Chapter IV: Part 4

My basket was now laden with choice species, including those of the Ram’s-Head, the Showy Orchis, and two species of Habenaria, a sister genus of _Orchis spectabilis_. The locality had proven a treasure-ground to me, for here were both the Great and the Small Round-Leaved Orchis (_Habenaria orbiculata_ and _Habenaria Hookeriana_); while the Tall Green Orchis (_Habenaria hyperborea_) dwells in the deeper bogs along the stream.

The leaves of the Purple-Fringed Orchis (_Habenaria grandiflora_) are hidden in the borders of the open meadow. I found a few plants of that very rare orchid called Adder’s-Mouth (_Achroanthes unifolia_) seldom if ever before collected in this town. The plants are so small and inconspicuous that one may search long without seeing them. Two stood among the select company of Ram’s-Heads, while others grew along a damp, silent brook bed that had ceased to flow,—a ravine formed during spring freshets and melting snows.

Showing the plant nearly natural size. This species is closely allied with the Early Spring Orchis (_Orchis mascula_) of England. It is the most highly organized of our native orchids.]

This pigmy of the Orchid Family—with its pale and odorless flower and its unassuming habit of concealing itself in the darkest recesses of our forests and swamps—grows plentifully in its native haunts to the north.

I had searched long and closely for the last month, hoping to find the Large Purple-Fringed Orchis. Thoreau says: “It is remarkable that this, one of the fairest of all our flowers, should also be one of the rarest—for the most part not seen at all.... The village belle never sees this more delicate belle of the swamp.... A beauty reared in the shade of a convent, who has never strayed beyond the convent bell. Only the skunk or the owl, or other inhabitant of the swamp, beholds it.”[33]

The Yellow-Fringed Orchis follows later, blooming through August and September,—the blossoming season of the flaming Cardinal-Flower, whose brilliant coloring brightens the dark shades along streams in moist woods. The Yellow-Fringed Habenarias are found growing with the Pitcher Plant, and often fill the sphagnous swamps with a glowing mass of orange-flamed torches. Gray considered them among our handsomest species of Habenaria. They are abundant in swamps about New Haven, Connecticut, while the White-Fringed Orchises seek the coast-lines of Massachusetts, although also found sparingly in the highlands.

Species of Habenaria are called False Orchises, while species of Orchis are known as True Orchises. These species are members of sister genera, but all belong to the Orchid Family. There are but three True Orchises found on the continent north of Mexico, while not less than forty-four species of Habenaria are reported for the same area.

The genus of True Orchises comprises eighty species, distributed throughout the temperate zone of the world; while of Habenaria there are about five hundred species. _Orchis spectabilis_ and _Orchis rotundifolia_ are found in Vermont. The latter is the rarer, and limited in its range from northern New England to Greenland. The _Orchis spectabilis_ ranges from Ontario southward to Georgia. The third species, _Orchis aristata_, is endemic to the wooded regions of Alaska.

Our common Showy Orchis resembles the Early Spring Orchis (_Orchis mascula_) of England, which Darwin never tired of praising. The high organism distinguishes species of this genus as True Orchises. The origin of this distinction lies in the complex structure of the organs of fertilization. The stigmatic lobes, or female organs, and the anther containing the pollinia or male substance in fertilizing, are enclosed in this genus in a pouch or hooded fold above and within the anterior portion of the orifice of the spur. In False Orchises, the stigma and anther are naked, and their glands are exposed. They are also known as Naked Gland Orchises. The more complex the structure, the more highly organized becomes the species. _Orchis spectabilis_ displays a marvellous intelligence in its mechanism for inviting fertilization and cross-fertilization. The enclosure of the glands within the hooded pouch protects the pollinia from rains or improper insects.

The moth finds a resting-place on the petaled platform, while he pushes his tongue and head into the depths of the dainty spur attached to the flower anteriorly. In doing this he forces his forehead against the viscid lobes of the stigma, situated in the back, opposite to the entrance of the spur. In pushing, as he must, to reach the nectar in the twisting spur, he ruptures the interior membrane of the rostellum above the orifice containing the pollinia. Each mass of this fertilizing substance in this species contains viscid disks or handles, fastened with elastic hair-like caudicles attached to the pollinia. When the insect ruptures the cellular tissues of the anther, these disks shoot out of their sockets, and fasten firmly to his head. As he flies away, he possesses one or two pollinia, unique in their completeness. In visiting the next spike of the Showy Orchis, he repeats the insertion of his tongue and forehead in the spur of the nectary. The golden horn of pollinum thus rubs against the viscid surface of the stigma, and fertilization and cross-fertilization are brought about. The insect thus accomplishes all that Nature has designed for the future of the species, even if only a small portion of the pollinum is absorbed by the attractive surface of the stigma. One mass fastened to the head of a moth would, in this manner, fertilize several flowers.

According to Darwin, orchids with short-spurred nectaries are fertilized by bees and flies; while those with long spurs are visited by moths and butterflies with long proboscides.

The structure of various species calls for special insects to fertilize and cross-fertilize them. The failure to attract the proper agencies has led Nature slowly to change the organs of many orchids so that self-fertilization might be accomplished. In this way, “an enormous amount of extinction” must have taken place. A wide gap of obliteration intervenes between species of Orchis and Cypripedium, the former being the most highly organized and the latter the lowest, or abnormal species of the Orchid Family.

The species included under the great genus Habenaria grow more abundantly than any other on our continent. It is not unusual to find five or six species of this genus in a neighborhood such as the Bogs of Etchowog or Witch Hollow region. In the latter locality I found four species of Habenaria, two of Cypripedium, one of Achroanthes, and one of Orchis, making in all eight rare species for a very small area of swamp-land.

Soon after I reached home with my basket of roots, the front porch exhibited a long row of pots and tin cans, where stood my transplanted treasures, ultimately to be placed in the garden of a friend in New Haven.

