Posts Tagged Nature

The Quest for the Goldenrod

The Quest for the Goldenrod . . .

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/

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The Breakfast Bloom

The Breakfast Bloom . . .

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

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Wildflower Art: The End of Summer

Wildflower Art: The End of Summer . . .

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

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More Fungi of the West Village

More Fungi of the West Village . . .

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

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Fungi of the West Village

Fungi of the West Village . . .

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/

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Red, White, and Blooms

Red, White, and Blooms . . .

Today is the Fourth of July, 2011: Independence Day; the 235th birthday of the United States of America. Wildflowers of the West Village would like to celebrate the holiday with three local flowers, each sporting one of the nation’s three patriotic primary colors.

Red Clover (Trifolium pretense)

Red Clover (photo taken 06 2011)

Field Bindweed (Convolvulus arvensis)

Field Bindweed (photo taken 06 2011)

Asiatic Dayflower (Commelina communis)

Asiatic Dayflower (photo taken 06 2011)

- rPs 07 04 2011

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Mallow Be Thy Name

Mallow Be Thy Name . . .

Mallow, Malva parviflora, blooms along the busy strip of Hudson Street near the Meatpacking District. (photo taken 06 11 2011)

Color is the central organizing principle of wildflower study. There are a variety of plant structures essential to plant identification. Texture of stem, shape of leaf, and size of seed are all useful. Pause here, though, and look to the far right at the “Categories” section. Open a field guide or three as well. Color is key. Originality is highly desirable, a goal for which to strive, yet I can think of no naturalist, amateur or professional, who first asks: “Do the leaves alternate on the stem?” A flower’s color is a plant’s primary visual element. They are called wildflowers, not wild stems or wild leaves, for this reason.

Human nature, the nature of the universe, or both cause complexity to branch out before one can even move beyond the fundamental of color. Beyond the basic primary spectrum resides the subtlety of shades and hues. Phrases like “light blue” and “greenish orange” convey the basic point of appearance, yet there are times when a single precise vocabulary word would be better.

Take for example the color purple; a theme that has emerged in my outdoor observations during this month of June. There are numerous variations. One became the name of a classic rock band: Deep Purple. Some plants are so distinct and singular that their names have become synonymous with a specific shade: lavender, lilac, and violet.

Turning to foreign tongues, the French coined the term for a shade of pale purple endemic to a specie of wildflower I recently found growing, and blooming, in the West Village near the corner of Hudson and Gansevoort. The French term is “malva” – a pale purple known in the English as mauve.

Malva parviflora, known also as cheeseweed or marshmallow, is an herbaceous perennial immigrant from Europe and North Africa. The plant resembles a low creeper like ground ivy or deadnettle. The leaves are alternate, lobed, and scalloped like a cultivated geranium. The blossoms cluster in small groups beneath the leaves in a manner familiar to those who have grown zucchini or melons. The flowers consist of five white petals striped with mauve ridges. The flowers look like miniature versions of their tall, vertical, domesticated relative, the hollyhock.

Mauve on Hudson Street: The unique shade of purple found in the mallow plant's blossom inspired the French word "malva". (photo taken 06 11 2011)

The mallow, a member of the family Malvaceae, has some use as an herb (anti-inflammatory and antioxidant) and also makes a fine ground cover in garden corners. On a personal level, Malva parviflora gave me a good artist’s exercise in describing that most fundamental of visual concepts –

Color.

 – rPs 06 27 2011

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Bloomsday 2011

Bloomsday 2011 . . .

Wild Columbine, Aquilegia canadensis, blooms in Central Park on . . . Bloomsday, of course. (photo taken 06 16 2011)

Today, June 16th, is Bloomsday, the date into which all the Dublin world of the character Leopold Bloom was condensed in the novel Ulysses by James Joyce.

Last year I wrote an extensive essay that ties together all the threads of meaning this literary holiday holds for me as a writer. Here is the link for further reading:

http://wildflowersofthewestvillage.com/2010/06/16/bloomsday/

During my years in Philadelphia, I spent Bloomsday in and around the Rosenbach Museum & Library, which has the original handwritten manuscript of the novel in its extensive holdings. Every June 16th, rain or shine, the 2000 block of Delancey Place becomes a gentile gathering place for fans, and lovers, of the novel. There, on the Rosenbach’s stoop, the novel is read aloud with musical interludes culled from the text. Various celebrities, literary and otherwise, take turns reading passages from the big good book. I had the pleasure to do so on the 100th anniversary year, 2004. The placard placed in front of the microphone as I read my script listed me as:

ron P. swegman

Angler & Author

This moment in the literary limelight still makes me smile. Squeezed between Mister Mayor and Madame University President was this “Angler & Author” fellow who read the “Proteus” section of Ulysses with an ear for the complex cadence of Joyce’s prose. Who was he? Well, at that time, he was the author of the forthcoming collection of stories Philadelphia on the Fly.

This year, as a New Yorker, the ”work-in-progress” is Wildflowers of the West Village. I spent this Bloomsday to that end in Central Park. I first fly fished at Harlem Meer where the purple pickerel weed was in full flower. I next hiked through the North Woods, down through the heart of the park, around the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir, finishing up at Columbus Circle. Seven plus hours of shoe leather in total; kind of like Joyce’s own epic wanderer.

