Creekside Giants and Other Curiosities

Rain today. And chilly. Not a good day for a long hike or paddle, but okay for short forays to nearby sites between downpours. There's a trail along the Kayaderosseras Creek near Ballston Spa I hadn't visited since June, so I donned my raingear and watershoes, wrapped my camera in a plastic bag, and headed over there. I wanted to see if the Great Ragweed I'd found before at this site had lived up to its name and grown to gigantic proportions. And yes, it certainly had. Good thing I don't get hay fever.

This photo shows how the ragweed crowded the path, towering over my head at about seven feet tall.

Closer to the creek where it had access to more sunlight, Great Ragweed grew to nearly twice that size, with stalks as thick and heavy as oar shafts. In fact, it had grown so tall and heavy it collapsed of its own weight. I tried to raise this stalk to get a better idea of its height, but I couldn't budge it.

My failure to raise that ragweed stalk might also have been because it was engulfed by heaps of Wild Cucumber vines. That vine was climbing all over the place, its normally upright flower clusters somewhat flattened by all the rain today, but nevertheless emitting a sweet fragrance that hung in the humid air.

A member of the Gourd Family, this native plant (Echinocystis lobata is its Latin name) produces a spiny fruit that does look a bit cucumbery, but it's full of cottony fluff, not watery flesh.

Managing to hold its own against the encroaching cucumbers, masses of Pale Jewelweed lined the creek banks and shouldered their way onto the path, their water-resistant leaves shining with beaded-up raindrops.

I think this jewelweed's tender yellow blooms, which dangle like earbobs on slender stalks, are among the prettiest of our native wildflowers.

It amazes me how this annual plant manages to dominate its habitat, since it has to grow up to its six-foot height (or more) each summer, starting from seed each spring. The jewelweeds -- both this yellow Pale Jewelweed and the orange Spotted Jewelweed -- have an amazing mechanism for sowing their seeds, which are just about ready to burst this fat little pod.

When I closed my fingers over the pod, the touch of my hand triggered the pod to split into three parts and coil back like a spring, forcefully ejecting the seeds within. In fact, those seeds were catapulted away with such force they escaped my hand. Too bad, since I was looking forward to eating them. They taste quite a bit like walnuts.

I was pleased to see so many native wildflowers (yes, even the Great Ragweed is a native plant) dominating the creekside this time of year, since earlier in the summer the banks were crowded with alien species like Wild Parsnip and Poison Hemlock. By now, the sturdy late-summer natives like goldenrods and Joe-Pye Weeds are in their glory.

Dogwoods, too, are abounding in this habitat, especially the Silky Dogwood, which bears these beautiful blue berries in late summer.

This time of year, the Panicled Dogwood has snowy-white berries on hot-pink pedicels, but the birds had devoured most of its berries today. What startled me today was seeing the Panicled Dogwood newly in bloom. I wonder what purpose is served by this shrub setting bloom again so late in the year.

Masses of Common Milkweed lined the path where it moved through a meadow, their stalks now laden with fat prickly pods. Although the pods are not quite ripe enough to release their silken seeds, I can't resist peeling one back to marvel at the compact elegance of its seed cluster. It looks like a finely carved fish made of ivory and jade.

Oh dear, it it that time already? The New England Asters are starting to bloom. I can't remember seeing these radiant purple blossoms before mid-September. But here they are in August. There were several open blossoms on this plant, but their petals were sodden and bruised by today's rain. I loved this intensely purple bud just opening against a green and gold cloud of goldenrods in the background.

Pink Knotweeds are not very showy plants, presenting a rather plain appearance even when massed in damp areas as they were today. But I always feel they deserve a closer look. I never know when I might find one of those tiny pink buds opening into an exquisite tiny pink flower. Like this one.

In the same marshy spot where the knotweed grew were numerous stalks of a truly homely plant with an ugly name to match: the Common Clotbur. A coarse plant with rough stems and leaves, and with "flowers" in the shape of prickly burs, one might think it's not worth a second glance. But one would be wrong. Especially when there's such a little jewel of a bug as this Candystriped Leafhopper sitting on one of those leaves.

Here's one more flower I found today, and I'm posting its photo not just because I think it's pretty (which it is), but also because I don't know its name and I'm hoping somebody does. And will tell me.

I do know that it's some kind of chickweed. It looks almost exactly like Common Chickweed, except that it's at least twice as big, with flowers about half an inch across. And it's not Star Chickweed nor Field Chickweed nor Mouse-ear Chickweed nor Lesser Stitchwort, and those are all the chickweeds I've ever heard of. So! Any guesses?

Update: My friend Ellen has come through for us about the chickweed. This appears to be Myosoton aquaticum, a water-loving chickweed introduced from Europe that has found a (too?) happy home along North American streambeds. It goes by a number of common names including Water Chickweed and Giant Mouse-ear. That Kayaderosseras streamside seems to be a hotbed for giant species.

