Flowers and Fungi and a Fat Furry Fly!

Perusing my old blogposts from this August date, I learned that our native Swamp Thistle (Cirsium muticum) should be blooming now in the forested wetland along the Bog Meadow Brook Nature Trail, just outside Saratoga Springs. So off I went, accessing that trail via a spur that takes me across a boardwalk right into that thistle's swampy habitat.

Scanning the trailside wetland for the towering Swamp Thistle's bright-pink globes of bloom, I found the first one easily, glowing like a beacon, amid the thick forest's murky green.  

And that was the first of many I found, some spent, but others still opening buds to release big shaving-brush tufts of gorgeous bloom

A few shafts of sunlight pierced the swamp's dark shade, which greatly illuminated the cob-webby fine white hairs that cover the flowers' involucres, a trait that helps to distinguish this species from others of its genus.  The buds are quite beautiful, too.  They remind me of those intricately decorated Ukrainian Easter eggs.

Few other flowers bloomed in this swamp this day, a gorgeous exception being this Great Lobelia's tall shaft of royal-blue florets, radiant among its dark-green surroundings. Lobelia siphilitica is this native wildflower's scientific name. The species name arose from a prior medicinal use of the plant in the treatment of venereal disease. (I believe, thankfully, that more effective remedies have spared this beautiful plant's populations.)

But if flowers were scarce, the fungi sure weren't!  Recent heavy rains have saturated this summer's heat-wave dried-out forest floors, and the mushrooms sure responded.  Forgive me if my scientific names are incorrect, for I keep discovering that most of those I learned long ago are now out of date.  And many fungi have been reassigned to other common names as well.  Nevertheless, these tan pear-shaped puffballs pictured here might still be called Lycoperdon pyriforme (Pear-shaped Puffball). They're shaped like that name, anyway. 

Here's another mushroom whose vernacular name means what it says: Conifercone Cap (Baeospora myosura). These itty-bitty capped mushrooms grow right in the scales of conifer cones, in this case the cones of Eastern White Pine. I found quite a few of them in this swamp.

I'm not sure whether these brown stripey caps belong to the species called Cinnamon Fairy Stools (Coltricia cinnamomea), but they certainly are the color of cinnamon. But since many are funnel-shaped instead of flat across the top, I fear the fairies' bottoms would more likely sink into them instead of perching atop.

Okay, whether this elegant, pure-white mushroom is called Amanita verna (Death Angel) or Amanita virosa (Destroying Angel), please don't eat it. It is one of our few deadly killers among our fungi.  I learned it as A. verna many years ago, but I believe that that fungus is the European look-alike of our North American A. virosa.  Although one is chemically different from the other, they look about exactly alike and both are deadly poisonous to eat.  But not at all poisonous to look at.  Angelic, rather. I saw it along the Bog Meadow Trail, and was delighted to see it. I brushed the soil away from its basal cup, in order to see one of the identifying traits of most Amanita species.  A second distinguishing trait is the veil remnant that is usually seen surrounding the stalk, but in this young specimen, the veil is still attached to the gills.

Some of the fungi I found today were as brightly colorful as any flowers!  These ruffly orange mushrooms are probably a species of Chanterelle, but I didn't examine them carefully enough to be sure. The mucky soil surrounding their patch was so wet it would have sucked off my sneakers. I zoomed my camera to take this photo.

There's no red quite like the red cap of a Red Russula, so shiny atop its pure-white stalk. What a beauty! This is another mushroom that's pretty to look at, but both its scientific name (Russula emetica) and two of its common ones (Vomiting Russula or The Sickener) should warn you away from eating it. Snails are able to eat it, though.  It's rare I find a cap as pristinely unblemished as this one.

I love the vernacular name -- Chicken-fat Suillus -- of this bright-yellow bolete, Suillus americanus. And as its vernacular name suggests, it IS edible, and some people actually like it.  As its lemon-pie appearance also might suggest, it has a tart taste that's not unpleasant. But it also cooked up slimy, which I found kind of yucky! Perhaps that yuck could have been eliminated if I had removed its spongy pore surface, which I've since learned is a recommended part of its preparation.

How do I love thee, little mushroom? Let me count the ways: Your scientific name Xeromphalina campanella, which means (sorta) "little bells topped with dry bellybuttons";  your common name Fuzzy Foot, which refers to the tufts of fuzzy mycelia at the base of your stalks; your brilliant color; your tiny size, ranging from pinhead to dime; and your habit of fruiting in carpeting masses atop rotting logs.  Or in this fascinating case, WITHIN a rotting moss-covered log!

Thunder rumbled, urging me to head home, but as I hurried past these Boneset blooms I halted to watch this enormous tachinid fly dining on the florets.  As big as a bumblebee it was, and black all over except for big brown eyes within a white face. Later, searching Google Images for "big black tachinid fly with white face" I found the closest possibility to be in the genus Leschenaultia, with species uncertain.

Although tachinid flies can look big and scary, they are actually only scary for many plant pests, whose larvae the flies seek out to lay their eggs on or within, after which the tachinids' larvae will consume the hosts' larvae.  The adult flies eat nectar and pollen and thus are important pollinators of native plants. Over 1,300 species of tachinids have been described in North America alone, and many, like this one, can be difficult to pin down as to species.  Until I know its true name for sure, I'll just call it Big Black Bristly Butt.