Seeking Bog Meadow's Shade

I confess I've been neglecting this blog. I am feeling every one of my 83 years this summer, especially when the temps approach the high 90s, with humidity to match.  And my knee, while better, still hurts.  And my couch often calls to me for an afternoon nap more persuasively than the Great Outdoors does for an afternoon walk.  At last, the days are cooler now.  But I still seek the shade.  And what better shade than the cool dark swamp along Bog Meadowbrook Nature Trail? There's even a lovely boardwalk there that allows me to walk where the shade is deepest (as is the mud, should I step off the boards). So that's where I went this past week.

I did have a goal: to see if the stately Swamp Thistles (Cirsium muticum) were blooming now.  And they sure were!  Many plants has sprung up this summer, but not right next to the boardwalk, so I had to get my shoes muddy heading into the wooded wetland where they grew.  Are these our tallest native thistle?  They do tower way over my head, so I have to bend the stalk to look more closely at the flowers. (Ouch!  The stems have no thorns, but the leaves are very prickly!)

Swamp Thistle flowers are well worth a prickle or two to look at closely!  Not just for the colorful blooms, but also to see the involucres as ornamental as Ukrainian Easter eggs.  A close look also reveals the fine webby hairs on those involucres.

Here's a closer look at those white-striped green bracts and the cottony webbing among them.  This webbing is the most distinctive feature of this species of thistle, offering a positive clue to its identification.

Could this be a Long-horned Thistle Bee (Melissoides desponsus), which is known to feed on the thistles that bloom in late summer? Its "horns" were buried so deeply into the flowerhead I could not see if they were longer than usual. But when I looked on Google for descriptions of that particular bee, it was described as having a hairless abdomen. So this must be another species of big bee that also likes to feed on Swamp Thistle.  I'll call it a "Fuzzy-butt Thistle Bee."

This swampy area is also home to three different species of Equisetum: E. arvense (Field Horsetail), E. sylvaticum (Wood Horsetail), and E. scirpoides (Dwarf Horsetail).  But the only one I could find this day without crawling in the mud was the Wood Horsetail, a particularly attractive one, with its lacy appearance. That laciness is thanks to the compound branching of its slender lateral branches.

A particularly gorgeous denizen of this swamp is the Great Lobelia (Lobelia siphilitica) with its tall spikes of royal-blue flowers. 

A close look at Great Lobelia's florets reveals this native wildflower's distinctive pollination strategy.  Note how the curving stamen arches up through the split upper lip of the flower, with the pollen-laden anther poised for action.  When an insect lands on the lower lip, its weight forces the stamen to spring down and deposit pollen on the nectar-sipping visitor, which it will carry off to spread to neighboring blooms. Sometimes I am simply astounded by the strategies of organisms that are said to be without intelligence!

When I saw this Common Boneset plant (Eupatorium perfoliatum), I was less drawn to its flowers than I was to the small pale-blue butterfly that was so busy among the florets it actually stayed still for the picture-taking. I wish it had opened its wings, for that might have helped me discern its species. The closest I can come to an ID is the Summer Spring Azure (Celastrina neglecta), which has similar wing markings and wings that are pale underneath.  

OK, what else was blooming in this swamp?  Here was a handsome plant of Northern Horsebalm (Collinsonia canadensis) with some of its small yellow flowers blooming. Although this plant is in the Mint Family, it smells more lemony than minty.  In fact, it smells so much like the insect repellent Citronella, I sometimes crush some of the flower stems and rub them on my ears and neck when the mosquitoes are biting. It does help.

Here's a closer look at the Horsebalm's odd little flowers:

The damp soil in this part of the Bog Meadowbrook Nature Trail has helped to keep some of our native ferns looking fresh and green despite our hot dry summer.  A large patch of Maidenhair Fern was a clue that the soil it grew in was at least somewhat calcareous.

The most common of our native ferns along this trail is Cinnamon Fern (Osmunda cinnamomea), sharing its woodland habitat with lots of Wild Sarsaparilla (Aralia nudicaulis).

