Revisiting My "Holy Ground"

 This looks like just some bare rocks protruding into the Hudson River.  So what could be so special about this place that I would call it my "holy ground?" Well, this is what I wrote about these rocks and this river and its forested banks back in January of 2009, the first month and year I started writing this blog, inspired by the many natural wonders I had encountered here over years of visits:

"In this place, I feel like a 12-year-old kid, like a kid in a candy store with a hundred bucks in my pocket.  Most people I know love to travel to foreign places and visit exotic sights.  I've done some of that.  But almost all the time I was passing through them, it felt as if I were only looking at places through glass.  I didn't know how to truly inhabit them.  But here . . . . Here on this river . . . .  I've  been here at least fifty, sixty, maybe more than a hundred times, in all seasons, weathers, times of day and even all night;  I know the names of just about everything that grows and lives here, flora and fauna;  I know what plants are good to eat and where the orchids grow; and yet, every time I visit, it all seems terra incognita. I almost always find something unknown to me before, or something that simply amazes me." And as I have also come to add in the years since then: "a place that speaks to me of some Great Goodness that lies at the core of Creation." And thus, a holy place.

I felt a similar joy and awe this week when I joined my friends Sue and Dana and Noel and Tom for a walk through the woods to clamber out on this rocky point and gaze at this beautiful river, so calm and gently rippling beneath a partly cloudy sky.

Before we reached those rocks, we climbed down the surrounding hills and had a wandering amble through the rocky woods that line the river,  finding much of interest there.

 

This tree with roots straddling a boulder presented something of a puzzle.  I have seen many trees that probably sprouted atop a fallen log or cut stump, which later rotted away as the living tree matured, which resulted in a tree that appeared to be standing on stilts. But trees would be unlikely to sprout atop a big rock.  Perhaps the rocks beneath these roots rolled down the hill and got captured in what was already an empty space.

Another puzzle: Are these woody holes the result of two small trees that grew too close together for either to survive? Or what? Have woodland critters bored within to create dens side-by-side?  They sure looked like a pair of eyes staring up from the forest floor.

I believe I have a better sense of what carved out this deep circular "pot hole" in the bedrock along this river. I have seen much smaller holes on other riverbanks, where a small rock swirled by surging water created circular holes in the bedrock.  But this one was a good six feet deep and equally wide across. Although the Hudson now flows quite a distance from where this hole was formed, the course and size of today's river could have changed immensely from very ancient times.

This occasional boulder resting on the forest floor provided habitat for quite a variety of green living things: liverwort, mosses, and ferns all seemed at home here.

Here was a much smaller version of a similar community of green things sharing a small space.  

After descending the hill from the road, we could see the sunlit tree-lined shore of a large island that lay between this quiet backwater and the main course of the river.

My personal name for this quiet backwater is Shelter Cove, for even if wind is whipping up whitecaps out on the open river, these waters are often still. The mountain that rises across the Hudson is West Mountain.

This view from the woods includes the road on the opposite side of the Hudson.  This road connects Glens Falls to the village of Lake Luzerne.

Our wandering route through the woods eventually brought us to another Hudson backwater I have called Tupelo Marsh, for the shores of this marsh are lined with many Black Tupelo trees (Nyssa sylvatica).  This photo was taken while I stood within the distinctively twiggy branches of a now-dead Black Tupelo tree.

This tree and virtually every other Black Tupelo tree in this marsh have been completely girdled by beavers.  Some of the girdled trees still struggle to produce leaves and fruits, but this one shows no signs of life at all. Not a single Tupelo in this marsh has actually been felled, so I do not know why beavers have attacked all these trees.  I am aware that the wood of Nyssa sylvatica has interlocked and cross-grained fibers that make it extremely tough and nearly impossible to split, which is why it is spurned by lumbermen. Perhaps the beavers got weary of trying to fell the trees and just gave up. How sad for these lovely trees, though.

