as a picnic ground. Years ago the south shore of this lake was clothed
with dense oak, pine, and maple trees. These vales were the homes of many
sturdy settlers while the fields were being cleared. The stone walls
which they erected outlast the memory of their builders, and are the
only monuments that time cannot remove. The few remaining gable-roofed
houses with their gaping doors and windows, along the East Road, during
the next few years will become obliterated entirely. The overgrown hedges
of cherry-trees and grape-vines are still struggling for existence by
the road; while the cinnamon-rose and southernwood are choked amid the
cat-mint and burdock along the border of the dooryard path.
These vales of Etchowog are deserted, and the thrift of the Revolutionary
days has departed. Nature is returning to her pristine state, and seeks
to subdue these traces of man by covering all with weeds, slow decay, and
mould.
Once in the pine grove, I discovered that I was in the vicinity of a
small cabin, which stood on the brow of the hill overlooking the pond.
A door opened southward from the house, and pasted upon it in bold
handwriting was the declaration that it was inhabited.
“Rented by Edward Green, Esquire.
Do not trespass on these premises.”
The water along the muddy edges of the pond displayed innumerable
wriggling pollywogs and small fishes. About midway along the shore, I
found the _Polygonum_ in blossom. I recognized the pink clusters nodding
on the water at some distance from the bank. The wind, blowing in little
whirling gusts, ruffled the waves. The distant Yellow Lily pads (_Nymphæa
advena_) flapped strangely for an instant or two,—turning their great
round leaves over on the water’s surface, and displaying their crimson
linings.
[Illustration: =The Beautiful Arethusa.= (_Arethusa bulbosa._)
This is a rare, shy orchid found in company with the Rose Pogonia and the
Grass-Pink in the heart of sphagnous swamps.]
I now devoted myself to solving the great problem of snaring the
Lady’s-Thumbs of this deep-water species of _Polygonum_. They were just
beyond my reach, and I was obliged to drag up an old weather-worn,
decaying pine, and float it out to walk upon. With a staff in one hand
and a willowy snare in the other, I ventured out upon the bridge as far
as I dared to go. I managed after many a slip to snare off the blossoms
and float them in to shore. On June 26th I was able to secure some of the
flowers of Polygonum growing in the centre of Thompson’s Pond, and found
the two plants identical.
There are seventy-one species of this genus in North America, and about
two hundred reported for the world. The above species, found in our lakes
and ponds, is not rare, yet it is seldom observed in clear water. It was
for me a new discovery for this region.
I was pretty well soaked after wading around these muddy shores,
and not a little tired with the planning and building of bridges. I
rested, therefore, on the hillside among the ferns, watching the daring
devil’s-darning-needles—dragon-flies—come and go about my head. The name
of darning-needle is still full of alarm to me, but the dragon-fly is
harmless both in name and nature. Bees were busy humming at their duty,
frogs were croaking the hours away, and the wind was still flapping the
ancient pads of Nymphæa, while low, sweet tones through the forest crept.
I could have fallen fast asleep here beneath these shades, yet I was far
from home, and my boots were heavy and wet.
I made slow progress homeward to-day, with my heavy foot-gear and
vasculum. I followed the dusty road to the Ball Farm gate. Here I turned
into the old grassy way which had been in use before the present road
was built near Thompson’s Brook. One can scarcely trace a track of the
traffic of the past years in the present sod. The stone walls on either
side of the lane are hidden with woodbine and red-raspberry bushes.
Beside this path towers a great pine tree. I had promised myself a long
rest beneath this shade, and gladly threw down my pack, and made a pillow
of my tin can.
The fleecy clouds rolled across the infinite blue over my head, and
a sense of relaxation and solitude stole over me. I must have fallen
asleep, and I was suddenly aroused by the cawing of crows that were
circling above me,—wondering perhaps whether Major and I were in a proper
condition for their approach.
I was more tired after my rest than before, and I began to question, as
many of my neighbors had done, the wisdom and profit of my bog-trotting.
Well, my neighbors see no value in pitcher-plants and sundew. They say
there is no money in them, and pity me for investing my time as I do.
Neither do I understand why the farmer chooses to cultivate squash rather
than follow some other occupation. It is his business to cultivate squash
as it is my business to cultivate sundew. Some crops are failures in
their monetary returns,—others in their yield of pleasure. As many wish
money only to procure pleasure, if pleasure can be procured without it,
why not take the easy way? The end is the same without the worry of the
squash-bugs, and the weeding and hilling of the crop,—to say nothing of
selling the fruit. The sundew plant would die were it to exchange its
habitat for that of the squash.
