A Woods Hollow Wander

 Chilly, windy, dark and damp:  no, it wasn't the nicest of days to visit Woods Hollow Nature Preserve near Ballston Spa this Thursday.  But I sure had the best of companions, four of my friends from my nature-exploration group called The Thursday Naturalists.  One of the things that's really great about these friends is that they are able to find all kinds of fascinating stuff in a place and on a day that would seem completely devoid of interest to most other folks.  Look at all that drab dull landscape of mostly dead plants.  That's what most people would see.  But my friends waded right in to take a closer look,  and oh, the things we found!

We hadn't gone 20 yards before Ed Miller pounced on this patch of Selaginella apoda, commonly known as Meadow Spike-moss, hiding among the dead grasses.  Yes, it looks like a moss, but it's really more closely related to ferns, a category of plants that Ed is very knowledgable about.  I certainly would not have been able to distinguish this plant from the other green mossy-looking stuff at my feet, but I will be on the look-out for it now, especially in wet meadows like the one we were there exploring and which are this fern ally's favored habitat.

We next entered a part of the preserve that is mostly dry and sandy, a habitat that could be called oak-pine savanna, with nearly sterile soils that support only a few pine-barrens plants like Wild Lupine and Sweet Fern, and a few mosses and lichens that thrive in dry conditions.  At first glance, it appeared there was not much to see here this time of year, but nearly an hour later we were still kicking aside dry leaves and exclaiming joyfully over some new treasure we had just found.

As widely and deeply knowledgable as my naturalist friends are, not a one of us could identify this feathery growth we found growing on the back of a dry oak leaf.  Whatever it is, we found it truly amazing!  I can't recall seeing anything like this in any of my fungus guides, so I will be sending this photo to some mycology experts I know and hope they can clue us in.  Stay tuned for an update.

I suppose it's possible that those frail feathery sprouts are the beginning of this much stouter feathery fungus we found on another downed oak leaf.  But none of us knew for sure.  A mystery to be solved!

At least I was pleased to be able to name THIS fungus, called Green-headed Jelly Baby (Leotia viscosa), one I had found on other occasions in habitat similar to this.  Once we found the first clump of these hiding under the leaves, we kept finding more and more.

We also found an abundance of these charming Earthstar fungi (Astraeus hygrometricus) scattered across a sandy expanse. This fungus resembles a spherical puffball when young, but in maturity the outer layer of the fruit body splits open to form this star-like pattern.

A third fungus we found thriving in this dry sandy area was this deep-reddish-brown gilled mushroom with a distinctive club-like stalk.  I'm still looking through my guides to see if I can find a name for it.

Update:  Kathie Hodge, a mycologist at Cornell University, has kindly responded to my query about these fungi and has identified this brown mushroom as Laccaria trullissata,  a denizen of sandy areas that is mycorrhizal on pine.  Her jury is still out on the white feathery and the lumpy white stuff growing on oak leaves, but she has a lot of mushroom expert friends, so we may yet learn what they are.


I'm not sure of the name for this lichen, either, although many call it British Soldiers because of its bright-red fruiting bodies.  I do know it's a fruticose lichen of the Cladonia genus, but there are many species that look alike to the naked eye.  Whatever its name, it certainly is pretty!

These are more of the fruticose lichens we found thriving in this sandy area where at first glance it looked like nothing could grow.  So cute and so colorful!

Here's another Cladonia lichen, common name of Reindeer Lichen, that made small islands of lovely pale green in the sea of brown oak leaves.  We didn't need to brush leaves aside to find this pretty thing.

One of the most common plants that persists in such sandy spots is the shrubby plant called Sweet Fern (Comptonia peregrina), and the air around us was perfumed with its fragrance as we brushed against or trod upon its leaves.  Many of the plants had already shed their curling, fern-like aromatic leaves, but all contained the neat little clusters of catkins that will persist through the winter, opening in spring to shed their pollen as new female flowers develop.  Like the Wild Lupine that shares its habitat, Sweet Fern can capture nitrogen from the atmosphere and thus provide its own nutrients and thrive in sterile soils where other plants would fail.

