Birds, Butterflies, and Blossoms: A Nature Journal

A Hoary Frost

2011-01-23T15:52:00.000-08:00

Minus 3 degrees when I got up this morning! Brrr.. and it’s supposed to go down to 15 below tonight. Crazy-cold! So as a result I didn’t go wandering far today. But I did snap some quick photos this morning. It was looking like a winter wonderland again what with the frost clinging to the trees; a hoary frost, indeed!

A Hill With a View

2011-01-21T18:23:00.000-08:00

We got another 6 inches of snow today and I couldn’t miss the opportunity to get out on my snowshoes again. The sky was a magnificent blue with big puffy, dark-tinged clouds, which hung heavy with more snow. I didn’t make it all the way up to the top of the hill, but the view from half way was just as pretty. Right in front of my house, which sits on Fish Creek, is a congregation of about 150 ducks and geese that are over-wintering. But the gathering on the water was smaller today; perhaps they had flown west to the Saratoga Lake, or maybe east to the Hudson River. I’ve noticed that they appear to move back and forth, perhaps to take advantage of sunnier locales as the sun moves across the sky.
As I stood there, looking across the water, and then up into the woods, I felt a sense of jubilation. The air was crisp; the snow was blowing out of the trees, creating a spray of snow that was then carried off on the wind;Lily, my ever-faithful, and enthusiastic, companion was there at my side; and the geese honked noisily in response to our noisy approach (my snowshoes squeak loudly, sounding much like a honking goose, in fact) and at that moment, there was no other place I would rather have been.

Pileated Woodpecker

2011-01-19T15:43:00.000-08:00

More beautiful snow! Took a hike today at Moreau Lake State Park to enjoy walking in the snowy woods. While there, I heard two male Pileated woodpeckers (Dryocopus pileatus) debating over territory, and got a good look at one of them…beautiful! With this bird, in particular, it is quite easy to imagine the relationship between it, and its far-distant ancestor, Archaeopteryx! Its call has been parodied by the cartoon character ‘Woody Woodpecker”, but in all fairness, I think it is less comical, and more reminiscent of a jazz vocalist - playing bongos! Its loud thumping punctuates its syncopated call, providing the perfect backdrop for this improvised performance.
The holes that it excavates are very large, made in their hunt for carpenter ants and beetle larvae, and they are typically so large, that they attract other birds seeking similar food. In addition, Dryocopus also provide habitat for other birds, as well; because they excavate such large holes for nesting, which they then abandon when their family is fledged. Other large-cavity dwellers then take advantage of this habitat, and for this reason, biologists say that the Pileated woodpecker is very important for many other bird species.
According to Sibley, they use their large tails to prop themselves against the tree, and their “stout, chisel-like bills” to peel back the bark, and make their sizable excavations.
But their loud, characteristic tapping is not for finding food, or making nests alone, it is also their way of announcing their presence to other would-be interlopers, or to attract mates. Sibley says that you can tell the species of woodpecker by its drumming rhythms, which take the place of an actual song.

Snow Day!

2011-01-18T08:34:00.000-08:00

Another day off, and still more snow! Unfortunately, this beautiful snow is soon to turn to ice, ruining the lovely trail I’ve made into the woods with my snowshoes. It has been so exhilarating to climb to the top of the hill,and to peer through the trees, westward, toward Saratoga Lake. My dog, Lily, tramps along, trying with all her might to compete with the best snow dog. She is tethered to my waist, as her still-puppy enthusiasm is sure to get her in trouble, but that means that she has more-than-once threatened to topple us both down an embankment, as she pulls left, when I pull right! (Where is Caesar when you need him?)
I can’t remember another winter so snowy since many years hence, or am I simply myopic in my memory? Although it does make life more difficult, what with driving, shoveling, plowing, etc., it also makes for a very beautiful view. My husband is grumpy in it’s wake, but I love it! Ahh! If only everyday could afford me the luxury of having nothing more to do than to explore the snowy woods!

Awakening

2011-01-17T09:03:00.000-08:00

I woke this morning to a magical wintry world. The trees hung close to the creek, heavy with a hoary frost, as a dense mist rose from its surface. Unlike many who thrive on outdoor winter activities, I tend to hibernate, hiding from winter's far-reaching effects; but this morning's scene was so inspiring, I couldn't help but respond. I feel days such as this are a gift: a message from the universe that even though all life seems frozen and dead, it is, in fact, vibrant and alive with beauty. This serves as a reminder that there is always promise, always hope for new life, no matter how still and silent the world may seem.
It is, in a way, a metaphor for my own unfolding: after having lost my sister to a sudden illness in September, I was left numb and frozen, unable to perceive of hope, or of new light, or a new way of perceiving myself; if I was no longer her sister (at least on earth) then, who was I? But ironically, this cold, frozen weather has helped to thaw my heart: a lotus, opening, deep in my chest, has whispered of a new dream, so long thought impossible.
So this wintry day, cold and forbidding as it may seem, is only that which we choose to perceive: it can be forbidding, or it can swell with promise and hope; a new tomorrow, one that embraces the day with open arms, regardless of how inhospitable it may seem.
Day by day, I feel my heart aroused once more, slowly, I emerge from this deep cavern of grief, and find it is in simple gifts, such as this morning’s beauty, that slowly awaken the heart.

Nettle

2010-02-25T09:57:00.000-08:00

Well, I haven’t been posting much this winter because I didn’t get out enough to take new pictures, or have new adventures to write about. But, despite today’s snow, the days are getting longer, the birds have been singing their little hearts out, the temperatures, generally, are milder, and the promise of spring is evident everywhere! That puts me in mind of some of the wonderful plants that my friend Mira Nussbaum, a nature lover/herbalist (also a fabulous silk painter http://www.silkstories.net/) has taught me about, that will soon be peeking their heads above the soil.
Mira and I have been working together on a book on wild plants; plants that have both nutritional and medicinal value, for about five years now. As I was unfamiliar with many of these plants when we first began the book (I signed on as illustrator/photographer) I have learned a tremendous amount about the unbelievable storehouse of nutrients and medicinal constituents that these plants have to offer, and that have gone largely ignored for many years. A vast collection of wisdom has been lost in regard to wild food and medicine in our culture, but I believe we are seeing a resurgence of interest in the topic, and that brings me great joy. I would love to see this wisdom reclaimed in our culture. As a result of this study, it has become a passion of mine to both learn as much as I can about the subject, and to share this information with others.
One of the plants to come up in the early spring is nettle (Urtica dioica). While most of us know this plant to be the one we want to avoid at all costs: it has tiny hairs that cause stinging and temporary inflammation when brushed up against. (Who amongst us has not inadvertently moved through a stand of nettle only to be quite regretful of the mishap?) But what I never knew was this humble little plant (well, not so little; it grows 2-4 ft high) is one of the most nutritious plants to be found in the wild. It is 10% protein, higher than any other vegetable; it is also a treasure trove of minerals: it is rich in calcium magnesium, iron, manganese, sodium, sulphur, potassium, silicone, iodine, and silica. It is also rich in Vitamins C, Vitamin B complex: thiamine, riboflavin, niacin, Vitamin A, and beta-carotene. Also, it is high in chlorophyll, tannins, and in amino acids!
Not only is it a nutritional powerhouse, but it seems, a pharmaceutical one, as well. The leaves of the plant are commonly used as treatment for allergies, in particular, hay fever; it is used to staunch bleeding, such as nosebleeds, blood in the urine, and uterine bleeding, also. Compresses are made of nettle tea for burns, wounds, stings, and cuts. It acts as a safe diuretic, and is used for kidney and bladder imbalances. In addition, it is widely used for eczema, and is said to be an excellent cleansing anti-septic, leaving your skin clear and healthy. Steve Brill, in Identifying and Harvesting Edible and Medicinal Plants, also says that it makes hair shinier, and thicker.
Nettle tincture is also known to work as an expectorant, and is a common remedy for colds, flu and other respiratory ailments. The roots are used as a treatment for prostate enlargement, and, according to eclecticphysician.com, the roots inhibit “binding of sex hormone globulin to prostatic tissue receptors”, also, it “inhibits prostate cell metabolism and growth.” The root is also thought to inhibit viral activity.
These medicinal benefits are due to the presence of many constituents: in the fresh plant stingers: Acetylcholine, Histamine, Serotonin, and Formic Acid; in the leaves: volatile oils including ketones, silicic acid, potassium ions, and flavinoids. The root contains Sterols: B-Sitosterol, Stigmasterol, and Campesterol. It also contains Lectins, Polysaccharides (with “immune stimulating effects”) and Hydroxycoumarins, Ceramides and Lignans.
“So what,” you may say, “how am I supposed to capture these benefits if the plant is armed and dangerous?” But it is easier than you may think: the novice should wear gloves while harvesting, and while carefully holding the lower leaves (not the stem where the stingers reside) one may snip off the tender leaves at the top of the plant; I like to use scissors, it makes the job quicker. These tender, upper leaves should be taken before the plant flowers (it has small, green flowers that grow in trailing clusters; they grow in the axils between paired, serrated leaves) ideally the plant should be no higher than 1 ft. when they are taken. Once a supply of nettle is found, the harvester can re-visit the stand frequently, topping off the same plants, delaying the onset of flowering. However, it’s important to be mindful of where the nettle is standing; if it is anywhere near a field, or roadside, that is sprayed with pesticides, then find another source.
The fresh leaves can be steamed, used in soups, or made into tea; and, they can be dried to be used at a later date. And what of the stingers you may ask? They are rendered undetectable once cooked, and as you are only harvesting the upper part of the plant, the stingers are much smaller and less bothersome. I have often used nettle in quiche, or anywhere a recipe calls for gently cooked greens.
One of my favorite books, Encyclopedia of Herbal Medicine, by Andrew Chevallier, shows in clear, simple steps how to prepare tinctures, extracts, infusions, lotions and creams of wild herbs; I’ve found it invaluable.
Of all the wild plants, this is surely one that has the most to offer, and it is ours for the taking. It is so beneficial, that the wise gardeners would set aside a place to have their own stand of this highly valuable plant!
Sources:
Identifying and Harvesting Edible and Medicinal Plants, by Steve Brill, Illustrated by Evelyn Dean
New Menopausal Years The Wise Woman Way, by Susun Weed
Encyclopedia of Herbal Medicine, by Andrew Chevallier
Eclecticphysician.com

"Sit-Spot"

