Symmetrical branches of Smooth Sumac, Rhus glabra, reach up toward a gray January sky along the High Line. (photo taken 01 13 2012)

A gray windy day in January is one of the few times one can find solitude on the High Line. During a walk there this week, I found time to watch and to listen to this outdoor space on its own, without the hum and hover of humanity.

I perceived that there must be as many varieties of brown in January as there are green in June. The wind sounding through the dry stalks and branches contained as many subtle tones as the murmur of multiple conversations. What stood out the most to me was found in the basic forms of the plants. The skeleton, the architecture, of a flower, shrub, or tree is delineated at this time of year. One of the most impressive examples of such naked form can be seen in the Smooth Sumac, Rhus glabra.

A native shrub family, Anacardiaceae, found throughout the eastern United States, the sumacs are known more for their summer and autumn dress: the feathery, serrated, compound leaves that turn crimson in October. The Smooth Sumac commonly forms colonies from its root system, often along roads and railways, making its appearance on the High Line both appropriate as well as aesthetically pleasing.

The Smooth Sumac is also one of the most distinctive flowering trees. The large upright panicles are the color of rich Chianti. These clusters of drupes (seeded fruits) are edible, and can be picked and soaked in cool water to make a refreshing sumac-ade. One recipe for “Wild Smooth Sumac-ade” was described by the Staten Island nature writer Ava Chin in her “Urban Forager” column for The New York Times.

The dense, upright panicles of Smooth Sumac can last throughout the winter. (photo taken 01 13 2012)

A group of panicles silhouetted against the leaden sky caught my eye, gave me inspiration and a subject for a winter wildflower. I paused in the wind, which was making whitecaps on the steel-colored Hudson in the background, and there I contemplated the forms of the Smooth Sumac branches. I was delighted by the symmetry of the tips, which spread like the pointed fingers of an open hand. I noticed also that the branches did not just spread opposite and parallel, like arms and hands. The fingered projections themselves were twisted and bent in the exact same manner as well.

The Classical orders of architecture, the Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian being basic examples, were derived by the Greeks and Romans from organic forms. The Smooth Sumac, in winter, reminded me that humanity with its mathematics does not possess a monopoly on graceful, even symmetrical, functional form.

Fodder for natural philosophical thought as the annual and perennial wildflowers hibernate.

"Hand" over the High Line. (photo taken 01 13 2012)

— rPs 01 13 2012

Postscript: Ava Chin’s recipe for “Wild Smooth Sumac-ade” can be found by following this link:

http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/09/04/urban-forager-shrubbery-you-can-drink/

Groundsel, Senecio vulgaris, blooms in the West Village on the Winter Solstice and, though wild, often grows in evenly-spaced patterns as if planted by a gardener. (Photo taken 12 22 2011)

“Mild.”

The 2011 Winter Solstice arrived like a lamb, to put it mildly. Manhattan enjoyed one of those calm, cool, balmy days that cultivate the impression of an indeterminate time of year; a kind of day that almost shouts for one to take the opportunity – the gift – to enjoy the outdoors before the traditional weather sets in, or roars in, for the season.

I listened to that call.

Outside and above, the sky resembled a portrait painting of multiple cloud types, including cirrus and cumulus, floating by at different levels of altitude, passing by at different rates of speed, forming a variety of picturesque motion patterns that took the sun in an exceptionally sparkling way during this shortest daytime of the calendar year.

Back on the surface, a short walk around the West Village revealed nature was still in an active phase. Gulls, mallard ducks, cormorants, brants, and Canada geese mingled along the Hudson River where several anglers squeezed in one last session of casting for striped bass.

Back on city land, many of the common wildflower species remained unfazed by last week’s first frost of the season. The basal rosettes of Sow Thistle, Dandelion, and Common Plantain were fresh and green, not deflated and gray as they were by this time last year. White Snakeroot, Common Chickweed, and Shepherd’s Purse remained in bloom in several sheltered spots.

Shepherd's Purse blooms beside a tree on a December day. (Photo taken 12 22 2011)

None of these plants could match the vigor and numbers of the winter annual Groundsel, Senecio vulgaris, a diminutive member of the Asteracaeae family. Just as the Dandelion will carpet lawns in spring, the Groundsel can proliferate in late fall. Find it thriving around the bases of trees and within the thinned out spaces of bare shrubs. Individual plants resemble a tiny evergreen bush and look so self contained as to appear planted by a gardener. The yellow inflorescences of this cosmopolitan ruderal never seem to open into full golden blooms like its springtime cousin, but it does go to seed in distinctive white balls that in combination with its sharply-lobed leaves look rather festive in light of the season.