Here (below photo) is my photo of this exact tree the first year I discovered it over 30 years ago. Is there any other native tree so glorious in autumn color? And during the summer, the branches offered abundant fruits.  At the time, I did not know the species of the tree, and I only later learned that this tree does not readily grow this far north, except for places made humid by rivers and swamps.  Learning about the Black Tupelo tree at this location convinced me that this section of the Hudson River that lies between the Spier Falls and Sherman Island dams was a truly remarkable place, botanically. I thus set myself the goal of learning the names of all plants that grew between these two dams.  And of course, I did not stop there. In fact, I am still finding unfamiliar plants and still seeking them out wherever I wander.  Although the numbers of new finds are dwindling, botanizing continues to be a passion of mine, enriching my life in so many ways, including spiritually. And this all started because of this gorgeous tree.  I think of it as my Totem Tree, and I thank God for its influence in my life.

I have often wished I could explore this section of riverbank with a geologist who could help me understand the stories the rocks here are speaking. The swirls and crystals and alternating colors of this bedrock, for example, must tell of something very dynamic having happened here.

The very fine gray stripes of this swath of rock seem to flow, while the crunchy whitish stuff atop and below it suggest that very different forces were at work in their formation.

All kinds of things were going on when this rock was formed, and the presence of lichens growing atop this chunk of it probably suggest that the rock has something to offer the lichen in addition to simply some space. Or not.

My reveries about the rocks were interrupted when one of my friends handed me this spiky gall attached to the midrib of an oak leaf. As it happened, I recognized it as a Hedgehog Gall right away, although I could not immediately recall the organism that caused the leaf to host it. But Google has since reminded me that a tiny wasp called Acraspis erinacei laid her eggs on this leaf in the spring, and "chemical secretions together with larval irritation stimulated the tree to build a protected, multi-chambered home around the eggs. Larvae develop inside the cells of the gall during the summer, emerge as unfertilized females in the fall, which lay overwintering eggs that hatch in the spring into a new generation of both males and females."  But Google didn't tell me whether this gall contains just-laid eggs or unfertilized females. The mystery remains. We didn't cut the gall open. What a fabulous shape and texture to this gall!

And now, to the flowering plants that thrive on this rocky promontory. I have come here in April because I know that a large population of Trailing Arbutus should be full of fragrant flowers by then.

These Frost Asters were still producing flowers while also holding seed pods of previous blooms. I wonder if they earned that vernacular name because they could tolerate some early frosts.

Low-bush Blueberries are long past blooming and fruiting, but their scarlet leaves are as lovely as any flowers.

Wintergreen plants are at their loveliest this time of year, so full of fruits that will persist just as red all winter long.

I love the swirling curly leaves of Poverty Oat Grass.  It reminds me of curling ribbons atop gift packages.

These stately stalks of Steeplebush seeds are as handsome as their deep-pink flowers were beautiful.

Every year, I wonder what Shadblow leaves must be thinking, bursting out of fur-lined buds just as killing frosts could be killing them tomorrow.

As we sat on the rocks here eating our lunches, we pondered this solitary yellow-leaved tree on the opposite bank of the river.  My camera's zoom didn't offer a focus clear enough for me to be certain, but the tree seemed to have drooping branches very much like those of a Weeping Willow. Not a native tree, but it sure looked beautiful amid all our late-autumn leafless trees, especially when doubled by its reflection in the water.

I have mentioned how blessed I feel because of all the natural wonders I find along this river and other places.  But I am even more blessed to have such dear friends who share my passion for the natural world, and also bring not just their enthusiasm but also their expansive knowledge and all-round pleasantness along when we walk together. I am 84 years old now, and most of my childhood friends and some of my more recent friends, too, have died. So I am ever so grateful for the friends that still accompany me in life.

This is Dana Stimpson, a delightful friend who came into my life just a few years ago, due to our mutual interest in things of nature. But Dana, seen here standing before one of the glacial erratic boulders found along these banks, knows a lot about a lot of things (she's a former librarian, you know), so she is a fount of information.  But she also likes to sing silly songs and recite poetry, and she not just tolerates me doing likewise, but often encourages me by joining in.

