Early Season Field Weeds

Spring wildflowers are the most prominent feature in our forests at this time of the year, while cold-season weeds are most prominent in the vegetable fields. If you want to see images of the spring wildflowers in the forests of Hawthorne Valley, please go into the archive and find the blog we posted on April 30, 2011.

Today, I am going to share the results of a little inventory of early season weeds found during the last two weeks in the vegetable fields at Hawthorne Valley Farm. (Be assured, the farmers have been very busy discouraging the weeds from completely taking over and replacing them with neat rows of vegetable seedlings…)

Probably the most common and ubiquitous weed of early spring is Common Chickweed (Stellaria media). It is originally from Europe, but now found on all continents, including Antarctica. It was documented in New England as early as 1672. Common Chickweed is very hardy and often stays green under the snow. Its trailing stems can be several feet long. It grows very quickly and is capable of producing seeds five weeks after germination. No wonder, that certain garden beds are all but covered in it!

Common Chickweed is a member of the Pink Family (Caryophyllaceae) and is characterized by small opposite leaves with a pointed tip. The flowers are composed of five deeply cleft petals.

Tender leaves of Common Chickweed can supposedly be eaten raw as an addition to salads or boiled and served as greens. A tea of this herb is traditionally used to relieve coughs and externally for skin diseases and to allay itching. An infusion of Chickweed is also an ingredient in a skin healing salve prepared here in Columbia County on Red Oak Farm.

A close relative is the introduced Mouse-Eared Chickweed (Cerastium fontanum ssp. vulgare). It too has small opposite leaves, but they are hairy and their tip is more rounded.

There are several other early season weeds in the Pink Family, all recognizable by their opposite leaves. My current assessment is that they are the introduced Bladder Campion (Silene vulgaris = S. cucubalus), White Campion (Silene latifolia = Lychnis alba), and Ragged-Robin (Lychnis flos-cuculi).

The following weed, which I tentatively identified as Bladder Campion (Silene vulgaris), has very regularly-spaced, extremely smooth, opposite leaves.

The weed below, tentatively identified as White Campion (Silene latifolia), has much larger, slightly hairy leaves that emerge closely spaced, almost creating a rosette.

Finally, these very narrow, smooth, and opposite leaves likely belong to Ragged-Robin (Lychnis flos-cuculi).

This sums up the prominent opposite-leaved weeds of early spring.

The next group are the weedy members of the Mustard Family (Brassicaceae), which also happens to include many of our cultivated plants, such as Arugala, Broccoli, Cauliflower, Brussel Sprouts, Kohlrabi, Cabbage, and Kale. Many of these weeds start the season as basal rosettes.

Currently the most prominent in the fields around here is Shepherd’s Purse (Capsella bursa-pastoris). This weed comes from southern Europe and was reported in North America prior to 1672. Its basal rosette is slightly reminiscent of Dandelion, but its leaves are more deeply divided and the leaflets of interesting, irregular shapes (and extremely variable from plant to plant). A broken-off leaf does not exude white milk (as it would in Dandelion or Chicory) and, upon closer inspection (hand lens!), Shepherd’s Purse has branched hairs to help with its identification. Sometimes, these plants can’t wait to flower and instead of growing a proper flowering shoot, they produce a few flowers in the center of the rosette.

Some rosettes have less divided leaves…

… some more. But like many early season weeds, Shepherd’s Purse always has a long taproot.

Below is a typical example of a flowering Shepherd’s Purse. The flowering shoot emerges from the center of the rosette and bears only slightly divided or toothed leaves. The flowers are tiny, white and have four petals, like all members of the Mustard Family.

The young leaves (gathered before the flowers appear) of Shepherd’s Purse can reportedly be used in salads or prepared like spinach. Dried seedpods make a pepperlike seasoning. Traditionally used as a diuretic, to stop bleeding, and during childbirth for its uterine-contracting properties.

Field Penny-Cress (Thlaspi arvense) is another very common early season weed in most vegetable fields at Hawthorne Valley Farm. It originates in the eastern Mediterranean region and was first reported on this continent from Detroit in 1701. As one apprentice observed, it almost looks like Corn Mash. It is considered an edible plant for salads, cooked greens, and seasoning. But it also bears the name “Stinkweed” and supposedly gives meat and milk an unpleasant flavor if animals consume a lot of it.

When Field Penny-Cress is getting ready to flower, its axis begins to elongate, just like in a bolting lettuce and most other rosette forming plants.

An intense peppery taste identifies the following weed as Field Pepperweed (Lepidium campestre). Although it is considered edible, just like its cousins mentioned above, it is a bit strong for my taste. Its leaves are not as deeply divided and as closely hugging the ground as those of Shepherd’s Purse, but they are also not as smooth-margined and organized-looking as those of Field Penny-Cress…

The following weed, which looks like a hairy Dandelion, is actually also a member of the Mustard Family, most likely a Hedgemustard (Sisymbrium officinale).

Continuing with variations on the theme of basal rosette, these smooth and very round-lobed leaves belong to Wintercress (Barbarea vulgaris). This is another species that basically stays green below the snow. The young leaves are supposedly excellent when picked while the nights are still frosty and can be added to salads or cooked like spinach. With warmer weather, the leaves become very bitter, but the tight clusters of flowerbuds can then be boiled and served like broccoli.

Finally, here is a mustard weed that somewhat breaks the basal rosette stereotype. Its young plants are upright and its leaves entire. However, the branched hairs (a character it shares with the otherwise very different-looking Shepherd’s Purse) make me believe we are looking at Wormseed Mustard (Erysimum cheiranthoides).

Change of gears: let’s look at a couple of weeds with roundish, opposite leaves. Their square stems (amongst many other characteristics) place them in the Mint Family. The first one is Ground Ivy (Glechoma hederacea), a very common weed of lawns, pastures, and obviously also fields. It is a creeping plant which roots at the nodes. Its opposite leaves are born on long stalks. Crushed leaves are aromatic, medicinally-smelling. Traditionally, a leaf tea was used for lung and kidney ailments and as “blood purifier”. Externally, it is a folk remedy for cancer, backaches, bruises, and hemorrhoids. Supposedly, the dried leaves make a fine herbal tea when steeped for 5-10 minutes in hot water.

The other weed species is quite similar and also belongs to the Mint Family. But its shoots are more upright, not rooting at the nodes. Its opposite leaves are stalked in the lower parts of the plant but in the upper part they are sessile, attached directly to the main shoot. This identifies it as the much less common (in our region) Henbit (Lamium amplexicaulum).

Ground Ivy flowers are bluish-purple, while Henbit flowers are pink.

Another pretty early flower is produced by Bird-Eye Speedwell (Veronica persica), a member of the closely Snapdragon Family (Scrophulariaceae). Its toothed leaves are opposite along the base of the shoot, but near the flowers they become alternate.

The sky blue flowers with their prominent dark blue “landing strips” that guide bees to the nectar, are presented on relatively long stalks.

The Corn Speedwell (Veronica arvensis) looks very similar, but tends to have smaller leaves and its tiny blue flowers have no or only very short stalks.

We will close with a few “oddballs”. Here are the three-foliate, Strawberry-like leaves of Rough Cinquefoil (Potentilla norvegica), a member of the Rose Family (Rosaceae) that will soon be producing little yellow flowers. Rough Cinquefoil is considered native to this continent and one of the few native plants that readily associate with cultivated soil.

Somewhat similar in appearance are the palmate (“hand-like”) leaves of a member in the Geranium Family, possibly Carolina Geranium (Geranium carolinianum).

Finally, there is a little violet, aptly named Field Violet (Viola arvensis) that can become very prevalent in some vegetable fields. It has toothed, long-stalked leaves of variable shape …

and flowers very early in the season.

The information about the date when an introduced weed species was first documented on this continent was gleaned from “Weeds of Canada and the Northern United States” by France Royer & Richard Dickinson. I consulted the Peterson Field Guides on “Edible Wild Plants” by Lee Allen Peterson and “Eastern/Central Medicinal Plants” by Steven Foster and James Duke about culinary and medicinal uses of the weeds. Weed identification was facilitated by “Weeds of the Northeast” by Richard H. Uva, Joseph C. Neal and Joseph M. DiTomaso, and the “Manual of Vascular Plants of Northeastern United States and Adjacent Canada” by Gleason & Cronquist.

As I indicated in the text, some of the identifications are tentative, because they are based on sterile specimens. Please do let me know if you detect any obvious errors in my best guesses. Thanks!

 

Winter Insects, 1847 & Today

In 1847, Asa Fitch, who was to become New York’s (in fact, the USA’s first) state entomologist, published a paper entitled “Winter Insects of Eastern New York“, it was based primarily on his observation in and around his home of Salem in Washington County. The paper begins with this evocative introduction,

It is the object of the following paper, to describe those insects of Eastern New York, which occur in their perfect state in the winter, and are peculiar to that season and the early part of spring. They are objects of curiosity, as coming forth to our view in full maturity and vigor, at that time of year when almost every other member of the animal and vegetable kingdoms is reposing in torpidity under the chilling influence of the solstitial cold. In an economical aspect, they possess but little importance, their period of life being limited to that season when the field furnishes no herbage, the garden no flowers, and the orchard no fruits, on which they can prey. They are chiefly interesting, therefore, merely as objects of scientific research – as forming integral parts of that vast array of animated beings, with which the Father of Life has populated our world, and rendered it vocal with his praise.