2010-01-30T15:43:00.000-08:00

Today I was thinking about the term “sit-spot”, this is an expression I’d heard from my friend Mira, she’d had some exposure to the Wilderness Awareness School, located in the state of Washington, and this is where she had first learned the expression. Basically, it is a school that trains people to be naturalists, but more than that, they are taught how to raise their awareness in the great outdoors. Through courses of study such as wilderness survival, wildlife tracking, bird language interpretation, edible and medicinal plants, outdoor skills, and traditional craft-making - all knowledge drawn from indigenous cultures from around the world – students learn to connect with the natural environment, on a very personal and often, profound way.
But at the center of all of this learning and skill development, is the concept of the “sit-spot”. The idea is, you find a place to go in nature that you can go back to, over, and over, everyday, and begin to learn it like the back of your hand. Students are instructed to visit it at night, during the day, rain or shine, in winter, summer, spring and fall. They are told to observe the birds they find there, and the trees in which they live. In addition, they are told to watch the plants and learn to recognize them in all seasons; to learn the animals that are found there, and to observe their behavior in all situations, and seasons. The philosophy is, that that there is no better teacher than a single place, a place that you know, and know intimately.
I, of course, was excited to realize that I was already visiting a “sit-spot”, indeed, I had been doing so for over ten years: a favorite little brook on Fish Creek. I may not have visited it in all seasons, and not necessarily in all kinds of weather, but I had been consistent, and the rewards from this experience have been many. I have found a confidence in myself, which was not there before, and I have found that I can be my own teacher, when need be.
I started out with a simple goal back then: I wanted to find flowers to draw. And, at first, that is what I concentrated on, but it was not long before my attentions were drawn elsewhere: insects that crawled on the flowers; bright red berries that grew near by; an unusual mammal that ran very quickly, and stood, to my delight, on his hind legs to scan the horizon above the grass line; the water level, and how it was effected by weather; the birds that were chattering in the trees; and the plants that made a thick, dense cover in which I could hide.
Quite naturally, I began asking myself questions as to what I was seeing, and little by little, I have set about to answer those questions. Of course, there are many more unanswered questions than answered ones, and that’s why I never get bored with going back to the same place again and again. And although my travels have expanded, and I have sought out these kinds of conundrum wherever I go now, it is still my favorite sit-spot that draws me back, day after day.
Now, encouraged by what I learned about the Wilderness Awareness School, and others like it, I am inspired to deepen my commitment to this place, expanding my modes of observation, times of day which I visit, and types of weather in which I go, I know that I will learn even more.
Also, I am greatly appreciative of the many people whom I have met, through this blog, and elsewhere, people who have been working at answering these questions far-longer than I; who each have their own sit-spot, some of whom have been generous enough to share them with me; and who, together, are in possession of a combined knowledge that encompasses all of the skills listed above; a knowledge that is both humbling and inspiring. So thank you, fellow naturalists, for all that you do, all that you share, and all that you dream, so that I, too may follow my own dreams.
For, when I sit in nature, and I am quiet enough to really see what is there to be seen; to really listen, and actually become a part of what I am experiencing, I take in this beauty on a cellular level, a level that is both energetic and physical, so that the teaching is not only done with words in books, or notes taken in a journal, but sometimes, something much deeper: beautiful and inexplicable.

Regaining Lost Wisdom

2010-01-20T09:30:00.000-08:00

On Sunday, Sue P. and Jackie D., along with her three lovely young granddaughters, headed over to Moreau Lake State Park for some snowshoeing, but when we got there, found the snow not right for snowshoeing, so we headed off toward the lake. It was my first time traversing this lake in its frozen state, and it was quite exciting. My perspective on the whole place, an area that I have visited often, changed enormously when standing in the middle of the lake!
Because Jackie and Sue had both taken the tracking class with Vince Walsh last week, observing the different tracks in the snow was uppermost on both of their minds, and I got the benefit of some of what they had learned. It was so interesting to hear them talk about the size and depth of the print, the age of the track, and the distance between the prints, the gait of the animal, all as clues to the identity of the mystery animal. I’d obviously missed a lot by missing that class.
We all got pretty intrigued when we thought we were seeing some moose tracks. (This was not too far-fetched an idea, as a number of these animals had been spotted in the vicinity late fall.) We followed the tracks where they seemed to move back toward the bank, and up the slight incline, but this was conjecture, because the prints had been obliterated by lots of human prints near the shore. Then we started back-tracking, trying to find where they had started, which we weren’t able to do, seeing as the snow had blown over the prints, leaving tracks that stopped short, and an impression that this very heavy animal had sprouted wings and flown!
We left scratching our heads and wondering, but when Sue reached home, she did some research, and thought to compare horse hoof prints, and bingo! There was the mystery solved!
We did, however, see fox prints, and lots of evidence of beaver and muskrat activity. In fact, we saw a small downed willow, with tons of wood shavings on the snow, and when we inspected the trunk, where the severing from the main trunk had occurred, we saw big beautiful teeth marks. It was pretty amazing to think that this animal downed a tree with only his teeth for a tool!
When we left the lake and walked along in the woods, Jackie pointed out a witches’ broom to me. I had always seen these and wondered what they were. Upon doing some research, I found that they are a kind of gall, caused by rust fungi. Longan gall mites launch a parasitic attack on the plant cells, which causes abnormal growth within the tissues of the plant. This stimulates extra growth in the place of one shoot, and the mites then feed on this extra plant material. They are usually seen in birches (though can be found in pine, elm and other trees, as well) and they get their name from the many, small, shooting branches that originate from a common center, resembling a witches’ broom. It was once believed that these appendages appeared after a witch had flown over the tree.
But, at times, they take the shape of what looks like a bird’s nest, so sometimes, when we look up into bare, winter trees, and we think we are seeing old bird’s nests, what we are actually seeing are these galls. The good news is they don’t appear to harm the trees, and in fact, a mature birch can support up to a hundred of them without showing signs of stress. An interesting little side note is handmade broomsticks were traditionally made from birch twigs.
Another note of interest for me on the walk, were some fungi we found growing on a fallen tree, Sue told me one of them was a birch polypore. When I inquired further from her, she very kindly sent me a link about this fungus. I was amazed by the story that I read: it seems that in 1991, a 5,300 year-old Copper Age man was found frozen in the Alps. Upon doing an autopsy, they found that the man had suffered from parasitic whipworms, which would have caused stomach pain and diarrhea. On a leather thong, around his neck, the man carried several birch polypore mushrooms. These mushrooms, it seems, contain antibiotic oils which would have worked on microbacteria, such as he suffered from.
I am forever humbled by the power of nature, and the wisdom that seems, somehow, magically, or mystically, to be born where it is most needed. I feel that I am part of a generation that is beginning to discover, and appreciate the old wisdom, and to re-embrace it. And everyday that allows me to go out into the natural world, to discover all of these amazing sights and sounds, causes yet another wave of gratitude, in this very humble heart!

Pine Barrens

2010-01-02T12:26:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, before the snows came, I visited the Pine Barrens in Albany. I’d been hearing about them for years, but had failed to make the trip down there until now. I knew that it was a very similar terrain and habitat to the Wilton Wilderness Preserve and Park (WWPP) in Saratoga County, and there was good reason for this, because both areas had been created in the wake of Glacial Lake Albany, an enormous glacial-melt lake.
Twenty thousand years ago, much of New York State was covered with an up-to-a-mile- thick glacier. About 15,000 years ago, as the temperatures began to rise, and the glacier began to melt, and retreat to the north, the huge amount of water left behind collected in the Hudson Valley, and created Lake Albany, which covered an area from what is now Newberg, NY, to present-day Glens Falls, NY.
Rivers and streams that flowed into Lake Albany carried much glacial sediment: clay, gravel and sand were all dumped into the lake. Variety in the size of the sediments influenced how and where it settled on the lake bottom; and one of its large sand deposits is to be found in this oak-pine savannah.
About 5,000 years ago the water drained from Lake Albany, leaving the sandy bottom exposed to the wind, and other waters that flowed here; together these forces carved out the unique sand dune terrain and steep ridges that are now evident in this area.
The area’s water table, unique soil, and rolling terrain influenced the kind of vegetation found here, and as a result, these two areas became home to many unique and special species: the Karner Blue butterfly (State and Federal Designated Endangered Species); the Frosted Elfin (State-Designated Threatened Species); Blanding’s Turtle (State-Designated Threatened Species); Eastern Spadefoot Toad (State-Designated Species of Special Concern); Eastern Hognose Snake (State-Designated Species of Special Concern); and the Spotted Salamander (State-Designated Species of Special Concern) are found in one, or both of these preserves.
Appalachian Oak-Pine forest is dominant here: White Pine, Pitch Pine, Black Oak, White Oak and Red Maple. Sweetfern, Witch Hazel, and Scrub Oak are the dominant shrubs. Grasses and wildflowers found here are Little Blue-Stem, Blue Lupine, Spreading Dogbane, Butterfly Weed, and New Jersey Tea.
The Albany Pine Bush Preserve (APBP) consists of 3,010 acres, and in 1996, a formal protection plan was adopted by the APBP Commission. This plan proposed to protect this area as a unique ‘inland Pine Barren habitat’.
Unfortunately, before this protection, vast areas and habitat were destroyed through urban sprawl; but, today, threats still exist from habitat fragmentation, roadside practices and land-use conversions.
In addition, many of these plant species have evolved with, and adapted to fire, as a result, they are dependent upon it. Both White-Pine and Pitch Pine have serotinus cones, which means that their cones have a kind of glue on their scales, which can be removed only after they have been exposed to extreme heat, therefore, they can’t release their seeds, and germinate, without fire. Because APBP is cheek-by-jowl with the city of Albany, and fire is seen as a disturbance, it has traditionally been suppressed here. But recently, however, controlled burning is now practiced in the APBP, as can be seen in the accompanying photographs.
The area’s most famous resident: the Karner Blue butterfly (Lycaeides melissa samuelis) has achieved its status as a federally-endangered species due, in large part, to the loss of its host plant, Blue Lupine, which, in turn, has been in decline due to habitat destruction. In addition, natural succession, resulting from fire suppression, has had a detrimental impact on Blue Lupine, as well.
The Karner Blue has lost vast habitat areas and large urban areas such as Chicago and New York have seen complete extinction of the species in their areas. Today the most viable population is to be found in Saratoga County, but it is also one of APBP’s famous residents.

Snow Day!

2009-12-09T08:47:00.001-08:00

Snow Day! The child in me delights! Although, I must admit, it’s not really because of happy childhood memories associated with the day off; in fact, I don’t really remember snow days at all, growing up on the east shore of Long Island. Was it because we had less snow than my present north country home? Or was it that we were a hardier, or, perhaps, less cautious, breed in those days? My husband, who was raised in this area, says that he does remember snow days in his childhood, so it must be the former.
But, certainly, I do have happy memories associated with snow days from my children’s early youth. Our neighbor has a massive hill, quite perfect for high caliber sledding, and all the neighborhood children would come to spend the morning, and sometimes, afternoon, as well. There would be pancakes, and hot chocolate, and yes, I think I nurtured my own inner child by nurturing my children with such celebratory customs, so even though I rarely participated in the sledding myself (probably because there was usually a little one, too small for sledding, that I needed to tend to) I remember those days with great fondness.
Of course, I do currently work in the school system, so it is a day off for me as well, which of course, as someone who never has enough time to do all the things I am interested in doing, I am quite grateful for a day’s emancipation from work, but I think it is those older, happy memories that warm my heart the most!

