Native Plant Profile: Amelanchier

I could probably talk about Amelanchier until my voice gave out (at least an hour!). It’s such a great multi-season plant in the garden, and brings so much value to wildlife, as well. It’s also a great example of how native plants convey a “sense of place” that is not imparted by conventional, non-native plants in the garden.

Although the Genus is distributed across the Northern hemisphere, the greatest diversity is found in North America. As you can see from the BONAP distribution map, Amelanchier diversity is the greatest in the Northeast. New York State hosts 14 species, varieties, natural hybrids, and subspecies. And New York City is home to 6 of those.

2013 BONAP North American Plant Atlas. TaxonMaps - Amelanchier

Amelanchier in my garden

Amelanchier was one of the key plants I included in my backyard native plant garden design in 2009. To fit my design, I needed a tree form with a single trunk and broad canopy.

Final rendering, backyard garden design

Most of the species grow as multi-stemmed twiggy shrubs. In my design, I specified A. arborea, the only species that would normally grow with a single trunk. But straight species are difficult to find in the horticultural trade. Even nurseries specializing in native plants are unlikely to carry this species. I would likely need to find a “standard”: a plant grown with a single trunk that normally wouldn’t.

In Spring of 2010, I went hunting for a specimen for my garden. I found one at Chelsea Garden Center on Van Brunt Street in Red Hook, Brooklyn. It was the second most expensive single plant I’ve ever bought. But worth it!

Amelanchier x grandiflora 'Autumn Brilliance'

What I found is Amelanchier x grandiflora ‘Autumn Brilliance’, a selection of a horticultural hybrid of two species: A. arborea and A. laevis. So arborea is in there somewhere! This cultivar was selected for its vividly colored autumn foliage. But any of the species will have beautiful fall color.

The new serviceberry, planted and mulched, May 2010

Their peak bloom in our area is just weeks away, before the ornamental cherries, and the dreaded callery pear. We’ll follow the seasons, starting with where we are right now, Winter.

Winter

This is Amelanchier ‘Autumn Brilliance’ in my backyard, as viewed from a bathroom window, after our January snowstorm.

Amelanchier in snow in my backyard, January 2022

Winter into Spring. Here’s a lengthening and expanding bud on my backyard Amelanchier, which I shared last week. It still looks like this. These terminal buds will become the flowers.

Detail, buds, *Amelanchier* 'Autumn Brilliance', serviceberry, shadblow, in my backyard, February 2022

Bud break. The emerging inflorescence is covered in dense silvery hairs, which offer protection from late frosts. The leaves will emerge later from separate buds along the stems.

Flower Buds, Amelanchier x grandiflora 'Autumn Brilliance'

Spring

The big show is coming soon! It’s the first woody plant to bloom in my garden, early April or even late March in warm Springs. Two common names refer to its bloom time. Shadblow, because it would bloom when the shad are running. And serviceberry, because it bloomed when the ground had thawed enough to bury winter’s dead.

Over the next few weeks, these distinctive furry flower buds continue to expand.

Buds, Amelanchier x grandiflora 'Autumn Brilliance'

As they mature, the inflorescences start to turn more upright and the pedicels lengthen. The whole tree turns a little less furry and fuzzy.

Flower Buds, Amelanchier x grandiflora 'Autumn Brilliance'
Flower Buds, Amelanchier x grandiflora 'Autumn Brilliance'

Finally, the buds start to open, revealing the bright creamy white of the petals. At this stage, they almost look like flowering peas.

Amelanchier x grandiflora 'Autumn Brilliance'
Amelanchier x grandiflora 'Autumn Brilliance'

When the flowers are fully open, they reveal their true nature. Amelanchier is in the Rosaceae, the rose family. Here you can clearly see the five-fold symmetry of rose relatives. At this stage, the leaves just start to emerge.