Ferns are not always easy for amateurs like me to identify, but Cinnamon Fern has these ID clinchers I call "cinnamon buns": tiny fuzzy balls that grow where the pinnae meet the stalk. Earlier in the summer, these fuzzy balls are whiter, but by this time of year, they actually are tinted the color of cinnamon!

The single most prolific plant this time of year along this trail is Hog Peanut (Amphicarpa bracteata).  Masses and masses of it line the main woodland trail.  This plant actually does have edible one-seeded  pods that are produced by petal-less flowers that grow on or near the ground at the base of the plants.  I have tasted them, and they'd probably taste better roasted and salted, but you could survive on them if you had to.

Hog Peanuts has other flowers, too, pretty little purple and white ones that dangle from the vines.  These flowers also produce seeds, but in long, bean-like pods that contain several seeds.  These seeds are also edible, but not nearly as palatable as the ones that grow at the base of the plant.

I was ready to turn back and head home to that comfy couch, but I remembered a patch of orchids called Downy Rattlesnake Plantain (Goodyera pubescens) that once grew another quarter-mile or so along the trail.  Knowing how fickle these orchids can be about showing up in the same spot each year, I had to talk myself into going to look for them.  And LO!  I found ONE!  One in bloom, anyway.  Near where in other years I'd found 10 or more. But hey, an orchid's and orchid! And I could see the distinctively patterned basal leaves of several more plants that hadn't flowered this year.  Maybe next year?

Here's a closer look at the small white florets that crown the Downy Rattlesnake Plantain's flower stalk. Most looked a bit past their prime. The bases of the florets did look kind of fuzzy.  Is that why this orchid got the "downy" (pubescent) part of its name? 

And now I could head for home.

Clear Skies, Calm Wind, Clean Water

Last time I posted this blog, I was yearning to paddle my favorite stretch of the Hudson River.  And so I did.  For about 10 minutes. I'd no sooner dipped my paddle a few times when thunder started rumbling and dark clouds rolled across the sky, pushed in my direction by rising winds. By the time I returned to the take-out spot, torrents were sheeting down, filling my canoe and drenching me from top to bottom, bottom to top.  Oh well. Summer's hideous heat and lack of bank-lapping water for six weeks had really fried all the riverbank wildflowers, so there wasn't much to see, anyway.  But that was not the case at all, when my friend Sue Pierce and I returned this past week to one of our favorite ponds,  Archer Vly, in northern Saratoga County.

There were no threatening clouds in sight, although there was a brisk wind riffling the pond when we first arrived. But by the time we'd reached the mid-point of the pond, it was all calm water, its reflective sheen decorated by acres of Water Shield leaves.

One reason we were eager to visit this pond was to see how the flora was recovering from the  devastating flood that drowned most of the shoreline plants four years ago, caused by extra-heavy rains that year and a beaver-dam-clogged culvert.  Although all of the waterside conifers have died (you can see the needle-free remains of them beyond where Sue is paddling, below), most of the herbaceous wildflowers and swamp-dwelling shrubs are returning to health. Not all of them in the numbers that thrived pre-flood, but definitely reclaiming their habitat.

For us wildflower fanatics, the most devastating loss was the entire disappearance of Narrow-leaved Gentians (Gentiana linearis) that once lined the shore of this pond in numbers too high to count. The first year past-flood, I found just one!  But I'm happy to report that every year since then, the numbers have multiplied.  They have not yet reached the abundance they once achieved, but we were encouraged to see plenty of them gracing the shore with their radiant blue blooms.

Many other shoreline wildflowers, especially those that prefer to grow with their roots in the water, were doing just fine as well. A little bee was exploring the bright-white blooms of Common Arrowhead (Sagittaria latifolia).

A generous clump of tiny-flowered Northern Bugleweed (Lycopus uniflorus) was nestled within some pondside boulders, sharing its damp spot with some small Sensitive Ferns (Onoclea sensibilis).

This handsome patch of Pickerelweed (Pontederia cordata) cares not a whit that its roots are underwater.

