I had found in Cranberry Swamp, north of the pond on June 14th. But
Merwin’s mother told me that without doubt they had been gathered on
Saturday afternoon, June 19th, by three students from Williams College;
she had seen two of them come around the hill by the pond about five
o’clock on that day, bearing a new bushel-basket filled with these
gorgeous orchids, while the third soon followed laden with more than
he could easily carry far in his arms. They followed the cool mountain
road over the Domelet to Williamstown, a road over which the yeomen from
northern Berkshire were led to battle at Bennington, on the 16th of
August, 1777. The road is seldom traversed now, and at best is rough and
rocky. It leads directly from Bennington southward to North Adams, under
the mountains, and indirectly to Boston.
Had the storm come on Saturday, instead of Monday, very few blossoms of
these orchids would have decorated the church chancel on Baccalaureate
Sunday for Williams’ Commencement exercises.
The fact that these students come to the Pownal bogs for these orchids
assured me of the scarcity and rarity of the species in Williamstown,
although they may be found sparingly in the swamps of The Forks along
Broad Brook, just over the Vermont State Line in Pownal. This stream
rises on the east side of the Majestic Dome, and flows down to the Hoosac
by way of White Oaks, and thus enters Williamstown, where it soon joins
the river. The orchids in The Forks are quickly plundered, long before
June 20th, by ignorant tourists or students afield botanizing, who either
do not realize or do not care that plucking all these rare blossoms will
in time bring about their total extinction.
Orchids may in many instances produce seeds in abundance, but why they do
not reproduce more seedlings is a problem not easily solved nor remedied.
Darwin once estimated that a single spike of the English Orchis (_Orchis
masculata_) produced over 186,000 seeds, and that at this rate its
grandchildren would soon carpet the earth; while Müller says also that
his brother estimated 1,750,000 seeds in a single capsule of another
species of the family (_Maxillaria_). We must remember that the species
of _Orchidacea_ are not as a rule self-fertilized, as are the more
abundant and common flowers and weeds, which often cover acres of swampy
land and fields of waste land. Our native orchids are wholly dependent
upon insects for fertilization and cross-fertilization; yet, for some
cause or other, comparatively few of the ripened and fertile seeds
germinate and reproduce new seedlings. Our Moccasin-Flowers do not appear
to multiply in many swamps, while species of Orchis and Habenaria are
never abundant in this region.
For years now, I have noticed large groups of the Showy Lady’s Slippers
growing in Rattlesnake Swamp near Lloyd Spring, and I can find little
increase in the number of plants, or the size of the old snarl of roots.
In fact, they seem to be diminishing in numbers.
There is an old colony in this region that has stood for about
seventy-five years, much the same in size, on the authority of the old
inhabitants of this neighborhood. It stands to-day among the shrub-like
willows and swamp maples, at the feet of little scrub pines and dwarf
double spruces, hidden from the sight of travellers in the path by a
prostrate tree trunk and decaying primeval pine stump. I observed this
colony years ago, and this season it appeared the same to me, occupying
a space about two feet square. I counted forty-two full-grown flowers,
many stems bearing two blossoms. This indeed was one of the most charming
sights, suggesting the luxuriance of the humid climate of the tropics. It
was even more enchanting than the colony of Pink Moccasin-Flowers,—that
famous group of two hundred buds which the children in District Fourteen
secured ahead of me, since this group of flowers were massed more closely
together. I wished a sight of the Pink Moccasin-Flowers at their best.
I left these, too, undisturbed save by the little moths and mosquitoes
and honeybees, which came to drink the nectar within the pearly pink and
white cups.
Notwithstanding the recent hailstorms, which had split many cups and
spilt the dew, the flowers were developing plump, hard seed-capsules.
Thousands of fertile seeds must fall and fly about from this colony; and
yet the aged snarl of roots remains the same.
A unique row of seedlings of this species (_Cypripedium reginæ_) too
young to blossom, and reminding one of a row of barn-swallows, not yet
sufficiently matured to fly, grew along a moss-covered pine log, near
the parent colony of plants. Digging down, I found the old log about
twelve inches below the surface. It was sound at the heart, bare of its
outer bark, and had become so imbedded in the water-soaked peat as to
be absolutely preserved. The stump from which this tree had fallen was
worn and crumbled away to the very earth, and capped with moss. It will
require years for this log to settle into the peat deeply enough to allow
these seedling orchids to ply and mass their roots in generous soft soil.
