New Trails To Explore (And Lots of 'Em!)

 Oh my dear loyal readers, I realize I have been neglecting this blog for several weeks. It's not that I haven't been walking nature trails and taking hundreds of photos of our region's natural beauties. It's just that each year as I get older, I have less energy to edit the hundreds of photos I take and then try to think of something new to relate about places I've visited dozens of times and the wildflowers I am always delighted to see again. And again and again and again.  Having posted over 2,100 blogs since starting this venture back in 2009, I sometimes feel I am repeating myself at this point.  But this week I visited a nature preserve I've not explored before, and it was such a fine one, I really want to tell everybody about it.

The Sullivan Preserve is in Warren County, located on Glen Lake Road almost directly across the road from the popular Docksider Restaurant on the shore of Glen Lake. This 70-acre forested preserve was donated by Robert Sullivan to the Queensbury Land Trust in 2017, and it offers a variety of trails through a mixed conifer/hardwood forest, some of which lead to beautiful views of a distant mountain reflected in the quiet water of an open pond.

I was glad to follow my friend Sue Pierce or I surely might have gotten lost,  as we followed a green trail from the parking area to a convoluted course of red trails that took us to that splendid pond view, discovering a delightful variety of native wildflowers along the way.

The trees of this preserve were now well leafed out, but still allowing dappled sunlight and shade to reach the forest floor. And we had a gorgeous blue-sky day of moderate warmth for enjoying a walk in the woods. 

The up-and-down trail took a few twists and turns but eventually led us right to the shore of this forest-rimmed pond with its mountain reflection.

The still surface of the pond was adorned with numerous Yellow Pond Lilies (Nuphar variegata).

We passed many different species of ferns, but this Interrupted Fern (Osmunda claytoniana) was the species most immediately identifiable without close examination, thanks to its spore-bearing structures so obviously interrupting the pinnae of its fronds.

We did not find many fungi, but we did see this abundant cluster of large yellow mushrooms crowding the top of a rotting log. Although we were impressed by the handsome appearance of its golden caps and descending white gills, I was disappointed to discover by searching the internet when I got home that this is quite likely the Golden Oyster Mushroom (Pleurotis citronopileatus), an edible Asian import escaped from cultivation to potentially out-compete our native fungi. Luckily, we found just this single cluster.

Late May is the best time for enjoying the beauty of many flowering shrubs that prefer the dappled shade of the springtime forest. Black Chokeberry (Aronia melanocarpa) is one of our prettiest, with ample terminal clusters of showy white flowers.

Black Huckleberry (Gaylussacia baccata) is another pretty shrub, especially when its flowers develop their optimum shade of deep red.  These flowers were not yet as colorful as they can be, but its leaves had already produced their sparkly sticky resinous dots on the back.  If you pinch a Black Huckleberry leaf at this stage, it will definitely stick to your thumb.

And here is the queen of beautiful springtime shrubs,  Early Azalea (Rhododendron prinophyllum), with its abundant clusters of vividly pink large flowers, as fragrant as they are beautiful.

There were areas where large numbers of Partridgeberry plants (Mitchella repens) carpeted the forest floor, and some of the plants still bore last year's berries, looking as fresh and glossy as ever.  These berries are remarkable for requiring two flowers to produce one fruit, so each berry presents two blossom ends, as this one demonstrates.

The small shiny yellow star-shaped flowers of Hooked Crowfoot (Ranunculus recurvatus) are centered by developing seed pods that look like green balls covered with curved hooks. The better, when mature, to grab onto a passing pant-leg or fur-bearing animal and distribute the seeds within.  Usually found where the ground is damp.

What could be prettier than masses of these cute little vibrant-purple flowers spreading across the forest floor? I first learned the scientific name of this plant from my 1977 edition of Newcomb's Wildflower Guide as Polygala paucifolia.  Then later it was changed to Polygaloides paucifolia. And just recently, the word has gone forth from taxonomists that this wildflower is now to be called Chamaebuxus paucifolia! Yikes! I think I will stick to its vernacular name of Fringed Polygala.  Or even better yet: Gaywings. The flowers do look like tiny single-engine airplanes, propellors a-twirl.