Common Pipewort (Eriocaulon aquaticum) is so happy to be wet, it even continues blooming if the water should rise to inundate even the flowerheads. This day, though, masses of them were raising their tiny white button-shaped blooms well above the water's surface.

We were once again delighted by hordes of Swamp Spreadwing Damselflies (Lestes vigilax) flitting and fluttering among the emergent Bur Reed leaves, the sunlight glittering off their transparent faceted wings, which they held half-open even while they perched. Shoreline vegetation like this is this damselfly's typical habitat, where they mate and lay their eggs. 

This Swamp Spreadwing Damselfly stopped its constant fluttering to rest on my paddle, allowing me to observe the blue eyes, iridescent green thorax, and pale-blue band at the end of the bronzy-green abdomen that are distinctive for this species.

Here's another beautiful critter we found, this Monarch Butterfly caterpillar (Danaus plexippus) apparently preparing to pupate, as it assumed the typical curled-up posture prior to forming its chrysalis.

Of course, we were delighted to observe the flora and fauna mentioned above, but what really astounded us on this paddle were the incredible size and abundance of the colonial "moss animal" (Bryozoan) formations -- Pectinatella magnifica --  we observed in shallow water, in numbers we had never observed here before. Both Sue and I had noticed how warm the pondwater was now, much warmer than in other summers.  I wonder if the warmer water contributed to the size and abundance of this organism's colonies.

Most of the Pectinatella colonies were too big and heavy to hoist out of the water, but this little one wasn't.  I could bring it close enough to be able to discern each individual filter-feeding creature. 

A beam of sunlight happened to ignite this colony, making it appear as if it were glowing from within!

Due to their key filter feeding abilities and removal of specific organisms within the water they form in, Bryozoans are seen as a beneficial aspect of a pond’s ecosystem. Their ability to filter out bacteria, algae, and protozoa can help prevent eutrophic blooms of these organisms. 

And here was another fascinating organism we saw,  a green-tinted, transparent gelatinous mass suspended underwater. I have found these masses of transparent greenish jelly in another lake I paddle, but I cannot recall ever finding them here on Archer Vly. They are formed by the colonial microscopic single-celled protozoa called Ophrydium versatile. Inhabitants of fresh water lakes and ponds all over the world, the individual cells line up side-by-side in the "blob"and attach themselves to a jelly-like substance they secrete.  They are symbiotic with microscopic Chlorella algae that live inside the Ophrydium cells and give the blob its green color.  While the algae contribute significantly to the colony's energy needs through photosynthesis, Ophrydium also filter feeds on bacteria and other small organisms for additional nutrients. Again, I am wondering if the warmer water temperature this year has contributed to the growth and abundance of this colonial organism.

And here was one more fascinating underwater find.   Looks like some kind of water plant, doesn't it?  But it's really an animal! Or, to be more exact, a colony of animals called Freshwater Sponge (Spongilla lacustris). Despite its green color and seaweed-like appearance, a lake sponge is composed of simple filter-feeding animals, possessing many cells but lacking a mouth or a brain or muscles or heart or any ability to move, once it becomes attached to a submerged rock or fallen limb. It somewhat resembles a green plant because (again!) of the green algae that inhabit it in a symbiotic relationship.  The algae help the sponge utilize nutrients via photosynthesis, while the sponge supplies the algae with a place to live. But the sponge also acquires nutrients by filter feeding. Inside the sponge, specialized cells filter out small floating organic particles, such as bacterioplankton and other microbes from the water, thus contributing to the health of the water body it inhabits.

I do detect a consistent theme that unites all three of these filter-feeding colonial organisms: they all contribute to the health and cleanliness of the lakes and ponds they reside in.  Archer Vly is fortunate that all three thrive within its waters. I wonder if the increase in water temperature this hot summer has contributed to an increase in harmful organisms like certain algae or bacteria?  And this increase in harmful organisms has contributed to the increase in these filter feeders' size and abundance as they gobble up the bad organisms?  It doesn't seem all that unlikely, does it?