It has always been a source of wonder that Thoreau did not find more species of the Orchid Family in the conifer swamps in the Maine woods. His journeys made in July, through pine and cedar and mud-pond regions, should have led to the discovery of more species than he mentions. He writes of but three species of Habenaria, one of Ladies’ Tresses (_Gyrostachys_), and one of Twayblade (_Leptorchis liliifolia_). To be sure, he found the Great Round-Leaved Habenaria and the two Purple-Fringed species in abundance, but there is no record of a Cypripedium in his data save as reported for Concord.

Species of Orchis and Habenaria are among the oldest orchids known in the records of ancient herbalists and naturalists. Both of our native Purple-Fringed Orchises (_Habenaria grandiflora_ and _Habenaria psycodes_) are closely allied with _Orchis morio_, found so abundantly in the fields of England. Pliny, in the time of Christ, knew this plant as _Orchis_ or _Serapias_, which Fée has identified with the _Orchis morio_ now known in Europe. This species is more nearly related to our Small Purple-Fringed Orchis than to the larger species.

The origin of the name _Orchis_ arose from the ancient lore of classical mythology. Orchis, a son of a rural god named Patellanus, failed to observe the rules of politeness while attending a festival of Bacchus, and offended one of the priestesses with his rude behavior. He was reported to the attendants for punishment, who in anger tore him to pieces. His father Patellanus, and his mother, that sweet nymph Acolasia, sought the co-deities’ influence, who, it is said, urged the superior gods to command a flower to rise from the earth perpetuating the name and memory of their son. Thus arose the strange untamable species of this family.

The species now known under genus Orchis and Habenaria had various common names in ancient literature. There were five kinds of Orchis which the Greeks commonly called Cynorchis; this became in Latin _Testiculus canis_ and _Testiculus morionis_, and later in England, _Orchis morio_. Satyrion was also an ancient common English name for the species of Cynorchis known to the Greek apothecaries.

In the sixteenth century the Purple-Fringed Orchises of England were known as _Satyrion Royall_, _Noble Satyrion_, _Palma Christi_, and _Royall Standergrasse_. In fact, all species of orchids in 1578 were described under the group of plants designated as _Standlewort_, or _Standergrasse_.[34]

Shakespeare mentions them in _Hamlet_ as “Long-Purples” and “Dead-Men’s Fingers.” Tennyson also speaks of them as Long-Purples in _A Dirge_. Rev. Mr. Ellacomb, in _Robinson’s Garden_, alludes to these orchises as “Dead-Men’s Thumbs.”

The Great Royall Satyrion of England and Germany, known to Dodoens and Lyte in 1578, was found in meadows and moist woods. The flowers were light purple, and gave forth sweet perfume. The roots were described as double, like a pair of hands, and each palm was parted into four or five small roots like fingers; one palm being withered and spongy, the other full and sound. From this peculiarity of form many of the names were undoubtedly derived. There was also another small purple species of Royall Satyrion, with a perfume like musk. The roots were like the larger purple Royall Satyrion.

Closely allied to _Habenaria psycodes_ of New England, and to the English Long Purples (_Orchis Morio_) of ancient literature. They are mentioned by Shakespeare in _Hamlet_.

“_There with fantastic garlands did she come_
_Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples._”

_“Hamlet,” Act IV., Sc. 7._

From lithograph in Meehan’s _Native Flowers and Ferns of the United States_, 1: 1878. By permission.]

The roots of Royall Satyrion were used as remedies against many diseases. “If an inch or as much as one’s _thombe_ of this roote be pound and ministered in wine, it is good for many diseases,” writes Dr. Nicholas Nicols, according to Dodoens and Lyte in 1578.[35]

These orchises have figured in literature from time unknown, and although shy in New England, seeking the haunts of moose and bear, they delight still to grow in hearing of the cathedral bells in old England, where they are the common flowers of meadow and borders of corn-fields.

The proverb, that all things come round to him who waits, may for the orchis-hunter be paraphrased rather, “All things come round to him who tramps.” I was destined sooner or later, by lonely lake or mountain bog, to find the Purple-Fringed Orchis for which I had so long searched. Later in the season, on July 8th, I visited Notch Brook, North Adams, a stream flowing down through the northern Notch Valley. Wandering past the beautiful Cascade, I slowly explored the wooded vales among the Ragged Mountains. The afternoon was sultry; the sun pouring down upon the parched sod of the rocky pasture-land had shrivelled up the grasses, and now the bushes themselves were turning brown, and the leaves curling up on their edges. Through the trembling haze, partially due to the vile smoke of civilization, which arose from the various factories in the City, the sun appeared as a round, red ball of fire.

I had chosen a poor day for walking, but there were cool, shady retreats on the way, where I could find rest and shelter. I clambered down from the slopes of Aurora’s Hill, into the shadow of the valley’s smoke, crossing the sluggish stream of the Ashuilticook, by way of the iron bridge in Flag’s Meadows. I climbed to the swamps along the Ragged Hills leading to The Notch. Here the slopes of pasture-lands above State Street are clothed with bushes and brambles, through which rough, stony paths wind, where dwell the children of sunny Italy. Witt’s Ledge of lime and marble stone lies along this swell. These rough paths, with wooden steps leading summitward, were new to me.

Upon the brow of the hill was a small pond hidden at the head of an extensive swamp, amid willows and lush tangled grasses, where little lads were bathing. It was one of those wild mountainous pasture-lands where blackberry briars and sweet-fern run riot, and where the pepper-bushes and tall brakes shed forth an aromatic perfume under the full blaze of the summer sun. About the drier portions of the swamp were well-worn cow-paths, winding irregularly about the hummocks and boulders; and along the borders grew many familiar weeds and vines amid the swails and flags.

