Shhh! Be very quiet. There, wrapped in a blanket of snow, the flowers and grasses lie sleeping.
Let them rest while they can. Not much longer will they slumber. Not much longer until they awake and send forth green shoots and colorful blooms. Not much longer until – Spring!
The Conservatory at Longwood Gardens is a welcome respite from the dark and dreary days of winter. Outside the landscaped grounds are cold, bleak and brown. Step indoors and we are welcomed with warmth and color.
Beautiful flowers are everywhere. Some dangle in delicate shades of blush…
While others offer a brighter palette.
Past the Main Conservatory and the Exhibition Hall, the Silver Garden and the Banana House, each step deeper into the labyrinth of corridors and rooms reveals ever more exotic plants. Bird of Paradise.
Round the bend and we are met with a shaft of sunlight illuminating some unusual leaves. Ram’s Horn Croton.
Walking into the Fern Passage brings us among some truly weird and wonderful plants. Look up! See the intricate pattern made from the spore-dotted fronds of the Australian Tree fern that towers over your head.
Turn another direction, and we find ourselves face to face with suspended carnivorous pitcher plants. Smaller ones share a planter with tiny Venus Flytraps.
Wait – our favorite plants seem to be missing. Where are the club mosses? This is Longwood Gardens; they simply have to be here.
And they are. In fact, we were looking right at them. A helpful staff botanist is happy to show us what we missed.
Not mosses at all, club mosses are vascular plants. We are familiar with Lycopodium, which resembles a teeny tiny Christmas tree, but on this Christmas day, we are introduced to Huperzia, sometimes known as fir moss.
These particular Huperzia are called Tassel Ferns.
Passing through the Cascade Garden, we find ourselves in the Rose Alley, which speaks to us of both spring gardens and tropical climes. Water droplets glisten on colorful hibiscus.
Outside it is cold and windy, but inside the Conservatory of Longwood Gardens winter dreams blossom into weird and wonderful life.
Long gone are the warm days of summer, days when families crowded the beach with their beach blankets and umbrellas, their sand pails and horseshoe sets. The only creatures frolicking in the surf are ducks. The stiff ocean breeze, so welcome when the temperature was 80°, is a torment at 35°. Autumn lingers, but teeters on the edge of winter. The beach is empty.
Of humans, but not of wonders.
At last, the beach is ours!
From late fall to mid-spring, the Jersey Shore is ours to explore, empty of crowds and noise. Now there are plenty of treasures to collect, shells and rocks and sea glass, safe from the many feet and the mechanical beach-sweepers of summer.
Lines of dune fencing stretch across white sand to the horizon.
The winter birds arrive at the Shore with the colder weather. Long-tailed Ducks bob in the waves. The females seem to have a lot to say to the pink-billed males.
This sparrow-like bird is a Snow Bunting.
As we walked along the beach at Holgate one November day, we kept seeing these odd tree sculptures. For a bit, we thought some enterprising soul had placed driftwood on end as an artistic expression. Then we realized that these were the broken stumps of dead trees, and we were walking amidst what once had been wooded dunes.
The dunes at Holgate, looking west toward Barnegat Bay. The southern tip of Long Beach Island is a part of the Edwin B. Forsythe National Wildlife Refuge. It didn’t always look like this. Only a few years ago, it was a thicket of dune plants and shrubs. Then Superstorm Sandy paid a visit, inundating the entire area, breeching the island from bay to ocean in places. These weathered roots, trunks and branches are what are left of once vital vegetation. Devastated, but starkly beautiful.
FUN FACT: These plants were flooded with water, but died of thirst. Why? Fresh water flows easily into a plant through the tissues of the roots, a process called osmosis. But this was a saltwater inundation. Ever have a salt shaker gum up in humid weather? Salt absorbs water very easily, pulling water from the plants into the soil and leading to dehydration. It also interferes with the chemical processes by which a plant obtains nutrients. The combination of nutrient and water deficiencies has laid waste to the dune plants.
This is what a healthy dune community should look like. Stone Harbor Point.
Good fences make good neighbors.
Dune fences make good dunes, and if successful, good dune grasses and plants.
Good fences make good backdrops for wildflowers, still abloom in mid-November.
One doesn’t have to go far from the beach to find woodland critters. The gardens at Hereford Lighthouse provide a fine place for squirrels to make a living.
In the late light of day, a pair of American Oystercatchers squabbles.
Even on the edge of winter, wonders abound at the wild edge.
The beauty of the natural world lies in the details.
– Natalie Angier
It’s a big world out there, and sometimes overwhelming. Serenity can be found in tiny treasures. Spend time looking closely at the form of a flower, the lacy veins of a leaf, the tiny grains of sand, and feel the wider world melting away.