First Snow

2009-12-07T18:36:00.000-08:00

Woodswalker and I took a hike on the Western Ridge trail in Moreau Lake State Park yesterday, in celebration of the first snow. We hurried to get there, for fear that the precious snow would be melted by noon; but, our fears were unfounded, in fact, there was no such threat; the higher elevation had had more snow, and the temperature there was colder, so there was no threat of melting! We hiked up the occasionally steep incline, and stopped on several plateaus to enjoy the view of the Luzerne Mountains in the distance. Close to the top, we could see the Spier Falls Dam down below on the Hudson River.
I never fail to marvel at the great boulders one sees in the Adirondacks, and although these are not the Adirondacks proper, geologically speaking, they are part of the same great thrust that created them, and so I enjoyed seeing them, scattered along the trailside as we walked; I always like to imagine how many creatures can make a home of the little nooks and crannies that are created by two, or more, boulders positioned together, creating little cave-like shelters. I imagine such shelters are in high demand, and that there must be stiff competition for these spaces. (This musing reminds me of Jan Brett’s classic children’s story, The Mitten, in which seven or eight animals try to escape winter’s cold by squeezing into a lost mitten, each subsequent interloper being larger than the last, stretching the mitten further and further, until finally, the last one to squeeze in is a bear!) The evergreens looked so lovely covered with the thick white snow, and in places, where they leaned in over the trail, with just enough breaks in the upper storey to allow sun to break through, magical hiding places were created. I was delighted as I passed through; it was like having my own little Narnia.
At the top we sat on some wide boulders and admired some interesting outcropping of rock; in one place, we saw some beautiful pink marble; and it seemed the higher we climbed, the more highbush blueberry bushes we saw; they seemed to be everywhere.
The climb back down was tougher, because the trail was slippery, and steep, so it was a good initiation for the first hike in winter weather, reminding me of the importance of the right equipment: I’d come without waterproof pants, and was wearing the wrong type of boot, so I learned a lesson or two! Though somewhat difficult, the experience was worth it, and just the sense of satisfaction for having challenged myself, was reward in itself.

A Time For Quiet

2009-12-01T18:46:00.000-08:00

I couldn’t believe it when I saw Woodswalker’s post about her walk in the local cemetery; I had, the same day, gone to a different cemetery seeking the same solace! This was not new to me; in the days when my husband, John, and I, traveled on the road as musicians, we would frequently find ourselves in some city where the only place we could find peace, and a bit of greenery, was often the town cemetery. As two people who lived in beautiful rural environs, we were spoiled by the numerous beautiful places for our daily hikes, but being on the road, sometimes in cold, inhospitable cities, we were grateful for the respite the local cemetery could provide.
Though outside its margins might have been roaring with traffic, congestion, and hoards of people, inside it was serene, peaceful, birds chirping, chipmunks chattering, squirrels scampering; and often, in older cemeteries , we would find magnificent old trees, rolling hills, and of course the often, exquisite headstones.
As we wandered amongst the gravestones, we were always touched by a sense of history: knowing each inscribed name represented a human life; each date, another time, another piece of history, remote and yet somehow, not, for we knew, these people had been driven by the same desires, fears and needs as we.
Growing up, the word, “graveyard” was a scary idea, visions of ghosts, and goblins, and all of our darkest fears were conjured, but that notion was transformed for me, in those peaceful walks that I often took in the local cemetery.

Bog at Lake Desolation

2009-11-29T14:20:00.001-08:00

I was just remembering the day I went with naturalist Ruth Schottman to tour a bog at Lake Desolation, in the foothills of the Adirondacks; this was quite exciting because one doesn’t come across a bog everyday in these parts, and they are such unique and interesting habitats. Lake Desolation is a kettle hole bog. The original depression was formed by a retreating glacier, which deposited gravel, salt, and sand. When a block of the glacier became lodged in this sediment, its movement ceased, and when it melted, the depression, or “kettle hole” was created. Bogs are marked by the fact that they have no inlet, or outlet, of fresh water; this means that there are very low levels of oxygen, which severely limits the ability of plants to grow; as such, only certain plants, capable of adapting to this harsh, and poor nutrient condition, can survive here. Sphagnum Moss is one such plant. As it grows, it eventually drops down and fills in the bottom with decaying material called peat moss. Over thousands of years, the edges around the lake eventually fill in, and create a wet, spongy mass, on which other plants can grow.
Because there is very little decomposition of organic matter, the soil and water are a very acidic ecosystem. Due to the poor nutrients, and high acidity, only similarly adaptable life forms can take hold. One of the amazing examples of adaptive behavior is that of the carnivorous plants, which have done well in this environment. In response to the poor nutrients in the soil, these plants eventually began to supplement their diets with insects. The lovely diminutive sundew, for instance (Drosera rotundifolia) attracts insects with its bright red color and a glistening, sugary substance that covers its leaves. When insects become stuck to its glandular tentacles, it uses enzymes to extract nutrients, such as nitrates, from their bodies. Carnivorous plants also obtain phosphorous and nitrogen, both necessary for plant growth, from the bodies of their prey, as well.
The Northern Pitcher Plant (Sarracenia purpurea) another plant commonly found in bogs, uses brightly patterned leaves which exude a chemical (attractive to insects) to entice its prey. It adds the additional lure of water, which can be found in its six-inch long, tube-like leaves, partly filled with rainwater. Once the insect has found its way down to the water, it cannot escape, as the inside of the leaf is covered with downward-pointing hairs, and a waxy, slippery substance that comes off onto the insect’s feet, and prevents it from ascending. The rainwater also contains digestive enzymes, which allow the plant to digest all but the exoskeleton. But not all reach their demise when they fall to these depths, some creatures, such as a particular species of mosquito, has adapted to this environment by producing anti-enzymes that allow it to lay its eggs in the pitcher plant!
Sheep Laurel, High Bush Blueberry, Bog Laurel, Leather Leaf, Labrador Tea, Cypress Spurge, Choke Berry, Jack-in-the-Pulpit, and another carnivorous plant, Bladderwort, are some of the other interesting plants that can also often be found in a bog.

Saratoga Spa

2009-11-22T10:42:00.000-08:00

I wandered yesterday amongst the paths of the Saratoga Spa State Park, and wondered at our great fortune to have such a jewel in our midst! I went by myself, so I was free to roam wherever the impulse pulled me, and I found myself drawn to my old favorites once more. My most favorite path is a very short one, that climbs a gentle hill through a dark and damp wood, and it always put me in mind of a primeval forest. The many exposed roots are gnarly; a giddy brook babbles down the hill, leaving rounded boulders glossy with moss; the trees lean in over the path, as though to whisper their secrets. Though it has been recently groomed (the beginning of the path has been widened, and the area at the bottom of the hill, cleared) for the most part it, has been allowed to remain entirely as nature has left it, and that’s what always makes me wish that the path was longer, for it inspires such elemental feelings of connection to the earth!
But, all of the park is lovely, and even more, it is awe-inspiring for its many expressions of geologic magic. Saratoga has long been known for its healing waters, and the early settlers to this country were not the first to appreciate the waters’ benefits. Native Americans from the 14th century were first aware of the springs, having discovered them during hunting excursions; the game that they were pursuing were attracted to the springs, due to the high salt content; in following their prey, they inevitably discovered the springs as well.
At first, the springs were kept as a highly guarded secret, the Native Americans who visited the springs, regarded them as sacred, a gift from the Great Spirit. But eventually, they began to share their secret with early settlers, and as the years, and centuries, passed the area became renown for the healing powers of the waters. The unwell, lame and infirm flocked here from, literally, all over the world, to bathe in and drink the waters.
The springs in this area are a result of a geologic fault; carbonated mineral water is pushed up from as deep as 1,000 feet below ground level. They originate from a layer of dolomatic limestone, which lies below the shale. The salts in the water are leached from the dolostone, and are infused with carbon dioxide, which causes the characteristic bubble.
This fizziness was nearly the un-doing of the springs, for in the early twentieth century, carbonated drinks had become so popular, that over twenty private companies had drilled wells in the area, to capture the carbon dioxide. In the process, the water table was significantly lowered. Advocates came to the defense of the springs, and eventually the park was formed, the wells capped, and the water table rebounded.
Another of my favorite paths is the one that runs along the geyser, where mineral salts have been mounded into hills; nearby streams glisten red from the high iron content; and close by, a meandering stream filled with small boulders ambles under several bridges.
I barely scratched the surface of the park’s 2,200 acres, and yet my outing was rich and full of images to inspire, and renew, and refresh the spirit!

Determination

2009-11-11T10:28:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, Jackie and I went on an adventure in the woods that line the banks of her beloved cove, on the Hudson River. I’ve heard her speak of this place many times, mostly about her outings there by canoe, but today, we decided to walk along the banks, and take in its mysteries from shore. I immediately saw what her great love of this place was about: it was a secret little cove with a magical atmosphere. It inspired in me a sense of what it must have been like here, hundreds of years ago, undisturbed, and left entirely to the workings of nature’s hand.
This place stands on the fringes of the Adirondack region, so that, though we were only as far north as the town of Moreau, one, brought there blindfolded, might swear that they were much farther north.
We clambered over rocks, and shimmied between trees, delighting over trees which had literally grown around, and straddled, boulders, which had stood in their way; and gingerly picked our way over swampy patches of mud, making our way, one by one, to the many points that projected into the water. We stood on the great boulders, looking down into the waters below, and scrambled over them, finding them covered with multiple species of lichen and moss; and here and there, we found plants that doggedly grew out of rock crevices: Winterberry (Ilex verticillata) Corydalis (Corydalis sempervirens) and Highbush Blueberry (Vaccinium corymbosum) some of which, resolute in life’s purpose, despite the many frosts, were still producing blooms!
As we continued along, we saw Meadowsweet, truly ablaze in color; every warm color one could name was represented in its many hues; creating an effect that caused it to virtually glow, as though with its own inner light.
Not far from the stand of Meadowsweet, I noticed an evergreen plant with which I was not familiar, and Jackie told me that it was Goldthread (Coptis trifolia). She overturned one of the plants and showed me the slender, golden rootstock from which its common name is derived, and then carefully turned it over, and patted it back in place. When I got home, I looked it up in Andrew Chevallier’s Encyclopedia of Herbal Medicine, and found that the plant was a traditional herbal medicine, used for canker sores, sore throats, and other problems in the mouth.
We noted, in one area, in particular, red was the overriding color: even things that were normally green, such as winterberry, here, on these rocks, were burgundy; and those things that were normally red, such as blueberry buds, were very red, indeed; even the rocks themselves had a pink hue in places, and we wondered if the particular mineral content of these rocks was effecting the color of the plants that grew around, and upon it.
So many questions! So many mysteries to be solved! So little time! Indeed, it is the awareness of the shortness of time that makes me all the more grateful for days such as these!

