A New Trail to the New Lake

We've had a nice string of cold but clear days this past week, tempting me to abandon my lap cats and get outdoors.  My bum knee still somewhat limits my options to relatively level trails, so on Friday I started over McGregor Mountain, intending to walk along Spier Falls Road to enjoy some Hudson River views. But I never got there.  Mid-way over the mountain I spied a large area recently cleared of trees, and I was compelled to pull over to investigate.  Could this be the new parking area for the future Lake Bonita trails?

There was no way that cars could park here yet, with the area still littered with tree limbs and not yet graded, but while walking the perimeter I discovered a series of pink flagging tapes that indicated a possible route for a future trail down to the lake.  Did I follow it?  Of course I did -- bum leg be darned, even though the as-yet-ungroomed trail required some cautious scrambling in places.

Zig-zagging down steep embankments, the trail did lead directly to the shore of this pretty lake, which was recently acquired by Moreau Lake State Park, along with many acres of surrounding forest and mountainous regions. Following the pink flags, I proceeded along the southern shore of the lake, occasionally gaining views of the ice-covered waters and bright-blue sky.  Although the lake still appeared to be solidly frozen over,  no one should dare to venture out on that unsafe ice, weakened by unseasonable thaws and torrential rains of the last few weeks.

It was a delight to explore this untrammeled forest and lakeshore, the trail crossing a number of charming small brooks and also passing beneath monumental bouldered walls that were carpeted by a wondrous variety of mosses and liverworts and watered by little springs.

I followed the flags to the far eastern end of the lake, stopping when I reached this energetically rushing stream that flowed through a steep ravine.  I saw more pink flags leading beyond the stream, most likely to continue completely around the lake and eventually to connect with other trails in the Palmertown Mountains.  What a gorgeous new acquisition to this already wonderful state park!  I can't wait to return in warmer weather to document the plants of both forest and lakeshore that certainly must thrive here.

For the moment, I content myself with delighting in what beauty can be found in this still-wintry world, like the frozen ripples at the edge of a stream . . .

. . . or the hoarfrost that formed around an opening that led deep into the earth.  Could this be the den of some creature whose warm breath has crystallized around the entrance of its home?

I stopped to take in one last wide view of this lovely lake before making my way back the way I had come.

A Walk on the Beach

 Last week, when my husband and I went to Florida, we never got to the beach.  But this past Sunday, when the weather in upstate New York turned nearly Florida warm, I went to my favorite local beach, at Moreau Lake State Park.  What a pleasure it was, strolling along the soft sun-warmed sand, enjoying the sound of tiny ripples washing ashore where the ice had retreated,  and scanning the water's edge for the sight of basking newts or the runic trails of underwater snails.  Added to those pleasures were the friendly greetings from many dogs, out to enjoy this spring-like day with more people than I'd seen at the park in many months. Yes, it sure felt as if spring were truly on its way.

It was obvious from deep gullies gouged in the sand that we'd had torrential rains during the days  we were gone, which also explains why this little creek was rushing and tumbling all the way to the lake.  Its bed had been dry most of the winter, and even in spring and summer this creek often runs dry, whatever waters it carries seeping into the sand long before it reaches the lakeshore.

Of course, no flowers are blooming as yet, but I always enjoy testing my knowledge of flowers' remains.  I pondered and pondered this little clump, unable to put a name to it until I sniffed its papery husks and caught the distinctive maple-syrup scent of Sweet Everlasting.

I knew right away what these small prickly pods were, because I visit them often in every season, to monitor their population. This is Whorled Mountain Mint, one of our state's rarest plants, but one that thrives quite happily along this shore.  As desiccated as the pods appear, they are still strongly fragrant of mint, and I plucked one to breathe in its summery scent as I continued my walk. (Note: the seeds had already dispersed, so I was not endangering the plant by taking a single seedhead.  But please do not ever pick any wildflowers while they are still blooming or setting seed.)