My boots being high and waterproof, I waded warily through the coarse lush grasses and cat-tail flags, encountering many deep pools. As I pushed forward, my heart sang in the very joy of living:

Is this a time to be cloudy and sad,
When our mother Nature laughs around;
When even the deep blue heavens look glad,
And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground?[36]

At the west end of the cow-path I came suddenly upon one tall, Purple-Fringed Orchis. This was my first good fortune in finding this beautiful species, although I have since found many. I stood long in wonderment and silent adoration before this fragrant beauty of the weird and lonely bogland, rearing its strange fringed petals high above the common swamp grasses. Searching about to the north and south, I found a colony of six more spikes, which assured me that I would be justified in taking the first plant I had found; and placing it with the utmost care in my crowded vasculum, I then proceeded mountainward.

On the very brow of the hill I wound around to the left, entering the wood-road leading to the Notch Valley. A beautiful cold spring gushes out in the heart of this wood, under the hill at the right, near the Cascade path. I freshened my flowers here, and hurried on to the famous foot-bridge over Notch Brook, plunging on down through the hemlock wood to get a hurried view of the Cascade below.

As I returned homeward over the heated fields, I found the atmosphere very exhausting; and the flowers, although protected in my botanizing can, were wilted. Measuring the broad expanse that intervened between me and the hill of Aurora’s Lake, the journey seemed interminable. The distance was finally covered, however, and both my fatigue and the fact that I was late for tea were forgotten in the ecstasy of having found that first Purple-Fringed Orchis. This spike grew, and every bud expanded, until within a few days it became beautiful indeed, giving forth its delicate fragrance, and proving itself the prize I had esteemed it, as I lifted it from the dark earth of the bogland of northern Berkshire.

IX

Over the Huckleberry Plains

Thou shalt gaze, at once,
Here on white villages, and tilth, and herds,
And swarming roads, and there on solitudes
That only hear the torrent and the wind.

BRYANT, _Monument Mountain_.

On July 17th, two days before departing from the Hoosac Valley, I was guided to a group of swamps lying along the summit of the Domelet. The brow of this mountain is yearly devastated by forest fires, after which it appears quite barren, save for the trees and bushes protected in the swamps. A few tall trees, branchless and blackened, stand as sentinels about the huckleberry plains. But soon the young and tender growth of oak, chestnut, and birch springs up on these rocky ridges, while the clearings everywhere are carpeted with low blueberry bushes.

Between the Domelet and the Dome lies a valley known as “Rocky Hollow.” The ledges of rock, walling it about, bear deep erosions in evidence of the Ice Age, when a gigantic glacier once crowned and rounded the Dome. The formation of these deep vales lying at its base is due to the moraines which flowed down from the ice-capped heights.

The little swamp-like pockets along the summit of the Domelet, where luxuriant trees locate the moisture of springs, were formed, perchance, when a deeper lake rolled over this peak.

In ascending the Domelet, we drove around the northern brow of the mountain, up by the County Road,—frequently called the “Dummy Road” in Pownal, because a deaf and dumb man once lived in the vicinity. Soon we turned off eastward, beyond the Dummy Farm, through the low bushes, until we came to a shady vale. We unhitched our horses from the wagon, and fastened them to trees; then we proceeded to explore the hills and plains, carrying pails for berries, and a basket and spade for collecting roots. The flora of this region appeared luxuriant all along the road, as well as over the ledges and plains. I found great numbers of plants of the Pink Moccasin-Flower (_Cypripedium acaule_). The unusually large leaves were of a deep dark green, with marked veining. Many stems bore seed-pods, which were the largest capsules for this species I have ever seen, being an inch and a half long, with circumference in proportion.

The beautiful emerald-green leaves and bright berries of the lily, _Clintonia borealis_, were almost as common as the piles of sphagnum and the tall brakes and ferns on the edges of these swamps; yet everything about recorded the ravages of the recent hailstorms. Very few seed-capsules could have remained to mature their seed this season, as most of the plants were either badly bruised, or broken from the root, causing the ovary of the flower to droop and wither. The low huckleberry bushes, known as the dwarf black species (_Gaylussacia dumosa_), were also damaged by the hailstorms, and were without fruit.

We came upon numbers of trees shattered by lightning, and blackened pine stubs and “turnovers” mingled among the beautiful evergreens of the tangled swamp. Low blueberry bushes, with rich heaps of ashes about their roots, covered the rolling, rock-bound plains, as far as one could see. Huckleberries usually thrive in the trail of forest fires. Indeed, the spring and autumn fires are often started by the huckleberry venders for the sole purpose of securing a better yield of fruit for supplying the market. These berries are among the small fruits which have not thus far taken kindly to cultivation, as has nearly every other wild berry in the markets to-day.

We found the third swamp eastward marked by the odd spires of the Scrub Pine (_Pinus divaricata_), and the Red Pine (_Pinus resinosa_), which is often wrongly called Norway Pine. These evergreen trees were known to Theophrastus before Christ. There were two kinds, the wild and the garden trees. Many species of each are described, the pines and spruces not being distinguished from each other.

I observed also many Dwarf Black or Double Spruces (_Picea Mariana_),—very dark green trees with pretty cones. The name for this tree originated with Theophrastus. It became in the Latin _Pinus Mariana_.

Frequently I saw a lone Balsam-Fir tree,—_Abies balsamea_. The name _Abies_ comes down to us from remote antiquity, since this tree grew in Greece, and was valued by the learned physicians before Christ for the balsamic resin found in the bark of young trees. Matthiolus and Peter Bellon described this substance as bitter and aromatic, similar to citron-pills. In England, this resin was known to the writers of the sixteenth century as the Turpentine of Venice. In Canada, where this tree is abundant, it is called “Balm-of-Gilead Fir,” or “Canada Balsam.” It is common on the summit of the Dome. The powerful balsamic fluid drawn from it is now used medicinally. This species resembles the black spruce, save that it is of a silvery-green color, giving forth its peculiar fragrance, and producing small blisters on its trunk and branches, which the spruce does not.

