More Fall Color

The last time I brought you here to walk along the Ashuelot River we were looking for those beautiful closed gentians, but this time we’re leaf peeping. Leaf peeper is the name given to those who come sometimes from very long distances to see the colorful foliage. The only difference between them and natives is, we don’t have to travel to see this amazing spectacle. But just like the leaf peepers we stand mute, stunned into silence by the beauty of it all. What after all, is there to say?

I get the idea to come here from the trees I see changing along the roads I drive. If I think it might be time I come to this stretch of the Ashuelot, which has one of the most beautiful fall displays that I know of in this town. But it’s always hit or miss and I’ve been either early or late. This year just like in the story of Goldilocks and the three bears, I think it was just right. And I didn’t see a single bear.

This shot of a single red maple branch shows some of their color possibilities. Most of the trees here are red maples. (Acer rubrum) The tree gets its name not from its red leaves but from its red twigs, flowers and young samaras in spring. Almost everything about it is red, but you can’t count on its autumn leaves.

But there are lots of reds and oranges this year, with just a small amount of yellow along this stretch. It’s always a surprise to see what trees will do.

Royal fern (Osmunda regalis) usually goes from green to yellow to orange, and then to burnt orange before turning brown. But they don’t all change at the same time so you’ll see colored ones in with the green for a short time.

From what I’ve read the regalis part of the scientific name is Latin for royal or kingly and it points to how it was thought to be one of the largest, most majestic ferns in Europe. All I can say for sure this fern certainly doesn’t look like any other New England fern. Many people have told me that they didn’t know it was a fern.

I don’t know what to say about this. Sensitive ferns are very sensitive to cold and usually turn white. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen one do this, but it’s interesting. The name “sensitive” fern was used by the early settlers who noticed that it changed in the fall before most others. This year though, it doesn’t seem to be in any hurry.

I saw a pink maple tree leaning toward the river but just because I saw pink with my colorblind eyes that didn’t mean it was pink, so I checked this photo when I got home and surprisingly it was indeed pink. Salmon pink to be precise, both dark and light. I don’t see many pink trees.

The way it’s leaning means it will end up in the river before too long. The river constantly eats away at the soil on its embankments and if there is a tree there down it goes, usually in very slow motion. These trees lean a little more each year.

A hairy woodpecker landed on a red maple and started pecking just as I happened to be looking that way. Hairy and downy woodpeckers look a lot alike but downy woodpeckers are said to be smaller, which isn’t much help when there is only one woodpecker. What I used to identify this bird was the fact that downy woodpeckers have a row of black spots on their white tail feathers, which can be seen just under the black tail feathers. Only downy woodpeckers have those spots and since this one doesn’t, it must be a hairy woodpecker.

Another red maple to the right had target canker. Target canker doesn’t harm the tree but causes its bark to grow in circular patterns of narrow plates which helps protect it from the canker. According to Cornell university: “A fungus invades healthy bark, killing it. During the following growing season, the tree responds with a new layer of bark and undifferentiated wood (callus) to contain the pathogen. However, in the next dormant season the pathogen breaches that barrier and kills additional bark. Over the years, this seasonal alternation of pathogen invasion and host defense response leads to development of a ‘canker’ with concentric ridges of callus tissue—a ‘target canker.’” Apparently the fungal attacker gives up after a while, because as the tree ages the patterns disappear and the trees seem to be fine. It’s very common on red maples, and I’ve read that only red maples have it.

You can see in this shot how the target canker was highlighted by a sunbeam falling directly on it. Whenever this happens it’s as if the light is saying “you should see this” so I always pay close attention.

A selection of freshly fallen red maple leaves shows how the underside of the leaf takes on a purplish gray color, which makes the whole scene even more colorful. It’s a little odd how, though I’m seeing lots of red and orange on the trees this year there was little of either color seen here.

Another view from along the river with some yellow leaves showing. This place is so very beautiful in the fall. Walking here always reminds me how fortunate I was to be born in such a place, and how grateful I am because of it. A little gratitude costs nothing, but the fact that it opens many doors makes it well worth having.

There is plenty of orange in the cinnamon ferns right now. The color was surprisingly uniform on this one. Usually tinges of brown show as well. Cinnamon ferns are big, showy ferns that are fairly common. Their name comes from their fertile fronds, which someone thought looked like cinnamon sticks. There weren’t any on this fern. They’ve usually released their spores and died back by now.

A pink / orange silky dogwood is a first for me, I think. I expect maroon, red, purple and occasionally even black, but not this color.

Since I was here only for foliage shots and since from this point on the forest is mostly evergreen, this is where I turned to go back. I wanted this shot so you could see the meandering path we followed to get here. It isn’t far and it doesn’t take long unless you stop every few steps to take a photo. Then it can eat up half a day.

Going back the way I came I stopped in Ashuelot Park to admire the gardens there. There were hoverflies on the garden asters.

This aster was full of beautiful flowers but it had gotten too tall and had fallen over, which gave it a scraggly appearance. This garden relies on volunteers to keep it looking good. Sometimes there are enough of them and at other times there aren’t.

There were lots of bees on the black eyed Susans. It’s always nice to see bees but they aren’t the only insect we have to rely on for pollination thankfully. Even flies can pollinate flowers. According to what I’ve read though, bees are the real masters at pollination because they’re built for it. “Bees have branched, fuzzy hairs all over their bodies. As they fly through the air, friction builds a static charge that acts like a magnet, pulling pollen grains directly onto them when they land.” That gives them a bit of a leg up on other insects.

At another park I saw some darker garden asters. These foot and a half tall plants will last for many years in a garden. These particular plants seem to see as much shade as they do sunlight.

Also in this park is an ever blooming azalea, the only one I’ve ever seen. It always has a few flowers at this time of year but this year it was loaded with buds and blooms. It’s odd seeing an azalea in bloom at this time. It kind of makes you feel like you’ve skipped winter and are right back in spring again.

A wild crabapple was so full of fruit its branches were bending under the weight. Crabapple is the only apple native to the U.S. All full size apples in this country were planted by people like nurseryman John Chapman, better known as Johnny Appleseed. In the 1700s he gathered the cast off seeds from cider mills and planted them throughout several mid Atlantic states.

Some crabapple trees have fruit that birds will eat only after it has frozen and thawed several times. Some imported varieties bear fruit that birds won’t eat at all. If you want to attract fruit eating birds with crab apples (Malus) the choice of tree requires some research.

I just can’t seem to get to the wetlands on a sunny day this year. At least this day was dry but cloudy. Foliage colors can seem more intense on cloudy days as they did with these maples, but it’s always about the light, even on cloudy days. You can have bright cloudy days and bright slightly overcast days, and then slightly overcast days when the light seem flat and lifeless.

The hardest part of nature blogging for me is how I can show and tell you what I see and how it makes me feel, but I can’t in a thousand blog posts tell you what you’ll see and how it will make you feel. That’s why you should try if you are able, to get out there and see it all for yourself. Immersion in nature can show you things you’ve never dreamed of and take you where you never thought you’d go. And then there is the incredible beauty. Just that alone is worth going deeply into nature. “Deeply” doesn’t necessarily mean by yourself off in the middle of a wilderness. It means how deeply it seeps into you. That can happen in your own yard.

Looking and seeing are not the same thing. Just take the time to stop and really see. True seeing is done by your whole self; all of your senses, not just your eyes. This is immersion, and this is where the sixth sense of intuition is honed. Intuition is flying by the seat of your pants. This is where you practice “reading” nature. Names, books and instructions are no longer needed. Somehow you just know, and most gardeners who are said to have a “green thumb” are using intuition, whether they know it or not. Give them your sick plant and they’ll give it back more healthy and alive than you’ve ever seen it. When you ask what they’ve done they’ll say honestly “I don’t really know. I suppose I just gave it what it needed.” How they knew what it needed is the mystery; that’s what can’t be explained.

White pines don’t like wet feet so they almost always stand back away from water for a few yards. Those few yards are enough for red maples, which don’t mind wet feet, and they quickly take over any unused real estate near water. That’s just what they are doing here. If you’re walking through a pine forest and come upon a line of red maples you might want to make sure you have your waterproof boots on.

I saw the heron in the wetlands again and saw it catch either a mouse or vole, I couldn’t tell. This shot isn’t good because all I had was my cell phone with me and I had to use 10X zoom, but you can see the critter in the bird’s beak. This bird is having great success with hunting on land. You can see by its muddy legs though, that on land isn’t the only place it hunts.

There were lots of meadowsweet still blooming, which was a surprise. This is a good spot for dragonflies and I hoped to see some but I think the wind kept them away. They’ll often land on the peak of a meadowsweet flowerhead and wait for a flower lover to come along.

Many of the ironwood trees are leaning towards maroon this year. Funny how a single tree can have so many different colored leaves on it.

One morning it was foggy and I like to shoot fall foliage on foggy days so I headed over to the wetlands again and found the fog had disappeared by the time I got there. I took this gloomy shot anyway, both to illustrate how I felt about the fog-less situation and to show you how quickly the red maples lose their leaves. They will often shed leaves from the top down and you can see bare branches against the sky here. In about a week most of these trees probably won’t have a leaf left on them but there will still be plenty to see. The beeches and oaks are just getting started.

I always like to show you our native maple leaved viburnums in these fall color posts. No other shrub that I know of has the color range that they do. Rarely is a leaf a single color, and you often find different colored leaves on the same bush.

This native shrub is also called maple leaf arrow-wood (Viburnum acerifolium.) It has small, flat topped, white flower clusters in spring which if pollinated become purple black one seeded berries (drupes.) Birds love the berries and they disappear as soon as they ripen.

The plant pictured here is a volunteer that appeared in my yard many years ago. Though I usually find these shrubs in the wild usually no more than three feet tall this volunteer has now reached twice that. It’s a slow grower but I’ve left it alone and it gets only morning sun. The leaves you see in this shot are only one of its colors this year. Other branches have different color leaves but I’ve come to believe that age plays a part in that. The oldest leaves are the first to color, and then they darken as they age so there is a succession of colors throughout the short foliage season. It’s a very interesting shrub.

From what I’ve found online it doesn’t look as if plant breeders have focused on maple leaved viburnum, so there are no cultivars available. You can buy wild plants grown from seed and / or cuttings though. Any nursery that specializes in native plants and shrubs east of the Mississippi should have them.

A little compost or composted manure, a little pruning and the right sun exposure should give you a shrub that makes people ask all kinds of questions in the fall. I can say that because I’m often asked questions about it when I’m taking photos of them. “What is that?!” is often the first. It’s fun to see a smile and a look of delight come over them as I tell them about it. Sometimes it’s as if I were telling fairy tails to a child, no matter what their age. Part of the fun of being on trails is the people you meet.

As this white ash shows, we have lots of fall foliage colors happening right now. I hope you do as well where you are. If you don’t maybe one day you’ll be able to come and see ours. Make arrangements early though; an estimated 3.9 million people have come or will come this year, increasing this state’s population by two and a half times for a month or two. More seem to come each year.

Meanwhile to get a better idea of what fall in New Hampshire is like just Google “Fall color in NH.” Just click on “images” when you get there and you’ll see many more photos like the ones you’ve seen here.

The fallen leaves in the forest seemed to make even the ground glow and burn with light. ~Malcolm Lowry

Thanks for stopping in.

A Rainy Week

Saturday it rained, Sunday it rained, and Monday it rained, all thanks to a strange September nor’easter that hit many places much harder than it did here. All we saw was light to moderate rain, but it seemed that it would never end and I was grateful that it wasn’t December snow falling. Anyhow, on one of those days I stood beside the car in the rain on an old road and took this shot with my phone. There was lots of yellow here from black birch, cinnamon ferns and wild sarsaparilla but the sky was dark enough to mute most of the bright color here in the woods.

Once I was out of the forest and into the wetlands the sky was brighter even though it still sprinkled rain off and on. The sun even peeked out once or twice but if I remember correctly, not while I was taking this shot of one of my favorite fall views of red maples.

I didn’t have time to re-take all of the rainy day shots but we did have some sun late Wednesday afternoon so I revisited the old farm road through the wetlands. The sun was low behind where I stood.

Red maples (Acer rubrum) are called “swamp maples” by some but if you look in a tree book index for swamp maple it will say “See red maple” so save yourself a step and just turn to red maples. They are the earliest maples to change color and they can be shades of yellow, orange, red, and occasionally purple. Most of the trees seen here are red maples.

I ran into an old friend at the wetlands, up to its tail feathers in tall grasses. Many don’t know that great blue herons will hunt fields for just about anything they can swallow. I was told that this one has had great success in this spot catching mice and voles. I was surprised because there are bobcat families here and barred owls as well, and rodents are just what either one of them would love to find. First come first served, I suppose.

Blueberry is often red but it can also be a beautiful, deep purple.

This roadside view of shrubs includes some of what we’ve just seen; dogwood, blueberry, bittersweet, and even Virginia creeper, all tucked in under a beautiful red maple.

I often point out in these fall posts how, once you’re here, it doesn’t matter where you go because every road will have colorful trees and shrubs along it. Fall color doesn’t pick and choose. All deciduous trees change in some way, even if it’s only to have their leaves turn brown and fall off.

I heard a state official say recently that this should be one of the best fall foliage leaf peeping years we’ve had in a few years. That’s because we had a good snow pack last winter and because we’ve had plenty of rain since. Of course that official might have been with the tourist bureau but from what I’m seeing I don’t think they were far off the mark. There is a lot of color to be seen this year.

American hazelnuts can turn a kind of bronze purple in fall, as this one shows. There is a curious lack of nuts on the bushes this year, even though they flowered well last spring.

American hornbeam, also known as muscle wood or blue beech, leans toward red or red orange.

As I’m sure you’ve noticed there is a lot of red to be seen this year but really, we’re just getting started. There will be a lot of yellow and orange coming along once the beech and oak trees get going. Staghorn sumac can be any of those colors but this one was red.

Tuesday morning it was cloudy and drizzling, but the drizzle was light and I thought it would stop soon. By the time I had driven across town to the ledges in Surry, it had. I’ve been taking photos here for many years now and I’ve learned that when the bedrock is wet it takes on a bluish cast and that contrasts beautifully with the reds, oranges and yellows of the trees. I thought this dark, drizzly morning would be perfect to show that.

These ledges were blasted out of the landscape when the massive Surry Mountain Dam project was started by the Army Corps of Engineers in the 1950s. Below these ledges is the spillway, which releases water when the dam can’t hold any more back. You don’t want to see that happening.

From here I decided to go to Beaver Brook to see if the witch hazels were blooming.

On my way to Beaver Brook I saw some turkeys sitting on someone’s fence right at the end of their driveway. I decided to stop and flirt with the girls for a moment but when I put the window down and started making the kissing noises that squirrels seem to love they all jumped down and started running away. Well that’s odd I thought, but that’s when I looked in my mirror and saw a big delivery truck bearing down on me. Since the back of my car was blocking the driveway a bit I beat it out of there, just like the turkeys had. They have better hearing than I do, that’s for sure.

