Grass of Parnassus

 It is the ideal time now (at least in these parts) to seek one of my favorite wildflowers, Grass of Parnassus, a flower that would be the star of any bog. I have one particular place to visit it each year, but do you think I would divulge that location on this website?  Of course not!  Instead, I offer a photograph that I took several summers ago:

Grass of Parnassus, or Bog-Star, Parnassia asarifolia, Haywood County, NC, 8/23/18  

       Grass of Parnassus

Pale star that by the lochs of Galloway,

   In wet green places ’twixt the depth and height

Dost keep thine hour while Autumn ebbs away,

   When now the moors have doffed the heather bright,

   Grass of Parnassus, flower of my delight,

How gladly with the unpermitted bay—

Garlands not mine, and leaves that not decay—

   How gladly would I twine thee if I might!

The bays are out of reach!  But far below

   The peaks forbidden of the Muses’ Hill,

Grass of Parnassus, thy returning snow

   Between September and October chill

Doth speak to me of Autumns long ago,

   And these kind faces that are with me still.

p. 1

 - Andrew Lang, ca. 1888

A Landscape of Neurological Nets Underfoot

 [From August 19, 2009]

The universe, and in particular planet Earth, is a communion of subjects, not a collection of objects.
-Thomas Berry

I love a challenge and saving the Planet seems like a good one....I believe that mycelium is the neurological network of nature. Interlacing mosaics of mycelium infuse habitats with information-sharing membranes.
-Paul Stamets





I’m still sorting through the many wildflowers I’ve photographed this year, and intend to devote some study time this winter to be a better taxonomist next year. Even so, I recognize that learning to identify individual plant species unlocks only a few of the secrets of the Southern Appalachian forest.

This week I hiked a couple of miles on the Sugarland Mountain Trail, between Newfound Gap and Clingman’s Dome. In a place like this, it’s not unusual to find an abundance of epiphytes like mosses and lichens growing on trees. But at one point on this trail, you can look up and see red spruce trees that have sprouted and are growing from the broad limbs of the yellow birch trees.


Twenty feet up, red spruce trees have sprouted on the limb of a yellow birch.

That’s just a tiny example of the complex, and sometimes unexpected, relationships among the organisms of the high elevation forest. If I didn’t already recognize how little I know about forest ecology, the various mushrooms that I observed along the trail were constant reminders. As I learned only recently, mushrooms are no longer classified as plants but are included in the separate and distinct Kingdom of Fungi.

Looking at the forest as a mere collection of trees and flowers is to overlook the crucial role of saprobes and mycorrhizae. Paul Stamets calls the web of fungi that pervades the forest "a neurological net."

Recently, I read an article on myco-forestry, or “the cultivation of fungi as part of forest agriculture.” In the New Life Journal story, Zev Friedman drew the connection beween fungi and the hemlocks disappearing so rapidly from the Southern Appalachians. One mushroom, the Appalachian Reishi (Ganoderma tsugae) grows on dead hemlock trees.

According to the Friedman, the closely related Chinese Reishi (Ganoderma lucidum) is known as the "mushroom of immortality" because of its pharmacologic value:

Clinical trials have verified many effects of reishis, including potent anti-tumor (sarcoma and hepatoma) action, adaptogenic and immune stimulating qualities, and spleen cell regeneration. Reishis also seem to possess anti-hypertensive and anti-allergenic properties.

He explains how Ganoderma tsugae could be cultivated in the forest garden:

Dying hemlocks can be cut down, inoculated with reishi mycelium in May or June, and staked along the topographic contours of hills as retaining edges for paths or native medicinal plant beds, simultaneously decreasing erosion and runoff while building topsoil. The fungus decomposes the log more quickly into mulch and soil than would occur without human intervention, while producing highly valuable medicinal and edible mushrooms for many years.



The entire article is at:
https://www.thefreelibrary.com/It's+good+to+grow+mushrooms%3a+Zev+Friedman+dishes+the+dirt+on...-a0199193902

Paul Stamets has a fine article on "Permaculture with a Mycological Twist" at https://fungi.com/blogs/articles/permaculture-with-a-mycological-twist

A visionary mycologist, Stamets is one of the heroic geniuses of our day:

I see the mycelium as the Earth's natural Internet, a consciousness with which we might be able to communicate. Through cross-species interfacing, we may one day exchange information with these sentient cellular networks. Because these externalized neurological nets sense any impression upon them, from footsteps to falling tree branches, they could relay enormous amounts of data regarding the movements of all organisms through the landscape.
-Paul Stamets, Mycelium Running: How Mushrooms Can Help Save the World

Foraging for Sochan

 [From August 8, 2010]

Eventually, the food movement had to go this far. As soon as a lot of people started buying organic, locally grown farmers'-market fare, food snobs had to do something else to feel superior. They had to look down on the masses' reliance on the whole modernized "growing food on purpose" thing. They had to go back to a more honest, preagricultural method: foraging.
Time Magazine, July 26, 2010

I was on my way home from a weekend of permaculture study.

With no reason to be in a hurry, I turned from the Blue Ridge Parkway at Craggy Gardens and walked the trail to the summit. Always one of my favorite short hikes, it was no exception this time. I nibbled on wild blueberries and watched the roiling fog obscure and reveal range upon range of mountains, looking like waves in the ocean.

When I got to the observation deck at the top, a man and his teenage son were enjoying the sky show. One second, the quickly dropping sun gilded a row of clouds, and then the fog would take away the view of the sun completely.

They both had some good stories, and the three of us talked for a while. I mentioned “permaculture” and explained it in brief, and that I’d just been briefed in the culinary potential of native woodland plants. Coincidentally, the dad had just read a Time article on high-end chefs using foraged ingredients. I told him I’d look it up and read it, and he said he’d find out more about permaculture. After I got home, I did find the Time story, Joel Stein’s “Into the Woods.”

