Plants Persist on the Low-water Shores of Moreau Lake

While most folks I know are delighting in the long string of warm sunny days this month, I'm actually feeling quite grumpy about it.  Darn it all, we need RAIN!!!  Rain that falls all day long and all night long and soaks slowly into the ground and fills our lakes and ponds and pools and even our rivers, some of which are now so low we could walk across them and not even get our feet wet.  Ah well.  At least I could now walk around Moreau Lake on dry sand and visit the wildflowers I once found growing there when the lake was this low seven years ago.   Would those wildflowers still be there? A few days ago I went to find out.  I started first where a broad sandy beach invited me to walk around Moreau's back bay.

The Calico Asters were certainly there, and every bit as abundant as ever.

Here's a closer view of Calico Aster's flowers, displaying the multicolored centers that suggested their colorful common name.  Symphyotrichum lateriflorum is this aster's scientific name, suggested by the way the flowers grow on one side of the branching stems.

The colorful shoreline array of wildflowers indicated their years-long inundation had not destroyed them forever.

I was especially delighted to find so many beautiful purple blooms of Small-flowered Agalinis (Agalinis paupercula), a rarer wildflower than the similar-looking Slender Agalinis (A. tenuifolia) that also grows along this shore, although much less abundantly here. This closer photo shows that the flowers of A. paupercula have very short pedicels, as compared to the long slender pedicels that hold the flowers of A. tenuifolia far out from the stalk.

Not having any petals to speak of while in bloom, these Devil's Beggar Ticks (Bidens frondosa) look quite innocent now, but once they go to seed with their barbed stick-tights just waiting to adhere to your pant legs, you will understand how they got such a devilish vernacular name.

The greenish chubby flowers of Ditch Stonecrop (Penthorum sedoides) are easy to overlook earlier in the summer, but now their brilliant deep-rose maturing fruits announce their presence vibrantly. As the "ditch" part of their name suggests, this plant does prefer damp sites (such as this shore), and although their puffy little flowers do somewhat resemble those of some stonecrops, their leaves are not succulent like the leaves of genuine stonecrops.

Despite American Wild Mint's reputation for aggressive spreading being similar to that of the non-native culinary herb, I rarely find this native species (Mentha arvensis) growing in massive numbers on the lakeshores I usually explore.  That was certainly the case for this individual specimen, which was one of only five plants growing at this location.  A close look at the pale-purple flowers wreathing the stems reveals how pretty the florets are, and the nose also earns a delightfully minty reward for approaching the leaves this closely.

No fragrance rewards a closer look at these teeny-tiny flowers, but their adorable cuteness does. These are the diminutive blooms of our native Smaller Forget-me-nots (Myosotis laxa), so small they are easily overlooked.

I put my fingers in this this photo to demonstrate how tiny these Smaller Forget-me-nots are.

I could not put my fingers close to this tiny Pickerel Frog, for then it would have hopped away before I could focus my zoom lens on it. It might have been just a bit over an inch long.  Very cute!

Before I could complete a circuit of Moreau's back bay, some complicated blowdown stalled my progress, so I turned around, deciding instead to walk round the eastern shore of the main lake.  From the bridge that spanned the division between the main lake and the back bay, I could see a broad sandy north shore.

As I crossed the bridge, I lingered to take in the glorious beauty of masses of New England Aster (Symphyotrichum novae-angliae) blooming profusely along both sides of the bridge. What an amazing display of their super-saturated-purple flowers!

I wonder if bees take delight in the aster's color as they partake of their pollen and nectar.  They were certainly abundant visitors to these flowers.

The Goldenrods along the bridge were equally showy and gorgeous, and they, too, were hosting a banquet for many insects, in this case, many wasps.  And one small solitary bee.

When I reached the north shore's sandy beach, I stooped to admire the many plants of Small-flowered Dwarf Bulrush (Cyperus subsquarrosus) that have persisted there during both high water and low.  It was seven years ago a state botanist and I first found these tiny Endangered flatsedges on the shore of Moreau Lake, with thousands growing where low water levels in the lake had revealed once-inundated lake bottom.  Even after the lake water rose higher again, this small population of this species continues to flourish higher up on the shore.  By this late in the summer, the small plants have produced their tiny, brown, cone-like spikelets.