One of our most plentiful asters is the heart leaf aster, which you can find blooming alongside just about any trail you care to follow at this time of year. The flowers are on the small side but there are so many of them on each plant it doesn’t matter. They’re very pretty and add an exclamation point to the beauty of the season. Just look! they say. Just look how beautiful it all is!

And here we are at Beaver Brook. This is what’s left of the oak tree that fell and stretched the wires that kept me from looking for the blue stemmed goldenrods a couple of posts ago. You can see purple on the end of one of the logs, and purple means metal was in the tree. I’m sure whoever owned the chainsaw that cut it up wasn’t real happy about that. If you bring a truckload of logs to a sawmill and they see purple on the end of a log like that seen here they’ll reject the entire load. Saw blades are expensive.

I thought I’d look the logs over and see what I could find. Sure enough one of the branches that would have been near the top of the tree was rotten to the core. Many fungi cause heart rot, and that’s why seeing them on a living tree is always bad news. These common bonnet mushrooms grew quickly after the tree fell, but that means their spores were already in the rotted part of the tree. There were mosses in the cavity as well and they hold a lot of water, which only speeds up the rot. This tree was marked for death long before it fell but it wasn’t the rot that brought it down. It grew out from broken up ledge at about a 45 degree angle and the ledge just couldn’t hold its great weight any longer. Every time I walked under it I wondered when it would fall. I hope nobody was under it when it did.

Violet Toothed Polypore (Trichaptum biforme) also grew on the tree in large numbers, and what intense colors they showed. Lichens and mosses also found a home on the tree, all high above the ground.

You can see how dark the heart of the tree was getting. Often you’ll split a log and find the heart just crumbling away, sometimes filled with carpenter ant tunnels. There’s still a lot of good firewood there but I don’t know how anyone would ever get it out of here. Those logs are heavy and there is a bar gate at the entrance. There was a time when towns would cut and split trees like this and give the wood to the poor but unfortunately I doubt that still happens.

I stood back and looked at the scene and something didn’t look right. The falling oak had stripped a lot of branches off surrounding trees and it took me a while to realize that the dark limb in the center of this shot was covering up something beautiful.

I rolled the dead limb off the ledge to reveal the smokey eye boulder lichen it had fallen on. I brushed it off and picked dead leaves off it and then took this shot. You might wonder why I care when the woods are filled with thousands if not millions of boulders with this lichen on them and the answer is, because I’ve never seen another one that looked just like this one. This one has blue spore bearing apothecia against a golden background (thallus) and it always looks as if someone had spilled a bag of tiny blue sapphires on the ledge. The blue color comes from the same wax coating that the blue stemmed goldenrods have on their stems. It’s all about how those tiny crystals reflect the light. It’s always about the light, and this one catches it perfectly.

I looked down and saw a large earthball (Scleroderma citrinium,) bigger around than a hen’s egg and looking like a cauldron full of ashes. I didn’t know if someone had stepped on it during the tree cutting or not but it had spilled a lot of its spores. On this day the spores were wet so there was no danger of inhaling them. This puffball is described as looking like a “dirty yellow potato” and it is poisonous.

There were a lot of wood sorrel plants growing around it and they reminded me that I had forgotten to come and see their blue striped petals, each with a yellow dot at its base. This is one of only two places I’ve ever found them. That’s what makes this place so special; there are plants, lichens and mosses here that I’ve never seen anywhere else.

I also saw what I believe was a zoned tooth mushroom (Hydnellum concrescens.) They’re said to be common enough but I can count the number of times I’ve seen one on one hand.

I didn’t plan to walk the entire old road on this day but I did want to see another old friend, the stair-step moss, so I walked up to where the moss lives. Stair-step moss (Hylocomium splendens) is a very beautiful and rare moss that grows on stones and looks quite fragile, but I’ve seen it with icicles hanging from it so I can say with certainty that it’s a lot tougher than it looks. That is most likely why it grows as far north as the arctic tundra. This is the only place that I’ve seen it growing. When dry, stair step moss has a slight satiny sheen to it and that’s probably how it came by its other common name of glittering wood-moss.

The name stair step moss comes from the way the new growth “steps up” off the midrib of the previous year’s branch. Each year a new branch grows from the old and this growth habit allows stair step moss to grow up and over other mosses. It is said that you can tell the age of the moss by counting these steps but I don’t think that is entirely accurate. I’ve known this moss for nearly 20 year and it has gotten bigger and is even spreading, but it certainly hasn’t doubled in size and I haven’t seen a branch with 20 steps. This photo was taken in 2014 and this branch had five steps.

But I came to see if the witch hazels were blooming and one of them was. It even had a bonus nipple gall on a leaf. The old abandoned road that runs through here is lined with witch hazels and other native flowering shrubs so there is something to see at all times of the year. Once the witch hazels drop their leaves it becomes easier to see the yellow flowers all along their branches. I found them blooming in January during one mild winter.

As a young boy my first introduction to witch hazel came by way of a bottle. My father used it just as Native Americans had for centuries to treat swelling, skin irritations, and muscle aches. I remember being amazed that a plant could do this. It is still sold for that purpose today.

I’d guess that all of these elderberries are gone now having been eaten by birds. Until they dry and fall off the stems left behind will look like star charts; maps through some unknown universe that only birds visit, maybe.

Native Americans dried these berries and used them in winter in sauces, jams and jellies. In fact they used every bit of the plant. Berries, leaves and bark were used medicinally to treat everything from sore throat to arthritis pain. The soft pith in the stems was removed to make flutes, whistles, and taps for collecting tree sap.

I remembered that I had taken a shot of the brook when I had come here to finally see the blue stemmed goldenrods, back when the sun used to shine. I hadn’t seen much sun for five days as I was writing this so I thought I’d use this sunny photo here. The photos in this post were taken on three different visits and on the day I came to see the witch hazels I stood looking at this scene and it was so dark I could barely see the brook. Part of that might have been because the water was so low. It was barely moving.

When I was a boy New England asters, and most other asters too I think, were simply called “fall asters.” As I walked though this area they bloomed by the hundreds and I thought that was the perfect name for them, because back then when you said fall aster everyone immediately knew what flowers you were talking about. Things seemed to be much less complicated then.

Today everyone seems to feel that something is lacking unless they know the common and scientific names of every living thing but when I was a boy scientific names of plants were left to botanists and nurserymen and the rest of us just enjoyed life with uncluttered minds. There’s a lot to be said for a mind that has plenty of space in it.

The bees are doing their best to make sure that no plant goes into its winter dreams without first setting seed. They’ve done a good job here. The number of plants in this colony increases yearly.

I saw old autumn in the misty morn stand shadowless, like silence listening To silence.
~Thomas Hood

Thanks for coming by.

Shape, Color, Texture

I thought in this post I’d show how beautiful some of the more common plants can be in the fall. They appear, they flourish, and then they return to where they came from, often in a blaze of color.

I like pickerel weeds with their beautiful blue flowers, but I also like how the leaves appear as if they have had color painted on them when they begin to change. I can’t think of another plant’s leaves that do this. They’re very beautiful for just a short time.

Poison ivy can go from green to yellow or green to red, and this patch of it wanted to be red. This plant can be very beautiful, enough so it begs to be touched, but if you do you’ll likely itch for a week or two. Even in winter the naked stems can cause a rash.

I’m not sure what was going on here but I believe these are flying ants, which I’ve read are mature, reproductive ants with wings (called alates) that leave their nests in large groups to mate and start new colonies. Down under the poison ivy leaves no human will bother them. Leaves of three, let them be.

Solomon’s seal grows up out of the poison ivy patch and its dark berries dangle over the itch causing leaves, meaning I can never get a good shot of them.

Bracken ferns turn first yellow then brown, little by little. Then in the winter the dead fronds poke up out of the snow looking like dinosaur skeletons.

Milkweed seeds are ready to fly. Many will be cut down if they grow because they’re not a very attractive plant. But it is an important plant and it really should be left alone if possible.

I’ve always loved the way little bluestem grass seed heads catch the light. After a frost plants take on a pinkish purple hue, making them even more beautiful as they line our trails and roadways. Little bluestem is a native prairie grass which is now sold at many nurseries as various cultivars.

Two stinkbugs went head to head on a hazelnut leaf. Until I looked them up I had no idea there were so many variations of them.

I’ve read that meadow spike moss (Selaginella apoda) prefers moist soil and so I suppose it makes sense that I find it at the outer edge of the concrete apron at a local public swimming pool. I would think the chlorine and other chemicals would be a problem but it doesn’t seem to bother the several plants that grow there. Spike mosses are considered “primitive” seedless (spore bearing) vascular plants and therefore aren’t mosses at all. They are more closely related to the clubmosses, which are also spore bearing vascular plants known as lycopods. They don’t appear to be evergreen like the clubmosses however. It’s a pretty little thing which is native to the eastern and midwestern U.S.

Cinnamon ferns often turn pumpkin orange in the fall and that’s what I thought these were, but it was just my colorblind eyes playing tricks on me again. My color finding software sees yellow-green and yellow. For some reason, mostly because of the light I think, green can appear very orange sometimes.

The asters in that last shot are I think swamp asters. Here they were growing in the standing water in a drainage ditch. And loving it, by the looks.

I thought this might be the last rose of summer.

But then I saw this one, so it’s a toss up. Both are rugosa roses I think, and both bushes were filled with bing cherry size hips.

I like the way the flower buds on silverrod look like tiny paintbrushes just before they open. Silverrod is in the goldenrod family and is also called white goldenrod. It is the only native white flowered goldenrod found in the northeast.

Downy goldenrod grows anywhere from a foot and a half to three feet tall. The narrow, stalked flower heads (panicles) grow on plants that live at the edges of forests in dry sandy soil. The bright yellow 1/4 inch flowers of downy goldenrod seem big when compared to other goldenrod flowers. 9-16 ray petals surround the central disc.

Native Americans used goldenrod for treating colds and toothaches and it has been used for centuries to treat kidney stones and urinary tract infections. In colonial times goldenrod growing naturally by the cottage door meant good fortune.

I saw that they had cut the fallen oak tree that had blocked my path the last time I tried to visit Beaver Brook Natural Area so I walked up the road to the spot where the blue stemmed goldenrods grow. I found lots of plants but not a single blue stem, so either heat or rain melted or washed off the wax crystals that catch the light and make the stems appear blue. This is a very thin coating of natural wax, so thin just a touch of a finger can wipe it away. It’s the same “bloom” found on plums, blueberries, and many other plants so I’m sure all of you know it, despite my poor description.

When I first found them several years ago there were maybe a dozen plants here, and now there must be 50 or more. They obviously like it here but I’ve never found them growing anywhere else. For that reason I’d say they’re on the rare side.

This seems to be a banner year for nodding bur marigolds. I’m seeing them growing in the mud of rivers, ponds and streams just about everywhere. They’re a cheery way to kick off the fall season.

I thought the pink turtlehead plant a client gave me many years ago had finally died off but it was just hidden behind some taller plants. The odd thing is, the turtlehead used to be as tall or taller than the other plants but this year they’re only about a foot and a half tall. I’ve never done a thing to them since the day I planted them so it might be time for a top dressing of some compost.

If you’re looking for a fall / late summer bloomer that visitors will ask about this might be it. It’s a true “plant it and forget it” perennial that is easily found online. This plant isn’t well known so I’d guess you’d be the only one in the neighborhood to have one.

I found more wild mint in the wild. This plant has many uses and that’s why it has been prized by mankind for thousands of years. Archaeologists have found dried mint leaves in Egyptian pyramids dating back to around 1,000 BC.

I like the way hawkweed goes to seed. The seedheads look nothing like the flowers. Over on the far right that seedhead was releasing seeds to the wind, much the same as a milkweed or dandelion would.

The peak bloom time for mugwort is August through September, but the plant’s flowers lack petals and are so small they’re hardly noticeable. Mugwort is in the chrysanthemum family and spreads by underground rhizomes. Though the plant produces no viable seed it can quickly overtake a garden. That’s why it’s considered one of the worst weeds by the American nursery industry. On the other hand, herbalists value it highly because of its many medicinal uses. Plants will die back to the ground when we have a good frost but before that they often turn deep red.

Eastern red cedar has small round, blue berries that resemble their cousins the juniper berries. If you’ve ever tasted gin you’ve tasted juniper berries but red cedar berries are said to be best when treated more like peppercorns. They’re said to be piney, sweet and fruity with a peppery bite; good for flavoring foods and drinks. Birds like warblers love these berries so they never last long.

It would be hard to mistake the smaller berries of the smooth carrion flower vine (Smilax herbacea) for wild grapes but they are the same color and sometimes grow side by side. Carrion flower gets its name from the strong odor of its flowers, which smell like rotting meat. The vine can reach 8 feet long, with golf ball size flower heads all along it. The female flower clusters when pollinated become globular clusters of dark blue fruit like those seen here. That round shape of the berry clusters is enough to tell you that it isn’t grapes your seeing. My favorite thing about the plant is its spring shoots, which always remind me of a musical score being written right there on the bushes it climbs on.

Invasive burning bushes are still heading for shades of pastel pink. The leaves will continue to lighten until almost white and then, as if a switch had been flipped, all the bushes will drop their leaves in a single night. That’s when the boulders and bones of the forest become far more visible. Not only do the bushes create thickets that are impossible to walk through, their dense foliage often blocks the view of what is beyond them. You can see how their branches layer like shingles so each leaf gets its share of sunlight.

Some might think I’m “glorifying” invasive plants by showing them here but the fact is, they’re here among us and some of them are very beautiful, which is why they were brought here in the first place. I’ve dug up each and every invasive I’ve shown here at one time or another and I can promise you that it would take a very large army of people decades to eliminate them from just this small town.

I could hide my head in the sand and pretend they aren’t here and not show them on this blog but that wouldn’t show the reality of the situation. The reality is, love them or hate them they are here, and no matter what we might think about that we can’t deny their beauty. Everything (and everyone) is here for a reason, whether we understand the reason or not.

Dogwood leaves, especially silky dogwood, turn red, yellow, orange and even deer purple in the fall. Until that happens these bushes are so common nobody notices them.

I wanted to show you how goldenrod leaves turn a beautiful purple in the fall but then I noticed that the plant I had chosen was being weakened by dodder vines.

Dodder (Cuscuta) is a parasitic plant that can live off many different kinds of plants. It’s an annual and grows new from seed in the spring. Once seeds germinate plants wrap themselves around the stem of a host and push growths called haustoria into the stem of the host plant. Once it is feeding on its host dodder loses all connection to the soil. This plant has no chlorophyll and its stems are bright orange. The round growths seem here are seed pods. Its tiny white flowers aren’t easily seen as it hides in the foliage of its host.