…searching the woods or parks or even cracks in the pavement for edible plants has become the latest culinary obsession. In June, forageSF's Iso Rabins gathered 70 vendors and 2,000 customers in San Francisco for his once-a-month Underground Market for foraged food. There's a restaurant in Los Angeles called Forage that lets people take in stuff they find (or, for slackers, grow in their gardens) to exchange for credit toward their dinner. Meanwhile, menus across the land are listing wild leeks, fiddlehead ferns, stinging nettles and berries you've never heard of.

Chris Hastings of the Hot and Hot Fish Club in Birmingham, Ala., often goes foraging and explains its appeal: "You can pursue a bunch of b_______ cooking like sous vide this or sous vide that or foam this or foam that, but to celebrate wild, foraged things and get back to an elemental place is an intellectually much more interesting place for me as a chef." In early summer his customers can order a completely foraged dessert. "It freaks them out," he says. "The flavors are intense. They're unique. They're not like a cultivated strawberry."

…Tyler Gray of Oregon-based Mikuni Wild Harvest sometimes rides the New York City subway with $50,000 worth of foraged truffles in his backpack. "It's such a crazy subculture," he says of food finders, who speak in "traveling-gypsy code," as he puts it. "You don't want anyone to know where you're foraging," says Gray, whose truck has been shot at while he was out searching for food.

Ava Chin, who blogs about urban foraging for the New York Times, won't say where in the city she once found nearly 100 morels. She recently tapped a maple tree near her Brooklyn apartment, which upset her neighbors. "In New York, everyone freaks out and figures you must be hurting the tree," she says. "I don't know where they think maple syrup comes from."

Even with its many jumps around the map, the Time article leaves out a lot. The story succeeded in bringing a worthwhile topic to broader awareness, while it came close to trivializing the subject.

Actually, foraging can be as simple or as complex as you want to make it. We could talk about it from the perspective of anthropology, biology, spirituality, economics, ecology....or as a pop culture fad.

Euell Gibbons told us how to fry up a batch of elderberry blossom fritters. The question is, why would you want to? A new generation of wild foodies is advancing the concept of knowing when to pick, and how to prepare, native plants so they aren’t merely edible, but delicious. Among the books to emerge from this new wave is Edible Wild Plants: Wild Foods From Dirt To Plate, by John Kallas.



Green-headed Coneflower

Here in the Southern Appalachians, one wild plant that happens to be blooming right now, is considered by many the number one native plant deserving a place on the plate. If you know it by the flower, you might call it green-headed coneflower. But if you treasure it for the spring greens from the young plants, then you might call it sochan. Several years ago in the Smoky Mountain News, George Ellison described it.

Sochan (“Rudbeckia laciniatum”), called green-headed coneflower by non-Indians, is one of the most prized spring greens the Cherokees gather. They sometimes call it “sochani.” Many of their gardens have semi-cultivated patches of the plant in protected areas. Closely related to black-eyed Susan (“Rudbeckia hirta”), it grows to 10 feet tall in wet areas and along damp woodland borders. The flower heads that appear in mid-summer are about three inches wide with drooping yellow rays and a center disk (unlike the purple disk of black-eyed Susan) that’s greenish-yellow.

The Cherokees recognize sochan as soon as it comes out of the ground in mid-spring by its distinctive irregularly divided leaves and smell. Consult your wildflower field guides for flower and leaf-shape diagrams of green-headed coneflower. Then you will be able to locate the plant this summer along backcountry roadways when it’s in full bloom. Mark the spot and return next spring for greens. Prepare the young shoots and leaves (boiled with several changes of water) have a rich texture and zesty flavor. It’s even good cold as a snack with a little vinegar added. In the opinion of many - this writer included - sochan is the very finest of the traditional potherbs gathered in the Blue Ridge region.

Though you certainly would not have to go that far to find it, the walk to the top of Clingman’s Dome takes you through acres of green-headed coneflower blooms...or next year’s sochan patch. Considering how these things go, I wouldn’t be surprised to find sochan on the menu of any hip restaurant in Asheville or Sylva come next spring.

As permaculture makes more inroads into the culture, what’s old is new again. (After thinking further on this, I'm not sure it is a matter of permaculture making inroads. Permaculture reflects the deepest and most eternal laws of nature, and nature has plenty of self-correcting strategies to deal with anyone who would defy those laws.)

For more links on this - http://lifeisfare.wordpress.com/2010/07/26/the-latest-culinary-obsession-foraging/

Tripping Through the Valley of the Green Bird

One a recent walk along the Little Tennessee River, I encountered a tree with heart-shaped leaves and long pods hanging from its branches.  An ID for the tree did not come to mind immediately, but then I saw a large green caterpillar munching on one leaf and it all started coming back to me.  

I had encountered catalpas in South Carolina's Eastatoe Valley and wrote about it January 10, 2009, and no, I didn't catch a catalpa buzz.  Catalpas and trilliums are still thriving.  Sadly, Bob's Place (the oldest tavern in South Carolina) burned down a few years ago.

 

Lighting the hallucinogenic catalpa. [For demonstration purposes only.]



I took a right turn at Bob’s Place, just before the Road Kill Grill, and descended into the Valley of the Green Bird.



Whenever I visit this place, I think of the trilliums that grow here, in abundance, thanks to an anomaly of Appalachian geology. I’ve been told that one hill alone hosts seven different varieties of the flower. Of course, that rainbow of trilliums is hidden underground for the next couple of months.

The "Green Bird" - the extinct Carolina Parakeet

Here are some things I’ve just learned – trilliums have a symbiotic relationship with ants. The fruit of the trillium matures, splits open, and releases its seeds in late summer. Attached to those seeds are nutritious, lipid-rich elaisomes, especially attractive to ants.