What better way for historic and modern entomologist to buck the winter doldrums than to sally forth, nose to the snow, to see which black specks are actually “animated beings”. Fitch named eight species, all of which he believed to be new to science. He has since lost credit for only one of these names, one species apparently having been, unknown to him, named by a predecessor. Camera in hand, we headed off to see how many of these creatures might still be found in the neighborhood.

One of the more perplexing creatures we quickly stumbled upon was this one (it’s about 1/10th of an inch long)-

A pondering Boreus (male)

A female Boreus – no wings and equipped with a tail-mounted ovipositer.

We found a couple of these, and each one seemed to go through bouts of activity followed by moments of rest. When ‘alert’, the insect would stretch out its body, antennae and legs and begin a march across the snow. In action, they took on this form -

A male Boreus on the move

As one can see in these photos, these are slightly fly-like creatures. However, the wings (in the males) are but comb-toothed spines held above the back. These were new to us, but the first two insects on Dr. Fitch’s list are Boreus nivoriundus and Boreus brumalis; and, indeed, this looks like a fine Boreus. According to Fitch’s descriptions and the pictures available at bugguide, this is Boreus brumalis, what he called the “mid-winter Boreus”, “brumale” apparently being Latin for the winter solstice. Boreus in general have also been called Snow Scorpionflies; in the Northeast only the two species described in the 1847 paper are currently known. They are usually put in the order Mecoptera, which includes the more conventional summer Scorpionflies (somewhat larger creatures that look rather like elephant-nosed, long-winged horseflies). Recent work suggests, however, that they are actually more closely allied to the fleas.

Moss bits

Nearby on the snow, coincidentally or not, were scraps of moss. Reading through on-line information, it seems clear that Boreus is “associated” with mosses, but exactly what that association is seems less clear. Suggestions are that adults and larvae feed on the moss itself, but it has also been proposed that either or both stages are predatory. So, if you have some moss-watching time on your hands, here’s a scientific frontier in your backyard.

Boreus are also called ‘snow fleas’ a term which, in this country, is usually reserved for the Springtails described below (even if Boreus are the organisms more closely related to true fleas). In any case, these creatures do hop as this video from the same outing shows. For more than you ever wanted to know about how these creatures do it (including stop action analysis), see this paper.

The next two wintery insects on Fitch’s list are both Stoneflies, critters that he called “The Small Snow-fly” and “The Large Snow-fly or Shad-fly”. As he well knew, these are not true flies, but rather the adults of common, stream-living larvae, well familiar as some of the ‘flies’ of the fly fisher. He named the first Perla nivicola, a name that has since been updated to Allocapnia nivicola; the second, he dubbed Nemoura nivalis, a name now changed to Taeniopteryx nivalis. The ‘nivicola’ and ‘nivalis’ derive from a Latin adjective meaning snowy.

Winter stoneflies are often common around streams during the winter months. They apparently have their life cycles timed so as to emerge in the depths of winter, a timing perhaps selected for because of relatively lower predation pressure. A different flavor of these creatures made a cameo in an earlier blog.

The small snow fly?

This stonefly more closely resembles Fitch’s little snow-fly than his larger find. Whether it actually is Allocapnia nivicola, I don’t know. But, as harbingers of clean water, any winter stonefly should be a welcome sight.

Next in Fitch’s paper comes Culex hyemalis (now why not spell that “Coolex”?) or what he calls “The Winter Musketoe”. This is a true mosquito and was the only one of Fitch’s ‘discoveries’ to later be revealed as having been previously named by science. So, I won’t worry that we found no representative to photograph.

The ‘winter musketoe’ is followed by “The Snow-born Midge” or Chironomus nivoriundus. (nivoriundus apparently means something like ‘originating in the snow’); the Latin name has now been updated to Diamesa nivoriunda (one just has to make sure those adjectives agree with generic gender, doesn’t one?)

Chironomids are characterized by their mosquito-like bodies and feathery antennae. We came across this candidate.

A male Snow Midge, as in moths, those feathery antennae may help pick up the scent of females. Speaking of females…

I’m pretty sure this is a female Snow Midge, although I haven’t the foggiest on whether it’s the same species as the male above.

Bugguide says there are at least 30 species of winter-flying midges in our area and that inspection of the genitalia may be needed to distinguish them; so, we’ll leave this at ‘snow midge’ and not claim that it is exactly Fitch’s species.

The penultimate appearance in Fitch’s winter presentation is Trichocera brumalis, known today as ….Trichocera brumalis. These are winter Craneflies, Craneflies being those aptly named insects that look like oversized mosquitoes on stilts. Our outings have yet to reveal a photogenic volunteer of this group, so please head on over to bugguide if you want to see what Fitch was talking about.

Finally, comes what is perhaps the most familiar winter insects, what we call Snow Fleas, those tiny black specks one sees jumping about on the snow. As Fitch wrote, ” At any time in the winter, whenever a few days of mild weather occur, the surface of the snow, often, over whole acres of woodland, may be found sprinkled more or less thickly with these minute fleas, looking at first sight, as though gunpowder had been there scattered.” Indeed, these are often so numerous that one takes them to be part of the texture of the snow rather than a nearly infinite number of grains of life. Fitch assigned the Latin name Podura nivicola to this species, the ‘nivicola’ has persisted, but not only has the genus now morphed into Hypogastrura, but this group of organisms, the Springtails, are no longer considered insects.

Whatever else they are, Snow Fleas are tiny (about 1/16th of an inch). This, together with their ability to jump, makes them seem to disappear and reappear on the snow surface.

Some Snow Flea shots.

Snow Fleas jump by flicking a forked, tail-like structure called a furcula. This appears to lock into a belly structure that lets the Snow Flea build up tension before suddenly releasing its spring, in somewhat the same way that you may be accustomed to flicking meatballs with a fly swatter (although, of course, in this case, the meatball stays still and the fly swatter is flicked through the air). We patiently attempted to catch Snow Fleas in the act. The first few seconds of this video from our outing show a Snow Flea clambering over snow with its furcula visible below its tail end; that is followed by four clips of bouncing Snow Fleas. Notice that the Snow Flea seems to prepare itself, shortening its body and extending a set of hair-like fingers from its back end. Snow Fleas, like most Collembola, abound in the soil where, by feeding on dead organic matter, fungi, and microscopic animals, they help grease the wheels of decomposition and re-composition.

It’s easy to imagine Asa Fitch trudging across a snowy land, vials in hand, picking up many of the same creatures we can find today. And yet in doing so, some 160 years ago, he came home with pockets full of new species. Surely, such are still to be found in our land, although perhaps not as easily.

A snow-prowling spider… but that’s another blog.

 

Trees in Winter: Identification by Overall Shape

Winter is a great time to hone our skills in tree identification by overall shape. The shape of the trunk and the arrangements of the branches and twigs become much more prevalent when there are no leaves on the trees. And one can get a lot of pleasure out of closely observing and learning to recognize the patterns created by a tree silhouette against the clear blue winter sky…

If you are not already a “tree spotter”, we hope this posting will entice you to start paying closer attention to tree silhouettes. We’ll try to give a few pointers that help recognize some of the more common species of trees at a quick glance. And we’ll use some of the prominent trees here at Hawthorne Valley (both in the hamlet and out in the fields) as examples, so that those of you who are in the neighborhood, can come and have a closer look at particular trees. (As you might notice, the pictures were taken when we still had snow, on January 6th, but luckily, the overall shape of trees and the arrangement of their twigs are not weather-dependent, so everything said still holds true.)

This big, multi-trunked veteran in the little green space in the farm parking area in front of the “old farmstore” is a Silver Maple (Acer saccharinum). A native tree of this region, it naturally grows in moist bottom-lands along slow-flowing, meandering streams where flood waters deposit fine sediment and standing water stays behind long after the stream has returned to its normal water level. They very often are multi-trunked and real survivors, not easily discouraged by physical damage (such as the many broken branches on this specimen which were a result from the last ice storm). Silver Maples are also popular ornamental trees commonly found in front yards or even as park or street trees. Silver Maple is very closely related to Red Maple (Acer rubrum), pictured below and has similar winter buds, but if you come back in the summer, you’ll see that the leaves are much more deeply lobed than any of our other native maples.

This Red Maple (Acer rubrum) is one of the largest trees growing along the southern fence line of Harlemville Road and marks one of the cattle crossings. The Red or “Soft” Maple is a native species of tree that is not very picky about where it grows: often it is the dominant tree in swamps (look for the first trees to turn color in late summer in swampy areas!), but it can also be quite common in certain upland forests. As illustrated by this particular specimen, Red Maples can also be found as single trees along roadsides and in fencerows.