Curious to see if that Cyperus subsquarrosus had again revived on recently emerged lake bottom, I hurried along the eastern shore to a deep cove where I'd found many hundreds of them seven years ago. Until this hot dry summer's drought, the lake's water in this cove had risen up to the shrub line, but now a sandy shore stretched for quite a few yards between the shrub line and the water's edge.

And there they were!  Perhaps you will have to click on this photo to enlarge it in order to see the tiny plants with their dusty-green curving stems lying very flat to the sand.  The hundred of plants create what looks like a wrack-line along the sandy shore.  (I'm just noticing now some other interesting plants, the spiky green ones, which might be some interesting quillworts I will have to return to examine!)

Yep!  The Small-flowered Dwarf Bulrushes are back!  The recently revealed plants in this cove appeared much smaller than those in the persistent population on the north shore, but there is no mistaking those tiny cone-shaped spikelets.

Elated by this find, I strolled further along the shore of the cove, delighted by the beauty of the diverse plants that grow here. Masses of Calico Aster bloomed profusely beneath the towering Buttonbush shrubs (Cephalanthus occidentalis), while golden-fruited Toothed Flatsedge (Cyperus dentata) flourished in the sand before them.

Here's a closer look at those rosy-red Buttonbush developing seedpods.

Glancing down the cove's shore, when I spied the rather skeletal-looking remains of a dead Cottonwood tree, I hurried there to seek another rare plant I hoped I would find persisting beneath it.

And so I did! Although the tiny purple-dotted florets of the flower heads had fallen by now, the distinctive seedheads and relatively broad leaves of the plants were sufficient evidence that the truly rare Whorled Mountain Mint (Pycnanthemum verticillatum var. verticillatum) still persisted here.  The strong minty fragrance of both leaves and flowerheads was another distinguishing feature of this plant that is rated as Endangered in New York State.  

When Rich Ring, then a rare-plant monitor for the New York Natural Heritage Program, first visited this site to officially assess this Whorled Mountain Mint's large population back in 2014, we counted 273 individual thriving plants. A very healthy population indeed, possibly the largest and healthiest in the state!  Sad to report, I counted fewer than 20 specimens persisting now, due to water-level vicissitudes in the habitat along this cove's shore.  But at least those remaining specimens appear to be secure beneath that old Cottonwood trunk that stands a safe distance back from Moreau Lake's changing shoreline.

Retracing my route around Moreau's shore, I noticed some pretty pale-purple asters growing off in a wooded area.  At first I wondered if they might be the Heart-leaved Aster I'd found nearby a few years ago, and I approached them to see if the plant bore that species' heart-shaped leaves.

To my surprise, the leaves were NOT so much heart-shaped as they were oddly shaped, with the stalks of the larger stem leaves enlarged at the base and clasping the stem.  The margins of the leaves looked slightly wavy, and that clinched the species' name for me: Wavy-leaved Aster (Symphyotrichum undulatum). This was an even better find than the Heart-leaved Aster for me, since I find the Wavy-leaved Aster much less frequently.

Continuing on through the woods, I was delighted to walk through this patch of forest floor carpeted with Virginia Creeper vines (Parthenocissus quinquefolia), their leaves turned the most attractive color of rosy pink.  Just as pretty as any of the flowers I'd found today!

Ice Meadows, Late Summer

My visits to the Hudson River Ice Meadows have been limited this summer, due to cautious care for my recovering knee.  Because of that, I missed the full splendor of this site's abundance of rare and beautiful summer flowers. But feeling stronger now, I finally ventured up to this remarkable riverside site north of Warrensburg in early September, hoping to find at least some remnants of what had been blooming there this summer.  My friends Sue and Ruth came with me, as well as did our mutual friend  Alex, an incredibly passionate insect expert (he's the fellow with the bug net in the photo below, no doubt with his eyes on some prize).  Imagine this scene in the winter, with heaps of ice all the way up to the forest's edge, even pushing over some trees, and you'll know how this grassy stretch acquired the name "Ice Meadows."

Few summer flowers were still in bloom, but the Purple-stemmed Asters (Symphyotrichum puniceum) were in their glory, offering many insects their final tastes of nectar and pollen before such sources closed down with first frost.

Most other flowering plants at this site  -- like this Virginia Mountain Mint (Pycnanthemum virginianum) -- were well on their way to setting seed.

