Along the River and Into the Woods

One of the best reasons to join the New York Flora Association is the chance to join expert botanists on forays to some of the richest botanical sites in the state.  On June 14, I enjoyed just such a trip to a remarkable site along the upper Hudson River, the Warren County Fish Hatchery just north of Warrensburg. Our trip leader was the (now-retired) chief botanist of the New York Natural Heritage Program, Steve Young, who took this photo of participants, eager to start exploring a shoreline known to be one of the richest sites for native plants in the state. And we also explored a dense forest rich with more ferns than we'd ever seen in one place.

Photo by Steve Young

Here's Steve himself (blue and white plaid shirt) helping fellow plant enthusiasts identify some of the shore's fascinating finds.

Just imagine this stretch of the Hudson River shore heaped with enormous piles of a frothy-appearing ice called frazil, the piles so high sometimes that they push well into the riverside forest, toppling trees and not completely melting until well into June.  As a result, this particular stretch of shoreline has acquired the name "Ice Meadows," and the effect of all that weight and that cold has created a habitat distinctively suited to some of our state's rarest and most interesting plants.

Here is a partial list of some of the plants we found this day.

A budding vine of Carrion Flower (Smilax herbacea) with its beautifully curving tendrils and still unopened flower buds. Male and female flowers are carried on separate plants, and both sexes of flowers emit the stench that suggested this native plant's common name, attracting the pollinators that would naturally be drawn to the smell of rotting carrion. Lucky for us, the unopened flower buds remained odor-free!

The beautiful yellow, orange-anthered flower of Canada Frostweed (Crocanthemum canadense), abundant this time of year along these shores. To experience how this flower acquired its vernacular name, visit it after the first sub-freezing days of autumn to see the delicate curls of frosty ice that extrude from the plant's split stems.

Rose Pogonia (Pogonia ophioglossoides), one of our state's prettiest and most abundant native orchids.

A gorgeous and fragrant, low-growing wild rose with a solitary bloom. Our most knowledgeable botanists spent quite some time attempting to ascertain this rose's species.  Was it Rosa carolina? Maybe.  Apparently, wild roses can be difficult to identify for sure.  Ah well, remember Shakespeare's timeless adage, "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

In the dampened flats close to the river's edge, the first tiny flowers of Creeping Spearwort (Ranunculus flammula var. reptans) had started to crawl across the mud.

The first time I saw this tall, very erect flowering plant some years ago, I thought it must be some kind of strawberry on steroids.  But no, I learned that this plant was instead Tall Cinquefoil (Drymocallis arguta). But later I learned that strawberries and cinquefoils are actually quite closely related.  Both belong to the Rose Family and the Potentilleae Tribe, making them botanical cousins.  Sorry to say, though, I have never found any juicy sweet berries on this Tall Cinquefoil. Only beautiful flowers.

Another orchid! These Shining Ladies' Tresses (Spiranthes lucida) were just beginning to open their florets enough to display their yellow lower lips, a distinctive trait for this earliest of the Spiranthes species to bloom.

In addition to the many pretty wildflowers that thrive at this site, there are many interesting grass-like plants that grow here, too.   Two sedges are especially remarkable.  This one, called Brown Bog Sedge (Carex buxbaumii), is a Threatened species in New York, and even rarer in most New England states.

This second sedge, called Whip Nut Sedge (Scleria triglomerata), is even rarer throughout the northeast, considered Endangered throughout most of the region.  You could never guess its rarity, from how it thrives abundantly along this stretch of the Hudson.

After a sun-lit morning exploring the river shore and a break for a picnic lunch at a Fish Hatchery pavilion, we set out for a long walk through dense forest, tall trees towering over our heads and providing welcome shade from the afternoon's heat.

In addition to finding those few blooming wildflowers typical of an early-summer, canopy-shaded woods, we were amazed and delighted to walk among vast acres of woodland ferns, more ferns in one place than I have ever experienced.  These tall Ostrich Ferns provided a leafy backdrop to spreading masses of Maidenhair Ferns

I was grateful to a fellow explorer for pointing out to me the distinctive pattern of spore-producing sori on the pinnae of the Maidenhair Ferns.

Ah, but here was the prize of the day:  a majestic specimen of Goldie's Wood Fern (Dryopteris goldieana). This is the largest of our native Dryopteris species and one of the largest of all ferns native to eastern North America.