Unless their roots deeply penetrate rich soil, the plants become pale in
color and dwarfed, like the plants growing in loose sphagnum.
[Illustration: =The Showy Moccasin-Flower—The White-Petaled
Lady’s-Slipper—The Queen of the Indian’s Moccasin-Flowers.=
(_Cypripedium reginæ._)
“_Rushes tilting their burnished spears,_
_These are her courtly cavaliers._
_Heart of my heart, we forswear the rose,_
_We have been where the lady slipper grows._”
CLINTON SCOLLARD, _In the Heart of June_.]
I missed some old colonies; these were of a new generation, and if they
are not starved out, will blossom here in a row another year.
Another cluster of plants growing near by produces the deepest magenta
blossoms that I ever beheld, and only in this one group have I seen
this particular hue. A deep rose-purple extends over almost the whole
labellum, and from a distance I thought I had discovered the long-sought
Purple-Fringed Orchis,—such a flame of color rose before me. It almost
seemed a variety of the true _Cypripedium reginæ_.
This swamp produced just one hundred blossoms this season. Of this number
I gathered about twenty-five among the scattered plants, leaving the
older groups to ripen their seeds, if possible.
I found the first fully unfolded Showy Lady’s Slippers of the season,
on June 8th, in the Swamp of Oracles in District Fourteen; while those
of Rattlesnake Swamp unfolded fully this season on June 20th, and faded
about July 1st, the season being shortened by the heavy hailstorms.
I have noticed that orchids growing in open, sunny swamps are stocky
and short-scaped, bearing highly colored blossoms; while in shaded,
muddy glooms the plants are rank and tender, with pale flowers, which do
not last nearly so long as those which grow in the sunlight. The deeply
colored specimens mentioned above grew wholly in the sunshine, and beside
a fresh flowing stream.
I have transplanted all the New England species of Cypripedium, but only
two of them took kindly to the garden for a succession of seasons. The
small yellow species, _Cypripedium parviflorum_, seems easily naturalized
in our damp woodland corners of the garden. The large yellow species,
_Cypripedium hirsutum_, closely allied with the small yellow species,
is easily managed in the same colony. The Ram’s-Head (_Cypripedium
arietinum_) is more choice in its home, being rarely seen in cultivation.
It is not very plentiful even in its native haunts.
I have sent plants of the Showy Lady’s Slipper and the Large Yellow
Lady’s Slipper found on Mount Œta, to New Bedford, Massachusetts, to
Herkimer, New York, and to New Haven, Connecticut. In every instance
they have become happy in their new surroundings, thriving and blooming
through several seasons. The Small Yellow Cypripedium in New Haven has
flourished and bloomed for ten seasons. The seed-capsules of these
orchids, however, have never matured fertile seeds in this garden; and
the pods wither up and do not develop as in the forest bogs, for want of
the proper insects to fertilize them. It would be well to secure pollen
from sister species of this plant in the Swamp of Oracles, and insure
fertilization and cross-fertilization of this tame garden plant. We might
look for possible hybrids, since this species is well broken away, by ten
years of cultivation, from its primeval condition.
The Showy Lady’s Slipper does not take so naturally to the garden, and in
many instances does not live so long in captivity as would be expected.
It will, however, produce seedlings readily, if care is taken to protect
the surrounding soil in winter, where the seed is sown.
An interesting experiment, with artificial agencies producing fertile
seed of this species, is related by F. F. Le Moyne of Chicago. He sowed
the seed thus obtained artificially for two successive seasons, and
secured seedlings from each sowing. He also believes that “this plant
could be multiplied very rapidly from seed thus fertilized,” in garden
culture.[24]
This year, I sent the rare Ram’s-Head to the New Haven Garden, with hopes
of its blossoming next May. This Cypripedium is the rarest orchid in
North America.
The Pink Moccasin-Flower (_Cypripedium acaule_) is the most common
species of the genus in New England, and on the continent of North
America, north of Mexico, with the exception of the two Yellow
Cypripediums, which claim a broader range from east to west. The Pink
Cypripedium proves the most stubborn and difficult in cultivation. It
may be potted during the winter, but seldom, if ever, blooms more than a
single season.
