The last throes of summer

in the ecotone between seasons

Early September—and Gold Ridge earned its name in a botanical (rather than a mineral) way; the open slopes were covered with the golden leaves of deer cabbage. Color accents came from the scarlet berries and crimson leaves of dwarf dogwood. There were even a few scattered flowers of about ten species still in bloom, with little hope of pollination, but swathes of partridgefoot, still flowering, clothed a few protected pockets.

Black crowberries and two kinds of low-bush blueberries offered snacks to foraging birds and hikers. The very last salmon berries hid under drooping foliage.

A female grouse and a big chick tried to be invisible at the edge of an alder thicket; their patience outlasted ours, and we eventually went on up the trail. A very small marmot hustled into its burrow with a big mouthful of dry grass for a winter bed, while an adult marmot posed regally on a rock right next to the trail. The marmots will disappear for the winter very soon now.

Swarms of minute insects danced in the open spaces between the canes of salmonberry. I have no idea what they were, but surely they were in reproductive mode, trying to beat the onset of low temperatures.

On another day in early September, a stroll through the lower muskegs at Eaglecrest found some good patches of still-unripe bog cranberries and some low-bush blueberries. We saw that a few of the dwarf dogwood berries had been sampled by some small animal, leaving a hole but without removing the seed—very different from the more usual rodent foraging, which focuses on the seed, leaving a hollow fruit behind. I have to wonder who might eat the dogwood berries; I’ve seldom found the seeds in the hundreds of bird or bear scats that I’ve inspected.

A few swamp gentians were still tightly furled in bud and were probably too late for pollination, as were the one or two bog kalmias that were still open. We searched for sundews and found only three decrepit specimens where earlier there had been thousands, so we concluded that they had gone to bed for the season.

Dragonflies—the big, blue darners, mostly—still cruised the ponds and waterways in search of occasional prey. One enterprising couple flew by in copula: the male clasped the female behind her head with the grasping appendages at the end of his body, and the female looped up her abdomen under the male’s thorax where his sperm are stored. He carried her around while his sperm were being transferred to her ovaries (and perhaps he also displaced or removed sperm from a previous mating!). She would probably lay her eggs in dead wood or vegetation, where they would overwinter.

Meanwhile, the sockeye run in Steep Creek ended, and we await the arrival of the coho. The mallard ducks that visit my home pond are all in brown, eclipse plumage. A few, however, are starting to show rusty chests and darker heads that will turn green as the males don their courtship feathers. Mallards begin their courtship and mate-choice in winter—it seems to be a gradual process.

Cottonwood and devil’s club leaves are turning golden, willows sprinkle their crowns with yellow leaves, and the maples glow with yellows, orange, and several shades of red. Highbush cranberry leaves turn to pink and red, and the wild crabapple leaves get a characteristic shade of rather grubby, rusty red. Even some of the blueberries, especially in the alpine zone, are colorful. The alders get left out of this color show; their leaves turn dull brown and crinkled. Why are they so different?

Amid hundreds of ripening rose hips, I saw a single, lonely pink blossom.

“Tis the last rose of summer

Left blooming alone.

All her lovely companions

Are faded and gone”

Tricky flowers

…clever little arrangements for pollination

Most of our wild flowers are wide-open structures, just letting all the sexual parts hang out. Think of nagoonberry or cloudberry, asters, avens, silverweed, wild roses, geranium, anemones, and so on—all of these just present the sexual organs to whatever insect happens to land there. The smaller flowers of angelica and cow parsnip and their relatives do the same, but present the flowers in flat-topped bunches, making a good-sized landing platform for a visiting insect. It is then a relatively simple matter for an insect to walk around, picking up pollen from one flower and carrying it to another. Columbine and fernleaf goldthread dangle the sex organs loosely, downward or outward, where a visitor just bumps into them, when in search of nectar deeper in the flower.

Some of our flowers, however, are a bit more complex, requiring a visiting insect to do a little work or behave in a particular way. In these species, the sexual parts are typically enclosed within the flower—concealed in various ways. Here are some examples:

lupine-by-bob-armstrong
Lupine. Photo by Bob Armstrong

Lupine: Bees pry open the flower, and when they depress the lowest, keel-like petal, out pop the stigma (to receive pollen, if the bee carried any) and the anthers (containing pollen to be deposited on the bee and carried to another flower).

Twayblade orchid: A visiting tiny bee or fly pokes into the miniscule flower, bumping into a projection that releases a sticky gob that pulls out clumps of pollen. The pollen is stuck onto the insect’s face or head until another flower is visited and the pollen is inserted there.

Violet: Down in the heart of the flower, the stigma is encircled by closed anthers, packed tightly together (the technical term is ‘connivent’—conjuring up mental images of conniving and scheming deviously (!). A visiting insect displaces the stigma, pushing it to one side and perhaps depositing pollen, and only then do the anthers open, releasing pollen to be picked up and carried away by the insect.

bog-cranberry-flower-by-bob-armstrong
Bog cranberry. Photo by Bob Armstrong

Blueberry, cranberry, shooting star, wintergreens (and tomato): Although the flowers differ in shape, all depend on what is called ‘buzz pollination.’ A visiting bee vibrates certain flight muscles (and buzzes), which causes pollen to shake down on the bee. If the bee already had pollen on its body, from another flower, it is brushed off onto the stigma.

Bunchberry/dwarf dogwood: the tiny flowers are clustered together, surrounded by white, petal-like bracts. Ripe flower buds open suddenly and the anthers explode their pollen into the air or onto an insect, when a tiny projection on one of the four petals is triggered, perhaps by an insect.

Lady-slipper orchid/moccasin flower: These flowers are doubly devious. They offer no nectar to insect visitors, who nevertheless prospect around inside the ‘slipper’, in hopes of a reward. But once inside that slipper, they cannot get out—except by squeezing through a tight opening at the back of the flower, where the sexual organs just happen to be located, convenient for pollen deposition and pick-up.

bog-laurel-by-bob-armstrong
Bog laurel. Photo by Bob Armstrong

Bog laurel: When the flower opens, the anthers are held in little pockets on the faces of the petals, with slim filaments linking them to the center of the flower. This species is normally pollinated by bumblebees: when the bee lands on a flower, the anthers spring out of their pockets and dust pollen on the bee. The springing mechanism is reported to be very sensitive, so perhaps even small insects, coming in search of nectar, can spring the anthers free, but it is unclear if the pollen would land on their bodies and if they would be effective pollinators.

All these clever little arrangements are a small sample of the ingenious contrivances for pollination exhibited by flowers in more southerly latitudes, about which whole books have been written. The world of flowers is far more complicated than one might expect.