Since she died when I was an infant I never got to speak to my mother about why she loved the plants she loved so instead I went to each plant for the answer, and they showed me why she loved them. One of those was native Virginia creeper, which she loved enough to bring out of the woods to grow on the sunlit side of our house. Most people wouldn’t give it a second glance but I grew up with it and I learned to love it just as she did. I found the vine shown here growing up into a pine tree, seeking the light. It was unusual because though a deep scarlet color is common, the orange seen here isn’t.

White ash is a tree that can wear many colors in the fall. I’ve seen them in red, yellow, orange, purple, and everything in between. This small tree pointed that out beautifully. There are white ash cultivars with leaves that turn only purple in fall for sale in nurseries, meant be used as ornamental trees.

Invasive Oriental bittersweet turns yellow very early in the fall and that’s where the beautiful yellow color in this shot comes from. So bright and luminous is its color the vine can’t contain it, so it puddles there on the surface of the river.

One thing I tried to have this post show is that autumn isn’t only about trees. If you take a little time and walk a little slower you’ll find that all plants have something to contribute to the seasonal kaleidoscope of colors, even the so called weeds. To truly know the whole it’s best to first know its parts.

We live only to discover beauty. All else is a form of waiting. ~Kahlil Gibran

Thanks for stopping in.

Off To See The Gentians

Usually when school starts I start thinking about the gentians that grow along the river, so last week off I went to see if they were blooming. Though it is the same Ashuelot River I showed you in the last post, this section of river is north of where I was then and it’s really quite different as far as the plants that grow here. You wouldn’t expect this if you looked at a map. As the crow flies the two places are just a few miles apart but instead of floodplain dotted with trees the river’s banks are thickly forested here. I can’t remember ever seeing the river flood along this stretch. That could be because the trail you see in this shot is built on a berm, so this bank of the river is higher than the far side.

Back in the day when I was a gardener I usually figured on September fifteenth as the first chance of frost. Of course it could happen before or after that date but unless you wanted the client’s house plants to be frosted you had cleaned their pots and brought them inside before that date. I always brought house plants outside and set them under trees in dappled sunlight for the summer because they always grew better after a summer vacation. Though we haven’t had a frost yet this year we’re leaning in that direction. Plants like the hay scented fern seen here are reminders that warm summer days can no longer be counted on. This morning was in the high 40s and I wore a light jacket.

Nodding bur marigolds (Bidens cernua) bloomed here and there. They’re another sign of impending fall. They’re also called nodding beggar’s ticks and they love to grow in the mud near rivers and streams. They look like miniature sunflowers and are a good choice for backyard ponds. As they age the flowers nod towards the ground and that’s how the plant comes by its common name. Their petals are deeply pleated.

There was a lot of turtle yoga on display. I’ve read that they do this to cool off. Though I felt a chill I wasn’t baking inside a shell like they were. If taking this position doesn’t cool them off the water isn’t far away. The fist time I saw this I wondered if they were trying to fly. The only part of them touching that log when they do this is the underside of their shell. Since mother turtles lay eggs and never knowingly see their children this habit must be instinctive rather than taught.

This is where I come when the trees first start to change. The red maples across the way are often the first to change but I’ve noticed that this year some leaves are browning instead of coloring. I thought I saw some colors here but all my color finding software can see is various shades of green.

This tree looked red to me and in fact the software saw spots of Indian red and rosy brown, but most of it was still green. This tree is often the first to change in this spot. Last year I asked a man who was passing by what color he thought it was and he said burgundy.

A red meadowhawk stopped in to smile and say hello. It was on one side of the trail and I was on the other. A couple came along and they had no choice but to walk between us, so of course away flew the dragonfly. This could be an autumn meadowhawk but there are so many different red, one inch long dragonflies appearing at this time of year I just call them red meadowhawks, which is as accurate as I need to be. These dragonflies will often land on you without fear. I think they do this to eat the many mosquitoes buzzing around you rather than because of any affectionate feelings they may have. If I could have a red meadowhawk on each shoulder I wouldn’t have to buy bug spray.

These smart little critters can often be found in the gravel along road edges, staring at ant hills. When the ants get close enough they get eaten up.

This is where the forest changes to more of a mixed forest with pine and hemlock mixed in among the beech, oak, black cherry and maples.

A small crab apple tree had dropped all its apples but there didn’t appear to be any takers. They were too big for birds to swallow but deer also love apples and there are deer here. As I’ve said, you often come out of the woods with a pocket full of mysteries. You have to be okay with that and be able to let them go, trusting in that if you really need answers, they’ll come.

I stopped at a setback where the water is usually covered by duckweed but on this day I saw reflections. The only duckweed I saw was along the shoreline. I was surprised there were no turtles on that log.

I couldn’t figure out what the white powder on these turkey tails was but I do know that fungi can grow on other fungi. This didn’t look like that though. This looked more like dried, powdered pine sap. I should have looked up. These woods are full of woodpeckers and chances are I would have seen a fresh hole in a white pine with dried sap around it.

This scene reminded me of the day a man and wife came along with their pretty little girl. They asked me what I saw when they saw me pointing my camera.”Turtles” I said, pointing to several turtles on a log. “Ooh honey, turtles!” the lady said. “Want to see the turtles?” Of course the little girl did, so her father lifted her up and she saw the turtles and squealed loudly with delight. She squealed so loudly in fact that all the turtles went plop, plop, splash into the water. And that was the end of this day’s lesson.

I like the little light bulbs at the end of this pearly crescent butterfly’s striped antennae. You often see this butterfly right into fall. Whether or not that has anything to do with asters being their larval host plant, I don’t know. I stumbled into a spot where there were three or four of them fluttering around in the grass close to the ground. There were also an unknown variety of smartweed flowers that had bent down close to the ground but I can’t say if for sure if they were what was attracting the butterflies.

These tiny, beautiful green orbs are the seedpods of fringed loosestrife. There are many of them along this trail.

Native witch hazel leaves always turn to their fall yellow from the outside in. I saw plenty of leaves but no flowers yet. They’ll be along before too long. Then the little shivering owlet moths can pollinate them. Owlet moths shiver in the cold fall air to keep their body temperature up.

I saw a nipple gall on one of the witch hazel leaves. These galls are where witch hazel gall aphids (Hormaphis hamamelidis) grow and reproduce. When they’re ready they leave the gall and fly off to find birch trees. The young aphids feed on birch leaves until they give birth to nymphs, which develop wings and fly back to witch hazels, where the process begins again. An interesting thing about these galls is how they turn black and look like tiny witch hats, usually by Halloween.

And then there were the gentians. What a beautiful color, like jewels sprinkled along the trail. I’ve had many people stop and ask what I was taking photos of in this spot. When I’ve pointed out these plants to them many have said they’d been walking right by them without seeing them. When they aren’t in bloom I’ve done the same. I’ve had to remember certain trees and other landmarks in the landscape to find them again. When they aren’t in bloom they blend right in.

These are called closed or bottle gentians (Gentiana andrewsii.) Another gentian, the narrow leaved gentian (Gentiana linearis) has almost identical flowers but narrower leaves, and it likes wetter ground like that found in ditches and swamps. It’s also said to be a more rare plant than the closed gentian. I used to drive all the way to Nelson to see them until I found these along the river bank.

I’m colorblind so I’ll let you decide on the color. Some say bright blue and others say purple. I think it’s all in the way the light falls on them but I see blue. Bottle gentian stems are long but weak in low light so they kind of sprawl, ending in terminal clusters of flowers. Plants will live for many years in a spot they like, as they have here.

Flowers usually appear in odd numbers like ones, threes or fives but here were seven. Even when in full bloom they look like buds about to open. It takes strong insects like bumblebees to pry them open and get inside them. The leaves are shiny and nothing seems to bother them. They’re a bit leathery and deer won’t eat them. I can’t remember ever seeing them with insect damage either.

Native Americans used the bitter roots of this plant medicinally for things like eye care and gastrointestinal issues, and if you’ve ever had the New England soft drink Moxie you’ve tasted those bitter roots. The roots were also used in some brands of root beer and in bitters, such as Angostura bitters.

Woodland agrimony (Agrimonia striata) is also called roadside agrimony, but this one grew beside the trail. The small, bright yellow flowers grow in long spikes (racemes) on a small, knee high plant. Agrimony has been used medicinally for many thousands of years, dating back to at least ancient Egypt, but though it is native to the U.S. and Canada I can find no information on how or if it was used by Native Americans.

Woodland agrimony is said to be rare in New England and I believe it, because this is one of only two places I’ve ever seen it. It grows in the shade here rising up out of a tangle of many other plants.

And here was the bridge over the gully, and the bridge hints that it might be time to turn around and go back. Beyond here suburbia begins to appear.

So it was time to go back, but only because I felt like it. I rarely put time constraints on what I do in nature because I never know what will happen or what I might find.

A group of people passed me going the other way. One of the men turned and asked “Did you see the heron?” “No,” I said. “It’s right up around the next corner on the right.” I thanked them for the tip and walked on. This is what happens when you walk through the woods with a camera hanging around your neck. Sure enough there was the heron, lurking in the pickerel weeds. Probably hoping for a pickerel fish. Pickerels really do hang out among these plants and give them its name. I watched the bird for a while and moved on. It never did catch a fish while I was watching. It was more statue than bird.

I’m still seeing lots of slaty skimmers but they’re looking pretty beat up at this point. I’ve never paid much attention to how much cold they can take but they’ve been flying for at least two and maybe three months now. They’re another dragonfly that seems to like being around insect attracting humans.

According to what I’ve read lancer dragonflies should be around into and possibly through October. These are big dragonflies, usually 3-5 inches long with a 5 inch wingspread. They like to hang vertically from foliage, as this one was. They’ll catch insects in the air and then hang like this to eat them. As this one shows, they don’t need to use all of their legs to hang on. This dragonfly, which I think is a lance tipped darner, is a beautiful thing, like a string of jewels.

I took a look around Ashuelot Park before I left. Smooth blue asters caught my eye because they were everywhere. This is a beautiful flower but the plants are quite tall and they droop a bit. Maybe full sun would solve that.

Sedum has just come into bloom. I never see many insects visiting these flowers, which is a head scratcher.

A plant I’ve never seen before this is blue sage (Salvia azurea.) It’s a beautiful plant in the mint family. I’m not sure why or even if it was planted where it was but it had flopped over and was being propped up by milkweeds. I’ve read that it is native from the midwestern prairies to New England. It’s said to be great for a perennial garden but needs to be planted among other taller plants that can prop it up. What I wonder is, was it planted here or did birds drop seeds. It seems an odd place for it, away from the flowers in other garden beds.

The Ashuelot (pronounced ash-we-lot or ash-will-ot) was very low as it always is in August. But this photo shows something else; there is a dam / waterfall off to the right and silt has been backing up behind it for about 200 years. That’s why there are so many plants growing where there should be deep water. I don’t know how many years it would take but it’s not hard to imagine this as a meadow with a stream running through it rather than a wide spot in a river.

And two years ago this great egret helped me imagine that scene when it landed on the upriver side of the dam and actually walked where I thought the water should have been at least 10 feet deep. The water was just over its tail feathers, which are a bit discolored here. That means it might be 3 feet deep in that spot, but I doubt it. Probably more like 2 feet. The only thing that could lower the water level like that I knew, was silt building up behind the dam.

There have been countless meetings over the years about whether to remove this dam but all that has really gotten done is nothing. And that while the silt keeps building up. I think the river should return to its natural state but that’s just my opinion, and that’s just more hot air.

This was one of those perfect New England days in late summer where the spirit of autumn takes a first stealing flight, like a spy, through the ripening country-side, and, with feigned sympathy for those who droop with August heat, puts her cool cloak of bracing air about leaf and flower and human shoulders. ~Sarah Orne Jewett

Thanks for coming by.

Wandering Aimlessly

This week I thought I’d go up to the Beaver Brook Natural Area to see if the blue stemmed goldenrods were blooming. The blue stems are caused by light reflecting off the natural wax crystals that form on the stems. Hot weather can melt the natural wax coating resulting in no blue stems, but it hasn’t been that hot lately so I thought I might have a look. This is the only place I’ve ever seen them. But there was a surprise waiting; an old oak had fallen on the electric lines that run through here and had closed the place, at least to me.

I wasn’t as close as this shot makes it seem. Since trees are falling almost constantly here I have to question the wisdom of still having electric lines running through here. Of course, I don’t know what they power or where they go but I would think the cost of having the power company come out here every time this happens (and it happens a lot) would outweigh the cost of running the lines along the new highway that was built to bypass this old road. These lines are surprisingly elastic. I wonder what they’ll do when all that weight is taken off them.

I knew there would be no blue stemmed goldenrods on this day so I decided to stop at a local children’s park to see if the maple leaf viburnums had started changing color yet. The leaves on that plant are amazing in the fall as they turn pink, purple, orange, and other colors. Unfortunately I was too early and they were still green. Strike two.

But there were little sparrow like birds everywhere and they wanted to play. They’d sit on the trail eating seeds or whatever and wait until I was almost there, then they’d fly a few yards down the trail and do it all over again. I felt like I was herding birds for a while and I started wondering where the barn was. They were quick, fidgety little things and I got only one blog worthy shot, and this is it. I think it shows a pine warbler migrating through but I wouldn’t bet the farm on that. Birds aren’t really my thing but they’ll often land beside me and ask me to take their photo. That’s usually what they do just before you find them here.

I did see some invasive burning bushes with their leaves turning already. A sign of what’s to come. The furnace kicked on one morning this week. That’s another sign.

I’ve been seeing more silky dogwood fruit than I ever have this year. They always remind me of cedar waxwings because I first became aware of these birds years ago when I inadvertently put myself between a flock of them and their favorite silky dogwood bush at Ashuelot falls on West Street one day. All of the sudden I had these birds flying off the water right at my face at warp speed. At the last minute they’d fly straight up and circle around for the next run. What is up with these crazy birds? I wondered as bird after bird flew directly at my face. Finally I got tired of throwing my arm up in front of my face and I beat it out of there. When I looked back all the birds were now flying into this bush I had been standing near. “So that’s what they were after,” I realized. I read later that they were most likely drunk from eating fermented dogwood berries. This is a common occurrence in the bird world, I discovered.

I’ve hoped ever since that I would never run into another flock of drunken waxwings but on this day I didn’t have to worry, because they were attending flight school. The old alpha male Colonel on the right with his red, wax dipped wings was apparently teaching the new recruits how to catch insects.

As often happens when I’m wandering aimlessly, I ended up just a few minute’s walk away from the house I grew up in. I’m just naturally drawn to this place because I know it so well I suppose. I was glad to see corn in the fields again. This farmer has put up with either flooded fields or drought for the past several years, and the fields either stood empty or other crops like wheat or pumpkins were tried. When I was a boy a field with no corn in it would have been the talk of the neighborhood and we would have all wondered what it could mean. Now we know what it means.