Cedar is not plentiful in the Hoosac Valley region, our only species being American Arbor Vitæ (_Thuja occidentalis_), often called white cedar. Northward this tree forms extensive cedar swamps, which are rich haunts for species of _Orchidaceæ_.

On the border of the third swamp, and in the heart of it as well, grow High Huckleberry bushes (_Vaccinium corymbosum_). Blueberries are known in New England as huckleberries, and this common swamp species grows very tall. These bushes before me were over twelve feet in height. The Dwarf Low Blueberry (_Vaccinium vacillans_) grows from one to two feet high. The Early Dwarf species (_Vaccinium Pennsylvanicum_) is from six to fifteen inches in height, and produces our earliest market blueberries or huckleberries. The late Dwarf Low Blueberry ripens late in July.

The giant bushes in the swamp were laden with both green and ripe fruit. The cadet-blue berries hanging side by side with the soft velvety crimson-purple fruit of Shad-trees (_Amelanchier Canadensis_) made a pretty dash of color among the rich greens. Most country lads are familiar with the mountains at this season, and to go “shad-berrying” is one of their pleasures. In Pownal one hears of shadberry pies and cakes with happy anticipations.

These berries are fresh and sweet, eaten direct from the bending branches, but they become as bitter as medicine after being gathered for any length of time. Their white flowers often appear early in April and May, and brighten the waste places along with the Pigeon Cherry blossoms,—better known as Wild Red Cherries (_Prunus Pennsylvanica_). The flowers of the latter tree are also white, producing small light red cherries, which delighted flocks of returning pigeons before their extermination. The generic name _Prunus_ is the Latin for plum or prune, derived from the Greek for all species commonly known as Sloes, Bullies, and Snags. The species of Prunus and Amelanchier are members of the Rose Family, as their miniature rose-blossoms indicate.

The original designations of huckleberry, or whortleberry, are also of ancient derivation. The species of Vaccinium were known to Virgil under the title of _Vacinia_,[37] because their berries were little. The ancient writers recognized the black, white, and red fruited species. The white was seldom seen, however, while the red also was rare. The true English name for these berries in the sixteenth century was “whorts” or “whortleberries.” The black whorts grew commonly in many woods in England, in June and July.

After wandering through these swamps on the Domelet for two or three hours, and securing some fine roots of the Pink Moccasin-Flower for the New Haven garden, we slowly walked back toward our horses in the shaded vale, up and over ledges and rolling hills, passing a ridge of outcropping marble. We finally sat a while and drank in the cool mountain breeze, catching here and there through the trees the varied panorama of the great world below and the clouds above us. Distant sounds from human abodes rose to our ears faintly,—such as the engine whistle of the “Wild-cat” Express as it wound through the deep-cut valley of the Hoosac, nearly a thousand feet below us, westward beyond Mount Œta. On one of these marble ridges, along the plains, I found several plants of the Large Round-Leaved Orchis (_Habenaria orbiculata_).

We drove homeward by way of White Oaks Road,—southward along the entire summit of the Domelet,—getting an excellent view of the Hoosac and Green Rivers, following their serpentine windings about the hills and vales far below us near Williamstown. White Oaks is a remote corner of Pownal, lying, however, partly in Williamstown in northern Berkshire, a region locally noted for the earliest arbutus blossoms.

In nearly all the swamps I have visited, I have found a long procession of flowers marching close upon each other through the seasons,—from the trailing arbutus and the snowy dogwood blossoms in early April, to the golden-rod and asters of the late October days. Even as late as December 8th I have found the dainty dandelions and violets running wild with glee, only to be frozen before sunrise the following morning. It can be said that in some seasons different flowers bloom nearly every month, in the Hoosac Highlands, if the _Transcript’s_ reports be true.

“On February 1, 1900, some trailing arbutus was brought from the woods. There is usually a little strife in the spring for the distinction of bringing these first flowers, but Mr. Briggs has forestalled all the flower hunters this year by his January discovery, which is most unusual.”[38]

I have collected March arbutus in the White Oaks as early as the 12th, although never in January or February. Indeed, there come many arbutus days long before April and May, if only we go abroad to realize them in the warm, sunny glens among the Taconic Hills, where the cold winds never blow in March.

SECOND SEASON

X

Westville Swamps and Mount Carmel, Connecticut

When, formerly, I have analyzed my partiality for some farm
which I had contemplated purchasing, I have frequently found
that I was attracted solely by a few square rods of impermeable
and unfathomable bog.... That was the jewel which dazzled
me.—THOREAU, _Excursions_.

May the 1st I departed from New York, to find in bloom many of the earlier flowers that I had missed last year in the Hoosac Highlands. I followed much the same route through Connecticut as I had taken the season previous. The country was aglow with the subtle breath of spring sunshine, that inspires the soul of earth to rise and sprinkle her fields with pulsating life and song. I started out alone to explore the Bogs of Westville, where the dainty Grass-Pinks and Pogonias would later bloom.

There is much diversity of soil about New Haven: it proves a meeting-ground for Southern and Northern species of plant life. The swampy regions of the Great Salt Meadows produce a foreign vegetation that emigrates to our shores; while the rocky ridges of the hills about the City furnish hiding ground for rare ferns and flowers found far northward.

I rode to the end of the car line, near which I turned off into a thicket, and over a bridge above the milldam. On either hand broad fields of marsh-land stretched out to meet the low, rolling hills. To the right, a path led up the slopes of a cow-pasture, along a little stream to West Rock. The damp hillside was carpeted with Innocence or Bluets (_Houstonia cærulea_), and numerous colonies of violets; and amid the moss-grown hillocks, in the woods, the Dog’s-Tooth Lily (_Erythronium Americanum_) nodded its yellow bell. This lily, so long designated Dog’s-Tooth Violet, is a plant having a broad continental range,—found from Nova Scotia to Florida, and from Maine to Arkansas. In the South it blooms in March, in the North in May. It grows not only in the low coast hills and valleys, but is known to thrive at an altitude of 5500 feet in Virginia and in the North.

