-width="3441" height="510" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiISJqrWuVwLWqFoGMOYIfZfPDkNtkXcqulLLMrYqLH8yh3aEGLMNqO8yIqT-eJvKk1Qi5wIyIB7AKkAPMvQru4j60wiJE6ZvMJNLpVdd68qr6KcMnwiLC-SVKmLePOZOfAEYqaBC3VwlLb3kM8yNFe_SIV77_RbXgia33yPTMKlv2Elo51ZI4AHLWzorG3/w640-h510/05indiancuke.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>A ray of sunshine beamed through the still-green canopy overhead, and this arching stem of Common Agrimony (<i>Agrimonia gryposepala</i>) revealed itself as if it had been lit by a spotlight.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc15Noco1mEGoWv1z9CKMtGdxNV-dkZnsiB4FCR1_d_Z0on8wW9CEUefeLf8ifvUGQjU5HZli814z8q6eoKsKxotU3r2UDl7T0mvMfCiUxq99UbnbESTNzFBVF-LqBNxsAHnYaFyHw2CHBvrzTXj-pPsRBpIl7lPFm5fHFUX5KW3mdZv-IFm7bXXHXNUwd/s3788/06agrimony.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2707" data-original-width="3788" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc15Noco1mEGoWv1z9CKMtGdxNV-dkZnsiB4FCR1_d_Z0on8wW9CEUefeLf8ifvUGQjU5HZli814z8q6eoKsKxotU3r2UDl7T0mvMfCiUxq99UbnbESTNzFBVF-LqBNxsAHnYaFyHw2CHBvrzTXj-pPsRBpIl7lPFm5fHFUX5KW3mdZv-IFm7bXXHXNUwd/w640-h458/06agrimony.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>That sunlight also illuminated the numerous native sunflowers that lined the creekbank. We have a number of native sunflowers that resemble these, but I have difficulty telling them apart. This one might be the Pale-leaved Sunflower (<i>Helianthus strumosus</i>), since its leaves felt like sandpaper. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyxBauI6hpLDEgommCCx42KcT5lUX804XLP0xPU7jWWiP0nzCkov-r0wnH6q2rVwj_DpojLWrDMMYg8DbHZuGwzSjgGMEXAT3t43kOEXZdTRUb_3kO4--hs4yTCK4d0TdN_gkUjSoC8dT06fo_JF3m7sKokfPVASJvwF6KQ1CwjePPdwrNfOYjlHn6ITNp/s3704/07sunflower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2591" data-original-width="3704" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyxBauI6hpLDEgommCCx42KcT5lUX804XLP0xPU7jWWiP0nzCkov-r0wnH6q2rVwj_DpojLWrDMMYg8DbHZuGwzSjgGMEXAT3t43kOEXZdTRUb_3kO4--hs4yTCK4d0TdN_gkUjSoC8dT06fo_JF3m7sKokfPVASJvwF6KQ1CwjePPdwrNfOYjlHn6ITNp/w640-h448/07sunflower.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>As I continued along the creek bank I nearly stepped on this generous display of Closed Gentian (<i>Gentiana clausa</i>). Having toppled under the weight of its large flower clusters, the plant lay hidden among the surrounding greenery until I was nearly upon it.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAKfoHFmkk6WYJEaZ_T2XeakKEBtO1kDET1rj4J_6bENsMMHPyM7-8zgB_X0xnRpq3hrUGoWyk3n4ELYZsQHA0qnyeKj5T2BJ3nhJ1bBPVmLrSGCiT1QmqbU0opGKkIkUbRc_UGuhgpRwmLy2d6f5glv7o_1yBCnhGrM715t2IWFtqI2CSF2u7q_vkbdQi/s3037/08closedgentian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2070" data-original-width="3037" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAKfoHFmkk6WYJEaZ_T2XeakKEBtO1kDET1rj4J_6bENsMMHPyM7-8zgB_X0xnRpq3hrUGoWyk3n4ELYZsQHA0qnyeKj5T2BJ3nhJ1bBPVmLrSGCiT1QmqbU0opGKkIkUbRc_UGuhgpRwmLy2d6f5glv7o_1yBCnhGrM715t2IWFtqI2CSF2u7q_vkbdQi/w640-h436/08closedgentian.