A Hoary Frost

2009-11-08T18:29:00.000-08:00

I went out on an adventure yesterday morning: my friend, and fellow naturalist, Jackie D.
http://saratogawoodswaters.blogspot.com invited me to join her, and her friend, Sue P. who is also a fellow blogger.
http://www.watrlily.blogspot.com They were headed out on a hunt for frostweed (Helianthemum canadense) which is a member of the Primrose family; this is a very special plant, indeed. It has large (up to 1 ½ inches long) yellow flowers, that bloom in June; but the “special” part comes in, not when it is in bloom, but rather, in the fall, when frosts start to occur. When temperatures are cold enough, the sap of the plant is drawn up from the roots, the stem splits open, and out pours the sap, in vapor form, which instantly freezes into a solid when it hits the frosty air! The result is something that looks like a frozen waterfall! It is truly magical and quite ephemeral, for you must come early to see it; and once the sun begins to warm things up, the frozen moisture is gone! We delighted in the frost, which clung to all of the plants around us, creating ice crystals and a dreamy atmosphere. We moved from plant to plant taking in the beauty, which was so magical, yet so fleeting.
As we walked the woods, we found partridgeberry (Mitchella repens) with its round, dark, glossy leaves, and nibbled on its scarlet berries; also, we found wintergreen (Gaultheria procumbens) another evergreen, this one with toothed leaves, and like partridgeberry, it too, has red, edible berries. We also found Canada mayflower (Maianthemum canadense) berries, which Jackie was astute enough to recognize, though all it offered for clues as to its identity was a single, leafless stem bearing three berries!
We also found pipsissewa (Chimaphila umbellata) that is another evergreen plant that has shiny, toothed, wedge-shaped leaves. This plant is a traditional medicinal, and was long used by Native Americans to treat fever and to induce sweating. One of the constituents of this plant is hydroquinones, which has a disinfectant effect on the urinary tract system. European settlers also used the herb for both rheumatism and urinary and kidney problems. It was listed in the Pharmacopoeia of the United States from 1820 to 1916!
Sue led us down a hill toward Mud Pond where she had previously spotted a small flock of Hooded Mergansers (Lophodytes cucullatus) and we were thrilled to find them still in temporary residence. The males had their magnificent crests raised, and the effect was lovely and quite dramatic. As we stood there watching them, a flock of Canada Geese (Branta canadensis) flew overhead, and we thought sure they were coming in for a landing, but perhaps the wind was wrong, for they kept going.
While making our way back through the woods, we were intrigued by a sound that we couldn’t quite identify; I suggested that it might be wild turkey, but we couldn’t be certain. While Jackie and I lingered behind, with various things that caught our interest, Sue found the source of the “singing”: a tall Pitch Pine groaned and squealed. As the tree gently swayed in the wind, one limb hung over the limb of the white pine that stood beside it, each time it leaned in, a scratching, moaning sound was made, and as it pulled away, it produced a different pitch. As the wind moved at different rhythms, each note was of different lengths, and timbre, and tone, quite musical for sure, but also organic, and “alive”, like the singing of whales, or howling of wolves. As we listened, Sue moved in and placed her ear against the trunk, and I followed suit, only to discover that the sound reverberated through the entire tree, sending tiny shivers down the spine of the listener.
All of the elements of the morning worked together to create an overwhelming sense of gratitude: for the beauty that surrounded us; the spontaneity; the fleeting quality of life’s experiences, and the company of good friends!

A Remembering and Forgetting

2009-11-01T15:09:00.000-08:00

I walked in the Skidmore woods again yesterday and there were so many leaves on the forest floor that even though I walk there often, and I am quite familiar with some of the trails, I was a little disoriented; everything looked unfamiliar, and at several junctures I was unsure of the way to go. In fact, I’d planned to take a trail I hadn’t walked in a while, but decided against it because the unfamiliarity was somewhat intimidating. The woods are always a different experience each time we enter them, because that world is so rich and full of things to take in, that we couldn’t possibly absorb it all. Hence, each time we pass over a familiar trail, we see something we’d never noticed before. But this seemed as though it was that experience to the extreme, everything looked different, unfamiliar, even the trail was obliterated, because the carpet of leaves was so thick it obscured the path.
But, though I did falter here and there a bit, I finally tuned in to my inner GPS, and found my way intuitively, then I settled back into a certain comfort level, and was able to feel that I was home once more. All of the recent rain, and especially the high winds, had done their work, and many of the trees were bare. I noticed then, of course, how the conifers, still green and business-as-usual in their stance, took the forefront, and let their presence be felt, and I could not help but be grateful for their greenness.
This nakedness of the trees also makes us more aware of the forest terrain: rocks and boulders strewn by the glaciers’ retreat jump out against the stark backdrop, their mossy ridges inviting fairy feet to climb upon them; a black maw gapes in the flank of a tree, by its size, the work of a pileated, who worked here once only heard, or barely glimpsed, hidden as he was, amongst lush leaves.
In many ways, I think, my senses are renewed by the this state of the woods, I can see what had previously been hidden, and I have so much to take in, it can be a wondrous and inspiring experience, and humbling, too. I walked one familiar ridge yesterday only to be struck by the beautiful view of the Adirondacks in the distance; I get this glimpse each year when the trees shed their leaves, but each summer when this vista is hidden behind a wall of trees, I forget once more, only to be delighted again come Autumn.
I am grateful for this remembering and forgetting, this loss and renewal, this brushing away and starting again, it is like my life: I learn to retain what is good and worth keeping, but I learn too, that some things are best discarded. Though the letting go is sometimes painful, the acceptance of transformation brings healing, and renewal, and rebirth.

Moreau Lake

2009-10-29T16:51:00.000-07:00

Itook a much-needed mental health day today. Ahh! Such heaven! Imagine time in the morning to meditate; do my yoga; have a healthy breakfast; listen to lovely music; write in my journal; and then, over the course of the day, take three walks! This kind of self-nurturing is so crucial to mental and physical health! What a difference it makes in how I feel! I go back to work tomorrow rested and renewed and revived. I am so happy that I had the freedom to be able to take that time, and happier still that the woods are still there, still quietly going through their transformation, and still eager to envelop me within their fold. My husband and I walked at Moreau Lake State Park in Moreau, New York, and we chose to walk some of the trails into the woods. It was so uplifting to breathe the sweet pungent air, see the sparkle of the sun upon the lake, and listen to the calls of the Canadian Geese!

Costa Rican Paradise

2009-10-25T11:13:00.000-07:00

Last February I immersed myself in a foreign experience – quite literally – I had always dreamed of seeing the rain forest and finally, in spite of a great deal of emotional resistance (it felt like the biggest, scariest thing I’d ever done) I finally made my dream into a reality; this, despite the fact that the companion who was supposed to travel with me canceled out a month before we were to leave. If I was frightened before her cancellation, there are no words to describe the feelings after she said she couldn’t come. My immediate reaction was that I would have to cancel, too; of course, I thought, I couldn’t go on my own. But quickly I recovered from that state of hopelessness, and decided to forge ahead with my plans; I was determined that the trip that I’d been planning for over a year would not be abandoned because of a relative bump in the road.
At first, I opted for a “safe” tour, but soon realized (despite the doubts screaming in my head) that the tour wasn’t really suited to my needs. Instead, I gave myself permission to take the enormous leap of signing up for a yoga retreat on the Caribbean side of the country, a 4 ½ hour drive over rough road, from the only international airport, in San Jose.
Each leg of the journey, each experience along the way, presented new terrors, would I be able to face them alone? Could I possibly stand up to the challenges? At each juncture I thought I couldn’t: I feared getting lost, I feared dangerous people, I feared not speaking the language, I feared being robbed, I feared disease, I feared bad food; it was as if every fear I’d ever had became magnified, and stood before me, etching a line in the sand, daring me to cross it, or as though I were a child, afraid to leave her mother’s skirts. I could stay and cower where I was safe, or I could take a risk and venture out where I ‘d never ventured before.
Each day I had to make the choice anew. Each day I tried to talk myself out of the plans for the day, but each time, another part of me would reassure, console and encourage: ”Do it!” the deepest, wisest part of me would say, and so, I would. And without fail, I ventured forth into an amazing experience. Soon, it became very clear that I was meant to have this experience on my own, each time I faced my fears and forged ahead the rewards were a thousand-fold. I saw places I could only imagine, I met people who were kind and nurturing, encouraging; people who guided me and helped me to feel safe, and I learned that I was as strong and courageous as anyone needed to be. I found out that it was indeed true; that the only thing we need to fear is fear, itself.

Cycles

2009-10-21T15:33:00.000-07:00

This morning I stepped out into the cold crisp air, as the leaves of the cottonwood tree above me, literally rained its leaves down upon my head. It bespoke the time of year, a time of rest, a gentle unfolding, a letting go of growth, and an acceptance of the long sleep that approaches. Though part of me mourns the passing of expansion and growth, another part of me rejoices and welcomes the approach of winter’s long slumber.
I have been taking delight in the Canadian Geese that have been filling the skies, and today I saw a mass of blackbirds pass overhead that was so large it pulsed in several waves, causing my breath to catch in my throat.
I embrace the here and now, though part of me is given to complaint and to rejection of what is, though I know it is fruitless - a futile waste of good energy. But struggle I must, frail and human as I am.
But mostly, I am wiser than that, and I embrace everything that now is, giving myself over to the mystery with relative abandon.
I am appreciative of all the time I have spent in my ‘sit-spot’, as my friend Mira calls it, coming back day after day, watching the same plants and animals fold and unfold and expand and recede, so that slowly I have begun to recognize them, regardless of season, little by little learning their names, but more importantly, their essences, for this has been more of a spiritual pursuit than academic. This has been a discipline that has affected me on many levels, and has helped me to grow in ways more numerous than I might list. But one way for sure, is that I am able to be in the moment; to appreciate the healing energy in the sun, the wind, the energy that pulses from every living thing, and to recognize my connection to it; and further, to be able to do that with a sense of humility: a recognition that I am merely a piece in a great puzzle; a cell in an enormous organism, and to come to the awareness that, to reject one aspect, is to reject the whole, and that, I could never dream of doing, anymore than I could reject my own hand or my heart. So, come winter! Bring your freezing temperatures, your frozen pipes, your blocked roads and hampered movement, but I know you will also bring crystalline trees, bathed in frozen vapor, the hush that a fresh blanket of snow brings to the valley, and a red cardinal sitting in a honeysuckle bush, eating bright, red, frozen, berries.

