Thanksgiving Album

On Thanksgiving Day 2014, I was thankful for so many things.

For the newly snow-cleared roads over the mountains on our way to join our dear family in Vermont.

For the gracious hospitality of our hosts Keith Balter and Liz Young, who opened their beautiful mountainside home to dozens of family members and friends.

(Their converted barn serves as a spacious gathering place for spectacular feasts, as well as comfortable accommodations for overnight visitors.)

For the deep soft snow that enhanced an already gorgeous landscape of mountains, valleys, meadows, and trees.

For a kitchen-full of excellent cooks and willing helpers who prepared the delicious many-coursed Thanksgiving meal.

(Our darling daughter Jane [white apron] and her sister-in-law, our excellent hostess Liz Young)

For long sloping hillsides, groomed by our host for optimal sledding so that guests could work up a good appetite in the clear cold air and sparkling snow.

For the delighted shrieks from our son Peter and his children as they sailed down the hill.

For my son-in-law's brother, Keith Balter, turkey carver extraordinaire and incredibly generous host, who year after year has brought our multitudinous families together to celebrate Thanksgiving under his most accommodating roof.

For the Thanksgiving feast, an amazing array of delicious food lovingly prepared by many hands and happily devoured by many thankful diners.

For the long comfy couches and big-screen TV for watching the games and resting up after the feast.

For the clear cold blue light of evening, where I could stand out under a crescent moon and gaze at the sky as well as the beckoning golden light spilling out of the windows onto the snow.  In all that splendid silence,  I breathed my prayers of gratefulness.

With my loving husband beside me all these years (and this day was his birthday!), with all our children and their children and in-laws gathered for this special celebration,  and with so many amiable friends delighting in each others' company here in this special place, how could I not feel blessed?

Snow!

Just as predicted, the snow started falling this afternoon and it's falling still as the day grows dark, piling up in marshmallow mounds on the branches, while it melts almost as fast as it falls on the still-warm earth.  We are hoping the roads will be clear tomorrow when we head to Vermont to join extended family for Thanksgiving.  Today's snowy day was a good day to be home baking the pies I will be bringing to the feast.  All are now out of the oven, the dishes washed, and the floury mess cleaned from the counters and floor.  Time to gaze out at the transformed landscape now turning blue as the day declines.  And time to read Mary Oliver's lovely poem about snow, "Walking Home from Oak-Head," from her collection Thirst, published by Beacon Press.

Walking Home from Oak-Head

There is something
   about the snow-laden sky
      in winter
         in the late afternoon

that brings to the heart elation
   and the lovely meaninglessness
          of time.
                Whenever I get home -- whenever --

somebody loves me there.
   Meanwhile
         I stand in the same dark peace
                 as any pine tree,

or wander on slowly
    like the still unhurried wind,
          waiting,
                as for a gift,

for the snow to begin
    which it does
           at first casually,
                  then, irrepressibly.

Wherever else I live --
    in music, in words,
           in the fires of the heart,
                 I abide just as deeply

in this nameless, indivisible place,
    this world,
          which is falling apart now,
                 which is white and wild,

which is faithful beyond all our expressions of faith,
   our deepest prayers.
         Don't worry, sooner or later I'll be home.
                Red-cheeked from the roused wind,

I'll stand in the doorway
     stamping my boots and slapping my hands,
            my shoulders
                  covered with stars.

Dear friends, I wish you all the happiest of Thanksgivings, filled with many blessings and safe travels.  And I also hope that, whenever you get home, somebody loves you there.

One Warm Day

What strange weather we're having!  A week ago, I was freezing my fingers while taking photos of Frostweed curls,  while today I was walking around in the woods in a tee shirt.  If I hadn't already stowed my canoe for the winter, I might have considered a paddle on the Hudson, but I did head to the river anyway, thinking to walk along the banks close to the water.  But as I was driving along on Spier Falls Road, the sight of this waterfall splashing and bounding down the mountainside inspired me to stop and climb up its course through the forest.  With the sound of the rushing water, the exuberant green of the mossy rocks, and the soft balmy air that must have been close to 70 degrees, it felt more like spring today than just a few days before Thanksgiving.

The boulders that tumble down this mountainside are home to an amazing variety of beautiful ferns and mosses, especially along the course of the stream where mist often dampens the rocks.  I have a hard time remembering the names of different mosses, but I believe this bright green clump in the photo below is that of the aptly named Fountain Moss, which thrives in damp habitats like this.

I'm often surprised to find Sphagnum Moss so far away from its more expected bog habitat, but here it was growing abundantly up on the mountainside.  A few tufts of Tree Moss were sprouting out of the clump.

Starbursts of spiky  Haircap Moss decorated this patch of Delicate Fern Moss.