Riverside Transformation!

Longtime readers of this blog would likely know well where I most love to paddle.  There's a three-mile stretch of the Hudson River between the Spier Falls and Sherman Island dams, where the river forms the northern boundary of Saratoga County, NY.  I started paddling here back in the early 1990s, as soon as I'd acquired my own solo canoe and could dawdle along river banks as slowly as I liked, without any bossy guy in the stern impatient about my wanting to wait for dragonflies to return to their cattail perches. Here, along these banks where forested mountains fall directly to the water's edge, and where the river detours behind a large island and small coves form the shoreline where orchids happily grow, I years ago found so many plants I had never seen before, my desire to know their names was first inspired. And continues to this day.  This stretch of the Hudson is truly the birthplace for my passion for plants. And ultimately, for this blog.

My return to paddling here this year was delayed while I recovered from knee-replacement surgery. Now that I'm healed sufficiently, imagine how truly eager I was to once again slip my canoe back onto these beautiful waters. Then also imagine my disappointment to discover I couldn't do that. At least, not yet.  The Hudson's waters had been held back to allow for dam repairs upstream, and shin-deep mud lay between dry land and a narrow course of still-navigable water.  My knee is strong enough by now to lift me in and out of my boat, but I did not wish to test my knee's strength by lifting it in and out of sucking mud.

Ah, but even though disappointed I could not reach the water, I still was struck with awe at this sight. Acres and acres of the small yellow flowers and bright-green leaves of Golden Hedge Hyssop (Gratiola aurea) had beautified the riverside, transforming the muddy flats to glowing carpets of gold. This was the view looking downstream.

And here is the view looking upstream, with masses of those same tiny yellow flowers creating a golden halo around one of the river islands.

I could see that at least one paddler had endured the sucking mud to reach the water. But paddling so far from the banks and their floral treasures is not why I paddle here.

I did manage to walk along the shore on the mudflats closer to where the banks start to rise, exploring the banks on foot. But the dried ruts of mud made walking difficult.  Nevertheless, it astounded me to see the Golden Hedge Hyssop filling every inch of mud that wasn't already occupied by rocks. Native to most of eastern North America, this plant is usually found on tidal flats, sandy shores, and river or stream floodplains. The plants themselves have been present all summer, covering the bottom of the river in shallow areas, but they do not bloom until the water recedes, granting them both sunlight and air.

Here's a closer look at the golden trumpets of the Golden Hedge Hyssop's flowers.  

Teetering along on the semi-dry mud near shore, I was hoping I might find the nice patch of Great St. John's Wort (Hypericum ascyron) that I used to see growing right at the water's edge.  And so I did.  But too late to see their gorgeous bright-yellow flowers that by now had yielded to large fat seedpods.  This over-hot summer seems to have hastened their blooming. Only some shriveled brown wisps of their showy petals remained.

One of the few other wildflowers I did find blooming along the banks was a single plant of Water Hemlock (Cicuta maculata).  Although this plant resembles other members of the Parsley Family, do not confuse it with edible members of this family, like carrots or parsley, and take a taste.  It will kill you dead if you do.  Kind of pretty, though.  And insects seem to be able to dine on the flowers' nectar or pollen with impunity.

This next flower was more than just pretty: it was spectacular!  If the water had been higher, I would have found dozens of Cardinal Flowers (Lobelia cardinalis) decorating the banks by now. But this perfect solitary stem was sufficiently thrilling in its gorgeousness.

Where a tiny trickle of springwater dampened the mud, this pretty patch of Common Pipewort (Eriocaulon aquaticum) looked as perky as ever.

I sought in vain, though, for the spectacular blooms of Lesser Purple-fringed Orchid (Platanthera psycodes) I used to find along this stretch.  Here's my photo of one I found just last summer, blooming in late July.  Since a few florets yet remained unopened on that date, perhaps I may yet find some still blooming if the river's water gets restored to normal heights this week.

And guess what?  I drove by this section of the Hudson today, and the water has returned to its normal level.  Guess where I'll be paddling this coming week!