Sunlight and Shadow

While walking the shore of Moreau Lake, I saw these perfectly beautiful leaves and fruits of Maple-leaved Viburnum  (Viburnum acerifolium) leaning out from the woods.  No other shrub bears leaves of this gorgeous pinky-purple color in the fall, and it is rare that I find both the leaves and the berries of this native shrub so beautifully intact.  So I promptly stopped to take a photo.

I was grateful to have the sunshine illuminating both leaves and flowers so perfectly:

But then a cloud drifted across the sun, and rather than diminish the beauty of these leaves and fruits, the change of light transformed their color remarkably.  The yellower tones of the sunlit leaves gave way to the bluer tones of the leaves in shadow:

Two different lights, two different colors, two different ways of being absolutely beautiful!

New Lands to Explore at Moreau Lake State Park

The old lumber lands are open to us at last!  It was almost exactly 7 years ago that I first learned that vast tracts of land bordered by the Hudson River and formerly lumbered by the Finch Pruyn lumber company were to become part of Moreau Lake State Park. The transformation required lots of actions and transactions by a number of different parties, but all that effort has now paid off, and the Big Bend Preserve is now ready for the rest of us to begin exploring its many features.  The entrance to this 880-acre preserve is located along Butler Road in Moreau, with a parking area and signs explaining the significance of this site, not just for those of us desiring to explore these lands, but also for the plants and wildlife that naturally reside here.

My friend Sue Pierce and I had a beautiful day last Friday to meet at the Big Bend Preserve and set off along broad level trails.  No motor vehicles are allowed on the trails, but bicycles and horses are, as well as hikers.  Open meadows stretched along both sides of the trail, and we could see mountains rising beyond the Hudson River in the distance.

 

We passed by two separate ponds along the way, where the quiet waters reflected both the cloud-wafting blue sky and the changing colors of the trees that lined the banks of the ponds.

Sue and I did not plan today to walk the entire three-mile loop trail that would take us all the way to the Hudson shore, but we walked as far as where the trail took a sharp turn to enter a more deeply forested area. I believe Sue had heard a bird she was trying to espy among the high branches. I could certainly imagine that the broad meadows and open forest that line these trails would be exactly the right habitat for many kinds of birds and other animals to reside in.

We could glimpse an open area beyond this wooded stretch, and we understand that this area is in the process of being cultivated as a pine barrens.  Once the ground is prepared, the land will be seeded with native Wild Lupine, Horse Mint, and other sand-plain plants that support the life cycle of the federally-endangered Karner Blue Butterfly and other denizens of this kind of specialized habitat.

Many of the kind of plants that would thrive in pine barrens were already present now in the trail-bordering meadows.  Tufts of our native Little Bluestem Grass bore fluffy seedheads that glittered  in the sunlight.

Stands of Round-headed Bushclover lifted cinnamon-colored round seedheads atop stiffly erect stems.

A few of the trailside goldenrods still bore clusters of bright-yellow blooms, and nearly all of these flowers were swaying from the weight of visiting bumblebees stoking up on the last sources of pollen before the first frost arrived to end the blooming season.

This Northern Willowherb plant had already gone to seed, displaying a mass of curling pink pods.

Virginia Creeper vines snaked across the sandy soil, bearing leaves of startlingly vivid scarlet.

The most abundant flowers now were the masses of white asters crowding the side of the sunlit trail.

I find the small white asters quite difficult to distinguish as to species. But the relatively large size of these flowers, their open habit of growth and slender, dark-tipped pointed bracts suggested Frostweed Aster (Symphyotrichum pilosum) to me.  The visible hairs on the stems was another clue to that species.

This was another white aster with relatively large flowers, but with narrower petals. Its long, tapered, sharp-pointed leaves virtually announced to me that this was a Lance-leaved Aster (Symphyotricum lanceolatum).

Amid so many white asters, this one with pale lavender flowers was quite the anomaly.  The flowers could have belonged to several different species of aster, but the way its larger leaves enlarged at their base and clasped the stem suggested that this was the Wavy-leaved Aster (Symphyotrichum undulatum).

