Mid-Summer Supper

Summertime, and the eatin' is local.  Tonight was the first time this year for fresh sweet corn, homegrown tomatoes, green beans, and basil, all from the farmers' market.  We also had local black raspberries for dessert.  And the mozzarella was made fresh today at our local supermarket.  The olive oil and chicken thighs I already had on hand, or I could have purchased them from local purveyors, as well.

When I sat down to supper tonight, I had a powerful experience of my long-dead mother's presence, for this was exactly the combination of foods she would serve us on summer evenings long ago.  Oh, how we looked forward to the first corn and beans and tomatoes from the garden, that sweet snap of the tender kernels between our teeth and the butter dripping down our chins, the tomatoes soft and sweet as honey and bursting with a flavor we had almost forgotten was possible for tomatoes.  We didn't have extra-virgin olive oil or freshly made mozzarella in the Michigan farmland of my childhood, but we did have cold heavy cream on our raspberries for dessert.  Unless there was fresh peach pie.  Nobody worried about cholesterol then.

Let Proust have his madeleines.   It's sweet corn and homegrown tomatoes that bring the past alive for me.   Yum!

Scenes from a Sunday Paddle

 The Hudson River where it runs behind an island near Moreau

Sweet and light:  that's how to describe the air today, refreshingly cooler and clearer and dryer than it's been for what seems ages.   I hadn't been on the river for weeks, so that's where I headed this afternoon, after spending the morning with my friend Sue walking along the Feeder Canal in Hudson Falls (an outing that deserves a post of its own and which will have one soon).    I was a little afraid the river would be crowded with boaters and jet skis on this gorgeous Sunday afternoon, but when I entered the river at my own secret launching place, there was not another soul in sight, and the water lay mirror-still below forested rocky banks.


Due to inclement weather and raging high water, I had missed catching many of my favorite riverside flowers in bloom this summer, but there was no missing these Cardinal Flowers today, blazing away with their blooms of super-saturated red.

 Cardinal Flower (Lobelia cardinalis)

Neither were the Buttonbushes hiding their beauty beneath a bushel, but were bursting forth in explosive bloom.

 Buttonbush (Cephalanthus occidentalis)

Patches of Pickerelweed were blooming en masse, lifting spikes of splendid purple.

 Pickerelweed (Pontederia cordata)

I was lucky enough to catch the Marsh St. Johnswort during its few moments of afternoon bloom, its dainty pink flowers nesting within leaves that were outlined in deep rose.

 Marsh St. Johnswort (Hypericum virginicum)

Well now, finding this solitary Small Floating Bladderwort along this stretch of the Hudson was quite a surprise.  I have found many of these state-listed rare bladderworts in the Hudson below the Sherman Island Dam, which is downstream from where I was paddling today, but I have never found them here, above the Sherman Island Dam, or at any other site upstream.  How did this one -- and there was only one -- get here?  I suppose it could have been carried to this catchment between the Spier Falls and Sherman Island dams by boat trailers that had entered both catchments.  At any rate, it was quite a find!

 Small Floating Bladderwort (Utricularia radiata)

This poor male Calico Pennant dragonfly was lucky that I found him while he was still alive, although I didn't know he was still alive until I started to untangle him from the spider web.  Then he began to struggle anew and get even more sticky web on his beautifully patterned wings.

After I worked him free of the snare, I could see that his wings were still tethered to his abdomen by filaments of web.  He flapped about ineffectually in the bottom of my canoe, and it became obvious to me that he would never take flight unless I completely rid him of the remnants of web.  Of course, he would not sit still for this delicate operation, but I did manage to pull off the rest of the surprisingly strong pieces of sticky web.  Then he didn't stick around to thank me but was off in a flash.  O happy day!

A Good Day for Orchids and Insects

This summer has NOT been good for outdoor adventures.  First came the daily thunderstorms, with slashing lightning and pounding rain for weeks on end.  Then came the days-long heatwave, with searing sun and heavy air that made walking a sweat-drenched torment.  Then I had houseguests that kept me at home with hostessing duties.  Then we traveled east to visit the in-laws for several days.  Finally, after all these impediments that kept me out of the woods for far too long, I got outdoors to some of my favorite haunts today.  And a good day it was, a day of beautiful orchids and amazing bugs.  And it even cooled off a bit.  And only rained a little.