Amelanchier x grandiflora 'Autumn Brilliance'
Morning Glory: Amelanchier still shy of full bloom in my urban backyard native plant garden

In full bloom they are spectacular and conspicuous in the landscape. This is when you are most likely to notice them, if you haven’t been stalking their progress all along, as I might do. Even at highway speeds, they are recognizable when flowering. There’s a line of them along the McDonald Avenue border of Green-Wood Cemetery. My commuter bus drove down this road on the return trip from Manhattan. I would sit on the right side of the bus to soak them in.

Garden hybrid Amelanchier x grandiflora 'Autumn Brilliance' blooming in the backyard, April 2020

NYC is home to many bee species — especially mining bees, Andrenidae — that specialize in flowers of the Rosaceae. Most of our bees are solitary bees, and many of them nest in the ground. They are only active and visible for a month or so, as the females prepare new ground nests and provision their eggs with pollen balls. The rest of the year, the larvae and pupae are underground, slowly maturing, or aestivating through the winter, waiting for next year’s Spring.

Summer

Juneberry is descriptive: Berries ripen in the summer, typically June. Ripening berries on my backyard Amelanchier in 2011. They turn dark reddish purple when ripe, but good luck getting to them before the birds and squirrels. Technicaly edible, this cultivar’s fruit are mealy and seedy, better left for wildlife. Other species are used for making jams, or enjoyed right off the bush.

Serviceberries/Juneberries

When we first bought our house, our next-door neighbors had an old, failing apple tree in their backyard, next to our shared fence. The fruit never ripened. Monk parakeets loved to munch on the apples.

They were also visited by cedar waxwings, another bird I had never seen before They seemed to love picking insects off the flowers in spring, presumably to feed to their young, as much as they enjoyed the fruits in summer. After our neighbors had their tree taken down, we rarely saw the monk parakeets, except when they flew overhead. And we never saw the waxwings again. I hoped another Rosaceae would bring them back.

This intent has been successful.

Cedar waxwing in my Amelanchier, juneberry, June 2018

The berries are enjoyed by many different birds in my backyard.

Catbird in my Amelanchier, juneberry, June 2018Zonotrichia albicollis, white-throated sparrow, in my backyard Amelanchier, serviceberry, April 2020
Turdus migratorius, American robin, juvenile, in Amelanchier, serviceberry, in my backyard, June 2019Turdus migratorius, American robin, in my backyard Amelanchier, January 2021

Fall

Amelanchier‘s autumn foliage is brilliant, after all. This is from its second Fall in my garden, a year and a half after planting.

Amelanchier x grandiflora 'Autumn Brilliance', Serviceberry

This is from November 2014, four years after planting.

Morning Glory: Amelanchier/Serviceberry 'Autumn Brilliance' leaves peak in my urban backyard native plant garden/habitat

Related Content

Twitter: #WildflowerHourNYC Twitter thread, 2022-03-09

Related blog posts:

Flickr, photo album: Planting a Tree

Links

Wikipedia: Amelanchier
BONAP North American Plant Atlas, county-level species Genus distribution maps: Amelanchier
MOBOT Plant Finder: Amelanchier
NC State University Plant Toolbox: Amelanchier
Plants for a Future

Pollen Specialist Bees of the Eastern United States, Jarrod Fowler

Hot Sheets Habitat

A mating pair of NOID Dolichopodidae, long-legged flies, in my backyard, September 2018

My garden is registered as both a National Wildlife Federation Backyard Wildlife Habitat and Xerces Society Pollinator Habitat. The insects have certainly gotten the message. During 2021, I’ve been able to document 14 different species of insects mating in my garden.
  1. Acanthoscelidius acephalus, minute seed weevil
  2. Epitrix fuscula
  3. Harmonia axyridis, multi-colored lady beetle (introduced)
  4. Eumerus
  5. Orthonevra nitida, wavy mucksucker
  6. Syritta pipiens, compost fly (introduced)
  7. Toxomerus geminatus, Eastern calligrapher fly
  8. Toxomerus marginatus, margined calligrapher fly
  9. Xenox tigrinus, tiger bee fly
  10. Jalysus, stilt bug
  11. Lygaeus kalmii ssp. angustomarginatus, Eastern small milkweed bug
  12. Hylaeus modestus, modest masked bee
  13. Xylocopa virginica, large Eastern carpenter bee
  14. Danaus plexxipus, monarch butterfly