Even though we suspected we had not exhausted the possibilities of finding more treasures in this sandy plain, we decided to move on to other areas of Woods Hollow Preserve, which include deep piney woods, a pond with a boggy shore,  and forested wetlands.  As we walked along, we challenged each other to name the leafless trees and spent flowers in their wintry garb, and we delighted in the many evergreen plants that still carpeted the forest floor and towered over our heads.   After a while, we picked up our "botanists' pace" to try and return to our cars before the rain that was starting to come down harder could drench us thoroughly.  But I had to stop for just one moment more to photograph these splendid Witch Hazel boughs, still bursting with yellow bloom and adding their bright note to this otherwise dark gray day.

Going After the Foreign Invader

Veterans' Day seemed like a good day to go attack a foreign invader.  By this I mean the Japanese Hops I found along Bog Meadow Trail a couple of days ago.  In the meantime I received permission to dig it up from Saratoga PLAN, the land conservation organization that manages this trail and many others in Saratoga County.  Left to its own devices, this aggressive invasive species could overrun this wooded wetland that is home to many rare and interesting native plants.  It was easy for me to find the Japanese Hops today, because I remembered it was very near the small rustic bench set by the water, as shown in this photo below.

I was a little concerned that overnight rains might have beaten the tell-tale seed husks from the vine, but no, they were still there, and quite evident because of their ruddy color against the dull gray of the other vines and shrubs.

Carefully snipping the seedpods and collecting them in a trash bag to prevent spreading the seeds, I then began to dig around the base of the vine.  And dig and dig, using only the little trowel I'd brought with me and then my bare hands.  Oh boy, was this root thick!  I could not remove it all, for it ran for a considerable distance underground, but I tugged until I removed a good bit of it.

This is as much as I could remove with the tool I had and using only my hands and strength.  Obviously, I did not get it all, so we will have to be vigilant to watch for new growth when spring comes.

Considering how stout and well-established that root was, it seemed unlikely there would be only one specimen of Japanese Hops in all of this swamp.  I continued along the trail for another half mile or so, looking for the distinctive ruddy color and rough texture of the vines.  About a hundred yards from the original site, I did find two more vines emerging from the soil and twining around neighboring shrubs.  There were no seedpods on these vines, but their color announced their presence immediately.  Again, I removed these plants with some difficulty, sorry that I could not extricate the entire root system, but it was very sturdy and deeply buried.

These are the vines I removed from the second and third plants I found.  The first vine was already confined to the trash bag, including the seeds.  Let's hope we have at least discouraged its growth here where it doesn't belong.

My task completed, I was better able to enjoy my surroundings, delighting as the late-day sun broke through thick clouds and spread a golden light across the landscape.  Sounding their haunting calls, several skeins of Canada Geese came flying in at intervals, landing on the open water of the marsh to take their rest for the night.

Walking back to my car, I noticed many beautiful accents of color among the dull gray shrubbery.  See how rosy the pedicels of this Panicled Dogwood remain, even after the shrub has dropped its porcelain-white berries and burgundy leaves.

The seed pods of Canada Lily reveal nothing of the flower's glowing color, but I love the tiny stitches holding the parts of the pod together.  When in bloom, this lily dangles its flowers like bells, but as it goes to seed it turns the pods erect.

This rain-darkened tree trunk glowed emerald green from its coating of mosses and lichens.

And here was a rotting stump transformed into a thing of beauty by tufts of fluffy green moss and a sprinkling of the tiny vivid-yellow fungus called Lemon Drops.

More fungi, more subtle in color but no less lovely, these multi-striped layers of Turkey Tail decorated a truncated tree trunk.

Dreary Day Ruminations

Our streak of bright summery weather came to an end yesterday, along with my hopes that my knee might soon be relieved of pain, now that all the surgical procedures are over and done with,  and all the wires and screws are out of my bones and the biting staples are out of my skin.  But now I've been warned that the throbbing will probably keep on throbbing, thanks to the "trauma induced arthritis" that is likely to be permanent.  Or so my doctors tell me.  Well, that put me in rather a glum mood today, a mood that the atmosphere along Bog Meadow Nature Trail seemed to reflect, with a damp chill wind blowing dead brown leaves through a dark, gray landscape devoid of any radiance.