All maple species are characterized by an opposite branching pattern, which means that twigs emerge in opposing pairs from the same point along a branch. The alternative is an “alternating” branching pattern, where twigs tend to emerge one by one and grow on alternate sides along the branch. Sometimes, it is not as easy as one would think, to determine whether a tree’s branching pattern is opposite or alternate. One thing to remember is that not all twigs that begin to grow stay on the branch. Many are eaten or knocked off, leaving a scar visible on close inspection but not necessarily obvious from afar. However, if you patiently scan several branches from their tips towards the trunk of a tree, and both the smaller twigs as well as the stronger side branches are at least sometimes arranged in an opposite pattern, you might get the feeling that this tree really wants to be opposite, even if it doesn’t work out all the time… On top of that, both Red and Silver Maples have big round clusters of reddish buds which distinguish them from other maples, such as Sugar Maple (Acer saccharum) pictured below.

This row of trees in the parking lot of Hawthorne Valley School features native Sugar Maples (Acer saccharum), which have the opposite branching pattern of all maples, but inconspicuous, narrow, pointed buds. Sugar Maple grows naturally in fertile and moist forest soils and is the main source of maple sirup. Very similar, and often confused with Sugar Maple, is the introduced Norway Maple (Acer platanoides), which has begun to invade our forest here at the base of Phudd Hill.

As far as we know, this is the only Norway Maple (Acer platanoides) in the hamlet. It tends to leaf out a bit earlier than the native maples and keep its leaves longer into the fall, eventually turning color, but mostly displaying yellow and orange and not so much red… Norway Maple is most closely related to Sugar Maple and has very similar leaves, but its buds are markedly larger and rounder than those of Sugar Maple, yet never as red and clustered as those of Silver and Red Maple.

The towering evergreens next to the 1st and 2nd grade building of Hawthorne Valley School, are non-native Norway Spruce (Picea abies), recognizable by their drooping branches and, upon closer inspection, by short needles that emerge from the top and bottom, as well as the sides of each young twig. Most of the evergreens found wild growing in the forests around here are either Eastern Hemlock (Tsuga canadensis, common on the steep slopes of Phudd Hill, behind the school) or Eastern White Pine (Pinus strobus). Hemlock has short needles that emerge in two rows along both sides of young twigs, while White Pine has long needles that are arranged in clusters of 5.

The big tree between the Farm Store and the Main House is a thornless variety of Honey Locust (Gleditsia triacanthos inermis), which us often planted as a fast-growing ornamental. It is one of the few native trees that belong to the legume family and its fruits look like a strange variety of bean. However, male and female flowers grow largely segregated on different trees. I don’t remember ever having seen fruits on this particular tree, so it might be a male… The twig arrangement of Honey Locusts always seems a bit disorderly, defying any predictable pattern, and the branches have a certain knobby-ness…

Similar twig arrangement characterizes the Black Locust (Robinia pseudoacaia), which can be seen next to the school parking lot …

… and also in a fencerow on the pasture behind the Farm Store. This legume tree is originally from Southeastern North America, but has been widely planted and is now well established as a wild-growing species throughout Columbia County and seems particularly common on the forested hills around Philmont. It has also been introduced throughout Europe, Southern Africa and Asia. Black Locust is fast-growing and has hard and rot-resistant wood, which makes it a good choice for fence posts.

An easily recognized native tree that grows here and there around Hawthorne Valley is the Ash (Fraxinus sp.), pictured below.

Ash (Fraxinus sp.) trees have an opposite branching pattern, with the twigs emerging almost at a right angle from the branches. Even the young twigs tend to be rather stubby. The whole arrangement is very orderly but not very graceful. This small Ash in the playground of the Visiting Students Program has a lot of character because of its trunk that is somewhat off center due to some accident in the past…

An iconic tree well visible from the barn yard is the Shagbark Hickory (Carya ovata) growing along the farm creek. This native species is a common component of the Oak-Hickory Forest type throughout our County, and for some reason also is often found as a lone tree in the middle of a meadow or as a prominent tree in fencerows. The fact that its seeds are collected and transported over large distances by squirrels may explain how a lone tree like this could get established. The bark that peels off in large, vertical strips, combined with the almost “curly” arrangement of the twigs in the crown makes this one of the easiest trees to recognize by its silhouette. It always strikes me how different the silhouette of a tree growing in the open is from another tree of the same species that grows in a forest. The open-grown tree branches much lower to the ground and has a crown that is proportionally much bigger.

Oaks show this same pattern in open-grown vs. forest trees and have similar branches with a “curly” arrangement of twigs.

This is a gorgeous White Oak (Quercus alba) right next to the Old Schoolhouse on the intersection of Route 21C and Harlemville Road (picture taken Jan 13th, after the thaw…).

This is a young tree of a very similar species, Swamp White Oak (Quercus bicolor), growing next to the school parking lot. You can just see how this one is aspiring to become a grand old oak some day… Beyond this oak, towards the bridge over the creek, three different kinds of willow form a lovely image:

According to Gary Ocean, who planted them, the two groups on the left are varieties of Curly Willows (Salix matsudana “Scarlet Curls” on the far left and “Golden Curls” in the center). The willow on the right is a Weeping Willow (Salix babylonica). All of these willows are native to Northern China, but have a long history of cultivation throughout Europe and North America.

Gary Ocean also told me that all the graceful birches planted around the Farm Store are cultivated forms of the native River Birch (Betula nigra), which is easily recognized by its exfoliating, cinnamon-colored outer bark. In the wild, we have not yet seen this species in our county, but it has been reported to grow here and there along the Hudson River, just south of here.

One of the more common native birches defines a beautiful spot in a pasture north of the hamlet. This lone Paper Birch (Betula papyrifera) in its exposed location has been shaped by wind and ice storms to grow low and broad, as if hugging the ground to avoid the extremes of weather, yet spreading its branches wide to define its place in the world.

 

A Tale of Three Hurricanes

Front page of the Chatham Courier for the week of the New England Hurricane of 1938. (image from fultonhistory.com)

Thankfully, If it hadn’t been for the national media, I would have been able to pass over the beginning of this week (Oct. 29/30 2012) as a patch of blustery, damp weather. There was little in our immediate experience that hinted at the true proportions of the storm.

This realization led me to consider a couple of questions:

Why, meteorologically, were the hurricane’s effects up here so happily modest?

And, historically, before the advent of satellite weather monitoring, what did people know about approaching bad weather?

Both of these questions can be addressed historically. The first by comparing what we felt this time around to past hurricane impacts relative to the tracks taken by the varying storms; and the second by looking at some of the decades-old storms and at early weather prognostication in a bit more detail.

Being neither historian nor meteorologist, this will be a shallow treatment. For example, hurricanes interact with continental weather systems in a variety of very important ways – in this summary, I ignore those interactions.

Three Hurricanes.

Our area has been hit by several hurricanes during the past century or two. According to NOAA’s Historical Hurricane Tracks page, the eyes of fifteen hurricane-force storms have passed within 200 miles of us since 1842.

In this blog, I’ll discuss three storms – the Great New England Hurricane of 1938, Irene in 2011, and Sandy of this year.

The Great New England Hurricane stormed ashore unexpectedly on 21 Sept. 1938. It crossed Long Island and headed up the Connecticut River Valley. Around 700 people died and many homes were destroyed. Great swathes of forest were knocked down. (For more detail see, for example, this video, this web page, and this report.). This was a category 3 hurricane (sustained winds of 111-130mph) when it made landfall in New England. The headline above describes its impacts on Columbia County; These included a breached dam which caused extensive flooding in Philmont.

Hurricane Irene hit our area in 28 Aug. 2011. It skirted the East Coast and then, more or less, followed the eastern board of New York State northward, finally slipping eastward and crossing through Vermont and New Hampshire. Irene was a Tropical Storm (sustained winds of 39-73 mph) when it reached the Northeast, having been a category 1 hurricane for its trip up the Coast. This storm caused at least 25 deaths in the Northeast and extensive flood damage.

Hurricane Sandy came ashore as a category 1 hurricane (74-95 mph winds) a bit more than 200 miles south of us on 20 Oct. Damage and deaths from Sandy are still being calculated.

This table summarizes some of the features of our three hurricanes.

As we try to understand the different impacts of these storms on us, let’s look at these storms in reverse order.

Above is a series of maps indicating Sandy’s path as gleaned from NOAA images. I’ve overlain arrows indicating the general direction of flow around such a weather system. In this and all remaining maps the size of the arrows says nothing about windspeed; instead, I just stretched the arrows as needed so that predicted wind direction in our area was evident.

To take a look at local consequences, we can tap the data of our local weather station which is out in the pasture.

Here is a profile of Sandy’s effects as registered by that weather station here in Harlemville. (Thanks again to the anonymous donor of this station.):

To see this figure in more detail, please click on it.

A generalized, probably over-generalized, description of our interaction with the system would seem to be the following. As the storm approached on the morning of the 29th (first map above), we were northwest of the eye and so, given the counter-clockwise movements of wind around northern hemisphere hurricanes, received winds from the northeast. (The red arrows on the wind diagrams point in the direction the wind was coming from.)

