Roadside Conservatory

by Mary Jasch

The call of the Jersey wild came strong since I've been rainbound for weeks. So my friend, Kathy, and I take a walk in the Sussex County drizzle, looking for a section of the Paulinskill Valley Trail that needs to be walked. The trail is an abandoned railroad bed that's wide and cindered in most places and we figure we won't get soaked.

A dirt path heads up an embankment but we take the road instead. The roadside is lush with wet shiny greenery. The shale ridge above us is covered in growth.

A dense swath of opposite leaves on semi–woody stems looks like a healthy regeneration of hickory seedlings with fuzzy–looking balls of buds. It turns out to be wild sarsaparilla, a common wild flower with a range from Canada to Georgia and west - in short, everywhere.

Soon, an eruption of smooth graceful leaves float from the floral havoc. The flowers on its tip resemble white astilbe. It's false Solomon's seal, elegantly decorating this roadside.

Big slabs of piled high rock look like good bear den habitat up on the hillside, so we announce ourselves.

Suddenly our attention is only on the wild garden growing here. What else will we see? A wild geranium pokes its purple head up, and for the rest of the road walk we see them scattered around.

A few tiny rue anemones with creamy white flowers are a nice surprise since they've been blooming for weeks now. There's a patch of leafy day lilies yet to bloom and white campion just coming into balloon. White yarrow with its soft grey foliage is ready too.

May apple flowers have died and gone but their umbrella–like leaves still stand. Purple, lavender and white wild phlox fill the dark spots on this grey day on both sides of the road in one area, but nowhere else.

Bright yellow buttercups revive memories of children checking to see who liked butter as we held the flower under each other's chins, looking for reflection. Is it a game of the past?

Sweet Cicely in the parsley family is queenly in the wild green fuzz. Through the taller sweet Cicely up the slope, orange shelf–like fungi hug a tree ­ three perfect mushrooms in a vertical row, each one larger than the other.

Up the bank towards the woods is a white bloomer on broad leaves ­ the maple–leaf viburnum. And everywhere, fern species fill the gaps.

Joggers zoom by above us on the hillside. The trail must be there. We climb the hill and find the cindered path and follow it to the next road. We've gone a mile now looking at wild flowers.

A muddy stream tumbles down the hill on its way to Paulinskill Lake below us. It crashes over rocks and slides under the road. We'll check it out later.

The surrounding forest is dark ­ reminds me of Hansel and Gretel. On the way back, we see the last of the red columbine tucked against a rock. Thick white fungi, like giant fleshy chalices with fancy scalloped edges, shine through the sparse bushes on a tree bole.

This spot was once Swartswood Station, a place where farmers brought milk to be taken to the city. A fallen wooden building with one wall left has a sign that says "telegraph office." I feel sadness and a wonder about the hours of people spent in this building. I'm glad the building is not restored ­ it shows the true passage of life and speaks of mortality.

Towards the end of our rainy walk on the Paulinskill Valley Trail, we slither down the stony dirt path to the road where yellow hawkweed waits to bloom.

On the drive to Paulinskill Lake, we follow the stream where the road turns under an old railroad overpass, so overgrown it looks like a big garden gate. Indeed, it is.

The road meanders through a managed wildlife area, kept in grass and shrubbery ­ mostly multiflora rose. Along the road a red–winged blackbird sits in last year's purple loosestrife stems, shaking his wings to show his colors. He's chirping away, in this land of friendly beauty.

Wild yellow iris bloom on the shore with blue forget–me–nots complementing their color. Huge clumps of Sagitarria wait to bloom in the muck.

There are English plantain with brilliant white pecks on its unassuming flowers among the grasses. Big buds of cow parsnip on fat heads stand high above the green crowd.

Across the macadam, it's a land of purple. Tall grasses with tints of purple seed heads accent patches of pink common fleabane and purple clover. Timothy grass even takes on a purple cast.

A deer crosses downstream in the mist while a duck comes in for a landing. Tree swallows dart and dive for bugs. It's wildlife heaven­ right here along the road.

Paulinskill Lake empties into the Paulins Kill River that flows to the Delaware River. Fed by the Kill, the lake is its dammed, bloated belly.

Spend an hour on the roadside. They're some tough flowers there.

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published June 01, 2003