The Woods Hollow Nature Preserve in Ballston Spa was my first destination, following up on a friend's report that the rather rare Goodyera repens might be blooming there.  Turns out it wasn't (or at least I couldn't find it), but I was pleased to find another small white orchid -- Goodyera tesselata -- that looks enough like G. repens that the two could be easily confused.

If I felt any disappointment, it was quickly assuaged by the sweet song of a Hermit Thrush that accompanied me the entire time I was there.  Then, too, there were dozens of pretty Pearl Crescent butterflies fluttering about the shore of the pond, and one of them actually sat very still with wings wide open while I took a photo.

Well, I thought, if Goodyera are blooming, I'll bet the Purple Fringed Orchids (Platanthera psycodes) are blooming, too.  So I next headed north to Lake Luzerne, where I know of an island where these spectacular orchids will sometimes grow thick as dandelions.  Last summer I found 20 perfect blooms on a patch of grass about the size of an average living-room rug.   Today I found five.  There may be more not yet in bud still hiding in the grass, but not that I could find.  Of the five I found today, this one was the most fully in bloom and looking truly exquisite silhouetted against the dark water of the rushing stream.

On my way back to Saratoga, I made a detour to Mud Pond at Moreau Lake State Park, hoping I might catch a glimpse of the moose that I heard had been sighted there.  Mud Pond seemed ideal moose habitat to me, but apparently not to the moose, at least not today while I was there.  No matter, there were lots of other delights to be found, including this beautiful Swamp Milkweed (Asclepias incarnata) just opening its raspberry-sherbet buds.

As I bent to admire the bi-color florets, I noticed a big furry-bodied tachinid fly dangling there.  Oh dear, I thought, the milkweed's pollen bundles have trapped another pollinator,  as milkweeds are known to do, when an insect's leg slips into a slot in the flower's pistil and can't work itself free.  I turned the floret over to see if perhaps I could help the fly escape, only to discover that the fly was  way beyond my help.  And I also discovered the real cause of the fly's demise, and it wasn't death by pollinia.  Do you see that pale greenish creature with its Popeye-enormous forearms and bulging eyes and its mouthparts sucking away at the fly's underbelly?

Yes, the Jagged Ambush Bug strikes again!   Neither of my photos shows the lance-like organ this insect uses to both stab its prey and, after injecting a substance to liquefy its victim's innards, suck it dry.  That's because it's currently stuck deep inside the fly.

Ah well, all God's chillen gotta eat!  And here's another predator, a male Eastern Pondhawk dragonfly, perched on a blade of grass while he surveys the scene for small insects to snag and devour.  This carnivore is a little prettier than that Jagged Ambush Bug, with his lacy wings, powder-blue thorax and abdomen, big black eyes, and bright-green face.

Hey buddy, I'm too big to eat!  This Eastern Pondhawk just would not leave me alone and kept returning to perch on my knee again and again, even after I shooed him away.

This gave me the chance to get a good look at his colorful visage.  I doubt you would call that big emerald-green schnoz a "nose," but it certainly had the look of one, the way he kept bobbing it up and down and especially with that dark fringe of whiskers that looks just like a moustache.

Woo hoo!  Why, look at that!  He even gave me a smile!

Sweltering Days in New Salem

I can't remember ever feeling so undone by the heat.  It takes a lot to keep me indoors, but temperatures close to 100 degrees this week did just that.  We drove over to New Salem, Massachusetts, on Wednesday to visit family members, and instead of walking the sandy shore of the Quabbin Reservoir (as we usually do), or wandering the sun-baked sidewalks of nearby Amherst or Northampton, we barely ventured out of the air-conditioned house.  I didn't even join the rest of the family on early morning constitutionals, dreading the thought of starting the day in a sweat, but instead crept out to my brother-in-law's wildflower garden each morning to watch the pollinators at their work.

What a busy buzzing place it was, this stand of Purple Conflower, Black-eyed Susan, Daisies, and Coreopsis, with bees and beetles and butterflies filling the air above and around the flowers with constant motion.