The star bloom on this day turned out to be Wild Columbine, Aquilegia canadensis, a member of the family Ranunculaceae (Joyce would probably appreciate my generous use of the Latin). This pretty flower is a native perennial, fond of woodlands (where I found the plants I photographed), and one of the more delicate red wildflowers to be found near the cusp of spring and summer.

Happy Bloomsday . . .

Closeup view of the distinctive bell-shaped bloom of Wild Columbine, Aquilegia canadensis. (photo taken 06 16 2011)

- rPs 06 16 2011

Postscript: Visit the Rosenbach Museum & Library online here: http://www.rosenbach.org/

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Week One along the High Line, Section Two

Week One along the High Line, Section Two . . .

The opening weekend crowd packs the 20th Street gateway to the new Section Two of the High Line. (photo taken 06 11 2011)

One week ago today the High Line opened its Section Two. The new span stretches beside 10th Avenue between 20th and 30th Streets. This expansion doubles the length of the park and includes some new features such as the 23rd Street Lawn, an elevated grassy area designed for public relaxation.

Two visits have plunged me into humongous crowds that resemble market days at Union Square. The High Line may be twice as long, but it is at least ten times more popular, too. Several articles in The New York Times alone have celebrated the new opening as well as the park’s solid reputation as a crime-free zone. Today’s visitors included a crowd surrounding a cooking celebrity and a model who was posing for a fashion layout. The results of this attention already show on the park. The much vaunted lawn has been closed off due to wear from the opening week’s foot traffic.

I am of the opinion that the outdoors and parks in particular are areas designated for open space, quietude, and contemplation. The added popularity of the park is a good thing, but just now this finite space has become a bit overrun. Once the bandwagon of green celebrities and politicians has moved on, the High Line will certainly settle back into the more manageable and pleasant level of use the park has experienced since its initial opening two years ago. That will be the time for serious urban naturalists to explore this unique blend of sustainable nature within an ever-changing city environment

Unlike media attention, celebrity sightings, or sound bites from politicians, the High Line is here to stay.

Wildflowers in the foreground, the Empire State Building in the background: just one of the unique urban nature views availabe on the elevated greenway of the High Line. (photo taken 06 14 2011)

– rPs 06 14 2011

postscript: Click on the “High Line” link listed under the Blogroll to visit the Friends of the High Line website.

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The Color Purple, or “Oh, It’s Canada”

The Color Purple, or “Oh, It’s Canada” . . .

Canada Thistle, Cirsium arvense, adds some pastel purple color to the green edges of the West Side Highway. (photo taken 06 09 2011)

June is in bloom. The weather has been sunny, warm, and very dry for nearly a month. In fact, New York City has received less rain in the past four weeks (approximately two inches) than it did during just one wet day in early May. The damp early spring continues to support a healthy late spring bloom marked by steady, vigorous growth both in the variety and number of wild flowering plants. Now a second wave of wildflowers has sprung into view. The delicate pastels of April and May have been replaced by the hardier blue, white, and yellow of Asiatic Dayflower, Galinsoga, and Yellow Sow Thistle, to name a few.

The vast Asteraceae family is well represented by the Dandelion and the Yellow Sow Thistle and now another member of the genus Cirsium, the thistles, has reached the flowering stage. Groups of tall spiny plants have begun to line the West Side Highway, their flowers painting patches of delicate purple. Small in size, yet large in number, these colorful flowers are the calling card of the perennial Canada Thistle.

Cirsium arvense, an immigrant from temperate regions of Eurasia, has found a home across the northern United States and Canada. Individually, the plant rises to about three feet in height. The stems are smooth, the leaves sharply lobed and spiny. The specie’s particular shade of green lacks the bluish cruciferous look of the yellow sow thistle and the spines are neither as thick nor as painful as those of the larger bull thistle.

An individual Canada Thistle clone grows along the border of Hudson River Park. (photo taken 06 09 2011)

The flowers are numerous, light purple in color, and each is supported by a scaled calyx, one of my favorite plant structures, which to my eye resembles an ancient Greek vase. The numerous flowers of a mature Canada Thistle attract honeybees in droves. Each inflorescence is composed of florets, which these industrious insects work over methodically. Sometimes it seems as if there is one bee for each bloom.

Canada Thistle flowers with their numerous florets are a favorite of Manhattan's honeybees. (photo taken 06 09 2011)

The end result for the thistle is a prodigious amount of seeds. However, the massive flowering groups often found growing along river banks, park edges, and city thoroughfares are actually clones. A single Canada Thistle plant sends out a taproot that forms a lateral network in the adjacent area. Buds along this root system send up shoots that emerge all at a time in a growth spurt called a flush. The stalks rise from rosettes and create tightly-knit clonal colonies that can over time get out of hand.

Considered an invasive by most, I still appreciate this immigrant’s beauty. Most urban wildflowers are white or yellow. The color purple of the Canada Thistle is a welcome contrast, as are the insects, like the honeybee, and the songbirds, like the goldfinch, which are attracted to its flowers and achene, respectively.

An immigrant colony of Canada Thistle lends its collective beauty to the Hudson River waterfront. (photo taken 06 09 2011)

 – rPs 06 09 2011

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