Coleoptera, beetles

Acanthoscelidius acephalus, minute seed weevil

Mating pair of *Acanthoscelidius acephala* in *Oenothera biennis* in my front yard, July 2021

Epitrix fuscula

Mating pair of leaf beetle on Solanum along my driveway, August 2021

Harmonia axyridis, multi-colored lady beetle

Mating pair of *Harmonia axyridis*, multi-colored lady beetle, on *Asclepias syriaca* in my garden, June 2021

Diptera, flies

Eumerus

Mating pair of *Eumerus*, hoverflies, in my front yard, October 2021

Orthonevra nitida, wavy mucksucker

Mating pair of *Orthonvera nitida*, wavy mudsucker syrphid flies, on *Ageratina altissima* in my front yard, November 2021

Syritta pipiens

Mating pair of Syritta pipiens on Pycnanthemum muticum along my driveway, July 2021

Toxomerus geminatus, Eastern calligrapher fly

Mating pair of *Toxomerus geminatus*, Eastern calligrapher syrphid fly, in my front yard, October 2021

Toxomerus marginatus, margined calligrapher fly

Mating pair of Toxomerus marginatus on Erigeron annuus in my front yard, July 2021

Xenox tigrinus, tiger bee fly

Mating pair of *Xenox tigrinus*, tiger bee fly, outside my porch screen, August 2021

Hemiptera, bugs

Jaylsus, stilt bug

Mating pair of Jalysus on Solanum along my driveway, August 2021

Lygaeus kalmii ssp. angustomarginatus, Eastern small milkweed bug

Mating pair of *Lygaeus kalmii* ssp. *angustomarginatus*, Eastern small milkweed bug, on *Ascelpias syriaca* in my garden, June 2021

Hymenoptera, Epifamily Anthophila, bees

Hylaeus modestus, modest masked bee

Mating pair of *Hylaeus modestus* on *Boltonia asteroides* in my front yard, August 2021

Xylocopa virginica, large Eastern carpenter bee

Mating pair of *Xylocopa vorginica* on *Clethra alnifolia* in my backyard, August 2021

Lepidoptera, butterflies

Danaus plexippus, monarch butterfly

My garden is also registered as a butterfly and monarch habitat, and monarch waystation. It proved its worth this year. I observed multiple couplings, in addition to the usual egg-laying. Pair of monarchs mating in my garden, August 2021

Related Content

Flickr photo album

iNaturalist: Insects mating in my garden during 2021

Links

Grief & Gardening: 20 Years

Written spontaneously as a Twitter thread, and transcribed to this blog post.


Anti-war graffiti on base of statue, Union Square Park, September 24, 2001 

I’m avoiding the news today. As well as the retraumatizing snuff porn documentaries. I’ve written about all of it before. I don’t feel the need to day to write any more. I wrote this 15 years ago about Anniversaries, my first “Grief & Gardening” post:

The ways we observe anniversaries is arbitrary. For example, I was shocked to tears for weeks by the Indian Ocean Tsunami of 2004, which killed 100 times more people than Katrina [1st Anniversary]. The earthquake which precipitated it left the entire planet ringing like a bell. The observation of “25 Years of AIDS” at this year’s World AIDS Congress is pinned only to the first official report of a cluster of unusual deaths by the Centers for Disease Control in June of 1981. The timelines of epidemics don’t follow our categorizations of them.
Grief & Gardening #1: 1, 5 and 25, 2006-09-04


Fallen 

At the time, I didn’t have the blog yet. I wrote a lot in my journal. I transcribed some of it to back-dated blog posts. This was the first:

Like an earthquake, the initial shocks have affected each of us differently, and to different degrees. The aftershocks will continue for months. The effects will ripple out for decades. If I believed there was anyone to listen, let alone, answer, I would pray that each of us gets whatever we need to come through healthy and whole. I would pray that, individually and collectively, we respond to this violence with compassion, wisdom, courage and strength.
This Week in History, 2001-09-14