Glum as I felt, and hobbling in pain as well,  I nevertheless knew that a walk in nature might help to lift my spirits.  And in some ways, the somber landscape felt just right, as if it were commiserating with me.

A few drops of rain even fell, as I sat on a bench looking over the dark still water.

But it wasn't long before I noticed a few bright spots.  In fact, right next to the bench where I sat was this bush with some of the most brilliantly colored leaves I have ever seen.  Ah yes, I'd forgotten, a nice patch of Swamp Rose grows right here! Its fat red hips confirmed the identification, and then I remembered the wonderful fragrance it sheds on the air in summer.

As I glanced around, I found other signs of life and color, like these evergreen ferns and mosses growing at the base of a tree, holding the promise of spring even before the winter has come.

I got up then and resumed my walk, and at so many places along the trail, I remembered the joy of finding here many numbers of beautiful plants, an abundance that makes this trail one of my favorite haunts for wildflower walks.  Here's where I come to find Canada Lilies and Nodding Trillium,  Star-flowered Solomon's Seal and Downy Rattlesnake Plantain, Spring Beauty and Early Azalea and Blue-bead Lily and so much more!  Memories flooded back of so many friends who have shared the thrill of wildflower hunts with me here,  along with hopes of returning here again in spring with these same friends and many more -- even if I do have to hump along with a cane for support.  Yes, my mood was certainly lifting!  And the brilliance of these Winterberry fruits added their influence.

How I wish I'd had some of my plant-expert friends with me today when I encountered this interesting vine with its puffy clusters of spent seed heads.  I couldn't recall seeing this  vine here before, and I had no idea what it could be.  Except that those clusters reminded me of the seed heads found on Hop Hornbeam trees.  Obviously, this is not a Hop Hornbeam tree, but could it be a Hop vine?

A closer inspection revealed the prickly stem that is diagnostic for Hop vines, but I could not find a single leaf still clinging to the vine, which might have helped with the diagnosis.   When I handled the fruits, the papery husks fell away, revealing these little furry nubbins speckled with golden dust.  I have never handled a Hop fruit before, so I don't know what they would look like at this stage.  But I'm hoping perhaps someone who is familiar with Hops might tell me if my hunch is correct.

A mystery plant!  I couldn't have hoped for a better mood-lifter than this!

UPDATE:  A friend has suggested Japanese Hops, a very invasive species in more southern parts of the U.S..  If this IS Japanese Hops (I'm still trying to confirm), I will return and pull out the vine.  The seeds have already dispersed, so I will be looking for more over the years.  So far, I saw only this one specimen.

This is NOVEMBER?

Another gift from the weather gods, this sweet summery day to enjoy a walk on the shore of Moreau Lake.  Ditching my jacket in the car, I made my shirt-sleeved way through the woods toward a cove that glowed like a magic-lantern scene.

At every turn of the shore, another pleasing vista lay before me.  Who could resist the spirit-lifting charms of sun-warmed trees, clear blue sky, and forested mountain reflected in still water?

The leaves on the path were like colorful jewels strewn at my feet.

Puffy clusters of Heath Aster were just as pretty in seed as they'd been in flower.

A late-season surprise from a Dandelion blooming in the sand.

I wasn't the only person rejoicing in this gorgeous day and wondrous place.  This group of young people were expressing their delight at being here together with music and drumming and dance.

As the sun declined behind the mountains,  its lowering rays ignited the colorful trees along the ridge.

What a perfect spot to take a seat and contemplate this beautiful landscape!

Great Day for a Nice Long Ramble

Oh my gosh, November already!  Well, you sure wouldn't know it by the weather!  What a string of warm lovely days we've had, and Monday continued in the same pattern.  I went up to Mud Pond to enjoy that bright blue sky over my head and surround myself with what's left of autumn's gorgeous colors.  Despite a bit of rain now and then these past weeks, the water in the pond continues to be lower than I've ever witnessed it, creating a broad stretch of dry beach that allows for walking completely around the pond right next to the water, so that's what I did on this day.