It was nearest to us at approximately the time that it made landfall in NJ (second map above). At this point, our air pressure was at its lowest. (Most of our East-Coast Hurricanes are apparently formed when upward convection off of warm, east-Atlantic seas teams up with thunderheads coming off of Africa. Self-enhancing winds are created as hot air rises and adjacent air rushes in to take its place. That upward current of air causes ground level air pressure to sink and, roughly speaking, the lower the air pressure, the stronger the hurricane tends to be.) Being almost due north of the eye, our winds were from the east. Our winds were highest as the storm passed closest to us.

Finally, as the storm headed west, we were northeast of its wind circle and hence received our winds from the southeast. Air pressure rose and winds calmed.

The air we were receiving was primarily warm air being dragged north. Notice how air temperature rose as the storm approached. Perhaps this warmth helped the air hold its moisture (colder air can carry less moisture, so marked cooling of moist air can cause rain), and we received little rain. As the storm passed, seasonably cooler air arrived.

Now let’s contrast that story with Irene’s course and local effects.

The above are modified versions of the storm tracks maps available from NOAA’s slick Historical Hurricane Tracks site. Again, I have superimposed the yellow arrows to help us think about the winds.

Hurricane Irene followed the coast northward, and then passed slightly east of Columbia County.

Here is how its effects were registered in Harlemville:

To see this figure in more detail, please click on it.

As Irene approached us (top map in above trio), we were slightly to the northwest; this was also the case with Sandy. However, unlike Sandy, rather than turning west Irene continued north, passing almost directly overhead. The wind speed diagram suggests we nicked the eye (middle map above), there being a distinct lull in high wind speed coinciding with the lowest air pressure which was substantially below what we measured for Sandy.

Our rainfall was primarily associated with the arrival of Irene; rain dropped and cooler air, perhaps pulled in from the north, followed as Irene moved off (bottom map in above trio). Wind bearings were somewhat confused, especially as and after Irene passed, but winds during the second half of the storm tended to be out of the northwest, as would befit us being southwest of the system.

The last storm of our collection is the “Great New England Hurricane” (also called, the “Long Island Express”) of 1938. Much has been written about this storm (see for example, the resources on the Hurricane’s wikipedia page). The maps below, again modified from NOAA’s Historical Hurricane Tracks web page, show its course.

In our area, the 1938 Hurricane followed a path not so different from Irene. Note however that it was probably a category 3 hurricane when it came ashore and the entire system was moving forward at a fast clip (reportedly ca. 45 mph).

The below image shows the data recorded by our weather station:

Hmmm. … I guess there was just cow pasture and no weather station at the time.(This is actually 1936 photo by County botantist Rogers McVaugh.)

In any case, here’s a weather map from the day after the ’38 hurricane’s land fall that might give you a bit of a feel for conditions.

This map from the day after the 1938 hurricane provides what must have been a surprised first glimpse of the storm’s path and intensity; this image is from NOAA’s historical weather map collection. As subsequent data collection and summary suggested, the storm was more severe than this map might indicate. It is estimated (see next link) that air pressure at land fall was 941 mb or, using the inches of mercury units of this map, 27.1.

We haven’t found any precise local meteorological data, other than what we cite in our earlier table. Indeed, relatively few weather stations recorded its passage (for information on the detective work needed to assemble such pre-satelllite hurricane biographies, see this meteorological summary). Some attempts have been made to model the storm’s weather (for example, see this well-illustrated report). The map below shows estimated rainfall. Those data, together with the flooding described in the Courier and elsewhere, suggest that Columbia County probably received more than 5″ of rain in relation to the storm. As reportedly tends to be the case, the west side of such storms gets substantial rainfall.

This historical rainfall map was constructed by NOAA, and is available on-line.

Wind measurements during the storm were apparently few and far between, but the distribution of wind damage has been used as a substitute. The map below shows the distribution of timber damage. It’s important to realize that the heavy rainfall and sodden soils associated with the storm made up-rooting especially likely.

This map, dug up by the authors of the aforementioned modelling document, was assembled in 1943 by the Northeastern TImber Salvage Administration (NETSA) in their report on the consequences of the 1938 hurricane. Comparing this to the earlier maps of storm’s track suggests that winds were highest east of the storm and that, while Columbia County got a good battering, the worst was elsewhere.

To close this posting, I’d like to return for a moment to my second initial question. As the above account of the 1938 hurricane hints, weather prediction and monitoring have developed rapidly. There was little or no forewarning when the 1938 hurricane crashed into Long Island and then Southern New England. There are numerous accounts of the sudden, desperate realization of those in its path that something out-of-the-ordinary was happening. Contrast that with the long build-up and largely accurate predictions that accompanied Sandy.

The 1938 hurricane probably happened on the cusp of the technology that would facilitate much improved predictions. The previously mentioned detective meteorology makes ample mention of readings made by hapless ocean vessels that stumbled into the hurricane’s path. Airplanes were just entering into service for such matters. Only two years before the 1938 hurricane, the Government had approved the use of airplanes in storm tracking; they went into regular service in 1944 (see wikipedia article). Radar would come of age in the Second World War, although it would not be applied to weather monitoring until the 1950s.

I’ll end this account with a look even farther back In 1835 James Eights, an Albany naturalist who ventured as far south as Antarctica, summarized the local portends of bad weather. In his ‘day-book’ entry for May 27th he wrote,

The following are among the most popular prognostics indicative of rainy weather… rheumatic old persons complain of aches, cats wash their faces, dogs grow drowsy, hogs run with straws in their mouths, leeches in jars become uneasy, flies bite and frogs are noisy, spiders foresake their webs, and are seen crawling on walls and fences, cirrous clouds, commonly called mare’s tails, in the sky, insects draw nearer the earth as moisture accumulates in the atmosphere, consequently swallows skim the surface of the earth in order to obtain them.

The familiarity needed to know if one’s leeches were uneasy adds a whole new dimension to studying meteorology! (That said, probably few zoologists would doubt that creatures respond to subtle changes in the weather.)

However, not all watched signs were so earthly. Halos and ‘dogs’ around the sun or moon were also considered informative. These arcs and dashes of light do reflect upper air conditions and are reportedly caused as ice in high clouds refracts the light of sun or moon. Because such high clouds often precede a warm front or similar system, they can actually forecast coming weather. The below mosaic of images was taken two nights before Sandy’s arrival.

This mosaic shows moon dogs, a shallow arc close to the moon and then a more distant, halo-like segment  (the upper halo was photographed at the same time as the rest of the images but may not be positioned quite at the right distance from the moon). We were not the only ones to notice Sandy’s celestial display.

One wonders whether any old salts noticed this or other ominous effects prior to the 1938 hurricane and took heed…

Corrections, re-interpretations, additions, complications etc. for this blog are all welcome.

 

Local Literati: The September-October Edition

English author John Cowper Powys kept a diary of his stay at Phudd Bottom (just east of Harlemville).
Much of his outdoor time was spent along this stream and connected waters.

Preamble to the Ambles

Phudd Bottom.

Following up on a couple of earlier blog entries and spurred by the Roeliff Jansen Community Library‘s upcoming John Cowper Powys presentation (Sat., Sept. 22, 6pm) and display, I returned to that author’s diaries and autobiography to assemble a small collection of his observations from the present season and to dig up a few of his more sweeping commentaries.

For those of you too young or too wise to have read our previous blog on John Cowper Powys, Cowper Powys was an English author of literary criticism, philosophy, and novels such as The Glastonbury Romance and Wolf Solent. From 1930 to 1934, he lived at “Phudd Bottom”, a relatively small house along Harlemville Road on the east side of Phudd Hill.

In his diary and autobiography, Cowper Powys plumbs the depths of his own psyche and that of his companions, including his partner Phyllis Playter and his dog, “The Black”. Literary figures such as Edna St. Vincent Millay, Edgar Lee Masters and Theodore Deiser make occasional cameos.  Digging into those psychological and literary ruminations is best left for others, however Cowper Powys was also an astute and passionate observer of nature.While he certainly linked his walks through the natural world to his internal perambulations (don’t we all?), they can also be read as snapshots of the culture and ecology of our area in the early 1930s, a subject closer to this blog stream’s theme.

Road east of Phudd Bottom, 14 Sept 2012.