Sue told me that there were had been many more species of flowers blooming when she visited this site a couple of weeks before we explored it together.  She even found the remnants of an orchid she had found then, one called Appalachian Ladies' Tresses (Spiranthes arcisepala), hiding among the trailside grasses.  What a great indication that we will have lots of botanical treasures to discover as we continue to explore these wonderful new trails at Big Bend Preserve!

Bryophyte Beauty

When the floral seasons come to a close and the autumn colors start to fade, much beauty remains to be found in nature.  Here are just a couple of bryophytes, doing their beautiful things along a sandy-soil powerline clearcut in Moreau Lake State Park.  Top: Bristly Haircap Moss (Polytrichum piliferum) sharing its patch with baby White Pine seedlings. Bottom:a lovely patch of Running Club Moss (Lycopodium clavatum) in full sporangia array.   

Dewdrops added lots of sparkle to these starburst leaves and needles!

The white furry tufts at the ends of the Running Clubmoss's branches are a feature that suggested its alternate vernacular name of Wolf's Paw.

Both the moss and the clubmoss will remain green all winter, although we might have to brush the snow away to enjoy their persistent beauty.

Visiting a Little-Known Aster

Thanks to a post last week on the Flora of New York State's Facebook page, I learned about an aster I'd never heard of before: Glossy-leaved Aster (Symphyotrichum firmum).  I believe lots of folks have never heard of it either, since it's not described in my Newcomb's Wildflower Guide nor my Peterson's Field Guide to Wildflowers nor my Audubon Society's Field Guide to North American Wildflowers (East). And when I looked for it on the Native Plant Trust's Go Botany website, I was sent to the page for the closely related Swamp Aster  (Symphyotrichum puniceum), a similar-looking species with which S. firmum is occasionally lumped. 

Our New York Flora Association's Plant Atlas does indeed list S. firmum among our state's native asters, though.  But it lists it as vouchered from only four counties in New York State, all of them far away from the Washington County site where masses of it have recently been observed by state botanists.  Thankfully, that site is located not far from me, so my friend Ruth Brooks and I headed off to the Alfred Z. Solomon Grassland Bird-Viewing Area near Fort Edward to have a look at this aster for ourselves.

This extensive Washington County Grassland site is quite famous among birders, and is, in fact, named as one of our state's Important Bird Areas. It encompasses 13,000 acres of critical grassland habitat  located along the Atlantic and Hudson River flyways in upstate New York, hosting abundant populations of grassland breeding birds and wintering raptors, including Snowy Owls and state-endangered Short-eared Owls, among other birds of concern. 

Although impressively scenic and biologically important, I had never thought of these grasslands as a particularly important site for interesting botanical finds.  But our state botanist friends were kind enough to guide us to where we might find this heretofore under-reported species of native aster, growing in impressive abundance.  Masses of its near-white flowers were growing in hedge-high tight clusters, immediately visible as we made our way down the trail from the bird-viewing platform.

The habit of clustering tightly together into such massive clumps is apparently one of the distinguishing characteristics of this species.

A closer look at the flowers revealed that what looked like white flowers from afar were indeed slightly blue.

I did find the vernacular name "Glossy-leaved Aster" a bit misleading, since the clasping leaves, while green and smooth, did not look very glossy to me.  I made sure to take a close photo of some leaves and the undersides of the flowers to display the particular structure of the involucres and phyllaries, hoping to decipher the descriptions provided by Flora of North America's website. (I copied those descriptions here, below this photo.) I was struck by how the rayflowers curled so tightly as they matured, a feature I have noticed before on other asters, but not so prettily.