Holiday Ornaments: Groundsel goes to fluffy seed like its other cousins in the Asteraceae family. (Photo taken 12 22 2011)

Happy Holidays . . .

– rPs 12 22 2011

White Snakeroot (Ageratina altissima) blooms into December along West 11th Street. (photo taken 12 09 2011)

I have for some time been mulling over how to describe my personal relationship with urban nature. An encounter with a wildflower I enjoyed this week gave me an idea, a way to put that concept into words.

The beginning of most interactions with the natural world takes place during the survey phase when species, or phenomena, or processes, are observed, listed, and described. Wildflowers provide a rich source of such raw material. At first, each species is new. The time of year, their environment, their physical features, are all engaging and educational.

After two full growing seasons, which cover both annual and perennial plants, this first push of the project comes to a close. Personally, I have kept my eyes on the West Village, stuck to the geographic boundaries I set at the beginning, and have listed most, although not all of what I have noted (I have left out a few species as of this writing for want of better photographs and future content). I have been able to profile a variety of flowering plants, close to four dozen species, answering to some degree the “What is out there?” and “When is it out there?” questions.

“What’s next?” now begs to be asked.

The answer came to me as I was hurrying through a cold rain earlier in the week. I had slogged through Washington Square, faced into a stiff wind up 5th Avenue. My pant legs were soaked, my umbrella bending, so I turned down West 11th Street toward my neighborhood.

I crossed the Avenue of the Americas and started down the block protected on the north side by the tall buildings of the former St. Vincent’s Hospital complex. The sudden lull in the wind felt like being within the eye of a hurricane. I could slow down, relax, so I did so. As I strolled, I passed the front gardens of the red brick Federal town houses lining each side of the street. One of these, somewhat unkempt, nonetheless held a surprise: a patch of White Snakeroot (Ageratina altissima) still in full bloom. The plant’s umbels, like little balls of white yarn, poked their flower heads between the black iron bars of a fence, creating a lovely urban wildflower still life.

As of December 10, 2011, New York City has yet to experience an overnight freeze. This is one of the latest on record. The colorful lining of this meteorological oddity has been an extended autumn with the tree leaves, late-season wildflowers, and hardy weeds still in bloom. I profiled White Snakeroot in October of 2010. The plants I photographed for the essay were located in the same spot as the one’s I saw glistening in the rain. These flowers, then, were their progeny.

The words arrived for my revelation. The answer to “What’s next?” lies within the relationship a person can cultivate with the urban outdoors. Seeing that patch of White Snakeroot felt like greeting an old friend, the one who because of conflicting schedules or long distance you can visit only once in a year, perhaps during a specific holiday. Other examples of West Village wildflower companions came to me, but this particular one really pulled the concept from my personal rumination section and into full public expression. So, if you see a bearded and bookish grown man pausing to greet a weed, he may be me, visiting one of my friends, one of the wildflowers of the West Village.

“Nice to see you, White Snakeroot. Until next year . . .”

White Snakeroot gone to seed: "Until next year . . ." (photo taken 12 09 2011

– rPs 12 10 2011

Postscript: Read my profile of White Snakeroot by following this link: http://wildflowersofthewestvillage.com/2010/10/18/white-as-milk/

Front cover of The Urban Naturalist by Steven D. Garber

I reviewed a book, The Urban Naturalist by Steven D. Garber, in February of this year. This week, I received a letter from a reader (as I occasionally do), but this time the author was the author. Dr. Garber went in depth to describe the lasting impact of his pioneering book, which provided some points of interest to me and perhaps other readers of Wildflowers of the West Village. Here is his feedback in his own words . . .