Belted Kingfisher

2009-10-13T19:26:00.000-07:00

Well, Jackie and I finally made it out onto the water together. We headed west first, toward the brook, then after we explored that, we headed east toward Bryant’s Bridge. The colors of Autumn were in all their splendor, and we couldn’t help but note the colors that were evident elsewhere, as well, such as the lovely winterberry (Ilex verticillata) shrubs with their bright red berries, the jewelweed (Impatiens capensis) stems which had turned a rusty-orange, and the dark maroon leaves of the Devil’s beggar-ticks plant (Bidens frondosa).
Along the way we startled a belted kingfisher, whose sharp, rattle-like call revealed his strong territorial instincts. I’ve always been fascinated by the Belted Kingfisher; the first time I saw one perform his amazing acrobatic feats I was duly impressed: they fly at the water, dive-bombing to capture their prey, sometimes hovering over the water to zero in more accurately; in fact, wide-open water is a habitat requirement for them, so that they can see their prey clearly from a greater distance. I noted that they seemed to be here rather late in the season, and my research bore this out: the kingfishers from the northeast usually are departed by mid-September, though the younger ones stay behind a little while longer. (The one we saw today seemed mature, though.) I was delighted this winter, while in Costa Rica, to see that they overwinter there, and it was pretty inspiring to think that there might be (even if only a remote) chance that the bird I was gazing on there in the tropics, could be one-in-the-same that I knew and loved from upstate New York!

Sucker Brook

2009-10-12T10:34:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, as I paddled west on the creek, I took great pleasure in the beautiful fall colors in the trees along the bank: gold, yellow, orange, red and brown, all sparkling in the afternoon sun. I moved not only against the current, but against the wind as well, so it was an invigorating undertaking. I took cover by ducking into Sucker Brook; the current there is minimal, and the banks are lined with trees, which block the wind. In fact, it affords protection from the elements in every season. It is this quiet little microcosm of a world, where other creatures find safe haven, as well, so I am often fortunate enough to observe that which is invisible in the greater surroundings. It’s close edges make for intimate interaction when, by chance, one stumbles upon some animal going about its business, unaware of being observed.
Some of my most thrilling experiences have occurred here: I remember one day, mid-September, a few years back, when I came upon a male beaver. I’d come around a bend and taken him by surprise; he was enormous, the size of an average dog, and his coat was thick and sleek. Our eyes locked (his were a deep brown) and for a brief moment I felt as though I was looking into the essence of his being; it was like looking into the eyes of an elder: very wise, solid, and unafraid.
He slipped into the water, as I passed, his great heft of a body slipping below the surface, while his eyes stayed fixed on me. I got a little shiver down my spine, then, he smacked the water, hard, with his beautiful, flat, scaly tail, and was gone.
I came upon him several times that summer (which is rare because they are mostly nocturnal.) Sometimes he was on the banks, and I could hear him working at a young tree, peeling the bark and using his great incisors to gnaw away at the trunk. Poplar, birch, aspen, willow and maple are its favorite trees to use in the construction of their dams, and these are its favorite foods, as well, and all of these trees are present here, in the brook and on the creek. They cut these small trees in the summer and then store them for winter food.
But this year I have not seen him, or his mate, though I have seen evidence of new chewing. Even these tell-tale signs are thrilling to me, for I have stored his image away in my mind, and just knowing that he, or an off-spring, are still there at work is a comfort to me.

Inspiration

2009-10-09T18:21:00.000-07:00

I have many times been aware how instantaneously calming it is to walk into the woods. I’ve also come to know that there is often a stark comparison between how I was feeling before I’d arrived, and how I feel when I have left. On countless occasions I have headed for the cover of the forest in woeful shape; my state of mind reflecting the world from which I’d emerged: the drone of car engines, the distant whirr of machinery, the blare of emergency vehicles, and the incessant, critical and analytic monologue in my head, which ceaselessly required attention; somehow, miraculously, all fall into silence, and another consciousness prevails; the moment I step under the canopy, a different world reveals itself. These oppressive influences are instantly replaced with the soft murmur of rustling leaves, the buzzing hum of insects, and the chatter of birdsong. A muffling of most, or all of the outside noise occurs, and it is quite literally like stepping into another world, indeed, it is another world.
Suddenly problems are put into perspective, they shrink in importance; a more balanced view is revealed. Over time, I have developed the skills and self discipline to bookmark my troubles, promising my fearful ego that I can, if need be, pick the worry up again tomorrow, but for right here, and now, I promise myself, ‘I will be present’, ‘I will be here now’. ‘I will feel this breeze, smell the perfume in the air, and hear the birds singing’.
As a result, my breathing relaxes, shallow gulps of air are replaced with a slow, deep inhalation, and my weary mind and body are bathed in the relief of nurturing, in a sustenance that they forgot they needed.
The ironic thing is, I used to be quite literally, afraid to do such things on my own. Having been raised in suburbia, by city-born parents, I was never exposed to walks in the woods, nor invited to explore the magic of a flower, not told that I would be all right to set out on an adventure of my own, and so I never did. Never, that is, until adulthood, and quite slowly at that, for I had many dragons to slay. But, little by little, I succeeded; perhaps because the more comfortable I became with myself, the more comfortable I became in the woods.
It is still an on-going test of courage; each time I meet a new challenge I must encourage myself to go on, and then I remind myself to breathe. When I remember to take those simple steps I always am the better for it.

Strawberry Fields Forever

2009-10-06T18:53:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a wonderful day. My friend, Jackie, and I drove down to Strawberry Fields in beautiful Mohawk County. We were there to visit Jeff Leon and to see the amazing array of fringed gentians (Gentianopsis crinita) he has there. He has worked as a conservationist to protect these plants, as well as other rare, endangered, or threatened plants, on his 120 acres of land, since 1971.
He graciously led us about the grounds where we delighted in antiquated fieldstone fences, covered with moss and etched with delicate, lacy lichen; showed us his eight species of goldenrod, and nine species of aster; pointed out the rich cluster of glossy red berries that replaces the ‘jack’ in its pulpit; and led us to an overlook with a striking view of the Mohawk valley. We delighted in butternut hickory trees, hop hornbeam, witch hazel, dogbane, shagbark hickory, wild apple, cherry, bur oak, and others. Meanwhile, we trampled fragrant wild basil and marjoram and thyme below our feet, as well as the ubiquitous namesake, strawberry, and heal-all; and our eyes delighted in orange-fruited horse gentian, agrimony, spotted touch-me-not, red clover and bittersweet.
Jeff explained that the gentians like wet meadows on magnesium-rich calcareous rock, and that they like open sun, but will tolerate more shade as long as the soil is rich in these minerals. They unfurl in sunlight, but close up on overcast days. When they are tightly furled they are a deep, rich blue, but when they unfold, and let the light show through, they are a softer, lighter hue, looking, as my friend Jackie says, like Japanese lanterns. These native plants can grow up to 3 feet tall, and the flower is about 2 inches long. Their blooming peaks about the second week of October, but will bloom into November.
Jeff had to fence off a section of their growing area when he realized that the resident deer are as fond of them as we are, only not just to gaze upon. He discovered they were browsing upon them and that they particularly enjoyed them when they were in seed. Each plant can produce 1,000 seeds so a great storehouse of genetic material is lost each time one of these ungulates munches away on this threatened flower.
Thanks to Jeff for working to raise awareness about this graceful, lovely blossom, we applaud his efforts and are ever grateful for his provision of a a protected place in which such threatened plants can thrive! For those who wish to learn more about local efforts to protect endangered and threatened plants, and ways that we can work to protect them, contact Hudson Mohawk Land Conservancy. Jeff also invites groups and individuals to visit Strawberry Fields, contact him at jeffleon@mindspring.com

Cathedral In the Woods

2009-10-04T18:39:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I had the honor to accompany two very fine naturalists into the woods, and it was a rich experience on several levels. We were three women, all of us from divergent paths, and histories, and yet, in many ways, we were cut from the same cloth: not only did we share a love, indeed, a passion, for the natural world; but we found, as the day wore on, that the threads of our shared tapestry went deeper than just surface similarities. There is always the potential for something very magical to happen when women come together; a powerful bond can develop because many of the profound experiences, which shape us as human beings, are universal to all women. When you add to this a shared love for nature, camaraderie cannot help but develop. Also, a deep respect naturally grows when one is in the company of commitment, competence, and accomplishment. Partly, we see ourselves in the other and narcissistically love our own reflection, but also we admire the talents and abilities in others that we may hope to one day develop in ourselves. And of course our diverse talents and abilities balance each other out so that together our strengths subtly affect the overall experience. All I know is I am grateful for the beautiful world in which we live, and especially grateful that there are kindred spirits who are kind enough to share it with me.

2009-09-29T17:51:00.000-07:00

Ahh! Glorious fringed genetians! Thanks to Jeff Leon of Strawberry Fields, and his efforts to preserve these threatened flowers, and to raise awareness about them, I had the opportunity to see them for the first time ever. I first visited there with an ECOS (Environmental Clearinghouse of Schenectady) class, led by the amazing naturalist, Ruth Schottman.
They are in bloom now, and it’s amazing to think that these lacy, fragile-looking flowers are sturdy enough to survive, indeed thrive, in these chilly fall temperatures. Likewise, these nodding ladies'-tresses!
Who can help me to name these lovely little seed-pods(?) I think 'box' is in the name, but I can't find them in my field guides.

Adirondack Ramble

2009-09-28T17:44:00.000-07:00

These photos were taken up in the beautiful Adirondacks on Schroon River. I feel so fortunate to live in such abundantly rich, diverse and amazing environs.These British Red Soldiers are a sight to behold, as well. I understand these are a lichen, which is an organism that is both fungus and algae. But I am not sure what all of the elements of the photograph are... they are lovely though!
I also am delighting in small gifts that I find such as these mushrooms that have markings on them that leave them looking like some delicate scrimshaw (claw marks? scraping from a tooth?)
And last, but not least, these lovely turkey tail fungi!

Farewell to Summer Flowers

2009-09-21T12:53:00.000-07:00

With the chill in the air this morning, I am reminded that the summer is coming to a close. I say this wistfully, for I really love summer, but of course, fall has many beautiful gifts, as well. For instance, during my walk, I was amazed at how many flowers I am seeing still in bloom. Of course, there are the fall flowers: goldenrod, boneset, joe pye weed, many different asters, jewelweed, butter-and-eggs, and many that I can’t name; but there are still quite a few hardy summer flowers still in bloom, as well: birdfoot trefoil, clover, chicory, bladder campion, the lovely turtlehead, a few arrowhead and of course, purple loosestrife!
Also I saw an incredible little bug which turned out to be an immature stink bug (thanks so much Ted!)
And I saw a lovely gall (thanks woodswalker!) which I thought was a fruit of some kind.