Limey Soils and Ladies' Nests

It's amazing how plants can differ from one side of the river to the other. Today I crossed over from my familiar tromping grounds in Moreau to explore the Warren County banks of the Hudson River, where a calcareous substrate creates a limey habitat for flowers I've yet to find in Saratoga County. In past explorations over there I've found American Pennyroyal, Purple Milkwort, Slender Three-seeded Mercury, and Macoun's Everlasting, and I'm happy to report that I found them all again today. And I also found lots of flowers that grow everywhere, including gorgeous clusters of goldenrods, now coming into their late-summer glory.

I still consider it some kind of miracle that I ever saw the pennyroyal, because it's really, really tiny and grows on a rocky outcropping well away from the path. I had to search especially hard for it today, since Low Blueberries have overwhelmed most of its site, and only a few plants remained. The flowers were already beginning to fade, and as soon as I touched them, they dropped off, so I'm lucky to have come away with even one photo.

Purple Milkwort was easier to spot, since it grows in an open area near where I parked my car. I did think, however, that this year's flowers were paler than the ones I found last year. This hot dry summer has caused many flowers to wither and fade already.

The Slender Three-seeded Mercury was thriving, since it seems to like it hot and dry. This is hardly a showy plant, but it is kind of unusual. Its more common cousin grows in every city vacant lot and sidewalk crack this time of year, but I've never found the slender species (Acalypha gracilens) any place but here.

Macoun's Everlasting looks pretty much like its cousin, Sweet Everlasting, if all you are looking at are the scaly flowers and the white-wooly stems. However, the leaf shapes are quite different. With the Sweet Everlasting, the lance-shaped leaves are narrowed at the base and do not clasp the stem.

With the Macoun's Everlasting, the leaves broaden at the base and do clasp the stem.

Last year I found only a few of the Macoun's species, but this year I came upon an open area where they grew in masses.

Among that mass of plants, I noticed many fluffy clumps hanging amid the flower stalks. The clumps seemed to be made up of parts of the flower heads.

When I saw a dark shape wriggling within one of those clumps, I peeled it open and here's what I found within: the spiky, yellow-striped caterpillar of the American Lady Butterfly.

Exposed, the caterpillar immediately dropped to the ground, where it curled up tight. I then could take a good close look, and I noticed tiny blue spots among all that black and yellow.

Here's a stretched-out version of the caterpillar, munching away on a leaf of the everlasting.

Searching about among the plants, I found this caterpillar in the early stages of making its shelter, as it draws several flower heads together with strands of silk.

Here's a later version, with the caterpillar nestled within. I see there's a wee little bug of some kind sharing the space.

At first, I thought those dark blobs stuck to the nests were other bugs, but a closer look revealed that they are probably the caterpillar's poop. I'm guessing that the caterpillar will stay in this shelter, eating the gathered-in flowers and leaves, in preparation for pupating.

Sure enough, I found several pupae in some of the fluffy shelters. It looks like the caterpillar shed its prickles before settling in for its metamorphizing sleep. And who wouldn't?

What a sight it will be when all these American Lady Butterflies emerge and take to the air!

Here's another kind of Lady also inhabiting this stand of Macoun's Everlasting. What a cutie!

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

Just got back from a week away, visiting first my daughter's family on Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire, and next my husband's brother and his wife in the tiny central Massachusetts village of New Salem. We had a really grand time, swimming and boating with the grandkids for two days and then enjoying the beautiful New England countryside with our dear in-laws. But jeez, you'd never know it from the vacation photos I took. Where are the postcard landscape views and the snaps of frolicking grandkids? Not in my camera, I'm sorry to say, which I found was full of pictures, mostly, of bugs!

Okay, I did find one of my daughter standing on the shore of the lake. Those clouds soon lifted and we had glorious weather all the time we were there.

Here's a photo of the moon glittering on beautiful Lake Winnipesaukee on a warm summery night.

And here's the loon that floated in front of our beach the entire day on Tuesday. And I mean ALL day long, as if it were anchored out there, like a decoy. I never even saw it dive under to catch a fish. Just kept bobbing out there in the waves even as the sun went down. By Wednesday it was gone.

I have not a single picture of my cute grandkids. But I did get one of my cute granddog! His name is Samson and he's a Bernese Mountain Dog, the most amiable breed there is.

As I mentioned before, I also took pictures of bugs. While paddling about in the warm shallows, I almost gulped in a mouthful of the thousands and thousands of flying ant corpses that were floating on the water near the shore. I wonder what would cause such numbers of ants to die off all at once?

I also have a shot of a spider that was lurking in a goldenrod spray, just about to attack that Japanese Beetle hiding among the florets. Or maybe the two were just sharing the space for the night. Since I don't know what kind of spider this is, I can't be sure of its hunting habits.

