Tall Reeds (Phragmites) -- © Dave Spier

Tall (Common) Reeds, Phragmites australis, at Montezuma National Wildlife Refuge

          They're most noticeable beside the road in drainage ditches and low spots.  These tall plants with sword leaves and beige plumes extend their grasp year after year.  You may know them by several names including Common Reed, Tall Reed or Phragmites (the generic portion of Phragmites australis, the Southern Reed).  Look closely and you'll notice it's just another hollow-stem grass (though unusually large) with long leaves sheathing the stem.  The feathery plumes at the top are the flowers that turn to brown, then beige, then gray as the seeds ripen.

            During Colonial times and continuing into the 19th century, a native variety of Tall Reed grew along the coasts.  In the early 20th century, a nearly identical, but more aggressive European variety was introduced into one or more Atlantic ports.  Seeds clinging to boat hulls expanded its range along the Erie Canal.  Tall Reed has since exploded into disturbed wetlands where it spreads by seeds, dense tangles of underground rhizomes, and roots that can grow down several feet.  Colonies become dense stands that can choke waterways and crowd out any native wetland plants.  Reeds thrive in alkaline soils, so the abundant limestone and dolostone across Western and Central New York makes an ideal growing environment.  Cutting and burning are ineffective as controls.  Not surprisingly, winter salt runoff has no effect, considering reeds grow in brackish marshes along the east coast.  In fact, the salinity may suppress native freshwater vegetation, tipping the balance in favor of reeds.  This plant seems to be here to stay.

            European reeds have been used for roof thatching and cattle feed, and for making mats, pen quills and low-quality paper.  Native Americans of the Southwest fashioned arrow shafts, prayer sticks, screens and nets from the stems of reeds.  The rootstocks and seeds could be eaten as food. 

            Wildlife makes limited use of reed beds.  Red-winged Blackbirds will nest in the stands and may eat the seeds, thereby increasing dispersal of the plant.  In Europe and Asia, other species of birds are adapted specifically to life in extensive Phragmites stands.

            Comments or corrections may be sent to northeastnaturalist@yahoo.com  My other nature columns can be found at http://adirondacknaturalist.blogspot.com/ 
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Common Milkweed -- Part 1 (autumn)

Ripe pods splitting open to release silky floss can mean only one thing -- the milkweed seeds are ripe and ready for dispersal on autumn and winter winds. -- © Dave Spier

Milkweeds need almost no introduction. In fact, the Common Milkweed (Asclepias syriaca) is just that -- common and widespread in fields and roadsides. The genus name refers to Asclepius, the Greek god of healing, because of the plant's use in folk medicine, much of it derived from native American practices. A quick word of caution, though. Avoid the milky juice which contains toxic compounds including alkaloids, glycosides and cardenolides. Monarch butterflies are immune to the effects of these substances and use them to their advantage by laying their eggs on the plant. The caterpillars eat the leaves, ingest the toxic substances, and become noxious prey to would-be predators. Apparently the effects last into adulthood. One experience of getting sick is probably enough to ward off a bird from eating any more larvae or adults. (Given the date of this post, I'd say this is no longer an issue till next summer.)

The species name, syriaca, is a case of mistaken identity. When the plant arrived in Europe (before 1753) it was believed to have come from the Middle East. Actually this particular species is native to North America. Worldwide, there are 140 species of milkweeds. Once considered to be a family of plants, the group has been downgraded to the rank of subfamily in the dogbane family.

Early settlers used milkweed fluff to stuff pillows and mattresses. The silk could also be spun into candlewicks. Fibers from the milkweed stalk could be made into thread, cloth, fish nets and purses.

The Common Milkweed's sticky, white sap can be used to make a natural rubber. During World War II, when tree latex from Malaysia became unavailable, the government experimented with milkweeds. Commercial-scale production of rubber would have required the redesign of existing processing facilities, so the effort floundered. Eventually most natural rubber was replaced by synthetics made from petroleum.