This clear-winged amber dragonfly stopped by, probably to check out the breakfast possibilities among the buzzing horde.

 I've searched my dragonfly guides and can't find a match.  Note the pale amber wash on the wings and the black markings at the end of the abdomen.  Any guesses?

Update:  I'm pretty sure my friend Sue has nailed the ID, citing the amber wash on the wings as diagnostic.  She thinks this is a female Band-winged Meadowhawk.  A glance at Google Images for this species appears to confirm her ID.



In one of the big bright flowers I found two spiders lurking among the petals, no doubt waiting to snag their breakfasts, too.

This tiny bright-green bee had already packed her baskets with pollen and was going in for more.

When she landed on the flower where the spiders crouched, I held my breath, waiting to see which spider would attack first.  As it happened, neither one did, although the little yellow one did venture close to the bee and then retreat.  I wonder if it meant to defer to the much larger spider also lurking there.  At any rate, the little bee escaped unharmed, lifting off with her heavy burden of yellow pollen.

On a nearby Purple Coneflower, an orgy of bug love was taking place, as two pairs of long-horned flower beetles literally "hooked up,"  joined at the tips of their abdomens by a long transparent appendage I can only assume is a buggy penis.

Out on the country road that runs by the house, the Sweet Goldenrod was starting to open its tiny florets, signaling to pollinators to come and eat.  Many tiny hoverflies had answered the invitation.

Up on the Ridge, Down in the Gorge

Oh my, I've been gone from my blog for an entire week!  With children and grandchildren visiting for several days, preparation and entertainment activities kept me out of the woods and away from my computer for far too long.  And the rest of this week will find me off to the wilds of Massachusetts, far from internet access.  Sometimes I think perhaps it's time to let this blog rest, but then I remember all the friends I have made because of it, and that keeps me from giving it up.

 Ruth Schottman and Ed Miller examine plants of False Indigo (Amorpha fruticosa) that thrive near the ornate crematorium at Oakwood Cemetery in Troy and very few other places this far east of their original native territory in midwestern U.S.

I am often aware of how diminished my life would be, if not for such friends as Ed Miller and Ruth Schottman and other members of the Thursday Naturalists, who have taken me under their collective wings and introduced me to natural areas I never would have found on my own.  That was certainly the case last Thursday, when the group met to walk in Troy's Oakwood Cemetery, high up on a ridge overlooking the Hudson Valley.

 With the Hudson River in the distance, the town of Lansingburgh lies below a high ridge where the Oakwood Cemetery covers many beautiful acres.



Like all cemeteries, Oakwood Cemetery contains many acres of carefully manicured lawns and elaborate monuments, but what brought us naturalists here on a steamy day last week was the marvelous collection of native flora that thrives in the neglected areas where the mowers can't reach.  Our explorations began on a rocky escarpment where sun-loving plants like this patch of Woodland Sunflowers (Helianthus divaricatus) was blooming abundantly between thickets of Bear Oak (Quercus ilicifolia) and Dwarf Chinkapin Oak (Quercus prinoides).

Adding their ruby-red accent to this scene were dangling clusters of ripe Chokecherries (Prunus virginiana).  Although their luscious color makes them appear quite tempting, their taste is as bitter as their common name suggests.

Another beautiful but inedible fruit that grows abundantly on this escarpment was Deerberry (Vaccinium stamineum), whose fruits were the prettiest shade of aqua dotted with white.

One of the great pleasures of exploring with serious botanists is that one of them almost always finds something unusual.  We could count on Ruth Schottman to find this anomalous Staghorn Sumac (Rhus typhina) floret with both male and female parts fully developed.  Note the three pistils clustered in the center, with five stamens circled around.  In most circumstances, a Staghorn Sumac would bear flowers that were EITHER staminate OR pistillate, with all flowers on the same shrub being one sex or the other.  Most folks wouldn't give any sumac a second glance, let alone such a close examination of its "naughty bits."

Here's another "find" that Ruth had to show us, although this furry growth on the back rib of a leaf of Wild Black Cherry (Prunus seratina) is the opposite of anomalous, but is instead diagnostic for this particular species of cherry.  But who but someone like Ruth or other members of our naturalists group would stop to take note of it?  I often think of how much I would miss, if not for my botanist friends.