I have to turn over the leaves of Hairy Solomon's Seal (Polygonatum pubescens) to see if the flowers that dangle from each leaf axil are blooming yet.  In this specimen, two of them had opened.  I would need to use my loupe to see the hairs on the ribs of the leaves that suggested the name "Hairy."

OK, is this the Red Baneberry flower raceme (Actaea rubra), or that of the White Baneberry (A. pachypoda)? Since this cluster is just about as wide as it is long, I bet it's the Red Baneberry's. Also, the Red Baneberry blooms and fruits earlier than does the White Baneberry, and these are the first of either species I've seen blooming yet.

Here was the great surprise:  Nodding Trillium grows here!  Some years ago,  a professional botanist told me that this species of trillium (Trillium cernuum) seemed to be disappearing from previously reported locations. I had known of three locations where I knew they did grow, and (happily) they seemed to be persisting.  And now I know of a new location!  Hurray!

And this was another treat we found along the trail: a Pink Lady's Slipper (Cypripedium acaule) of a particularly deep pink. Not masses of them, like populations we know of from other local preserves, but a delightful find nevertheless. Like a cherry on top of all the other delights we encountered at Sullivan Preserve.

Mother Nature As Flower Arranger

 Sometimes I simply marvel at how beautifully our native wildflowers are arranged by Mother Nature. Here are just three examples of spring-blooming wildflower settings I stood in awe of:

I was delighted to find Foamflower (Tiarella stolonifera) in full bloom this week, lucky to see it before it fades. It was blooming earlier than usual this year, and its flowers would soon go to seed. A spring-watered, moss-covered boulder provided the perfect foil for the delicate florets.  I loved how this fern frond appeared to be bowing before the Foamflower's beauty.

Both Canada Violet (Viola canadensis) and Maidenhair Fern (Adiantum pedatum) share a woodland rich in lime as well as a delicate beauty

The elegant Starflower (Lysimachia borealis) usually bears two or three or (rarely) even more flowers per plant on thread-fine stalks, but I particularly loved the stunning simplicity of this solitary bloom, startling in its pure whiteness against the rough dark bark of a fallen tree.

Rock Garden Along the Road

 For many years now, as soon as the days warm up enough to awaken the very earliest of spring wildflowers, I hurry over to where the Palmertown Mountain Range falls steeply to the banks of the Hudson River along Spier Falls Road.  To create the road that follows the river here, the mountainside was blasted back from the riverbank some centuries ago, creating steep cliffs that rise directly from the edge of the road. Ledges of sharp-angled rocks traverse these cliffs, and by now those ledges are cushioned with thick mounds of beautiful green mosses, mosses that are constantly dampened by the springs that seep down the mountainside.  And every spring, masses of the native wildflower called Early Saxifrage (Micranthes virginiensis) rise up from those mossy cushions. Oh, what a lovely sight!  Like drifts of snow resting atop soft mounds of bright green!  Would those flowers be blooming already?

Oh yes, they certainly are! 

The soft moss and delicate flowers create quite a contrast against the spring-darkened and sharply jagged rocks.

The flowers make their home in almost every crack in the rock and mound of moss.

Here's a closer view of the pretty little flowers of Early Saxifrage:

So cute!

Most of the mounds of green moss are the species Spring Apple Moss (Philonotis fontana), the "spring" part of its name suggested by its preference for spring-dampened habitats.

And the "apple" part of its name refers to  the apple-round spore capsules the moss will soon be producing:

A second moss that commonly abounds on these spring-watered cliffs is one called Marsh Cardinal Moss (Ptychostomum pseudotriquetrum).  As the tiny water droplets adorning this pretty cluster attest, this moss truly thrives in a constantly watered habitat.

In this photo, the Marsh Cardinal Moss (center) is crowded on all sides by the Spring Apple Moss. I believe both mosses prefer a calcareous habitat, and I wonder if the springs that normally wet these rocky cliffs are delivering lime to the habitat. I am not sure if the rocks themselves are rich in lime. 

So much beauty is springing now, even from bare rocks along the road!

A Wild Cherry Sampler

 While driving this week along Spier Falls Road, which follows the Hudson River where this river forms the northern boundary of Saratoga County, NY, I noticed the white blossoms of three different wild cherry trees now blooming along the roadside.  That reminded me of a blog I posted back in 2023, in which I posted photos and descriptions of each of these Prunus species:  P. susquehanae (Appalachian Cherry), P. pensylvanica (Fire Cherry), and P. tomentosa (Nanking Cherry).  That post was helpful to me back then, so why not re-post it right now, while the white cherry blossoms are so evident along nearly every roadside?