*** * ***

From: Steven D. Garber, MBA & PhD
Worldwide Ecology
P.O. Box 3502
Stamford, CT 06905

This is almost the 25th anniversary of ‘The Urban Naturalist’ a groundbreaking book about urban ecosystems, and especially about New York City’s ecosystem. I thought you might be interested in more background.
Not too long ago I read an article in the New York Times that said High Line happened when instead of tearing down “the elevated freight tracks that cut through the West Side of Manhattan,” they were preserved and turned into a park.
Here’s how the High Line started. In hundreds of speeches, interviews and articles I took every opportunity to get the idea out there, that that old highway could and should be turned into a park. For this to happen, NYC couldn’t tear the old highway down. When I couldn’t get Mayor Koch to support the idea, I persuaded the next mayoral candidate David Dinkins, not to tear it down and to support the idea of a park there in exchange for support the support that I delivered him with the endorsement of New York City’s Sierra Club.
After Dinkins, I continued working with mayoral candidate Rudolph Giuliani. I wrote Giuliani’s environmental platform and got him to support the idea. He said all the right things, but did little more than stop plans to tear the elevated Westside Highway down. He was swayed by the developers who wanted to build on that land. I spoke with Donald Trump and convinced him how important it was to make the shoreline he owned on Manhattan’s West Side accessible to the City.
After Mayor Giuliani was replaced, Mayor Michael Bloomberg allowed the idea to finally take hold, money was allocated, and the park became official. The New York Times said this park survived “so many moneyed interests [that] were united against saving the elevated freight tracks,” and finally what I modestly admit was a brilliant idea, after years of fighting, this vision came into fruition.
In front of cameras and microphones, Mayor Bloomberg has said, “preserving the High Line [elevated Westside Highway Park] as a public park revitalized a swath of the city and generated $2 billion in private investment surrounding the park. The mayor pointed to the deluxe apartment buildings whose glass walls press up against the High Line and the hundreds of art galleries, restaurants and boutiques it overlooks.”
“All of that commerce more than makes up for the $115 million the city has spent on the park and the deals it has made to encourage developers to build along the High Line without blocking out the sun, Mr. Bloomberg said. On top of the 8,000 construction jobs those projects required, the redevelopment has added about 12,000 jobs in the area, the mayor said.”
“Indeed, what started out as a community-based campaign to convert an eyesore into an asset evolved into one of the most successful economic-development projects of the mayor’s nine years in office.”
Robert Hammond, said he thought the park “would be good for the local economy” but “we had no idea that it would happen this fast.” To Mr. Hammond, it seemed like the park happened fast. For me, it took decades to make this park happen and I see no reason to be shy about this, since the park would never have happened without my vision, my work, and my behind the scenes politicking.
What I started is hailed as brilliant and visionary. Here’s proof I was there right from the start.
In 1987, Marion Belcher wrote an article in the Clinton Community Press about my work. This was when the concept of urban ecology did not exist. People thought ecological processes only happened in the wild. That places where people lived didn’t really count. Now, books are written about urban ecology, entire journals are devoted to urban ecology, PhD programs, university departments, and the list goes on and on.
Back then urban ecology was a non-sequitur. Even biologists laughed at what I was writing. But time proved me right.
Ms. Belcher wrote: “The species is rare: an urban ecologist. It seems a contradiction in terms. Steven Garber… is not only an urban ecologist, but also the author of ‘The Urban Naturalist,’ which is receiving rave reviews and has rapidly become a best-selling science edition. Garber has written a wonderful and casual book about plants and animals [and] ‘The Urban Naturalist’ did indeed delight this reader and continues to do so.”
“The natural place to meet Mr. Garber was on his own turf: out-of-doors. ‘Do you want to go to Central Park or somewhere real?’, came Garber’s crisp response. We didn’t have to go far, and somewhere real turned out to be the unused, elevated section of the West Side Highway… Once there, as if by magic, we seemed suddenly transported far from the city. The din of traffic is silenced by the wind off the Hudson. Seagulls glide past where nature has taken over the macadam and cobblestones that man chose to abandon. It is a tranquil, beautiful spot… where one can partake of a view which encompasses Midtown [and] the Hudson as far north as the George Washington Bridge.”
“Garber is the perfect guide to point out the astonishing variety of plant life thriving there. Cottonwood trees have seeded in along the crevices on the side of the old highway. A quaking aspen has taken root as well. ‘We think of quaking aspen as only growing in the Rocky Mountains, but it is also common throughout the Northeast and Canada,’ states Garber. Seaside goldenrod flourishes and is now blooming, as is thoroughwort, a tall bushy plant covered with silvery white blossoms. Asters, evening primrose, mosses… Lofty phragmites have sprouted and other edible species such as lady’s thumb and lamb’s quarters. The list goes on.”
This area “has never had anything approaching a major park. Mr. Garber wants to see this abandoned highway turned into one. As a long time resident of the community, as well as a biologist with a keen eye for aesthetics, he sees tremendous potential for enhancing the natural environment. This elevated highway could return some of the coastline’s lost beauty if it were made into a park or promenade.”
Mr. Garber explains, “When Central Park was in the planning stages, developers fought the concept. They viewed all of Manhattan Island as a park which at the time was surrounded by wooden piers, salt marshes and inlets. Since that time the coastline has gradually been ruined. The residents of [Manhattan who] live right on the Hudson… can’t enjoy it.”
“‘The New York City Planning Commission wants to revitalize the West Side,’ poses Mr. Garber. ‘This neglected stretch of highway is perfect for a promenade. With a minimal investment we could create a resource for all of New York City. This promenade could extend… all the way to Riverside Park, via Donald Trump’s stretch of [then still] undeveloped breachfront property. For this to happen the Mayor, the Parks Commissioner, the Planning Commission, Donald Trump, and the community would all have to reach some accord.’ Mr. Garber pauses to take in the view. ‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful.’”
“In ‘The Urban Naturalist’ Mr. Garber writes, ‘Just as oceans and forests and prairies are natural environments, cities and suburbs are also natural. We city inhabitants are animals who affect our surroundings like any other creature, however most creatures do not destroy their environment. Economic principles alone are not enough. To revitalize the quality of an urban ecosystem, it is imperative that we work with natural processes and ecological principles.’”
“Heading home, I feel like I spent the afternoon in the country, though I never left the… area; and I have a better appreciation for what Steve Garber means by ‘somewhere real.’ To quote Henry Stern, our [then] Parks Commissioner, from his forward to ‘The Urban Naturalist,’ ‘Preserving and improving our wild areas in New York City will provide an uplift for all of us. We’ve been neglecting the outdoor aspects of our sustenance. Without nature we are deprived–and New Yorkers don’t like being deprived of anything’” (Marion Belcher. Clinton’s Urban Naturalist. Clinton Community Press. Pages 3 and 5).
I’m glad I’ve devoted my life to helping the natural world and to showing how nature is changing. It’s important to teach and preserve the history of nature.
Sincerely,