Milkweed did come to the rescue of the life-preserver industry which had relied on kapok from Java. When that source was cut off in 1942, school children and scout troops in 26 states were paid 20 cents for each onion bag they filled with ripe milkweed pods (roughly 800 pods per bag). The flossy seed hairs are waxy on the outside and hollow on the inside (much like kapok). This makes them super-light and water resistant, which is perfect for life vests. Less than two pounds of filling could keep a sailor afloat on the sea for two days. After the war, milkweed again sank commercially because it was cheaper to import kapok. The only remnants of the war effort are the nicknames silkweed, Virginia silk, cottonweed and wild cotton.

Part 2 discusses summer flowers and part 3 the summer butterflies that use the plant.

Questions, comments and corrections may be sent to northeastnaturalist@yahoo.com More nature articles can be found on the website http://adirondacknaturalist.blogspot.com Connect with me on Facebook and my photo page. There is a 3rd page to create a Northeast Naturalist community.

Common Milkweed seeds travel on silky parachutes -- © Dave Spier

November Trails -- Part 2 -- © Dave Spier

Gray Squirrel digging -- © Dave Spier

I'm dressed in complete camouflage, including face net and gloves, and sitting against the base of a tree trunk. A Gray Squirrel approaches, stops momentarily to dig in the leaves, and then continues on its way less than four feet from me. It's totally oblivious to my presence because I'm motionless. This is surpassed only by a memorable experience many years ago, even before I switched to camouflage clothing, when a chipmunk walked across my shoe, unaware of its nature or the presence of potential danger. I was sitting on a log, but again the secret was remaining perfectly motionless and silent.

Autumn's leafy pallet has mostly fallen, but the woods still have color in the sunlight. Green grass and ferns contrast with brown leaves littering the ground while gray tree trunks reach to blue sky. The afternoon's warmth brings out a solitary tree frog peeping in the swamp. Most amphibians are now buried in the mud to hibernate through the winter. Even the hardy tadpoles of bullfrogs and green frogs, the ones that take two years to mature, are now scarce in shallow ponds.

Insects are plentiful. Flies, gnats, crickets and other flying arthropods seem out of place for November, and where there are insects, can spiders be very far? I know I've been sitting too long when I notice a spider stringing webs across my camera tripod.

Daylight is fading as a Pileated Woodpecker, the largest of our tree knockers, flies through the forest canopy and lands high in a tree and lets out its typical repetitive call, similar to a flicker, but louder.

Deer scat (droppings), Allegany County, NY -- © Dave Spier

At dusk I leave the woods, having once again succeeded in finding scads of deer signs -- trails, tracks, scrapes, rubs and scat [droppings] -- but not a single, breathing whitetail. They wait for the cover of darkness to move about. I pass some apple trees on the ridge, another good location for deer, but all I see is the rear end of a cottontail rabbit (another white-tailed vegetarian) as it disappears into the weeds.

What did you see during the warm spell? Contact me at northeastnaturalist@yahoo.com More nature photos can be seen at http://www.flickr.com/photos/dave_spier and http://picasaweb.google.com/northeastnaturalist 


November Trails -- Parts 1 & 2 are based on an original slide program by Dave Spier.

Buck rub, Letchworth State Park, NY -- © Dave Spier

November Trails -- Part 1

November Trails

© Dave Spier

Unexpectedly warm and sunny weather followed the first feeble attempt at an autumn snowfall. Call it Indian Summer, or just call it enjoyable. Mornings were chilly and dew-laden, but that's normal November. I hope you have a chance to get out and savor the weather before things go downhill again.

The trail through the field back to the woods is dotted with open milkweed pods releasing brown seeds to float on white down. The zebra-striped Monarch caterpillars that fed on the toxic white sap of the summer leaves long ago transformed to butterflies and headed south toward their winter home in Mexico. You might have noticed the Canadian Monarchs passing through New York in early October.