Signs of Fall

2009-09-16T10:34:00.000-07:00

As I set out on the water this day I see many signs of fall around me: bushes ripe with berries everywhere (here, honeysuckle) beautiful goldenrod in bloom (on which I found an amazing yellow and black argiope spider!) and of course, the twice-a-year gathering of redwinged blackbirds. I have yet to write down the date that I’ve first perceived their absence, so I am unsure when to expect their departure. I have a large dead oak, about 45 feet high, and they often congregate here. It seems to be mostly the young males, they look like the females (sort of like a large sparrow, with mottled brown feathers) except they are plumper, and their feathers seem more puffed out. The adult males, of course, are the classic glossy black birds with bright red shoulder patches.
They produce 2-3 broods per year, so that explains all the juveniles so late in the season. They nest on the ground, making a small, tight cup of marsh grass, which is attached to marsh vegetation, or, sometimes, in a bush. The eggs are a beautiful pale blue with dark brown and purple markings.
They have a bad reputation with farmers, as they eat grain in cultivated fields, but actually they benefit the farmer, for they consume large numbers of harmful insects, along with small fruits, small aquatic life, and seeds.
I came around the bend into the brook just as the blackbirds were roosting for the night. Such a cacophonous noise! They excitedly filled the trees and the reeds near the water. They typically gather in huge flocks, so this was not unusual. Little by little, they began to quiet down, settling into the trees, and the long grasses and reeds, as well, for the night.
Within ten minutes there was much less flitting from tree to tree and the chattering began to quiet as well. I noted that the trees they selected still had sunlight falling on them, while the surrounding ones were in shade. Within another five minutes they were almost quiet; there was still some jockeying for position going on, as though they must vie for position anew each night.
I read yesterday that they will gather with other species of blackbirds and even grackles and cowbirds as they prepare to migrate. There is a great explosion of sound and excited behavior that has them gathering in the trees above ones head. This is an amazing thing to witness, especially when some unseen cue silences them all simultaneously!

Sanctuary

2009-09-02T17:42:00.001-07:00

Sanctuary

8/5/08

I headed in an opposite direction than usual today. A local farmer had sprayed the fields bordering the creek, using an atomized method; this renders a spray so fine, that it seeps into even closed windows, and creates a noxious and suffocating fume. The smell was oppressive, much more intense and unpleasant than fertilizer of days gone by, so though I tried, at first, to ignore it, I quickly realized that it would not do, and turned the boat eastward, upwind.

Problem is, the brook affords a lot of shade, and privacy, which I was seeking today, and so I wasn’t thrilled about heading out into the hot, open creek, with little protection from the sun. But I hadn’t gone a ½ mile when I noticed a little leafy edge, up against the hill on the eastern bank. Hanging from the side of the embankment there was an alder, with branches so low, that some were hanging in the water. This created a small blockage of the current where the water eddies and swirls as it goes past a fallen limb in the creek; a slight whirlpool is here created in its wake. Behind this blockage, and under this shade, was created a minute paradise, free of noise, or traffic, or noxious smell!

Ironically, most of the shade was provided by a white oak, just like the one that I was originally headed for; like the one whose shade I love to nestle under in the brook, so I was quite pleased to find it. Of course, this was a much younger one, with
not nearly the circumference of shade, nor nowhere near the splendor or presence of “my” oak, but it was leafy, and tall, about 15 feet - probably about ten years old. Next to it was a birch, about the same age, and next to that was a sumac, much younger, but because they grow so fast, and their compound leaves spread wide, they give a good amount of shade, early on. Together, they provided very decent cover, in fact, it was absolutely enticing: a leafy little sanctuary, complete with chipping sparrows.

On the steep embankment, above my head, rose Virginia creeper, sorrel, plantain, and mullein. In addition, the bank was covered with lichen and moss. The sandy hillside was covered with tunnel-like holes, like diminutive versions of the nest-tunnels created by belted kingfishers. In addition, there were many types of fungi: a diminutive black mushroom that looked like an umbrella; a little disk-shaped white mushroom about the size of a sunflower seed; and small cup-shaped projections that stood at attention like so many minute soldiers, each ½ the height of a straight pin.

Because the hill was sandy, it eroded easily, and the fine, filamental roots of the grasses were exposed, creating a fine network through the soil, and upon that, some species of spider had spun his web, again and again, and these were now covered with a fine spray of sand, creating a diaphanous curtain, that spread across the bank. I lightly touched one, here and there, careful to do no damage, in hopes that the architect would show up to investigate the disturbance, but my efforts were not rewarded.

I did notice that many of the fine holes in the bank were covered with this webbing, each with a distinct round opening in the middle of the web; an opening, coinciding with the center of the hole it covered. Was this the door to his cave? Was this his tunnel with the very center left open so that he could move about unhindered by his sticky lair?

As I looked at a patch of common carpet moss (mnium) mixed in with some broom moss (dicranum) I noticed a small slug, looking for all the world like a miniature Loch Ness monster, its antennae, little stubs; its body glistening in the sun. It sat motionless until I touched it with my pen, and then it moved only slightly.

As I sat here, a young rabbit moved across my view of the bank, stopping just six feet away to nibble the grass. As he moved unconcernedly up the hill he flashed his white cottontail and disappeared over the ridge.

So much to see in such a small space! I am here reminded of the incredible diversity of life, and how rich a few square yards can be. I set out today tired and cross, resentful that my usual sanctuary had been sullied, but in the span of ten minutes, I found yet another sanctuary, a world unto itself. As I looked at these fascinating and beautiful living things, my heart rate began to slow, my breathing became deeper, and I began to forget about my troubles; I could only glory in the gifts that surrounded me. I head home now more patient, more hopeful, and kinder than I left. Perhaps there is a finer way to spend an hour, but I cannot think what that might be.

Cedar Waxwing

2009-08-30T16:10:00.000-07:00

I was out on the creek this evening and it was a beautiful end to a beautiful day. I am so grateful for every day that brings weather good enough for kayaking! Tonight, as I was about to pull in my kayak, I got a glimpse of a beautiful bird, one I’d never seen up-close before: a Cedar Waxwing (Bombycilla cedrorum). In fact, I got to see the male and female and four adult-size young! They were hunting in a cloud of flying insects, so they were difficult to describe in my journal, because they were moving so fast. Also, they were backlit so I was having a tough time getting a good grasp on their color. But finally, one came close enough so that I was able to glimpse a few traits that helped to positively I.D. it: pale yellow belly, warm brown head and upper body, beautiful crest, black mask, and yellow-tipped tail feathers. Quite lovely!

Buttonbush

2009-08-26T08:50:00.000-07:00

Today is an incredibly beautiful, perfect, late summer day. This is much appreciated after a week of very hot, humid weather. I have been away this past week, but we had the same weather where I was, so I didn’t escape it. I did miss kayaking, too, and it felt great to get back out on the water! The creek is looking beautiful, though there is a lot of boat traffic, as always at this time of year, and I worry about the too-fast speeds of the boats, manned by people perhaps unaware of the serious impact of the erosion caused by the high wake.
I came across some photos of a favorite flower that grow here on the creek, and I wanted to share it: it is Buttonbush (Cephalanthus occidentalis).
Here is my entry the first time I discovered it, August 5, 2006:
I found this incredible flower! It is a shrub, and has a woody stem. The flowers are round composites, with many individual flowers on one round orb. It has many styles sticking out, which make it look like a pincushion. The flowers, themselves, are white, tubular, lily-like, and about 1/3-inch long, with long filaments and yellow anthers. Once pollinated, the stamens and blossoms fall off, leaving a greenish-yellow globe, which then dries to a stiff, dry, brown orb about the size of a large marble. Before the blossoms appear, it starts out as a green, densely packed orb. The leaves are opposite, entire (smooth edges, not toothed) and egg-shaped. They have 7-10 pairs of veins on each leaf. As the individual flowers die on the cluster, they turn rust-brown. The shrub can get to be over 2 feet high and likes to grow in wet places. Evidently good pollen, for it’s covered with bees!

The Long Journey Home

2009-08-18T12:20:00.000-07:00

As summer begins to draw to a close, I begin to think about the monarch butterflies’ long journey that lay before them. Amazingly, though most of the generations of monarchs born throughout the summer, live only 2 weeks, this last generation lives an incredible 9 months! They start out like all the others: an egg, laid on a leaf, specifically a milkweed leaf (Asclepias syriaca) by a female Monarch (Danaus plexippus). She flies from leaf to leaf, checking with the sensors in her feet (like taste buds in our mouths) that she has the right plant, for only milkweed is acceptable. The egg is laid in a sticky substance so that it can’t be shaken off by wind or rain, and for extra protection, the female usually lays the egg on the underside of the leaf so that it won’t be easily detected.
It is interesting that the monarch has chosen this plant as its host plant, for milkweed has within its cells a carotenoid poison; most other insects that eat this plant will die, but the monarch butterfly is immune to its poison. In fact, both the caterpillar and the adult carry this toxin within their cells, so that they taste bad when eaten, and it can even make their predators ill. Once having eaten a monarch, should they survive, they learn not to eat this animal again. This is why monarchs are nature’s traditional warning color: orange.
When they hatch, they are no bigger than the head of a pin, but their first job is to eat the shell from which they have hatched, for it is full of nutrients. As soon as they are able, they make their way to the edge of the leaf, where it is most tender, because at this stage, their jaws are so small they can only scrape the leaf with their mouth.
But as they grow, and begin to be able to chew, they develop voracious appetites, and soon grow too large for their skin. Because their exoskeleton is so hard (for protection from predators) they need to shed their skin, or molt, on a regular basis, for a total of five molts during this stage of their life. Each time, the caterpillar emerges from the new skin, larger, and more mature.
This process continues for about two weeks, when finally it’s ready for the next stage of its development. It carefully selects a twig, or some sturdy leaf stem and attaches itself. It latches on by means of a little button of silk, which it spins, (from glands near its mouth called spinnerets) and hangs itself, upside down, (called the "J" form) and attaches itself to the button of silk.
Under the old skin, it is a soft, green, almost shapeless lump. But then it begins to dry and harden, and shimmering golden spots begin to appear. This green form is the chrysalis, and its golden spots are what gave the monarch its name, for, to those who named it, the gold looked real, worthy of a king.
During pupation the caterpillar does not eat or move. It hangs silently on the stem, its green color helping to camouflage it, for two more weeks. Soon, it begins to change color: first, a beautiful blue-green teal, and then, it begins to be transparent. As you look inside the chrysalis, the black and orange wings of the butterfly begin to be visible. When this happens, we know that the butterfly is about to emerge.
First, the chrysalis begins to move, gently swaying back and forth on the branch, but then the movements become quicker, and suddenly, the chrysalis splits open. The butterfly begins to struggle its way out: first, the head and legs, and then, its wings.
When it first emerges, its wings are wet, and hang limply about its body. But then its swollen abdomen begins to pump fluids into its wings; they begin to fill out, and then, as time passes, to dry. The butterfly must hang there for about four hours to allow its wings to dry thoroughly. As it waits, basking in the sun, its body temperature slowly raises, allowing it to reach a warm enough temperature so it can finally fly.
Most monarchs live only two weeks, but those born at the end of the summer, in the Eastern United States, migrate nearly two thousand miles to the Sierra Madre Oriental Mountains in Mexico. (Monarchs in the western parts of the U.S. migrate to a place in Santa Cruz, California.)
Here, they spend their time in a sleepy state, hardly moving, accept to move themselves into the sunlight as it climbs higher in the sky during the day. Once the monarchs have spent the cold winter months in this safe place, they begin the long journey back to the home from which they had come.
As they make their journey, they mate, lay new eggs, and the cycle begins again. The butterflies which have hibernated for the winter, are not the same ones who make it all the way back to the north, but generations of their offspring continue to travel northward, until finally they have reached the same area that the hibernating butterfly started from!