The ants carry the seeds back to their nests, where they eat the elaisomes and discard the seeds intact. Waste disposal sites, enriched by the carcasses of dead ants and ant feces, form fertile seedbeds. The seeds over-winter before germinating. The first year, they develop only a small root; the second year, a rudimentary leaf; a year or two later, a single true leaf. In a couple of more years, the plant produces three leaves and, after another year, the trillium finally flowers. The cycle can take six years or more from seed to flower.



Trilliums aren’t the only evidence of persistence in the valley. The old homesteads and farm fields still look like they belong here.

One of those patches of ground called out to me and I pulled over for a closer look. I could see this land had been farmed for centuries. A large pasture stretched out to the edge of the creek that runs through the middle of this valley. Between the pasture and the road was a garden plot lined by several gnarled apple trees and one cigar tree. Dark slender pods, a foot or longer, hung from all the limbs of that tree better known as the catalpa.



Supposedly, the tree was a totem for the Catawba Indians, and it was only due to a transcription error by a botanist that the name "Catalpa," rather than "Catawba" was applied to the tree. To my way of thinking, it’s one of those humble trees that doesn’t get its due respect. With a thick covering of heart-shaped leaves it provides a protected refuge for many species of birds.

If you want to catch catfish, remember this:

The tree is favored by the Catalpa Sphinx moth. The caterpillars of that moth eat the leaves of the catalpa, and are such an excellent live bait for fishing that some dedicated anglers maintain small groves of the trees, just to have a reliable source of "catawba-worms".

Indians smoked the catalpa seed pods for the hallucinogenic effect, which is why the tree became known as the "Indian Cigar Tree." I’d be more than happy to report on anyone else’s experience in this regard. I believe I’ll pass, but I do have a couple of pods for anyone who wants to give it a try.

Go ahead.

Light up.

Tune in. Turn on. Drop out.

Who knows? Maybe the Green Bird will make an encore appearance.

After that 2009 account of Eastatoe's catalpas posted, I received a number of comments, including the following.  (It was always lovely to learn from the readers of these tales, "back in the day.")

From Joe:

Back where I'm originally from (the Chicago area) we had what I presume to be a northern catalpa next door, all throughout my youth (we called it a cigar tree). And after I moved away years ago, my dad convinced the neighbor to cut it down. You know, you can't really not understand, being the normal dude he is--what with the mess of flowers and pods it left all over the suburban lawn--but I always thought it was quite a mysterious tree. Had I known of its fish catching and hallucinogenic qualities, well, I might have been more adamant of its right to be. But it's good to learn these things later than never. 

And from Anonymous:

never heard about smoking a catalpa. i know someone who might try it.

trilliums are often inconspicuously absent from reclaimed old fields in the smokies. i would never have thought about this but a few summers ago a friend was looking for some trillium patches to study the ant dispersal of the seeds. if you drive above twin creek on the loop road above gatlinburg there are many old fields that still have remains of fence rows and terraces.

there are no trilliums.

none.

around the edges, in what had remained more or less intact forest, you may find trilliums. they have not managed to diffuse across the landscape via our formicine friends in the 75-80 years since the inception of the park.

what other wonders such as these are hidden from our view by the veil of ignorance, by not having ever watched an ant visit a plant.

Hill Billy Rave had the scoop on Bob's Place:

Bob's Place down off of the Pickens Highway is commonly known as "Scatter Brain's". Story is someone got mean and the proprietor blew his brains out with a shotgun. I don't know how far back that was, I heard it when I was a little kid.

And, like me, Duck Hunter knew Bob's Place as a landmark, rather than a destination:

On my way out to some waterfalls I always know to turn at Bob's Place. Not sure what road that is... just turn at Bob's.

There are always people sitting on the porch up there with a drink. Doesn't appear a place for a stranger to visit.

To Learn a Fern (Aarnivalkea)

 [From June 27, 2010]

When I went out walking the other day, I brushed up against four or five different types of ferns within the space of fifty yards.



I was ready to return with my fern book and finally start learning their identities, yet I didn’t realize how little I know about ferns.

Maidenhair Fern, April 23, 2010.

I figured that the distinctive silhouettes of the fern fronds would be enough to arrive at a positive ID, but no. In many cases, you have to turn the fern and study the pattern of bumps, called sori, on the underside of the leaf.

A sorus (pl. sori) is a cluster of sporangia.

In ferns, these form a yellowish or brownish mass on the edge or underside of a fertile frond. In some species, they are protected during development by a scale or film of tissue called the indusium, which forms an umbrella-like cover.

Dicksonia antarctica. Picture taken by DanielCD on 17 May 2005. Picture is of the underside of a fern frond. It shows a fertile frond which is covered with sori (sing. sorus)
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:SoriDicksonia.jpg

Sori occur on the sporophyte generation, the sporangia within producing haploid meiospores. As the sporongia mature, the indusium shrivels so that spore release is unimpeded. The sporangia then burst and release the spores.

The shape, arrangement, and location of the sori are often valuable clues in the identification of fern taxa. Sori may be circular or linear. They may be arranged in rows, either parallel or oblique to the costa, or randomly. Their location may be marginal or set away from the margin on the frond lamina. The presence or absence of indusium is also used to identify fern taxa.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sorus

The best time to identify ferns is when the sori are fully developed. Here’s one more description of what to look for:

Many ferns bear their spore cases (also known as sporangia, sori, or fruit-dots) on the undersides of some of the leaflets—turn over the leaves and look for small dots, often brown. Other species have separate stems devoted to holding spore cases. These structures have fertile leaves that usually look like miniature versions of the larger plant but later turn brown and curly.