Near the milkweed, the once-plump, off-white berries on Red-panicled Dogwoods are now wrinkled and dry. Chickadees have been snatching as many of the fruits as they can, and the ones that fall to the ground become food for grouse. The shrub's name comes from the red stems that hold the berries, but the gray bark on the main branches gives it the alternate name, Gray Dogwood. [see the previous blog post] Next to the dogwood, a flock of Purple Finches landed in a small tree and then flew again in unison. These birds, red-raspberry relatives of goldfinches, breed across southern Canada and winter in the eastern half of the United States. We see them most often during their migrations.

In the middle of the field, a thorny rosebush is covered with tasteless rosehips that are nonetheless high in vitamin C. These small, red fruits are credited with supporting the expansion of the mockingbird from its southern strongholds to the cold climates of Upstate New York.

Northern Mockingbird in Multi-flora Rose bush -- © Dave Spier

In the woods, small beige moths flit among the trees while a pair of Red-bellied Woodpeckers chase each other from one tree trunk to the next. In spite of brilliant scarlet feathers on the nape (back of the neck) and crown of the male, the bird is named for an obscure patch of salmon red on the belly between the legs. The bird has to be at just the right angle to see it. The problem with the name is that another woodpecker with an entirely red head and neck took the name Red-headed Woodpecker. That species is a southern bird; we seldom see them in the Finger Lakes region.

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Dogwoods -- © Dave Spier

Gray (Red-panicled) Dogwood berries in the rain - © Dave Spier

Gray Dogwood, an upland shrub named for the gray bark on trunks and main branches, produces white berries prized by songbirds. It is also called Red-panicled Dogwood (Cornus racemosa) because the berry clusters grow on red stems (panicles). By now the simple, opposite leaves have fallen but this makes the fruits more obvious to chickadees and other birds that seem to enjoy them and unintentionally disburse the seeds.

Gray Dogwood colonizes old fields and spreads by underground runners. The result is a dome-shaped thicket with older, taller shrubs up to 10 feet high in the center. New twigs are brown, and the center of branchlets have light brown pith.

Its close cousin, Red-osier Dogwood (Cornus stolonifera = C. alba) will do the same in wet meadows. It also has white berries prized by songbirds and Ruffed Grouse. The red twigs are eaten by deer and cottontails. If you cut across one of the bright red (sometimes green) twigs with a sharp knife, you'll notice the center is filled with white pith.

Most dogwoods have branchlets with opposite twigs and leaves similar to maples and viburnums. The exception is Alternate-leaf Dogwood (Cornus alternifolia), also called Pagoda Dogwood because of its growth form with whorls of leaves at the end of green twigs.

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Goldenrod Ball Galls -- © Dave Spier

Pair of ball galls on Canada Goldenrod stem at Montezuma Audubon Center - © Dave Spier

In August and early September, the field had been bright yellow with goldenrod flowers. Now it’s turning brown, although this too can be attractive when the plants are frosted and backlit by the rising sun. In November, most of the goldenrod leaves will shrivel and drop, exposing abnormal swellings on many of the plant stems. The common ones found on Canada Goldenrod are ball-shaped, resembling miniature basketballs about an inch or more in diameter. Not surprisingly they are usually called "goldenrod ball galls."

To fully understand galls we need to cut one open and look inside. Carefully pry and twist while cutting into the pithy core and try to pop the gall open. At the very center is a small cavity with the even smaller white larva of the peacock fly, Eurosta solidaginis, a relative of the fruit fly. Originally injected into the stem as an egg, it hatched and began feeding. Chemicals in its saliva stimulate the host plant to produce a pithy bulge in an effort to heal the "wound" caused by the parasitic larva. This actually benefits the insect by providing endless food and later an insulating shelter with a hard, weatherproof shell.

The gall, however, is not impermeable. Downy Woodpeckers and Black-capped Chickadees have learned that galls contain a nutritious morsel, and these birds will peck and chisel until they get it. You can recognize their work by the rough, funnel-shaped excavations they leave behind.