Steven D. Garber, PhD
steve_garber@hotmail.com

*** * ***

It is a good feeling to know one’s blog is reaching its target audience, even better when one of its subjects takes the time to reply in depth. For more information regarding The Urban Naturalist, read the original post by following this link: http://wildflowersofthewestvillage.com/2011/02/25/the-urban-naturalist/

– rPs 11 19 2011

I took a walk along the Hudson River shortly after completing my preceding post – “The Quest for the Goldenrod” – and discovered the pilings of Pier 45 and Pier 46 are supporting numerous boughs of Seaside Goldenrod  (Solidago sempervirens) gone to seed. The sight of these graceful stems sporting cranberry-tinted leaves tipped with fluffy ash gray cypselae, the distinctive seed parachutes of Asteraceae family members, provided me with several new studies for future still life drawings. Here are a few of my favorites:

Seaside Goldenrod study #1 (photo taken 10 28 2011)

Seaside Goldenrod study #2 (photo taken 10 28 2011)

Seaside Goldenrod study #3 (photo taken 10 28 2011)

The above images are similiar in composition to the scene that inspired my post “Wildflower Art: The End of Summer” back in September. The progression of the fall season is now well underway and each of the three compositions display the emergence of warm color and worn texture, signs of another waning  wildflower growing season in the West Village of Manhattan.

- rPs  10 31 2011

Seaside Goldenrod (Solidago sempervirens) blooms near the corner of 10th Avenue and West 13th Street. (photo taken 10 26 2011)

Like some contemporary Pindar, I find myself reflecting on a recent experience that by its end had me feeling akin to Jason during his quest for the Golden Fleece. The prize in my case took the form of a species of goldenrod (genus Solidago) I discovered in bloom near the corner of 10th Avenue and West 13th Street. The quest was the search for an exact identification.