It looks like the beavers have tried to build a new lodge further out from shore, but even out there, I doubt that the water is deep enough for them to create an underwater entry.   Hmm.  Does anyone know what beavers do in situations like this?

The muddy shoreline was carpeted with many different kinds of mud-loving plants, including this pretty green liverwort called Ricciocarpus natans.  I was delighted to find this little black-spotted yellow beetle scurrying around the liverwort's many "leaves."  I think it's a Spotted Cucumber Beetle, and I wonder if it dines on liverworts as well as cucumber leaves.

I was surprised to see so many dragonflies darting about, especially to see them engaged in mating this late in the year.  On almost every fallen log I found basking Autumn Meadowhawks.  Most flew off before I could take their picture, but this couple were too busily occupied to notice my intrusion.

It was just so glorious to stroll along under that sapphire sky, surrounded by blazing oaks that seemed to broadcast warmth from their very color.  As I stood gazing at all this splendor, I was struck by streaks of light in the air all around me, the sunlight glinting off myriad threads of spider silk soaring through the air.  Undoubtably, each thread most likely carried along a tiny baby spider, lofting on the barest of breezes as the young dispersed from the nest.

There was no way my camera could capture an image of all those glinting silken threads,  but here and there I found pondside plants that had captured some of these threads among their stalks.  If you click on this image, you might be better able to see these delicate strands.

When I reached the narrowest part of Mud Pond, I discovered I could step right across the pond by crossing this narrow channel.

For my return, I moved into the woods, delighted by the golden light of sunshine passing through the yellow leaves of Sugar Maples, Bigtooth Aspens, and American Beeches.

Here and there in the midst of all this golden light, a bough of Red Maple would thrust its scarlet leaves.

The forest floor was like a Persian carpet worked in all the colors of the leaves.

In all this preponderance of red and gold, how lovely to see these bright-green accents of ruffled Tiarella leaves.  (I'm not sure what the whorled leaves are.  Perhaps one of the Bedstraws?)

Some club mosses, too, provided pretty touches of green.  This one is called Tree Club Moss, and it does look like a miniature conifer, doesn't it?

Here's another Club Moss, this one I know as Digitatum or Fan Club Moss.  It has several other common names as well, among them Princess Pine.

I'm still researching the name of this handsome orange fungus, a stalkless gilled bracket fungus growing out of a rotting log. It was soft and flexible, with  a rather furry texture on top.

Update:  I'm pretty sure this is Orange Mock Oyster (Phyllotopsis nidulans), which is widely distributed in North America and grows on both hardwoods and conifers in the fall.  Some sources mention a foul odor, while others say they detected no bad smell at all.  I did not.  It is not related to the common white Oyster Mushroom (Pleurotus sp.), a choice edible.  No one has tried eating the Orange Mock Oyster, apparently because it stinks.


I don't think I have ever seen Doll's Eyes (White Baneberry) without its "eyes," but there was no mistaking its chubby hot-pink pedicels.

When I emerged from the Mud Pond woods, the afternoon was still early, so I continued along Spier Falls Road to where it comes close to the Hudson River.  Here, I pulled off into a boat launching site to marvel at the beauty of the river on this spectacular day.  Right below the parking area, a little island seemed to float like a raft in the shadow of the mountain rising beyond the far bank.

At every point along the driveway, another beautiful vista met my eyes.

This was the view looking downstream.  I was happy to see the river was once again filled to its banks, after having been nearly drained for several months while work proceeded on a dam downstream.

The quiet river offered an almost perfect reflection of the still-gorgeous hills.

Oh darn that end of daylight-savings time!  The afternoon was still young, but already the lengthening shadows reminded me that I had groceries to buy before I could prepare dinner.

It was hard to leave this place of exquisite beauty.  So I pulled over again for one last view.