This past summer and fall, the water level of Moreau Lake had fallen lower than anyone could remember, revealing wide swaths of sandy beach where in other years, the water would have reached the treeline.  It's been interesting to see what plants have taken hold in these stretches of dry sand that once were underwater.  On one shore, I found dozens and dozens of plants of Blue Curls emerge where none had been seen before.  The tiny royal-blue flowers of this plant are delightful, and so are the dainty little papery cups that held the flowers' seeds, now long since dispersed.

Moving back into the woods, I could still find patches of snow persisting among the boulders, but the startling pink of Striped Maple twigs assured me the season of spring was inexorably on its way.

I  can't take the lovely reticulated leaves of Downy Rattlesnake Plantain for a sign of impending spring, however, since this orchid's leaves are this gorgeously green and white all winter long. But I loved seeing them again, as they reminded me of the native orchids we have in abundance in New York State.  I learned just recently that the state of Florida has only three species of native orchids, while we in New York have nearly 60 native species.  Who would have guessed that?  Of course, Florida has many introduced species other than its natives.  I can think of only one we have in New York.

These furry leaves of Foamflower, too, have been hiding out under snow and ice all winter, so they can't really be thought of as harbingers of spring.  But that lovely dusty pink certainly adds a welcome dash of color to the still-brown forest floor.  As do the gorgeous greens of clumps of moss.

Ah, but THIS is a sign that spring is definitely on its way!  Skunk Cabbage does send up tight green spathes in the fall that persist throughout the winter, but now those spathes are beginning to relax and swell and take on the speckled reds and yellows that indicate new growth.  We may yet have zero nights and heaps of snow in the weeks to come, but this, our genuine first flower of spring, will not be dissuaded.  It can even produce enough heat on its own to melt the snow around it.

Folks, I had a feeling we were not in New York anymore.

 No, indeed, we were in Winter Park, Florida!  But to tell the truth, if we hadn't gone to a lush and incredibly beautiful botanical garden there, it would have been hard to locate exactly where we were on the planet.  Of course, the vegetation told me we were definitely in the tropics:

There were Live Oaks draped with Spanish Moss.

I saw palm trees with orchids of many colors sprouting from the tree trunks.

Glossy-leaved shrubs were loaded with heavy blooms of lovely camellias.

The irises came in colors I had never laid eyes on before.

Yes, the botanical beauties certainly told me we must be somewhere "Down South."  And the homes and hotels in Winter Park quite often displayed a distinctive Spanish-style architecture, built mostly of masonry and ornamented with elaborate wrought iron.  But I was struck by how much is just the same as anywhere else in America, with the same Dunkin' Donuts and Starbucks and IHOPs and other American chains lining the boulevards.  I couldn't find any place where I could get a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice, and here we were in the heart of Orange County, where most of America's Minute Maid or Florida Natural OJ comes from.

But that's OK.  We were here to visit dear family members, all of us more and more aware that the opportunities to be together are growing rarer and more difficult as age and disability encroach. And we did have a wonderful time, just being together, enjoying my brother-in-law's terrific cooking, and watching a smile spread across my sweet sister-in-law's face as she recognized someone who loves her.  We also got to meet the newest member of the Donnelly clan, a cheerful chubby little guy who delighted in shouting for joy.  And of course, the soft balmy Florida air certainly added to our pleasure.

I hadn't been to Florida in many years, and each time I visit I recall how my family came  every winter when I was just a small girl, back in the 1940s and early 50s, driving down to St. Petersburg Beach from southern Michigan, where my father was a Chris-Craft dealer.  Occasionally, he'd be hauling a motor yacht (Chris-Craft used to build their big boats in Algonac, Michigan) to deliver to a customer in Florida.  We would then stay in Florida for some weeks, since my father's marina didn't have much business during a Michigan winter.

We'd head south out of Michigan through Indiana, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Georgia before reaching Florida,  a three-day trip traveling two-lane blacktops that took us through every town and hamlet along the way.  This was long before interstate highways or chain restaurants or motels, and we spent the nights in tourist homes or roadside cabins that I, a small child, found delightfully cute but which often horrified my mom with their inadequate housekeeping.

