Northeast Nature

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-Rosemary

Native to Europe and Asia, the winter moth (Operophtera brumata) has few predators in the northeast. Its caterpillars lay waste to trees in the spring, and adult moths swarm in late fall, long after most sensible moths have stopped flying. Only the males have functional wings. Females have tiny vestigial wing tufts and rely on sex pheromones to bring the males to the yard.

Are you seeing many of these balls of leaves in trees? These are the warm-weather homes of gray squirrels (Sciurus carolinensis). They’re called dreys and are made of leafy branches, with an inner lining of moss or other soft stuff. With branches now bare and temperatures dropping, dreys aren’t ideal places to spend the winter. Many squirrels will find shelter in an attic or other warmer place.

Here in the northeast, it’s getting pretty gloomy out, so enjoy this pretty flower from warmer times. It’s a swamp azalea (Rhododendron viscosum), a denizen of wetlands. It also goes by the name “swamp honeysuckle” because it smells nice and “clammy azalea” because the flowers have sticky glands. Some mornings I wake up feeling like a honeysuckle, but by 4 pm I’m all clammy azalea.

Smaller than the familiar great blue heron, the green heron (Butorides virescens) is an odd little bird. It’s a tool user, dropping bait in the water to lure fish (see a video here). Even more amazing, perhaps, is its looooooong neck. Most of the time, the green heron is all hunched up, but then something happens and the neck is DEPLOYED.

When everything in the marsh is turning brown, winterberry holly (Ilex verticillata) warms up the scene with these bright red berries. Unlike American holly, this species drops its leaves in the fall, which makes the fruit even more visible. Only female plants produce berries—and only when there’s at least one unassuming-looking male plant somewhere nearby.

Possibly the best thing about these odd fungi is that they often sprout from wood chips in urban gardens. These were right outside a strip mall. Keep your eyes out and they’ll brighten (en-weirden?) your commute.

Black bears (Ursa americana) eat plants—a lot of plants. Up to 90% of their diet can be plant material. Like a locavore foodie, they eat what’s in season, and in the fall they enjoy beech nuts. This beech tree has impressive claw marks from a bear’s climbing efforts. It’s amazing that the animal capable of gouging these holes was basically fueled by trail mix.

Have you ever found a piece of wood in the forest that looks like it’s been painted blue-green? I used to find these all the time and wonder who the heck was painting fences way out in the forest. But the culprit is a fungus, and this becomes evident when these tiny, cute green mushrooms pop up. Meet the green stain fungus (Chlorociboria sp.). Italian renaissance craftspeople used wood tinted by Chlorociboria in their beautiful inlaid designs (see some here). I love the color so much!

Clockwise from top left: Indian pipe (Monotropa uniflora), summer form pinesap (Monotropa hypopitys), Indian pipe (Monotropa uniflora), beechdrops (Epifagus virginiana), autumn form pinesap (Monotropa hypopitys),  one-flowered cancer root (Conopholis americana).

I love parasitic plants so much, and our forests are packed with parasites. Beechdrops (Epifagus virginiana) steals nutrients from the roots of beech trees. That’s why it’s purple instead of green - it lacks the green pigments that most plants use to make food from the sun. The products of this thievery are some odd slender flowers in late summer/early fall.

Late summer bloomers, northeastern goldenrods are golden yellow—except this one. Meet silverrod (Solidago bicolor). It shines in rocky, well-drained locations, often in disturbed areas such as roadsides. (If you’re sneezing right now, don’t blame goldenrods. Their big sticky pollen grains can’t sail up your nose; ragweed is the real culprit.)

Why do they stay closed? Bottle gentians want to save their pollen for just the best, most efficient kind of pollinator. For them, this means bumblebees (like the one in the first pic). Only those big bees can push themselves (awkwardly) into the closed blooms.

I found this little beast on an urban sidewalk at night. There are two “praying mantises” in the northeast, and both were introduced from afar; this one is a Chinese mantis (Tenodera aridifolia). People intentionally imported them in 1896 for pest control, and now they’re everywhere, improbably large and elegant predators hunting in city gardens.

This monarch butterfly (Danaus plexippus) just emerged. The pale shell of its chrysalis is dangling above it. How did such a big butterfly come out of such a small space? When this monarch first burst out, its wings were small and crumpled, and it had to pump fluid from its abdomen into the wings until they filled out. This is kind of like being born with two deflated air mattresses on your back, plus a small pump (in your butt).