Since I was here I decided to walk into the forest beside the river, but first I had to walk under the powerlines. A birder was electrocuted out here a few years ago when one of the high voltage wires fell from a rotted support arm, so I always stop and look to make sure everything is where it should be. It’s something my friends and I never gave a thought when we played out here years ago but I’ve tried to pay more attention these days. Back then everything was made of wood but now it’s all made of steel; poles, crossbars and supports are all steel. Steel is a better conductor of electricity than wood but I try not to think about that as I walk through here.

It’s the flowers I come here for at this time of year. Huge numbers of goldenrod, thistle, milkweed and asters bloom here and it can be a real riot of color. Panicled asters (Symphyotrichum lanceolatum) like the ones shown are everywhere.

Heath asters (Symphyotrichum ericoides) also grow in great numbers here. These are easy to identify by the way all the aspirin size flowers grow on one side of the long, usually horizontal stems and face the sky. Various cultivars of both panicled and heath aster are offered for sale by online nurseries, I’ve noticed.

My favorites are the New England asters (Symphyotrichum novae-angliae,) and the darker purple they are the better. These have been offered for sale for quite a long time because they’re so showy. Though wild plants are often five feet tall shorter cultivars have been developed. They fit in well with chrysanthemums in fall gardens.

Daisy shaped New England asters have many ray flowers around the outer perimeter and tiny, tubular disc flowers in the yellow center of the flower head. I wanted to get as close as possible to those cone shaped disc flowers, which are hard to see. Pollen carrying anthers rise out of the nectar bearing tubes, providing food for all comers. This magic moment, when this flower had just opened for business, was caught here.

I finally met up with a maintenance man at the local college who told me that these mile markers were “for the runners.” I guess I had already figured that part out. What I really wanted to know was, where the start / finish lines were. These trails through the undergrowth and through the woods are mowed by the local college but I’m not sure if they own the land or not.

Though I was out here at about 10:30 am on this day the bindweeds were just waking up and opening their flowers. Just look at how it glowed. Life is so beautiful, and it often catches you by surprise.

When I played here as a boy there were no mowed paths. We just followed the game trails and played in natural clearings. There are college ball fields and roads nearby now, but none of that existed then. The only sign that man had been here at all back then was the mowing done under the powerlines to keep the brush down. I have to say that it’s nice to have mowed trails now.

This part of forest is mostly silver maple trees that don’t mind the yearly flooding, and some of them are huge trees now. The “silver” part of the name comes from the white undersides of the leaves, which can be seen here. Back when I was a boy if the wind blew hard enough so all you could see were the white leaf undersides the adults said that meant a storm was coming, so we’d all head home. It took me a while but I finally realized that all it really meant was that the wind was blowing.

Though I don’t believe for an instant that wildlife can be managed I was happy the first time I saw this sign because it told me that these woods would always be here and that hopefully other kids would run and play and learn about nature here.

A green stinkbug (Chinavia hilaris) rested on a leaf. I was glad it didn’t stink me like they have in the past. I read that at one time the foul smelling liquid they produce was collected and dried, then it was pulverized and used to reinforce the smell of industrial acids, presumably to warn people away from them. These days the liquid has been replaced by artificial compounds but I can’t help but wonder who once had the job of milking stink bugs. I hope they were well paid.

I come out here once or twice each year and every time I do I see something I hadn’t seen the previous time. On this day it was this artesian well, out in the middle of nowhere. I can’t imagine how they ever got a drilling rig out here to drill it but obviously, they did. It’s just a few yards from the river, probably taking water from a deep bed of clay. There are lots of clay deposits along this river.

Wood reedgrass (Cinna arundinacea) is a lover of light shade and fertile wooded floodplains, both of which are found here in abundance. It’s a native clump forming, warm season grass that can reach about five feet in height as it stretches toward the dappled light. It’s a pretty grass that isn’t at all pushy.

I never imagined that I saw elves or other mythical creatures out here as a boy. Instead I saw the many beautiful ways that nature expressed itself, and this grass is a good example of what would have caught my attention and stopped me in my tracks. It seems so out of place out here in the woods, and is so beautiful. It’s as if it was looking for a place to hide so it could let go of itself, and show every bit of the beauty that it has in it.

Of course you would expect jewelweed to be growing here. Like the reed grass it likes partial shade and wet feet. It’s an annual as well, so any spring flooding wouldn’t bother it at all. I’ve seen the river come up and wash over much of the land in this area, and it’s a scary thing to see when you’re a ten year old. But it’s a natural floodplain, and hopefully nothing will ever be built here. It’s as if the river takes a great breath now and then; it inhales and swells up and out of its watercourse and washes over the land. Then it exhales and all the water returns to its course until the next breath.

At the college ball fields nearby the few buildings there are like house trailers lifted up five feet or so, as if they’re on stilts. Even the rail trail that runs through here, once the Boston and Maine Railroad track, is many feet above the surrounding landscape. When I was a boy our house was just across the street from the river and each spring I’d watch nervously as it rose higher and higher until it was at the very lip of its bank, and then all the water would run into this floodplain on the river’s lower far bank. It’s what got me interested in floodplains. I learned why you don’t build on them, and I learned about the riparian plants that live on them.

It is beautiful out here just as it always was, but there is potential danger here if you aren’t paying attention. If you look to the right in this shot you’ll see a line of wooden posts. They were once connected to each other by boards, a sort of loose fencing put there to warn people that the river was there.

And in places the river is right there, just three or four steps from where you stand, but if you stay on the trail it’s fine. Kids played out here all the time and as far as I know, nobody ever fell in the river. We just seemed to instinctively know what we should stay away from. We did enter the river intentionally in places when the water was low in August but that was to find old, antique bottles.

These mile markers are confusing when you don’t know where they start from. My phone said I walked a mile and a half from where I started, back to that same point. Each year the college has a run out here but I’ve never come to watch. Maybe I’d learn more if I did.

I saw tightly coiled tendrils and thought I had found more wild cucumbers growing out here.

But no, this was unlike any wild cucumber I had ever seen. Wild cucumber fruit doesn’t grow in a cluster like this. They grow singly, spaced out along the vine. But what was it? Everything about it was hairy. Spiky.

And the flowers were unusual. I had to look them up to find out that they were the male flowers of the bur cucumber (Sicyos angulatus.) The strange thing in the center is its stamens, fused together into one. The female flowers had become fruits obviously, but they look a lot like the male flowers, only smaller. The cluster of one seeded fruits become longer as they age and begin to turn brown from green. What were soft hairs harden into needle like spikes that can pierce your skin. This is a native plant but I never saw it here or anywhere else when I was a boy.

I was happy but not surprised to find the strange, brownish flowers of groundnut (Apios americana) blooming out here. I’ve been trying for a while to get a shot of the inside of the unusual flowers so you could see what they looked like and I was finally able to pull it off. This plant is in the legume family along with peas, beans, and many others. I just read that the flowers are edible and taste like peas. Swollen underground stems on this vining plant form small tubers that look like potatoes but have three times the protein that potatoes do. Groundnuts were a very important food source for Native Americans and early settlers survived on them when their corn supply ran out in 1623. The only thing keeping the groundnut from becoming a commercially viable food crop is the two to three years it takes for its tubers to form.

I saw some pretty pale purple New England asters in a sunny spot, just starting to flower.

Then I saw what Google lens said were New York asters that had obviously been blooming for a while. New England or New York asters, does it matter? Not to me. Will knowing a name change what you see in any way? See how beautiful life is first, then think about names. That’s the way it was when I was a boy. It wasn’t until I began reading about Henry David Thoreau identifying plants on Mount Monadnock that I first got interested in knowing plant names. I started trying to identify plants along the railroad tracks because of what Thoreau had written about. I especially enjoyed trying to name them in winter when they didn’t have leaves, which is what first got me interested in bud development. It’s also what got me on cross country skis.

I wonder sometimes what Thoreau would have thought of Google lens. I think it and the phone it was on would have ended up on the bottom of the river quicker than you could say Ralph Waldo Emerson, but I could be wrong.

Eventually the trail ends and you break out of the forest into a field of goldenrod, nearly as bright as the sun. It’s a beautiful way to end a beautiful walk.

Must we always teach our children with books? Let them look at the stars and the mountains above. Let them look at the waters and the trees and flowers on Earth. Then they will begin to think, and to think is the beginning of a real education. ~David Polis

Thanks for stopping in.

I Get Around

I once again went to a local pond to see how a few of the plants that live there were coming along. One of our most beautiful wild flowers, the Marsh St. Johnswort, blooms in mid to late August each year and I wanted to show it to you.

But even though I tried to catch it in bloom a few times I missed it each time. This is a very fussy plant when it comes to light and if it isn’t in full sunshine it just will not open its flowers. I got there either just before or just after the flowers showed themselves, every time. All I got to see were its bright red chili pepper seedpods, which actually are pretty and nothing to sneeze at. These plants were wearing their fall colors.

I thought I’d use a photo from the past to show you this flower, which is rare enough to be special. Marsh St. Johnswort (Hypericum virginicum) is as far as I know, our only pink St. Johnswort. All the others I’ve seen are yellow. If this plant likes the spot it grows in large colonies can form. but finding them is the trick. Its another plant which, though not really rare is rarely seen. As its common name implies this plant prefers wet areas and is considered a wetland indicator, so if you see it you’ll know that you should have waterproof hikers on. I usually find it at the edges of ponds and rivers, often growing just in the water, and its beauty and relative rarity makes it very much worth slowing down and looking for.

Another reason I come here at this time of year is to see the Indian cucumber root (Medeola virginiana) plants that grow here in great numbers. When their fruit forms, anywhere from one to six black berries, the leaves directly under them often form a scarlet colored splash. A splash is the only thing I can think of to call it because that’s what it looks like. The berries form at just about even with the eye level of a turkey, and though I have absolutely no proof I believe the scarlet splash is there to get the attention of the turkeys. All I can say for sure is, in a short time from now all the berries will have disappeared, and these woods are full of turkeys. If you have another theory of why the splash is there I’d love to hear it.

I was surprised to see the more common perforated St. Johnswort (Hypericum perforatum) still in bloom here. It’s a pretty flower on a plant that has historical baggage going back many centuries, dried, ground and used as a natural anti-depressant for a very long time.

Last spring, which seems like last week, I saw lots of blue bead lily (Clintonia borealis) plants blooming here but now I can find only 2 berries, and they were in rough shape.

I was surprised to find native hobblebush viburnums (Viburnum lantanoides) with fruit here, because deer keep them browsed down to barely two feet tall. I don’t remember seeing any flowers on them in spring but obviously there must have been at least a few. These berries go from green to red to deep purple black. The red stage is usually bright fire engine red, but these were kind of a weak pink red. No matter, the deer will eat them no matter what color they are.

Fall has jumped from the forest floor up into the understory, and hobblebushes are always one of the first shrubs to let you know that. It won’t be long before fall color has made it into the trees. In fact I’ve already seen bright yellow ash leaves. Soon the busses full of leaf peepers will start to roll in. They’ll come from all over the world and we will welcome them here.

After going into the woods to see the hobblebushes and Indian cukes I returned to the place I had taken that first shot of the pond from. There is a grassy area with flowers there and a great spangled fritillary hopped among the red clover blossoms, tasting them all.

It wouldn’t let me get close enough for a cell phone camera shot so these will have to do. It seems like I’ve missed the white outline of their wings all these years, but that’s the first thing I noticed when I saw these photos. It always amazes me how I can sometimes look right at something and not see it.

As I was leaving, another fritillary flew in from off the water. There were plenty of clover blossoms to go around and word appeared to be spreading.

Since a red clover blossom is made up of many small but beautiful orchid like flowers it is no wonder bumblebees and butterflies give them so much attention.

If you kneel down and get really close to a red clover flowerhead you can lose yourself in it so deeply that you’ll lose even your sense of time and place. It will be you and the flower and nothing else for a while. I’ve always called this “stepping out of myself.” When it happens to you, you might want to call it something else but it will always be the same. Why not learn what it means to stand apart from yourself, lost in the quiet beauty of life?

I doubt anyone knows for sure but there are many theories of why some trees grow in a spiral pattern. From what I’ve read, one theory says that spiral-grained wood acts like a built-in shock absorber. When a heavy wind or snow hits, a twisted trunk can flex, rock, and twist without snapping as easily as a straight-grained tree. This seems to be the most plausible explanation to me. I’ve known for a long time that trees growing in constant wind have much stronger roots than those that don’t. Those stunted trees on mountainsides have very deep root systems. That’s how they survive on mountains.

It is also thought that certain species of tree are “pre-programmed” by DNA to grow in a spiral. Over time it is thought, evolution favored trees with right-hand spirals because they handled mechanical twisting forces better than straight or left-handed trees. A spiral pattern also helps distribute water and nutrients more efficiently. Nature uses spirals in some surprising places.

Eventually when I was through poking around, this road led me away from the pond. The red and sugar maple leaves seem to be getting lighter green all the time. It won’t be long before the green disappears and other colors take over. Sugar maples will be mostly yellow and red maples in shades of red, orange, yellow, and sometimes purple.

Sometimes the best way to find something is to stop looking for it. In that last post I was surprised to find no field milkwort (Polygala sanguinea) plants on the flanks of Mount Caesar, but then later on I remembered I had seen hundreds of them of them on a rail trail. But which rail trail? I walk on a lot of different rail trails and I couldn’t remember which one, so I just let it go. Over the course of a day or two the memory of which trail it was came in pieces. I remembered that apple moss and New England asters also grew there, and I remembered there was a bit of blasted ledge, and there was a trestle. And lots of bike riders.

Finally the jigsaw puzzle memory jelled as if a dream had become solid, and I walked right to the field milkworts. I don’t know about you but I think they’re worth seeing again, because they’re beautiful. Each “flower” is actually made up of many tiny flowers. From what I’ve read at a great site called Illinois Wildflowers, “each flower consists of two large sepals (i.e., the outer wings), 1 small inconspicuous sepal, and 3 small petals that form a narrow tube with 6-8 short rays.” What we see here are the colorful outer wings.

The shin high plants are annuals that grow from seed each year, so there must be many seeds produced here. They prefer full sun and poor, acidic, sandy soil that has been disturbed. The plants in this spot get full sun only in the afternoon.

The only way to see the tiny yellow flowers is from above. Again from Illinois Wildflowers: “The tiny tube and rays of the petals are typically yellow, but are short-lived, typically occurring near the apex of the inflorescence, where it is partially concealed by the outer wings.” That’s why you’ll see bees right at the top of the flower heads, which until you know how the plant works might seem like an odd place for them to be.

Slender gerardia is also called false foxglove (Agalinis tenuifolia) but I think it would be hard to confuse the two, especially after a good look at the slender, sword shaped leaves on this plant. The 5 lobed blossoms are very hairy on the inside and other than a similar funnel shape, look nothing like foxglove to me. An interesting thing I noticed about this plant which is in the figwort family and field milkwort was how the leaves on both plants are very similar. The two plants usually grow together as well. If you find one the other is probably near. I don’t know why this would be but I’ve never heard it mentioned in books or on websites.