The goldenrod name applies to the Solidago, a large group of some one to two hundred distinct and native flowering plants, most of which bloom yellow gold in color beginning in late summer. From there opens a wide and diverse set of differences, which include:

Leaf shape and venation – Many goldenrod species have an aristate or ovate leaf with a dentate edge that resembles a serrated spoon, while others have more narrow lanceolate leaves, also serrated, but sometimes entire (completely smooth), often with three parallel veins, although some possess a single central one. A majority of these leaf structures and their supporting stems are hairy, but a few are glabrous (completely smooth). Some varieties sprout leaflets from the leaf axils where the primary leaf meets the stem.

Flower shape – Even the casual outdoor observer is familiar with the graceful, spreading, pyramidal panicles that, like golden ostrich plumes, decorate autumn roadsides. Widespread species such as the Canada Goldenrod exhibit this flowering form. Others have a stiffer, broad, horizontal inflorescence that from a distance resembles an upturned push broom; a few standouts bloom straight and narrow, resembling a golden wand.

The most common species of Solidago found in the New York region include the Canada Goldenrod (Solidago canadensis), Early Goldenrod (Solidago juncea), and Late Goldenrod (Solidago altissima). During my walk home from my wildflower encounter, I assumed a comparison of my close observations with the details of one of the above would give me a quick and easy identification. The example I had photographed was easy enough to describe in words. The plant grew from a basal rosette and possessed smooth lanceolate leaves with a single central vein. The leaves and the stem were glabrous and supported a panicle of flowers that upon close inspection possessed the distinctive calyx and daisy petal appearance, which in part explains why the goldenrods are included in the vast Asteraceae family.

The goldenrod's flower is actually a tight cluster of tiny, yellow, daisy-like blooms. (photo taken 10 26 2011)

Like Jason, I set sail – on the internet – and waded through my print resources and found a winding adventure. Each of the three common species of goldenrod possessed some, but not all, of the physical characteristics I had documented in my observations. The entire and glabrous leaves of my subject put Canada Goldenrod and Late Goldenrod out of contention. Early Goldenrod, my early favorite, has smooth leaves with a single central vein, but the example in question lacked leaflets at the leaf axils, so that species, too, was dropped from the list of candidates.

I continued to tread water until I found the website of the Connecticut Botanical Society. One of the features of this comprehensive online resource is a detailed advanced search function that allowed me to select several specific physical features into my search. The result produced twenty potential species, which by the end of my survey produced a clear standout –

Seaside Goldenrod (Solidago sempervirens)

Seaside Goldenrod has glabrous leaves and stems adapted to coastal salt spray conditions; it sprouts no leaflets at the leaf axils; it blooms in plumed panicles as late as November. The time, place, and physical description all fit; I believe I have found my golden fleece!

Like Jason, my quest became connected to the sea, in this case the Hudson River estuary. I have often used the phrase “where nature and the city intersect” as a central element of my artistic mission statement and here again is a vivid example of just such a meeting. Manhattan has undergone a massive transformation over the last three centuries, becoming one of humanity’s most consciously constructed areas on Planet Earth, yet still there remains the natural environment that continues to dictate what adaptations will allow an organism like the goldenrod to survive and thrive. Fresh salt air still permeates the west side of the island where in autumn the goldenrod, the Seaside Goldenrod, dressed in its hardy green leaves, blooms in a mellow gold plume, even in the contemporary stone, glass, and steel shadow of the West Village.

My Golden Fleece: The inflorescence of a Seaside Goldenrod. (photo taken 10 26 2011)

– rPs 10 28 2011

Postscript: The homepage of the Connecticut Botanical Society can be found at http://www.ct-botanical-society.org/

A patch of Butter-and-Eggs, Yellow Toadflax, Linaria vulgaris, blooms beside the bike path along the West Side Highway. (photo taken 09 17 2011)

The story of many immigrant wildflowers begins with imported seed that arrived laced with a hitchhiker, a plant variety that over time would go against the grain in a very different sense of the phrase. Once established in some New England field, the rest of the tale became the incremental spread of a European or Asian green immigrant from one blue sea to the other. Escaped and naturalized, some have become part of home remedies, regional folklore, even the incidental detail of fine artworks. Of these, one of the most notable, and beautiful, is what I like to call “the breakfast bloom” – Butter-and-Eggs, known also as Yellow Toadflax, Linaria vulgaris.

Yellow Toadflax is a perennial and a ruderal of European origin, which together explains the familiarity of this wildflower. One sees it appear every year as summer passes into autumn and the plant blooms in those under-grown areas where it can stand out such as roadsides, which is where I found a patch growing, and blooming, in the West Village: beside the bike path that parallels the West Side Highway.

