Redbud Leaffolders and Orchids--Herrontown Woods in July

While the woods seems to slumber, July brings another wave of flowers at the Herrontown Woods botanical garden and the Veblen House grounds. Whether the number of flowers constitutes a wave or a ripple, the photography that is standing in lieu of an actual nature walk during COVID times captures something of the feel of walking the pathways.

I have seldom seen Culvers Root growing in the wild, but it is a native with a beautiful form to its flowers. You can see the flowers beginning to open at the bottom of a spike, commencing a slow progression upward that serves the pollinators well.

The mountain mint donated to us is thriving, its strong minty flavor protecting it from the deer.

Shrubby St. Johns Wort blooms for a long stretch in the summer, living up to its latin name, Hypericum prolificum. The deer leave it alone as well.

We human deer are letting a few pokeweeds grow to maturity. It has an annual stem growing from a perennial root, and can become too numerous if left unchecked. A previous post mentions the intentional or unintentional use of its berries as a dye, and an interesting tree-like relative it has down in Argentina, called the ombu.

Not sure what this soporific bumble bee was doing on a velvety leaf of wooly mullein, a dramatic nonnative weed I associate with rail lines in the midwest, but which shows up here and there in Princeton.

The drought prompted the installation of a gutter and cistern next to the roof of the kiosk at the Herrontown Woods parking lot. One rain keeps us in water for weeks, as we walk around the gardens, giving new plantings a much needed drink.

Insects have been taking advantage of the many kinds of native plants we're growing--more than 100 species thus far. Meadow rue, for instance, is a seldom encountered wildflower in Princeton, discouraged by shade and the appetites of deer. But in the botanical garden, we can grow it in a protected, sunny setting. On May 10th this year, one of the tall meadow rues was found "donating" its foliage to caterpillars of the Meadow Rue Owlet moth, Calyptra canadensis. Thus a protected setting for seldom seen plants provides habitat for specialized insect species that otherwise have slim pickings in Princeton.

Another giving was discovered a couple days ago, on a redbud tree, some of whose leaves were folded up and turning brown.

Strands of silk tether the leaves, making protective chambers within the wrappings.

Opening one up, like a clamshell, reveals some energetic caterpillars busy chowing down and leaving dark trails of frass in their wake.

The speedy caterpillars are larvae of the leaf folder moth, with the provocative latin name Fascista cercerisella. Readers will be relieved to know that the insect is not a fascist. Originally, the word meant "bundle", as in a bundle of sticks, which can be extended to bundles of people who are part of a political movement. A fascicle means a bundle of leaves or flowers, while the Fascista caterpillar bundles itself up in a folded over leaf. The "cerce" in cercerisella likely comes from the insect's preference for laying its eggs on redbud trees, Cercis canadensis.

Up the trail at Veblen House, a patch of wineberries is going uneaten. As we've been clearing the invasive growth on the Veblen House grounds, a neighbor lamented that we had removed her favorite patch of wineberries, whose fruit are one of the small rewards for those who persevere through the muggy heat of a Princeton summer. Responding to neighborhood input, we've kept a few patches of wineberries.

Few will notice that the green fringed orchids at Veblen House are in full bloom. We've caged some to protect them from the deer. Below is an enchanting closeup of the flowers, giving the impression of wood sprites.

The Many Blooms of June

There's a wooden heron that looks out on our backyard garden. I hope it's happy with its bay window habitat of orchids, christmas cactus and aloe vera, and pleased with all our efforts to steer the sun- and rain-drenched plant growth beyond the window pane.

The garden is a collection of mostly natives with a few non-natives mixed in. A garden and a mind are enriched, one by the other. A plant often has to first make it into the mind before it can find it's way into the garden, and the garden can surprise the mind with what pops up. Over time, both the garden and mind gain in variety.

It's been a particularly good year for the Virginia sweetspire, which along with its sweet spires has the added bonus of creating suckers near its base that can be dug and moved to new spots.

Elderberry makes up in berries and blooms what it lacks in grace. Maybe this year, being less distracted, and if the covetous catbirds cut us some slack, we'll set about harvesting the berries and making those delicious pies remembered from youth.