Bounty on the Barren

2009-08-17T07:36:00.000-07:00

Bounty on the Barren
By Jacqueline Callahan

It was an overcast day and I started out with some unease about the weather; clouds are not helpful for butterfly hunting, but this was my first-ever participation in a National Butterfly count, and despite the dampening effects of the weather, I was excited! I made my way to Camp Saratoga, protected lands owned by the Nature Conservancy, and operated by the Wilton Wildlife Preserve and Park (WWPP), a community-based conservation program in Wilton, near Saratoga Springs, New York. I was meeting Jessica Stager, an intern for the preserve, who was over-seeing the count that day.
I pulled my car into Camp Saratoga, and I found Jessica already there, as well as Michelle Mattocks, an intern with the federal AmeriCorps program. We sat down at a picnic table to go over our methods for the count. Jessica had everything that we would need: several butterfly field guides, some butterfly nets, small plastic bags, a map of the intended exploration area, and the official butterfly count paperwork. She described how we would capture, identify and document whatever butterflies we would see that day. She went over the map that defined the areas that we would cover, and talked about how we would proceed.
As we sat there talking, the clouds began to dissipate, and the sun began to break through. As if on cue, a beautiful Eastern Tiger Swallowtail (Papilio glaucus) fluttered by, and Jessica aptly demonstrated how to capture the lovely specimen.
Approaching the unsuspecting insect with stealth, she scooped the net in a smooth arc, and with precision, the net came down confining the Swallowtail. Deftly, she worked the creature into a plastic bag.
Gently, she held the insect between her index and middle fingers in order to minimize struggle or movement (and resultant loss of scales) explaining as she did this, that if she was ever unsuccessful with this operation, she would be sure to release a butterfly before she would allow it to harm itself in a struggle to escape.
Once inside the bag, we were able to view the insect, and identify it. Though we all knew that this was an Eastern Tiger Swallowtail, we practiced the steps of identification.
First, we turned to the pictorial table of contents in the front of Jim Brock’s Butterflies of North America. Quickly, this table showed that we were dealing with a butterfly that was in the Swallowtail or Parnassians group. Once in the right general vicinity, we were able to identify our captive positively. We then released our prey, unharmed.
Later in the day, when we’d captured a Northern Pearly Eye (Enodia anthedon) and found that it wasn’t as easy to identify (due to its faded and somewhat tattered condition) we found that the maps showing specific butterfly regions, as well as the careful descriptions of species’ characteristics, were very helpful in pinpointing the species.
The clouds continued to persist, and the day was partly sunny at best, so we didn’t see a tremendous variety in our first location, but Jessica and Michelle assured us that if we got into our cars and drove to another near-by locale, we’d be sure to see something very special. Our group (now grown to six) unanimously decided to head over to the other location.
As a leadership volunteer for the WWPP, I knew that we were dealing with a very special area. The region we lived in was located in an ancient lakebed known as Glacial Lake Albany. Twenty thousand years ago, glaciers had carved out this lake basin, and when the glaciers retreated, the lake was created. Local rivers, such as the Mohawk, had flowed into this lake, and deposited large amounts of sand and sediment. Thousands of years later, the lake dried up, exposing the ancient lakebed. Winds then swept the sand into dunes, leaving the unique Oak Pine Savanna (or Pine Barren) with rolling, sandy hills that are seen present day. This unique habitat is home to many wonderful species: 70 kinds of mammals, and 120 species of amphibians, reptiles, and birds.
But the area shelters some very significant species, as well: Frosted Elfin (Callophyrys irus) a butterfly designated by the state of New York as threatened; the Blandings Turtle (Emydoidea blandingii) also designated as a threatened species; the Eastern Hognose Snake (Heterodox platrhinos) state designated species of special concern; the Eastern Spadefoot Toad (Scaphiopus holbrookii) state designated species of special concern; and the Blue Spotted Salamander (Ambystoma laterale) state designated species of special concern.
But the most well known resident of the area, I knew, was the Karner Blue Butterfly (Lycaeides melissa samuelis) listed on both the federal and state levels as endangered. Like its fellow special inhabitants of this unique environment, it too, was in trouble.
Historically, its range once covered an area east to west that reached from Maine to Minnesota, and latitudes between 41 and 46 degrees (south to north.) But (as some estimates claim) 99% of its population has declined in the past one hundred years, with the past ten years having been the most detrimental. While there are still healthy populations in Michigan and Wisconsin, it has been extirpated from Pennsylvania, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Maine, Ohio, Illinois, Iowa and the Canadian province of Ontario. Compared to the populations in Michigan or Wisconsin, the local population is miniscule.
To make matters worse, the Town of Wilton has recently been listed as the second fastest growing municipality in New York. Habitat was swiftly being lost due to residential, commercial and light industrial development.
In order to do something about the dramatic decline in habitat, and to protect this fragile and threatened area, The Nature Conservancy banded together with New York State Department of Conservation, and the Town of Wilton, as well as Saratoga County, to help save the habitat of these precious species. To date, these organizations have made a unified effort to protect hundreds of acres in order to safeguard existing, and develop new habitat. Thankfully, all of these lands have been acquired from willing sellers.
Wild Blue Lupine (Lupinus perennis) the Karner Blue’s hostplant, thrives in sandy soils and in sunny and open locations. These open areas once occurred naturally due to agriculture and spontaneous fires from lightening strikes. But as farming has dramatically decreased, and spontaneous burns have become increasingly suppressed, the open areas that are crucial to Wild Blue Lupine survival, and therefore the Karner Blue butterfly, have significantly decreased. As a result, WWPP and its partners have worked to restore the natural habitat by planting acres of Wild Blue Lupine, as well enriching the habitat by planting nectar-rich native species such as Butterfly Weed (Asclepias tuberosa) Bush Clover (Lespedeza) New Jersey Tea (Ceanothus americanus) and Horsemint (Monarda punctata).
I knew that we were headed toward one of these restored Karner habitats and my hopes were high that I would see one of these beautiful butterflies that day. I began to suspect that something very special was about to happen when, as we got out of the car, Michelle handed me a hand-held counter in order to keep track of the Karners.
As we crossed over the fence onto the sandy soil, I saw a mass of Wild Blue Lupine, flowerless now, as it was going to seed. As we walked, gingerly, careful to stay to the path, Jessica lightly touched the Lupine plants, and as she did, tiny clouds of Karners fluttered up before our eyes. I was clicking the counter continuously: ten, twenty, twenty-five, thirty, forty, forty five, before we were through, I’d counted ninety-six Karner Blues! Someone said, “How can we be sure you’re not re-counting the same butterflies?” Jessica explained that though we couldn’t be sure that we weren’t recounting some of them, we knew that there were many more that we weren’t seeing, and on average, we could be pretty sure that our number was not terribly exaggerated. Michelle Mattocks, the intern whose job it was to monitor the Karner population, had been getting counts consistent with this day’s number.
I watched, spellbound as these beautiful creatures fluttered about. The male’s upper-side is a lovely silvery blue, while the female’s upper-side is a bluish brown, with orange crescents and dark markings along the margins. The undersides of both sexes have black and orange markings. They are diminutive: only about an inch across.
As the Wild Blue Lupine’s flowers were now spent, they obtained nectar from Spotted Knapweed (Centaurea maculosa) and Common Milkweed (Asclepias syriaca) as well as one or two Butterfly Weed (Asclepias tuberosa) bushes that were present in this locale.
(It is important to note here, that native butterflies require native hostplants, as native plants contribute to the diversity of the habitat. As is commonly known, invasives such as Spotted Knapweed crowd out native plants depleting the diversity of the ecosystyem. This plant is particularly detrimental for the habitat, for its roots secrete a toxin that inhibits the growth of surrounding plants. As a result, WWPP and its volunteers have spent a good deal of time trying to eradicate it from the restored habitat area – no easy feat, as Spotted Knapweed can reproduce at an alarming rate: each plant can produce up to 1,000 seeds!)
The Karners were relatively easy to follow for they are not high fliers, and on this day, were not covering a great deal of territory. (Common belief has held that 200 meters was the maximum of territory covered during the Karner’s lifespan, but recent research has indicated that some of these butterflies may travel as much as 2 or 3 miles.) However, it is known that the entire life cycle of the butterfly is played out amongst the Wild Blue Lupine, with the Karner Blues even laying eggs on the ground near the Lupine once the plant has gone to seed.
I turned slightly to the left, and there before my eyes, a drama played out: a Jumping Spider (Eris marginata) pounced on and began to consume an adult Karner. As I watched mesmerized by the power of nature, and the cycle of life and death, I wondered about the future of this species.
As we got in our cars and drove away, I felt an enormous respect for the many people who have worked so hard to preserve the life of this species, and others, and I had a renewed desire to be a part of that effort.
Here are some ways that you can help:
∑ Support Prescribed Burns in order to Preserve Wild Blue Lupine Habitat: Specifically, Oak Savannas, Pine Barrens and Prairies
∑ Act to Preserve Existing Wild Blue Lupine Habitat
∑ Avoid the use of Chemicals and Pesticides near Wild Blue Lupine and/or Karner Blue butterfly habitat
∑ Create butterfly gardens using native plants

First published July 2004

Dragonfly Love

2009-08-16T20:12:00.000-07:00

Today I had a variable dancer (Argia fumipennis) perch on my arm; it is the only violet damselfly in the northeast, quite lovely, and special, as well. I believe there are over 750,000 species of dragonfly/damselflies in the world, but about 165 in the northeast. I see many species on the water, and they are all beautiful.
They belong to the order Odonata, Odon, meaning, “tooth”, an indication of the formidable mouthparts setting them apart as voracious predators. The sub orders, Anisoptera (dragonflies) and Zygoptera (damselflies) occur in North America.a
Usually, people refer to both suborders as dragonflies, but there is, in fact, a distinction between the two. Romantically speaking, of course, I am drawn to the damselfly: slender, delicate, seemingly fragile, all “feminine” characteristics; while the stout-bodied dragonfly is larger, more solidly built (male characteristics) which might lead one to believe that the former was the female of the same species, but this is not the case.
Either way, I am in love with both; they fly so effortlessly and silently making their sudden appearance feel magical. Their persona is so poetic, that one would not guess that they are “voracious predators”, but they are. In fact, the males are also very territorial, protecting their territory very ardently.
Females only visit the wetlands when they are ready to mate, and once a male is found, they display a unique method of mating by forming a “mating wheel”. The female arcs her body around to meet the male sex organs, which are on the underside of his body. They will fly joined like this, while mating is completed. The male then flies with the female while she oviposites (or, lays her eggs) and sometimes they fly in tandem during this process, as well. The reason for the male’s jealous guarding of his mate is that male dragonflies possess the ability to remove sperm packets (spermataphores) of previous mates! In order to avoid having his dominance usurped, he sees to it that their process is brought to complete closure.
The females deposit their eggs in varying ways, depending on their species: some will make a slit in plant stems to deposit their eggs; others will deposit them directly on grasses, reeds and mosses; while still others will deposit their eggs directly in the water.
Whatever way they come to us, a day on the water would not be the same without them.