Identification of many of the twice-compound species requires examining placement of spore cases; comparison of sizes, shapes, veining patterns, and numbers of leaflets; and other meticulous evaluations, which obsessive botanists usually enjoy.

Read more at Suite101: How to Identify Ferns: Primitive and Beautiful Plants of Woods and Meadows http://botany.suite101.com/article.cfm/how_to_identify_ferns#ixzz0rvFoo332

Sori (containing spores) on the underside of a curling Polypodium fern.
Catskill Mountains, New York, USA
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Fern_Sori.JPG

I had already been contemplating the fractal* quality of ferns, even before stumbling onto the bit about spore cases with leaves that resemble the larger plant.

[*Fractals being processes or images that exhibit something called self-similarity, something made up of a reduced version of itself.]

Trees and ferns are fractal in nature and can be modeled on a computer by using a recursive algorithm. This recursive nature is obvious in these examples—a branch from a tree or a frond from a fern is a miniature replica of the whole: not identical, but similar in nature.

The connections between fractals and leaves are currently being used to determine how much carbon is contained in trees.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fractal#cite_note-4

Barnsley's fern computed using an iterated function system

I haven’t been back to the ferns, but I’ll find them in due time. I still don’t know much, but more than I did before.

Two lessons, for now.

One, when you look at a fern, you’re looking at mathematics in action.

And two, always look on the underside of the leaf!

The Great Smoky Mountains All Taxa Biodiversity Inventory reports 53 species of ferns representing the Pteridophyta division of plants (within the national park).
http://www.dlia.org/atbi/species/Plantae/Pteridophyta/index.shtml

Finally, as if that’s not enough reason to go out and learn a fern, there’s this:

Finnish tradition holds that one who finds the "seed" of a fern in bloom on Midsummer night will, by possession of it, be guided and be able to travel invisibly to the locations where eternally blazing Will o' the wisps called aarnivalkea mark the spot of hidden treasure. These spots are protected by a spell that prevents anyone but the fern-seed holder from ever knowing their locations.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fern

The Amazing Spiderwort

 [From June 12, 2009]

It has been great fun to get more acquainted with wildflowers this year. I only regret that I’ve waited so long to give them the attention they deserve. The past couple of weeks had been a fairly slow time for finding new flowers. As the trees leafed out and the forest canopy closed, the early spring flowers deep in the woods have faded.

Now, it’s time to look elsewhere. This week, a flower hunter could do worse than to look alongside the Blue Ridge Parkway from Balsam Gap to Waterrock Knob. Rhododendrons and flame azaleas are hard to miss, even if you’re zipping past at 45 MPH. But anyone who gets out and takes the time to look will find lots and lots of smaller flowers blooming. I’m still culling from a couple of hundred photos I took there this week.

The spiderwort, one of the few flowers I could have identified before this year, is blooming in abundance. I enjoy taking macro shots, and even though a photographer might pass up the spiderwort for more charismatic flowers, it is a splendid subject if you stop and take a closer look. Generally speaking, bright sun is not the ideal condition for taking wildflower pictures. I’ve found, though, that with flowers that lend themselves to close-ups, the bright sun helps in achieving clear, sharp results. Predictably, this is less true for white flowers. For some reasons I don’t quite understand, yellow flowers are even more difficult to photograph well in bright light, at least in my experience. That’s not a problem with the blues and purples of the spiderworts.

I had known that the spiderwort was of particular interest to botanists although I had forgotten why. They have several notable characteristics:

-The plants are easily hybridized.

-Their cell structure makes it relatively easy to observe the flow of cytoplasmic fluid through the plant.

-Due to its large chromosomes, spiderwort is the plant of choice for viewing (under a microscope) cell division in the stamen hairs.

-Old petals don’t fall from the flower, as with most plants, but seem to melt due to certain enzymes.




One of the most curious traits of the spiderwort is its response to ionizing radiation, such as gamma rays. Upon exposure, the stamen hairs which are normally blue will turn purple or pink. So the plant is studied as a natural barometer of air pollution and radiation. Less than two weeks after contamination from low “safe” doses of radiation or hazardous chemicals the stamen hairs will start to mutate and change color. Since the spiderwort can absorb toxins and store them internally, it gives a more useful measure of the cumulative effect of contamination over time, compared to other means of measuring external and temporary levels of toxins.

Reportedly, the Cherokees used the spiderwort for food and medicine. The young leaves were eaten as salad greens. The plant was mashed into a paste and rubbed onto insect bites to relieve itching and pain. The roots were used in a poultice to treat cancer. A tea made from the plant was used as a laxative and for stomachaches.

If I have identified it correctly, the spiderwort I found in such abundance along the Parkway this week was the Mountain Spiderwort, Tradescantia subaspera var. montana. Fortunately, thanks to some prior study of the wildflower guide I had known to be alert for another member of the spiderwort family. Otherwise, I might have ignored the Commelina communis as more of the same. As with the Mountain Spiderwort, this plant has three petals, but it would be easy to assume that it is missing one. While two of the petals are blue (and bluer than the Mountain Spiderworts that I’ve seen) the third petal is smaller, white, and easily overlooked. Some people call this plant Mouse Flower since the two blue petals do resemble a pair of mouse ears. But it is better known as the Common Dayflower, which refers to the blooms lasting only one day before melting away.

Spiderwort

I always see my father's eyes as blue
When spiderwort comes up in spring. I saw
It first when no one in Nebraska knew
What name it had in Gray's old botany.

None but my father. He would leave his team,
Take down the book he'd sold the seed-corn for,
Scan page, and say: "That's spiderwort." In fall,
"Oh, no, not weeds. That's blazing star." I'm glad

Except for what my mother must endure,
He left us hungry, chased some wan, wild goose;
But told me names of shepherd's purse in spring
And tumble-weed and golden-rod in fall.