While many of our native orchids have a certain amount of adaptiveness to
environment, they never will be found to choose absolutely dry soil, such
as the rocky sheep pastures in which the common pennyroyal thrives. A
sheltered, damp corner is safest for the exiled plant, where the sunshine
searches long to brighten its petals.
One cold day in early March, I secured a frozen sod containing the
roots of the Showy Lady’s Slipper, and made an artificial bog in the
bay-window, where I watched it thaw out. The flowers burst forth about
a month earlier than when in the swamps. But although they were fully
in the warm rays of the May sun, the blossoms were pale and delicate.
The same cluster of plants sent forth deep rose-tinged blossoms the next
season, in the damp corner of my garden, where I planted them. They
became strong, healthy plants, flowering several seasons on the regular
date for Pownal, June 20th. It is therefore evident that dates for
blossoming differ more according to the exposure of the haunt than to the
variations of seasons. But in the Swamp of Oracles I know where I can
find this Showy Queen of the Indian Moccasins as early as June 8th, and I
know of other haunts where it is not unfurled until the 15th and 20th of
the month.
VII
Sweet Pogonias and Limodorums
Come bring me wild pinks from the valleys,
Ablaze with the fire o’ the sun—
No poor little pitiful lilies
That speak of a life that is done!
ALICE CARY, _Be Still_.
On June 26th we drove over to Thompson’s Trout Pond. We took the old
flat-bottomed boat, and with one slab board for a paddle, steered slowly
over the whole surface of the lake,—a beautiful, clear little mountain
mirror, with good-sized fish swimming about. I searched along the shores
for the long-desired Purple-Fringed Orchises, but still without success.
Fleur-de-lis grew abundantly about the lake; and in the little dents and
bays among the sedges and cat-tails, I found the Yellow Spatter-Dock
or Cow-Lily (_Nymphæa_), so named in the time of Christ by the ancient
herbalist, Dioscorides, who first gave it the Greek name _Blephara_, and
later, in Latin, _Nymphæa lutea_ and _Nenuphar citrinum_. It was known in
England in 1500 as Yellow Nenuphar or, Water Lily.
The swamp birds are tame and saucy here. Paddling our boat into the
reedy shores among the alder bushes, where they were nesting, they
seemed to take no alarm at our approach, but stood their ground pouring
forth beautiful liquid notes. In one place near the centre of the lake,
we crossed an expanse of deep water where long rootlets of the Water
Persicaria (_Polygonum amphibium_) supported glossy carmine, lance-like
leaves, which swayed gracefully on the surface of the swelling waves
as we approached. These strange deep-water weeds send forth rich
crimson or pinkish flowers a little later, seeming fairly to stain the
lake. I had never seen this species before growing in such depths of
water. It is a species of the Buckwheat Family, and a near cousin of
the barnyard smart-weed and the knot-grass or door-weed. The generic
name, _Polygonum_, comes from the Greek, meaning “many knees.” It is so
called on account of the swollen joints of some of the species of this
family. The leaves of the Water Persicaria are brilliant crimson on the
lower surface, and with age and exposure the upper surface turns deep
Indian-red.
These plants were rooted at least fifteen feet below the water’s surface
in the mud. They may be found, too, along the shallow shores of Pownal
Pond. They also grow in ponds and lakes far northward to Quebec and
Alaska, and as far south as New Jersey and Kentucky, and westward to
California. They thrive at an altitude of two thousand feet, in the
lakes of the Adirondacks, blooming there, as a rule, in July and August.
Thoreau observed this species in the lakes of the Maine woods, during his
journey in 1853.
On the 30th of June I ventured forth to Etchowog, in search of Pogonias
and Limodorums, although the season was almost too far advanced for prime
specimens. I had heard the day before that some blossoms of these plants
had been gathered in the Westville Swamps, near New Haven, Connecticut.
I thus felt encouraged to search once more for these beautiful orchids.
With luncheon and vasculum, and Major following me, I journeyed over the
meadows and hills of Mount Œta to the north slope of the Domelet, where I
crossed the country road. Finally I descended into a deep basin under the
Dome, which rises east of the Domelet. Northward nestled the neat white
and red farm buildings near Thompson’s Pond, and far beyond them all I
saw the blue, blue hills of Bennington County.