Before delving into seasonally-specific entries, it’s worth introducing a couple of more general comments that Powys made. He was, at least during his time at Phudd Bottom, an avid walker. Few of his daily entries do not include mention of at least a short ramble. The following excerpt from his autobiography describes what motivated and allowed him to do this,

There is no “trespassing” here as there is with us in England. These isolated up-state farmers are of a mixed Holland-Dutch, German-Dutch and English descent, but their methods, though in some respects they might be called “Kulaks”, are singularly Communistic. They use the same machinery, taking it round from farm to farm, as in the Russian ”Collectives”, and they exchange a still more precious commodity; they exchange labour. And so while they own their farms and have substantial savings in the banks they are the extreme opposite of English farmers. I can walk in this region if I can overcome the physical obstacles, in any direction, all round the compass! And my neighbors don’t get in the least annoyed when they see me forcing myself over or under their fences. For the first time in my life I could, starting from my door-step, walk on my two feet wherever I pleased. And this applies to these people’s houses, paddocks, gardens, bartons, enclosures, chicken-yards, farm-yards, door-yards. Just imagine what it would have been like at Burpham [English town where Powys lived] if I had suddenly inaugurated the custom of walking into people’s yards and across people’s gardens! In America there is not only  a most real “democracy”, there is the latent psychology of a good many aspects of Communism. [Autobiography, pp 567-568]

Posted signs in nearby woods.

Many private land owners have been very kind to us and have, when asked, allowed us to wander on their lands. The motives that lead people to post their land are complex and private property is a touchy issue. I only pause to wonder what occurred over the past 80 years to now make us look to Europe as the home of such comparably free wandering and how current limitations affect the public’s chance to know and develop compassion for the land around them.

Another theme that appears time and again is Cowper Powys’ understanding that this landscape touched him deeply, because, like some familiar scent, it pulled up memories of his earlier life.

The country here has the very look of the old romances that I love best. Those who love tapestry say its hills offer the same enchanted vistas as did the mediaeval backgrounds to the castles of the Gothic North. It is more like England, this district of upper New York, than any landscape I have yet seen in the whole of America. It is like Shropshire. It even makes me think of my native Derbyshire… In every direction narrow lonely “dirt roads” wind through far away valleys and over remote hill-tops, leaving behind them, as their perspectives diminish, that peculiar thrill that seems to come down to us from the generations, but which is so peculiarly hard to define.  It is an impression that has to do with horsemen journeying, Inn-light beckoning, journey’s ends coming to lovers, to tramps, to hunters, to camp followers, to adventurers, to the life-weary Dead. It is an impression that has to do with all those mystic omens of the way that are driven off like hunted wild-geese by such things as “filling stations”, sign-boards, cement highways, ginger-pop stalls, and “residential sections”.

...Grassy slopes, park-like reaches, winding rivers, pastoral valleys, old walls, old water-mills, old farmsteads, old bridges, old burying grounds give to the contemplative imagination that poetic sense of human continuity, of the generations following each other in slow religious succession, which is what the mind pines for, if it is to feel the full sense of its mortal inheritance.[Autobiography, pp. 562-563]

The east side of Phudd from along 21C; German Cemetery is at center.

Derbyshire, England
source:http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Derbyshire_countryside.JPG, author: Mentifisto

As Cowper Powys wandered about this northwest corner of Hillsdale, he seems to have been tantalized both by familiarity and the old memories that re-appeared and by novelty and the new forms of nature and geology that came before him. Likewise, perhaps, his eyes, ‘exotic’ in era and origin, can bring new views to forms already familiar to us who live here.

Amblings

At the top of this hill, which must have been about the height of Montacute Hill [an English hill from Powys' youth], was an avenue of large heaps of heavy stones. Which I hoped were the grave-mounds of old Indian Chiefs, Mohawk Chiefs, for the Mohawks were my favourite nation; and at certain seasons during these four years, at the two equinoxes and at other pivotal days, I used to climb to this wooded summit and walk up and down this “death avenue,” as I liked to call it, kneeling in front of each pile and invoking these dead Indians. [Autobiography, p 579]

Stone piles along top of Phudd Hill.

The origin of the rock piles along the top of Phudd Hill continues to be a topic of discussion. The Mohican Indians of this region (the Mohawks were actually further west), clearly did create stone mounds. Some of these became boundary markers as landowners such as Robert Livingston accumulated deeds to former native lands. At the same time, Phudd Hill is laced by rock walls (see below), and piles such as this, located at the edge of formerly ploughed land, could well have been dumpings from rock carts filled as fields were cleared of plough-breaking stones. For more on Cowper Powys’ connections to Indian culture, see this work by Jacqueline Peltier.

One of the peculiarities of this region that so appealed to me are the number of old stone walls dividing the fields, walls built without mortar and bearing on the top of them sturdy beams of wood, laid cross- wise without the use of nails. Around these ancient walls and around these tumble-down wooden fences have grown up, by the work of Nature rather than of man, tall hedges of choke-berry [Choke Cherry], thorn, and other white-blossoming bushes; and the presence of both stone walls and hedges gives this landscape, combined with the bare grassy uplands between the wooded hills, a look sometimes, especially in the winter, that stirs up in me feelings that must rever to far-away impressions of my Salopian ancestors of the Welsh Marches. [Autobiography, p 566]

Natural rock wall topped by man-made wall, Phudd Hill, 14 Sept. 2012.

A “dyke” wall for delineating and perhaps defending territory, the Welsh Marches.
source: wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Welsh_Marches

 In our earlier blog entry, I described a bit more about these ‘rail over rock’ fences. Today, most of the beams have rotted away leaving seemingly ineffectual strings of low rocks strung around the hills. However, this extract also alludes to another aspect of landscape change – many of the “bare grassy uplands” that Cowper Powys mentioned are now forested. Much of the eastern half of Phudd Hill, a land now largely wooded, was bare or, at most, shrubby during his time here. One can search in vain for certain of his views, because they are muffled by trees. The landscape might not now feel so familiar to a returning Powys.

My favourite before-breakfast walk in this up-state home of mine was along the river by the edge of a spinney about half a mile from my house. To reach this, I had to scramble along a little bank whose twisted tree roots, emerging from the mud, reminded me of that higher bank at Sherborne …. The sight of caddis-worms – those inch-long bundles of minute sticks animated by an invisible organism – always thrilled me with delight as I stared at this stream, and so did the reflections at its clear bottom of the long-legged water-flies. These reflections represented, like the mystical Beasts in the Apocalypse, six legs, or rather four legs and two feelers, and at the end of each leg and at the end of each feeler there moved, as the creature moved, a dark moon rimmed with a silver rim. [Autobiography, p 590]

The shadows of Water Striders fall onto a rocky bottom in the Agawamuck near Harlemville Road.

A Water-Stride skates across the Agawamuck’s surface tension.

Haunts for fish, handles for climbing .. roots along tributary of the Agawamuck.

Caddisflies and Water Striders (our current names for Powys’ “caddis-worms” and “water-flies”) still abound in the Agawamuck. The Caddisfly young are aquatic and construct houses from a variety of local materials, including pebbles and rocks. Water-striders are True Bugs (order Hemiptera) who skate about the water surface in hopes of finding some hapless living flotsam upon which to feed.

The diary entries below are almost in calendar sequence, although those from 1930 and 1931 are mixed and, once or twice, I abandoned strict chronology in order to group similar entries together.

Thursday,  3^rd September, 1931

… along the hedge and then over the swamp of Pan where bull rushes and Boneset & a beautiful Michaelmas daisy .. & Jewel weed & tall green rushgrass were all tangled – into the cut field on the other side & looking back I saw the sunset thro’ the hedge.

Michaelmas or New England Aster. It receives its first name from the fact that it commonly is in flower
on Michaelmas (29 September); banks of the Agawamuck, 14 Sept. 2012.

Joe Pye Weed (pinkish) and Boneset (white); 7 Sept. 2006, Hawthorne Valley Farm.

.

Jewelweed after a heavy dew; 14 Sept. 2012, banks of the Agawamuck.

Monday 8^th September 1930

I walked up to the Red Barn on the Top of the hill – the Obstructing Barn that sent a lady mad and there, from there, I saw the Mountains, Mountains, the Mountains. This is a great event in my life to know that in half-an-hour I can go where I can see the Mountains and come back.

The Catskills as seen from “Indian Lookout” atop Phudd Hill.

The exact location of the Red Barn of the Mad Lady still alludes me, but the Mountains must clearly be the Catskills, distantly visible from Phudd Hill and, less completely, from atop Schober’s Hill, what Powys called “Windmill Hill” because of a rusty weather vane, along 21C.

Tuesday. 8^th September, 1931

Heavy white dew of the kind that earlier might easily have been a white frost – by earlier I mean before dawn; for the sun is warm Filmy Feather clouds but otherwise a clear sky & delicious cool wind…. Found a Red Lobelia Found four of the Stocks [stalks] in that treat long row out…. Took Black to John Stone at noon in beautiful September sun through fields of Golden Rod and Queen Anne Lace and Yellow Toadflax [Butter & Eggs]. A lovely autumnal feeling in the cool air.

Butter and Eggs, or Yellow Toadflax; this picture is from elsewhere in the County, but this European plant does
occur in fields around Phudd Hill.

Queen Anne’s Lace, needless to say given the name, this is not a native plant.

Cardinal Flower or Red Lobelia. This flower is found along streams and in other damp areas;
Hawthorne Valley Farm, 5 Sept. 2006.

While still found ‘in the neighborhood’, Butter & Eggs (Powys’ Yellow Toadflax) seems not as abundant as in Powys’ days. It was one of our earlier ‘invasive plants’, expanding across fields as early as the 18th century.