Looking inside a slender gerardia blossom is always a challenge and I’ve never been happy with the shots I’ve gotten. The plant has the unusual habit of dropping its open flowers each day in late afternoon / early evening, so if you go to see it in the evening you’ll find the ground around each plant littered with tiny fallen blossoms. It opens fresh buds at the start of each day, which means that its flowers don’t even last for 24 hours. The plants that I find are always about 6-8 inches tall but I’ve read that they can reach 2 feet.

I turned from the galardias and was a bit surprised to see a lady’s tresses orchid right beside the trail on the far side. I’ve seen them out here before but not for a few years, and not right along the trail. There are many different lady’s tresses and I haven’t been able to pin this one down. Nodding lady’s tresses (Spiranthes cernua) is the most common and most likely but something about it said that wasn’t it, so I had to get out the book Wild Orchids of the Eastern United States. That book pointed me to Case’s Lady’s Tresses (Spiranthes casei) as a possibility, so I looked it up online. What I found seemed to match this orchid.

You can see the basal, tongue shaped leaves of the orchid here. Two were all I could find among the mosses. There might have been three. Something in the back looks like it was partially nibbled on and there are a lot of rabbits in this area.

This is probably the best shot I’ve gotten trying to look into a blossom though I’ve revisited this plant a few times. It shows the lower lip with two lobes and how the flowers generally look as if they aren’t fully opened. “The dorsal (top) sepal and tips of the side petals are not recurved, and they have a comparatively reduced labellum (lower lip)” All of that points to Case’s Lady’s Tresses, as well as the single row of flowers, and its 8-10 inch height. Case’s Lady’s Tresses like to grow in disturbed waste areas in gravely soil like that found on rail beds. This is a rail bed.

The trouble with all of this is, if this orchid is indeed a Case’s Lady’s Tresses orchid, it’s “An extremely rare, endangered native orchid in New Hampshire, where it is ranked as critically imperiled.” I’m not a botanist. I’m just a nature nut with a camera who has seen a few orchids. So who do you call when you think you’ve found a rare plant? In New Hampshire you can report rare plant sightings directly to the New Hampshire Natural Heritage Bureau (NHB) within the Division of Forests and Lands, so we’ll see. It’s quite a process.

A friend tipped me off to where a green heron was fishing but it was evening and the scene was so shaded my Canon SX70 couldn’t handle the low light. But I watched the bird catch fish or frogs one right after another that day, so I went back on a sunnier day and there it was again on the same branch in among the water pepper flowers, catching fish or frogs one right after another. This must be one of its favorite fishing spots.

Finally on this day it gave up and turned so its back was facing me. I was happy to see that because I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a shot of a green heron’s back. They tell me this bird’s back is green but it looked gray to me so I checked it with my color finding software. It also sees gray, and also steel blue. I can only guess those colors came from the way the bright light fell on it. It doesn’t matter. It must have been a happy bird with a belly so full it stopped fishing.

A helmeted squash bug (Euthochtha galeator) rested on a deer tongue grass leaf. According to what I’ve read this is a “common North American leaf-footed bug that feeds on both wild and cultivated crops like squash, pumpkins, and cucumbers.” It was probably out here bugging the wild cucumbers. I can’t think of any other members of the curcurbit family that grow in this spot.

Since it wasn’t moving even though I got quite close I thought it was dead, so I nudged it with the corner of my cell phone. It crawled slowly to the underside of the leaf. I shouldn’t have interrupted its sun bathing.

I was sorry to find swamp milkweed seed pods covered with milkweed aphids. Milkweed aphids are tiny, bright yellow insects with black legs that pierce plant tissue and suck the juices out of plants. An aphid colony can produce large amounts of honeydew, which attracts ants. I’ve read that the ants will fight off aphid predators so they can have the honeydew they produce. I’ve also heard that the ants will “herd” the aphids but I don’t know how true it is. Aphids stunt plant growth and if not controlled will eventually kill the plant. Hopefully these swamp milkweed plants will have enough life left in them to bloom again next year. These aphids are also called oleander aphids and in places like Florida they can often be found on that shrub.

You would think with all the trails I’ve followed over the years, I would have seen a great blue lobelia (Lobelia siphilitica.) After all it is a native plant, but not a single time have I found it in the wild. This one lives in a local public garden so at least I do get to see it occasionally. It’s a beautiful thing. One of the things I like about it is the striped undersides of the flowers. Why are they there? It seems like an unnecessary extravagance but then again, I’m not a hummingbird. What happens when a hummingbird is drinking nectar from a flower and looks up and sees those stripes, I wonder.

False or early sunflower (Heliopsis helianthoides) is doing well this year. They’re quite tall, with their flowers easily reaching above the surrounding shrubbery to find the sun. They’re pretty too, but they’re another reminder that summer is nearly over.

Ironweed (Vernonia fasciculata) gets its common name from its “exceptionally tough, rigid, iron-like stems and roots, alongside the rusty-brown color of its fading flower heads and seeds.” This is another very tall plant, typically reaching 6-7 feet in this area. It’s a pretty thing that I rarely see, though my daughter knows a place along the river where many plants grow.

Tansy (Tanacetum vulgare) is a European native that has been cultivated for centuries, even grown in the herb gardens of Charlemagne. It was brought over from England by early colonists and in less than 100 years it had naturalized in New England. It could hardly be called invasive though; I have to look for it to find it. The plant is a natural insect repellent and has historically been used as such. Dried tansy added to the straw in mattresses was said to keep bedbugs away. The ancient Greeks grew tansy for medicinal use but modern science has found it to be toxic. When you see it for the first time you might wonder where all the petals have gone.

Quite often in the past I’ve taken photos of these dark purple New England asters under trees that were aflame with fall colors, so these flowers are another sign that it won’t be long before we see the trees starting to color up. If fall happens to be your favorite season, hang on to your hat. I have a feeling it might be a good one because of all the rain we’ve had this summer. Not excessive rain, just enough.

Once you really commence to see things, then you really commence to feel things. ~Edward Steichen

Thanks for coming by.

In the Forest

Last week I went into the forest on Mount Caesar in Swanzey, which is something I haven’t done for a while. Long enough so I can’t remember when the last time was, in fact. I wasn’t here to climb, just to look around and get a feel for what the woods were up to. You can tell by the size of the trees that this area had been cleared for pasture back in the 1800s. Too rocky for cows, most of it was given to sheep.

Though I wasn’t looking for mushrooms right off I saw a purple cort nestled up against a fallen branch. It looked like a map of the universe hidden right here in the woods, and a pine needle drew my attention right to the sun. It was beautiful, and unexpected.

An odd thing I saw was a shagbark hickory nut, shelled. If a squirrel had gone to all the trouble of peeling it open, it would have eaten it. Squirrels can tell the quality of a nut just be smelling it and they don’t waste time opening “bad” ones. That’s why I think a person, possibly a child, opened it. It looked like a tiny pumpkin. As I was walking up the trail a mother and son were coming down. The boy looked to be 9 or 10 and most likely full of curiosity, so I’d guess it was him. If so I hope he saw the beauty in it.

And then I saw something I’ve never seen. On both sides of the trail and even far off into the woods gem studded puffballs (Lycoperdon perlatum) in all stages of growth covered the ground. There were thousands of them.

These puffballs are common enough but I had never seen so many of them in one place. They were piled on top of each other and so close together the typically round bodies were squashed into various shapes.

Here on these very young puffballs the jewels (or gems) on the puffball surfaces are amplified and easier to see. According to Wikipedia “The outer surface of the fruit body (the exoperidium) is covered in short cone-shaped spines that are interspersed with granular warts. The spines, which are whitish, gray, or brown, can be easily rubbed off, and leave reticulated pock marks or scars after they are removed.” It’s hard to explain how tiny this world seen here really was.

As they age (quickly) they grow a stem or stalk and get taller. The short cone-shaped spines and granular warts can still be clearly seen. When the spherical parts of the puffballs grow larger the stalks are hidden.

In maturity, the covering at the top of the puffball sloughs away, revealing a pre-formed hole (ostiole) through which the spores can escape. In young puffballs the internal contents, called the gleba, is white and firm but turns brown and powdery as the spores mature. The two brown “ripe” puffballs at bottom center are ready to release spores. Raindrops, or animals or people stepping on them are ways spores can be released.

Teens looking to get high by squeezing puffballs and inhaling the spores is another way, but inhaling puffball spores has resulted in puffballs actually growing in human lungs. Think about where mushrooms like to grow; dark, moist, humid places just like those found in lungs. Lung transplants, death and disability have all resulted from what is a dangerous practice. To top it off, puffball spores don’t get people high. They should be left alone to do what they do without interference.

I’ve read that small-spiked false nettle (Boehmeria cylindrica) is found in rich, moist forests and swamps throughout New England, and that’s just where I found it. It doesn’t sting like stinging nettle (Urtica dioica) and wood nettle (Laportea canadensis). The tiny flowers are wind pollinated, and the seed containing fruits (achenes) you see in the leaf axils in this photo is where they grow. I don’t see this plant very often. This one grew in deep shade. It seems fairly unremarkable but since it doesn’t sting it provides food for animals.

Something about this plant I noticed is how its leaves resemble those of white snakeroot (Eupatorium rugosum.) White snakeroot is the plant that once caused milk sickness in cows and killed thousands of people in the early 19th century. If you want to use false nettle be sure that’s what you have. White snakeroot can still be found and its white flowers usually appear in September.

Is this puffball I found by the trail a common earthball (Scleroderma verrucosum) or a poison pigskin puffball (Scleroderma citrinum)? Then and there in the woods I didn’t care. I was more interested in the patterns on its skin that reminded me of wet soil that has dried and cracked. I wanted to draw it.

It’s easy for me to say I don’t care about names because most of the time I don’t. The only time I have to care is when I’m taking photos of various parts of an unknown plant to help identify it so I can describe it on this blog. I don’t walk through the woods thinking about much of anything. I look at things far more than I think about them. The forest is best experienced with a quiet clear, open mind, empty of baggage. If you go in thinking about all the things you need to do you’ll hurry through and miss most of it. I leave all of this “life” (noise) behind and listen to the wind. I believe what I need to see will always find me and what I don’t won’t, and I don’t sweat it.

Let the silence of the forest show you how much noise is in your mind, and then let it show you how to silence it. Just sit on a rock or log and listen for a few minutes. It’s like learning from any other teacher; you get quiet, you listen and you learn. I often think “show me” and nature has indeed shown me things I’ve never even imagined.

Some might see spending a lot of time in the woods as trying to escape reality but that’s just thinking backwards. If walking into a forest means escaping anything it is escaping the false in favor of reality. When you enter a forest you don’t find trees, plants and animals pretending to be anything other than what they are. There is nothing false about a forest. The only problems you find there are the ones you’ve carried in. Why not go to one and find out for yourself? When you get there don’t think, just see.

Stiff clubmoss (Spinulum annotinum) is rare enough so for years I knew of only one small colony. In this place it was everywhere, and I was amazed. It is very similar to shining clubmoss, but that plant produces spores on its leaves and reproduces vegetatively so it doesn’t need the “clubs” (strobili) seen here.

Sweet everlasting (Pseudognaphalium obtusifolium) never looks like a flower until it is gone by and its bracts are all that’s left. You wonder if it will ever open until you look closely and see yellow and watch insects going after that yellow, then you see that it is open. An odd name for it is rabbit tobacco, given to it by Native Americans because they noticed that rabbits liked to gather where these plants grew. Because of these gatherings they imagined that rabbits must smoke the plant as a way to communicate with the Creator. For that reason (probably) it was used in smoking mixtures by Native peoples who also wanted to communicate with the Creator.

Cousin pearly everlasting (Anaphalis margaritacea) looks totally different because the flowers do open, but it’s still a yellow center surrounded by dry white bracts. Native Americans also smoked this plant to treat colds and as a tobacco substitute.

I think this is the first time both sweet and pearly everlasting have appeared on this blog in the same post.

Is it any wonder I ignore names? Someone named this St. John’s Wort “orange grass,” never mind that it isn’t orange and it has nothing to do with grass. Names are just opinions that formed in someone’s imagination. More often than not in the plant world they have no basis in fact. The plant is also called pine weed, which might sound better but is really no more accurate. Hypericum gentianoides is in competition for the smallest St. John’s Wort flower I’ve ever seen. Until now Canada St. John’s Wort held that title but now I’m not so sure. These flowers are tiny, no more that a quarter inch across according to descriptions, with what I saw closer to an eighth of an inch, and the normally scaly leaves look as if they’ve shriveled from drought. Seed capsules are tiny, sharply pointed and bright red, and if you click on the photo and look closely you might see them. The stiff upright stems give this plant the overall appearance of some kind of strange broom straw. It’s an annual that seems to prefer poor, dry soil. I found several plants growing on the sunny side of an old white pine stump in almost pure sand.

I thought I might see some field milkwort (Polygala sanguinea) plants on the flanks of Mount Caesar but I didn’t see a single flower. That was too bad because the small flowers are quite beautiful and used to grow in large numbers here. Since it should be blooming just about now I thought I’d show a photo from the past so you’d know it if you saw it.

The sepals on this flower shade from purple at the top to white at the base in this case, but its flowers can also be white or green. The “poly” part of the scientific name means much in Greek and “gala” means milk. It was once thought that cows eating this plant would produce more milk, and that’s how the plant got its common name. This little beauty that few ever see might reach your shins and usually grows in poor, sandy soil. It seems to like old hay fields which are mowed only occasionally. It’s worth a closer look.

I saw a group of maybe a dozen turkeys lurking at the edge of the forest one day. When I stopped they all ran into the woods except this one, an old mother hen. She stood her ground and said “I dare you” so I drove away.

I used to know an old rooster that flew up at my face with its talons outstretched every time it saw me. Since the landlord I was renting from owned it, that would happen just about every day after work. I was a lot younger then but still, that was enough bird battling for me. Turkeys are a lot stronger than roosters so I try not to bother them.

I happened to be near the local college when I noticed what looked like white paint on one of the old oak trees that live there. When I got closer I found what I believe is a weeping oak polypore (Pseudoinonotus dryadeus) on the tree at about eye level. Since this fungus causes white rot on the butt and roots of the tree, this oak is finished. That’s too bad because these old oaks have been around for at least twice as long as anyone alive today. Chances are it won’t be there much longer because it will start dropping branches before long. In fact it already has. I can remember finding small branches with black jelly fungus on them in winter two or three years ago, but I never gave a thought to any future problems. The tree stands on the grounds of the local college right over a sidewalk, and they have an excellent arborist caring for their trees. I can’t explain the white stain around the fungus.

This a close look at the oak polypore. These are called weeping brackets because they exude an amber liquid that looks a lot like blood in the right light. These fungi usually grow at the base of the tree but its position at eye level is what made this shot possible. I felt bad about losing this old tree that I’ve known all my life. It wasn’t something I wanted to see, but there was nothing I could do except just walk away and let it bleed. I’m sure the arborist must know it’s there, so I won’t be surprised when I find a stump where it once stood.