The leaves of Dog’s-Tooth Lily resemble a species of Orchis known to Dioscorides as _Satyrion Erythronium_, from which Linnæus in 1753 coined the present generic name _Erythronium_, signifying “red,” for the genus of Dog’s-Tooth Lilies. Wherever the appended term of “Violet” originated for these lilies is not known. According to Frederick H. Blodgett: “In one of the old botanies in the library of the Agricultural Department (Washington), there is a colored plate, illustrating the European species with the name _Viola dens-canis_, with pen notes, giving the later and more modern names also.”[39] That the plant was always considered a lily, however, instead of a violet is evident.

“_White, innocent twigs of apple, idly swaying,_
_Shed a suave fragrance on the flattered breeze._”

JOHN S. VAN CLEVE.]

Dr. Rembert Dodoens, as early as 1578, thus described it: “This low base herbe, hath, for the most part but two leaves, speckled with great red spots, betwixt which springeth up a little tender stalke or stem with one floure at the top hanging downeward, which hath certaine small leaves growing together like an arch or haute, and like the wild lily.” (The _Amarillis_ of the Spaniards.) “The names of this herbe now are called _Denticulus canis_ and _Dens caninus_, and others call it _Satyrion Erythronium_, wherewithall notwithstanding it has no similitude.”[40] It was known to Dioscorides as _Lilium sylvestre_, and Dodoens remarks that “It may well be called such,” since the flower, when “it hangs downeward toward the grounde, is much like the wild lilies, saving it is smaller.”[41]

Dioscorides (23-77 A.D.) knew this plant as _Ephemeron non lethale_, which was also known in Latin as _Lilium sylvestre_.

Dodoens therefore wrote that if Dog’s-Tooth be _Ephemeron_, as it seemed to be, the essence extracted from its root by boiling water, according to Dioscorides, was good for the teeth. But the name was more likely suggested by the fact that the bulbous root is shaped like a canine tooth. The appended “violet” originated, perhaps, with children, since this lily blooms in early springtime with violets, bluets, marsh marigolds, and arbutus.

The names of all plants among the early Greeks and Romans originated from the shapes of the flowers, leaves, or roots, and also from their medicinal properties. Dioscorides knew another species which he designated _Satyrion Erythronium_ or _Dioscorides Satyrion_, signifying Red Satyrion,—known to the ancient Syrians. Satyrion was the ancient “shop” name for species of Orchis.

Without doubt our generic name for Dog’s-Tooth (_Erythronium_) is a corruption from the Red-spotted Satyrion, whose leaves became confused with _Lilium sylvestre_. Burroughs has remarked that bulbs of lilies in general lie near the surface of the ground. The bulbs of _Erythronium_ are often found at a depth of eight inches or more in the earth, however, according to the age of the lily. The young plant often produces but one leaf, and its bulb is loosely attached to the moss on the surface, while the older plants produce two leaves, their bulbs each season sinking deeper into the soil.

Many common names have been suggested by botanists to replace the seemingly inappropriate name of Dog’s-Tooth Violet. While the appended Violet is misapplied, as we observe, the name Dog’s-Tooth is of ancient origin, and really has more appropriateness than does the generic name _Erythronium_, since none of our species produce red flowers. The name Dog’s-Tooth, therefore, was purposely dropped in the _Illustrated Flora_ of Northeastern North America, and the name Yellow Adder’s-Tongue substituted for the species. There is also an Adder’s-Tongue Fern (_Ophioglossum vulgatum_). We therefore see that the re-establishing of the former and ancient name, Dog’s-Tooth Lily, for species of _Erythronium_ is to be preferred, not only according to the moral rule of priority, but because it is actually the legal common name.

The Westville Swamps were sparkling with these yellow lily-bells, while in the woods along the sluggish stream, the Marsh Marigolds—often called American Cowslips—were holding up their golden goblets to be filled with morning dew. Farther up the stream, near a rude plank bridge in the pasture roadway, I found a baby turtle basking in the sunshine. He was no larger than the hollow of my palm. The little fellow was too frightened to tumble off his stony couch and run for the stream. He sat still and eyed me distrustfully. He drew in his head and toes, and I lifted him gently in my hand, placing him in a paper bag among the flowers I had gathered. I intended him for a surprise in the school aquarium.

Climbing far up the side of West Rock, I looked over the Woodbridge fields and toward West Peak, near Meriden. In the dim distance the Giant’s form was outlined against the horizon at Mount Carmel. This mountain assumes the form of a gigantic Egyptian mummy. The hands are folded across the breast, and the head and feet are stretched in stiff dignity—so to remain through the ages.

Among the wooded hills and vales below, the cloud-shadows chased each other to the distant mountains far beyond. That pile of granite upon the brow of West Rock, designated in history as Judge’s Cave, stood guard over the hills about me. Farther off, toward Westville, many a roof glistened and peered out among the newly leaved trees of the hillsides. One of them was that of Ik Marvel’s home, where perchance he had smoked the dream pipes of his _Bachelor’s Revery_. Smoke now curled above the chimney-tops, full of the drowsiness of May mornings.

The song of thrushes and orioles amid the bushes burst joyously upon me, and during the interludes I heard the hum of bees and the distant murmurings of streams. Butterflies sailed by, flashing their brilliant colors in the sunlight, and the air was laden with the delicate fragrance of early woodlands. It was a day marked by hope and promise. Who can forget those fields of spring where forget-me-nots and violets bloom?