One of the rarest plants at this site is Sticky False Asphodel (Triantha glutinosa), an Endangered species in New York State.  Dozens and dozens of them grow near the water's edge, and they were immediately recognizable even in seed.

A few of these tall stalks of Canada Burnet (Sanguisorba canadensis) still bore a few thread-like white petals, and the jade-green bracts that had held those petals were rather beautiful in their own right.

And here were some actual flowers in bloom, little blue ones called Kalm's Lobelia (Lobelia kalmii) almost hidden down in the grass.

One of the interesting features of this site is the presence of several spring-fed pools, which help to create damp habitat at this otherwise sun-baked riverbank.  Sad to report, most of the pools were dry, thanks to semi-drought conditions caused by our hot dry summer.  This was the only pool we found that contained any actual water.

The springs must also have moistened the soil around the pool, for we found quite a few of our native  orchids called Sphinx Ladies' Tresses (Spiranthes incurva) blooming nearby. This is a species that does prefer a damp habitat.

Large Cranberry (Vaccinium macrocarpon) also prefers damp soil, and the ones we found were already producing nearly ripe fruit.

I don't believe Eyebright (Euphrasia stricta) is particularly fussy about preferred soils, since I usually find these tiny flowers in such low-nutrient habitats as the edges of parking lots, especially at northern latitudes like the Adirondacks. It seemed quite happy here, anyway.   Not a native wildflower, but certainly a pretty one.

Our friend Ruth is a bryophyte fancier, and she must have found some tiny moss or liverwort hiding down in a crack in these rocks. I knew that my knee would not enable me to rise from such a position, so I failed to ask Ruth to let me take a look through her loupe. But I was happy enough to see Ruth so happily engaged.

On our way back toward Warrensburg, we stopped at another interesting site, where huge marble outcroppings jut into the Hudson

Every crack in these marble outcroppings holds growing plants that feast on the lime such calcareous  rocks provide.  The most remarkable plant that grows here is the New England Violet (Viola novae-angliae), and even this late in the year, we could find this super-rare violet's distinctively tapering leaves.

Our native clematis called Virgin's Bower (Clematis virginiana) sprawled across the rocks, its vines now holding its silky spiraling seedpods that suggested this plant's alternate vernacular name, Old Man's Beard.  I noted the small white puffs below the clematis vines, but I could not put a name to them. I don't believe they belong to the vines they lay beneath.

Here's a closer look at those small white furry puffs. It appears they also might grow on a vine.  Suggestions as to their identity are most welcome!

A sweet fragrance like that of maple syrup alerted me to the nearby presence of Sweet Everlasting (Pseudognaphalium obtusifolium), abundant with small papery blooms

Some of the plants of Sweet Everlasting held the pretty flowers, and other plants held the cute puffy tufts those flowers become when they go to seed.

Here were some much smaller "cute puffy tufts," only these were bright orange and clinging to the rocks.  This photo also shows the lime-rich marble crystals this organism prefers.  Called Trentepohlia aurantia, the tufts are composed of terrestrial filamentous green alga. The carotenoids pigments that conceal the green chlorophylla are responsible for the conspicuous yellow-orange color. 

A Happy Birthday Camping Adventure!

September 8 is the birthday of the darling young woman who first made me a deliriously happy grandma, my granddaughter Elizabeth Balter.  (That's Lizzy on the left in the photo above.) From the day she was born, I could not wait to take her camping and introduce her to the wonders of nature, and when she was five, I did take her camping on an island in the Hudson River. This year, my now-grown-up Lizzy told me she wanted to do that again, to wake up on her birthday surrounded by nature on the banks of the Hudson River, this time with her dear wife, Amanda Nee. Could I help make that happen? Yes, I sure could! Here are a few photos of the happy pair and their lovable dog Goose, after I helped them find their campsite and we paddled a bit together on this gorgeous stretch of the Hudson River, where forested mountains fall straight down to the water's edge and lovely little islands dot the river. 

 Their wooded campsite is accessible only from the water and surrounded by miles of wild forest. A small tumbling creek borders the site and in rainier summers adds its constant music to the pleasures of camping here.  Since this land is within the boundaries of Moreau Lake State Park, Lizzy had to reserve this campsite and obtain a permit from the park to leave her car in the parking lot of the launch site where she and Amanda took off to cross the river to their camp. Designated as a "primitive campsite," the only amenity here is a fire ring and some flat cleared land on which to pitch a tent.