From Flora of North America:

57. Symphyotrichum firmum (Nees) G. L. Nesom, Phytologia. 77: 282. 1995.

Glossy-leaved aster

Aster firmus Nees, Syn. Aster. Herb., 25. 1818; A. lucidulus (A. Gray) Wiegand; A. puniceus Linnaeus var. firmus (Nees) Torrey & A. Gray

Perennials, 40–250 cm, colonial; long-rhizomatous. Stems 1, erect (straight, ± thin, 2–8 mm diam at base, ± ribbed, red above each node), glabrous or glabrate (very sparsely hispidulous) proximally to ± hispidulous distally. Leaves (crowded, light green, shiny) firm, margins crenulate-serrate or entire, revolute, apices acute to acuminate, mucronate, abaxial faces glabrous or midveins sometimes with hairs apically, adaxial glabrous; basal withering by flowering, subpetiolate (petioles dilated, winged, sheathing), blades spatulate to oblanceolate, 30–100+ × 3–20+ mm, bases attenuate to cuneate, margins remotely crenate-serrate to subentire, apices acute to rounded; proximal cauline withering by flowering, sessile or subpetiolate (petioles widely winged, clasping), blades oblanceolate, 50–150 × 20–30 mm, greatly reduced distally, bases auriculate, clasping, apices acute to acuminate; distal sessile, blades lanceolate to lance-elliptic to oblanceolate, 40–70 × 10–25 mm, little reduced distally, bases auriculate, clasping, margins entire, apices acute to acuminate. Heads in densely paniculiform arrays, branches ascending, densely leafy (branch leaves often overtopping heads). Peduncles 0.2–3+ cm, glabrous or pilose in lines, bracts 4–6, lanceolate-linear, often subtending heads. Involucres campanulate, 6–12 mm. Phyllaries in 4–5(–6) series, linear-lanceolate to linear, slightly unequal, bases indurate 1 / 5 – 1 / 2 , margins not scarious (outer) to narrowly scarious, erose, hyaline, sparsely ciliolate, green zones linear-lanceolate, outer sometimes ± foliaceous, apices acute to acuminate or long-acuminate to caudate, faces glabrous. Ray florets 20–40; corollas usually blue to pale lavender, sometimes white, laminae 9–18 × 1.0–1.2 mm. Disc florets 30–50; corollas yellow or cream becoming pink or purple, (4.5–)5–6.4 mm, tubes shorter than funnelform throats, lobes triangular to lanceolate, 0.6–0.9 mm. Cypselae purple or brown, obovoid, oblong or oblanceolate, ± falcate, ± compressed, 1.5–3 mm, 3–4-nerved, faces glabrous or sparsely strigillose; pappi white, 5.2–8 mm. 2n = 16.

Flowering Aug–Oct. Open, wet soils, spreading into mesic mineral soils, fens, marshes, wet roadsides; 100–400 m; Alta., Man., Ont., Sask.; Ga., Iowa, Mich., Minn., Mo., Nebr.

The range of this little known species is badly defined because some specimens attributed to it are in fact white-rayed, glabrate forms of Symphyotrichum puniceum. More work is needed to verify the status of this species.

After paying our respects to this fascinating and highly unusual find, we walked about the meadows a while, enjoying the vast sky with its sweeping clouds, the patchwork colors of the meadows, the sight of the wind moving in waves through the tawny grasses, and the view of distant mountains on the far horizon. And we also stopped to admire some "weeds" that added their own beauty to the path beneath our feet.  One of those weeds was the gorgeously royal-blue and hot-pink Viper's Bugloss (Echium vulgare).

I usually find these pretty pink miniature hollyhocks called Cheeses (Malva neglecta) sprawling across suburban sidewalks, but here they were, sprawling across some gravelly areas in the path.  I find their dainty flowers so cunning, looking so similar to the flowers of their much larger cousins.  And their disc-shaped seedpods are also miniature versions of Hollyhock seedpods, of a shape very similar to certain round cheeses, complete with tiny wedge-shaped portions. I'm sure that's how this plant acquired that vernacular name.

A Lovely Day, A Rushing River, A Historic Bridge

Here it is, nearly October, and summery warmth continues,  although thankfully moderated to a more comfortable level. It was so nice today, my husband Denis and I took a picnic up to Hadley, to a lovely little park on Dean Mountain Road, overlooking the rushing whitewater Sacandaga River, just upstream from where it joins the Hudson.  The sound of the rapids just below the deck we sat on was tranquilizing, and the view downstream included sight of the lovely old historic Parabolic Bridge linking Hadley to the village of Lake Luzerne.