During the afternoon of this glorious day, I journeyed to Mount Carmel beyond Lake Whitney. The old canal from Northampton to New Haven formerly passed along this valley, and although the channel is partly filled in, the towpath still remains, and is well-trodden. I followed it from the end of the car-line, until I reached an elevated ledge of rock to the right. This little hill, clothed with white cedars and junipers, lies beneath the stern brow of the Giant, whose face is plainly outlined against the sky far above the village.

After exploring the ridge hereabout, and finding it covered with Columbine in bud, I descended to the hollow, along the stream. In the rocky crevices at the farthest end of the hill, where the midday sun poured down upon the colony, I found the Columbine flowers in full bloom. I pushed my hand beneath the matted soil, and the plant with roots entire loosened and was easily lifted. Poison Ivy grew about over the rocks, warning me to be cautious. I discovered the Dutchman’s Breeches (_Bicuculla Cucullaria_), but they were faded and nearly fallen. I observed here near the Columbine also another species of the genus not often seen in this locality. It is known commonly as the Bleeding-Heart (_Bicuculla eximia_), formerly designated generically as _Fumaria_. It grows in rocky places, especially in southern New York. I collected it once about Montclair, New Jersey, along the Orange Mountains, and on the borders of Bronx Park, New York City, and in the vicinity of Mount Vernon. This species belongs more especially southward, extending to Georgia and Tennessee, flowering from May until September. There are about fourteen species of this genus found in North America and Western Asia. Three of this number are reported for the Atlantic Region of North America. The third species is known as Squirrel-Corn (_Bicuculla Canadensis_), and is very similar to the Dutchman’s Breeches, save that the plant is smaller.

While waiting for the car at Lake Whitney Junction, on my return to New Haven, I opened the iron gate and wandered along the wooded edges of the shore. I soon distinguished that homely weed of our old dooryard walls and tin-can waste-heaps—the Cat-Mint or Catnip. I gathered some tender shoots for pussy Yale. The name _Catnip_ is of ancient origin, derived from the Latin, _Nepete_, the name of an Etrurian city. Our native plant is of European origin. Dodoens, in 1578, writes of this plant: “In shops it is called _Nepita_; in England _Pep_, and _Cat-Mint_, in French _Herbe de Chat_.” The name of our single species is to-day _Nepeta Cataria_. There are about one hundred and fifty native species of this group of plants found in Europe and Asia.

This family of Mints was known to the ancients as _Calamint_ or _Calamintha_, and included in Dodoens’ day four or five species described by the Greeks, each of them having several names marked by different medicinal virtues. The first kind was called Mountain Calamint; the second was known as Wild Pennyroyal, and the third variety as Cat’s-Mint or Cat’s-Herbe,—just described as _Nepeta_. The Wild Pennyroyal of the ancients resembled the cultivated species at that time also, which was known in England, during 1500, as Podding-Grasse or Pudding-Grass. Pliny attributed twenty-five medicinal and mystical properties to Pennyroyal, in Christ’s day, while Dodoens and Lyte mention fourteen uses of the herb in 1578. Xenocrates prescribed “a branch of Penny-Royall wrapped in wool,” and placed beneath the bedclothes as a remedy against malignant fevers.

The Mints in general were called in ancient apothecary shops _Mentha_. This group of plants was known to Theophrastus, and named _Mentha_, from a nymph fabled in classical literature as having been changed into this plant by the jealous Proserpine.

Yale was delighted with the _Herbe de Chat_, and scented spring and the cat’s heal-all indeed in these tender sprays, rolling and purring over the leaves like a tiger, until at last, soothed, he fell a-napping.

The next morning, May 2d, I started for the Berkshire Highlands, where I arrived in the afternoon. I remained on Aurora’s Hill in North Adams about a week. I was too early for orchid flowers, and the arbutus was still in bloom. These were the real arbutus days here, in spite of their breaking the record now and then by blooming in February. I soon left the slopes of North Adams for Pownal Hills. I found them bleak and cold, and that here, too, I was ahead of all species of the Orchid Family.

I made several excursions to the heart of Rattlesnake Swamp and Rattlesnake Ledge, between May 7th and 15th, searching for Trailing Arbutus. I courted the Swamp of Oracles and the Glen of Comus, watching the buds unfold. The woods were bare and leafless, the paths and dry-brook beds were flooded with sunshine. There is a desolate expression to these deep swamps in early spring, before the tender green leaves of trees and budding flowers burst forth. The birds, however, are here, and their song tells us that it is spring instead of the Indian summer of late autumn. These awakening days of the sleeping woodlands reminded one of the death of the flowers in November. Equally sad is the birth and death of the flowers. The sod steams with the warm southern sunlight pouring upon it until, behold, a week later the green, luxuriant foliage hides all the rocky paths in dense shades, and sprinkles dainty stars and clinging vines over all the ruins of the autumn’s faded stalks and leaves. May holds greater charm and more silent mysteries than the overflowing joy of full-grown June.

I wandered on through the winding paths, finding them draped with mosses and Goldthread blossoms and Painted Trillium. I continued daily to search the woods through and through for the first sight of the Pink Moccasin-Flower. I found three species of _Cypripedium_ on May 15th, and was a little curious to observe how the race would end in their unfolding. There were the rare Ram’s-Head, the Pink and the Large Yellow Moccasin-Flowers in bud. The Pink Cypripedium was the first to open, upon the 19th, while on the same day also the Large Yellow Moccasin-Flower burst into bloom, dropping its long, twisting side petals gracefully beside the stump of a hemlock tree fallen across Ball Brook. The Ram’s-Head, which is supposed to be the earliest _Cypripedium_ to bloom, was not so fortunate. Venturing where it stood among the Amidon Pines one sunny morning, I found the bud still sheathed in the tender green bract-like leaf, laid low and withering upon the ground beside the ruined stem. I picked it up and wondered what or who could have brought about this tragedy. The bract, containing the bud, appeared cut from the stem as with a keen-edged knife. As I held it, I observed a large worm concealed within the plicate folds of the bracted leaf, amid the musky sweetness of the bud. It was round and emerald green, and unlike most worms was possessed of a great degree of spryness; for before my senses were astir, it had dropped to the ground, wriggling out of sight among the leaves and earth at my feet. I poked about, hoping to follow its trail, but to no avail.

