The Phragmites of Salem County

 Lower Alloways Creek, Salem County, NJ

11 November 2012

Tom, Chris, Mighty Mike, and I carpooled down to Fort Mott yesterday.  Linda M, who seems to be working her way through Tom's book, led the ride for the Philadelphia Bike Club, with Tom assisting.

Save for one 90-foot hill, this was a flat ride.  The pace was leisurely and there wasn't much wind to speak of either.  Chris said we were getting off easy for a ride with me on it.

I had a renal emergency a couple of miles before the rest stop.  It took me longer to take this picture than it did for me to pee.  You needed to know that, didn't you?

The rest stop was in Alloway.   An old and worn house on the corner of Main Street was worth a picture or two.

While some riders went across the street to find a real bathroom, I took pictures of the house next door to the general store.

Our second rest stop was only 11 miles later, at Lower Alloway Creek.  A brick bank shared space with a pizza parlor large enough only to hold a two-seat table.  The parking lot bordered the creek.  Here it looked like a pond. 

One rider with a camera spotted a golden eagle.  I had my camera halfway to my face when it flew off.  I took pictures of Phragmites communis instead.

Despite its pervasive and invasive nature, I've always had a fondness for Phrag.  I must have been 7 or 8 years old when I was killing time at a marina in Maryland, my father getting the boat he shared ready for a sailing trip.  I padded along the bank of a brackish inlet and snapped a reed (or maybe my father cut it for me), the tuft towering over my head.  I brought it back to the boat, telling my father that I had "a friend."  For years, we called these plants "friends."  Now I have a particularly puffy one that I snagged in grad school.  It sits in a massive glass bottle that I inherited from my parents when they moved out of their house.  My father had neatly arranged a bouquet of cattails and grasses, which survived both the move to my house and several years of Burnaby.  But when Moxie got big enough to do serious damage to anything within reach, he made quick work of the dried grasses.  Looking at the Phrag friends along the creek, I decided that I'd gather a good handful on the road out of Fort Mott to bring home.

The eagle had been in this tree:

 I missed the eagle but I think everyone else missed the loons:

The last handful of miles became an impromptu five-person sprint, a macho-mile style hammerfest into the parking lot.  As usual, I couldn't catch Chris.

Away from the parking lot I found an inlet with Phragmites I could reach.  I snapped five and carried them back to Tom's truck.  We secured the stems with a bungee cord and held the tufts down under Kermit's rear wheel.  They're now on the back porch, where I'll cover the tops with hairspray to keep them from falling apart.  I might wait a while before I bring them inside, though.  Moxie hasn't outgrown his appetite for destruction.