Ephemeral Woods

The first wave of ephemeral flowers is waning, including the last of the Bloodroot, above, now replaced by a single, giant leaf for capturing the diminished sunlight of the greening woods.

Now, Wood Anemone, Anemone quinquefolia, can be seen in clusters, although not always in flower.

Here, a pink-hued Wood Anemone flower next to the inflorescence of Pennsylvania Sedge.

 And here, in white.

I am most excited to find large patches of Cutleaf Toothwort, Cardamine concatenata, on the northeast facing slopes, under the dying oaks and growing sugar maples.




I've become critically aware of the value of dying trees and fallen timber to the continuity of all life within the woods.

A tree growing for over a century dies (I've counted rings). The loss of leaves allows sunlight and additional moisture.

Maybe the tree is blown down in a violent summer storm or felled by constant gusts behind a strong winter cold front. As it falls, its massive, dense wood contorts and dismembers younger trees on its way down, creating an even bigger hole in the canopy.

Seeds that have moved via wind, runoff, or even more so by insects and small animals may be well placed, lying in wait for this opportunity to sprout. But you didn't notice because all that concerned you was the giant that came crashing down. A couple of years or more later, the presence of the fallen giant less prominent, there in the clearing is something new.

The Woods Today

Back in NYC I might take a walk from time to time, but more often than not it was for the purpose of getting somewhere that I might find myself on a walk. Today, after gaining some ground on research for my (other, new) summer course Shipwreck of the Minotaur at the Mayapple Center for the Arts and Humanities, I chose to take a walk through the woods with some purpose in mind, but mostly to get out of doors for an hour. I did need to check on the sap buckets, as cooler weather has extended our sap season, and also to check on my Easter day's garlic mustard eradication project around the back slough.

I've kept my eye on the Tradescantia spp. that I transplanted from Brooklyn last year in a new garden where the old lilac used to dwell. It looks to have survived. The same garden is now home to the old Brooklyn 'New Dawn' climber rose (a rose that has seen four different yards over its years), a sedum I found growing here in the woods, Dicentra eximia from Brooklyn too, and whatever else was growing there that we've decided to allow (and hopefully not that horseradish I did my best to dig out).

In the front yard, all varieties of garlic are now soaking up the sun. Incidentally, these are not German Hardy, but an artichoke variety, possibly with 'giant' in the name, that were shipped gratis, likely because of poor size thanks to drought and fire in the garlic seed producing region. There are as many commas in that sentence as garlic in this row, but my point is that the sign is a stand in.

I headed into the woods, although the wind made for a biting chill and a hazardous walk through the ready-to-fall. So much dead wood squeaking and creaking like a brig on the open seas, I hesitated to pause for the earliest of ephemerals like Virginia Waterleaf, Hydrophyllum virginianum or the mystery plant, below, that caught my eye as I hiked off path to navigate a significant enlargement of the water line in the back slough.

I was motivated to get back to the slopes of the slough to check on the garlic mustard that I chose to spray with a low percentage mix of glyphosate and water last Sunday. Spring is the time to deal with garlic mustard, particularly March and the earliest of April. Virginia Waterleaf, ramps, some rosa species, a few asters, and other early, less pernicious weeds are coming up and I have no desire to affect those in the act of ridding the woods of garlic mustard. In these zones hundreds, probably thousands, of garlic mustard seedlings are sprouting from the seed bank. It was not an easy decision to spray, especially within a yard of the slough's water line. And I am frustrated to report that after six days the results were not significant. Most leaves were mottled, but the plants were not in the state of distress I would have expected. I've considered that I may need to apply a second course, although I am not happy about that. It was necessary to do so, even with a much higher percentage of glyphosate, on the buckthorn "hedge" growing alongside the garage pad. What I have to consider is the compression of the wet soil in spring. It appears to me the less foot steps, the better, especially after the frost heave has done such a nice job of loosening, aerating, and draining the soil surface.

In the past I thought garlic mustard didn't do well in flooded soil, and maybe it won't if the slough remains flooded. However, what I've seen is that in early spring the ice melts and freezes and this heave extracts the garlic mustard from the mucky soil. It then floats, roots and all, in the spring melt water, preserved in a cool water bath until conditions improve. At the water's edge the leaves and stems of garlic mustard are bluish gray to the deepest purple and often hard to spot against the dark water. The garlic mustard a foot or two away, on drier land, have some purple to the stems, but the leaves are quite green. So green, in fact, that it is a little painful to pull or spray at this time where you find yourself longing for the green of spring.

So what happens to this water's edge garlic mustard? Does it die? I don't think so. Many of the plants, some of which I simply scooped out of the water and some which were easily pulled from the muck, had the biggest roots. Garlic mustard is a biennial, so last year the seedlings emerged and grew strong, despite the waterlogged soil, and this year they are ready to grow and set seed. I'm not willing to wait for the sake of observation, yet I am sure many will escape my vision or reach, and I will be a witness to their success.

As I make my way around the slough, eyes to the ground, I think much about what good the garlic mustard could be doing. What species make use of it for cover or for food? Does it stabilize the soil on the wooded slopes? Is balance achievable? Is garlic mustard simply symptomatic of a woods so degraded by other culprits (err, humans, for instance)? In other words, how necessary is the work I've begun, and am I causing more harm than good? And, you know, I like questions.

If you would like to see more photographs of the woods, follow me on Instagram @frankmeuschke where I post regularly under the hashtag #thewoodstoday.

May Flowers

It is the season of the oak gall wasp, bungeeing caterpillars, and relentless paper wasps. At night its June bugs bouncing off screens and, tonight, the first lightning bugs. We have been miraculously without mosquitoes -no one's complaining.

