Can you have a perfect walk in an urban forest?
I have no doubt after participating in a guided stroll through Lambton Woods last week that could only be rated the Bo Derek of walks.
It was my first trip to this particular sylvan oasis nestled along the banks of the Lower Humber River near Dundas St. W. and Royal York Rd., an area of the city previously unknown to me.
I was tagging along with naturalist Miles Hearn and his class of adult learners. They’re a group of about a dozen active, binocular- and camera-toting folks who signed up for outdoor ed. classes through the Toronto District School Board. Each week during the session, they visit a different natural environment around the GTA, getting some fresh air and exercise — the walks are usually five to six kilometres long — and an introduction to the area’s flora and fauna.
Hearn was gracious enough to let me join his class when he heard through a mutual acquaintance that I was looking for the elusive — at least in these parts — purple trillium. On a visit to Lambton Woods earlier in the week with a different group, Hearn had spotted several of the exact species (Trillium erectum) that I was looking for. He would be happy to show them to me.
I caught up with Hearn’s Thursday group in the parking lot of James Gardens. We headed south along a footpath, first passing a pocket-sized pond home to a score of mallards and one male wood duck.
As we headed into the forest, the light was dappled as the sun’s warming rays filtered through the newly leafing out canopy, each bit of foliage the colour of a lime Popsicle.
We hadn’t gone far when Hearn pointed out my quarry. There, just by the side of the trail, was a single purple trillium. It was completely surrounded by its much more common cousin, the white or large-flowered Trillium grandiflorum. This is the flower we all know, one so lovely and so closely associated with Ontario’s spring landscape that it was made the province’s official flower in 1937.
On this balmy May day, there were thousands of white trilliums blooming on the forest floor, like so many bright eyes among the jade green leaves.
But I was there to get better acquainted with the purple trillium (commonly called the red trillium, although in truth it is more of a maroon colour), so I knelt down in the leaf litter — being careful not to disturb any other plants — to try to capture something of its beauty in a photo.
My wildflower guide (the National Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Wildflowers — Eastern Region) says the blooms of this plant give off a foul odour resembling rotting meat, in a bid, perhaps, to be attractive to the carrion flies that pollinate it. But despite being close to the flower, I was unable to detect even a faint whiff of the odour that gives rise to one of the plant’s other nicknames, Stinking Benjamin.
Like so many of our native wildflowers, the purple trillium has many monikers. Hearn referred to it frequently as wake-robin, a name that may allude to the red breast colour of our feathered harbingers of spring.
After getting some images of the purple trillium, I hustled to catch up with the group. They were further ahead on the trail, where, under the towering beeches, oaks and maples, trout lilies (Erythronium americanum) were growing, as abundant as blackflies in June. Like all spring ephemerals, the nodding bell-like yellow flowers of this native species will disappear within a week or two, once the trees above them have fully leafed out.
As we continued, sharing the trail with dog walkers, joggers and occasional cyclists, we were treated to a symphony of spring birdsong, as bright and bubbly and spirit boosting as champagne. The top notes came from Baltimore orioles, the males’ piercing songs (sounding like “Here, here, come right here, dear”) so loud it seemed like their little syrinxes must be hooked up to amps.
Our other regular city birds chimed in, too, the familiar songs of jays, cardinals, robins, sparrows, red-wings and goldfinches all loud and easily recognizable. Low notes came from the complaining Canada geese and testy female mallards down in the river.
Tougher to hear, much less identify, were the smaller voices of the warblers we heard and saw — Nashville, yellow, pine and palm — and the sparrows, chipping, white-throated and song. But Hearn identified them all easily.
After several hours of fun in the forest, our walk circled back to the parking lot and we said our thanks and goodbyes.
After the group broke up, I returned once again to the purple trillium I’d seen near the start of the trail for a few more photos. While I had seen one other on our walk, deeper in the woods, this particular specimen was perfect — a priceless gift from the forest on a sublime springtime day.
