A walk through the season

Old School Naturalist-Notes from the fields and forests of Upstate New York by Marlene McTigue

A Walk Through the Season

Some days, if we’re paying attention, the natural world around us shows us that the season has quietly turned another page.On one late June walk through the forests, fields, and roadsides of the Catskill foothills, the landscape seemed to be marking the passage of time in wildflowers. At nearly 1,000 feet above sea level, spring lingers a little longer than it does in the valleys below, and summer climbs the hillsides at its own deliberate pace. Every elevation has its own timetable. Scientists have a name for paying attention to these recurring seasonal events: phenology. It is the study of nature’s calendar, when flowers bloom, birds return, insects emerge, and babies are born. Long before wall calendars, these were the milestones people used to measure the year.After emerging from a long walk through the cool shade of the forest into an open pasture, the first thing that caught my eye was the first black-eyed Susans I’d seen this year. Their bright golden petals surrounded dark centers, announcing that summer had begun. Although they appear to be a single flower, each bloom is actually made up of hundreds of tiny individual flowers packed together, providing nectar and pollen for bees, butterflies, and countless other pollinators throughout the summer. Later in the season, their seeds will help feed American goldfinches and other seed-eating birds.Just this side of the tree line, tall milkweed had begun to bloom. The rounded clusters of dusty pink blossoms were already humming with bees. While their sweet fragrance attracts a remarkable variety of pollinators, milkweed serves an even greater purpose. It is the only plant on which monarch butterflies lay their eggs, and it is the only food monarch caterpillars can eat. While monarchs often steal the spotlight, l saw red milkweed beetles. Their kind have been living their entire lives alongside milkweed for millions of years, quietly writing their own summer story.Scattered among the tall grasses was a lone Deptford pink, easy to overlook unless you slowed down. Introduced from Europe centuries ago, this tiny rose-colored wildflower has quietly made itself at home in sunny fields and along rural roadsides throughout much of the Northeast.The familiar oxeye daisies had already been brightening the roadsides for weeks. Out in the pasture, however, another member of the aster family was beginning its season. Daisy fleabane had begun to bloom, spreading its delicate white, star-like blossoms across the field, each flower surrounding a tiny yellow center. Early settlers believed the dried plants repelled fleas, giving the flower its memorable common name, though today it is valued as an important nectar source for small native bees and other beneficial insects.Farther up the hill, the dependable red clover continued its quiet work, feeding bumblebees and honeybees. While pollinators gathered nectar above ground, something equally remarkable was happening below. Clover partners with nitrogen-fixing bacteria in its roots, enriching the soil naturally and helping neighboring plants thrive.Nearby, large bedstraw, sometimes called false baby’s-breath (Galium mollugo), had already begun its next chapter. Only a week ago, its airy white blossoms floated above the roadside like a delicate mist. Now many were already giving way to seed, a reminder that while some plants are only beginning their season, others are already preparing for the next. Though not native to New York, large bedstraw has become a familiar sight in sunny fields and along rural roadsides throughout our region, where its cloud-like sprays add a soft backdrop to the colors of early summer.Even the grasses were entering a new stage of the season. Fresh green stems had given way to heavy seed heads that shimmered in every breeze. They rarely receive the admiration given to wildflowers, yet they provide food and shelter for countless insects, birds, and small mammals while quietly preparing the meadow for another year.Then, as the path gave way to the roadside, the first chicory appeared along a neighbor’s lawn. Its pale blue blossoms were impossible to miss against the summer greens. Each individual flower blooms for only a single day, but the plant continually opens new blossoms for weeks, keeping that pale blue ribbon along our roadsides throughout much of the summer.The enormous catalpa trees towering over our neighbor’s house came into view. Only a week ago they had been covered with thousands of fragrant white blossoms that drew bees, hummingbirds, and other pollinators high into their branches. Already, many were beginning to brown. Before long, these same trees will become the host plant for the striking catalpa sphinx moth, another reminder that every stage of a plant’s life supports another chapter in the lives of the creatures around it.The final stretch home was awash in yellow as bird’s-foot trefoil transformed both sides of the road into ribbons of gold. Named for the slender seed pods that resemble the foot of a small bird, this cheerful member of the pea family has become an important nectar source for bees throughout June and July.Perhaps this is what phenology is really about. It isn’t simply learning the names of wildflowers. It is recognizing that every bloom, every seed head, every fading blossom marks another quiet step through the year. Once you begin reading nature’s calendar, every walk becomes richer than the one before.Until next week, keep your eyes on the forests, fields, and roadsides. Another page is already beginning to turn. See you next week.