Roadside Sentiment, Hudson, New York, September 16, 2001 

The second back-dated blog post transcribes a letter I wrote to Rev. Joanna Tipple, then pastor of the Copake, NY church, which had been my husband’s church when he was growing up:

Again, and still, horrors are committed in the name of God. A month ago, more than five thousand people lost their lives in a smoking crater, killed in the name of God. It makes no difference to me whether the banner reads “Holy War” or “God Bless America.” This crisis has brought out both the best and worst in people. Like any tool, the idea of God is used for evil as well as good. Then what good is God?
Without God

Grieving Angel I worked in downtown Manhattan for 35 years before retiring two months ago. As the 5th Anniversary approached, Ground Zero was still just that, a wound. Everywhere were commemorative signs and symbols. You could feel it just walking around.

I have been feeling this one, the 5th anniversary of 9/11. The city is feeling it, too. Peoples’ grief is closer to the surface, more accessible. Mine certainly is. I’ve also been remembering a lot of what it was like in the city right after. There are reminders of it everywhere, on the news, in the papers, special exhibits and events, and especially, at Ground Zero.
Grief & Gardening #2: Five Years After, “Ths Transetorey Life”, 2006-09-09

Haddadada
I moved to NYC, to the East Village, in 1979. Though I survived, many did not. It’s why grief and loss pervade my writing, including my blog. I wrote this in 2007, after learning of the death, from AIDS, of yet another of my last lovers.

Reminders of the upcoming 6th Anniversary of 9/11 are piling up. My first day back at work from my [recent] trip, I walked by the Deutsche Bank building – ruined in the attacks, condemned, and only now being dismantled – where two firefighters had lost their lives the day before. I could see the blackened scaffolding and walls of the building. I smelled the smoke, startled for a few minutes, taken back to the months after the attacks, when the fires burned for months, when we walked every day through the crematory of downtown Manhattan.
In the Shadow (How shall my heart be reconciled to its feast of losses?), 2007-08-08

Bulldog 6
On the 7th Anniversary, I wrote my name on a beam that was intended to become part of the Memorial at Ground Zero. I was briefly interviewed by a local radio reporter from 1010WINS. I met a good dog.

Flags, flags, flags … flags waving everywhere. I understand the impulse, yet I don’t feel it as a defiant gesture. It feels like a concession to me. That we have no greater symbol than our nation’s flag makes me sad. What evil has been committed in the name of that flag?
Seven years, 2008-09-10

Skytop and tower, Mohonk, New York, September 10, 2001
On the 9th Anniversary, with some perspective of years, I was able to write coherently about what our experience had been that day, that week. I worked downtown, through the months of smoke and ash that followed. And year after year in NYC.

We decided to hold to our vacation plans for the week, somber though it was. There was nothing we could do back home. My workplace downtown, blocks from Ground Zero, would not reopen for two weeks. Reminders met us everywhere we went. And everywhere we went, we were ambassadors for New York City. When we told people where we were from, as often as not, they broke down crying. We were their reminders.
Grief & Gardening: Nine Years, 2010-09-11

St. Paul's Enshrouded
I avoid “ticker tape” parades.

The gutters were thick with shreds of paper, and ash, for weeks and months after 9/11. The gray ash was the last to go. Living and working in downtown after 9/11 was being in a crematorium.
Grief and Gardening: Remains of the Day, 2019-07-11

So, I don’t feel a need to write anything new today. I’m going to spend the day away from television, and news, and commemorations. I will instead hug my husband, squish our cats, and spend time in the garden photographing bugs, observing and celebrating the diversity of life. *Agapostemon* on *Pycnanthemum muticum* in front of my garage, August 2021

Related Content

In chronological order. 2001-09-14: This Week in History
2001-10-15: Without God
2006-09-04: Grief & Gardening #1: 1, 5 and 25
2006-09-09: Grief & Gardening #2: Five Years After, “Ths Transetorey Life”
2007-08-08: In the Shadow (How shall my heart be reconciled to its feast of losses?)
2008-09-10: Seven years
2010-09-11: Grief & Gardening: Nine Years
2019-07-11: Grief and Gardening: Remains of the Day

2021-09-11: Twitter thread

Links

Charismatic Mesofauna

Over the weekend I was inspired to write a little tweet storm. I thought it would make a good blog post.