A bench on this deck offered comfortable seating while we picnicked, accompanied by the music of rushing water just below us.

The sound of the rushing water so close beneath us was delightful. And for good reason. I have read that crashing water (think pounding surf, babbling streams, or waterfalls) creates negative ions in the air that can have a tranquilizing and mood enhancing effect, as this article from WebMD explains.  And the Sacandaga River always provides plenty of negative ions, thanks to its abundance of whitewater rapids.

Our downstream view included two bridges spanning the Sacandaga River, the nearer one a railroad bridge and a second bridge beyond it, a parabolic bow bridge, which is quite an interesting historic structure. 

Here's an entry from Wikipedia that presents some information about this bridge:

"The Hadley Parabolic Bridge, often referred to locally as the Hadley Bow Bridge, carries Corinth Road (Saratoga County Route 1) across the Sacandaga River in Hadley, New York. It is an iron bridge dating from the late 19th century.

"It is the only surviving iron semi-deck lenticular truss bridge in the state, and the only extant of three known to have been built. In 1977 it was listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Shortly afterwards it was closed to vehicular traffic, and at some time later to pedestrians as well.

"The county had considered demolishing it, but held off after heavy lobbying from local preservation groups. In 2006 it was reconstructed and restored with federal and state grants, and reopened without any load restrictions." 

And here's a little closer view of this handsome historical bridge, thanks to my camera's zoom. When I'm heading north toward Lake Luzerne on Rte. 9N, I often take a short detour through Hadley just to cross this bridge and enjoy the view of the river beneath.  So beautiful!

Same Pond, Same Date, Some Disappointments

West Vly, 9/20, 2024

My friend Ruth Brooks and I paddled West Vly in northern Saratoga County yesterday (9/20/24), exactly the same date as we paddled there one year ago.  Although we still found many similar beauties to behold, it seems our over-hot summer hastened the bloom and decline of a number of the plants we delighted in just a year ago.  I especially missed the ruby-red sparkling leaves of Spatulate Sundew surrounding the miniature forests of yellow-flowered Humped Bladderwort on the mudflats.  Thankfully, the Sheep Laurel shrubs had once again put out some second-bloom flowers, and the Marsh St. John's Wort seedpods and leaves were as vividly colorful as usual.  But many other plants were so faded, I found my photos so disappointing I felt no desire to post a new blog about our explorations at West Vly this year.  But then my Facebook Memories reposted on my Facebook timeline the blog about visiting West Vly I posted here on 9/20/23, with many beautiful photos.  And I thought: Why not re-post that very same blog, adding a few comments (in red) about how things have changed this year? And that's what I'm doing here.

Late-summer Pleasures Paddling a Pond (9/20/2023)

How 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.

Sedge-meadow Shore

A 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.

West Vly, 9/20/2023

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.

The most colorful of those flowering plants right now are masses of Marsh St. John's Wort (Hypericum virginicum), with pink-tinged lime-green leaves, scarlet stems, and glossy ruby-red seedpods.

Ruth is an avid student of mosses, so she found much to engage her interest in the mosses that carpeted the stumps.

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 Dicranum flagellare, also known as Fragile Broom Moss.

Ruth was also able to put a name to this fluffy-looking lime-green moss that carpeted another stump: Aulacomnium palustre, or Ribbed Bog Moss.

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 (Drosera rotundifolia). 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.

Update, 2024:  Sadly, we could barely detect the shriveled remnants of this or a second species of Sundew (Spatulate-leaved) on either these stumps or the mudflats this year.  I'm afraid that this summer's heat had either forced them to complete their lifecycle and promptly fade,  or else be baked to death.

Along this shore, wide swaths of Carex lasiocarpa (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.

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.

Update, 2024: I am happy to report that this species of Marsh St. John's Wort was just as beautiful as ever this year.  As were the Slender Sedge and the Canada Rush, pictured below.