After arranging their camp, Lizzy and Amanda set off to explore this section of the Hudson River.  Their "very good dog" Goose behaved himself perfectly, sitting quietly between his two mamas, enjoying the  adventure in his own doggy way, without threatening to upset the canoe.

Along this stretch of the Hudson between the Spier Falls and Sherman Island dams, the river's current is slowed, and thickly forested mountains fall directly to the water's edge. Both banks of the river here are now part of Moreau Lake State Park.  With no private homes or boathouses lining the banks, the area looks about the same as it must have before Europeans arrived on this continent.  (Of course, neither dam existed then to widen the river, but the mountains most likely appeared much the same.)

I escorted the pair past my favorite little island, where I have often picnicked and swum from its rocky shore.  Such tiny islands are home to the many beautiful native shrubs and wildflowers that first intrigued me more than 30 years ago, inspiring me to learn their names, and eventually, the names of all wildflowers I encountered, wherever I encountered them.

As I left Lizzy and Amanda to their camping adventures, I urged the two to paddle close to the riverbanks, so lovely now with wildflowers like these tiny white asters and the yellow-bloomed Sneezeweed leaning over the water.

This time of year, the riverbanks are especially gorgeous, since one of our most beautiful native wildflowers, Closed Gentians, are thriving there in great abundance.

Silky Dogwood shrubs also added to the beauty of the banks,  their branches heavy with clusters of royal-blue fruits.

So Happy Birthday, dear Lizzy!  I hope this adventure turned out to be as amazing as the one you remembered from all those years ago.  Your Grandma is absolutely delighted that you asked me to help you to make it happen this week.  Just as she was when you were a wee little girl of five years old!

Plenty of Fabulous Finds Along Two Powerlines!

It can be difficult to think of powerline right-of-ways as treasuries of rare and beautiful native plants, especially when the power companies periodically spray them with herbicides and kill all the plants under the wires.  But I feel truly fortunate to know of some powerlines that are indeed such botanical treasuries.  And I'm even more fortunate, because I have certain friends who know which powerlines harbor the rarest and most interesting native plants and are happy to lead me to them.  Such was the case this past week, when skilled botanist Skye Vanderlaan led my friends Sue Pierce and Ruth Brooks and me to a virtually hidden powerline to see a plant we never dreamed we would ever find, the elusive Climbing Fern (Lygodium palmatum), an Endangered species in New York State.

We had to walk some distance along the road to reach this powerline, happy our way led along a forest that offered some botanical beauty of its own.

Many native sunflowers brightened the dark woods.  It is often difficult to tell our several native sunflower species apart, but we think these tall beauties were Pale-leaved Sunflowers (Helianthus strumosus), due to its leaves being pale on the undersides and its stems possessing a bloom that could be rubbed off.

We were quite stunned to find such an abundant patch of the gorgeous Closed Gentians (Gentiana clausa) beautifying a roadside ditch.

 

When we reached the powerline we were seeking, I was awfully glad that Skye knew exactly where he was leading us. We plunged into this woody mess after him, pushing aside the giant ferns, shoving our way through shrubbery,  and stumbling over downed tree trunks.  Thankfully, it appears it had been a long time since the power company had killed all vegetation beneath the overhead lines.  Or perhaps this wooded area was far enough to the side of the clearcut to escape that devastation.

When we reached the plants we were seeking, we could hardly believe how abundantly the Climbing Ferns were spread across the forest floor.  We had to be very careful not to step on them.  And if not for Skye leading us there and pointing out the plants, would we ever have recognized them? They appeared most un-fern-like, and they were more sprawling than climbing.  And unlike most other ferns I know of, they did not grow in clusters of fronds.  In fact, I have since read that each climbing vine of this fern is a single frond. The palmate leaves are actually the pinnules. The stem, or rachis as it is called in ferns, twines around supporting branches in a vine-like fashion, unfurling  pinnules as it goes. And these fronds can grow as long as 15 feet.

Although most of the Climbing Fern fronds we saw were vining along the ground, we did find a few that actually climbed up on supportive branches.

I was curious about how the pinnules grew in two different shapes, both of them palmate but one of them with long "fingers," and the other with stubbier ones.  Are the longer pinnules the spore-bearing fertile ones, and the stubbier ones the sterile?