 Cherry Puzzler (Redux from May 5, 2023)

While traipsing about various habitats (sandy or rocky, open or shady) along Spier Falls Road this week, I found three species of small wild cherry trees in bloom.  Two were native: Prunus susquehanae (Appalachian Cherry) and Prunus pensylvanica (Fire Cherry).  One, Prunus tomentosa (Nanking Cherry), was not, but it was definitely growing wild, far from anyone's garden. The flowers all look pretty much alike, with five white petals and a single stamen surrounded by multiple pistils.  Read on, to learn how I managed (with help from some friends) to distinguish each species.

Appalachian Cherry (Prunus susquehanae)

Appalachian Cherry was the easiest to ID, since it was the only cherry that grew no higher than maybe 18 inches from the ground, in a cluster of many branches, rather than as a single small tree. Although there's not much about Appalachian Cherry flowers to distinguish them from other species of cherry blossoms, the leaves are unique to this rather uncommon species. Unlike those of other cherries, they narrow toward the base, and they are not toothed below the middle (see the photo below, which better illustrates this trait). This cherry was growing in a sandy-soiled powerline clearcut, with full exposure to the sun. Very fragrant! And also noisy, buzzing with bees! 

Fire Cherry (Prunus pensylvanica)

Fire Cherry (Prunus pensylvanica) is the most common of the small cherry trees around here, since I see it blooming now along many roadsides, as was this one. It was partly shaded by surrounding woods, though. It's a small tree, maybe 8-10 feet tall, with the flower clusters marching in a row along the twigs, each twig sporting a terminal cluster of tapering serrated leaves. Its most distinguishing feature is the reddish color of the flowering branches, a feature that's obvious in the above photo. This cherry has multiple vernacular names: Fire, Bird, or Pin. I call it Fire Cherry to remind me of those red twigs. And also because it is known to populate burned-over sites quite quickly. 

Nanking Cherry (Prunus tomentosa)

I needed help from some pro botanists to decipher the name of this small tree, the Nanking Cherry (Prunus tomentosa). I sure could not find it in my guides to North American trees, because it's an introduced ornamental species that somehow made it from manicured gardens to thrive on some rugged mountainous cliffs and quarries along the Hudson River. Unlike the other cherries in question here, the flowers are sessile to the twigs, not borne on long slender pedicels. And boy, are those twigs fuzzy! As are the leaves. This trait is called "tomentose" in botanical jargon, so hence the scientific name. I found 10 of these cherry trees scattered around an old quarry that was mined way back in the 19th Century. I wonder how they got there. Perhaps they are remnants from ornamental gardens that surrounded the hotels and cabins built back then to house the workers who quarried the mountainside for rock to build the nearby Spier Falls Dam on the Hudson River. Yes, not native (the name Nanking was a clue about that!), but I was glad to find them. So pretty! And a fun botanical puzzle.

Spring is Bustin' Out All Over!

 Well, it sure took a while.  But then, WHAM! It went from below freezing last week to 85 degrees two days in a row this week.  That sure did the trick, regarding our spring wildflowers.  I've been tearing around from woods to woods trying to keep up with what posies are poppin' up, so here's a list of them, in the order in which I found them blooming (at least, so far):

Spring Whitlow Grass (Draba verna)

Snow Trillium (Trillium nivale)

Leatherwood (Dirca palustris)

English Violet, white form (Viola odorata "Alba")

Round-leaf Violet (Viola rotundifolia)

Round-leaf Hepatica (Hepatica americana)

Early Blue Cohosh (Caulophyllum giganteum)

Yellow Trout Lily (Erythronium americanum)

Bloodroot (Sanguinaria canadensis)

Red Trillium (Trillium erectum)

Dutchman's Breeches (Dicentra cucullaria)

And I also found a couple of early spring fungi, both of them in the Sac Fungus group, according to my old mushroom guides.

Devil's Urn (Urnula craterium)

Scarlet Cup (Sarcoscypha austriaca)

I'm sure I could find many other flowers if I extended my woods walks now, but we might have a few days of delay ahead, since our temps are now going to plunge back below freezing at night for several days this coming week. Luckily, most of our earliest native wildflowers around here have evolved to cope with late freezes.