Not a ridged-stem sedge but rather a round-stemmed rush, Canada Rush (Juncus canadensis) was bearing dark-maroon spikelets that stood out against the background of pale Slender Sedge.

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 Cotesia congregata.  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 . . .!

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.

Forested Rocky Banks

We 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.

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.

The beaver dam allowed enough of the pond's water through to feed the small creek that flowed away toward the woods.

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 (Gentiana linearis) started blooming at least a month ago, and the now-browning flowers attested to the aging of these plants.

It amazed us, though, to see the quantity and brilliance of blue the flowers retained.

Update, 2024: We managed to detect one remnant of this Narrow-leaved Gentian at this same site, but its flowerhead was almost completely brown, with only the slightest tinge of faded blue.

Just as amazing was the presence of newly blooming flowers on the shrubs of Sheep Laurel (Kalmia angustifolia) 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.

And the presence of these tightly folded Sheep Laurel buds were an indication that this shrub still had some blooming to do!

Update, 2024:  We did find a few open flowers on the Sheep Laurel this week, but many fewer than last year, and none of these folded buds at all.

Muddy Shallows, Sphagnum Bog 

Proceeding 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 (Drosera intermedia) that were studded with the bright-yellow tiny flowers of Humped Bladderwort (Utricularia gibba). 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!

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 Utricularia species do.

Update, 2024: We did find a scattering of the Humped Bladderwort flowers this year, but many fewer than last year.  And I was hugely disappointed to see them protruding from water instead of decorating mud flats and being surrounded and their beauty enhanced by the sparkly ruby-red leaves of the Spatulate-leaved Sundew, which was nowhere to be seen.

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 (Sarracenia purpurea), 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.

Update, 2024:  We did not see a single stalk of Cottongrass swaying above the bogmat.  Not a ONE, where thousands danced here a year ago.  What could have happened to them? I know that they persist well into October, which is when I took this photo of another bogmat where they are known to bloom:

Heading Home

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 (Viburnum cassinoides).

Near that Wild Raisin was an Arrowwood shrub (Viburnum dentatum) that bore blue-black fruits

And a lower-growing shrub called American Bush Honeysuckle (Diervilla lonicera) 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.

Update, 2024: We found not a single fruit nor seedpod remaining on any of these three shrubs this year, nor could I find the pedicels that might have held such fruits and seeds. That makes me wonder if they ever did bloom and fruit this summer.  Or if they did bloom, could the  too-early heat have caused them to bloom out of sync with their flowers' pollinators and thus the flowers did not produce fruit? I truly fear that climate change will seriously affect the pollination of native flowering plants.

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 (Spiranthes sp.), shining so white, like a beacon. 

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 feast!

Update, 2024: We did not find a trace of this lovely white orchid near the shore this year.  But orchids can be fickle like that, failing to bloom in the same place as they did other years.  We did find this year the spent flower stalk of a single Spiranthes specimen further up the trail toward the parking area, but in a spot where we found at least four of them last year.  And they were all in full beautiful bloom on 9/20 a year ago.  This year, that single specimen was so shriveled and brown we hardly noticed it.

Before I leave this recap-and-update post, I do want to add a few photos from this year's paddle on West Vly.  First of all, I was struck by how advanced the trees were in turning their autumn colors, quite a bit more vivid than they were on this date last year.  As kids, were were told it was Jack Frost who painted the trees like this, but I'm wondering now if it's more heat than cold that does it.

I did find a plant there this year -- Swamp Candles (Lysimachia terrestris) --  I had never noticed at West Vly before, especially when it had formed its reproductive structures called bulbils.  These little red wormy growths that form in the leaf axils are neither buds nor seed pods, but rather they are the plants' clonal organs, which eventually fall off into the mud to produce genetic clones of the plants where they land.

We were struck as we paddled through Water Lily pads how the pads looked almost frosted by the white molted skins of small greenish bugs that were crowding the surface of the pads. I wondered if these bugs might be an instar of the nymphs of Water Lily Planthoppers (Megamelus davisi) that feed exclusively on Water Lily and Pond Lily pads. But so far, Google has not located any source that could confirm this.  Anybody want to chime in?