This is Noel Dingman, an amazing adventurer who has hiked more miles than I could ever dream of hiking, even though I'm a few years younger than she is.  She is also steeped in knowledge about mushrooms and even knows which fungi produce which colors of dye and which fibers affect the colors. She, too, came into my life quite recently, and what a lucky person I am to still be finding such jolly friends who love many of the things I love too.

Tom Callaghan is simply one of the nicest guys I've ever known, always game for an outing no matter how distant, and also willing to drive our whole gang there if we need a ride.  He's also right there with his cellphone to search iNaturalist if we have any ID questions.  As someone who now and then has a grumpy or caustic moment, I stand in awe of his always cheerful demeanor.  We all wish he didn't abandon us to go south in winter, but that's where his grandchild lives, so he's forgiven. 

Ah, and then there's Sue Pierce!  Longtime readers of this blog know what a constant companion on nature jaunts she is, and how much she adds to each one by what she can see and hear (that I can't), and also by the lore that she can add to every adventure because she is steeped in knowledge of Native American culture and also of just about everything that Henry David Thoreau ever wrote. She is also one of the most active contributors and followers of iNaturalist, and her passion for flowering plants has continued while she expands into learning as much as she can about bryophytes and bugs.  But above all, she is simply a loving friend, one who can sense when my spirits are flagging and does what she can to cheer me.  It was HER idea to walk through the woods to this place she knew was very special to me.  Over the years, we've been here before, on foot or by canoe, but I hadn't visited here yet all year. Wouldn't you know, she sensed what I needed and made this adventure happen. Thanks a million, Sue!

Late Fall Along Bog Meadow Brook Nature Trail

It's November in northern New York. Deciduous trees are shedding the last of their leaves. The fall  wildflowers have all gone to seed and await the first killing frost.  And yet, much of beauty and interest still greet us on every nature walk, even this late in autumn.  My friend Sue and I went to Bog Meadow Brook Nature Trail this past week, both to revisit those wonders we knew we would find, as well as to be surprised by unexpected beauty.

We entered the trail through a spur that leads directly onto a boardwalk leading to a mid-way point on this two-mile trail surrounded by wooded wetlands, wet meadows, and open marsh.  But we first lingered here in this forested swampy section, hoping we could find at least traces of some of the fascinating plants that make this kind of habitat their home.

Happy to report, due to a dearth of rainfall this autumn, the forest floor here was not all that swampy, allowing us to step off the boardwalk and wander through the woods without fearing a too-muddy misstep.

The ground was still damp enough, though, to support the usual swamp denizens, such as this green squiggly stuff called Dwarf Horsetail (Equisetum scirpoides). This species is much smaller than the three other equisetum species that thrive in this swamp, and it's the only one of those species that remains green all year. We found vast carpets of it this year. Sometimes, in other years, we have to search carefully to find it.

Here's a closer look at the Dwarf Horsetail's convoluted stems:

A second, rather delicate-seeming Equisetum species that thrives here in summer, called Wood Horsetail (E. sylvaticum), was already so desiccated its distinguishing features were hardly recognizable.  But we definitely could recognize the somewhat sturdier remains of this Field Horsetail (E. arvense) pictured below, although it had collapsed from its typical erect posture and was lying among the fallen tree leaves.

When we approached areas of standing water, we could see the remains of the fourth wetland species of Equisetum that thrive in this swamp, this one called (appropriately) Water Horsetail (E. fluviatile). A taller species than the others, many plants still remained erect, although the long slender branches had collapsed as they dried.

Although few colorful leaves remained on the trees, we did find some colorful leaves on the forest floor. These Foamflower leaves (Tiarella stolonifera) looked as fresh and green as if they had just sprouted.

It's not just tree leaves that turn a pretty red color in the fall, as this Spotted Geranium leaf reveals. (Geranium maculatum)

The Highbush Blueberry shrubs (Vaccinium corymbosum) bore leaves of a vibrant red.

Swamp Thistle (Cirsium muticum) normally flowers in August in this swamp, blooming atop stems about 7 feet tall. So it was quite a surprise to find it about to bloom in November! When Sue called my attention to it, I could hardly believe she wasn't kidding me.  We had found a number of this plant's over-wintering leafy rosettes on the forest floor, but not any remnants of the gone-to-seed flowers. And here was what looked like a flower about to burst into bloom!