The presence of this fern is said to be an indication of a mature, undisturbed forest with rich, moist, humus-heavy soils.  Although this species has been reported from nearly every county in New York State, many botanists still consider finding it a cause for celebration. This might have as much to do with the rarity of mature, undisturbed forests as it does with the rarity of the fern itself.  How lucky we are to have such habitats available to us.  And also, to have such generous botanists willing to accompany us to them.  Thanks, Steve Young, for leading us to these remarkable sites and enlarging our knowledge about the inhabitants.  And thanks, too, to our friend and expert botanist Skye Vanderlaan, who found that solitary Goldie's Fern in a forest already full of other remarkable ferns.  What a find! And what a day!

Back to the River Again (Whew!)

There's a section of the Hudson River at Moreau that is more than just an ordinary waterway among others for me. For this serene stretch of the river between the Spier Falls and Sherman Island dams is where I first carried my new little solo canoe and set off on my own, to paddle at a pace that would let me linger as long as I liked, inches from shore, enamored by the beauty of the forested banks and the glorious flora that prospered there. I found many plants here I had never seen before, inspiring my desire to learn the names of every wildflower I encountered, at first only those in this stretch of the river, but eventually all the wildflowers I found growing anywhere.  This river, this beautiful unspoiled section of it, was truly the birthplace of my passion to learn the names of all the plants I encountered anywhere! And thereafter, my boat also became my personal zendo, my place of silence and solitude and peace.

Here, the surrounding forested mountains fall directly to the water's edge, no houses or docks protruding into the river, disrupting my fantasy that I could be the first person to pass this way, alone in my little canoe.  How blessed I felt, to have such a marvelous place to paddle, so close to home, and possessing a perfect little craft that allowed me to access every inch of the cove-contoured shoreline that stretched for several miles between the two dams.

Ah, but late last fall, my sense of blessing was shattered! With advancing age and aching post-surgery knees, my ease about entering and exiting my canoe began to feel a bit compromised.  And the last time I paddled, on a small Adirondack lake where the wind was whipping up whitecaps, while trying to rise and step out of my boat into shin-deep water, struggling to hold the boat level while gripping the gunwales, a large wave rocked my canoe and over I went. Never in all the nearly 30 years I'd been paddling this boat had I toppled it! Oh no! Would this mean my days of solo canoeing were over? Had I grown too old and weak to manage access to it? At that point in the year, with increasing cold weather, I could not find the courage to test my strength again and counter my fears, and so I stowed my boat for the winter.

But now, the weather and water have warmed. I knew I had to restore my confidence about entering and exiting my canoe. I may be old (I'm now 84), but paddling is more than just a hobby for me, it's an essential way I maintain my strength and also feed my soul and exercise my mind.  And now, my dear friend and fellow paddler Ruth Brooks has returned from wintering down south and could accompany me and help me should I falter.  At any rate, Ruth's presence gave me courage and must have also given me strength to get into and out of my boat, and off we went together, to explore the Hudson's beautiful banks once more.  Here's Ruth, a moss enthusiast, examining some mosses that thrive on a riverside boulder.

Tiny Azure Bluets (Houstonia caerulea) decorated a maze of weathered roots at the water's edge.

Here's a closer view of the Azure Bluets' pretty sky-blue flowers.

Among the most abundant flowers we found today were the fragrant Canada Mayflowers (Maianthemum canadense) blooming amid the shoreline rocks.

Among the special floral treats was this trio of Shining Ladies' Tresses (Spiranthes lucida). The yellow lower petal is the most distinctive trait of this species, in addition to being the earliest of the Spiranthes species to bloom.

Rows of Black Huckleberry shrubs (Gaylussacia baccata) lined the banks, dangling deep-red flowers.

Here and there, solitary stalks of our native Northern Blue Flag (Iris versicolor) raised large beautiful blooms.

And at one location, a large patch of Northern Blue Flags was arrayed quite beautifully against the dark shade of the background forest:

We found occasional patches of Long Beech Fern (Phegopteris connectilis) dangling graceful fronds across the banks, but this dense patch of the ferns crowded among the rocks looked quite dramatically beautiful.

Impressive mounds of bedrock rise from the water's edge along this stretch of the Hudson.