Danaus plexippus, monarch butterfly (male), with @XercesSociety Pollinator Habitat sign behind, in my front yard, September 2016

It started with a blog post by entomologist Eric Eaton, who goes by @BugEric on his blog, Twitter and other social media. Benjamin Vogt, a native plants evangelist (my word, bestowed with respect) tweeted a link, which is how it came to my attention.

The Monarch is the Giant Panda of invertebrates. It has a lobby built of organizations that stand to lose money unless they can manufacture repeated crises. Well-intentioned as they are, they are siphoning funding away from efforts to conserve other invertebrate species that are at far greater risk. The Monarch is not going extinct.

– Bug Eric: Stop Saying the Monarch is a “Gateway Species” for an Appreciation of Other Insects


I grow milkweed in my garden – at least 3 different species. (I’m waiting to see if the other 3 species persist and return.) I’ve documented monarch butterflies visiting the past 2 years. Last year I got eggs, and caterpillars.

Caterpillar of Danaus plexippus, monarch butterfly, in my garden, August 2018.

But monarchs aren’t the only visitors to my milkweeds.

Strymon melinus, Gray Hairstreak, on Asclepias incarnata, Swamp Milkweed, July 2013
Papilio polyxenes, Eastern black swallowtail butterfly, on Asclepias incarnata, swamp/rose milkweed, in my front yard, July 2018

A popular argument for making the Monarch an invertebrate icon is that “being such an icon has really helped us reach the average person about habitat and native plants and conservation, and by extension, the environment and climate change,” as one friend on social media put it. Well, if only that were true. If people who care about the Monarch had any understanding of ecology at all, they would not be complaining that “there are beetles eating the milkweed I planted for Monarchs!” They would not be devastated because one wasp killed one of the caterpillars.

As Eric noted in his article, gardeners who fret over “what’s eating my milkweed” are valuing their monarchs over the other invertebrates. Like these aphids.
Aphis nerii, oleander aphid (introduced), on Asclepias incarnata, swamp milkweed, in my front yard, July 2018

Like the monarchs, their bright orange color is aposematic, warning potential predators of their milkweed-borrowed toxicity. No matter … They sustain other visitors, like this brown lacewing larva.
Larva, brown lacewing, Hemerobiidae, feeding on Aphis nerii, Oleander aphid, on Asclepias syriaca, common milkweed, in my garden, June 2017

Or this Ocyptamus fuscipennis, syrphid/flower fly, showing great interest in the aphids on Asclepias incarnata, swamp milkweed, in my front yard.
Ocyptamus fuscipennis, syrphid/flower fly, hunting aphids on Asclepias incarnata, swamp milkweed, in my front yard, July 2017

And who knows what this Hymenoptera was hunting for.
NOID wasp - Pemphredoninae? Aphid Wasp? - on Asclepias syriaca, milkweed, in my garden, June 2018.

And there are other floral visitors besides the charismatic butterflies.

Bombus griseocollis, brown-belted bumblebee, on Asclepias syriaca, common milkweed, in my garden, June 2018
Hylaeus modestus, modest masked bee, on Asclepias incarnata, swamp milkweed, in my front yard, August 2018
Polistes dominula, Eropean paper wasp, on Asclepias incarnata, rose/swamp milkweed, in my front yard, August 2018
Aedes albopictus, Asian tiger mosquito, on Asclepias incarnata, swamp/rose milkweed, in my front yard, August 2018

There are many more I’ve yet to identify. All this on just three species of plants in my garden. Plants that some would grow only for the monarchs.