The second half of this post finds us still in the woods, but this time on a rail trail in Swanzey. This has become my favorite slice of rail trail because it is packed with rare and beautiful things.

Things that are not rare but are beautiful are the berries of the silky dogwood. They turn from green to white to blue, and for a few precious days the berries are both blue and white, just like Chinese porcelain. In a story in my mind a thousand years ago a Chinese potter who worked with white porcelain everyday walked by something like this and said that’s it! And that revelation changed the world. Look at that berry in the upper left and you can feel it, even if it never happened that way.

I was quite sure I’d find asters blooming out here and here was what I believe was a tatarian aster (Aster tataricus) in full bloom. This is a pretty aster that is smaller than a New England aster by maybe a third of an inch.

American slippery jack (Suillus americanus) mushrooms are also called chicken fat mushrooms and they lined the trail. They are known for their yellow, slimy caps with reddish brown scales, and how they usually appear in great numbers under eastern white pine trees. They grew here in the many hundreds, if not thousands. They are said to be edible but I wouldn’t eat it. My problem with eating wild mushrooms comes from knowing what the wrong one can do to a person but that’s really just an opinion. If you’re okay with it, dig in.

I was happy to see fan clubmoss (Lycopodium digitatum) out here for the first time. It was almost wiped out by people over-collecting it to make Christmas wreaths, and it seems to be struggling to make a strong comeback. I see small only colonies here and there.

Panicled aster (Symphyotrichum lanceolatum) has white, three quarter inch flowers that appear just about the time that New England asters start to bloom. Books will tell you the plant has only white flowers but I see purple ones now and then as well. I look at the stems and leaves more than the flowers when I’m trying to figure this one out. Asters are notoriously mind boggling to identify and I usually come away feeling unsure of my ability.

I found lots of white baneberry plants (Actaea pachypoda) out here and I wanted to get a good shot of the leaves, which I’m not sure I’ve ever done. I usually concentrate more on the berries. Though Native Americans used the roots medicinally, white baneberry plants are toxic and no part of them should be eaten.

The berries of the white baneberry plant are called doll’s eyes, for obvious reasons. The remains of the flower’s black stigma against the porcelain white fruit is striking, and so are the pink stalks (pedicels) that they’re on. Since they’re so bitter I don’t know what if anything eats them. That’s why people aren’t poisoned by them; a single bite is just too much.

I’d heard screeching all along this trail and I was pretty sure it was a red tailed hawk. I stopped to look for it and instead of a hawk I saw what I thought was a branch in a pine tree. That’s an odd shaped limb, I thought as I zoomed in on it. I found out why it had such an odd shape when I saw the back of a great blue heron. Just then the shadow of what looked like quite a large bird passed over the trail. I looked up and saw the tail of a big bird following the river, screeching as it left. I spoiled its lunch I guess, but as pay back I wanted a shot of the heron. I stepped on a dry pine branch and the sound made the bird snap its head around and look my way. You’re welcome, I said.

A few yards down the trail from the heron I saw a big dragonfly fluttering its wings frantically at the top of a loosestrife flower spike. I thought it must be stuck somehow but as I got closer I saw two dragonflies. So that’s it, I thought; they’re mating. But no, they weren’t mating. A big yellow striped dragonfly called a dragon hunter had caught an even bigger darner dragonfly and was eating it. It was well past the head and working toward the body when I got too close with my phone camera and spooked it. It flew off with its prey dangling. When you get past what is actually happening and just look at the overall scene you can imagine how beautiful it was when I was there watching.

Darners are one of our biggest and prettiest dragonflies at about 4-5 inches long and decorated with mosaic like patterns. I think this one might have been a lance tipped darner because of that sharp looking blade like appendage at the tip of its abdomen. It uses it to make a slit in a plant stem and lay its eggs. I was lucky enough to see one doing that one day a couple of years ago.

More asters. Google lens says this is the sky blue aster but I wonder about that. I was going to look it up in my Newcomb’s Wild Flower guide but I see that I no longer have one. I must have loaned it to someone. If the person I loaned it to happens to be reading this, look up sky blue aster and let me know what you think. I have other guide books of course including one with my own photos in it, but when it comes to difficult plants like asters I find the line drawings in Newcomb’s guide much more helpful than photos. For me it is the go to book for plant identification. I’ll have to get another one.

A perfect end to a perfect day filled with beauty and fascination came with seeing a blue cohosh plant with fruit, in my experience a very rare thing. Each small pea size berry turns slowly from green to blue, and I had gotten here at just the right time to see them at their best The berries are actually seeds with a fleshy blue coating that protects them, and it is the seeds that are considered the plant’s true fruit, so the plant is a quite unusual.

The sky blue color is from waxy white crystals that cover the berries and reflect the light in way that makes them appear lighter colored than the actually are. This waxy, dusty “bloom” is why some describe them as “blueberries dipped in confectioner’s sugar.” The same pruinose coating can be found on blueberries, plums, grapes, and even a few lichens and insects. The word pruinose has its origins in the Latin word for hoarfrost.

The forest makes your heart gentle. You become one with it… No place for greed or anger there.
~Pha Pachak

Thanks for coming by.

A Week of Discoveries

Last week I went looking for more mushrooms. I walked a favorite trail through a local children’s park and as is often the case here, there were lots to see. I didn’t find enough to do an entire fungi post but I found enough to show that the mushrooms are back. I’m starting with orange mycena mushrooms (Mycena leaiana) for no reason other than cuteness. These are small mushrooms that always cluster together on logs as they appear here. If I find one more than an inch across, I’m surprised.

You’re better off leaving this one alone because it has names like funeral bell, deadly skullcap, autumn skullcap or deadly galerina (Galerina marginata.) Mycologists pretty much leave LBMs (Little Brown Mushrooms) alone because many are deadly and they can be hard to identify. My problem is, my colorblindness showed this one as green to me as I stood there, enough so I would have bet you a pizza that it was, and that’s one reason I don’t eat mushrooms. Fortunately this one’s shape helps give it away. ALWAYS know what you’re eating.

I’ve never seen as many boletes as I saw on this day. They were everywhere and they were climbing all over each other, hoping to be first for a photo. I didn’t tell them that they reminded me of flapjacks.

Though there are gilled examples most boletes have pores, so if you flip one over and see tiny holes instead of gills and want to identify your find, start with looking up boletes.

This bolete, with its reddish cap and yellow flesh wasn’t hard to identify. Or at least to put a name to: it’s one of the blue staining boletes. Since there are somewhere near150 boletes that stain blue I still wasn’t very close. Since the flesh has to be damaged or bruised before it will turn blue, why didn’t the slug holes in that biggest one turn blue?

Of course the camera wanted to focus on the end of the stem rather than the blue stains I wanted you to see on the underside of the cap but you can still get a good idea of what I’m trying to show. Usually the blue ink-like stains will appear immediately, just as these did when I poked it with my walking pole.

According to what I read on a website called “The Bolete Filter” The color shows the presence of both organic acids and the enzymes that make those acids oxidize blue instead of red. Bluing can happen without red tones in those mushrooms that do not expose their acids to the air until they are damaged.

The strange coarse, driftwood like stem of Russel’s bolete (Aureoboletus russellii) always make me imagine it has been standing here for a thousand years. And it’s all out of proportion, with its tiny cap on a tall stem. But all of that is what makes it easy to identify so I’m always happy to see it. These mushrooms usually grow singly in my experience, or maybe a few yards apart. I’ve never seen what could be called a group of them. The pore surface on the underside of the cap will be yellow and the cap is very dry.

I saw just one painted suillus, which is one of my favorites. Covered with “scruffles” and often dark red, it’s a very pretty mushroom. It’s also another mushroom in the very large family of boletes.

Painted suillus almost always likes to grow under eastern white pines and that’s because they trade water and minerals to the trees in return for sugars. I didn’t know white pines had much in the way of sugars but that’s what the science says. I would think if they wanted sugar they would have gone to the maples but anyhow, here they were under the pines.

Some mushrooms have a veil over their pore bearing surface and painted suillus is one of them. When the mushroom is young the veil covers the entire underside but as the cap grows and expands the veil is torn. I think this mushroom in this stage with parts of the cottony veil still showing is at its most beautiful. You can see how its pores instead of round are angular. Pores and gills are all about increasing the surface area where the pores form and different mushrooms have different strategies. This photo is re-used from a previous post so you could see this mushroom’s hidden beauty.

Painted suillus is supposed to be edible but some say Yum and some say Yuck. When cut the yellow flesh is said to have an “unpleasantly sharp” odor like an industrial chemical, and this intensifies with cooking. Since turpentine is extracted from the white pine’s resin and this mushroom is such good friends with white pines, I wonder if the “industrial chemical” smell it gives off has something to do with turpentine. When I used to do oil paintings turpentine was all I could smell, and I have to agree that it was unpleasant.

Jackson’s amanita (Amanita jacksonii) is also called American Caesar’s mushroom. It is another veiled mushroom. It has a bright orange or orange-red cap with a lined perimeter, yellow gills, and often a white, sack like volva. The volva is what remains of the outer skin, called a universal veil, that enclosed the mushroom in its young “egg” stage. This is a pretty mushroom that I rarely see. It will open to a flat cap that might be three inches across with shallow grooves or striations around its edge. The stem is kind of mottled, as can be seen here.

Coral fungi come in many different colors and shapes and they can be hard to identify. Some, like spindle coral and violet coral are immediately identifiable on sight, but the one pictured isn’t quite so easy. Mushroom books don’t give a lot of space to the corals, so they aren’t a lot of help. Google lens says this example is Ramaria botrytis, also called clustered coral, and that certainly seems likely to me because I’ve seen so many of them, but I still couldn’t say definitely yes, that’s what it is. Names don’t matter a lot to me but when a certain mushroom is identified as “edible when young” I’ll pass on all the information I can find. Is this one young? How would I know? I could guess but when it comes to mushrooms a wrong guess could buy you a very painful death. ALWAYS know what you’re eating.

All I can tell you with certainty is that this particular example seems to be a “perennial” fungus, because groups of four or five of them appear in the same spot each year. This one was about 4-5 inches across.

Driving along one day out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of color on the roadside. This is a narrow winding road so it took me a few minutes to find room to park. Once parked I walked back to where I thought I had seen color and sure enough, there were a large number of Jack O’ lantern mushrooms growing at the foot of an old oak. And killing the old oak, I might add, because that’s what they do. This mushroom is unusual in the way it is bio-luminescent. It said to have the same type of bio-luminescence that fireflies have, and the gills are said to glow faintly green in the dark. It is also very poisonous but each year it seems, we hear that someone has confused it with chanterelles and has eaten it. I guess I’ll just never understand the forager’s mindset. When I look at a mushroom the furthest thing from my mind is how it might taste. They’re quite beautiful, so I let that be enough. I take a photo and just let them be.

I started adding mushrooms to these posts years ago because I saw, when I had my nose down in the leaf litter trying to get photos of them, that they were every bit as beautiful and colorful as flowers. I hoped you would think so too.

Why should we care about beauty? Because awareness of the beauty that surrounds us shows us what we have to be grateful for. Gratitude is a key that opens many doors, and when we are grateful for what we have we realize that we don’t need more. Seeing that we have (more than) enough, we stop grabbing after more and become content. Contentment with what we have means we stop fretting over how to get more. The end of feeling that we need more leads us to peace. That’s what a life spent in nature has shown me.

I went back to my favorite swamp again to see if the cranberries were ripe. They were still green so I thought I’d get a shot of a waterlily while I was there. I always take several shots of flowers, slightly changing the camera’s settings between shots. I’ll take 2 or 3, change this or that and take 2 or 3 more. This used to be called “bracketing the exposure” but I’m not sure what it’s called now. I never would have been able to afford doing much of that in the film days but now with digital, I can splurge.

Anyhow, with waterlilies I always try to get the flower’s reflection on calm days if I can. It just adds a little interest to the shot and I like to challenge myself so I don’t stagnate. I got home and saw that I did indeed get the reflection, but there was something else I hadn’t seen when I was taking the photo. It was a tiny bee, flying toward the flower. It’s pollen sacs looked to be full but apparently it wanted more.

This would be a day of discoveries. I had never seen bees of any kind visiting waterlily blossoms, and I can count the number of times I’ve gotten a shot of an insect in flight on one hand. When I saw the photos I thought the bee would land on that petal it was near but I kept scrolling through the shots….

….and saw that the bee had dove right in. My eyesight isn’t great these days so I wasn’t surprised that I hadn’t seen any of it in person but still, I was a bit disappointed that I hadn’t. This is the kind of place where you wish there were park benches set up so you could sit and watch the action. At first glance there doesn’t seem to be much action in a swamp but if you pay attention you find that they are filled with life.

A proud sparrow came by with a beak full of something to show me but I haven’t been able to tell what it was. I gave it a thumbs up and told it well done.

Well done that is, if the sparrow didn’t have a beak full of dragonfly. There really seems to be a shortage of dragonflies in this area compared to previous years. I saw only two or three slaty skimmers on this day along with a couple of blue damselflies. A place like this should be humming with them. Halloween pennants, green dashers and the little red autumn meadowhawks would normally all be here and they’re not. All the other places that I could be sure of seeing them in the past are now the same way. It’s easy to say “so, big deal,” but when you consider all the mosquitoes dragonflies eat and all the diseases mosquitoes now carry it might be a bigger deal than we realize. West Nile virus doesn’t sound real appealing. Since I spend most of my time outside I have to consider such things.

Something else I learned this day was that arrowhead flower centers turn reddish over time after starting out bright yellow. They behave just like asters in that way, even though they aren’t related. How could I have been looking at these plants for most of my life and never seen this? One thing you learn quickly in nature is, you’ll come home with your pockets full of mysteries. If you’re very fortunate you might find an answer every now and then. You have to be okay with both not knowing and knowing that you’ll probably never know.

As I said, this was a day of discoveries, and the most surprising was a plant I had never seen. I would never say that I’ve seen all there is to see in nature but I’ve been around, and the chances of my seeing something new get slimmer all the time. But here it was, so new I had to let Google lens tell me what it was. Water willow, also called swamp loosestrife (Decodon verticillatus,) is the stuff of legend. I had read about it on other blogs but I had decided years ago that my chances of seeing it were slim at best. It was a beautiful thing and I really wanted a shot of the flowers using my cell phone camera. This is the kind of thing that really gets a nature nut’s heart pumping and I was so caught up in the moment I almost fell in the swamp. These plants grew right on shore partly in the water, so falling in would have been easy. Really, there is no “shore,” just a drop off.

But I didn’t fall in and I did get the shot I wanted. I’ll start with the leaves, which are willow like enough to have me fooled. I remember wondering what kind of willow has flowers like these. They just don’t. Each flower is urn shaped I’d call it, about an inch across with 5-7 petals according to what I’ve read. Flowers appear in the leaf axils and are said to be pink, though I see purple. Something odd about them are the 10 stamens; 5 are long and 5 are short and they all just fly all over the place.