A trio of shrub-covered islands dot the river here. A few pines remain of the many trees (mostly birches and oaks)  that 25 years ago forested these islands. Beavers and higher water levels destroyed most of those trees, changing the islands' habitat from shady forest to sunlit meadow.

The center island of this trio used to sustain dozens of Early Azalea shrubs (Rhododenron prinophyllum), but this year I saw only one, remaining in the limited shade of the few surviving trees. In former years, the fragrance of these beautiful blooms would reach all the way across the water to the river's edge

Sure, I feel some sadness over the change of island habitat that appears to have lessened the presence of these Early Azalea shrubs.  But my joy at now knowing that I can still climb into and out of my boat and still be able to paddle out to this island and other delightful locations along this stretch of the Hudson, has certainly outweighed any sadness I felt before. Now I can't wait to see what plants will thrive to replace the ones that were lost. Here's hoping I still have a few years of paddling left to me.

A Brief Walk in a Local Forest

On a recent walk through the limestone-underlaid woods at Skidmore College here in Saratoga Springs, I was delighted to see some plants I rarely see in other habitats. Not all require a high-pH soil, but they do all prefer a well-drained soil rich in organic matter. Except for a final surprise.

Bulblet Ferns (Cystopteris bulbifera), growing on limestone rocks.

While the Bulblet Fern does indeed produce clonal bulblets (which can produce new plants asexually), it also produces little spore packets called sori.

When Bulblet Ferns first unfurl in the spring, the now-dark stalks (rachis) are as red as Cherry Twizzlers.

Canada Violet (Viola canadensis)

The purple backs of the snowy-white petals are a distinguishing trait of this violet species. I have read that this species of violet actually prefers neutral to slightly acidic soils.  So how come I find it only in habitats known to be alkaline? Like this one.  The plants here are mostly found sprouting up between the cracks in limestone boulders.

Goldenseal (Hydrastis canadensis)

The clusters of glossy-red berries are just starting to form in the centers of some of the Goldenseal leaves. This species is rated as Threatened in New York State, so I'm glad to know of several locations in Saratoga County where it appears to be secure.  Although I do weed back Garlic Mustard from its patches every year.

Green Violet (Cubelium concolor)

The flowers of Green Violet certainly hide from view by growing in the axles of the alternate leaves, but in this woods, masses of the shin-tall plants cover ample areas of the forest floor. Despite the Green Violets' abundance here, this woods may very well be the only place this rare plant is known to grow in Saratoga County. Although this plant is indeed in the Violet Family (Violaceae), it bears only slim resemblance to other violets, with the exception of its three-parted seed pods:

Leatherwood (Dirca palustris)

All of the Leatherwood leaves in this woods were displaying these annual spotches, evidence of the only know leaf miner of this plant, the larva of the moth Leucanthiza dircella. Luckily, this grazing does not seem to diminish the large population of Leatherwood shrubs in this woods, although browsing deer are severely pruning many of the shrubs. 

Maidenhair Fern (Adiatum pedatum)

Because I tend to notice this entrancing fern mostly in calcareous habitats, I had assumed that Maidenhair Ferns required a high pH environment. But I have now learned (Thanks, Google!) that our northern populations actually prefer soils that are neutral to slightly acidic, although the Southern Maidenhair Fern (Adiatum capillus-veneris) does thrive in more alkaline conditions. Huh!  Live and learn!

Four-leaved Milkweed (Asclepias quadrifolia)

This is one of the very few milkweed species that prefers a shaded forest environment, as well as higher pH soils.  However, it does not like to be crowded by taller overtowering plants.  I'm not sure what other conditions perturb it, but it certainly varies in abundance here from year to year. Some years I find dozens throughout this 150-acre woods, other years many fewer.  At least I found three plants this year without having to wander every acre in search of them. I adore this plant, so dainty and pretty, its white flowers often touched with pink. But never once have I later found a seedpod on the plants. No pollinators?

Rattlesnake Fern (Botrychium virginianum) Or Botrypus virginianus?

Supposedly, this grape fern's fertile frond resembles a rattlesnake's rattle, hence the name Rattlesnake Fern. Because the spore capsules look like tiny balls and are borne in triangular clusters, I can see the "grape" shape more than the rattle, to be honest.   Because grape ferns depend on underground fungi to germinate and develop, they are extremely difficult to grow in home gardens, so we must visit rich woods like this to see and enjoy these attractive plants.