Another patch of Delicate Fern Moss was ornamented by a plume of evergreen Wood Fern and a tangled cluster of gray-green Reindeer Lichen.

On this rock grew Broom Moss, Rock Polypody ferns, and a foliose pale-green lichen I do not know the name of.

One of the wonderful things about all these mosses, ferns, and lichens is that they stay fresh and green all winter, bringing much beauty and texture to a woods walk at any time of year.  I have felt that way about Winterberry shrubs, too, which usually hold onto their blazing-red fruits until winter is almost over.  That's why I was so surprised and disappointed today when I stopped by a swamp where I knowWinterberry abounds, and found just these gray bare branches.

Compare what this very same patch of swamp looked like almost exactly one year ago.  I know that it's often the case that a year of abundant fruiting  can be followed by a subsequent year of scarcity, but I hadn't expected to find such a contrast as this.

No Snow Here

Oh, those poor folks out in Buffalo!  Five feet of snow in one day, and up to three feet more to come!  But here in Saratoga County, the inch or so we got on Monday was promptly washed away by rain, so that now we have just a few traces left in spots where the sun never shines.  Well, the sun shone all day today (Wednesday), tempting me up to Moreau Lake State Park to walk the broad sandy beaches around the lake.   We've had so little precipitation this fall, the beaches are broader than ever I've seen them before.


As the above photo shows, there was no ice at all out on the main body of the lake, despite temps in the 20s the last few nights.  But back in the coves and quiet bays, a thin sheet of ice has covered the surface from shore to shore.

The southern shore of the cove was still covered with a thin layer of snow, which captured these prints of a beaver heading out onto the ice.  I'm always astounded by how big the beaver's hind feet are, as big as my hand, and I'm also curious why I can't make out the webbing between the toes.

Despite a cold wind, my walk was quite pleasant, as I kept up a brisk pace that took me all the way around the lake (although not the back bay).  I love this stretch of sandy trail that passes under towering White Pines and Pitch Pines, with views of the lake and back bay to either side.

The vast blue sky over the lake was in constant motion as flocks of Canada Geese came winging in or taking off.

I am always astounded to see the Shadblow shrubs opening buds of tiny green leaves this time of year.  The tender little leaves will surely freeze and drop to the ground in the wintry blasts to come.  And yet they do this every year.    What purpose could this possibly serve? Is it simply the organism's response to light levels equal to those that awaken new growth in the spring?

The Striped Maples have also formed their buds, elegant scepters of scarlet atop emerald twigs circled with gold.  But those waxy red bud scales will stay tightly closed until spring, when they'll then fall away to reveal tightly folded leaves of velvety pink.

Most of the Witch Hazel flowers have dropped their flowers, but here and there I still find a few long ribbon-shaped petals unfurled. The yellow bracts will remain on the twigs all winter, causing the shrub to appear to still be in bloom throughout the darkest, coldest time of year.

Those darkest, coldest days are fast approaching, as the sun sinks earlier and earlier every day.  It was not yet four in the afternoon when the lowering sun cast this golden light on the frozen surface of the cove.

A Frost(weed)y Morning

One look at the shriveled dogwood leaves in my backyard garden this morning revealed that frost had happened at last.  It's certainly not the latest date for first frost around here, but somehow it seemed a long time coming this year. Eager to see if the Frostweed (Helianthemum canadense) had sent out its curls of frozen vapor,   I hurried up to Mud Pond at Moreau to try to see these frosty "petals"  before the rising sun could cause them to vanish into thin air.

The morning was cold and clear, and the sun had already cleared the hills to the east when I arrived at Mud Pond.  A thin sheet of ice extended out from the shore, leaving just a small patch of open water for two pairs of Hooded Mergansers to paddle around on.

A dusting of crystalline snow lay over all, spangling the fuzzy leaves of this small Common Mullein rosette.

When frost comes this late, the leaves of the young oaks have already turned brown and fallen to the ground.

Last year, when frost first arrived in mid-October, the leaves of the Bear Oak babies still displayed the brilliant colors of autumn, made especially vivid when outlined in silvery frost.  No such brilliance could I find this year.

But I sure did find lots of Frostweed!  Frostweed prefers an open, dry, sandy habitat, exactly the conditions that exist under the powerlines that cut across the northern end of Mud Pond.  That's where I found cluster after cluster of Frostweed stems, each exhibiting curling clouds of frozen vapor at its base.

The curls are created when freezing temperatures cause the stems to split along their length.  As the plants' internal moisture escapes through these split stems, it freezes solid in the frigid air.

The frozen mist has a frothy texture and is so delicate it breaks at a touch and quickly melts as the sun begins to warm the air around it.   It looks like puffs of frozen smoke.  The Frostweed plants will continue to exude these vaporous curls during freezing temperatures until the plants are completely depleted of their moisture.