- Margaret E. Haughawout (1929)

Wild Strawberry Fields Forever

[From May 24, 2008]

Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see.

It's getting hard to be someone but it all works out.

It doesn't matter much to me.

Let me take you down, 'cause I'm going to Strawberry Fields.

Nothing is real and nothing to get hung about.

Strawberry Fields forever.

-The Beatles

Today, I spent a few hours mowing and was richly rewarded when I uncovered a bunch of wild strawberries. I switched off the lawnmower and gathered the tender fruit.

Whenever I taste a wild strawberry, I automatically think back to the time that William Bartram crossed the Cowees at Leatherman Gap and descended into Alarka Valley.

What an incredible coincidence for me to find wild strawberries on May 24, 2008, because it was May 24, 1775 that William Bartram encountered this scene:

…enjoyed a most enchanting view, a vast expanse of green meadows and strawberry fields; a meandering river gliding through, saluting in its various turnings the swelling, green, turfy knolls, embellished with parterres of flowers and fruitful strawberry beds; flocks of turkies strolling about them; herds of deer prancing in the meads or bounding over the hills; companies of young, innocent Cherokee virgins, some busily gathering the rich fragrant fruit, others having already filled their baskets, lay reclined under the shade of floriferous and fragrant native bowers of Magnolia, Azalea, Philadelphus, perfumed Calycanthus, sweet Yellow Jessamine and cerulian Glycine frutescens, disclosing their beauties to the fluttering breeze, and bathing their limbs in the cool fleeting streams; whilst other parties, more gay and libertine, were yet Collecting strawberries or wantonly chasing their companions, tantalising them, staining their lips and cheeks with the rich fruit.

Keep in mind that Bartram was a 36-year-old man who’d endured several weeks of difficult travel, far from the comforts of home:

This sylvan scene of primitive innocence was enchanting, and perhaps too enticing for hearty young men long to continue idle spectators. In fine, nature prevailing over reason, we wished at least to have a more active part in their delicious sports. Thus precipitately resolving, we cautiously made our approaches, yet undiscovered, almost to the joyous scene of action.

Now, although we meant no other than an innocent frolic with this gay assembly of hamadryades, we shall leave it to the person of feeling and sensibility to form an idea to what lengths our passions might have hurried us, thus warmed and excited, had it not been for the vigilance and care of some envious matrons who lay in ambush, and espying us gave the alarm, time enough for the nymphs to rally and assemble together; we however pursued and gained ground on a group of them, who had incautiously strolled to a greater distance from their guardians, and finding their retreat now like to be cut off, took shelter under cover of a little grove, but on perceiving themselves to be discovered by us, kept their station, peeping through the bushes; when observing our approaches, they confidently discovered themselves and decently advanced to meet us, half unveiling their blooming faces, incarnated with the modest maiden blush, and with native innocence and cheerfulness presented their little baskets, merrily telling us their fruit was ripe and sound.

We accepted a basket, sat down and regaled ourselves on the delicious fruit, encircled by the whole assembly of the innocently jocose sylvan nymphs; by this time the several parties under the conduct of the elder matrons, had disposed themselves in companies on the green, turfy banks.

For an itinerant botanist who answered to the name "Puc Puggy", Billy Bartram knew how to have a good time.

On this very day, 233 years ago, he took great delight…

…in wild strawberries.

Heart of the Cowees - A Wildflower Walk in May

Sunday afternoon, I crossed to the other side of the mountain for a quick wildflower ramble.  At an elevation of 3400' +/- and near the crest of the Cowees, the area abounds in spring wildflowers.  The site's unusual geology contributes to extraordinary plant diversity.  In Western NC, limestone outcrops are uncommon compared to the acidic bedrock underlying most of the region.  Higher calcium levels in the soil are optimal for species requiring less acidity.  The cast of characters is not the usual bunch.  For anyone attuned to the subtleties of plant communities, even just a little, it is like stepping into a different world.

Forgive the marginal quality of the photos, but I had limited time for this expedition.  It was shoot-and-run.  And dodge the rain!  From start to finish, in a span of 63 minutes, these are the species encountered, in the order I found them.  Regarding the annotations, in case anyone asks, it is  "folklore" and not medical advice.

Pink Lady's Slipper (Cypripedium acaule) Orchis family. 

Usually found near pines and that was the case for this one. I've been visiting this colony almost every year for the past decade, and it has stayed fairly constant in size.  From what  I saw, this was the last one in bloom.  Cypripedium does not reproduce or transplant well, so it must not be picked or dug.  The arrangement of the pouch-like bloom poses an obstacle for bumble-bees and other pollinators, and the flower doesn't provide nectar, so after pollinating a few flowers, the bees determine that the reward is not worth the effort.  Hence, pollination rates are relatively low.  And the seeds rely upon the the presence of specific soil fungi in order to thrive.  

Once called "American Valerian" for its sedative properties, it was used in the 19th century for nervous headaches, insomnia and hysteria.   Due to its scarcity, it should NOT be harvested for medicinal use.

False Hellebore (Veratrum viride)  Lily family. 

The species pictured here grows abundantly this time of year, but I've never succeeded in comfirming a proper ID.  Seeing a reference to false hellebore prior to my plant walk, I thought the mystery was over.  Now, I'm still not sure.  The leaves of Veratrum viride appear to be more deeply grooved or pleated than the leaves on this plant.  I've never managed to find it while in bloom, so that has stymied me.  I had always thought it to be a lily, and Veratrum viride is indeed in the lily family.  The leaves of the V. viride wither away before summer, so I need to keep close watch on it the next few weeks.  