Yellow Oak Sapling (Quercus muehlenbergii). 

Note the tiny sharp "nipple" at the tip of each leaf lobe, which is distinctive for this species. Although the NY Flora Association Plant Atlas does not yet record this tree as present in Saratoga County, I have found a nice grove of 5 mature trees in the Skidmore Woods. This species of oak does prefer a calcareous habitat. The acorns of this oak are said to be the sweetest of all. Search though I may, I have never found one on the ground. I bet the squirrels eat them before they even touch the ground. Because they lack the tannins present in red-oak acorns, squirrels do not bury them. They would quickly rot or sprout in the ground.

Here's the trunk of a Yellow Oak (also known as Chinkapin Oak), which does seem to have a yellowish cast, especially when lit by the sun. The bark is distinctive enough that I can look around the woods here and distinguish four more nearby trunks that appear to belong to Yellow Oak.

Lopseed (Phryma leptostachya)

I love the alternating right-angled leaves of this plant, which will later produce a central slender stem of tiny pink flowers. The narrow seedpods turn down and appear to cling to the stem, hence the vernacular name. I frequently find this native wildflower growing out of limestone or marble boulders, and it is quite abundant in the Skidmore woods, where it grows right out of the ground. This is a really good year for this interesting native wildflower.  I have never seen so many plants as I'm seeing this year.

Here's one of my photos of the tiny pink Lopseed flowers, one of our few local wildflowers to bloom in deep shade:

And here are those "lop seeds" that inspired the name of this woodland plant. I will find them in September.

Orange-fruited Horse Gentian (Triosteum aurantiacum)

Heading for home, I left the shady woods and passed under a sunlit powerline, where I poked among the tall immature sunflowers and goldenrods to find a patch of this unusual native wildflower, blooming now with a wreath of tiny red trumpets circling the stem in each leaf axil. These blooms will turn into marble-sized orange berries containing the three hard seeds that inspired this plant's scientific name, which means "three-boned orange-colored plant" (or something like that). A closely related species, T. perfoliatum or Wild Coffee, has similar berries that can be roasted like coffee beans. I've never found that plant, nor have I tried roasting the seeds of T. aurantiacum and brewing some ersatz coffee. I have tasted the fruits, however, and found them seedy and insipid but mildly sweet. Here's one of my photos of the orange fruits that will ripen in September:

Searching the internet for more information about this interesting plant, I discovered that it is most definitely a calciphile that requires high pH soils. But unlike the other calciphiles I found in the damp dark shade of the woods, this species was basking in sun and happily growing in dry soil. Surprising!

Backyard Mini Duck Ponds

 Where I live in Saratoga Springs, there are three lovely ponds in Congress Park, which lies just one block away from my home on Circular St. Here's a crabapple-blossom-strewn bank of one of the ponds.

These ponds are usually home for an interesting mix of wild Mallards and domestic white ducks, including substantial numbers of ducks that are hybrids of those two species.  With such lovely waters to paddle in, plus many human visitors there eager to feed them (mostly on non-nutritional bread, despite signs that discourage such inappropriate food for them), why are the ducks found wandering around the city? I have seen them stopping traffic on busy Broadway as they amble across the streets.

And this summer, a pair have crossed two streets from Congress Park to take up residence in our backyard. Sometimes there are even three of them, two drakes and one hen, and they treat our birdbaths as their personal watering holes. The ducks' muddy feet make a mess of our birdbaths, and the trio gobble up the expensive birdseed we scatter for the wild birds, but they have resisted our efforts to direct them elsewhere. 

Well, it seems that one of those drakes must have cozied up with that hen, for look what we saw in our yard on Mother's Day: 10 tiny ducklings, so small they must have just hatched.

I worried about how those ducklings would thrive so far from a pond, but within hours this brand-new  duck family had disappeared from our yard. I have to assume (and also greatly hope!) that mama duck led her brood across the two streets that lie between our backyard the the Congress Park ponds, and are now safely ensconced in a habitat more conducive to their health and their needs. But what an adorable  Mother's Day gift for me!

But the following day, another pair of ducks was standing in our birdbaths.  I hope it was not the same hen, for her ducklings are still young enough to be cared for by their mother.