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.

A Back Bay Amble

 Supposedly, I should be all well by now.  A new Covid test indicated I no longer have the virus.  My senses of taste and smell are back to normal, and coughing no longer wakes me at night. But I feel as if my lungs can only partially fill, and my afternoon nap is no longer a comfy luxury but a definite need.  The weather has been so gorgeous, though, I longed to be outside.  A three-mile walk around the shore of Moreau Lake seemed more than I wanted to manage, but a shorter amble around the lake's back bay seemed doable. So that's what I did last Saturday.

Walking toward the bridge that would take me to the back-bay trail, I paused to admire the deep russets and dark golds of the shoreline trees.

From the bridge, I gazed at the back bay's quiet water, reflecting the beauty of the shoreline forest and mostly blue sky.

The tree-lined trail between the lake and its bay offered beautiful views of both bodies of water.

A hedge of Black Huckleberry shrubs at the edge of the south-facing sun-bathed shore had achieved their late-fall shade of brilliant scarlet.

I found colorful surprises too, along the shaded woodsy trail.  This baby oak bore leaves of a rosy red.

And several Lowbush Blueberry shrubs had beautiful green twigs.

The trailside Maple-leaved Viburnums bore pinky-purple leaves and blue-black berries.  So pretty!

As I began to circle the bay, I was surprised to notice how very low the water had fallen.  Moreau Lake is a kettle lake that depends almost completely on rainfall and snowmelt to maintain its water levels. I had not been aware of any remarkable dearths of either this year, but what else could have caused the water to fall so low as to reveal so much of the bay's muddy bottom?

In the woods, the Red Maples had dropped their scarlet leaves already, but the many American Beeches still held their leaves of copper and gold.

The sunlight pouring through these oak leaves caused them to glow like embers.

While gazing into the woods, I was startled to notice a pair of Pileated Woodpeckers flying about in the treetops.  These huge birds both landed on this trunk and began to explore its bark for the presence of insect infestation.  They were so hurried as they went about their task of circling the trunk, it was difficult to find both birds in view at once.  I cannot verify if the two birds in these next two photos were two different birds  or simply one that came briefly into view while the other remained hidden. 

But I did get a photo of one appearing on either side of the trunk.

At the very north end of the bay lies a stretch we have come to call "the Odonata Shore," its sun-warmed sand a favorite habitat of the many dragonflies and damselflies that congregate here in abundant numbers.

There were at least 6 or 7 Autumn Meadowhawk Dragonflies resting on this fallen log before I could draw close enough to take a photo of them. At least this one stayed long enough for the picture-taking.

This photo, displaying wide areas of damp mucky sand that once was underwater, demonstrates how far the water has retreated lately.

For the final stretch of my walk around the bay, I climbed the banks from the beach to this tree-lined trail, where the afternoon sun cast lengthening shadows across my path.  

That low sunlight also ignited these Witch Hazel flowers, revealing their starry beauty against the deepening shadows of the woods.

Here's a closer view of the Witch Hazel flowers, its ribbon-like petals fully expanded on this lovely warm afternoon. On colder days well into the fall, the petals will curl up tight until they stretch out again to bask in whatever of the sun's warmth returns. I pressed this cluster of wide-open blooms close to my nose, where I could detect their faint but delightful fragrance, a scent that reminds me of the smell of clean laundry dried outdoors in the sunlight and fresh air.

Taking the Healing Waters and Breathing the Healing Air

 Well, darn it all!  I'd thought the threat of Covid was basically over, but just to be safe I got both a Covid vaccine and a flu shot on Sunday, October 18.  When I started to feel achy and tired the following Tuesday, I thought it might be a reaction to the shots.  But then I felt worse on Wednesday, with a stuffy nose and dry cough, followed by chills and shakes and abject fatigue on Thursday, with sudden loss of sense of smell and taste. Uh oh!  Got Covid test. Proved positive. Luckily, there's a medicine called Paxlovid that moderates the direst symptoms, and so it did. After five days on Paxlovid, my sense of smell returned, and by Thursday, Oct. 29, a new Covid test showed no more virus remained enough to detect. But I still felt kind of sickly, so tired I just wanted to go back to bed. 