I’m growing over 200 species of plants native to New York City, and another 80 or so regional natives.
My Garden's Native Plant Species, by Year, 2005-2018

With all that botanical diversity has come insect diversity:

  • 31 species of bees.
  • 28 species of wasps.
  • 23 species of flies.
  • 20 species of beetles.

And, oh yeah, 24 species of butterflies, moths, and skippers. Including the charismatic monarchs.

Family Common Name # Species
Coleoptera Beetles 20
Diptera Flies 23
Hemiptera Bugs 9
Hymenoptera Bees 31
Hymenoptera Wasps 28
Lepidoptera Butterflies, Moths, and Skippers 24

Let’s plant milkweed, just not only for the monarchs.

And not just milkweeds.

Oh, and no pesticides.

Thank you.

Related Content

Blog Posts
Flickr photo sets

Danaus plexippus, monarch butterfly
Danaus plexippus, Monarch (Butterfly)

Milkweed species I’m growing in my garden. (Not all the photos are taken from my garden.)
Asclepias incarnata, Swamp Milkweed
Asclepias syriaca, common milkweed
Asclepias tuberosa, Butterfly Milkweed

Links

Bug Eric: Stop Saying the Monarch is a “Gateway Species” for an Appreciation of Other Insects

World Wetlands Day

Not only is it Imbolc, aka Groundhog Day (Flatbush Fluffy did NOT see his shadow today. You’re welcome.), it’s also World Wetlands Day. After seeing some of the photos shared by others on Twitter, I thought I would share my Flickr photo albums of some memorable wetlands I’ve had the privilege of visiting.

Cattus Island Park, Toms River, Ocean County, New Jersey

Cranberry Bog Preserve, Riverhead, Suffolk County, New York

The Hudson River, Riparius, Adirondacks, New York

Related Content

Links

A Hudson River Riparian Plant Community

Part of the eastern bank of the Hudson River, just south of the Route 8 bridge at Riparius/Riverside in the Adirondacks of New York. A year ago, this was all underwater, inundated by flood waters from Hurricane Irene.
Riparian Plant Community, Hudson River, Riparius, NY


One year ago, Hurricane Irene reached New York City. The damage in my neighborhood was slight: downed trees and large tree limbs.
London Plane Street Tree downed by Hurricane Irene

Our post-engagement pre-honeymoon vacation was delayed a day, simply because there were no roads open out of the city to our destination. Even the New York State Thruway was closed along most of its length: many entrance and exit ramps flooded, and it was safer to keep people off the road altogether.

Irene’s rains continued north, devastating the Catskills. At New Paltz, the Wallkill River overtopped its banks. This was a cornfield; the entire crop was lost. The sunflowers at the far end of the field are ten feet tall.
Flooded Sunflowers

The rains reached the Adirondacks. Which was exactly where our vacation plans were taking us. We arrived at Riparius, NY, on the banks of the Hudson River in the Adirondacks, just after Labor Day 2011, a few days after Irene had passed and the rains subsided.

The river was still swollen a few feet above its normal level. Never having been there before, I had no frame of reference. But I could see the waters lapping onto the lawns below the cabins, and saw grasses flowing beneath the waters. The few rocks visible were submerged, or nearly so.
The flooded banks of the Hudson River at Riparius after Irene

Last week we arrived at a different river, the wild Hudson, still freshly scrubbed and scoured by Irene’s floodwaters. The water, and banks, are now dominated by smooth, polished river rocks. In Adirondack tradition, I constructed a cairn on the shore near the cabin where we were staying.
My 10-Stone Cairn on the banks of the Hudson River in Riparius, NY

The evidence of Irene was everywhere. In addition to the plentiful now-exposed rocks, bank erosion was visible nearly the entire length of the shoreline here, cutting back into the mowed lawns hosting Adirondack chairs sited to view the sunset over the Hudson. The rocks themselves seemed relatively little disturbed. What Irene did was clear away a good foot or so of soil and plant growth that had overlaid the rocks, revealing the older, rocky bank beneath.
Bank Erosion, Hudson River, Riparius, NY
Bank Erosion, Hudson River, Riparius/Riverside, NY

