A River Road Ramble

We've had such a nice stretch of blue-sky days, but I've been too busy at home to really get outdoors, except for a quick walk along the Hudson where Spier Falls Road hugs the banks at Moreau.  The river lay smooth as glass late Saturday afternoon, with the water reflecting the trees and hills and sky.  I was torn between letting my eyes rest on that serene sight or turning to explore the roadside cliffs that rise steeply into the mountains, the boulders watered with tiny springs.  Here and there a little rill splashed merrily down tiers of rock.

Those roadside boulders are veritable rock gardens, presenting a fascinating array of lichens, mosses, and the wintering-over rosettes of perennials.  Although the sun was bright, the air was cold,  and frost still clung to many of the plants, such as these little Pixy Cups furred with a fine fringe of ice.

I loved how this pretty pink sprig of Strawberry was nestled into a thick cushion of lush moss.

Where springwater seeped through thick mats of moss, glassy garlands of icicles sparkled in the late afternoon sun.

Thin sheets of ice coated the face of some boulders, enhancing the rich red of this ferrous rock.

When I reached the stretch of the road that looks out on this lovely river island, I sat for a while just to take in this scene, overwhelmed with gratitude that I live near forests that are left to grow wild and a river that runs clean and clear.

Taking the slow road home to Saratoga, I stopped by a farm to say hello to this sturdy pair of enormous Belgian horses.  Now that is a HORSE!

A lowering sun bathed the walls and roof of this handsome old barn with a golden light and cast the shadow of a little black goat against the siding.  And oh look, the buds on that Red Maple tree are as rosy and plump as if it were spring, and the grass looks like emerald velvet.  Stunned by the beauty of this scene, I had to pull over to gaze upon it, and also to let my eyes clear of tears.  Sometimes the gorgeousness of this world fills me with more joy than I can contain.

An Island of Relief From the Heat

When it's too hot for a sweat-soaked, bug-ridden hike through the woods, that's when I head to the Hudson. There's a little island there that offers a perfect place for a swim, and it's just off the boat launch on Spier Falls Road, so I don't even have a long carry or hard paddle to reach my destination of cool watery relief. Five minutes from when I park my car, I'm up to my neck in the river. Bliss!

The island has certainly recovered from the ravaging spring floods. I was afraid that the flowers that normally adorn it would have been washed away, but now the blooms are bursting forth as beautifully as ever. Here's Steeplebush, firmly rooted along the island's rocky shore.

Big spikes of bright-purple Pickerelweed emerge from the warm sandy shallows at one end of the island.

All these low areas are now carpeted with Golden Pert, making the riverbank look as if it were lit from within.

Masses of Pale St. Johnswort add to the golden glow.

The showiest of all showy wildflowers, Cardinal Flower is just beginning to open its blooms, of such a super-saturated hue, no camera can adequately capture its vivid red.

This minute little bedstraw, named (appropriately) Small Bedstraw, occupies the opposite end of the spectrum of showiness. Unlike most other bedstraws, this one has three-lobed flowers instead of the usual four lobes. It was so small I had to blow up my photo to make sure it had three-lobed blooms.

All arrowheads have three-lobed flowers, including this one, which is Grass-leaved Arrowhead.

Buttonbush balls look like they have literally "burst" into bloom, but that explosive appearance certainly hasn't frightened away the bees, whose eager numbers set the whole bush to buzzing and bobbing.

I don't know of any monkeys with faces that look like this, although that's supposedly how Monkeyflower got its common name.

This wee little Marsh Speedwell was hiding under the leaves of other plants, and it took a diligent search to find it where I remembered it growing a year ago.

The plants of Marsh St. Johnswort are easy to spot, with their clumps of burgundy buds and with leaves outlined in wine. But to catch them in bloom is another story. I think they may open their pretty pink flowers for maybe fifteen minutes a day. This was my lucky day.

Taking the scenic route home, I spied another pretty pink flower along an old stone wall. This is Queen-of-the-Prairie, and as its name suggests, it is native to grasslands further west than New York State. Brought east as a garden plant, it has since escaped from cultivation to make its way to meadows nearer my home.