Most azaleas people see are evergreen and not native, but there are some wonderful deciduous native azaleas like this swamp azalea. Pinxter azaleas were once common in Princeton woodlands.

More subtle is the native Euonymus that are mostly browsed down to a few inches high in local woodlands by the deer. Their ornament comes later in the year, with the bright berries that give them the name Hearts-a-bustin. These I found locally, grew to size, and have begun placing in the "botanical garden" at Herrontown Woods, protected by cages. Otherwise they would be eaten down and never flower or make berries.

Even more subtle is winterberry--a holly that's growing in one of our miniponds. Our front and back gardens get a boost from runoff from the roof and the neighbor's yard, all directed into many shallow depressions where the water can collect and seep into the ground. Managed well, the puddles can serve as mosquito traps, luring female mosquitoes to lay their eggs, then drying out before the larvae can mature.

Sundrop flowers surround the leaves of richweed.

Fringed loosestrife seems a delicate and bashful native, with flowers pointed down, but has been a surprisingly aggressive spreader when placed in the protected, fertile environs of a garden. It may need to be planted in a shadier spot where it won't have so much energy to expand.

Beardtongue (Penstemon) blooming in a garden means it's also blooming out in the wild.

The deeper depressions we have in the backyard swale are populated by all sorts of plants that thrive in wet, sunny spots. This is royal fern, which stays in place, while sensitive fern tends to spread.

Many kinds of sedges provide a nice background texture. This one is fox sedge, which is less ornamental than fringed sedge and bladder sedge.

A personal favorite is soft rush, whose green "blooms" arise partway up the darker green leaf stems, like elaborate earrings. It's stems may be soft but it's a tough plant that can be found growing in ditches. Bring it into the garden and it achieves a graceful vase-like shape that makes for an accent that's both striking and subtle.

Botany teaches us to make distinctions, for instance between sedges and rushes--which look like grasses but aren't--and the many attractive plants that actually are grasses, like this deertongue grass, here shown next to a rising sea of jewelweed.

Fragrant Japanese honeysuckle always finds a way to survive our periodic attempts to discourage its rampancy.

Across the street, unfettered Japanese honeysuckle is overwhelming a hedge. Eventually, the hedge will die from all the competition, and the honeysuckle vine will play king of the slowly collapsing mountain as the suffocated shrub rots and buckles from the weight. Passerby will still think it's a hedge.

Coral honeysuckle--the native honeysuckle vine--grows along Nassau Street.

Meanwhile, back in the backyard, bottlebrush buckeyes are working on some spires,

and the oak-leaved hydrangias are getting ready to put on a show.

During a pandemic, it feels like such wealth to have nature close by, thriving through it all.

Some May Wildflowers

A random assembly of May wildflowers, some seen here, some there.

Fringe tree is more like a shrub, but sometimes achieves the size of a small dogwood. Give it some sun and it will fill its form with lacy white in May. Native to the southeast U.S., I've seen it growing in the wild only once, in a preserve we created in Durham, NC. Some internet postings say it can be attacked by the emerald ash borer, but we have two that are flourishing thus far.

This black cherry was blooming conveniently next to a friend's front porch. Black cherries have "black potato chip" bark and little black cherries preferred more by birds than humans. They are common in backyards and in the wild, thriving on edges or in younger forests, before getting shaded out by larger trees.

Two other flowering trees easy to spot along roadsides this time of year are black locust, with its masses of white flowers, and princess tree (Paulownia tomentosa), an asian species with tubular purple flowers.

Another friend who was donating a tree to us happened to have a Leucothoe in his backyard. A good specimen like this can be attractive. There are native species--one that goes by the name "doghobble"--but I can't say I've ever actually seen them growing in the wild.

Big-leafed magnolia--relative of the very common tulip tree--is one of many seldom seen native magnolias. There are some growing in an area of the Institute Woods in Princeton, but I had also seen one growing in Herrontown Woods a few years ago, some distance off one of the trails, downslope from the ridge. Not remembering where it was exactly, I wondered if I'd ever encounter it again. Then one day recently my friend Kurt was showing me some trail work that he and his wife Sally were doing. Our conversation, which began shifting from trails into philosophy and history, took me out of my usual way of moving through that particular section of trail, and when I looked up I saw in the distance the big-leafed magnolia, twice the size it was before and in full bloom.