If it is false hellebore, then it is a no-go medicinally.  In the past, alkaloids from the plant were extracted for use as a hypertensive, but this is nothing to play around with.  The leaves and roots are extremely toxic.  As the (questionable) legend goes, Native American braves would consume the plant and the ones who survived were considered sufficiently robust to become leaders. 

 

Wild Geranium, or, Crane's Bill (Geranium maculatum)  Geranium family. 

This is one of the most prevalent wildflowers in these parts during April and May.  The beak-like capsule at the flower is the reason it is called Crane's Bill, and the Greek word for crane, "geranos," is the origin of the genus name.  

The tannin-rich root has many uses: astringent and styptic, it has been used to stop bleeding and to treat diarrhea, dysentery, piles, gum disease, kidney and stomach problems.  It has been used externally as a cancer treatment.  The powdered root has been used to treat canker sores.

Foam Flower (Tiarella cordifolia) Saxifrage family.

This fairly common flower spreads by underground stems in shady areas. I often see it near the banks of brooks and streams and other moist places.  

Native Americans used a tea from the leaves as mouthwash and as a remedy for eye ailments.  Root tea was a diuretic. And it was used as a poultice on wounds.  Its tannic content is likely the reason for its effectiveness.

Black Cohosh, or, Black Snakeroot, or, Fairy Candle, among other common names (Actaea racemosa)  Buttercup family. 

The foliage and overall posture of the plant make it quite distinctive this time of year.  It will send up long , showy spikes of white flowers soon, which makes the designation "Fairy Candle" appropriate.  In my experience around here, this is more abundant than the Blue Cohosh (Caulophyllum thalictroides) and the two are not closely related.  

Research confirms that the plant has estrogenic, hypoglycemic, sedative and anti-inflammatory effects.  Tinctures have been used for bronchitis, fevers, lumbago, rheumatism, snakebite and menstrual difficulties.  There is a long history of using extracts from the rhizomes and roots for medicinal purposes.  Various saponins, cimifugic acids and other phenol carboxylic acids, are among the phytochemicals that make the plant extracts powerful and versatile remedies for many ailments.  At one time, the wild-harvested plants were important in the Southern Appalachian herbal industry, and some people are now growing the plants to supply demand for the roots.

Common Cinquefoil (Potentilla simplex) Rose family. 

I don't believe I have encountered this species as often as I have some of its close relatives, like Dwarf Cinquefoil (Potentilla canadensis), Sulphur Cinquefoil (Potentilla recta), Indian Strawberry (Duchesna indica), and Wild Strawberry (Fragaria virginiana).  

An astringent tea made from the roots has been used as a remedy for diarrhea.

Sweet Shrub, or, Carolina Allspice (Calycanthus floridus)  Calycanthus family.  

When I was growing up in the Piedmont, we had one small specimen of this plant and my father liked it a great deal.  I wonder if it reminded him of his trips to the mountains, where it grows quite well. Everytime I see the plant, I think of my dad, and share his fondness for the unusual blossoms and their spicy fragrance.  

Cherokees used a tea from the bark and roots as an emetic and diuretic, and as drops to restore failing eyesight.  However, the plant might be toxic to grazing cattle.

Pipevine, or, Dutchman's Pipe (Aristolochia macrophylla)  Birthwort family.

I took the picture just because I enjoyed the heart shaped leaves and didn't intend to include it on the list.  But on further review, it should be here, although I'm not 100% certain about the ID.  Pipevine is a common plant in natural communities like this one, but I've only seen the flowers once before, at Jones Gap (above the Cullasaja River) on May 1 several years ago.  It is worth making a special trip to see the odd flowers, which bear a slight resemblance to the reddish-brown flowers of Wild Ginger (a relative).  Scent attracts small flies and other insects to the flower, and once inside the "pipe" closes around them, the flower stops giving off a scent, pollen is released onto the insects, and a day or so later the pipe opens to free the trapped bugs.  

The plant has a connection to the Pipevine Swallowtail butterfly (Battus philenor) which, from my view, is the most common butterfly in these parts.  Many members of the genus Aristolochia are host plants for the larvae of Pipevine Swallowtails.  

Traditionally, the plant's compounds (aristolochic acids, among others) were deemed useful in child birth, hence the name "Birthwort" has been used for this and closely related plants.  The genus name is derived from Greek roots "aristos" meaning "best" and "lochia" meaning "child birth."  Other applications include the treatment of snake bite, gastrointestinal problems, respiratory problems, tumors, wounds, infectious diseases, and fever.  

Another species in the genus is a more potent source of medicinal compounds: Virginia Snakeroot (Aristolochia serpentaria).  And now we are getting close to the origins of the derisive term "snakeoil salesman."  An extract of the Southwestern Pipevine (Aristolochia watsonii) was the main ingredient in the oil sold by traveling “snakeroot doctors” at medicine shows in the Old West during the 19th century.  And we've all seen those cagey codgers in our favorite Westerns.  

Umbrella Leaf (Podophyllum cymosum, formerly Diphylleia cymosum) Burberry family. 

This plant, with leaves up to about one foot across, is not very common.  These were growing in a low space, down a bank, next to a trickle of water.  And that describes the habitat where I last saw this species, a few years ago, on the Blue Ridge Parkway, near Waterrock Knob. The white blooms on these plants were almost spent, and soon we'll see the fruits (shiny blue berries on stems that will turn red).  Another member of the genus is the Mayapple (Podophyllum peltatum), and there are some vigorous patches of that plant nearby.  The natural range of Umbrella Leaf is limited to the Southern Appalachians - it prefers elevations of 3000-5000', but I see that the state extension service recommends the species for home landscapes, if conditions are suitable.  

The Cherokees used a root tea to induce sweating.  It is also considered diuretic and antiseptic.  However, toxicity is a concern with this plant.  Extracts from closely related Chinese plants and from the Mayapple have been used as cancer treatments.  But, to repeat, toxicity is a concern with these plants. 