Notice the small things. The rewards are inversely proportional.
– Liz Vassey
Regular readers of the Wild Edge may notice that I am drawn to small subjects: dragonflies, snails, lizards, flowers, seeds. While I enjoy landscape photography, it usually isn’t long before I’m isolating part of a scene, or zooming in close on some little detail.
So it was inevitable; I recently purchased a macro lens. For the uninitiated, macro lenses take extreme close-up photos, often of very small subjects. I took it for a walk along the bay beach at Corson’s Inlet State Park, at the southern tip of Ocean City.
Now I will readily admit I violated the First Law of Macro Photography: I didn’t use a tripod. This was just a trial run, and I didn’t expect anything of the session. To my surprise, a few photos seemed worthy of sharing here. If only to inspire you with the beauty to be found if you take a really close look at the small details of Nature around you.
Notice not just the flowers, but the wasp. Not just the wasp, but the grains of pollen on the wasp. Pollen hitching a ride on flying insects is one way plants reproduce.
Details create the big picture.
– Sanford I. Weill
A tiny Ghost Crab stares down a leaf. His mottled coloration camouflages him against the sand. We’ll meet his kind again soon.
Hairs for catching pollen. Spikes for – what? Protection against being eaten?
Another seed pod sports the punk-rock spiky look.
To see a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flower
Hold infinity in the palms of your hand and eternity in an hour.
– William Blake
Grains of sand on a clam shell. Sand is nothing less than teeny-tiny rocks and minerals, many grains as translucent as glass.
Sand and shell on an autumn leaf. The lacy veins carry vital materials in and out of the leaf, including chlorophyll, a green pigment critical to the energy production of photosynthesis. When chlorophyll production ceases in fall, the green fades away and the red and yellow pigments already present in the leaf are revealed.
I still get wildly enthusiastic about little things… I play with leaves. I skip down the street and run against the wind.
– Leo Buscaglia
A closer look at a crab leg, dressed in the colors of a sunset.
When it all feels too much, take time for a walk, and lose yourself in the tiny details of life at the wild edge.
In all things of nature there is something of the marvelous.
– Aristotle
Skipper butterfly, John Heinz National Wildlife Refuge at Tinicum, PA
Wild rice, Heinz NWR
Osprey, Heinz NWR
Cabbage white butterflies, Heinz NWR
Queen Anne’s lace, Heinz NWR
Red-eyed Vireo, Heinz NWR
Zebra swallowtail, Elk Neck State Park, MD
Passion vine flower, Bartram’s Garden, PA
Skipper butterfly, Heinz NWR
Great Blue Heron, Heinz NWR
Black swallowtail, Heinz NWR
Great Egrets, Heinz NWR
Skyline and marsh view, Heinz NWR
Blue dasher dragonfly, Heinz NWR
No cathedral built by man could match the majesty of this forest sanctuary.
Rugged russet trunks rise straight and true to the arched ceiling of deep verdant green.
All is hushed but for the small rustlings of squirrel and chipmunk congregants below, and the whisperings of the wind in the pines that tower above.
The floor is laid, not with stone, but lush ferns and wildflowers. Where some old giant has fallen, light streams through the canopy as through stained glass. Porcupines, pine martens and bears have all walked the aisles of this forest older than time.
The air is still, the mood solemn, the spirit mysterious, eerie, primeval.
Once upon a time, pine forests covered 10 million acres of the North Country. Now only small remnants remain. This 49 acre old growth white pine forest endures at Hartwick Pines State Park in Michigan.
The pines here are thought to be over 300 years old, stand 120 feet or more, and may reach four feet in diameter at breast height. Eastern hemlocks and red pines attend these kings. Below them is a shaded understory so dark, it seems eternally twilight.
At the edges, where maples and beeches mingle with the pines, rests a small chapel.
A church within a church.
Quaint and cozy, yet somehow superfluous.
Are not the pines themselves enough to inspire reverence in such a setting?
Must people seek the Creator within walls while all of Creation stands without?
Step from the forest cathedral, and other mysteries beckon the soul.
This dirt road, for instance.
Don’t you want to know what’s around the next bend?
Let’s see what we can find.
The Au Sable River meanders its way through wetlands and woods, singing a soft hymn as it goes.
Two very different dragonflies share a pew.
A Northern Crescent butterfly preaches from a sunflower lectern.
A choir of brightly cloaked angels.
Glory, Glory, Hallelujah!
Glory Lake reflects the glory of northern Michigan in the colors of azure sky, cobalt water, and emerald pines. At the top of a tall tree nearby perches an Osprey, looking for prey.
Glory Lake, and its sister, Bright Lake, are kettle ponds formed during Michigan’s glacier period. Ice blocks that broke off from the glaciers formed depressions that filled with water after the glaciers retreated.