Thurs 10^th September, 1931

Warm even hot. A very beautiful morning of Heavy Dew – drops of dew big as large diamonds on railings on grasses on all; especially on those lovely delicate faint straw coloured grasses like filigree of lace, made of fine hay. Soon these Heavy Autumn Dews will turn into waste frosts…. Then found two beautiful specimen of the flower like an orchid called Lady’s Tresses. Then walked right up hill to where I could see the Mountains and the hill near the River which I have named Corfe Castle. On returning I saw the big trout. The Alders field sadly dead… St. John’s Wort, Tansy, All dead and withered and black. Only the Golden Rod flourishing and four tall Scotch Thistles. I held the stalk of a Gold Rod that was Far taller than I & meanwhile listened to the rippling of the stream and saw the misty light on the Plane Tree [Sycamore].

Ladies Tresses, moist field of Hawthorne Valley Farm, 21 Sept. 2011.

Looking through Burdock towards Powys’ Windmill Hill, just east of Phudd Bottom; 14 Sept. 2012.

An etching of Corfe Castle, Dorset, England.
Source: http://www.mspong.org/picturesque/corfe_castle.html.

The yellowing leaves and brown seed head of Yarrow (what Powys called Tansy),
west of Phudd Hill, 17 Sept. 2012.

Friday 11th September, 1931

There is a beautiful red Autumn branch on an elm-tree near the Wohn Orchard [the Wohn's were neighbors] & yesterday I noted on the great Hawk’s stone two big blood-stains which must have been red Virginia Creeper. The Spinney too I noticed full of red Virginia Creep on the ground & also has many Berries brilliant & more jewel-like – like red coral beads – more than that; like frozen blood drops – of Lords and Ladies [Jack-in-the-Pulpit]. Only Golden Rod and Toad flax in the fields; & Skull Cap…. This warm weather has brought the Katy-Dids back.

Virginia Creeper hangs in front of Willows and, behind that, Japanese Knotweed, an invasive plant that Powys
probably never encountered in this area; east of Phudd Bottom, 14 Sept. 2012.

The hidden jewels of Jack-in-the-Pulpit, or Lords-and-Ladies. 1 Sept. 2008, Taghkanic.

Wednesday. 9^th September, 1931

Took Black to river… There is still a faint trickle of water there, tho’ the water under the bridge is foul with green slime… There was a terrific noise all day. Mr. Krick helped by six men cutting his corn (maize) and putting it in his Silo.

Monday 14^th September

Still very hot….At noon I went for a stroll by the river which is getting terribly low & full of duck-weed and of frogspawn… How the tiny little fish and the quick water flies dance thro’ this water trickling thro’ green slime I know not!

The algae-covered bottom of the Agawamuck; 15 Sept. 2012.

Fallen leaves, Duckweed, and rock – 15 Sept. 2012, the Agawamuck near Phudd Bottom.

I have taken the first of these two entries somewhat out of order, but this pair goes together, at least for our purposes. Algal growth (apparently what is referred to by “green slime” and “frogspawn”) still occur along the Agawamuck, but perhaps not as thickly as in Powys’ day. Their excessive growth usually reflects the presence of abundant nutrients in the water. While natural leaf fall and the like are always contributing some nutrients, the dairy farms for which the neighbor Mr. Krick was cutting corn surely contributed their lot, as did streamside outhouses. Septic systems, improved on-farm waste handling, and agricultural decline may have cleared the Agawamuck’s waters somewhat. However, algal growth also varies substantially from year to year, and hot, dry years like Powys seems to have experienced in 1931 can cause blooms.

Wednesday, 16th September, 1931

… a delicate misty dewy day with a dew-cloud over Phudd & dew-vapours regular classical Nephelae like floating essences of fragile entities over the Ridge & I thought – this is so beautiful this landscape but I must go to bed & enjoy it at one remove listening to the crows and the owls & Mrs Krick’s chickens.

A misty sunrise over the west face of Phudd, 23 Sept. 2010.

Friday 18^th September, 1931

.. the Golden Rod is dying… beginning to die… yes, on  this the 18^th September the Golden Rod is beginning to wither. The last of all the year’s flowers to look fresh… I mean those in large quantities… is a certain small white Aster, white with the faintest lilac tinge but a sturdy little plant & the greenery of it so filmy & delicate. This Aster this little common Aster is now in its heyday while Golden Rod begins to fade.

Aging Goldenrod and sparks of a white daisy; 14 Sept. 2012; roadside near Phudd Bottom.

Goldenrod and Calico (?) Aster.

Saturday, 20^th September, 1930

I walked along the river on this side following the line of willows and finally coming to a hedge of wild raspberry… I met a beautiful green frog… he was green and beautifully spotted; a tiny saurian and very wise.

A spotty Greenfrog from hereabouts. Not all Greenfrogs are so mottled.

Willows (and assorted other shrubbery) along the Agawamuck, just east of Phudd Bottom; 14 Sept. 2012.

Thursday, 24th September, 1931

…& there was an upright rainbow mostly red but also green & violet & the golden light struck the top of windmill hill…

Rainbow(s) north of Phudd Hill and in front of Powys’ Windmill Hill; 28 Sept. 2009.

Sunday, 27^th September, 1931

I took pail & net & rescued fish. .. They are all Trout – beautifully spotted with little red spots & one with a black back.

Thursday, 1^st October, 1931

Caught a very broad light coloured fish and three others all big ones from a rock pool. Their tails look so funny all poking out from under the same stone. Three under one stone, side by side like fish-horses in a manger!

Sunday, 4th October, 1931

I … saw a very strange unforgettable sight seen by few living men I wot! I saw four fish in procession cross a strip of dry land from under the rock into the pool.

Monday, 5th October, 1931

Caught quite a lot of fish – they have now come out from under both rocks & few are left in my three pools & my grand aquarium has a whole shoal of large fish – are they brown trout – with broad yellow backs, striped with black.

Trout resting near the bottom of a pool just east of Harlemville Road’s crossing of the Agawamuck;
the fish with the ‘wormwood” patterns on their backs are Brook Trout; the more spotted
individual may be a Brown Trout. 16 Sept. 2012.

As Powys notes in his autobiography, he was often hounded by concern for fish in the drying pools of the Agawamuck. He spent hours ferrying the fish of shallow, drying pools to deeper “aquariums” as he called them. As he surmises, he probably was seeing Brown Trout, a European species that was (and is) being widely stocked in the area. Probably also present but more skittish were Brook Trout. These are a native species, although they have also been extensively stocked and so which populations, if any, are really native to a particular stream can be difficult to know. The presence of so many trout suggest that water quality wasn’t regularly as bad as his earlier 1931 descriptions might suggest.The light, broad fish may have been a Golden Shiner (to see one, visit our fish tank at the Farm Store). He was obviously and rightly stunned to see the ‘walking fish’; he repeats the description in his autobiography. Some fish are known to move short distances over ground. While it is difficult to imagine trout accomplishing this, Creek Chub, another fish in the watershed, might be more adept.

Tuesday 6^th October

Half Phudd is now yellow with autumn tints. The most beautiful tree round here is the Maple on the right hand of the road going towards Wohn Bridge – I am referring to the autumn tints!…The first one of all to get red is a very small Maple by the rail of the Wohn Orchard. Brilliant red now is the Sumach on Stein’s Hill & also near our own garden – what a garnet red and Ruby red and wine red all mixed together the Sumach is… Why then do I not justice to the Sumach… I’ll tell you why… because I have no old memory connected with Sumach – yet it has not yet won me over… but is beginning to do this now by its ruby redness in this weather but it may still be only beginning to win me over when I die.

A young Red Maple just starting to turn, west face of Phudd Hill, 15 Sept. 2012.

The seed head of Staghorn Sumach, behind it a few of its leaves are starting to turn. Sumach do not grow wild in England; roadside near Phudd Bottom, 14 Sept. 2012.

A Sugar Maple starting to turn beside the German Graveyard, just south of Phudd Bottom; 14 Sept. 2012.

Saturday, 17 October, 1931

The day is grey  & cloudy – vast heavy lowering clouds over everything darkest to the North where there is almost a snow-cloud look … Not quite a cold snow-sky but a late autumn sky suggesting walks over hill & dale in German forests and towards Castles perched on high rocks and down by Ruysdale-like windmills and brown swirling waterfalls. Yes, it is a Nordic day…

Geese flying over barn just north of Phudd Bottom; the barn is no longer standing.

I have not yet found an entry mentioning the passing Geese; maybe I’ve missed it, but Canada Geese were a much rarer sight (and sound) in Powys’ day. Extensive game hunting had virtually driven the eastern populations to extinction by the 1930s. It was not until the 1960s that, aided by releases of captive birds and restrictions on hunting, Canada Goose populations began to rebound. If you’re curious who Ruysdale was, then see our earlier Powys blog

Saturday, 25th October, 1930

Snow!

An early snow (27 Oct., 2011) on rock and pine; east side of Phudd Hill, perhaps not far from one of Powys’ ‘praying stones’.