In pre-McDonald's America, local food was definitely distinctive to each region. There was country ham in Kentucky, hard and salty, with red-eye gravy for sopping your breakfast biscuits.  We definitely knew we'd arrived "down south" when grits appeared with our breakfast eggs even though we'd not ordered them.  My dad couldn't wait to hit Tennessee, when we'd all have to keep alert for signs advertising "Genuine Pit Bar-B-Q!"  Georgia meant roadside pecan stands, where we could find coconut candy and peach preserves as well as pecan pralines, and Florida brought citrus groves where we would get fresh-squeezed OJ as well as sticky hands and faces from gorging on sweet Temple oranges.

My dad would launch the yacht at a marina on Tampa Bay, and I recall docks encrusted with barnacles and sentried by pelicans perching on every pier post.  There were mud flats aswarm with fiddler crabs that disappeared down their holes in a flash at the slightest footfall, and dockside cats that actually went in the water after fish, so their fur was stiff with salt.  We could get fish fry or shrimp and hush puppies at lots of dockside shacks, and my grown-up palate still longs for those sweet crispy shrimp that I have never been able to find again.  I also recall that Tampa was then the center of Cuban life in America, and we feasted there on Garbanzo-bean soup, Cuban sandwiches, and coconut ice cream.

Yes, it definitely seemed back then that Florida was far away from home.  I'm glad we can get there much more quickly now, but the fast-food stands in the airport sure can't match the culinary adventures of driving there in the 1940s on local roads through every town and eating at local diners with local folks.

See Saw, Freeze and Thaw

A week ago it was 20 below.  Yesterday, the temperature edged toward 60.  Today it was in the 40s. What a see-saw winter this has been!  Ah well, at least the brittle-crusted snow is mostly gone, although many trails are still covered with hard-packed ice.  Or water.  Or mud.  This is what the trails along the Kayaderosseras Creek looked like yesterday:  a combination of all three.

Although the day was gray and threatening rain, the air was actually soft and balmy, inviting me to venture out.  Allowing myself to dream of spring, I headed over to the Burl Trail along the Kayaderosseras Creek near Ballston Spa, hoping to hear a gentle rippling stream.   Well, I didn't.  It wasn't a raging flood, either, as one might expect with snowmelt, but just an icy, muddy mess.  Hardly picturesque!

I was amazed to find these big floes of thick ice lying in broken plates across the low-lying areas along the creek.  I found it hard to believe that we've had enough precipitation of ANY kind this winter to cause the creek to flood so high.  But there was the evidence that it had!  Strange!

I come to this creek bank often in summer, especially late in the season when the banks are adorned with an amazing array of gorgeous wildflowers.  This was the image I held in my mind as I made my way along the icy, muddy banks, dreaming of summer while slipping and squishing and splashing in micro-spiked waterproof boots, and wondering if I might recognize the remains of some of these gorgeous wildflowers.

The first ones I recognized were these puffy taupe balls, the remains of Wild Bergamot that in summer bear abundant blooms of pale purple.  To confirm the ID, I plucked one of the dry flower heads and breathed in the still-pungent minty fragrance.

Always easy to recognize by the candelabra shape of its flower head, Blue Vervain was still easily spotted protruding above the jumble of grasses.

I'm going to assume that these scraggly puffs were once the vividly colored blooms of New England Aster, one of the most abundant of the wildflowers that bloom here in late summer and early autumn.

I know for sure that these tall stalks with multiple blooms on curving stems are the remains of Maximilian Sunflowers, the only multi-flowered sunflower we have that displays this distinctive shape.

A few pods of Wild Cucumber still clung to the vines.  When green, those spikes that cover the pods are soft and malleable, but they felt much more prickly now.

The spent flowerheads of Tall Goldenrod, growing in masses along the stream, almost looked as if they were still in bloom when backlit by the sun.

Thickets of Red Osier Dogwood crowd the edge of the creek, their deep-red branches even more evident now, when bare, than when they are covered with leaves and flowers in spring.  The shrubs provide a welcome splash of color to an otherwise rather drab landscape.

Ah, but they sure can't compare to what these banks will look like come next summer!