A trail leads from the ponds into a diverse woodland.
Besides the aspen at left, there are white, red and jack pines.
Spruce, hemlock, and cedar.
Beech, maple and oak trees.
Shrubs, ferns, wildflowers, and a potpourri of plants are also abundant.
It’s a botanist’s dream.
Behold! – Lycopodium!
These are club mosses, but don’t be fooled by that name. They are not true mosses at all, but vascular plants.
Like teeny tiny Christmas trees a few inches high, they bring joy to those who spot them.
These little plants are much favored by the true of heart.
At trail’s end, a quiet spot for contemplation. From towering pine trees to miniscule club mosses, ferocious dragonflies to gentle butterflies, the mysteries of the land inspire reverence and wonder.
May Nature’s blessings be with you all. Go in peace.
The calendar is marching inexorably toward summer. Humidity is building, and the mercury is oozing toward 90 degrees. It seems like only yesterday that we were locked in snow and ice, and suddenly it’s hot. Did we even have a spring this year?
Yes, we did. Like her sister Autumn, Lady Spring is an elusive and ephemeral tease. This year, perhaps pouting at the persistence of the Winter Queen, Spring’s arrival was late, and her stay short. But she did grace us with her presence. I have the evidence!
All of these photos were taken at Mt. Cuba Center in Delaware. Mt. Cuba is a botanical garden with a commitment to using and promoting native plants in its 50 acre cultivated gardens and 500 acre natural areas.
The center offers many classes on horticulture and conservation, and maintains a Trial Garden where various native plants are studied.
The pathway leads through a variety of habitats, including woods, meadows and ponds.
The stars of the show in spring are the Trilliums. They even get their own garden!
Some Trilliums wear camo…
Or come in double-flowered forms.
A shady spot for one of Her Ladyship’s sprites to sit and enjoy her lunch.
Jack in the Pulpit.
Columbine.
These neat flowers were at both Shenk’s Ferry and Mt. Cuba. They gave me fits trying to get a good photo.
Now the Summer Queen is knocking at the door. Lady Spring kept us in suspense this year, and her appearance was brief, but oh, was it worth the wait!
Can you imagine life as a spring ephemeral wildflower? You’ve lain dormant for months, through the summer heat and the cold days of winter. As the weather begins to warm, you awaken. You have a few short weeks to do all your work for the year. Leaf out, feed, bloom, reproduce and set seed; all need to be accomplished before the tree canopy above you leafs out and blocks precious sunlight, and the air turns hot. Better get busy! Virginia Bluebell, above.
Shenk’s Ferry Wildflower Preserve, along the Susquehanna River in Lancaster County, is well-known for its variety of wildflowers. Over 70 different species bloom in the spring, with another 60 peaking during the summer. Trillium.
Don’t expect a cultivated garden if you visit, though. Oh no! This is a wild woodland glen whose main trail traces the path of creek valley. Wildflowers, many tiny, are scattered along the forest floor under the trees, tucked away in the lush understory. Finding these little beauties is worth the effort though. Spring Beauty.
I thought learning to identify different bird species was tough, but it’s nothing compared to plants. I’ve only been studying identification for two years or so, and I’m trying to learn birds, plants, trees, dragonflies, butterflies and lots of other critters – all at the same time.
I’ve tried to put common names to as many of these flowers as I can. If I’ve identified something incorrectly, or not at all, and you know its proper name, PLEASE leave a comment!
Virginia Bluebells and Wild Columbine.
In most cases I’ve only gotten as far as a family or genus name, not the individual species. For instance, this is a Violet. Which one, I have no idea.
I think this might be another Violet.
Or something else entirely.
In identifying plants, the flower is the first classification to make (which can be a problem if the plant isn’t in bloom). The next step is to classify the plant itself (wildflower, shrub, vine) and then look at the leaves.
Don’t let the leaves in this photo fool you; they’re from two different plants.
Here’s Squirrel Corn.
At first I had it labeled as Dutchman’s Breeches, then I looked at Wild Bleeding Heart.
All three plants are in the Dicentra genus, so they’re cousins, and near look-alikes.
This isn’t a wildflower, but a mushroom known as a morel. It will be as short-lived as the spring ephemerals.
I have no idea. Do you?
Wild Geranium.
Does anyone know this lovely lady’s name?
Once the heat sets in, and the trees cast permanent shade, your time to get productive work done has passed. Is this the end for you? Not at all. Though your flowers and perhaps your leaves will wither, you have firm roots in the soil. Like all ephemeral wildflowers, you will go dormant, sleeping away the passing seasons until spring arrives and you blossom anew.
The Wild Edge 