After nearly an hour out in the sun as it climbed higher and hotter, the dark cool shade of a wooded gorge felt like heaven to us, our pleasure there enhanced by the sight and sound of a beautiful waterfall tumbling from a substantial height.

The trail through the gorge was lined with sheer cliffs that were ornamented by gracefully curving fronds of Maidenhair Spleenwort (Asplenium trichomanes).   We also found Bulblet Fern (Cystoperis bulbifera) and Walking Fern (Asplenium rhizophyllum) sprouting from the same rocks, their occurrence indicating that lime was definitely present in these cliffs.

The damp forest floor was studded with many different kinds of fungi, and I was particularly taken by the charm of this colorful Russula bud set among the sprightly green bristles of Haircap moss.

I was also charmed by the vivid color and pretty flowers of this Yellow Stargrass (Hypoxis hirsuta), its narrow grass-like basal leaves protruding from a surrounding clump of Haircap moss.

I will have to come back to Oakwood Cemetery another time, to search for Yellow Pimpernel and Bowman's Root,  two flowers that are known to grow here but which we didn't find this time.  I doubt I will ever find them (or the Yellow Stargrass, either) in my home territory of Saratoga County, although if our summers continue to be as hot as this one has been, these plants may start moving north in the future. For now, though, I will have to go south to Troy to find them.  And if not for my friends in the Thursday Naturalists, I would never know where to look for them anywhere.

It's Orchid Season on the Bog!

Mid-July means it's time for orchids to bloom in one of our favorite bogs, so my friend Sue and I dodged the thunderstorms today to go looking for them.  And we sure weren't disappointed!  We had barely stepped through the hedge and onto the sphagnum mat when dozens of bright pink Grass Pinks (Calopogon tuberosus) caught our eye.

We just couldn't stop taking photos of them, so brilliantly colored they were and so profuse in their blooms.  Many, if not most, of New York's 60 or so native species of orchids are really quite modest in their display, but that certainly can't be said of the gorgeous Calopogon.

We next started searching for another almost equally showy orchid known to bloom in this same bog, the White Fringed Orchid (Platanthera blephariglottis), and we didn't have to go far before we spied tall stalks of ripening buds.

A brief search revealed just a single plant in fully open, snowy-white bloom.  Breathtaking!

A closer look reveals the fringed lower lip for which this orchid got its common name. Its specific name in Latin means "tongue with eyelashes," and I would say that's a pretty apt description, too.

With so many of the White Fringed Orchids still in bud, we agreed that a return trip in a week or so would certainly be rewarding.  In more ways than one, since I expect that lots more Highbush Blueberries will be ripe by then, as well.  There were lots of ripening Huckleberries, too.

I doubt that these Large Cranberries, though, will be ripe in only a week. Such a pretty apple-green color!

I'm sure most folks would be impressed by the orchids, but I wonder how many would even notice the tiny little Centaury (Centaurium erythraea) hiding in the grass by the side of the road.  Despite its brilliant color and its habit of growing in masses, this wee little alien weed mostly goes unseen because of its diminutive size.  Since I know where it grows, I seek it out to admire its dainty beauty and vivid color.

Long-time readers of this blog will already know how much I love the common roadside weeds, and when it comes to Common Milkweed, it's obvious I'm not alone in my appreciation of this sturdy native plant.  There were dozens of these brightly colored Red Milkweed Beetles (Tetraopes tetraophthalmus) scurrying around the milkweed plants today.  Even if you don't know Latin, you might guess that its specific name has something to do with eyes (as in ophthalmologist), and it's true that this beetle has very interesting eyes, with its antennae poking out from the middle of them.  Yikes!

Growing alongside the milkweed was another very common roadside flower, Queen Anne's Lace (Daucus carota).  Whenever I pass a patch of this really quite beautiful flower, I stop to observe what insect life might be occurring among its white florets.  Today there were dozens of very tiny black flies feeding on the blooms, and then suddenly there came zooming in this striped hoverfly, appearing gigantic in comparison to the tiny flies, although the hoverfly was itself less than half an inch long.
A quite dramatic contrast!