Each flower is like a candle centered on a platter of leaves.

Surprised to see cuckoo flower still blooming,

and rue anemone, too, is having a long season in this cool spring weather.

Mayflower can cover the ground in leaves but few flowers, as is the habit with trout lily earlier in the spring.

Each leaf of Jack-in-the-Pulpit has three leaflets. Males have one leaf, while the females, arising from a more robust root with enough stored energy to support production of seeds, has two. Each individual plant can change sex, year to year.

Jack-in-the-Pulpits are fairly common, in part because deer often leave them alone. If they do browse the leaves, it's more often of the females, whose leaves may be more nutritious.

Golden ragwort in the field next to Veblen House,

growing in what looks like a field of grass, but in this small patch there is no grass but instead something unidentified, more like a sedge or rush.

Wild geranium adds some color along trails.

Fairly rare is the wild comfrey, with a few small flowers lifted above a rosette of big velvety leaves, growing only on the special soils of the ridge.

This cool, wet spring is showing the showy orchid to be more widespread along the ridge than I had previously thought.

A bellwort with its yellow flower hanging like a bell.

A bit of a celebration here. These are the first blooms of a native azalea relocated to a sunny area of our botanical garden next to the parking lot at Herrontown Woods. This species, once common along the ridge, has long been prevented from blooming in the wild due to deer browsing and deep shade.

Some Early Spring Flowers Along the Princeton Ridge

Though google was indicating that local nature preserves are closed due to the pandemic, my understanding is that only active recreation areas, e.g. playgrounds, tennis courts, etc., are closed. Hiking is still allowed. (photo of flyer should expand if you click on it)

Many people were out today enjoying the good weather and hiking in Herrontown Woods, Autumn Hill, and no doubt in other Princeton preserves well situated on the special soils of the ridge, like Witherspoon Woods, Woodfield Reservation, and higher elevations at Mountain Lakes.

Below are some photos of common flowers hikers are likely to encounter at Herrontown Woods and elsewhere.

Spring beauty (Claytonia virginica) is the most common, carpeting some areas. A couple times, when I noticed these were being pollinated by a tiny bee, I crouched down to take a photo only to have the bee drop down onto a dead leaf and stay still, as if trying to hide.

The tongue-shaped leaves of trout lily (Erythronium americanum) carpet some areas as well, and some of the leaves even produce the elegant yellow flowers.

You could say "Thalictrum thalictroides," or you could say rue anemone (Roo a-NEM-un-ee). The photo is a closeup. This is a little flower.

Mayapples emerge like a closed umbrella that then deploys, hiding the flower underneath the leaf.

Violets are a just starting to show up.

Bloodroots are less common, and have larger flowers than the others. Their latin name is Sanguinaria canadensis, in the poppy family. Their enthusiastic bloom always makes me feel sanguine when I see one. They power their flower with last year's energy. The flower is soon gone, after which the seeds mature and the leaf expands and deploys like a solar panel to collect energy for next year's bloom.

Skunk cabbage lines the streams with its big, odiferous, cabbage-like leaves.

There was a shrub, painted buckeye, that lined the streams in the North Carolina piedmont and greened up early in spring. Pilots were said to be able to navigate by the ribbons of green etched in the spring landscape by the buckeyes. It's possible skunk cabbage once played a similar role.

Here's the mighty roar of the skunk cabbage flower, which pops up very early in spring, before the foliage.

The wood anemones start blooming a few days later, carpeting some areas of the ridge. Latin name is Anemone quinquefolia, with the species name meaning 5-parted leaves.

That's about it for the early flowering natives that are most likely to be encountered. Others like toothwort, hepatica, and Virginia pennywort are seldom seen.

The wild geraniums have put out their leaves, but are in less of a hurry to get their flowers out there.

Jack in the Pulpit is also up, about to open up its pulpit with Jack inside.

Black cohosh will bloom much later, but is sending up leaves.