A Hand-Lens For the Heart

2009-08-15T09:23:00.000-07:00

Muskrat (Ondatra zibethicus)

This water-loving mammal is often seen along the creek, but they are shy, and avoid human contact as much as possible. I have seen them swimming, usually alone, and they always seem to be at work. They move back and forth from the shore (and their den) to the open water. I have seen them gather strands of a plant that has ribbon-like leaves (possibly Bur Reeds). They pull them in long, graceful trails behind them, back to their nest, where they can eat them in safety,
Their back feet are partially webbed, and larger than their front feet, and their tail acts as a rudder, so they are good swimmers. Muskrats also have the talent of being able to swim frontward or backward, with equal ease. They build large houses that contain a nesting chamber, with an underwater entrance, so they can come and go with the relative safety such cover provides.
My neighbor’s son was telling me how he and his grandfather were killing “pests” the other day, and that he’d shot a muskrat in the tail end with a bb gun. “I didn’t kill it”, he said, “just surprised it”. He laughed as he told me this, and my heart broke to think that so many young people, even with the vast amount of knowledge about ecosystems, and the inter-related nature of all living things, which is available today, could still be so out-of-touch with the senselessness of such an act.
But then, I was painfully reminded of my experiment with a spider a couple of weeks ago: I’d noticed an interesting web, on a branch, near the shore, and I took out my hand-lens to get a closer look. It was a lovely pinkish-brown, about 2 cm long. Upon closer examination, its body looked like a semi-unripe plum, complete with the typical bloom of such a fruit. It sat upon a nettle leaf, near the stem; it’s glycerin-like legs all bunched about its body: two, reaching backwards, wrapped around its round little abdomen; one pair extended to either side; and two pair reaching frontward, over its head! It sat in a shroud of silk, silently waiting. When I jostled the leaf, it readied itself for action: its legs extending outward.
At that moment, a much smaller spider crawled across my leg, and I could not help but wonder if the gossamer web could hold this prey, and so, in God-like fashion, I placed the spider upon the leaf. Instantly, the spider I’d been watching leaped into action, attacking the prey with its fangs, injecting paralyzing venom. Then, sucking the juices from its victim, the pink spider seemed to balloon in size – suddenly it was fat with life, while its unfortunate visitor shrunk in collapse.
Quickly the host made repairs to its web, and then began dance-like movements: back and forth – its body writhing as though in labor. Sometimes it would turn itself entirely upside-down, so that I could see the opening from which the silk ensued. The gap had little prongs emerging from it, so that it looked, for all the world, like a female about to give birth to a live young – legs first! After having secured its home, it turned its back upon its prey, and continued its vigil.
Though I had pangs of guilt for having caused this death, my curiosity was not yet satisfied, and I placed another victim upon its lair – this time, an ant. The host lost no time in securing this meal with a venomous sting, but already sated, chose not to dine, and went back to its post.
It sat there for about ten minutes, and then went back to its first victim, and drank some more. It placed its fangs upon the unfortunate’s abdomen, and left them there for many minutes. The meal, no longer recognizable as a living thing, its black and white legs the only remaining feature.
In the meantime, the ant had made an escape; somehow he found the strength to make his way to the underside of the leaf, and down the leaf stem – an inch removed from its captor. At first, it advanced with difficulty, its movements, awkward, and legs flailing, but then, it moved no more, whether dead or paralyzed, I did not know.
This memory came back to me now, as I thought of my neighbor. I realized the parallel between my actions, and the boy’s, were obvious.
It was, I realized, simply a matter of perception: to me, the muskrat, being a mammal (like me) was easier to identify with; also, it’s beautiful, and its presence enriches the environment in which I live. As such, I would never dream of harming it.
Yet, a spider, from a seemingly different universe, is perceived as different enough from myself, that somehow, it doesn’t seem to hold the same value.
I am not sure, where the lines are drawn, if any, but I know that now that I am in possession of a hand-lens, whole new worlds are open to me: a nondescript “grey” caterpillar, under a hand-lens, is seen for its true magnificence: elaborate, colorful, distinctive markings suddenly become evident. How can something so magnificent be any less important?
Maybe a kind of hand-lens for the heart is what we need: something that can boost our perceptions, and help us to see that which should be obvious, but yet somehow, we often miss.

Great Blue Heron

2009-08-14T10:26:00.000-07:00

I set off in my kayak last night, just as the sky bled orange and pink in the distance. The hot, muggy day had given way to a cool, and comfortable, night air, an early harbinger of fall. At first, I paddled west, because in that direction, the sky is wide open; here the span of water is 50 yards across, and the space affords the best light; for even though it is lined with high trees on both banks, the expanse of open sky is broad, and the last remains of the day’s light, can best be garnered. I also knew, that if I headed into the brook (where conversely, the breadth of water was much more narrow, and where the trees: aspen, birch, willow, beech and oak, seemed to hang in close, as though embracing the banks) it would already be semi-dark. But I knew, too, that it was here that I would most likely chance upon wildlife; the hope, of course, being that I would be unseen, and I would find them going about the business of living, unaware, and at ease. Because it is smaller, the brook is more intimate; wildlife, once found, can be observed up-close; and most of the time one can count on their presence, because they are attracted to this haven, where they can get away from the traffic on the creek, and the noise of the powerboats that traverse the waterway, though these were few now, as dusk fell.
I rounded the first corner of the brook, and an inner dialogue was ensuing: I was reminding myself, none too gently, to be quiet; the diatribe went something like this: “Even when you’ve convinced yourself that you are utterly alone, that is when you must be the most on guard, for isn’t it always then that you get careless, and cough, or bump your paddle against the boat? Then suddenly (of course) there is an abrupt rustle of wings, or a loud thump, followed by a splash, and you realize, you’ve blundered in; yet again, you have played the part of the proverbial bull in a china shop, frightening off some precious opportunity! So be quiet!”
Just as I said these final words to myself, I froze, for there, not ten feet away, stood the great blue heron, surrounded in an ephemeral mist, which rose from the water about him. His long, nimble neck was scrunched down into his shoulders, rounded, and hunched, leaving him to resemble a vulture; but his graceful beak quickly saved him from this indignity, refined, and elegant, as it was. His eyes appeared to be closed, and he stood motionless, save for a slight turn of the head in my direction. But the movement seemed casual, utterly unalarmed. I instantly held my breath and stayed stock-still. Unfortunately, however, though I had control over my body, I had no control over the boat, and it continued to drift lazily on the gentle current. If I’d used the paddle to stop the boat, I’d certainly frighten him away; but if I didn’t move, I could see that I was headed straight for a stand of cattails, and I knew there would be a loud rustling when the kayak made contact with them; I had no choice but to hand my fate over, and hope for the best. Amazingly, the noise made by the landing was minimal, and at first, he stood nonplussed, even when, as the momentum of the collision caused the boat to then glide backwards, and I started to move toward him once more; yet still, he did not move! It was just prior to the boat moving backward, that I’d heard the gentle splashing of a wood duck having his nightly bath, in the shadows, another ten feet beyond the heron; and it was the duck that startled, and flew away; once he was gone, the heron followed, as well.
It reminded me of what had happened the day before: I’d been sitting in a scrap of shade, trying to escape the heat, quietly contemplating the surroundings, when I heard a movement in the corn field that borders that section of the brook. I looked up to see a young fawn, still resplendent with white spots, step out onto the shore. Momentarily, its mother followed. While the fawn had not seemed to notice me (though I was in plain sight, just 10 feet from where he stood) the mother instantly locked her gaze on me, clearly trying to determine what this strange object was before her. She splayed her front legs, dropping down lower so that she could see below a low-hanging branch, which was obstructing her view. I closed my eyes, knowing that if she saw them, she would surely run; my hand lay across my face, and I peeked through my fingers with one eye, so that I could watch this beautiful creature. Unintentionally, one finger twitched, and in an instant, she retreated from whence she had come, her young quickly following. They leaped like gazelles through the corn, their white tails flagging behind them.
I felt sad that I’d disturbed them, forcing them to leave without their drink. The next evening, too, I felt regret that I’d robbed these other creatures of their peace and solitude. It was a troubling conundrum: those brief insights into their mysterious and mystifying world were what I hungered for, and sought out, each day. But I did not like to think of myself as just another nuisance to be endured on this too-busy waterway. Though I suffered these mild pangs of guilt, I knew that the pull toward them was too strong for me to resist, and that I would be back, tomorrow.

Maiden Voyage

2009-08-13T09:18:00.000-07:00

Well! This is my maiden voyage in the world of blogging. I am thrilled to finally have a way to reach out to kindred spirits and to share my love of nature. As time goes by, I will share excerpts from the nature journal I am keeping on Fish Creek, an outlet of Saratoga Lake in Saratoga Springs, New York. This creek is amazingly still quite beautiful and, relatively unspoiled. My friend, Mira, a fellow nature-enthusiast, and I, took a 6- and- a- half hour paddle on Tuesday, and it was phenomenal! We spotted great blue herons, as well as green herons, and got to see a belted kingfisher do its famous dive-bomb into to the water to catch a fish! Along the way, we saw pasture roses in bloom, as well as day lillies, jewelweed, arrowhead, joe pye weed, purple loosestrife, and more. Spruce, pine and hemlock, as well as deciduous maple, elm,and birch dominate the shores, creating a magical forest through which we passed; in some places, no human presence could be detected. Only the call of redwing blackbirds, catbirds, and crows punctuated the more melodious songs of robin, baltimore oriole, and sparrow.
The history of this creek is quite impressive, Native Americans lined these shores for literally thousands of years. Before the dam was built on the Hudson, shad, herring, eel, and salmon ran these waters, and nourished the peoples who lived here. The great Iroquois tribes lived here, as well as others before them, and they flourished in a land that was abundant in wildlife and resources.
They obtained most of their food by gathering, hunting and fishing, but also grew maize, beans and squash.
In spring, they would gather fiddlehead ferns, cattail shoots, milkweed shoots, and marsh marigold shoots; in fall, they gathered chestnuts, hickory nuts, acorns and walnuts; and in winter, they gathered and stored nuts, seeds and roots. In the abundance of summer, they shared in strawberries, grapes, berries of all sorts, milkweed flowers, and rose hips.
In addition, they hunted Black bear , Elk, and Moose, now virtually unknown in the area, were plentiful, as well as whitetail deer, beaver and wild turkey. (Re: The First People of the Northeast, by Esther and David Braun)
While the natural splendors of those times are now, to a great extent, lost, we are still fortunate that the waters still flow with great beauty, and they are still attracting and supporting many fascinating and beautiful species.
It is my hope that this blog will serve in one small way to inspire, renew interest, and remind us all that this world is precious, and we must all work to preserve it, if our children, and our childrens' children, are not to be faced with a similarly drastic reduction in organic life.
Keep your eyes on the sky!