Getting back into the groove (?)

As summer draws to a close, I find that I haven't taken very many pictures during this hot, humid, crazy season. I still have quite a backlog from springtime, though, so why not go with that?

This spring was heavy on the orchids for me, with many new species finding their way into my life and on the other end of my camera lens. Some were seen in Ohio, others in Michigan. And so we will turn our attention to northern Michigan where I encountered a number of "life" orchids.

I was delighted to be the person in our group who spotted this stunner blooming amid the leaf litter. It's Striped Coralroot, Corallorhiza striata. You will notice there's no green in this plant. That's because it doesn't produce chlorophyll and thus doesn't photosynthesize. I still don't understand all the mechanics behind plants that rely only on fungi in the leaf litter or the roots of other plants for their nourishment, but it's still fascinating, nonetheless.

Another stunning orchid encountered during my May trip to Michigan was this Ram's-head Lady's-slipper (also called Ram's-head Orchid), Cypripedium arietinum. This was an especially wonderful treat due to its rarity, and was surely a life plant for almost all in our group (including moi). The population of these orchids in the area where we found this specimen was small and fragile, so we had to watch our step to make sure to not damage any of the existing plants.

Perhaps more familiar, and certainly very common along our walks, was the Yellow Lady's-slipper, Cypripedium parviflorum. The huge flowers on these are sure crowd-pleasers. You could probably fit about 3 flowers from the Ram's-head Orchid into one of the Yellow Lady's-slippers.

My final plant for this post has an orchid-looking flower, but actually belongs to the milkwort family. It's dainty and bright, and is easily spotted even though it grows rather low to the ground. It's known by a number of common names such as Fringed Polygala, Fringed Milkwort, or Gaywings (scientific name is Polygala paucifolia).


For my next post, I'll share some orchids I've encountered a little closer to home.

Springtime beauty

Spring has sprung in my little corner of the world, and how! Reports from around the state confirm that most flowers and trees are at least 2 weeks ahead of schedule (in terms of bloom time) due to the ridiculously mild winter we've had and also the early warming trend we've seen so far this spring. Tonight we are under a freeze warning, though, so I'm not sure what our heavily flowered landscape will look like upon awakening in the morning.

Luckily I was able to get out on our property and some neighboring property over the weekend to get photos of just a few of the things that are in bloom. Enjoy!

Bluebells in my garden. This is the first year they have bloomed, even though I planted them 2 years ago.

Newly emerged Bluebell flower buds, kissed by a dew drop.

Bluets, a dainty but cheery flower.

How could you not be cheered by a flower that has a sunshine burst in the middle?

Bloodroot, which is normally just starting to bloom, is already starting to fade, with many plants already gone to fruit. This one is tattered and worn, but still beautiful.

When out looking at nature, you never know what you'll come across. Here, a pair of snail shells, the larger being about the size of a dime (if that), the tiny one being barely larger than a pin head. Always keep your eyes peeled for magical treasures!

Late summer

Days are getting shorter. Nights are getting cooler. Fall, as they say, is in the air. It's the season of early-morning dew and fog, reminding us just how beautiful dawn really is. There's an aural shift from the dawn chorus of the birds to the evening chorus of singing insects. And there's a last hurrah of large, showy wildflowers, many exploding with huge pom-pom like heads to feed the butterflies and bees and myriad of other insects who are racing the clock to reproduce before the first frost hits.

What follows is a photo essay paying tribute to flowers photographed in the month of August. All hail late summer.

Still life

I really think this wraps it up in terms of posts about my trip to West Virginia (I can't believe it's only been a month since we returned home - it seems like it was an eternity ago, somehow!). There are still some images I'd like to share though. I'll let them tell you the story of how lush and beautiful the hills of West Virginia are, and how magical they can be after it has just rained and everything is still dripping wet and bursting with life. Enjoy.

Fern getting ready to unfurl


Leaf of a Wild Ginger plant - perfect symmetry


The saddest-looking Squirrel Corn flower I've ever seen


That's a long way down for a snail...


Wild Geranium flower, in repose


An example of the diverse flora on one tiny swath of hillside


I kept my distance from here, thank you very much. A large arachnid lives within.


Fern Study, I


Fern Study, II


Almost in bloom...


... and in full flower
These images remind me of the cool, damp spring morning that it was when I took them, something that sounds positively delightful now that the weather is starting to heat up.

My attention, divided

It was Friday, our next to last day at the New River Birding and Nature Festival. On one hand I was tired from a week so full of activity and learning, but on the other hand, I was not ready for this week to end. For one thing, I had spent very little time wandering the property of Opossum Creek Retreat. Nestled back in the woods, there was plenty to see just within a short walk from our cabin.