At Peace Among Friends

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 Elizabeth McAlister and Frida Berrigan, a mother-daughter team promoting peace and justice

For a bunch of folks immersed in protesting one outrage after another -- nuclear weapons, warfare, torture,  unjust imprisonment, domestic violence, animal abuse, etc. --  we sure were a cheerful crew, those of us attending a peacemakers' retreat at Pyramid Life Center on Pyramid Lake this past weekend.  First of all, it was such a great pleasure to be among friends who shared a commitment to resisting war, not always a welcome attitude in the workaday worlds we usually inhabit.  But it also helped that we had such a delightful team of presenters as Elizabeth McAlister and Frida Berrigan  (the wife and daughter, respectively, of the late renowned anti-war activist Philip Berrigan), each of whom continues to dedicate her life to promoting peace and justice.

Elizabeth, along with her husband Philip, was one of the founders of Jonah House, established in Baltimore in 1973 and still going strong, a Christian-based community of peace activists living together for the purpose of resisting war through active protest.  Frida, now married and living with her husband and children in Connecticut, continues to carry out the values she was reared with through her work with Witness Against Torture and other justice-promoting causes.  In the course of their presentations, Elizabeth helped us to ground our struggles for peace in the teachings of Jesus as presented in the Gospels, while Frida recounted her experiences growing up in such a radically committed home, where one or another of her parents was often absent because of imprisonment due to their activism.  Now, lest you think that these presentations sound kind of grim, you should know that we spent almost as much time in laughter as in thoughtful contemplation. (To get a sense of the kind of stories Frida has to tell about growing up insurrectionist, click here.  Or just google her name to find many of her thoughtful and often entertaining essays on loving activism.)

In between the discussion sessions, we had plenty of time to experience the wonders of Pyramid Lake, a pristine body of water surrounded by mountain wilderness.  Yes, we had some rain, but the dramatic storm clouds and the mist rising from the forest after the showers had passed only added to the beauty of the scene.

As the sky cleared toward evening, the clouds took on a rosy glow, intensified by their reflections in the still water.

A new addition to the center's facilities this year is this delightful tree house, set over a rushing creek that added its music to our conversations as we sat here to take our meals.

Abundant stands of pretty Hedge Nettle could be seen at several places along the creek.

I enjoyed paddling close to the foot of dramatic cliffs, from which huge boulders had tumbled down to the shore.  From deep in that green forest, a Winter Wren sent his exquisite fluting, warbling, trilling song out across the water.

Nestled in among these boulders was a single stalk of Fireweed (Epilobium angustifolium), its bright purple flower spike set off to fine advantage by the gray of the sheltering rock.

Adding even more color to this tableau were patches of the vivid orange lichen called Elegant Sunburst (Xanthoria elegans), a most appropriate name.

Huge Fishing Spiders inhabit these boulders, sometimes dropping straight down into the water to pursue the tiny fish that are its prey.  There must have been a recent hatch of baby spiders, for a number of miniature versions of this big one were skittering across the face of the rock.  There is one of the little ones in this photo, at lower right.  (By the way, this photo presents the big spider just about life size.)

Skittering across the surface of the water were hundreds of Water Striders, which must have recently molted.   I came across rafts of their cast-off skins and was able to pick some up to get a closer look.  I would never be able to capture a living one, they move across the water so lightning fast.

At either end of the lake is a swampy area where the water narrows into a stream that passes among hummocks covered with Rose Pogonias (Pogonia ophioglossoides), one of New York's most common but also most beautiful orchids.

Also here in these swampy areas, deep-pink clusters of Sheep Laurel stood out against the green.

If I paddle very quietly, I can almost always surprise a Great Blue Heron before it lifts its great wings and flaps away.

Well, all is not sweetness and light in the swamp.  With almost every fallen log studded with patches of Round-leaved Sundew (Drosera rotundifolia),  it's inevitable that the delicate wings of damselflies will occasionally get stuck in the sticky fluid-tipped tendrils and not be able to escape.

I've come to expect to see damselflies stuck in the sundew, but never in all my wildflower observations have I ever seen a bee get stuck in a Spreading Dogbane (Apocynum androsaemiflorium) bloom.  Poor bee!  It was much too late to set it free.