One can see here that larger rocks amplified the power of the moving waters around them, scouring away the soil that previously surrounded them. The absence of lichens on the upper surface of this rock indicates it probably was previously covered with at least a thin layer of soil and plant roots. Now, a year after Irene, it stands alone.
Scouring around and behind a large rock, Bank Erosion, Hudson River, Riparius/Riverside, NY

Remarkable, to me, was how much plant life remained among the rocks. Most of what’s visible in this photo was inundated a year ago. The line of erosion can be clearly seen along the right. In some places, a foot or more of soil was washed away with Irene’s floods. This exposed the rocky bank beneath.
Bank Erosion and Regeneration, Hudson River, Riparius/Riverside, NY

A year ago, the water rose up onto the lawn on the upper right of the photo above. In this photo, just in front of the white bench, the rocky bank of the photo above is barely noticeable.
The beach on the Hudson at Riverside

The grasses flowed underwater with the current, like seaweed.
The flooded banks of the Hudson River at Riparius after Irene

But not all plants were washed away. Several clumps remained intact. Instead of wiping the slate clean, as Irene did in many places in the Catskills, the old set was struck and the stage reset for the next scene. The regeneration of a soft, soiled bank has already begun, as survivors recover, and pioneers fill in the now empty muck between the rocks.
Riparian Plant Community, Hudson River, Riparius, NY

Key to the persistence and recovery are the grasses, the dominant plants in this community. Here’s a detail demonstrating the tenacity of the roots, and their ability to grip bare rock and hold the soil in place against the floodwaters. And not just those of the grasses: one can also see here at least a half-dozen non-grass species growing in and around the grasses. They benefit from this close association simply by being present after the flood, ready to quickly regenerate and re-populate the landscape.
Riparian Plant Association, Hudson River, Riparius, NY

And thus begins the cycle. These plants – and some pioneer grasses – have already begun to restore themselves and their community. Over time, between floods, they will fill in all the gaps among the rocks again, laying down more organic material, and rebuilding the old, soft, green shore. Until the next flood.

The diversity of this plant community – just one year after the flood – surprised me. More evidence that most of these plants survived the flood, rather than colonizing the river just this year. I’m still identifying plants from the photos I took on this strip. And it will probably take me months to upload them all. But here’s a list of the species and genera I’ve been able to identify so far:

  • Chelone glabra, White Turtlehead
    Chelone glabra, White Turtlehead
  • Cyperus strigosus, Umbrella Sedge
    Cyperus strigosus, Umbrella Sedge
  • Eupatorium/Eupatoriadelphus, Joe Pye Weed
  • Helenium autumnale, Sneezeweed
    Helenium autumnale, Sneezeweed
  • Iris, probably Yellow Flag
  • Lobelia cardinalis, Cardinal Flower (easily identified as the spots of bright red in these photos)
    Lobelia cardinalis, Cardinal Flower
  • Lobelia kalmii, Kalm’s or Ontario Lobelia (also new to me, needed to get online before I could identify it with any confidence)
    Lobelia kalmii, Kalm's/Ontario Lobelia
  • Lycopus amaricanus, American Water-Horehound (a species new to me, I recognized it as a member of the Lamiaceae, mint family, which aided identification)
    Whorled Inflorescences, Lycopus americanus, American water-horehound (ID TENTATIVE)
  • Lythrum salicaria, Purple Loosestrife (Unfortunate, but I only found three scattered plants. Now would be the best time to remove them, but as a guest, and a stranger, it was not my place to do so on my own.)
    Flowering Spike of Lythrum salicaria, Purple Loosestrife
  • Mimulus ringens, Allegheny Monkey-flowe
    Mimulus ringens, Allegheny Monkeyflower (TENTATIVE)
  • Myosotis, Forget-Me-Not (haven’t keyed it out yet to determine if it’s a native or introduced species)
  • Polygonum amphibium, Water Smartweed (also new to me)
    Polygonum amphibium, Water Smartweed
  • Sanguisorba canadensis, American Burnet (another new species for me)
    Sanguisorba canadensis, Canadian Burnet
  • Solidago, Goldenrod
  • Spiranthes cernua, Nodding Lady’s-Tresses (also new to me, but I recognized the tiny flowers as orchids, which narrows it down considerably)
    Spiranthes cernua, Nodding Lady's-Tresses
  • Verbena hastata, Common Verbena (yet another new species for me)
    Verbena hastata, Common/Swamp Verbena