 

Mountain Bugbane (Cimicifuga americana) Buttercup family.  

Here is another "maybe.'  A couple of minutes earlier, I had seen (what I assume to be) Black Cohosh, and I thought this was another one.  But on looking at the photos, I'm inclined to think this is a different plant, due to subtle differences in the leaves.  Black Cohosh and Mountain Bugbane are quite similar, and when they bloom it will be much easier to confirm my initial IDs.  The flower parts of the two species are distinctly different, if you know what to look for.  The quick trick is to smell the flowers.  Black Cohosh has a very strong odor to attract Carrion Beetles for pollination.  Mountain Bugbane lacks that powerful aroma.

Allegheny Mountain Buttercup (Ranunculus allegheniensis)  Buttercup family.  

It is wishful thinking on my part to list this rare Allegheny Mountain Buttercup, but you can't fault a guy for hoping. The fact is, I'm not sure about the species on this one.  I need to revisit the plant for a closer look and do some more research. It may very well be a Tall Buttercup (R. acris) but I need to see the basal leaves again.  

Medicinally, the fresh leaves and poulticed roots have been used to treat neuralgia, boils and absesses.  But the plant is extremely acrid and will damage tender mucosa. Wild animals that nibble the plant promptly learn their lesson and avoid it.

Rue Anemone (Thalictrum thalictroids)...or is it Early Meadowrue (Thalictrum dioicum)...no,no, it is Brook Meadowrue (Thalictrum clavatum) Buttercup family.  

I reflexively thought, "rue anemone" as soon as I saw the leaves of this plants.  But the more I examined it, the less convinced I was.  The plants and leaves are larger than I recall and the growth habit is different, this is more of a spreading clump with flowers above the leafy mass.  

[I'm revisiting these notes after further study.  Looking at the photo, I began to think that I had two different flowers here, the foliage of some type of rue, and then seperate white flowers growing up  through the rue foliage.  But, no, it is all one plant after all and quite clearly Brook Meadowrue, aka Cliff Meadowrue, aka Lady Rue.  The flowers lack petals - the showy white parts are sepals and the seeds are shaped like crescent moons.  This plant has a very limited range, from Virginia to north Georgia, and is usually found near seepage slopes, wet cliffs and the banks of brooks.]  

The genus name, Thalictrum, comes from the Greek word describing a plant with divided leaves.  "Dioicum" means "two houses" and refers to the fact that male and female flowers grow on separate plants.  The story goes that Native Americans would stealthily sprinkle Thalictrum seeds into the food of quarreling couples to facilitate their reconciliation.  

Medically, the sap of the plant has been used to burn corns off the feet.  And native people prepared root tea to treat diarrhea.  But the plant is considered toxic.

Sharp-lobed Hepatica, Liverwort (Hepatica acutiloba) Buttercup family.  

Hepatica is one of the early spring bloomers, in flower perhaps six weeks ago, alongside Spring Beauty, Toothwort, Star Chickweed, Bloodroot and other spring ephemerals.  The foliage remains and is one of my favorites to see at any time in its life cycle.  

Hepatica is often cited in discussions of the ancient "Doctrine of Signatures" which hypothesized that a plant's resemblance to a body part was a sign that it could be used to treat diseases of that organ.  Hepatica, with lobed, liver-colored leaves, resembled a liver and was used to treat liver problems.  A century ago, vast amounts of hepatica leaves were harvested for the commercial production of liver tonics.

Speckled Wood Lily, or, White Clintonia (Clintonia umbellulata)  Lily family.  

Henry David Thoreau complained that this plant genus had been named for a New York politician who lost a bid for the Presidency.  No, not HER, but DeWitt Clinton (1769-1828), an early governor of the state.  The delicate white flowers give way to shiny black berries.  

The leaves, with a cucumber-like flavor, are edible: raw when young and cooked when older.

Halberdleaf Yellow Violet (Viola hastata) Violet family.  

This is a violet with a yellow flower, but even when the flowers fade, the foliage is pleasing to the eye.  The distinctive shape of the leaf is thought to resemble the halberd, a battle-ax from the 15th and 16th centuries.  In folklore, the violet symbolizes simplicity and modesty.  

Compounds from some of the violets have been used to treat skin cancers.

Smooth Solomon's Seal (Polygonatum biflorum) Lily family.  

The flowers of this plant are arranged  all along the stem, underneath the leaves.  The white, bell-shaped flowers give way to round fruit that hang from the plant through the summer.  Almost invariably, if I encounter one of these Solomon's Seals, I will find a False Solomon's Seal nearby.  That happened again on this walk. It is easy to distinguish False Solomon's Seal, as its flowers or berries are NOT suspended along the length of the plant, but in a cluster at the tip of the stem. 

Polygonatum biflorum root tea is used to treat arthritis, indigestion, and lung ailments, and as a laxative.

False Solomon's Seal (Smilacina racemosa, aka, Maianthemum racemosum) Lily family. 

At first glance, this plant looks do different from Smooth Solomon's Seal.  They are easy to distinguish, though.  Clusters of tiny flowers are found at the tip of the False Solomon's Seal plant, and the berries develop there.  

Native Americans used the plant for some of the same purposes as P. biflorum.

Maidenhair Fern (Adiantum pedatum)  

Of course, it isn't a flowering plant, but it is not to be ignored.  The black stipes and curved form are elegant.  The name "maidenhair" actually designates the genus, and there are about 250 species of Maidenhair Ferns worldwide within the genus. The genus name is derived from a Greek word meaning "unwetted," as the fronds can shed water without becoming wet.  

This fern is said to be useful for bronchitis, coughs, menstrual difficulties.

Golden Alexander (Zizia spp.)...or is it Meadow-Parsnip (Thaspium spp.) Parsley family.  