It's Violet Time for One Species!

 We had such a warm day yesterday, I bet our earliest violets are starting to open their petals. And our earliest species to bloom around Saratoga is actually an imported species called the English Violet (Viola odorata).  And oh boy, is it aptly named "odorata!" It has such an exquisitely intense fragrance, just a tiny nosegay will perfume an entire room. It's a basal-leaved species that can bear pure white flowers with no dark veining on the face but with a purple spur behind, or else with flowers of a deep rich purple throughout, and both species are equally fragrant. One of its most distinguishing features (in addition to its intense fragrance) is its curved style. I have been observing the same two patches in the woods (one white, one purple) for over 15 years, and the plants have not spread beyond their original patch. So although this species is not native to our continent, it does not seem to be invasive, either. At least, not as I have observed this species in my local woods in Saratoga Springs, NY. I am might happy I found it.

The English Violet is a remarkably early bloomer. For that reason, it's sometimes called April Violet, like the perfume called "April Violets" by Yardley, which does smell very much like this violet. I have not seen that perfume for sale for decades, though. I used to buy it in my Michigan hometown's Rexall Drugstore when I was a teenager. I'm just about 84 years old now! But this violet's fragrance brings lots of teenage memories back.

I'm about to head out to the Skidmore woods to see if these lovely violets have come into bloom. I don't have new photos of them yet, but here are photos I took on previous years:

Since this purple patch of English Violets grows wild by the side of a city road where mowers are likely to cut them down, I feel no compunction about picking a small bouquet of them.  In this photo, you can see the flower's hooked style, which is one of the distinguishing features of this species, in addition to its fragrance.  Some of our native small white violets do have some fragrance, but not nearly as intensive as these imported violets do.

Just a tiny bouquet like this will perfume an entire room.   And the flowers usually last for several days, continuing to emit their fragrance.  What a gift from the violet gods!

There's a patch of the white form of Viola odorata way over on the opposite side of the Skidmore campus, this patch along a path through the woods.  I never pick any wildflowers in the woods, so I have to get down on my knees to breathe in these violets' fragrance.  Note how purely white these flowers are, without the dark veins that decorate the faces of our native white violets. But these pure-white flowers do have a purple spur, which you can glimpse on the left-hand flower in this photo.  Another feature of this species is the way the plants spread by underground stolons.  I did long ago scratch away some soil to observe this stoloniferous trait.  I was totally puzzled as to this violet's species, until our state's then chief botanist Steve Young sought advice from our country's foremost expert on violets Harvey Ballard, who ascertained that these lovely flowers were indeed Viola odorata.

The site where both of these English Violet varieties grow, the Skidmore College campus, is located on land that once supported a collection of Victorian mansions. I could imagine that the Victorian ladies who lived in those mansions carried nosegays of these fragrant violets to mask the smells of horse manure as they rode in their open carriages along the carriage lanes that once wound through the woods at this site. I imagine their gardeners planted the patches to have such fragrant flowers available to make nosegays of. The word "nosegay" means a small fragrant bouquet that was carried or pinned to a shoulder to counteract unpleasant odors. Both patches of fragrant violets occur along what once were carriage lanes.  Souvenirs of a different era!

May Hope Follow Despair

Well, here we are in Holy Week, two months since I last posted a blog. Spring has arrived, snow and ice have retreated, and our earliest flowers have opened their blooms.  This is normally the season when all the descendants of Abraham's faith in God are celebrating seasons of spiritual hope: Ramadan for the Moslems, Passover for the Jews, and Easter for the Christians. And what has our toddler-tempered President done (in service to Israel's demands) but start a senseless war to bring agony to members of all three faith traditions, in the very land where each faith had its birth, the Middle East. Bombs are crushing innocent families in their homes and schools in both Iran and Israel, young people are being sent into battle to die and to kill one another, the very earth of the Holy Land is being poisoned for generations to come by the heavy metals of weaponry, and the treasuries of all countries involved are rapidly draining to pay for the woe and waste of war. The lid from Pandora's box has been ripped away, and nobody knows how to capture those unleashed evils and shove them back into that box.  If I was feeling depressed two months ago, I'm hardly finding few remedies for sorrow now.