Update: The folks at BugGuide.net came through again! This is a Marbled Orbweaver (Araneus marmoreus), a spider whose abdomen may come in many different marbled colors, but which always has a reddish carapace and striped legs. Since it captures prey in a web rather than by stalking, perhaps spider and beetle were together only by happenstance. Although I suppose the spider might take advantage of the situation. Or do Japanese Beetles taste bad?

I do know the name of this spider, since I found a photo of one just like it in Spiders of the Northwoods by Larry Weber. It's a Zebra Jumping Spider, and I have no doubt about its hunting habits, since I watched it jump on this tiny fly that it's grasping in its palps. It was quite a tiny spider, less than half an inch long, zipping about the porch post of my brother-in-law's house in New Salem. And boy, did it move fast when it spotted its prey!

Just a few doors down from my brother-in-law's was a barn full of alpacas. When I peered in over the fence, these little ones emerged from the barn, curious to take a look at me. I'm afraid their mother is telling them not to get too close, so I never got to sink my fingers into that deep soft fur.

I did manage to get pretty close to these Small Milkweed Bugs hanging out in some Common Milkweed pods. In fact, they had a hard time escaping my eyes, since they seemed to be joined at the rear, and when one tried to scurry away, the other one scurried in the opposite direction, so they got nowhere.

Is this a typical mating position for Small Milkweed Bugs? To find out, I googled "milkweed bugs mating" and discovered that yes, this is indeed how they do it, and also that they can stay attached for as long as half an hour. The male Milkweed Bug is smaller than the female.

I found those bugs while botanizing along the roadsides in New Salem, where in years past I've found a number of interesting weeds I've yet to find at home in New York -- Rattlesnake Weed and Orange Grass, to name just two. But not this year. This hot dry summer has rendered most of the roadside plants already withered and spent, and many shrubs were already turning color. This Staghorn Sumac frond was especially vivid.

Turtle Counting, Flower Finding

My friend Sue is counting turtles this summer, as part of a study conducted by the Lake George Association. Her survey area is the huge and beautiful marsh surrounding a stream that runs into the south end of Lake George at Dunham's Bay. Today she asked me along for a paddle, and I jumped at the chance. Not that I, with my bad eyesight, am likely to spot any turtles, but I figured we'd likely find something of interest along that meandering stream, and I sure was right.

First off, we did find some turtles: all of them smallish Painted Turtles who, with outstretched yellow-striped necks, saw us coming from afar and quickly slipped from their sun-bathing spots to hide beneath lily-pads in the dark shallow water. The Snapping Turtles we often find here completely eluded us.

We had a constant companion in this Great Blue Heron. He looks like he's hiding here among the cattails and pickerelweed, but as soon as our boats drew near, he lifted those long, long wings and whumped away, trailing his stilt-long legs behind. We would come upon him again and again, and every time he would take again to the air. I wondered why he didn't circle back and land behind us, where he could continue to hunt in peace.

We almost missed this Black Swallowtail Caterpillar clinging to a stalk of Bulb-bearing Water Hemlock and looking from a distance like the seedhead of Tussock Sedge. Every part of the plant this caterpillar was eating is deadly poisonous to humans. How come caterpillars can eat it with impunity? I wonder if that makes the caterpillar poisonous to its predators.

Here's another view of this creature with its spectacular coloration. I love those pointy little front feet that look like they're painted with black nail polish. In fact, every part of this caterpillar is wonderful to behold, including those circular padded side feet that look like hairy eyeballs.

We kept seeing these bright yellow daisy-like plants sticking out of the water, just one or two at first, and further upstream, masses of them. At first, I couldn't figure out how to key them out, since the number of petals was quite irregular. But a search of my Newcomb's finally revealed their identity. These are Water-marigolds (Bidens beckii, formerly known asMegalodonta beckii).

These fine, multibranched leaves that encircle the underwater stems were what clinched the identification.

This photo reveals that the above-water leaves are entirely different than those that grow underwater.

Here's a closer look at the individual florets that make up the flower's composite center, the stamens protruding from tiny tulip-shaped cups.

On one plant, a leaf held this cluster of tiny rice-shaped forms. My guess is that these are eggs, of what creature I have no idea. Anybody?

When I got home tonight, I looked on the internet for further information about Water-marigold. The USDA shows this plant as endangered, threatened, or extirpated from many surrounding states, and if this is the right variety, it is listed as "Threatened" in New York State as well. It certainly seemed to be thriving along the stream that runs into Dunham's Bay, Lake George.

Update: I asked NY State's chief botanist Steve Young about this Water-marigold's status, and he told me that it is no longer considered threatened in New York, thanks to its abundant populations in the Lake George area and several other counties around the state.