Sunday, 26th October, 1930

Saw the dawn or rather the sun rise. First there was the long clear line of the hills and then above them a clear watery seas of golden light and across this darker but messily gold clouds were driven by a strong north wind – this blew the actual sun rays. When the sun itself finally appeared it took the form not of above the hills but of a distinct bite, like of enormous teeth, out of the hill. This apparently was caused by the clear air which made the sun as blazing then and unbearable to stare at, as later (which is unusual) and hence where you cannot bear to look at it, it makes a bite, or a gap cut out of the line of the horizon-hill-ridge.

Illustration from Powys’ diary, showing the rising sun taking a ‘bite’ out of a hill top.

Sun rising over Waggoner (now Fern) Hill; 14 Sept. 2012.

Monday, 26 October, 1931

But cold thro’ the thorn trees blows the North wind O so cold & strong & leaves do race & flutter & swilr down. Mr. Scutt thinks there’s less red than usual in autumn.. all yellow & brown this year. Our maple is Orange. Our Hickory in field is Gamboge. Our Cherry tree, both our Cherry trees are Bare – A stray Margarete Daisy & a few Achillea are all the wild flowers left. I have not seen one single purple Loosestrife this year. The Toadflax was the last flower to make a gallant defiance but they are all now dead.

Woods just west of Phudd Hill, 16 Sept. 2009.

Purple Loosestrife

It is botanically interesting to find Powys mentioning Purple Loosestrife. Reportedly common along the East Coast shoreline by the early 1800s, this invasive European plant (Powys probably knew it from England) has since become common in wetlands throughout the US. Regional populations seemed to have been knocked back by beetles introduced as biocontrol, but this year (2012), it again seemed particularly abundant.

Botanist Rogers McVaugh, who roamed the County just a few years after Powys, described its distribution in the County at that time as, “Marshes along the Hudson River; common, often forming dense stands and becoming the dominant plant over large areas. Unknown away from the river except in isolated colonies. This species, now the most conspicuous one in the river marshes, is apparently spreading rapidly.”

Tuesday, 27 October, 1931

Saw what I think was a Star perhaps Jupiter very large thro’ the middle of the Lilac but it may have been a light in the Windmill Barn but I think it was a Star. I could feel the Full Moon up above house & the house was so light with moonlight all chilly and wan that I lit no light.

The full moon and a companion over Phudd Hill, 3 Sept. 2009.

 

Gardening with native plants

As some of you might know, we have begun two years ago to landscape with native plants around the Creekhouse in Harlemville. We had been motivated to do this by the beauty of the native plants we have gotten to know during our inventories in their wild habitats, by witnessing the ecological impact of invasive plants that have escaped from ornamental gardens, and also by books like “Bringing Nature Home” (Doug Tallamy, 2007) and “Noah’s Garden: Restoring the ecology of our own backyards” (Sara Stein, 1993).

We thought, we were part of a rather new “gardening with native plants”  movement.

However, last week, I realized how old this tradition of gardening with natives really is. Conrad gave me a copy of the book “American Plants for American Gardens” by Edith A. Roberts, Professor of Botany at Vassar College, and Elsa Rehmann, Landscape Architect. It had been published in 1929!!!

In this blog, I will share with you some images of native plants we have invited into the landscape around the Creekhouse. Some of these native plants grow in traditional garden beds that were started “from scratch” either by smothering existing vegetation with newspapers and mulch (e.g., the Roadside Garden and the Shade Garden) or by digging holes and then filling them with topsoil brought in from other places on the farm (e.g., the Rain Garden and the Welcome Garden). Other native plants continue to grow right where we found them and we are slowly working on giving them more and more space by removing non-native competitors (e.g., the South and West Slope). Finally, there are areas currently largely dominated by non-native plants, where we have begun to introduce native plants by transplanting or seeding (e.g., the Orchard Meadow, the Fence Line, and the Seep). If you would like to see pictures from the very beginning of the Creekhouse Garden, please go back to the blog from 21 July 2011.

You will see, we try to be relatively strict in our definition of “native”. We mostly (although not exclusively) invite plants into the garden that are considered native to NY State and have a long history of growing wild in Columbia County (see “Flora of the Columbia County Area, New York” (McVaugh, 1958) and our draft of an updated plant list for Columbia County).

I should also say that we NEVER transplant plants from the wild into the garden. Many of our native plants are not common in the wild and there is always a large risk that a transplant does not survive. Native plant gardens should supplement, not diminish the wild populations! We do collect seeds from wild-growing plants and try to grow our own seedlings (which has worked really well with some species and not at all with others…) and we accept transplants from gardens of other native plant enthusiasts.

The most visible of our garden areas is the Roadside Garden:

The Brown-eyed Susan (Rudbeckia triloba) which brings a lot of yellow to the Roadside Garden had been lingering among the “weeds” in the original overgrown garden bed and was one of the few species we did not smother with newspaper. These plants have thanked us with a spectacular come-back and we are happy to have their cheerful color, although nobody knows for sure whether they should be considered truly native to the County. The tall pink-flowered Joe-Pye-Weed (Eupatorium maculatum) has been planted from a potted plant purchased from Project Native two years ago. The orange Turk’s-Cap Lilies (Lilium superbum) are strictly native only to Long Island and a set of counties along the southern border of NY State. But they were given to us by our neighbor John Piwowarski and we love to have them!

Further along the road, the Brown-Eyed Susans are joined by the purple Showy Tick-trefoil (Desmodium canadense) which we grew from seeds collected two years ago from the bank of Route 22, just south of its junction with Route 5 in Austerlitz (this is so far the only wild patch of this species we know). The blue mist in the background are the flowers of Downy Skullcap (Scutellaria incana), a species so rare that it is listed as endangered in NY State. It has not yet been found in Columbia County and the plants in our garden were propagated by Project Native.

A close-up of Showy Ticktrefoil reveals it as a member of the legume family with pea-shaped flowers and tri-foliate leaves. It’s pods are “stickers”, equipped with a hairy surface that is designed to make the seeds hitchhike in animal’s fur. So, watch out when weeding near a Ticktrefoil, else you might end up with seedpods in your hair and on your clothes…

A few plants of Slender Mountain Mint (Pycnanthemum tenuifolium) are still in full bloom in the Roadside Garden. The closeup image below reveals the delicate shape and coloration of each of the tiny individual flowers.

These Mountain Mints were transplanted from another garden, but we do find this species regularly thriving in old fields, often together with Bee Balm (Monarda fistulosa).

Bee Balm was in bloom all through July in our garden and had some awesome visitors…

… such as this Hummingbird Clearwing Moth (probably Hemaris thysbe).

The west end of the Roadside Garden is defined by Wild Senna (Senna hebecarpa), growing happily from stem cuttings taken from plants in Ruth Dufault’s garden. Wild Senna naturally grows in Columbia County along the Hudson River near tidewater but does not mind a spot in a garden bed, either…

Here and there, throughout the Roadside Garden, one can find clumps of native grasses, such as Little Bluestem (Schizachyrium scoparium), Big Bluestem (Andropogon gerardii), and Purpletop (Tridens flavus).

Closeup of the dangling stamens (yellow) and the feathery stigmas (deep purple) of Big Bluestem. Who said that grasses don’t have flowers? They might not have showy petals, but everything else that is needed to produce seeds is there!

Earlier in the summer, the Roadside Garden was dominated by a big patch of white flowers from Beardtongue (Penstemon digitalis). Several of these plants were barely “hanging in there” amongst the non-native grasses and weeds along the roadside when we first began to shape the garden. We have saved and transplanted several of them and they have recovered spectacularly! In the foreground, you see two Showy Goldenrod (Solidago speciosa) plants with their broad leaves and reddish stems. This is a rare species of goldenrod which does not spread as aggressively as the common Canada Goldenrod (Solidago altissima). The clump of grass on the right is Purpletop (Tridens flavus), a warm-season grass that is slow getting started in the spring but produces beautifully delicate purplish inflorescenses in late summer. This grass was grown from seed collected from a road-side population by our landscaper friend Wendy Carroll.

Finally, a spring image of the Roadside Garden… Much of the ground cover is provided by Wild Strawberries (Fragaria virginiana), which we transplanted here from other parts of the Creekhouse garden. The yellow flowers are Golden Ragwort (Senecio aureus), transplanted here from another garden down the road. In nature, this species occurs only in wetlands. The pink patches are Carolina Pink (Silene caroliniana), propagated by Project Native. This species is listed as rare in NY State and we have seen it in only a few places in the high Taconics and along a roadside in Copake. Also present in the Roadside Garden (as in many other places in our garden) are Columbine (Aquilegia canadensis), transplanted here from a forgotten corner behind the Farmstore.

Let’s switch our focus to the Rain Garden, which was designed to catch at least some of the runoff from the parking area in front of the Creekhouse and to create an interesting habitat full of seasonal color changes and rich in insect and bird life near the main entrance.