Ah, but my friends are helping.  And so is our burgeoning Earth.  And I feel profoundly grateful to my friends for urging me out into nature to experience that Great Goodness that lies at the core of Creation. Especially during this season of rebirth. 

My friends in our Thursday Naturalist group have led me to a woodland pond in the North Woods Nature Preserve near Ballston Lake, the pond ice-free at last, where Wood Frogs croaked out their calls to come create a new generation:

My ever-loyal pals Sue Pierce and Dana Stimpson have called me out to other Spring-awakened destinations.  Here we are walking the Bog Meadow Brook Nature Trail in Saratoga, where Pussy Willow puffs shone in the sun, and Skunk Cabbage plants were fully in bloom with florets of both sexes:

Sue and Dana also led me to the Firetower Trail at the Wilton Wildlife Preserve and Park, where we were astounded to find both American Hazelnut (Corylus americana) and Beaked Hazelnut (Corylus cornuta) blooming at the same time. In our past explorations, we have found that the American precedes the Beaked by more than a week.  Here's the American Hazelnut, bearing both dangling staminate catkins and one tiny red pistillate bloom. The catkins of this species are longer and more loosely attached to the twig than those of the Beaked Hazelnut:

And here are the very similar flowers of the Beaked Hazelnut, but with catkins shorter and more sessile to the twigs than those of the American Hazelnut.

We would have been disappointed if we had hoped to find other colorful spring wildflowers during our visit, but the forest was rendered brilliantly colorful instead by many beautiful fungi, mosses, liverworts, and lichens, all of which had made their homes on the dead wood of fallen limbs and tree trunks.

The glowing yellow-orange fungus on this fallen log is a Stereum species, but I could not name even the genus names of the emerald-green moss or the verdigris-colored lichen. But I certainly could enjoy their colorful display!

Again, I know the reddish liverwort is Nowellia curvifolia, but the lime-green moss is familiar to me by sight but not by name.

And here's another liverwort, but one whose name I'll never forget.  It's called Lovely Fuzzwort (Ptilidium pulcherimum), and just saying that vernacular name makes me smile. And it really IS a lovely liverwort!

And I also will never forget the very descriptive name of this gorgeously colorful fungus, the Turkey Tail (Trametes versicolor), in one of its beautiful golden and gray color combinations.

Whoa!  This Violet-toothed Polypore (Trichaptum biforme) is one of the most common bracket fungi found in our regional woods, but never have I seen a mass of them glowing so vividly as this group climbing this tree trunk. And the day was gray and gloomy, so it was not sunlight that ignited them. It thrilled me to gaze at such vibrant beauty.

From above, these same fungi were not nearly so gorgeously colorful.  (Photo below) What a lesson: angle of perception can change everything!

Inspired by the deeply encouraging rewards of these outings with friends, I also ventured alone to the Spring Run Trail in Saratoga Springs, where I hoped to find one more reason to rejoice:  the emergence of the first wildflower of Spring that actually looks like a prototypical flower, the sun-yellow, bright-blooming Coltsfoot (Tussilago farfara).  And there it was!

Finding the Coltsfoot risen so faithfully, I recalled this meditation I composed about this pretty little "weed" some years ago, and it seemed a good time to repeat it at this season:

It's almost Easter, and as Christians prepare to rejoice that the Lord is risen, we wildflower lovers also rejoice that the first REAL flower of spring -- one that actually LOOKs like a flower -- has risen as well. Alleluia! The Coltsfoot is up! The season of blooming is here! I know, I know, these are not native flowers, but these dear little sunny blooms, bursting forth in glory from out of the mud and the cold dead leaves, speak to me of resurrection far more than any pampered, florist-bred Easter Lily could. Like God's love, they are freely given, they spring forth unbidden, there's not a thing we had to do to deserve them, nor a penny we have to spend to enjoy them. Also, like the Incarnate One who dwelt among the lowly, they make their home among the poorest soils, brightening desolate roadsides where nothing else will grow. Supposedly, they even have healing powers. So bless you, dear little Coltsfoot. It gives me great joy to welcome you once more. 

To any and all of my readers who may have found their way back to this too-long neglected blog, of whatever faith tradition may grant you hope, I wish you the hopeful promise of growth and renewal this season signifies.  Happy Easter!