I still have work to do on this one.  I had no clue about this when I saw it.  In my haste to avoid an impending shower (I wound up getting soaked anyhow, but it was well worth it) I did not take more pictures and gather enough information.  For one thing, the basal leaves are important for identification of species of these plants.  (It is good practice to note that in any case, as the basal leaves might be quite different from leaves higher on the stem.  The form of the umbel is noteworthy.  For the classic umbel form, think Queen-Anne's Lace, which has a cluster of flowers with a flat top.  By contrast, the flowers in this specimen radiate out in all directions.  The experts do offer one tip for distinguishing Zizia from Thaspium: "In Zizia, the central floret of each umbel is sessile (IS NOT stalked) and in Thaspium the central floret IS stalked."  From my photo, it is hard to tell what I have, and so a return visit will be necessary.  [After checking again, it seems the central floret IS stalked, which would mean this is a Meadow-Parsnip, but I'm still uncertain about the species.]

In folk traditions, these plants had many uses, such as treatment of fever, wound care and inducing sleep.  Again, there's high risk of toxicity, when used improperly.

Woodland Bluet (Houstonia purpurea) Madder family.  

I found this solitary bluet on the path.  Most people, I'm guessing, are more familiar with the shorter Common Bluet (Houstonia caerulea) which can create little carpets of blue near the overlooks on the Blue Ridge Parkway and other sites that are mowed.  Those bluets are short enough to avoid the cutting blade.  Woodland Bluets are twice as tall and have clusters of flowers, instead of just one bloom at the top of each stem.  With either plant, the individual blooms are tiny.  If one examines the Woodland Bluet more closely, he might notice that the individual flowers in the cluster are not all the same.  Some have short stamens and long pistils, others are just the opposite, an arrangement that enhances pollination.  

Cherokees used a leaf tea to prevent bed-wetting.

Common Alumroot, aka, American Sanicle (Heuchera americana) Saxifrage family.  

For whatever reason, I know it as "Coral Bells" but that name is better applied to some related cultivars that are showy landscape plants in the home garden.  

The root of Alumroot is a strong astringent, and a tea of the leaves has been used for diarrhea, dysentery, piles, and as a gargle for sore throat.  

Wood Sorrel (Oxalis montana) Wood-sorrel family.  

I'm certain about the genus, but not rock-solid convinced about the species, the reason being that the plants are so much larger than the Wood Sorrels I've seen in the past.  The sour taste of the shamrock-like leaves is the same, though.  If it is Wood Sorrel, then it should be blooming soon with flowers reminiscent of the delicately candy-striped Spring Beauty (Claytonia caroliniana) and what a lovely site that will be!  

"Sorrel" is German for "sour."  The plant is a nice addition to salads and has been a treatment for scurvy, thanks to its high Vitamin C content.  Consuming too much oxalic acid, from this or other plants, can inhibit the absorption of calcium in the body.

Vasey's Trillium (Trillium vaseyi) Lily family.  

My flower walk was an out-and-back.  I wandered for a little more than a half-mile before it was time to turn around.  And at that point I wondered what I would discover on the return trip that I had missed on first pass.  It happens.  And this flower was an easy one to miss.  Some trilliums display their blooms above the trio of leaves. Others, like the Vasey's, conceal the flower underneath the leaves.  The deep maroon color of the blossom blends into the shadows, too.  I'm so glad I saw it, because it is the largest of trilliums, and the latest to bloom.  Unlike some foul-smelling trilliums, Vasey's is pleasantly fragrant.  And while most plants in the lily family possess leaves with parallel veins, trilliums have net-veined leaves.  I had some recollection of trillium reproduction involving ants and a seven-year wait and found the story once again.  Heather McCargo details this on the Wild Seed Project website:

Six to eight weeks after the plant blooms, the seedpod ripens by suddenly softening and falling off the plant. Ants immediately carry the seeds back to their nest, eat the nutritious, fleshy white protrusion attached to the shiny, dark-brown seeds, and discard the seeds. If conditions are good (trillium likes a humus-y woodland soil with adequate moisture and shade), the seed will lie dormant and germinate after the second spring (yes, nearly two years later). At age 7, it may have its first bloom. A mature trillium plant with multiple blooming stems can be decades old. So if you see a trillium plant for sale in a nursery with pricing similar to other perennials, you can be pretty sure it was not nursery-propagated. Ask the nursery – if they cannot tell you how it was propagated, assume it was dug up in the wild. Let them know that this is unacceptable. 

https://wildseedproject.net/2015/06/where-the-wild-things-are-pink-lady-slipper-orchids-and-poachers/

Indian Cucumber Root (Medeola virginiana) Lily family.  

The genus name is a nod to Medea, a sorceress in Greek mythology.  This is always a fun plant to see, thanks to the whorls of leaves radiating out from the stem.  The ends of leaves nearest the stem, on the upper whorl, will take on a red color very soon.  

Happily, I don't need to attach a toxicity warning to this one.  The rhizome of the plant is crisp and juicy.  You can eat it raw or pickled.  I say this although I've never foraged one, preferring to leave them undisturbed.  Besides its use as a salad ingredient, Native Americans would chew the root and the spit the paste onto a hook to attract fish, and a tea from the root has been used as an anticonvulsant and as a diuretic for dropsy, which is quaint word once used for what we call "edema" or fluid build-up in the body.  

Nice to learn the real meaning of "dropsy."  When I was a kid, and an item would slip from someone's hand and hit the floor, they were liable to quip, "Oops, I've got dropsy."

That's it for notes from a Sunday afternoon wildflower stroll.  Grateful I am to reside in the midst of one of the paramount "botany schools" on the planet.  That, in part, is what makes the Cowees the Cowees.