Our cabin at Opossum Creek. It felt just like home (except substitute oaks and maples for all the hemlocks).
Granted, I had poked my nose and my camera here and there, but there was still much more wooded bliss to be explored. One thing that both Nina and I wanted to check out was a small colony of Pennywort Gentian that was verified to be in flower by our buddy Jim McCormac. He gave us some rather cryptic directions as to where to find the colony on a hillside above the laundry facilities ("There's a downed log with a long stick propped up against it," he said. Sorry, Jim, but there were LOTS of downed logs with what appeared to be long sticks propped up against them!). Eventually, we found the little white beauties poking their heads out of the leaf litter. Nina and I spread out to each find our own little patch of flowers to work with (you can see Nina's Pennywort Gentian photos, along with a Blue-grey Gnatcatcher and a teeny, tiny spider HERE).

Pennywort Gentian, Obolaria virginica

Twin Gentians
I was supposed to be concentrating on the gentian, but I kept getting distracted by the delicate, fragile, skeletal remains of decomposing leaves.


This lacework is all that's left of a leaf in the process of breaking down, giving of itself back to the soil. Notice in the bottom of the photo a new Pennywort flower attempting to break through the leaf litter.

Same leaf, different angles

Even while the flowers bloom, the leaves vie for my attention.

Never have I seen the process of decomposition look so beautiful.
And so it goes, a quick walk in the woods to find one thing...

... quickly turns into a journey into a completely different world.

And so it goes.

The magic of Cranberry

Dawn on this early May morning was chilly. Frost warnings had been issued the night before, and at breakfast we heard about how snow had accumulated overnight in the higher elevations of the West Virginia mountains. Bundled in as many layers as I had packed, I still found myself shivering under the cover of the pavilion where we all gathered to share a hot meal, coffee, and a mutual lack of sleep. Soon we would load up our buses for another day of magnificent birding.

This was the day of the festival that I looked forward to the most. An entire day spent in one location: Cranberry Glades (or just "Cranberry," for short). At an elevation of 3400 feet in the Monongahela National Forest, Cranberry Glades is a cluster of bogs with habitat and boreal conditions akin to what you might find in more northern climes such as New England or Canada. As we drove into the visitor's center, we saw on the ground some of the snow that we had heard about at breakfast. Snow-capped trees were also visible on the mountain tops that formed a ring around us in the bog.

There is a quarter-mile boardwalk that allows for safe passage over the delicate ecosystem of the bog. It took our group 3 hours to cover this short distance. In that time we thoroughly examined every aspect of the bog that caught our attention, and probably could have stayed for many more hours without having even scratched the surface of the abundance of life that could be found there.

Ravens called and played overhead. We were accompanied by the persistent and plaintive YANK YANK YANK calling of a Red-breasted Nuthatch. Warblers were abundant, to the point where we were saying, "Oh, it's just another Blackburnian [Warbler]." Rare and intriguing flora surrounded us on all sides. We were in a biologically lush paradise.



Bog Rosemary

Green Hellebore

Bartram's Serviceberry

Lichen dotted tree branches at every turn.
The birds were relatively close, and mostly easy to spot. Swamp Sparrows popped up and sang on the first stretch of the trail. A sassy male Golden-crowned Kinglet flashed his firey head crest at us, incensed that we were intruding on his territory. And those darn Blackburnians were everywhere. I didn't bother keeping a list of the birds that day, though. There were too many strange things underfoot that I had to keep track of, things I'd never seen before.


Corallorhiza trifida - A coralroot orchid, commonly known as Early Coralroot or Yellow Coralroot.

These ferns may look like they are headed for the grave, but they are just emerging.

Others are more obvious in their emergence, looking as if they are dancing or preparing for an embrace.
After lunch, we continued exploring the area, taking part in some roadside birding and botanizing. The pace of the entire day was relaxed and peaceful, but each new plant or bird that we found left me feeling more alive and exhilarated. This, after all, is where the Black-throated Blue Warbler showed himself to us, and made me stop short. There was no denying that this place was magical.


Swamp Saxifrage, with the glittering diamonds of a running creek in the background.

Dwarf Ginseng
I'm guessing that most natural places would reveal themselves to be magical, if we were able to spend enough time getting to know them. It is wonderful to be allowed to take your time with a place, with a plant, with a bird. To move slowly through it, absorbing things at the pace your consciousness deems appropriate - for the consciousness knows that these things are meant to be savored. Walk for a while, and then be still. Walk again, be still again. Internalize all these wondrous items of unique beauty that abound - items to which we have given names, and items which we try to describe in superlative terms, but which, honestly, are beyond any description that we can dream up. Slow your breathing to the rhythm of the breeze, let your eyes glaze over, and begin to blend in and become a part of something beyond yourself.


I know a place has left its mark on me when I find myself not wanting to leave, and after I have left, I continue to think about when I might revisit it. Cranberry, we shall meet again.