We were lucky to find a few fronds that bore fertile pinnules at the tip, smaller and more delicate in appearance than the stubbier sterile pinnules.

Thank you, Skye, for leading us to see this truly rare plant so obviously happy in its niche of a habitat.

You might think that after such a botanical find, we would call it day.  Hah!  The day was still young and a second fascinating powerline lay nearby.  And this one was less shady forest and more sunny meadow, so a whole different class of plants awaited our exploration. Parts of this clearcut's habitat was dry and sandy, other parts damp with muddy puddles. Botanical variety abounded!

Although many lengths of this clearcut were rife with invasives like Purple Loosestrife, some of our most competitive native plants held their own against non-native invasion.  Masses of Tall Goldenrod held their ground, and Pokeweed (Phytolacca americana), just by its size alone, as well as its fecundity, proved itself to be not only a strong but also  a quite beautiful defender of its native territory.

Sturdy Evening Primrose (Oenothera biennis) was not enormously abundant at this site, but it looked so happy here, I doubt it would readily cede its foothold to any non-native invader.

Our native Slender Gerardia (Agalinis tenuifolia) has such a delicate lacy beauty it might appear to be a pushover from sturdier-seeming invasives.  But its habit of filling every square millimeter of dampish soil along the path with masses of purple flowers would never grant any space at all to any pushy newcomers.

I love Slender Gerardia's pretty little freckled face.

We also found a large patch of Short-toothed Mountain Mint (Pycnanthemum muticum), now mostly post-blooming but recognizable by its frosty-looking leaves (and also previously verified as to species by a professional botanist).  Because this species is rated as Threatened in New York State, we were delighted to find it so abundant at this site.

And how could we NOT be delighted to find this glorious native, the New England Aster (Symphyotricum novae-angliae)?  Thankfully, this lovely aster is not at all a rare plant, and it grows prolifically along this powerline, in this vivid purple color as well as a deep rose and a pale pink. And the show has just begun!

 Here was quite a surprise!  Among our most gorgeous native wildflowers, the Fringed Gentian (Gentianopis crinita) usually waits until later in September to grace us with its remarkable beauty.  As the tight buds reveal, lots more beauty is yet to come.

And here was another surprise!  As well as a botanical puzzle.  The slender, white-flowered native orchid our botanists are here  examining, called Ladies' Tresses, was once known to all of them as Nodding Ladies' Tresses.  But that single species has recently been divided into at least three other species, and the traits that distinguish the species are rather subtle.  Even to professionals' eyes. So considerable studying is happening here.

Eventually, consensus was reached:  This was the Sphinx Ladies' Tresses (Spiranthes incurva), determined by the sharp curve of the lower petals of the florets as well as by other details too obscure for me to observe.  It also is more fragrant than some other Spiranthes species. A beautiful native orchid, and we found well over a dozen at this site in perfect bloom.

Both Ruth and Skye are passionate "bryophiles," meaning that they are fascinated by mosses, lichens, and liverworts, and are always on the lookout for them, able to detect specimens hardly large enough to be espied from a standing distance.  Hence, they spend considerable time down in the dirt.

This hugely enlarged photo is the species of liverwort they were examining.  I believe they called it a Riccia species, but they may have to look at pieces of it under a microscope to be sure of its specific name. If I ever do learn its name, I'll come back to post its name.

At least I could see this plant with my naked eye from a standing height, and Skye informed me that its name was Selaginella apoda, a fern ally (not a moss) that goes by the vernacular name Meadow Spikemoss.  Its lovely green color and tiny leaves make this a popular terrarium plant that can be purchased from nurseries.  But this one was cultivated by Mother Nature alone. And it was not for sale.

Okay, our domestic duties were calling us home by now, after this marvelous day of many botanical delights. Hurrying along the path, I had not intended to stop to photograph these Boneset flowers (Eupatorium perfoliatum), but this large black bug caught my eye.  It was as big as a bumblebee, but it was a fly instead, a tachinid fly that feeds on the nectar and pollen of flowers and thus serves as an important pollinator.  Tachinids are also the most important of the parasitic flies, for their maggots provide biological control of many pest insects, boring into the bodies of their hosts and consuming them from the inside as the maggots grow.  Very helpful, of course, but rather violent behavior for such a cute insect I call a "Bristle Butt!"