Giving myself a shake, I arose and again started on my way. Once through
the fence, I nailed fast the board I had loosened, and climbed up to the
road through the blackberry briars.
I did not make another journey for a week or more. On June 10th, I
ventured through the Glen of Comus to see the colony of the two hundred
Moccasins. An albino—a pure white flower of _Cypripedium acaule_—was
found recently by a lad in the district. He reports that he collected it
amid a group of thirteen Pink Moccasin-Flowers, apparently the only pale
one of the sisters.
Upon close examination of the structural parts of the albino, I observed
that the left anther had not developed at all. It appeared blasted in
embryo, and now looked like a brown smeared spot. The sepals and lateral
petals were of a rich chrome yellow. The dainty labellum was pure white,
of a pearl-like texture in the veining, and tinged with chrome on the
crest of the moccasin. It was indeed a strange, beautiful flower.
I had always supposed that an albino of any species of orchid was pure
white throughout its parts, and was therefore surprised to find the
sepals and side petals yellow.
Albinos of this species have been collected in this district for four
seasons. A colony, found near the schoolhouse, produced six white
blossoms. The children, calling them faded Pink Moccasins, believed them
to have lost their color after maturing. It appears from its persistence
that the variety is permanent, and not the freak of a season. The
abnormal anther may be present in all albinos. If so, it is evident
that evolution is taking place in the Pink Moccasin-Flower through the
suppression of one anther in genus _Cypripedium_, which possesses two,
while all other genera of the family have but one anther.
The colony of the Showy Lady’s Slipper in Rattlesnake Swamp, producing
forty-two blossoms in 1899, unfolded but fifteen flowers this season. For
reasons unknown to me, it was not a good year for Cypripediums.
XII
Saucy Jays and Polypores
To arched walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves,
Of pine, or monumental oak,
Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke,
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallowed haunt.
MILTON, _Il Penseroso_.
I followed down one of those sun-dried brook beds that melting snows from
the hillsides had eroded during past ages. It proved a short journey
to the Glen of Comus, descending northward toward Ball Brook in the
vale below. I had not proceeded far when I discovered what at first
sight seemed a robin’s nest, built high in the branches of the American
Hornbeam,—or, as it is locally known, the Iron-Wood tree (_Carpinus
Caroliniana_). It is the only American species of this genus in the
Birch Family. Several saplings stood about fifteen feet high, two having
so interlaced their branches as to form a strong crotch about eight
feet from the ground. The nest was fashioned roughly, built of small
sticks, and fastened in the crotch-like loft of these trees. Looking more
closely, I perceived the nest was a third larger than the robin’s, and
was not plastered with mud. I soon discovered that the bird upon the
nest had blue tail feathers and a jaunty cadet top-knot, as she peeped
over the edge of the nest at me. This was, then, the saucy jay’s nest, so
seldom found about these woods. She became disturbed, and flew off down
the ravine. I managed to climb up the trees high enough to determine that
the eggs were still unhatched.
The glen was dark here, and Major and I sat in the dim light beneath
the shadows of this dense underwood. The jays began in chorus to scream
unmercifully. They were distressed by Major’s presence, and flew saucily
above his head. He scarcely knew what to make of it all,—not being a
bird-dog,—and sat demurely looking at me and wagging his tail. Finally,
tired of their own screaming, the jays proceeded down through the
intricate windings of the hollow, and we heard their mutterings at a
distance,—a pleasant wild sound through these forests.
I looked carefully over the iron-wood trees. They are not uncommon
hereabout. Their trunks are ridged and muscular in appearance. These
trees are in fact very strong, possessing the endurance of the oak and
beech. They never attain great height,—from fifteen to forty feet or
so,—but the weight of their wood to the cubic foot is forty to fifty
pounds.
Many decaying logs of yellow birch and pine stumps were scattered along
the brook bed. They were covered with beautiful mosses and fungi. The
shelf-like growth, known as _Polypores_, was abundant on these trees.
There are several varieties of this group of fungi here. The larger kind
often attains a diameter from six inches to three or four feet, in a
semicircle, according to age. It is a hard, leathery or cork-like growth
full of pores, the top of the shelf seeming like a slanting roof, grained
and striated as it were, with colored slates of gray and brown. This
fungus seeks no special species of decayed tree, as I find it clinging to
several,—the yellow and white birch, and hemlock logs and stumps.