This wildflower is easy to identify. The leaves are linear, thin and spiky, and alternate up the stem to the blooms. The individual flowers are irregular, end in a long spur, and are butter yellow with palates the color of egg yolks. There is a close resemblance to cultivated snapdragons. In fact, that is an apt comparison, as both belong traditionally to the figwort family, Scrophulariaceae. The snapdragon has been moved recently to another, Plantaginaceae, based on DNA sequence analysis, but like the snapdragon, the flowers of Yellow Toadflax grow in clusters, in terminal racemes, which can last a long time set in a centerpiece vase on the breakfast table.

A terminal raceme of blooming Yellow Toadflax, close up, reveals the Butter-and Eggs coloration. (photo taken 09 17 2011)

–  rPs 10 16 2011

There is a beauty in the forms and colors of nature that can rarely be equaled by conscious human efforts. Take for example the following composition:

Seaside Goldenrod (Solidago sempervirens) flanked by Calico Asters (Symphyotrichum lateriflorum) beside the Hudson River near Pier 54. (photo taken (09 17 2011)

Here a single stem of Seaside Goldenrod (Solidago sempervirens) stands fully budded, gracefully curved, flanked by two strands of Calico Aster (Symphyotrichum lateriflorum) already beginning to bloom. The two pilings encrusted with barnacles at the top and the slate gray strip of sea wall along the base frame the photo in an artful way, perhaps, and add contrasting cool colors, certainly, yet it is the natural symmetry of the living things growing together that held my eye long enough to inspire me to photograph the scene. The image was taken beside the Hudson River near Pier 54 as the sun was setting on September 17, 2011.

Both wildflower species I found rooted on the western edge of Manhattan are bellwethers of autumn, which begins in just a few days. Signs of summer’s passing are already visible in the fine details of the big city picture: the tangled undergrowth of courtyard gardens has begun to thin out; brick walls are beginning to show through the ivy; a few tree top leaves are tinged with savory sanguine color. What I discovered on an evening stroll is an especially vivid living symbol of that temporal change in progress: the city and nature intersected, composed by coincidence in a symmetric, aesthetic way emblematic of the season. Separate elements, which when combined transcend the individual and fulfill a working definition of . . . (wildflower) Art.

– rPs 09 18 2011

Lingzhi Mushrooms soak up the evening rain on West 13th Street. (photo taken 09 07 2011)

Hurricane Irene appears to have brought on an early beginning to the autumn season. The bright sun and steady heat of July and August switched to sustained gray skies, high humidity, and cool temperatures once the storm passed through the region. NY1 news reports that over four inches of rain have fallen on Central Park during the first week of September 2011. One result of this inundation has been has been a continued bloom of fungi species in the West Village.

A stretch of low light with damp weather is an essential element of mushroom growth. Another ingredient is abundant food, in this case organic material, and the urban environment provides a rich source of nourishment from two sources. The first is the mulch and wood chips people use to cover the bare soil of their tree pits and stoop gardens. The other is dog dung, which also usually ends up on or around the base of trees. While I do not condone the laziness of irresponsible canine managers, what gets left behind does often foment the new and sometimes unusual appearance of fungi.

One type of Agaric or gilled mushroom, which grows well on wood mulch, is the delicate little Fairy Bonnet, Coprinellus disseminatus. This variety can be identified by its ash gray cap, ribbed like a sea scallop shell, and pale thin stem that reaches only one or two inches in height. What this mushroom
lacks in stature can be made up for in numbers. Dense clumps will take over a spot where dead wood is available and when conditions are right. I found mature individuals as well as one such cluster beginning to push through wood chip mulch on Bethune Street.

A single Fairy Bonnet (Coprinellus disseminatus) grows on wood mulch along Bethune Street. (photo taken 09 07 2011)

A cluster of Fairy Bonnets beginning to emerge from the mulch along Bethune Street. (photo taken 09 07 2011)

Another group of Agarics common to urban areas is the genus Inocybe. Members of this group are somewhat larger and thicker and can be identified by the cap, which is usually fibrous and umbonate. The umbo is the raised knob at the cap’s center that gives the organism a tented appearance. I found one stand-out example soaking up the rain beside Christopher Street. I returned the next day with my camera. Although it had begun to deflate, the mushroom’s general appearance remained intact enough for a positive identification: Corn Silk Inocybe, Inocybe fastigiata (also listed as Inocybe rimosa).