Though the plant is shrub like it dies back in winter and is considered a perennial. I’ve read that they can get quite big, with 8 foot long stems that arch out over the water. If you’re lucky enough to have a pond this plant might bear looking into. It sounds like it would make quite a statement. I was very happy to have finally seen one up close.

Swamp loosestrife (Decodon verticillatus) which is native, is not the purple loosestrife (Lythrum salicaria) seen here, which is very invasive. Natives are often quite fussy about where they grow but invasives adapt quickly so they’ll grow just about anywhere. If they find a place they like they’ll choke out native plants and become a monoculture. Mono means one. One kind of plant grows over what can be a huge area with no room left for natives, and that is what all the hubbub is about over invasive plants. When we import non native plants we don’t import the animals, insects and diseases that keep them in check in their native land. Finding they have no restrictions they grow unimpeded, just as this photo shows. Watch them slowly march up the hillside, choking out everything in their path. When I was a boy there was no such thing as purple loosestrife in this area.

The bees certainly aren’t helping control purple loosestrife but they don’t know that. This stand of plants must have had thousands of bees of all kinds in it. I’ve read that purple loosestrife honey is sweet to start but leaves a bitter, long lasting aftertaste but the bees don’t know or care about that either.

What’s left of the pitcher plant flowers look like they’ve been carved out of wood. I’d like to be able to get close to them, but walking through a swamp can be very dangerous because it’s like trying to walk through quicksand. A local neighbor who lives near here told me he fell into this swamp once years ago and it was all he could do to get out. He was in up to his knees and when he got hold of something on shore and pulled himself up and out, the mud sucked the shoes right off this feet.

Grapes are slowly ripening. Soon the forests will smell like grape jelly because the vines grow high into the trees on their never ending quest for more sunlight. Of course many of those vines are filled with grapes and when they are dead ripe it’s like someone left peanut butter and jelly sandwiches all through the forest for you. You never do find them but you sure can smell them.

Elderberries are ripening quickly, and just as quickly are being eaten by the birds. When the berries are gone the stems that are left will look like star charts. Elderberry syrup is said to be good for the tummy but if you’re going to pick your own berries and make some you’d better get a move on.

Jack in the pulpit berries are still green, but I see lots of potential for bright red there.

Nodding smartweed (Persicaria lapathifolia) is a 2-3 foot tall plant with drooping flower heads which can be found growing at the edges of slow moving streams and ponds. It often grows in the shallows and that makes it easy for waterfowl and other birds to get at the seeds.

Wild cucumbers (Echinocystis lobata) are blooming. If you look closely you can see its spring like tendrils hanging on to the surrounding plants and dogwood shrubs. Up and up it climbs, looking for the sun. Then, when it has reached the highest point of the shrub or tree it’s on it sends up its flower stalks even higher, so all the insects can see.

Most of the flowers are male, with a female flower found here and there along the long stems. I’ve never seen clusters of the prickly wild cucumber fruit, only single ones here and there and if I had to guess I’d say it was because of weight. Clusters of fruit all along the stems would weigh enough to pull them down from the lofty heights they had worked so hard to reach. Each wild cucumber contains just two seeds. They look just like the seeds of any other cucumber, except about 5 times bigger.

Note: The information that follows is for the western wild cucumber (Marah macrocarpa). I’m leaving it in because I think it’s interesting, but our New England plant is an annual so it doesn’t have 400 pound roots! Sorry if I caused any confusion. I got some medical news from my eye doctor this past week that knocked me off the rails for a day or two.

Certain native American tribes ground the seeds into paste and painted their faces with it. The roots of this plant can resemble a sleeping man and this leads to another common name: Manroot. These roots are tuberous and can be huge. Roots that weighed over 400 ponds have been dug. They contain a substance that stuns fish, and Native Americans threw pieces of root into ponds and streams to stun them. All parts of this plant, though related to squash, pumpkin and garden cucumbers, are toxic.

I was taken aback years ago when I showed this flower to my friend Dave who immediately said “That looks just like a turtle’s head.” He had never seen the plant before and though I had seen it countless times, I had never seen a turtle in it. But over the last few years I have to say I might be able to imagine a turtle shell with a head coming out of it. But it still looks more fish than turtle to me. This one came with a bonus insect.

Turtleheads (Chelone glabra) like the wet feet they can find in low swampy areas and along stream edges. They can also stand quite a lot of shade. There are some nice cultivars with pink flowers that have been developed. I had one given to me and it bloomed here for about 30 years, but this year I’m not seeing any signs of it. It was another of those “plant it and forget it” perennials.

Another insect elbowed me out of the way trying to get at the first New England Aster of the year. It’s hard to believe that asters are blooming already. It seems like it wasn’t that long ago when I was taking photos of trilliums.

Every landscape is, as it were, a state of the soul, and whoever penetrates into both is astonished to find how much likeness there is in each detail. ~Henri Frédéric Amiel

Thanks for stopping in.

A Little of This, A Little of That

I thought I’d start this post with a few plants that many people walk right by without noticing them. I know at least some do this because I’ve been walking behind them when they did. Or maybe they saw them and didn’t care. Anyhow, it doesn’t matter as long as you see them. I’m starting with brittle stem hemp nettle (Galeopsis tetrahit) because it grew at the children’s camp I once worked at and nobody ever noticed it. The knee high plant usually blooms in mid August in shaded places that get morning sun only. It’s considered highly invasive in some areas but locally it can be hard to find. Its small blue / purple flowers grow in whorls near the top of the plant, which can be branched on older plants. It is originally from Europe and Asia

The small flowers remind me of both henbit and dead nettle in certain ways. They all have the same tubular shape and large lower lip where insects land. On brittle stem hemp nettle flowers insects can follow purple stripes into the blossom. Once inside the 4 arching stamens will dust them with pollen. This reproductive configuration is common in many flowers in the Lamium family which includes the nettles, so it must be successful. All parts of the plant including the flowers have stiff bristly hairs, which can be seen here. You can feel the bristles if you touch the plant but they don’t pierce the skin.

See how each long, narrow leaf has a single vein running down the middle of it on these fragrant narrow leaved goldenrod (Solidago tenuifolia) plants? That’s an important identifying feature because there is another similar goldenrod called lance leaved goldenrod (Solidago graminifolia) with slightly wider leaves that have 3 to 5 veins. The fragrant part of the name on fragrant narrow leaf goldenrod comes from the plant’s vanilla like scent, and lance leaved goldenrod doesn’t have it.

I wanted to show you how flat topped aster (Doellingeria umbellata) got its name but I was only partially successful because the closer to the large flowerheads you get, the less flat it seems. In other words they look flatter from a distance. This is one of our earliest asters and also one of the tallest. There are lots of them with staggered bloom times depending on how much direct sunlight they get, so they go on and on.

One of my favorite summer flowers is the groundnut. They’re impossible to confuse with any other flower because they look like tiny Conquistador helmets. Groundnut (Apias americana) flowers come in pink, purple or reddish brown. The common name comes from its potato like tuberous roots. Those roots were a very important food source for Native Americans along the eastern seaboard. It has been found in archaeological digs of Native settlements dating back 9,000 years.

Groundnut is a vine that will climb just about anything and I usually find it growing in the lower branches of trees and shrubs along the river. It climbs by twining so you find it tangled around everything. The flowers appear in clusters along the length of the vine and can be hard to see, so I always have to look closely to find them. The true fruit of this vine is underground, and the plant helped keep many early settlers alive thanks to the Natives who showed them how to use it.

The way heart leaf (or arrow leaf) tear thumb (Polygonum sagittatum) got its name is no mystery. We can see the elongated, heart shaped leaf and if we look closely at the stem we can see tiny barbs. These barbs all point towards the root or ground, so when you try to pull it out of the ground and your hand slips you get a torn thumb. And maybe some torn fingers as well. The small tufts of pinkish white flowers are rarely found open, and this is a characteristic of the smartweed family. And since it is a smartweed not only will it rip your flesh, it’ll make the tip of your tongue burn as well if you nibble on it. It’s telling you to leave it alone in all kinds of ways.

I never saw pearly everlasting (Anaphalis margaritacea) until I was well over the hill and sliding down the other side into retirement. It’s another one of those plants that, while not rare, is rarely seen. According to the USDA the plant gets its common name from the “pearl-white involucre bracts that surround the yellow disk flowers.”In botanical terms an involucre is a “whorl or rosette of bracts surrounding an inflorescence.” It doesn’t seem to spread much. I know of one little patch of plants that hasn’t expanded in a few years now. It grows in gravel in that place, which tells me it can stand poor soil.

Native Americans used pearly everlasting for treatment of sores and rheumatism, and they also smoked it to treat colds and as a tobacco substitute. What I see far more of is sweet everlasting (Pseudognaphalium obtusifolium) and they used that plant in much the same way. That plant smells like maple syrup. Everlastings get their name from the way they’ll last for years in a vase after cutting and drying.

Tall blue lettuce (Lactuca biennis) is leaning more toward ice blue or even white this year but sometimes they’ll be almost sky blue. They bloom in a cluster at the very top of the sometimes six foot tall plants unlike green flowered tall lettuce (Lactuca canadensis) which I’ve seen reach ten feet. Native Americans had medicinal and culinary uses for both of the plants. The young leaves are vitamin rich and can be eaten raw when young. Wild lettuce is said to possess sedative and hypnotic properties much like opium. In fact its latex sap and seeds were used as an opium alternative by physicians in the 1800s. Its usage isn’t recommended because it can be dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing.

Wild mint (Mentha arvensis) isn’t a plant I see a lot of but usually if you find it in a certain spot it will grow there year after year. It likes to grow on river and stream banks and if you crush a leaf you’ll know right away what you’ve found. It’s one of our true native mints yet it also has a worldwide distribution. This tells me it might have once been considered valuable enough to trade. That’s how common yarrow ended up on every continent except Antarctica. Mint has been used by man since the dawn of time and Pliny, Hippocrates, Aristotle and Charlemagne each wrote of its virtues. Each time we see it we are seeing one of mankind’s earliest memories.

Native Americans used the plant medicinally for stomach and intestinal disorders, and also to flavor tea.

Virgin’s bower (Clematis virginiana) is our native clematis in this part of the country. It’s also called traveler’s joy and I can say that it is that, especially this year. I’ve never seen it bloom so well. Each white flower is about three quarters of an inch across and sometimes there can be so many from a distance the large drifts of them can make it look like it snowed in August. All parts of this plant are toxic.

White rattlesnake root (Prenanthes alba) is in the aster family so when I see the first asters bloom I go where I saw it last to find it. William Byrd of Virginia wrote in 1728 that “the rattlesnake has an utter antipathy to this plant, in-so-much that if you smear your hand with the juice of it, you may handle the viper safely.” This plant is not toxic but It is also called “gall of the earth” due to the awful bitterness of the root, so I doubt anyone would eat it. It is said that the common name comes from the way some Native American tribes used the plant to treat snakebite.

I went into the forest to find the white rattlesnake root and while I was there I saw some Asian beauty fungus on an oak log. The odd thing about this fungus is, it is thought to be invasive. It was first documented in this country about 12 years ago in Massachusetts. It is a toothed crust fungus with long, flat teeth which can be white, yellowish, or the tan color seen here. It likes to grow on hardwood logs, sprouting out of the furrows in the bark. There doesn’t seem to be much known about it.

Invasive or not I was happy to see it. I’ve had a feeling because of the weekly rains that this might be a good mushrooming year and that’s starting to prove true, I found as I looked for more.

Turkey tails (Trametes versicolor) were just starting out on this log. I think they look kind of monochromatic like this for a short time after they first appear and then slowly change into their beautiful colors. I’ll have to back and check them to see if that’s what actually happens.

My knees are pretty well shot now, so once I get on the ground I can’t get back up without hanging on to something. This presents a challenge with mushroom photography, because the best shots are always from the side. This purple cort (Cortinarius iodeoides) is pretty enough but they do look better when you can see the stem and cap. These mushrooms are covered with bitter slime and that keeps animals from eating them. This slime often makes the young examples look wet as this one did. Slugs don’t have a problem eating it and I often see white trails on the caps where they have eaten through the purple coating to the white flesh below. This mushroom lightens as it ages and white spots begin to appear. You can see a few of those just starting on this one.

I was sorry to see bracket fungi on my friend the old zig-zag oak that I’ve known for so long. If you think of fungi as an apple tree for a moment you can see that the “apples” are just the part that is visible. We know a tree has an extensive root system, and so do fungi. A tree has to gain some age before it produces fruit and the same is true here. By the time we see fruit on the outside of the tree the fungal “roots” have spread all through it. This means death to the tree in almost all cases.

I call this the zig-zag oak because of the scar on its right side as seen in this shot. Myself and many others have tried over the years to explain this scar but we’ve been unable to come up with even a plausible theory for it. The first reaction is lightning because you know, it looks like a lightning bolt. But no, I’ve seen many trees that have been hit by lightning and the scars are far worse than this. They also run straight down the tree. The last “lightning oak” I saw had 6 inch wide strips of wood as big around as my thigh blown off the side of it from the top right down to the roots, so this scar is feeble in comparison. I’ve wondered if it might have been made by a kid with a jackknife 60 or so years ago. I was here then but I didn’t carve any trees.

Sometimes a thing can be as beautiful in death as it was in life. That’s especially true of mushrooms. I thought its furry blue coat of mold made this one a stand out. Even the decomposers decompose because in nature, everything gets eaten. Mushrooms often get eaten by various mold species.

The arrow wood viburnums have more berries on them than I think I’ve ever seen. The branches are so heavy with fruit on some bushes the branches are being bent down. What a feast for the birds!

Arrow wood viburnum (Viburnum dentatum) gets its name from the way Native Americans made arrow shafts from its very straight branches. The dentatum part of the scientific name points to its toothy leaves. They make this native shrub very easy to identify. It’s also very easy to grow, so if you want to attract birds this one might help with that. And every August you’ll be able to see its beautiful fruit.

Birds and people have eaten most of the highbush blueberries but lowbush berries can still be found. It’s amazing how fast they disappear.

I saw this clubtail dragonfly land on a maple tree. It was a big dragonfly; not the biggest I’ve seen but certainly one to remember. I’ve had trouble identifying it. Lancet clubtails are fairly common here but I can’t say for sure that’s what it is. It had a chunk gone out of its lower left wing so it must have met up with a bird. Maybe that’s why it landed on the tree. I know it saw me when it was looking for a spot to land so it must have thought I was a lesser threat than the bird. Actually sometimes I wonder if dragonflies, especially the smaller ones, don’t stay near people for protection from birds. I’ve had them land on me many times.

I have a feeling I know who is chasing the insects around and taking chunks out of their wings. That’s right; I’d bet that my little bird buddies the cedar waxwings have something to do with it. But everyone has to eat.