[Illustration: =The Rattlesnake Plantain.= (_Peramium._) =A group
of three species collected on Rattlesnake Ledge, Mount Œta, Pownal,
Vermont.=]
The underside of Polypores is of a soft ashes-of-roses hue when fresh,
later becoming a dull gray-brown. If one looks sharply at the under
surface, even with the naked eye, he will observe little pores no larger
than pin-points. Under the magnifying-glass, these appear like giant
honeycomb cells. Cutting through a section of the shelf, we find that
these pores penetrate the heart of the shelf. In these little pore-like
cells, the spores or seeds are borne, more hidden even than those of the
Fern Family.
The name _Polypores_ originated from these minute pores. Puff-balls or
toadstools spring up during a night in pastures or corners in rich wood.
But the Polypores are slow in growth.
A beautiful species of the Polypores is worshipped by the natives in
Guinea. I also have found and worshipped several specimens of great
beauty. I discovered a very large shelf on a decaying hemlock stump in
Rattlesnake Swamp, which I severed carefully with a woodsaw, removing
enough of the stump to show its attachment to the tree.
As I passed through the glen to-day, I found many large and small
specimens of this fungus, whose growth demands a humid atmosphere. The
fact that decay does not take place rapidly save in a damp, warm wood,
naturally proves that Polypores require such shades as these in which to
develop.
Tall brakes rose luxuriantly four feet high or more. The atmosphere
was heavy, and the sphagnum was steaming wherever the sunshine poured
through the leaves upon it. A certain fragrance of the earth rose up
from the swamp and met me everywhere,—a mingled perfume as of violets
and Cypripediums. I explored about the pools to the left, finding many
flowers in bloom.
Upon a miniature island in the centre of the pool grew the tall spikes of
the Queen Moccasin-Flower, in bud. Turning to the south, under the hill
among the rocks, is the fountain of the glen, which freshens the heart of
the flowers beyond. Surely these are the haunts of thrushes, as well as
the home of the queen of the orchids. The Golden Moccasin-Flowers peeped
out from beneath the shades of ferns, and sprinkled the mellow glooms
with jewels, like footsteps of sunshine left by the wood-nymphs of old.
The footprints of the woodman and the clips from his axe are yet unknown
in this Glen of Comus. This is the sanctuary of the gods of old, and
these the altars beneath the roofless temples, where man may worship
still the deities of Nature. The wood-thrush’s song rings through these
cathedral aisles:
“Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony.”[43]
I crept quietly through all these winding halls, which I had never before
explored. Near the northern portal of the glen stood a white birch,
branchless, and mellow in decay, yet beautifully robed with delicate
Butterfly Polypores of a velvety-purplish hue. Turning at the junction of
the streams, I frightened up the oven-bird, the golden-crowned thrush.
She moaned and fluttered away, as though in distress, dropping her wings
and hiding among the ferns. I searched about for her nest, and soon found
it low upon the ground. Her cottage door was open to the south, revealing
five pinkish eggs mottled with purple. The nest was hooded,—thatched,
as it were, like an Indian’s wigwam, with leaves, twigs, ferns, and
mosses,—so like the ground itself that I nearly walked upon it.
We have five true thrushes of genus _Turdus_ in the Atlantic Region—the
Veery, Wood-Thrush, and Hermit-Thrush are found in this immediate
region. They are our peerless woodland songsters, coming about May 1st,
and often lingering until September 15th. The Veery winters in Central
America, and flies as far north as Newfoundland to nest in summer. Like
the Hermit-Thrush, it builds its nest on the ground. The Veery has a
mysterious strain likened often to an Æolian harp; the Wood-Thrush rings
like the chimes of vesper bells, and the Hermit-Thrush has the deepest
note of all, rolling like “anthems clear” through the dim woods.
Burroughs translates its song thus: “O spheral, spheral! O holy, holy!”
My delight was complete, since I had found two rare birds’ nests within
an hour,—those of the melancholy songster and the screaming jay. Four
days later I visited both of these nests to see the birdlings. The mother
jay was not at home, so I did not distress her when I climbed up to
peep at the homely babies. I passed on down to the deeper glen to the
oven-bird’s wigwam. She too was absent. Five little bald heads and five
wide-gaping mouths were revealed as I drew near the nest, bespeaking
the necessity of a thrifty mother to search for food to satisfy their
needs. I touched their little heads, then drew back and waited almost an
hour for the return of the mother bird, hoping to see the feeding of the
young. But she was either shy or belated, and did not appear.