I'm holding this image of vividly colored flowers in my mind as I climb on the airplane tomorrow that will fly me to Winter Park, Florida.  We're off to visit family there for most of the rest of this week.  I expect I will find some flowers in bloom down there, so watch for my next post from sunny Florida.  I won't have my computer down there, though, so it might be most of a week before I can blog again.  I wonder what kind of crazy weather we'll have up here while I'm gone.  Lord only knows!

Finally! One Nice Day!

It wasn't 20 below.  Nor was rain coming down in buckets.  No raging wind was tearing the limbs from trees.  In fact, yesterday was a pretty nice day: temps in the 20s, bright sun, blue sky, and just a bit of a breeze. Yes, there was lots of ice everywhere, making for slippery, noisy walking on brittle snow, but, donning my microspikes, I ventured outdoors after what seemed an awfully long time hiding out at home.  And the Hudson River along Spier Falls Road seemed a promising destination. It certainly was a beautiful one.

As I approached Spier Falls Dam, coming down Spier Falls Road from Corinth Mountain Road, I was surprised to see the catchment above the dam completely covered with ice.  Usually, the current here will keep at least the center of the river open.

Driving along, watching the river for perching Bald Eagles (we often see them here), I noticed this array of converging animal tracks, all leading to one point on the river bank.  Hmm, I mused, I'll bet there's something attracting coyotes down there.

Pulling over to the side of the road, I got out of my car and looked over the bank.  Sure enough, there it was -- a deer carcass, nearly consumed.  Most likely, naturalists from Moreau Lake State Park had deposited a road-killed deer there, as a feeding station for Bald Eagles, whose winter population the park monitors each winter.  And of course, other carnivores join the feast as well.  It would be interesting to hide here at night and see how many animals still arrive.

When I reached the Sherman Island Boat Launching Site, I parked my car and walked down to the river.  Here below the dam, the center of the river was wide open, with only a shelf of ice lining the Saratoga County shore.

Again, I could see the traces of animal tracks on the ice, and just for a moment or two I thought about walking out there myself.  But knowing how deceiving river ice can be, I thought better of it and headed into the woods instead.  I weigh a whole lot more than a fox or coyote.

I didn't walk through the woods for long, for the constant crashing through icy crust was tiring, as well as painful to my still-recovering knee.   But it was very pretty back here, the snow still deep beneath the trees and around the huge moss-carpeted boulders.

By this time of the winter, we often can find the seeds of Paper Birch scattered across the snow, their fleur-de-lis shapes appearing like the tracks of a a flock of miniature turkeys.

Some of the birches appeared to have streams of bright-red blood running down the bark,

but a closer look revealed that that "blood" was instead a fungus called Wrinkled Crust ( Phlebia radiata).

I walked along the course of a little stream, much of it frozen over completely, but here and there, where the water swirled with extra vigor, I could see and hear its rushing water and enjoy the lovely crystalline ice hanging over the turbulence.

Here was LOTS more crystalline ice, falling in tier upon tier of icicles coating the spring-watered boulders along Spier Falls Road.  I was on my way home, but I decided to park and walk along the road for a closer view.

At one spot a tiny flowing rill had cut through the ice to drip and tinkle and splash with the musical sounds of Spring into a roadside pool. Enhancing that springlike effect were the cushions of bright-green mid-stream moss and the snowless banks covered with the wintering-over green leaves of Trailing Arbutus.

Yes, spring will come.  And it might as well do so soon, since this winter has been such a bust.  No sledding, no skiing, no snowshoeing, no animal tracking, no reliable lake ice,  no fun at all.  No matter how I try to make the best of it.

A Good Time (and Temperature!) for Cherry Pie

Twenty-two below!!!  Valentine's Day was a good day to snuggle up with someone you love.  Maybe turn up the furnace a little, too?

 Or turn up the oven to 425 and bake a cherry pie.  Cherry pie is good any day, but it made a good valentine for my hubby.  (And me!)

Cherry pie is also a good thing to eat on Presidents' Day.  Happy Birthday George Washington and Abraham Lincoln.  And happy eating to us.