Everywhere I searched for the Fringed Orchis, which had so far eluded me
in these swamps. The meadow seemed interminable as I circled around to
the east of the pond. Bearing to the northward, I noticed nothing new
except the ravages of the recent hailstorm. It had cut down flowers and
corn-fields alike. The very hills were washed down from the mountain
sides; great gutters and still flowing streams were eroding the
corn-fields, scattering the sandy soil broadcast over the once green
meadows. Even the edges of the grasses were brown and sear, and the
Timothy-heads of the Cat’s-tail Grass were stripped prematurely of their
seed.
I followed Thompson’s Brook, leading northerly from the pond, in through
several willow and alder swamps. Then, instead of following down the
rocky channel to Ball Brook Forks, I struck out directly at the head of
the Meyers Road, over the fields, north from the maple-sugar house, and
landed on the high hills south of the great meadows of Etchowog. Sleeping
at my feet lay those sphagnous bogs which had already yielded me so many
rare flowers, and so much pleasure. Northward stretched out a vast sweep
of hills and valleys, reaching nearly the whole length of Bennington
County. To the right towered the massive abutments of the Dome, and to
the left rose the isolated form of Mount Anthony,—these two mountains
framing, as it were, the gap northward, through whose wide vista I could
define the dim blue heights of Mount Equinox, at Manchester. Nearer, I
could trace fertile vales and sloping hillsides, dotted here and there
with woodlands, scattered trees and farm buildings.
Standing still nearer in the shadow of Mount Anthony was Bennington Hill,
with the Battle Monument clearly outlined even at this distance, some
ten miles away. In the nearer landscape were discernible the serpentine
windings of Ball Brook, with its long chain of tamarack and balsam-fir
swamps, spreading out here and there toward Bennington,—where, I dare
say, are many rich and undiscovered colonies of Lady’s Slippers.
[Illustration: =The Northern Gap. Showing the Taconic Mountains of
Bennington County, from Mount Œta, Vermont. The Bennington Battle
Monument towers to the left in the distance.=
“_Over all the mountains_
_Is peace._”]
Nearer yet, the knob-like glacial hills around Pownal Pond shield the
Cranberry Swamp to the north, and the open Bogs of Etchowog east of the
pond. Nestling among the trees by the mill, I picked out the roof of
the mill-house where little Merwin lives. But the shadows of hill and
mountain were growing longer in the valley as the sun sank toward the
west, and it behooved me to waste no more time dreaming on the hilltop.
So I slowly descended to the valley, groping my way between bushy young
pines, passing a herd of gentle, meek-faced Jersey cows feeding on the
hillside. I found many cow-paths running around the bog, and was led out
into the swamp at a point nearly opposite the little white schoolhouse of
Barber District, Number Thirteen.
I did not find the place rose-purple with the little orchids, as it
should have been, but I did find a few dozen plants of Grass-Pinks
(_Limodorum tuberosum_), and six or eight delicate rose-pink blossoms
of Snake-Mouth (_Pogonia ophioglossoides_). I gathered a few flowers of
each, grateful that any remained to assure me that they were not quite
extinct here, and I observed how very careful one must be in plucking the
flowers not to pull the little roots and bulbs out of the moss at the
same time.
All my plants grew east of the stream that runs through the centre of the
swamp. When I tried to cross this creek, I found it so broad and deep
and muddy that I could not get anywhere near it. Wandering toward the
road skirting the bog, I came to a rude board bridge over the stream,
indicating a path formerly leading through the swamp to Barber’s Mill.
Some high-water tide had twisted and turned the plank about so that only
by catching and clinging to small bushes and saplings on the other bank
could I succeed in crossing. I found no Pogonias and Limodorums on the
west side of the stream, and it was just here that I had once found the
meadow one wave of rose-purple.
Reaching the mill, I hastened around the bend in the road. A little to
the south of Arethusa’s Spring, and scarcely five feet to the left of
the path, under some willows, I saw a dark, insignificant looking pool.
Stooping down and touching the surface, I found it icy cold. This pool,
Merwin’s mother tells me, has always been here, and at no time in her
memory has she heard of any one being successful in measuring its depth,
although it has been probed with very long sounding-poles. These have
been dropped fifty feet or more. Frequently she has left a long pole
standing in the pool, only to find upon returning later that it had
disappeared in the depths below, proving great suction. Such holes and
springs are characteristic of the swamps of Etchowog, where the original
lake bed was located over a century ago, before the water of Ball Brook
was turned in its course through the present pond west of the mill. This
“dead hole” should be fenced in and marked “dangerous,” since it might so
easily be stepped into by one unacquainted with its character.