THIRD SEASON
XIII
The Swamps and Hills of Mosholu and Lowerre, New York
Within the circuit of this plodding life,
There enter moments of an azure hue.
THOREAU, _Excursions_.
This season, on May 15th, I began my explorations in the hills and
swamps of Mosholu and Lowerre. The most conspicuous flowers about these
woods are trillium, spring beauties (_Claytonia Virginica_), bird’s-foot
violets, yellow violets, jack-in-the-pulpits, and pink azaleas. The
swamps and slopes east of the Mosholu station are bright with these
blossoms, which peep from the sod and shrub in their turn. In several
places, also columbine, Dutchman’s-breeches and dog’s-tooth lily are
abundant. During May these flowers, with the trees of snowy dogwood
blossoms, fill the rolling hills and quiet valleys with delicate perfume
and unrivaled glory.
Along the higher ridges, the brilliant Rock Pinks (_Phlox subulata_)
bloom abundantly. Their mossy-mats creep over the hills from Bronx Park
to Yonkers. They belong especially to the extreme southern part of the
State of New York, and southward to Virginia and westward to Michigan.
In these woods of Mosholu and Lowerre they flower immediately after the
Dutchman’s-breeches have faded. I had believed that these pinks must grow
as far north as West Rock and the rocky heights of the Giant at Mount
Carmel, as well as about the ridges bordering Lake Saltonstall, near
New Haven, Connecticut. I was, however, disappointed to find that their
territory extended no farther north than the wilder woods of New York
City.
I discovered many beautiful plants of the Prickly Pear, or Indian Fig
(_Opuntia Opuntia_) of the Cactus Family. It was named for a town in
Greece where it grew. This strange relic of the primeval wood blooms in
June, producing a sulphurous-yellow flower of great beauty. The large,
spatulate-lobed, juicy leaves are sap-green in color, bearing many
thorn-like spines. The new leaves, or lobes, appear as joints along the
edges of the parent leaf. The fruit is edible. This species is often
cultivated. It belongs natively to the rocky shores of Nantucket, Rhode
Island, and to Manhattan Island. It is not abundant in Bronx Wood,
however. Isolated colonies of the plant live in New York City, along the
mutton-backed granite rocks in vacant lots, west of St. Nicholas Avenue,
and along Washington Heights.
Wild Garlic, of the Lily Family, is ever present about the hills of Bronx
Valley and Spuyten Duyvil Creek.
[Illustration: =The Snowy Dogwood Blossoms, from the Hills of Mosholu,
New York.=
“_Like a drift of tardy snow,_
_Tangled where the trees are low,_
_Scented dogwood blossoms blow._
_Dainty petals spreading wide,_
_Heart-shaped, lying side by side,_
_Not a leaf the flowers to hide._”
MARY WILSON.]
The Bird’s-Foot Violet (_Viola pedata_) and the Round-Leaved Violet
(_Viola rotundifolia_) seem to run riot on the Mosholu Hills, but it is
not always easy to distinguish the species. A variety of Bird’s-Foot
Violet that grows here appears like a small pansy, and is designated as
_Viola bicolor_, producing two delicate, velvety hues of blue-purple. The
plant derived its common name from the shape of the leaves, which are
divided into five to eleven pointed lobes.
The early Greek name for Violets and Pansies was _Ion_. According to
Emperor Constantine, it arose from _Io_, a nymph loved of Jupiter,
Nicander wrote that the name _Ion_ was given to Violets because the
Nymphs first presented Jupiter with these flowers in the fields of
Ionia. They were known to Virgil as _Vaccinium_, and later in Latin as
_Vittulæ_, _Violæ_, and to-day they are classified as _Viola_. Species
of these plants were designated by the early Greek apothecaries as
“_Herbes Bolbonac_.” In the sixteenth century plants of this family grew
wild among the corn-field stubbles of England, according to Dodoens and
Lyte. They were known as _Viola_, _Iacea_, _Herbe Clauellata_, _Pances_,
Love-in-Idleness, and Heart’s-Ease.
The Downy Yellow Violet (_Viola pubescens_), although not so common as
blue violets in Bronx Woods, is abundant in special corners among the
damp hillsides. Here, too, the Sweet White Violet (_Viola blanda_) dwells
near the borders of streams. It is delicately fragrant, although not so
sweet-scented as the Canada Violet (_Viola Canadensis_) growing northward
as well as southward along mountainside streams. The perfume of the
Canada Violet is much like that of the Small Yellow Moccasin-Flower.