“_These dim-aisled forests His cathedrals, where_
_The pale nun Silence tiptoes, velvet-shod,_
_And Prayer kneels with tireless, parted lids._”

ELLA HIGGINSON.]

That this rare _Cypripedium_ has a vile destroyer in this worm, is evident. I felt that I should like to know more about the worm’s life, and why it seeks the rarest species of _Cypripedium_ in North America to feast upon. Perhaps this may account for this flower’s rarity in Pownal, as well as throughout its continental range. I have observed the worm among the Ram’s-Heads in Amidon’s Pines during the past two seasons.

The budded plants of this species in Witch Hollow were also blasted in embryo this season. The two buds observed turned brown and withered on the stem, while yet very tiny, leaving the bract perfectly intact. Some plants, however, were untouched by the destroying worm. They were without doubt too young to bloom, as it requires four or five seasons before seedling Cypripediums produce perfect blossoms in their native haunts.

The seeds of orchids are minute, mostly “spindle shaped,” are found in great numbers, and resemble fine saw-dust. The ovules of the Orchid Family mature slowly, and as far as scientific observations count, in the tests made with the cultivated species, it is said the seeds are a year in coming to maturity. These fertile seeds need several months in which to germinate, requiring, as will be seen, some years to produce seedlings old enough to blossom from the self-sowing capsules of our wild native orchids. Furthermore, a certain temperature and continuous moisture are absolutely necessary to produce seedlings. Our variable Northern climate is one of the natural causes of hindrance to the production of native seedlings of this sensitive family. Continuous moisture does not prevail long enough to promote perfect germination of the thousands of seeds annually produced. They die in embryo from lack of moisture during dry seasons; or if developed, are frozen out in the ice-capped swamps by our long, harsh winters; or in the tender seasons of their seedling-hood the following years, are dwarfed and die from drought. This, in part, is the explanation of the lack of natural seedlings in our native orchid haunts. Adding to this the destructiveness of man, the beasts of the fields, worms, and storms, and the tardiness of insects in fertilization, a hard struggle lies in the perpetuation of the family’s future generations.

Orchids are spoken of as the “weeds of the tropics”; notwithstanding their devastation by the present orchid craze,—which far outstrips the tulip mania in Holland two hundred and fifty years ago,—in regions where continuous heat and moisture prevail, germination of their fertile seeds is rapid and natural.

XI

May Showers and White Moccasin-Flowers

If a man walk in the woods for love of them half of each day,
he is in danger of being regarded a loafer; but if he spend his
whole day as a speculator, shearing off those woods and making
earth bare before her time, he is esteemed an industrious and
enterprising citizen.—THOREAU, _Letters_.

There is something charming about an unwearied rain in spring. I chose a day upon which rain was falling to journey through the swamps, observing my orchid buds. The clouds would lift now and then with sudden brightening, although the gentle patter of the rain was constant. The wind scarcely stirred the leaves. Nature was quiet in her weeping, as a heart that has a grievance which it does not care to share with any one. The meadows grew green, the buds expanded, and the heart of May began to pulsate and sing new songs.

I started out to visit the Glen of Comus, but found the underbrush too laden with rain. I then decided to go through the fields and seek the Chalk Pond colonies. Over the hills lowered a heavy fog, which, as the rain slackened, would for a time lift again, showing the blue peaks in the distance. I turned westward from the glen, through Amidon’s Pines. I had soon passed beyond the limits of this sheltering wood, making a gradual ascent through the raspberry pastures of John-Fallow.

The higher I climbed the harder it poured. However, I arrived among the low white birch saplings and berry bushes. Here I managed to shake the rain off them, becoming as bedraggled as though I had waded in a stream. My umbrella began to leak, and my cap and hair were being soaked, the water actually running down my face. Entering the deeper underwood of birches, I aroused a flock of sheep and their lambs. They ran bleating after me, asking for salt. A mother followed me closely, stamped the earth with her tiny feet, showing her petulance and fear; although she did not turn and run from me as I ventured nearer, but rubbed her nose against my hand.

I now began descending the western slopes of John-Fallow, and was in sight of the woods closing about Witch Hollow. Upon entering the thicket, I soon found my colonies of _Orchis spectabilis_, which were not yet unfolded, although it was May 20th. The Cypripediums had come in far ahead of them this season.

The group of Ram’s-Head also disappointed me, the buds having been blasted in embryo. The plants, however, looked healthy and promising.

Chilled through as I was on my way out of the woods, I thought of stopping at the nearest house on Butternut Lane for a drink of hot milk. I refrained, however, because of my fog-covered garments and the curiosity I might arouse in the neighborhood. Onward I trudged another mile or two, up through the pastures, across the old Welch Farm, following the grass-grown road that originally led from Mount Œta to the valley of the Hoosac, during Revolutionary days.

I had been out about four hours, and it was time I sought shelter, since I had waded through the tall grasses and bushes, regardless of the rain upon their leaves. Once in the house, I realized the comfort of possessing warm, dry garments.

On May 23d I made a journey to Rattlesnake Swamp. Arbutus was still in blossom near the hemlocks,—late clusters, indeed, hiding in the moss at the feet of small spruces, where the ice and snow had lingered latest.