In the woods Red Columbine, Aquilegia canadensis, bloom.

It's a bit regal

In its dusty crown.

The first sight of the Woods Geranium, Geranium maculatum, is always a surprise in the shadowy under-canopy.

Geranium grows throughout the woods, but only one here, two there. In the area I call the council circle (laughably and yet to be introduced here) the geranium grow profusely.

Virginia Wetleaf, Hydrophyllum virginianum, has been in flower for over two weeks now.

It's pale purple mass of flowers create glowing, floating dollops wherever it grows (and that is nearly everywhere).

Cutleaf ToothWort

Images of the Eastern Forest native ephemeral Cutleaf Toothwort, Cardamine concatenata growing in our woods.

Ramp On

Ramps! I'd forgotten about them, curious as that is because I did have plans to plant them at some point in the future. As with any forage, I questioned my instinct, and kneeled down for a leaf tear. Unmistakable onion scent, however more, um, woodsy, earthy, funky even, with the slightest floral essence.  The taste? Earthy, mild onion and exceptionally sweet (especially after our 30 degree nights). Our ramp is Allium tricoccum var. burdickii, a contested species or variation of the Allium tricoccum found at ramp festivals of Appalachia and farmers' markets of the North American east.

I stood admiring my patch, how wonderful the woods can be, until the creaking timbers above my head urged me on. As I continued my walk I discovered another four or five small patches. A number low enough to recall each without resorting to markers or maps. Consistent preference for slopes (prompting Betsy to humorously suggest it as another origin of its name) and well-shaded, summering sites suggested that they should have blanketed our shady, sloping woods.

The next day, cool and damp after a decent rain, I stepped into a woods of rain softened, pliable leaves under foot. I floated. Squirrels and chipmunks went about their business unaware of my approach, but wary were the ducks that fluttered into flight the moment the chorus of frogs went silent. No matter, I wasn't out in soft shoes and sweater to see the ducks, I was out to collect a few ramps for dinner.

I began to spot more and more ramp colonies, in all corners of the woods, although mostly out back and along the south-facing side slope. They grew under most species of trees, often near the trunk, nearly always on a slope, yet in one instance on a flat near the great wetland. In all cases an abundance of leaf litter, and in none was there any garlic mustard (although prevalent nearby in at least a couple of locations). There are so many patches that I, like a squirrel forgetting his buried nuts, can hardly remember a portion of them. This is for the best, as there is plenty for the two of us, and we must ensure the continuance of the species.

Our ramps belong to the variation burdickii. The common ramp grows in dense colonies, with relatively large leaves, and most strikingly shows red or purple coloration just above the bulb along the lower stem. A variation burdickii colony shows fewer individual plants, has somewhat shorter, more slender leaves, and does not show purple coloration on its all-white stem. Burdickii flowers significantly earlier than its counterpart and is also more likely to reproduce from seed due, in part, to the colony's open habit.

Along with the popularity of ramps in restaurants and home kitchens, they have become abundant at New York area farmers' markets and on foragers' tables. New York State has declared Allium tricoccum var. burdickii as endangered, placing it on its protected native species list. It cannot be legally wild-harvested, although Allium tricoccum is still open to harvesting (for now). Given the rarity of burdickii, it is unlikely that you will find much of it in New York, but if you do, don't harvest.

If you find yourself salivating over a patch of ramps, check for a dense colony habit, then pull away some soil to look for purple coloration on the lower stem. If you're sure you've got the right ramp, only pluck a few whole plants from each colony, or better, just clip a single leaf from several plants. Ramps take several years to mature, and several more if the colony is severely depleted, so please contain your harvest zeal. The bulbs may be four inches below the soil surface, so dig deeply with a long, slender trowel without disturbing or severing several neighboring bulbs. Do not trample ramps or other plants on your way to them and be mindful of seedlings along the edges of the colony. Finally, beware of causing soil erosion on the wooded slopes ramps prefer.

In our woods we will tread lightly, doing what we can to minimize competitors like garlic mustard, Alliaria petiolata, and take a measured harvest. Tomorrow I'll cut a few new leaves to eat with eggs. Sure, I cook, but here's a local chef with the real ramps recipes.

Bloodroot and Other Ephemera

The march of spring ephemerals is on. One of the first is Bloodroot, Sanguinaria canadensis. I spotted this one near the driveway and waited for it to open.

Morning to evening, I always missed open hours.

Another day, I found a group on the north slope, just off the old tractor road.

Brilliant. Bloodroot (above), sedge, ramps (not blooming, but edible), and Cutleaf Toothwort are up and doing their ephemeral thing. The last one, Cardamine concatenata, is new to me. It has finely cut foliage and delicate four petal flowers. It is a lovely plant. Should its leaves hold on as the season progresses, it may be a good candidate for a garden bed.

The Minnesota Wildflowers site helped me identify this one -first reported a couple of weeks ago. It's name is Virginia Wetleaf, Hydrophyllum virginianum, and native to the eastern woodlands of which we are on the very western edge.

It is so much easier to identify plants with their flowers and, as is so often the case, guides use bloom time to categorize species. Not knowing when this plant was going to bloom added to the challenge. So, I simply clicked on every spring blooming wild flower link until I found a leaf that roughly matched. The match had leaf markings that my original image did not show. I went out and looked at them again. The telltale markings, the source of the common name, were now apparent. With flower pictures to complement the ID, I also recalled seeing these flowers around the woods in June. Wonderful.

Of course, new things are popping up all the time.

All the while the leaves on the trees are a ticking clock that soon strikes shade.