Jack-in-the-Pulpit preaches from many rocky hills and hollows in Mosholu
and Lowerre, where grow the largest plants I ever saw. They spring from
bulbous turnip or onion-like roots, and are sometimes called Indian
Turnips. These plants were known by Pliny in Christ’s day as “Dragons,”
on account of the stalks, which are speckled like an adder’s skin.
The ancients believed that the leaves of Dragonworts, carried in the
clothing, would prevent stings of vipers. Others believed that the
leaves, wrapped around cheese, would keep it from mouldering.
Matthiolus thus described the Skunk-Cabbage of this group, to which was
attributed mythical properties, since it grew sparingly in northern
Asia: “Great large leaves, folded and lapped one within another, with an
upright stalke, at the top a floure like to a spikie-eare.”
The Green Dragonwort and Jack-in-the-Pulpit were known, until recently,
generically as _Arum_. _Arisæma_ antedates _Arum_, referring to the
red-blotched stalks of some species. Jack-in-the-Pulpit to-day is
known in the science as _Arisæma triphyllum_. The origin of the name
Jack-in-the-Pulpit is recent, and, like Indian Turnip, is purely of
American origin. Clara Smith of Medford, Massachusetts, so christened
these Dragonworts, in a poem which was sent to Whittier for revision.
He published it in _Child Life_, about 1884, after amending and adding
several lines. The poem became popular, and the flower was thereafter
known as “Jack-in-the-Pulpit.”
Columbine was especially plentiful along the hillsides; and the hollows
and crevices of rocks were filled with blade-like leaves, resembling
Sweet Flag (_Acorus Calamus_). They proved, however, to be the leaves
of the Blackberry Lily (_Gemmingia Chinensis_). This lily creeps from
southern New York to Georgia. The seeds resemble blackberries. The plant
produces several large blossoms in a terminal bracted cluster, of an
orange color mottled with purple. This species was formerly known as
_Pardanthus_, meaning a Leopard-Flower. The roots are of a golden color.
Returning from the Point of Rocks above Deer Park, I passed along lanes
bordered with cedars and junipers, while violets, rosy-pinks and tufts of
maiden-hair spleenwort clung to the ledges. On leaving the swamp below, I
found a drowsy diamond snake in a stupor, from having recently swallowed
a bird or frog. The diamond-shaped checks upon his skin betrayed his
species. He is considered venomous, therefore I remained a safe distance
from him.
On May 18th I again visited the Point of Rocks and McLean’s Woods,
searching for _Orchis spectabilis_ and for _Cypripedium parviflorum_.
Leaving the car at Bedford Park, we struck westward, coming out near Poe
Park, where still stands that quaint white cottage in which Poe wrote
_The Raven_. We bore around the slopes, northward beyond the Racing
Park, and entered a country lane, soon turning again to the left into
the forest, where stood great pools of water. Along the sluggish stream
grew many rare species of fern. Finally we entered Jerome Avenue, leading
toward Yonkers.
We searched the borders of the roadside for that little two-leaved
orchid, Twayblade (_Leptorchis liliifolia_), formerly known as
Lily-leaved Liparis, which grows here in the moist woods. We were too
early for it, however. We turned off into the deeper woods till we came
to the tangled edges of McLean’s Swamp. Here, a little later, I collected
pink azaleas and marsh marigolds, golden-ragwort,—known as the False
Valerian (_Senecio aureus_),—white mustard, and water-cress,—also of the
Mustard Family. Throughout these beautiful woods the Broad-Beech Fern
(_Phegopteris hexagonoptera_) and the Oak Fern (_Phegopteris Dryopteris_)
dwell. The Jack-in-the-Pulpit and Indian Cucumbers were here, towering
above the False Lilies-of-the-Valley and Trillium; and among these
vines the dainty golden-shoes of the Fragrant Cypripedium tripped forth
like fairy’s foot-gear. The Indian Cucumber (_Medeola Virginiana_) is
a strange plant belonging to the Lily-of-the-Valley Family. The root
is tuberous, of a white, brittle substance, with a flavor like that of
the garden cucumber. The leaves occur in two whorls along the slender
stalk. About the middle of the stem there is a whorl of five to nine
oblong-lanceolate leaves; above this another smaller whorl occurs, with
three to five leaves; and still above this, all the small flowers nod
toward the ground.
_Medeola_ is an adaptation of Medea, the name of the daughter of King
Æetes of Colchis, who aided Jason by her witchcraft, and was afterward
deserted by him. This plant is supposed to possess magic properties as a
medicine, and is thus used by the Indians and other superstitious folk.