Natural Consolations

I am very much aware that I haven't posted a blog since November 7.  That was the day I learned that a convicted felon, serial adulterer, pussy-grabbing sexual predator, habitual liar and business cheat who was considered incompetent to serve by nearly all who worked for him in his last go as President would be our President once again.  And that's not the worst of it.  Of all his faults (and who doesn't have faults?), the worst is his failure to give a damn about climate change, as he promises to withdraw from international efforts to address this emergency and urges fossil-fuel industries to "drill, baby, drill!" His only concern for the natural world seems to be how businesses can make a buck from destroying it.  I confess to feeling so hopeless and fearful, I could not focus on blogging.

Meanwhile, we in the northeast are suffering from prolonged and serious drought, with wildfires raging in New Jersey and along New York's Hudson Valley.  Thankfully, some rain is finally falling today, which helps to contain those fires, and also gives me a good excuse to stay indoors and finally try reviving this blog. I have ventured out to some of my favorite places, although I was often saddened by how our unnaturally hot and dry weather has altered what I expected to find there.  Fungi and fruits are few this fall, and frost came late. But still, I did find solace in what remained.

The Hudson Crossing Trail near Schuylerville

This is a pleasant easy-walking trail that is bordered by the Hudson River on one side and an old barge canal on the other. Scenic views of both waterways abound, and informational placards tell about  both the natural and social history of this place, where significant events of America's Revolutionary War occurred.  All is peaceful now, with benches situated for overlooking the river.

Remains of old structures contribute a picturesque beauty to this trail.  My dear friend Sue came with me this day, but we did not tarry here long, since Sue was concerned about the health of her mother, who lived with her. Sad to report, her mother did die this same week, so I'm glad we had these few pleasant moments together. May Sue find comfort in the love of family members and her many friends.

We were quite intrigued by these "toothpick-like" projections on many of the shrubs that line the trail. Since we have explored this trail many times and know by name most of the plants that thrive here, we were puzzled that we couldn't immediately put a name to this shrub.

Ah, but then we saw these pods!  Of course!  The shrubs were American Bladdernut (Staphylea trifolia), a native shrub that produces these hollow pods.  The pods contain hard seeds that rattle around inside when the wind sways the dry pods.

 

I opened one pod to examine the hard seeds.

Powerline at Mud Pond, Moreau Lake State Park

Was November 13 our latest date for a hard frost at this site?  I'm not sure, but that was the first date this year that seemed cold and still enough to visit this powerline in hopes of finding the wildflower called Frostweed (Crocanthemum canadense) doing the thing that suggested its vernacular name.  Before I even set eyes on the Frostweed, I was struck by how frost-free all the low plants appeared to be, despite the sub-freezing temps.  In other years, all the plants would be sparkling from the frost crystals that spangled all the twigs and blades and leaves.  But our prolonged drought had desiccated the sandy soil here as well as the air, so no moisture rose from the soil nor condensed on the ice-cold plants.

 

But I did see abundant examples of Frostweed doing its frosty thing: when frozen, the stems split lengthwise, and the plants' internal moisture escapes through these splits, immediately freezing in frothy curls around the stems. The frothy curls did seem a bit puny, though, not nearly as robust as in other years.

Here's a closer look at those diaphanous curls of frost:

(To see a more typical first-frost morning along this same powerline, when frost spangled everything that grew, come visit this blogpost from 11 years ago.)

Flocks of Canada Geese were resting on the quiet still-open water of Mud Pond, muttering and hooting to each other with cacophonous music.

Shore Walk at Moreau Lake State Park

Although moderately warm, this day was evenly overcast, lending both sky and lake a silvery cast. I convinced my husband Denis to walk the shore with me, assuring him that I would not stop every few feet to take a photo or try to ID a plant or insect. Most flowers are faded by now, and most insects have fled.  Note how the beach has widened since Spring.  Moreau Lake is a kettle lake that depends for its water mostly on rainfall and snowmelt, both of which have been in low supply this past year.

Ah, but the multi-colored shoreline rocks were lovely, especially when adorned with these small evergreen Wild Strawberry leaves (Fragaria virginiana). Even Denis stopped to examine the colors and textures of the rocks (see photo above).

This fading Heath Aster (Symphyotrichum ericoides) was almost as pretty in seed as it was in bloom.

And Blue Vervain (Verbena hastata) maintained a stately appearance with gracefully curving tawny seedpods.

I was amazed to see that the ribbon-like petals of Witch Hazel (Hamamelis virginiana) had already fallen, since this is ordinarily a late-fall blooming tree.  The four-pointed calyx lobes maintain their yellow color all winter, though, giving the impression that the tree is still blooming with tiny yellow flowers.

We did not walk all around the lake, but retraced our steps to go home.  As we turned around,  this scene of still water reflecting the forested mountain and sandy shore seemed somehow both comforting and distressing to me.  I am aware that climate change has already affected the eons-long weather patterns and life-cycles of plants and insects in this part of the world, and that this lovely landscape will be altered in the decades to come because political leaders around the world have not and probably will not rise to the challenge of addressing this climate emergency with the urgency it requires.  But if I am lucky, I might have ten years left to live, time enough to still be consoled by such life-enhancing beauty as this.