Last year I spent many hours trying to get a shot of the wing netting on small, one inch long Eastern amberwing dragonflies. Day after day I’d go to where I knew they were but in each photo their wings looked like tinted Mylar; all the same flat color with no detail, so I had to stop taking photos and just watch for a while. I noticed that in late evening the last rays of the setting sun lit up a particular corner of the pond where these critters live, and I saw that the amberwings were drawn to that spot. Dragonflies want sunshine, whether to warm their bodies or to illuminate their prey, I don’t know. What I do know is that the brightest sunlight was key, because that’s when their wings came alive and looked like they were woven out of golden thread. I joined them there, bathed in sunlight just before twilight, and finally got the shot.

Last year what took hours over many days this year took about 15 minutes in one stop, just before sundown. Once I used what I had learned last year, getting the shot was no work at all. It was the learning that took the time. A lot of rejected photos went into the one seen here.

But it was worth all of that because I like to show you nature at its best. Just look how beautiful this little critter is. It really is amazing how beautiful nature can be, even when it only comes in inch long pieces. How is it possible to not love a life that includes beauty like this?

If life starts to feel heavy just take a walk outside. Try not to get lost in thought. Just notice all the beauty that surrounds you; you can’t miss it because it’s everywhere. Do this daily and after a short time you’ll find that the weight is gone and for you, life has become no work at all.

I was surprised to see a tiger swallowtail butterfly on some purple loosestrife recently. Usually they disappear by the time the monarchs show up. This one was missing a few wing parts and looked like it had been harassed by birds. It was doing its best to hide so I let it be. A smart bird might see me looking at it and then snatch it up when I left.

I’ve noticed that some of the monarch butterflies are looking tired too. This one’s wing colors looked a bit washed out and for that matter so did the Joe Pye weed it was on. I’ve seen a lot of stands of Joe Pye weed already turning brown. I think it’s just the passage of time. It certainly isn’t due to lack of rain. And maybe the monarch is also just getting old.

One of my favorite summer garden flowers is the purple morning glory, and that’s because of the light that shines out of it. I believe that everything has this light, but it isn’t usually so easily seen.

Another thing I like about this morning glory is the way the buds spiral as they open. Nature uses the spiral again and again in various ways because it’s the most efficient use of space.

Sunflowers are great examples of how nature uses spirals. There are going to be lots of seeds packed into that space. That bumblebee is working hard to make it happen.

Yes, flower petals can spiral too. My neighbor, who is not a gardener, planted some lilies in a weedy area and much to my surprise they came up and blossomed. This stargazer Oriental lily is one of my favorites because of its fragrance. I used to grow lots of these under the windows and the fragrance filled the house. Then the red lily beetles found them and that was the end of that. My daughter reports that Diatomaceous earth works well in keeping the beetles away but you do have to put more on after it rains. It’s certainly less lethal to the environment than some of the insecticides out there.

Back when I earned my living as a gardener I had never heard of nodding onions but lately I’ve seen them used in two different public gardens. One of those is a pollinator garden, so this plant might be something to think about if you’re trying to attract bees. I say bees specifically because the plants I’ve seen have had bees and only bees all over them.

I’ll end this post with a plant that’s been around for awhile but one that I see only once in a blue moon. Feverfew (Tanacetum parthenium) is recorded as far back as Hippocrates in the 4th century BC. It was also recorded as a “fever herb” during the reign of Charlemagne in 812 AD. It was used to “drive out” fevers and was apparently very good at it, because it is still used by herbalists today. It’s in the aster family and is related to tansy. Its very small daisy like blossoms look like tansy with white petals. Even back in the 70s when I was gardening I rarely saw it unless I went to visit gardens that specialized in medicinal herbs. It is still sold but it might take a little work to find it.

The appearance of things changes according to the emotions; and thus we see magic and beauty in them, while the magic and beauty are really in ourselves. ~Kahlil Gibran

Thanks for coming by.

A Hot Summer Day At Beaver Brook

Last Saturday started out to be a beautiful day so I went up to Beaver Brook Natural area. It had been a few months since I had been there last and I have to say that I do miss it after a while. After all, I’ve known the place since I rode through here as a young boy in my father’s car. This photo shows a spot where dog owners bring their dogs to swim. Someone years ago dammed the brook slightly with stones to slow it down. This made a knee deep pool that dogs love to visit. But they can’t do much about the trees that keep falling in the brook. That’s something you see all along the brook but after a while high water in spring washes a lot of them away.

I saw lots of foam buildup in the stream on this day. I’ve read that one reason for these “natural suds” is the “decomposition of animals and plants, which releases organic surfactants into the water.” This is commonly referred to as dissolved organic carbon (DOC), which causes air bubbles, reduces the surface tension of the water, and forms mounds of dense, light-colored bubbles. That looks like a mound to me.

I usually only see the suds or foam forming where the water has been agitated, like at the base of waterfalls and from it going over and around stones, as it does here. There are an amazing number of stones of all sizes and shapes in our brooks and streams. We had been having thunderstorms and downpours all week so I was surprised the water was as low as it was.

You can’t get lost here. All you need to do is follow the old no passing zone lines. You can only go in and out, not left or right. Left or right would mean you’d either climb ledges or swim the brook. I wouldn’t suggest doing either.

I saw the first aster blossom of the year when I was here. It really seems too early to me but it’s the time of the season I suppose. A wonky looking white half inch flower sits atop a plant called the whorled white wood aster (Oclemena acuminata). But whoever named it apparently didn’t know what a whorl was, because this isn’t one. If it was a whorl the leaf blades would encircle the stem all in the same plane in various places up or down the stem and these leaves don’t do that; they spiral. These plants form large colonies and though I’ve heard they can reach 3 feet I usually find them at 2 feet or less; about knee high. The yellow center will turn red over time, which is true of many asters.

I stopped to see how the rose moss (Rhodobryum roseum) plants were doing. I’ve watched one group increase to three groups over the years, each one a flat mat of plants on its own stone. Since these plants like plenty of limestone I suppose that must be why they’ve chosen the stones they have. This is a rare moss in my experience. This is the only place I’ve ever seen it. Each small plant’s leaves form into an aspirin size flower shape. I think the original mat of plants must be very old. It’s quite a beautiful thing.

There are lots of enchanter’s nightshade (Circaea lutetiana) plants here so I thought I’d have another try at getting a shot with the new phone camera. Not bad but still not what I wanted. I was trying for a shot looking into the flower showing all its reproductive bits. Oh well, if nothing else this shot shows all the tiny seed pods that stick to clothing and animal fur like glue. When you get home and find them stuck all over yourself or your dog I doubt you’ll be enchanted. I see there was even a bonus tiny insect in this shot. It’s so small I can’t tell what it is.

As I said a couple of posts ago, fall begins on the forest floor in early August. Slowly, it creeps up into the understory and finally, into the trees. I saw signs here at Beaver Brook that it has already made it into the understory, as this native hobblebush viburnum (Viburnum lantanoides) shows. Its fruit starts out green and then turns red before finally ripening to deep purple / black. This fruit was kind of a pink / orange according to my color finding software, and none of it was green. Any time now the leaves will turn a deep purple maroon color, which is quite pretty. The deer will clean up most of the fruit and when the fruit is gone they’ll browse the plants down all winter until they look more like ground covers than shrubs.

As you first start walking up the old road you see jewel weed (Impatiens capensis) all along one side; many hundreds of plants. I’d say they had just started blooming a few days before I got here. This plant likes shaded, damp soil and under the right conditions it can form huge colonies.

The jewel in the plant’s name isn’t about the flowers. It’s about the way dewdrops or raindrops sit on the waxy coating of the leaves and shine like jewels.

Many of the tree leaves, especially the maples, were turning a lighter green. Fall is a subtle, months long process if you know what to watch for and if you don’t all of the sudden one day the leaves have all changed color. By the time I reached this point I noticed the heat and humidity were increasing, so I tried to stay in the shade.

There are many ferns along the brook and many stay green all winter, including the marginal wood fern in the above photo. At a glance it can be easily confused with several other ferns but this one has tougher, leathery leaves and a darker, blue green color. You might be able to just make out how the leaf blade in the center of this shot starts out narrow, gets wider in the middle, and then narrows down to its tip. That’s another identifying feature.

But the best way to identify the marginal wood fern is to flip over a fertile frond and see how all the spore cases form on the margins of the notches that create the sub-leaflets. This feature is what gives the marginal wood fern its name. These spore cases looked to be just starting to open. Many ferns, mosses, club mosses, lichens and a few other plants seem to prefer releasing their spores in winter when there is snow on the ground, but I’ve never been able to find out why.

The smartweeds were represented by Virginia knotweed (Persicaria virginiana) with its long, whip-like flower spikes pointing this way and that. Most smartweeds are low key and not at all showy and this one follows that road. You’re usually lucky if you can find two or three flowers blooming at the same time on them. Smartweeds get their name from the way your tongue smarts if you bite into them. That’s why old timers called them “nature’s pepper.”

This plant is also known as jumpseed. Native Americans used it to treat whooping cough, bronchitis and sore throat.

This false Solomon’s seal (Maianthemum racemosum) is another good example of how fall starts on the forest floor. Here it was August first and it was already preparing for it’s long winter’s sleep. I’ve always liked the way they change into their fall clothes.

Native Americans inhaled the fumes from this plant’s burning roots to treat headache and body pain. They also used the leaves and roots in medicinal teas.

Thimble weed (Anemone virginiana) wanted to show us how it got its name. The seedheads are thimble shaped but they’d fit only a seven or eight year old’s finger. This is a mid summer bloomer that always makes me think of fall. The seeds will fall before too long.

As you walk the old road, once a foot path beside the brook used by Natives, you can see drill marks here and there. The ledges were drilled by hand with one man holding a two foot long star drill and another hitting it with a sledge hammer. After each blow the drill was turned a quarter turn and slowly, a hole was drilled. Then it was filled with black powder and the ledge was blasted, again and again all along the route. All by hand. You can still find star drilled holes in some of the stones.

The road was originally built to access a sawmill which was built on Beaver Brook north of here in 1736. In 1735 100 acres of “middling good land” and 25 pounds cash was offered to anyone who could build a sawmill capable of furnishing lumber to the settlement of Upper Ashuelot, which is now called Keene. Eventually the road would continue north to the state capital in Concord.

I used to look at the mosses on these ledges but the stones are crumbling away and are getting to be a hazard so I stay away from them now. That stone in the lower left could have easily killed a person.

Beaver brook giggles and chuckles all along the old road but when it is forced to narrow down it can find its voice and roar. The brook and the birdsong are the only things that pierce the silence of the forest here, and maybe that’s what keeps me coming back.

I saw one of the biggest jelly fungi I’ve ever seen here. It was easily as big as my boot, and the color of jellied cranberry sauce. Called the amber jelly (Exidia crenata), it is a decomposer of logs, which is a must where things are constantly falling to the ground. What falls today feeds tomorrow, so what might seem like loss in a forest is actually gain.

There were fresh flowering raspberry blossoms (Rubus odoratus) all along the trail but for some reason I didn’t discover until I got home, I took a photo of these fading ones. I saw lots of fruit forming as well but none were ripe. This plant is in the rose family but is not a rose, so it doesn’t produce hips. Instead the fruit looks like an oversize raspberry.

Wild sarsaparilla (Aralia nudicaulis) is another good example of fall beginning on the forest floor. Soon the leaves will be fully yellow and most sarsaparilla plants will be sleeping before many of the trees they grow under have even started to turn color.

Native Americans used this plant to treat upset stomach, to strengthen the blood, and as a wash for sore eyes. The herb encourages sweating, is stimulating and detoxifying and is used internally in the treatment of pulmonary diseases, asthma, rheumatism, and stomach problems. Its root was once used as a flavoring for root beer. By the time western states came along a large part of sarsaparilla’s appeal was in the way it could control flatulence. Probably why it was such a hit in saloons full of cowboys

I went to see the blue bead lily (Clintonia borealis) plants that I found in bloom last spring but there wasn’t a berry on them. They might be too young to produce fruit. These plants like to grow in the cool forests of the north but it travels as far south as North Carolina. It isn’t rare but it seems fussy about where it grows.

For years I’ve called the blue bead lily fruit “electric blue” because I couldn’t think of any other blue found in nature that matched it. Then just as I was putting this post together it hit me; gentian blue is pretty close, especially fringed gentians which are as rare as hen’s teeth. This shot was taken a few years ago. Sometimes these plants fruit well and sometimes they don’t. And sometimes deer get to them before you do. This year I haven’t seen fruit on any of them.

Crowded parchment fungus (Stereum complicatum) was working on covering a log, which it will most likely do. This bright orange crust fungus is pretty on a dull late fall day after a rain. Its bright color shines in the woods like a beacon and can be seen from quite far away. It’s also quite common.

I had an old timer well into his 80s that I met up here one day tell me that he could remember Beaver Brook coming up over this road before the flood control dam a few miles upstream was built by the Army Corps of Engineers in 1986. That was not a pleasant thought but flooding was common in parts of Keene when I was a boy, and most of it was caused by Beaver Brook. Now it seems to be under control for the most part. Still, I’ve seen this brook fill to the top of its banks many times and each time it wears away a bit more of the road in places. Enough so this old culvert, once level with the road, has slid into the brook. The road that once surrounded it is gone.

The road went on but I did not. The heat and the heavy, saturated air got to these tired lungs so I turned back. Just around the corner up ahead was Beaver Brook Falls and I knew I’d never get a shot of them with leaves on the trees anyway, so I didn’t miss much.

Though it might seem like I come here a lot the last time I did a full post about the place was last spring. Once I click “publish” except for answering comments the current post is gone from my mind and I’m on to the next, so I often have to go back and look to see when I visited a place last. I was surprised that it had been that long, so I thought it was about time. I like to visit places like Beaver Brook in spring, summer, fall and winter so you can see how different they can seem at different times of year. Part of the reason I do that is to encourage you to visit your favorite places at all times of year. No matter who you are or where you are, you will always know a little more about life when you come out of the woods than you did when you went in.

I took one more shot of the brook looking downstream so I could stand in the shade and cool off a bit. I hope you enjoyed coming along.

To get to to Beaver Brook I had to go by an old cemetery so I stopped to see if the wild thyme that grows there was blooming. It was, and it was beautiful. It blooms like this here every year and the bees go absolutely crazy for it. If you’ve been wondering how you could make your yard more pollinator friendly this might be one way you hadn’t considered. Thyme can be mowed right along with the grass. In fact mowing it makes it spread faster.

I remembered a nearby patch of Joe Pye weed so I wandered over to see if it was blooming. It was, and I wasn’t the only one happy about that. A monarch butterfly flew from flowerhead to flowerhead before finding one to its liking. Then it let me get close enough for a few phone camera shots.

And then it flew off and this encounter was over. I hope everyone is seeing lots of butterflies.

There is a serene and settled majesty to woodland scenery that enters into the soul and delights and elevates it, and fills it with noble inclinations. ~Washington Irving.

Thanks for stopping in.