A single Inocybe mushroom stands out in a tree pit along Christopher Street. (photo taken 09 07 2011)

The Lingzhi Mushroom, Ganoderma lucidem, has been thriving in the rain, too. I returned to the stump along West 13th Street where I found the example I wrote into the essay “’Conked’ on the Head.” That tree gravestone is now completely ringed by new growth. The conks, deep red edged with white, look particularly attractive when wet and shiny, reflecting the silvery light of a September evening.

Mushroom identification, as I have discovered, can be challenging at best. Many species do not even possess popular names and are known only by their Latin monikers. Determining whether or not an example is edible adds another exercise in uncertainty. I have left out the subject of edibility for safety reasons. There are comprehensive resources both in print and online that can provide more authoritative information. To start, here is a trio of websites with a connection to the city environment:

Mycologist Gary Lincoff – “NYC Mushroom Survey”

http://garylincoff.com/?page_id=101

NEMF: The Northeast Mycological Federation, Inc. – “Central Park in NY”

http://www.nemf.org/files/lincoff/centralpark/index.htm

Urban Mushrooms

http://urbanmushrooms.com/

– rPs 09 08 2011

Spring had begun only on the calendar the first time I set out to write an essay for Wildflowers of the West Village in March, 2010. The first subject I found and wrote about at length was not a flower at all, but a fungus. The shelf fungi, members of the genus Ganoderma, provided a pun for the title – “’Conked’ on the Head” – as the fruiting brackets are formally known as conks.

Since that time I have encountered several other varieties of fungi, which are a distinct Kingdom alongside the Animal, Plant, and Bacteria. Wet weather, like the arrival of Hurricane Irene to the New York region, often brings on the quick appearance of these fleshy, often colorful, organisms. A lawn or a bare patch of soil beneath a tree can provide the stage for another kind of wild flowering . . .

Ganoderma lucidem – Lingzhi Mushroom

Lingzhi Mushroom: Ganoderma lucidem

This is the metaphorical bloom that started it all at Wildflowers of the West Village. The fleshy brackets, called conks, grow on tree stumps and other downed wood. This example was photographed on West 13th Street.

The genus Ganoderma was named in 1881 by the Finnish mycologist Petter Adolf Karsten. The family name is Ganodermaceae. The species pictured here is Ganoderma lucidem, the Lingzhi Mushroom: an Asian immigrant, harvested for its medicinal properties, which now has a cosmopolitan (global) distribution.

Conocybe lactea – White Dunce Cap

White Dunce Cap: Conocybe lactea

A delicate, fragile, small fry of a gilled mushroom, the White Dunce Cap is the pale little lawn decoration one often finds on dewy summer mornings. The one pictured here was photographed within the grass of Hudson River Park.

Leucoagaricus americanus (also listed as Lepiota americana)

Leucoagaricus americanus (also listed as Lepiota americana)

The quintessential urban mushroom identified by its scaly cap. This species grows in waste places where sawdust, wood, or mulch is available. The trio shown above was found nestled in a quiet composted corner of a West Village apartment building’s landscaping.

Mutinus elegans – Elegant Stinkhorn

Elegant Stinkhorn: Mutinus elegans

The most phallic of fungi, the Elegant Stinkhorn lives up to its odiferous nomenclature. This photo proves that scent is an essential component of its existence, as it draws flies in droves. Often found in loose groups on damp lawns. Very colorful, its “elegant” orange appearance cultivates a bloom of sorts, although one best viewed from a distance, or with nose pinched. The singular example illustrated, which stood six inches in height, actually grew with several others beside a yew bush in Hudson River Park.

Now that Hurricane Irene has passed over Manhattan, there should be a bloom of fungi species to see, and sometimes smell, over the next few days. In fact, just after Hudson River Park was closed to prepare for a predicted storm surge, I found this lone example already rising from the soaked loam of a liittle park beside the West Side Highway . . .

A solitary mushroom sprouting near the West Side Highway as Hurricane Irene arrives. (photo taken 08 27 2011)

– rPs 08 28 2011

Postscript: Read “‘Conked’ on the Head” by following this link: http://wildflowersofthewestvillage.com/2010/03/29/conked-on-the-head/