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>The gentians I was especially hoping to see today were of another genus altogether, the Fringed Gentians (<i>Gentianopsis crinita</i>) that grow in an open wet meadow some distance from the creek. Since surrounding pines and poplars keep moving into their sunlit sandy-soiled space, I always fear that the population of this queen of the autumn wildflowers may not persist at this site. But all these glints of bright blue awaited me as I entered their bright space, calming my fears for at least one more year.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRcQvu953FcgjD6bSeaR8dOAXUdUuC85FKTJg-8BeyKXuFh22ri6oum4-KzvBa_X4YEi_mhqQh37f7REkA9s5BK8n1KylufcL71-P-BicA1BIvEta6izjPD0jogGgEtjswlwKW_StrYTb6JTnyCpxDnU6AXVFhP_ODZhJbkDSRcaVhHyFAc-9Kqd7urvn7/s2619/09gentianpatch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2095" data-original-width="2619" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRcQvu953FcgjD6bSeaR8dOAXUdUuC85FKTJg-8BeyKXuFh22ri6oum4-KzvBa_X4YEi_mhqQh37f7REkA9s5BK8n1KylufcL71-P-BicA1BIvEta6izjPD0jogGgEtjswlwKW_StrYTb6JTnyCpxDnU6AXVFhP_ODZhJbkDSRcaVhHyFAc-9Kqd7urvn7/w640-h512/09gentianpatch.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><p>The numbers of plants vary each year, since Fringed Gentian is a biennial, growing from seed to form basal leaves the following year and then producing flowers the year after that. It seemed that there were fewer individual plants this year, but most of the plants that did spring up bore multiple blooms of the most incredible radiant royal blue.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR_KwsNu__BgTXZ1db90U0KHNQDwqdTF8ZZQbcmFlB6oScyfLDvUAAyXCzo7EubQ8O_silrmNjzP7lcfl95_xKcmu5e-T4wW4iEeGozk9Vm6GS61r2ezvZKquyfyPJbqMJoe6X6tF5jk23VCrBL9_yQHv2UtmihvvoLm0fS_37yANPh9dE0sQhctVMp7E7/s2791/10gentian,multiflorastem.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2246" data-original-width="2791" height="516" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR_KwsNu__BgTXZ1db90U0KHNQDwqdTF8ZZQbcmFlB6oScyfLDvUAAyXCzo7EubQ8O_silrmNjzP7lcfl95_xKcmu5e-T4wW4iEeGozk9Vm6GS61r2ezvZKquyfyPJbqMJoe6X6tF5jk23VCrBL9_yQHv2UtmihvvoLm0fS_37yANPh9dE0sQhctVMp7E7/w640-h516/10gentian,multiflorastem.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Such a spectacular gift from the wildflower gods! Oh, Fringed Gentians, you are always worth the wait!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXXaySf9682IptUlcTJ_-HDiqUvptCkj6mWQAQzN3fC46sQh40nCZ6QKhEqk_-hS2f0DnPOEPZXP3yPZZ4LEtRo_u6aWyEt-8XH1KaZ-_heQBak4sNCUbrrL7Rm1DDSsxFNitsvYosw-Hmo41As9GnDhP8AP01pJrfEffwCitA3TlEwBVBIZEtNfwk6-fm/s3059/11fringedgentian,top.crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2242" data-original-width="3059" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXXaySf9682IptUlcTJ_-HDiqUvptCkj6mWQAQzN3fC46sQh40nCZ6QKhEqk_-hS2f0DnPOEPZXP3yPZZ4LEtRo_u6aWyEt-8XH1KaZ-_heQBak4sNCUbrrL7Rm1DDSsxFNitsvYosw-Hmo41As9GnDhP8AP01pJrfEffwCitA3TlEwBVBIZEtNfwk6-fm/w640-h470/11fringedgentian,top.crop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Jacqueline Donnellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13390548854179921303noreply@blogger.com1