I always delight in finding these frost curls, no matter how many times I have seen them before.  I also delight in how Little Bluestem Grass, which abounds in the same open habitat as the Frostweed, catches the light in the feathery inflorescences along the stems.  Enchanting!  Looks like tiny fairies flitting through a miniature forest.  This was a lovely morning to be up with the rising sun.

While the Sun Shines

I keep hearing dire predictions that terrible wintry blasts will soon come upon us, so I've been sure to get out this week to enjoy the continued balmy weather.  Gotta take those walks while the sun shines.

We were actually hoping, my friend Sue and I, that Saturday morning would be a frosty one.  We arranged to meet early that morning at Cole's Woods in Glens Falls, where we know some Frostweed (Helianthum canadense) grows, and we were planning to get some photos of the curls of frozen vapor this plant is named for.  But no such luck.  It didn't get cold enough to freeze, although it was chilly enough that we dug out our winter hats and gloves to keep us warm while we crouched on the ground taking photos.

Since we didn't find any Frostweed curls, we went looking for another interesting plant that grows in Cole's Woods, one we had found in flower last summer and hoped to find in seed, now.  We were positive we remembered where to find One-sided Pyrola (Orthilia secunda), and sure enough, after only a bit of confusion we found the spot.

Although the Orthilia was growing amid other low-growing evergreen plants like Shinleaf and Pipsissewa, Sue promptly spotted the whorls of distinctive green leaves, more pointed than those of other Pyrola species.  It took some searching to find the flower stalks with their brown seed pods, and a great deal of difficulty to photograph them against the busy background of the forest floor.



In the same area grow many Pipsissewa plants (Chimaphila umbellata), with their glossy green leaves and brown dried fruits.  And interspersed among the Pipsissewa we found the thread-fine stems of Starflower (Trientalis borealis) bearing tiny globe-shaped seeds of chalky white.  Long after their flowers have faded, many plants continue to offer aspects of interest, as well as beauty.

What a pleasant surprise it was, Sunday morning, to get a call from our son Steve that he was on the train heading to Saratoga Springs from Brooklyn.  And how lucky we were, to have such a pleasant sun-warmed day for a walk along the Hudson River at Moreau.  Although Steve is definitely a big-city enthusiast, he also loves the out-of-doors and looks forward to getting out to the woods when he comes home to visit.  Yes, he looks happy, here.

While most of the trees have shed their vivid autumn foliage, the Highbush Blueberry shrubs still held onto theirs, adding to the beauty of the riverscape.

The late afternoon sun made the mountainsides glow, and the quiet water amplified that glow in the reflections.

Today was another balmy day, the warmest of them all.  It was definitely a lovely day for a walk around Mud Pond at Moreau Lake State Park.  The water in the pond was so low I could walk on shores that would normally be under water and discern what plants might be growing there.

On a wide flat delta where a stream enters the pond,  the mud was carpeted with the shiny red leaves of Water Purslane (Ludwigia palustris), punctuated by the powdery-green leaves of Low Cudweed (Gnaphalium uliginosum).  I could also detect some baby plants of Dwarf St. Johnswort (Hypericum mutilum), rosettes of tiny pink leaves.

In past years, late in the fall when the water is low, I have found masses of the floating liverwort called Riccia (Ricciocarpus natans) stranded on these mud flats.  Sure enough, there they were today, although I nearly missed seeing them, they were so tiny.  I have seen them in other years much bigger than these, but there was no mistaking their chubby little cat's-paw shape.  I wonder if they will grow in size as they rest here on the mud.  I will have to come back in a week or so to see.

The normal habitat of Riccia is floating in the water, and I've never discovered how such masses of them come to be stranded on the mud while water remains in the pond.  When I was here about two weeks ago I found no sign of them, but here they are today.  How did they get here?  Will they stay onshore all winter and float away when spring rains and snowmelt raise the water level?


Here's a photo of Riccia that I took a year ago last June, when I found masses of it floating on the surface of Mud Pond.  It was quite a bit larger then, and its underside was covered with dangling purple structures called "rhizoids."   Although liverworts, technically speaking, do not have roots the way vascular plants do, these rhizoids do help the liverwort absorb water and nutrients and sometimes serve to anchor the plants.

Another object of interest out on this mud flat was the presence of several mounds of mud, probably deposited by  Star-nosed Moles as they excavated the tunnels they use to hunt for underground, and also under water, prey.  I find it hard to believe that a furry little creature would want to live in such a soggy, muddy place, but this is exactly the kind of habitat that Star-nosed Moles love.  There were quite a number of these mounds, causing me to wonder if they were the work of a single very busy mole, or does a whole colony of them inhabit this shore?  The chances are extremely slim that I will ever see one, so my curiosity will probably never be satisfied.