Granted, we'd had many unseasonably warm days the previous week,  but we knew we would not find any Skunk Cabbage plants about to bloom. These overwintering shoots bearing protective bracts could fool you, though, they look so similar to what we see in early spring.

We found few fungi here in the swamp, except for this tree trunk absolutely covered with Turkey Tail caps! (Trametes versicolor)

Wait!  Here was more fungus!  These tiny wisps of caramel-capped white stalks called Multiclavula mucida had sprung from a patch of green algae coating the top of a rotting fallen log. This is a "lichenized" fungus that forms a permanent symbiotic relationship with a photosynthetic organism like green algae. We will never find Muticlavula mucida without its partner of green algae.

We eventually met the central Bog Meadow Brook Trail and headed along its forest-lined path, hoping to find some traces of plants we'd encountered here at other times of the year.

One of those plants is the wispy wee plant called Yellow Bartonia (Bartonia virginica), a very small native annual wildflower in the Gentian Family that looks about the same in seed as it does in bloom with tiny yellow flowers. We had found this plant along this trail in other years, but never in such an abundance as we found it this year.  I am always grateful for my friend Sue's excellent eyesight, for I'm sure I would have missed nearly all of the plants she spotted.  This one, though, was so generously multi-flowered, even I was able to spot it.

I loved how the sunlight caused the downy fluff of these Virgin's Bower's seedpuffs to glow. (Clematis virginiana)

Sue was the first to spot these glossy red Bittersweet Nightshade berries (Solanum dulcamara) held on deep-purple pedicels. What a color combiation!

Looking around, I found a leafy branch of that Bittersweet Nightshade vine, and when I lifted a few of its dark leaves toward the sun, they glowed like stained glass, with this amazing shade of purple.

We passed a number of Winterberry shrubs (Ilex verticillata) along the trail, their branches loaded with scarlet fruit. These berries will remain on the twigs until well into the winter, the woodland creatures ignoring the currently low-nutrient fruits until after freezing temperatures have softened the berries and concentrated their sugars and tempered their bitterness.

And here's the plant we ALWAYS hope to find at Bog Meadow:  a small native orchid called Loesel's Twayblade (Liparis loeselli).   Its tan seedpods are actually easier to espy this time of year, when the surrounding taller vegetation has died back, than are its tiny yellow-green flowers in summer, well-hidden then among other green plants.  But even so, we still had to search for it. Lucky for us, we DID find it! And even one or two plants we'd never found before.

Although Loesel's Twayblade is relatively common in New York State, this orchid species is frequently threatened -- even to the point of extinction -- where it is also native in several other parts of the world. Changes in its habitat that affect water supply, such as the draining or drying out of wetlands,  can be particularly damaging for this plant. Lucky for our local population (small as it is), the wetland habitat along Bog Meadow Brook Nature Trail is protected by the land conservation organization called Saratoga PLAN (Preserving Land And Nature).  Not only do I feel grateful that I know where it grows around here, I also can feel confident its habitat will be preserved and protected for generations to come.

As we neared where we had parked a car at the eastern trailhead along Meadowbrook Road, we passed along the shores of this open marsh, strangely deserted of waterfowl in the middle of migration season. It felt very pleasant to move from the tree-canopied trail to pass beneath a wide blue sky.

Here on the sunnier sections of the trail, we found traces of wildflowers that had bloomed earlier in the year. I love the curling seedpods of this Willowherb (Epilobium ciliatum?), which remind me of the  touseled curls of a tow-headed toddler. This plant bears tiny pink flowers when it's in bloom, in small compact clusters that would make a perfect bouquet for a dollhouse.

I'm not sure what color these asters were when in bloom.  Purple? Or white? Or some shade in-between? No matter. They still looked quite flowery and pretty in all their fluffy white seedpuffs. They offered us a lovely farewell flower patch as we ended our walk along Bog Meadow Brook Nature Trail.