Meet the Bog Lady

I don't know where my nature gene comes from, as absolutely no one else in my family has one. Not even my kids, who I literally dragged through bucolic scenes everywhere. We went on science vacations where we collected minerals and fossils, fished around in tidal pools and visited science museums. One day, I wanted to go to the now defunct Davis Cranberry Bog. My daughter, who had nothing to do that day, decided she would accompany me. In retrospect, it seems she came just to antagonize me. We had run the gamut in our complicated relationship. This day she was a hormonal tornado ready to blow the roof off my expedition. Even my toddler seemed to know to tread carefully around her that day. Jo could be explosive in this mood.

I discovered this remote bog when taking an ecology course at a local university. Long Island is the southernmost location of bogs on the east coast. They are remnants of a tundra environment from when glaciers covered the north country. The glaciers left this island behind when they melted away, leaving the telltale signs of an ancient landscape. Long Island was the glacier's southernmost reach. Bogs are formed from layers of sphagnum moss that builds up over time in a pond. There are no trees. It is a highly acidic ecosystem that does not welcome them. They can be quite deep, on Long Island, as much as 30 feet to the bottom. If there is moving water, it's a fen. Rare orchids grow along the perimeter, as well as wild cranberries and blueberries. Carnivorous plants abound, waiting for small bugs to devour. It is a magical, mysterious place, especially when this is Long Island, the original suburb.

So, here we are, my daughter, a teenager and my son who was a toddler, and we are exploring the bog while I take photos to share with my students. At the time I was teaching a class on Long Island's natural environment, and I was photographing various ecosystems for a slideshow presentation. I'm in ecstasy, my son is just exuberant, and my daughter is miserable. "What are we doing here? It stinks." "When are we gonna eat?" "Can we go now?" She called me "bog lady" all day. I kept telling her how the bog was formed, the glacier, pointed out the rare flowers, fed her wild berries, but nothing broke through her morose. No one ever wanted to share my nature safaris. Turns out, she was upset that she had no better offers for the day. Jo did not have many friends and being desperate to get out of the house, she fostered herself to my endeavor. Eventually, she began to ask questions about the bog. She thought the whole idea of cranberry farming was actually interesting. Maybe I could get her to come to the swamps next.

We finally left, much to her glee. We went to McDonald's for lunch, and the skies opened up with one of the worst storms I've ever been trapped by. It rained so hard, the storm drains were overwhelmed. The water in the parking lot rose up past my tires. We sat there for an hour and a half. The mood inside Mickey D's was great. Everyone was "oohing" and "aaahing" over the water in the lot. People were talking about other storms they'd been in. Little kids colored on paper the manager supplied, and the adults stood in the windows watching the water rise. We drank coffee and whiled away the time with good old-fashioned conversation. When the storm drains finally lowered the water, my daughter was laughing. The day was not a waste.