The Adirondacks as we know them today are only 20,000 years old, exposed after the retreat of the Laurentide Ice Sheet (which also gave birth to Long island, including Brooklyn). My stone cairn may be a little sturdier than a sand castle, but its ephemeral nature is part of its charm, and its beauty. I see the river, the rocks, the plants, the mountains themselves with the same eyes. Because I will never see them this way again, they are all the more beautiful to me now.

[goo.gl]

Related Content

Flickr photo sets:

Plants:

Fall in Miniature: BBG’s Bonsai in November

A yose (group-style) bonsai specimen of Acer palmatum, Japanese Maple, developed by Stanley Chinn currently on display at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. Yose typically group multiple specimens of the same, or closely related species, in the same planting to simplify cultural requirements. Chinn’s masterful touch is the selection of cultivars with different fall foliage colors. This specimen is unusual in that there appear to be only two, rather than the typical three or some other odd number, of the trees in the grouping.
Acer palmatum, Group-style Bonsai, BBG

There is no better time of year to visit the Brooklyn Botanic Garden’s C. V. Starr Bonsai Museum than right now. Most of the trees on display are in peak fall foliage color. And while the wind has knocked the leaves off many of the trees on the grounds, the sheltered bonsai have been spared those indignities.

This season, they’ve placed an additional display table at the northern end of the greenhouse, opposite the entrance.
Bonsai Museum, BBG

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C. V. Starr Bonsai Museum, Brooklyn Botanic Garden

Japanese Garden, BBG, Veteran’s Day

Stone Basin with Cherry Leaves, Japanese Garden, Brooklyn Botanic Garden
Stone Basin

The Japanese Hill-and-Pond Garden was another station on my tour of the Brooklyn Botanic Garden on Veteran’s Day with Blog Widow. What’s the connection between Veteran’s Day and BBG’s Japanese garden? Its designer, Takeo Shiota, died in a U.S. internment camp during World War II.

There are different styles of Japanese gardens. The hill-and-pond style is intended to be viewed from a fixed point, in this case, the pavilion that reaches out over the shore of the pond. The stone basin above adorns the entrance to the pavilion.

It is a blend of the ancient hill-and-pond style and the more recent stroll-garden style, in which various landscape features are gradually revealed along winding paths. The garden features artificial hills contoured around a pond, a waterfall, and an island while carefully placed rocks also play a leading role. Among the major architectural elements of the garden are wooden bridges, stone lanterns, a viewing pavilion, the Torii or gateway, and a Shinto shrine.

The steep hills, representing distant mountains, are a maintenance nightmare: they cannot be mowed by walking a mower across them. Instead, the mower must be rigged to bypass its safety features, and carefully lowered and raised down and up the slopes using ropes controlled from the tops of the hills. BBG staff are gradually replacing the turf of the original design with slow-growing dwarf Ophiopogon, Mondo grass. These will eventually provide the same scale and texture as lawn without the hazards to life and limb.

One of the treacherous slopes along an idyllic path.
Japanese Garden, BBG

Cherry leaves reach over one end of the pond.
Cherry Leaves

The view from the other end of the pond.
Japanese Garden, BBG

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Natural History: Patrick Dougherty at BBG, 2010-11-22
Fall Foliage at BBG’s Bonsai Museum, 2010-11-16

Japanese Garden, Brooklyn Botanic Garden, 2008-02-18
Gardening Matters: The death of Takeo Shiota (Grief & Gardening #4), 2006-10-29

Labels: Japanese Garden, Brooklyn Botanic Garden

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Japanese Hill-and-Pond Garden, Brooklyn Botanic Garden