But oh, the day was warm and bright.  Maybe a brief walk outdoors in the fresh air and sunshine would be more reviving than another nap. And lucky for me, I live in Saratoga Springs, a city famous for its mineral springs that are famous for promoting health.  So off to Saratoga Spa State Park I went.  A walk along the turbulent Geyser Creek and some quaffs of the mineral-rich spring waters there should help me feel much better.

The trail along the rushing creek looked very inviting, with colorful autumn foliage brightening the banks, and the Island Spouter atop its mound of mineral accretions was sending its sparkling spray skyward. The name "Geyser Creek" was no doubt inspired by the mineral-water spring that spouts from the center of this island, an enormous limey accretion called a "tufa." But this is not, in fact, a geyser, since geysers obtain their energy from geothermal heat. Better referred to as a "spouter," this skyward-shooting spring obtains its energy from a subterranean buildup of carbon dioxide gasses. The water is quite cold all year. And of course, it is "carbonated," too, nearly as bubbly as seltzer water.

There are signs posted along the creek that explain the geology of the mineral waters that flow from springs here:

There is genuine scientific evidence that turbulent waters like a waterfall or crashing waves or a rushing creek or a spritzing spouter can help to promote good health.  Somehow, the tossing of droplets into the air creates a negative ionization in the air that has been demonstrated to enhance not only our feelings of well-being, but to also improve our body's immune system in measurable ways. I made a conscious effort to fill my lungs fully as I walked along the creek.

An even larger dome of mineral deposits lay just a bit further upstream, caused by the waters that spout from Orenda Spring high up on the bluff.

This creekside trail ends where the Geyser Creek flows through a culvert.  More rushing water here.  I stopped and took some deep breaths of the negatively ionized air at this site before climbing a steep stairway up the hillside, to where I knew I would find the Orenda Spring.

It was here that I filled a cup and drank deeply of the cold sparkling waters of the Orenda Spring. 

The word "Orenda" means a divine force believed by the Iroquois people to be the source of all positive human accomplishment.  Wouldn't it be wonderful if all the peoples of the world could be so transformed by drinking the waters of this spring?  One could only hope! Especially during this time of political contentiousness and genuine danger to our nation and its people.

And may that divine force help me to fully recover from the weakening effects of this illness.   I do believe I feel better already.

Autumn Variations

The intensity of autumn color sure varies from year to year.  These next three photos from a blog I posted back in 2023 appeared in my Facebook Memories yesterday.  All three were taken on the Hudson River, above and below the Spier Falls Dam.  2023 sure was a great year for fabulous foliage color!

This rocky outcropping juts into the Hudson where a forested slope of the Palmertown Mountains falls directly to the waterside.

This tiny islet adorned with brilliantly scarlet Black Huckleberry shrubs lies mid-river just off the Sherman Island Boat Launch Site, along Spier Falls Road:

Here's another of a trio of mid-river islets that lie just off the boat-launch site, its foliage colors (and those on the riverside mountain slopes) burnished by golden sunshine and rendered even more beautiful by rippling reflections.

The day was equally sunny yesterday (10/19/26), so that was my cue to hurry over to visit the Hudson River along Spier Falls Road to see if the foliage colors were equally vibrant this year.

Well, not quite. But the mirror-still river beneath a clear blue sky beautifully reflected the beauty of the riverside forested mountains as they were.

I often pull over along the road to gaze at my favorite view of this part of the Hudson, where small islets lie midstream, and a series of receding mountain slopes define the curves of the river. The scene still looked quite lovely, if not as dramatically colorful as it sometimes appears on other autumns.

 

As it happened, this young couple also pulled over while driving along Spier Falls Road, in order to view this lovely Hudson River scene. Their names were Ben and Andreina, and they were visiting the area from their home downstate.  I was delighted to take their photo using Ben's phone and also this one with my camera, and they were happy to have me do so.  I hope they enjoyed their journey through the rest of our beautiful region.