The children in District Fourteen delight in surprising me with strange flowers. Among these I frequently find rare species of plants to name and identify for them. A delicate spray of the Purple-Flowered Clematis was brought to me recently. This vine is rare hereabout, growing only in rocky woods about the Rabbit Plain, and along the Gulf Road of Witch Hollow.

Children in the country districts are the first nature students in spring. In May and June the woods and fields become veritable classrooms in which Nature alone presides as instructor. A dense oak and pine forest formerly sheltered the vale near the schoolhouse, where the children seldom dared to wander without their teacher. The wood was dark and full of the twilight shades of the virgin forest trees of our New England hills.

In May, many seasons ago, the Purple-Flowered Clematis (_Atragene Americana_) grew abundant in the heart of this rocky wood, covering, in one instance, a bush six feet high with its graceful vine. This plant is rare from Maine to Minnesota. It ranges northward to Hudson Bay, and southward to Virginia, often ascending great heights. It is reported in the Catskills at an altitude of three thousand feet. There are but three species of this genus found natively in the North Temperate Zone, one being reported for the Rocky Mountain region, the other farther to the northwest coast of America. The common Virgin’s-Bower (_Clematis Virginiana_) grows also in rocky places, covering roadside walls and bordering swamps and river banks in July and August.

Later in the autumn, this species is very attractive. The seed-pods burst and produce a light, feathery down—little wings to aid the seeds in their flight, like those of the dandelion and milkweed. The seed-capsules of the Purple-Flowered Clematis also produce tails like the plumes of a feather.

Several species of _Clematis_ were known to the ancients in Christ’s day. The name originated with Dioscorides, and was used to designate all climbing vines. He knew three kinds under the generic name of _Aristolochia_, named in honor of Aristotle. The “branched vine” with “deepe violet floures,” was called _Aristolochia clematites_. Peter Bellon of ye olden time remarks that this plant grew in the mountains of Ida in Crete, or Candie. Carolus Clusius reported it as growing among the bushes and briars about the city of Hispalis, or Civill, in Spain, before the sixteenth century.

I visited Oak Hill Cemetery on May 29th,—a very good place to observe the early flowers of the woods about the valley. The country folk come here with their laurels for Decoration Day, as Milton came to his “Lycidas,” “to empurple all the ground with vernal flowers.”[42] Here may be seen the pink azalea, the marsh marigolds—those golden-cups of _Caltha_,—violets, and painted trilliums amid the bunches of pink and golden moccasin-flowers, brought here in abundance by the school children.

On June 5th I sought the swamps of Etchowog. I followed down through the Glen of Comus, in search of the great colony of Pink Moccasin-Flowers. I found them in full bud,—two hundred in number, as formerly. As I entered the hollow, I found in the middle of the path a Small Round-Leaved Orchis (_Habenaria Hookeriana_).

This region is being slowly despoiled of its stately pines. I saw fresh scars of the axe among them. Three first-growth trees were laid low, piled on the side of the road.

I followed, as usual, the path through the Swamp of Oracles beside Ball Brook, leading out through the clearings of Ball Farm. Here I waded through Iris Swamp beyond, coming out to the pasture-land of Kimball Farm.

This season, many changes have occurred in the Kimball Bogs, the hillsides closing in about them having been almost sheared of their trees. This results in flooding the heart of the swamp with sunshine, and may in time dry up the growth of the beautiful moss known as _Sphagnum_, and also destroy the Buckbeans. The cows were browsing among the small tamaracks, and no signs of the Showy Queen of the Moccasin-Flowers were visible hereabout this June. The Tall Green Orchis (_Habenaria hyperborea_) grew luxuriantly in a pool over the fence near the clearing. Purple Trilliums were also very abundant along my path. I passed out through the vale, keeping the winding road until I reached the brow of the orchard beyond, which was in full bloom.

The distant hills wore a delicate clear blue tone, and as I caught glimpses of them between the round hills about me, I distinguished Mount Æolus, that distant pile of Dorset marble far to the northeast of the Gap. Leaving the orchard, I crossed the road and entered the deep grasses of the old lake meadow, where the sphagnum is knee-deep. Here, as last June, the Indian Poke and cowslip blossoms freshened the borders of the stream. Along the edges of this wet region, I waded carefully until I reached the famous Spring of Arethusa, around the glacial hill to the left. I searched in the open meadow beyond the mill for Pitcher-Plant blossoms,—and found many in full bloom. The grasses were ablaze with tasselled sedges and nodding flowers of Iris,—a sight well worth a long journey to see.

I rounded about the swamp, and passed out at the north end, near Washon Bridge House. Here I ascended westward,—over the knob-like hill north of Pownal Pond. On the opposite slope I descended, finding nothing but trees and fences in my way. I observed a hollow-hearted chestnut tree,—a shell and nothing more. I could scarcely see where its green branches could gain nourishment. The leaves were, however, the largest in the wood, and the buds were perfect. The heart of this old tree was an empty, blackened space, the outer bark weather-worn and crumbling in decay.

Arriving on the north shore of the pond, I searched for the aquatic plant _Polygonum amphibium_, which I had observed last season along the muddy pools. The fencing of the sheep-pasture here debarred very free progress about the shore. I was forced to climb the hill for some distance to find an opening through the network of barbed wires. The day was warm, and the sheep had taken shelter in the shade of the pines on the hillside.

The small pine grove along the west shore of Pownal Pond is often used as a picnic ground. Years ago the south shore of this lake was clothed with dense oak, pine, and maple trees. These vales were the homes of many sturdy settlers while the fields were being cleared. The stone walls which they erected outlast the memory of their builders, and are the only monuments that time cannot remove. The few remaining gable-roofed houses with their gaping doors and windows, along the East Road, during the next few years will become obliterated entirely. The overgrown hedges of cherry-trees and grape-vines are still struggling for existence by the road; while the cinnamon-rose and southernwood are choked amid the cat-mint and burdock along the border of the dooryard path.