Spring Time

Tracking the season in a patch of Staten Island forest.

Our weekly visit to Corson’s Brook Woods begins with an unusual find. At the edge of the forest we discover a writhing, pulsing mass of honey bees hanging off a white mulberry tree branch — a so-called swarm cluster. When a hive becomes overcrowded in spring, the colony will divide: a newly born queen remains behind and the old queen, and some of her progeny set off for new territory. These bees will have moved into a new nesting cavity by the time we return next week.

The trees, now with their full complement of leaves, cast significant shadows. This seems to suit the birds — the air is teeming with their songs. My ears can hardly keep up with the cacophony: blue jay, black-capped chickadee, gray catbird, red-bellied woodpecker.

Marielle AnzeloneLeft, honey bees swarm; right, wood ear fungus.

The furry buds of Virginia waterleaf have opened to reveal pale purple flowers. The fringes of one blossom’s pollen-laden anthers attract a lumbering bumblebee. During an earlier visit, we noticed silvery spots on the plants’ leaves; they’ve faded away, replaced by a chalky mildew brought on by abundant wet weather. The rains have also replenished the water in our brook. The drought seems a distant memory.

On the day of our visit, it is chilly, with high of 55 degrees. When the wind kicks up, a bee seeks shelter in the floral cluster of a bladdernut. This shrub overlooks a sunny patch that attracts other insect visitors. A small hover fly less than half an inch long rests on a leaf. It resembles a bee, but has only one set of wings, not two. In the bright light, its thorax, or midsection, has a coppery gleam. Nearby we see another eastern garter snake, coiled to conserve body heat.

Marielle AnzeloneA cobweb spider explores a wild geranium.

The cheerful blossoms of wild geranium add a rosy purple to the woods’ palette. The insides of these flowers are marked with dark “nectar guides,” patterns that point pollinating insects toward floral rewards. One bloom has a cobweb spider standing guard on the edge of a petal. Supporting the blooms are deep green leaves lobed like the fingers of a human hand.

The geraniums thrive in the dappled sunlight streaming through dying American elms. Great sheets of loose bark hang off these impressively large specimens, some of the tallest I’ve seen in the city. Sadly, Dutch elm disease has devastated this stately and once ubiquitous tree. At our woodland’s swampy edge, the elms’ bases flare out. Inflated with air, these roots allow the trees to tolerate water-saturated soils.

Hugh ReedA yellow morel.

Dead elm stumps support the fruiting bodies of wood ear fungus. Despite the rain, they are thin and dry. When full and fleshy, the reason for their common name is clear. Now they curl over, their felted gray undersides exposed.

A more traditionally shaped mushroom is on the forest floor: a creamy, capped morel. We leave the celebrated edible behind for another to forage.

The helicopter-shape fruits of maple trees, called samaras, fall in small eddies, twirling frantically toward the ground. Some that fell earlier have already germinated. A few spots support forests of maple seedlings four inches high.

Sitting on a large, flat-topped rock, I savor my surroundings. The wind whips my hair. Tree leaves now sound like turbulent waters, loud enough to drown out the jets passing overhead. The stream gurgles and bubbles.

This is the essence of spring. We are halfway to summer.

Hugh Reed

Marielle Anzelone — botanist, urban ecologist, founder of NYC Wildflower Week and author of last year’s Autumn Unfolds series on City Room — is tracking spring’s progress in a forest on Staten Island each week. Go to her Flickr page to see more photos.