[Illustration: =The Rose Pogonia.= (_Pogonia ophioglossoides._)
A delicate little orchid, found as comrade with the Grass Pink, and
frequently with Arethusa, in wild sphagnous meadows.]
I followed the familiar and loved path out to the sphagnous meadows east
of Kimball’s barns. Taking a straight line southward up the hill, back
of an orchard, along the border of a field of Indian corn, I came again
to Thompson’s Brook, on its way to join Ball Brook, near the Kimball
barns below. It is one of the stoniest channels, narrow and deeply worn,
with here and there graceful clinging ferns slightly caught to the
banks, and often completely hiding the huge boulders and ledges. Pines
and hemlocks are the principal trees along this stream. The twisted and
uncovered reddish roots of the hemlocks seemed to have split the black
shelving slate rocks asunder with their growth. I threaded my way as near
the brook as possible, often finding it necessary to wade in the stream
until I reached the bend in the road near Meyers’s sugar-kitchen among
the maples. Here, turning to my right, I followed the shaded road leading
past the schoolhouse in District Fourteen, and homeward to Mount Œta.
My orchids were pretty well withered on reaching home, and not in good
condition for studying. These delicate species of Pogonia and Limodorum
are easily wilted, losing their beauty and elasticity soon after being
severed from their roots. These two species, Adder’s-Mouth Pogonia and
_Limodorum tuberosum_, are almost invariably found together,—comrades of
different genera that travel far and wide in company throughout their
continental ranges.
The Adder’s-Mouth Pogonia has been formerly confused with our
native species of _Arethusa bulbosa_, and for some time was known
as Adder’s-Tongue Arethusa. Thomas Wentworth Higginson writes: “On
peat-meadows the Adder’s-Tongue Arethusa (now called _Pogonia_) flowers
profusely, with a faint, delicious perfume,—and its more elegant cousin,
the _Calopogon_, (now called _Limodorum_) by its side.”[25]
Yet Thoreau had a different impression of the rose-pink Pogonia’s
fragrance, and says in his notes in _Summer_, on June 21, 1852: “The
adder’s-tongue arethusa smells exactly like a snake. How singular that
in Nature, too, beauty and offensiveness should be thus combined!”[26]
On July 7, 1852, he again mentions these species of orchids: “The very
handsome ‘pink-purple’ flowers of the _Calopogon pulchellus_ (now known
as _Limodorum tuberosum_) enrich the grass all around the edge of
Hubbard’s blueberry swamp, and are now in their prime. The _Arethusa
bulbosa_, ‘crystalline purple,’ _Pogonia ophioglossoides_, snake-mouthed
(tongued) arethusa, ‘pale-purple,’ and the _Calopogon pulchellus_,
grass-pink, ‘pink-purple,’ make one family in my mind (next to the purple
orchis, or with it), being flowers _par excellence_, all flower, naked
flowers, and difficult, at least the Calopogons, to preserve. But they
are flowers, excepting the first, at least, without a name. _Pogonia!_
_Calopogon!!_ They would blush still deeper if they knew what names man
had given them.”[27]
The Pogonia seems to bloom slightly in advance of Limodorum, and is a
delicate, waxen-pink flower. It raises its single terminal blossom about
six inches high amid the tall grasses of the swampy meadow. It is not so
beautiful as its comrade species, the Grass-Pink; but to me it is sweetly
fragrant, and since it is an orchid, it is precious, although small and
somewhat unsightly in its suggestiveness.
[Illustration: =The Thompson Brook, East Pownal, Vermont.=
“_They left their home of Summer ease_
_Beneath the lowland’s sheltering trees,_
_To seek, by ways unknown to all,_
_The promise of the waterfall._”
WHITTIER.]
There are two leaves: one, oblong and sessile, appears in the middle of
the stem; and another smaller, bract-like leaf is found at the base of
the seed-capsule, bearing the nodding blossom with its alert bearded
petals. The roots are little clusters of fibrous threads, loosely
attached in the moss-grown mounds of the primeval forest stumps,—which
are slowly decaying below the soil in these aged swamps.