Erigeron philadelphicus

The fields are filling up with this little dandy right now. ” Philadelphia fleabane, is a widespread North American plant in the daisy family. Also known as common fleabane, daisy fleabane, frost-root, marsh fleabane, poor robin’s plantain, skervish, and in the British Isles as robin’s-plantain. It is native to North America and found there in nearly all of the United States and Canada. It is also introduced into Europe and Asia, considered an invasive weed in many places”. -Thus sayeth Wikipedia
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Things I Saw Last Wednesday

The full moon.

 

The first sign of light.

 

 

Another beautiful sunrise.

 

Mist rising from the lake.

 

The sun persisting through clouds above the island.

 

Yet another patch of lady slippers.

 

ULM – unidentified little mushroom.

 

Solomon’s seal in bloom.

 

A yellow breasted chat, which is apparently a pretty good bird judging by the reaction it got from the Lehigh Valley Audubon Society on Facebook. Who knew? Not me.

Once Upon a Time There Was a River

It had been there for possibly millions of years.

 

The Lenape called it Lechauwekink, or ““where there are forks”, perhaps a reference to the many tributaries. German settlers shortened it to Lecha.   and the English would commonly mispronounce it as Lehigh, which it is known by today.

 

We don’t know what birds call it, if they call it anything at all.

 

 

Lechauwekink is bordered by shale cliffs not far from the village of Treichlers.  Many plant spirits live there.

 

… many ferns.

 

Jack-in-the-pulpit likes to live at the bottom of the cliffs.

 

Wild ginger likes it there too, sometimes growing in the railroad ties the men tossed aside after their trains no longer ran.

 

They seem to be happy there.

 

Aquilegia canadensis has many colonies along the great cliffs.
Tiny Arabis, (rockcress) as well.

 

 

geopych’s father used to recite something the farmers in their area attributed to the local native Americans – It goes something like: “If the white man knew what was in these mountains, he would ride down the street without making a sound”.

 

It was Robert Hunter who said: “And the river keep a talkin’ But you never hear a word it say”