It is composed of a variety of shrubs and perennials which grow in dense profusion and maybe somewhat “disorderly” fashion. But do come closer and have a peek who all is hiding in this lively spot…

This lovely trio of shades of red are Cardinal Flowers (Lobelia cardinalis), Swamp Milkweed (Asclepias incana), and Showy Ticktrefoil (Desmodium canadense). All three were grown from seeds collected in the wild and raised in pots in our “nursery” below the porch of the Creekhouse. Hummingbirds have been frequent visitors to the Cardinal Flowers and Monarchs and other butterflies can’t get enough of the Milkweed nectar.

Great Blue Lobelia (Lobelia siphilitica) is a botanical cousin of Cardinal Flower and known in Columbia County only from a handful of calcareous wetlands. These plants were transplanted from the garden of David Lewis and Ellen Winner in Hillsdale.

The bold white Turtlehead (Chelone glabra) is found in many wet meadows and swamps. These plants all grew from a single potted plant propagated by Project Native. We are yet waiting for a Baltimore Checkerspot butterfly to discover these plants to lay its eggs on and raise its caterpillars. A Viceroy butterfly had discovered the willow shrub in the Raingarden and a “bird poop” caterpillar typical for this species was feeding for a few days on its leaves. Unfortunately, when we finally got around to taking its picture, it had disappeared.

A little known plant worthy of more attention by native plant gardeners defines one border of the Rain Garden.

For weeks now, it has been producing its lovely yellow flowers and its peculiarly-shaped fruits, one at a time…

In another month, the foliage of Seedbox (Ludwigia alternifolia) will turn a deep dark red and the red fruits remain on the plant into the winter. This is another species that we rarely see in the wild, but which readily reproduced in our “nursery” from seeds collected on a pasture right here at Hawthorne Valley Farm.

Finally, one of the shrubs in the Rain Garden is Bottonbush (Cephalanthus occidentalis).

Sadly, it is a bit slow in leaving out in the spring and its lovely white flower balls last only for about a week. However, while in bloom, the flowers attract a multitude of insects, such as this flower fly (possibly Temnostoma vespiforme). This shrub occurs in the wild in a variety of wetland habitats and is often the dominant shrub in so-called kettle-shrub-ponds. These ponds now fill depressions that were formed by chunks of ice left behind by a retreating glacier.

Back in June, the Rain Garden was dominated by the white flowers of Beardstongue (Penstemon digitalis), transplanted here from the Roadside Garden, and the white flower clusters of Elderberry (Sambucus nigra var. canadensis). The showy flower stalks of early-blooming Angelica (Angelica purpurea) are also visible in the foreground.

And all the way back in May, it was still somewhat of a mystery to see who had survived the winter and would fill in the garden bed as the season progresses…

The Shade Garden is slowly taking shape under the big Honey Locust tree south of the Creekhouse.

Here, we have invited a variety of woodland ferns, sedges, grasses, spring ephemerals, as well as shade-loving asters and goldenrods. Work on this garden bed only began a year ago and it still has a “young” feel to it. Most of the asters and goldenrods grown from seeds collected last fall are not yet going to flower this year.

Along the “weedy” fenceline between the parking lot and the pasture, we began to enrich the vegetation with New England Aster (Aster novae-angliae) seedlings grown from seeds collected along Harlemville Road last fall. The seedlings will be protected from competition by a layer of mulch for a couple of years and then they’ll be on their own to hold their place… We are eagerly waiting to see if any of the seedlings are strong enough to produce flowers this year.

In the meadow (former lawn) below the fruit trees, we also began to transplant New England Aster seedlings, as well as established Beebalm, Mountain Mint, and Beardstongue from the Roadside Garden.

And while I wrap this up, the hummingbirds continue to visit the Cardinalflowers in the Rain Garden and the Monarch caterpillar munches happily on the leaves of Common Milkweed in the Roadside Garden. It’s elder sips nectar from the Swamp Milkweed, while the Milkweed Beetle is going about its own business…

If you would like to see pictures from the very beginning of the Creekhouse Garden, please check the blog from 21 July 2011. I also would like to extend an invitation to all of you to come visit the garden in person. Thursdays 6-8pm is a great time, because we are always here for open house. If you are hoping to come some other time, please give us a call to make sure, somebody will be here to show you around. You are also welcome to just stop by and look around on your own! The Creekhouse is located at 1075 Harlemville Road in Ghent. Our phone is (518) 672-7994.

Finally a great big THANK YOU: Many people have contributed with their expertise, with plants and seeds, and with muscle power to the conception and realization of the Creekhouse Garden. Foremost I would like to thank Ruth Dufault and her crew, who really got us started. We also received valuable advise from Judy Sullivan (formerly Project Native), Linda Horn, Tina VanDeWater, and numerous other native plant gardeners and landscapers. Additional hands-on help came from the garden crew here at Hawthorne Valley, the FEP summer interns and several volunteers. I would like to particularly thank Anna Fialkoff for her enthusiastic help and expertise with the native plants and Ken Kilb for his steady support with weeding, hole-digging, transplanting, and mulching during this year. The garden would be much poorer if it hadn’t been for these two wonderful people!

 

Firefly Fotos (or should that be Phirephly Photos?)

In this 32-second, 3200-ISO photo, a splay of fireflies reaches towards the last hues of the setting sun.

Many evenings this summer, we have stood and looked down our back hill towards the little creek at the bottom. It has been alive with the sparks of fireflies. Fireflies aren’t flies (or phlies), they’re a family of beetles called, aptly enough, Lampyridae, and there are probably about 25 or so different kinds in our area.

For all their renown, relatively little is known about fireflies. For example, in many cases, we’re not sure that adults even feed and, if they do, we don’t know upon what. We do know that one sly set of species imitates the flash patterns of other species and then devours the hapless suitor when it arrives looking for a mate. There is also very little information on firefly abundance over time. While there is a suspicion that fireflies have been decreasing, and the loss of the wetland habitats upon which many depend would be a convenient explanation, we really don’t have the good historical data we would need to mark trends.

All known larvae are predaceous, feeding on worms, slugs or other soft-bodied organisms. This diet is probably responsible for the preference fireflies show for moister areas where such prey are most common.

A single firefly apparently traced this ellipse as it circled. Was it a male homing in on a female?

In most firefly species, at least the male flashes as he tries to attract a mate. The females usually reciprocate from the ground or from perches; some are even wingless. The flash characteristics (e.g., rapidity, number of flashes in ‘burst’, possibly color) are species-specific and can be used by members of the same species to identify partners and by biologist to ID species. A few local firefly species are actually fireless and don’t flash. Interestingly, many larvae also are luminescent. Given that they are still ‘under age’, such pyrotechnics are probably not related to mating.

The ‘dotted lines’ in this picture were formed as individual fireflies moved through the night during this half-minute exposure.

This is the same photo but here I have tried to trace the paths of some of the different fireflies.

Firefly species apparently vary across the season and the hour. One might expect to see one (or more) species active shortly after sunset and other species flashing later in the night. Likewise, as the image below illustrates, there is a firefly phenology with different species flying during different months.

The preceding photographs were taken from late June – early July, but the image above is from late May.
While it is a shorter (5 sec) exposure, it evidently portrays a different species, one emitting discrete
5-burst pulses of a slightly more amberish light.

One would think that all this flashing would be asking for trouble. Why, for example, doesn’t somebody swoop down and pick off such easy prey? Apparently, many fireflies taste bad or are even toxic. In the same way that the Monarch’s bright colors advertise its milkweed-laced body, so too might the conspicuous flash of the firefly be one way of essentially saying, ‘Don’t waste your time; I’m a bad meal’. It has been proposed that this auxiliary raison d’etre for flashing explains why firefly larvae also glow.

Photographers much more adept than me have done long exposures of fireflies and have produced some stunning shots.

This image is by Tsuneaki Hiramatsu, and more such beautiful work can be seen
at this Japanese web site. For more nice firefly photos from closer to home see these blog postings
at some little crum creek and Nature Posts.

So last but not least, the biological reason for some of this photographic snooping was to see if I could ID species from such exposures. After all, if color, timing and pattern are characteristic, then such photos should be diagnostic. So I referred to the handy-dandy flash chart assembled by the Boston Museum of Science’s Firefly Watch (there is much other interesting info. at the project’s web pages).

Careful, complex mathematical calculations (such as, 30 divided by 15) resulted in a pulse rate estimate for our June/July flyers of about 1 pulse every 2 seconds. Consulting the charts suggests a species such as Photinus collustrans or Photinus scintillans. Given that the only records I could find for the former are from Florida while the latter is at least rumored to get as far north as Canada, I supposed that I had spotted P. scintillans. To confirm that confident conjecture, I studied a specimen which I snagged off of a leaf by our flashing yard….

My catch: Photirus, a firefly which uses its flash not only to attract mates for itself, but also to lure other mate-seeking species in for dinner.

Errr… this is clearly not a Photinus species. Instead, it is a species of Photirus, a genus of firefly whose members will mimic a wide array of flash patterns in order to attract a meal. So, either all those flashers are Photirus out there imitating each other or my mystery remains unresolved. Somebody trying to make a phool of me?