This post is part of a project in the works; "An Ogemaw County Year". The blog and eventually the book will encompass nature noticing, research and facts over the course of a year with a watercolor painting for each entry. Originals and prints will be available via the website as they are completed and prepped and the book will be available upon completion.
The December sky is a flat thick gray, allowing only a toneless light over the swamp. Cold humid air seeps into my layers, the near freezing weather pressing in with an insistent chill. The landscape around me is a mosaic of somber tones—deep browns of leaf-littered paths, the ashen gray of tree trunks stripped bare by the season, and the occasional glisten of icy droplets clinging to cedar branches.
I tread carefully along the narrow raised wooden path that winds through the swamp, mindful of the slippery wood. A light snow begins to fall, flecking the surface of the still, dark water and collecting in the tangles of underbrush. The air is so silent that the soft patter of snow is like a whisper, punctuated only by the occasional croak of a raven somewhere distant.
Just as I wonder if the scene will yield anything more than subtle colors, a vibrant flash of red catches my eye. Amid the naked branches and pale cattail stalks stands a cluster of shrubs adorned with brilliant red berries. They gleam like tiny rubies, defiant and bright against the monochrome backdrop. I draw closer, recognizing the unmistakable Ilex verticillata, known more commonly as winterberry.
Winterberry is a deciduous holly, a unique member of the holly family in that it sheds its leaves in autumn, leaving behind only its striking fruit. These berries, clustered tightly along the stems, serve as a crucial food source for wildlife during the cold months. Birds, particularly robins, cedar waxwings, and bluebirds, flock to these scarlet jewels on the fall and again in the spring during migration and when other sustenance is scarce.
The life cycle of Ilex verticillata begins in the damp, acidic soils where it thrives. Native to swampy lowlands, wet thickets, and the edges of ponds, this plant’s natural habitat provides the consistent moisture it required. In early spring, the winterberry awakens with small, inconspicuous white flowers that emerge to welcome pollinators like bees. Only the female plants bear fruit, and this bounty is reliant on nearby male counterparts for pollination.
By late summer, the modest blooms give way to the glossy red berries that ripen and hold through winter. The fruit persists well past the first frost, often clinging to the branches until devoured by grateful wildlife. While the berries are visually captivating, they are mildly toxic to humans, serving primarily as a feast for the animal kingdom.
As the first fat snowflakes tumble down from the grey sky, I stand in the quiet hush, captivated by the winterberry’s vivid defiance. It is as though the swamp itself offers up a reminder of resilience, a splash of life in an otherwise suspended, silent world. My breath mists in the cold as I take a moment to admire the way the berries glisten under their gathering coat of snow.
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