Gall fly larvae that escape this fate will chew a tunnel almost to the surface and there they will pupate until they emerge. Winged adults lack chewing mouth parts and can only pop the lid. They do this by inflating a balloon-like bladder (called the ptilinum) between the eyes. You can recognize their work by the small, sharp-edged hole that appears to have been drilled into the gall. The only function of the adult stage is to find a mate and lay more eggs in more goldenrod stems.

Goldenrods are prone to several other kinds of galls. An irregular-shaped growth called the "knotty goldenrod gall" is caused by the gall midge Lasioptera solidaginis. It’s somewhat globular, but not pith-filled. Less obvious is a long, spindle-shaped bulge called the "elliptical goldenrod gall" caused by the caterpillar of a moth.

A third type is very different in structure and occurs at the top of the stem. The "goldenrod bunch gall" is actually a globular head of deformed leaves about two inches in diameter. It is caused by a gall midge, a type of fly related to the mosquito. Its egg-laying apparatus, called an ovipositor isn’t strong enough to pierce the tough stem, so it contends with laying its egg on the tip of the plant.

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Taughannock Falls

Mist spraying from the base of Taughannock Falls accents the footbridge near the end of the lower gorge trail - © Donna Mason-Spier

The highest waterfall in New York State is easily accessible off Rt. 89 northwest of Ithaca in Tompkins County. Taughannock Creek flows east and descends the valley slope to end in Cayuga Lake. Since the end of the last Ice Age, the creek, by utilizing two significant waterfalls, has cut an impressive gorge into the plateau. I suggest starting at the overlook on the north rim of the gorge about a half mile uphill from Rt. 89. Through a break in the forest, you gain an overview of the lower gorge below the main falls, plus a glimpse into the upper gorge above this falls.

Drive downhill and turn right (south) on Rt. 89, cross the creek and pull into the lower parking lot on your right. (If this lot is full, there are larger lots on the east side of Rt. 89, toward Taughannock Point, a delta created by the creek from sediments washed out of the hillside.) A three-quarter mile walking trail leads up the gorge through a mature forest to the base of 215' high Taughannock Falls. Yes, it's higher than Niagara, but of course it lacks the width and volume of water. (After all, Niagara drains the four upper Great Lakes on their way to Lake Ontario and then the St. Lawrence.)

The lower falls capped by Tully limestone - © Donna Mason-Spier

Even from the parking area, you can see the lowest falls, created by the resistant Tully limestone caprock. The weak Hamilton shales at the base of this falls are easily eroded with the result that blocks of limestone break off.  Both are members of the Catskill Delta created during the Devonian period.
 

Joints (tension cracks) crossing Tully limestone above lower falls - © Donna Mason-Spier

Above the lower falls, the creek has washed off the relatively flat surface of the Tully upstream to a wide "step" falls created by another layer of the limestone. Above that another flat surface continues upstream until you reach the black Geneseo shale.

Solution pits and minor joints in the surface of the Tully - © Donna Mason-Spier

Solution pits and a major joint in the surface of the Tully - © Donna Mason-Spier

The "step" falls formed by an upper stratum of Tully limestone - © Donna Mason-Spier

Black Geneseo shale beside the gorge trail - © Donna Mason-Spier

Further up the gorge you'll see the beige cliffs formed by more resistant Sherburne siltstone, a slightly younger rock overlying the Geneseo formation. Both are in the Genesee group.

When you reach the wide amphitheater surrounding the falls, the highest portion of the cliffs are Ithaca shale which begins about 25' above the crest of the falls. At this point the gorge is about 400' deep.

The amphitheater cut into Sherburne siltstone overlying dark Geneseo shale, both formations in the Genesee group - © Donna Mason-Spier

Collapsed pinnacle of Sherburne siltstone, the lighter strata above the dark Geneseo shale - © Donna Mason-Spier

Autumn foliage in the lower gorge, October 23, 2011 - © Donna Mason-Spier

Reflection of autumn foliage on Taughannock Creek, October 23, 2011 - © Donna Mason-Spier

Tree-lined Lower Gorge Trail - © Donna Mason-Spier

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