Watery Relief from the Heat

Another scorcher, another good day to get wet. Yesterday I put my canoe in the river down near the Sherman Island Dam, and today I moved a mile or so upstream to put in closer to the Spier Falls Dam. There's a pretty little island just upstream from the boat launch there, which offers a perfect place for a swim: deep water right off the rocks, so you don't have to sink into muck to reach a swimmable depth. And the current runs swiftly through a channel between the main island and a tiny islet, creating a kind of lap pool where you can just swim in place. Or take a ride on the current. Fun. But most of all, cool. Aaah, that sweet cool water! Does this not look inviting?

This little island is home to an amazing variety of wildflowers, so the rest of the afternoon was spent poking about in the underbrush and wading along the sandy edges, looking for all my old friends. The water level's been down for some time, so flowers are sprouting like crazy on mud that was deep underwater a few weeks ago. I think I've mentioned before how Golden Pert carpets the muddy flats, and that's exactly what it was doing today. Radiant!

Tucked in among all that Golden Pert was this sweet little veronica called Marsh Speedwell. Its flower is only a quarter inch across, but it still stood out amid that sea of gold. I was so happy to find this lovely little plant. It was one of the first flowers I learned when I first began exploring these banks, and I hadn't found it in many years.

St. Johnsworts of just about every kind find a home on this sandy half-acre, and today, as the Pale St. Johnsworts were fading, the Dwarf St. Johnswort was opening its miniscule blooms. To show just how tiny these flowers are, I've placed a bloom from a Common St. Johnswort next to one of the wee ones.

Another species that grows abundantly here is the Marsh St. Johnswort, the only pink one and not quite ready to bloom. I just love the colors of every part of this plant -- leaves, stalks, flowers, buds, seeds -- and was struck by the vivid fuschia of its buds today.

Pretty blue Monkeyflower was everywhere in full bloom. Whoever named this flower apparently thought its blossom looked like a monkey's face. Um . . . . Which monkey might that be? None that I've ever seen.

Steeplebush, on the other hand, does resemble (a little) what it was named for. Their beautiful deep rose flowers were just starting to bloom today on graceful stems that waved in the breeze.

Uh oh! Here's a beautiful flower that has no business growing here. Left to its own devices, this Purple Loosestrife would supplant all other flowers on the island in time. So of course I could not leave it to its own devices, and I ripped it out.

Wouldn't it be a shame to never see gorgeous Sneezeweed here on these banks, if that Purple Loosestrife took over its habitat? I was startled to find one in bloom so early. But then, all flowers seem to be blooming ahead of schedule this year. My friend Ed Miller has told me he hates the common name of this flower and would rather we called it Helen's Flower, which is what its Latin genus name means: Helenium. Well sure, why not? I'm sure it got named for sneezes because it usually blooms when Ragweed does, too, and got blamed for maladies it has nothing to do with. No flower this showy has pollen that wafts on the wind, since its very showiness indicates its need to attract pollinators.

Well now, here's a new one I've never found on this island: Horned Bladderwort. Unlike most other bladderworts that float about unrooted in the water, trapping tiny organisms in the bladders affixed to their stems, this species grows on dry land. Well, damp land, with its leaves buried down in the sand. It's a mystery to me how its bladders expand to trap foodstuffs down there, but it's certainly no mystery where the "horned" part of its name came from. Note those sharp spurs pointing downward.

Paddling back to shore, I took a little detour to visit an American Chestnut tree that hangs over the river. I missed its blooming this year, so I wanted to see how it was doing. So far, the blight that has destroyed all mature chestnuts has not yet destroyed this youthful tree. But it will, in time. In many ways, it's remarkable to see a chestnut grow old enough to bear fruit, as this one is doing now. It's highly unlikely the nuts will be fertile, however, since that would require cross-pollination, and no other flowering chestnut is growing nearby.

Heading home, I drive over Mount McGregor, and on steep rocky banks along the road I always find Smooth False Foxglove. Again, this flower is blooming a bit early this year.

Smooth False Foxglove seems to me quite showy for a wildflower, but it's not a garden escapee. One of our native flowers, it's parasitic on the roots of oak trees, according to Newcomb's Wildflower Guide. So that means I probably couldn't grow it in my garden, although I sure would love to. Supposedly, it's not a rare plant, but I've never found it blooming anywhere but along this mountain road.