Archive for July, 2010

The Beautiful Dayflower

The Beautiful Dayflower . . .


Asiatic Dayflower (Commelina communis) blooms along a wrought iron fence on West 13th Street. (photo taken 06 23 2010)

“Wildflowers of the West Village” has so far documented and profiled over a dozen species of native and immigrant wildflowers. Some have stood out, literally, because of their size (the Common Mullein) or because of their sheer number and distribution (the Dandelion). One question I have yet to fully investigate involves the subjective area of beauty.

Many of the wildflowers found in the West Village resemble variations of the common daisy: white petals, yellow center; or else are completely yellow, like the Wood Sorrel; or simply green, like Lamb’s Quarters and the Common Plantain.

Enter the Asiatic Dayflower, Commelina communis.

Known as “bluebells” to some (though not to be confused with the true Common Bluebell, the springtime perennial Hyacinthoides non-scripta), the Asiatic Dayflower is an herbaceous annual that blooms into its own by late June and lasts on until the middle of the autumn season. The name indicates correctly that the plant is an immigrant from East Asia, where it is found in both China and Japan.

I studied the Japanese language during my undergraduate years, and that culture’s name for the plant is tsuyukusa – “dew herb” – which to me poetically describes this plant in its best light. The dew herb prefers moist soil and damp, shaded areas. Groups of the plant will be often found clustered in side street tree pits and in the little gardens situated beside stoops. The thick green foliage will grow up to about knee high and then suddenly present blue blooms along a red brick wall or within and without the length of a black wrought iron fence.

The deep green lanceolate leaves do not possess a leaf stalk, yet nonetheless resemble a miniature corn plant. Leaves are supported by decumbent stems that also carry the blooms on inflorescences located near the tip. An individual Asiatic Dayflower is a thing of beauty and resembles a plant’s colorful reinterpretation of a mouse’s face: the shape and position of the two large blue petals bring to mind the ears; the six stamens, the whiskers; and the third, white petal beneath forms the pointed little mouth.

Close up of an Asiatic Dayflower blooming along Jane Street. (photo taken 06 23 2010)

Each bloom holds six yellow stamens, which are an interesting study. These can be divided into two sets of three: the top, or posticous, are infertile; the bottom, or anticous, are fertile. This naturally occurring example of numerical symmetry and balance of opposites leads one to make a connection between the plant’s Asian roots and the philosophical tenets of that region’s primary philosophical model, Buddhism.

The Asiatic Dayflower has uses beyond inspiration for philosophical contemplation. The flowers have been used in Japan for pigment and a specific dye called aigami, a particular shade of blue that was an essential aesthetic component to Japanese woodcuts of the Ukiyo-e era of the 18th and 19th centuries. Chinese medicine has brewed the leaves into a tea that relieves sore throats. A new environmental application has been suggested because of the specie’s ability to accumulate metals. A pioneer ruderal already, the plant might in the future be planted purposely around abandoned mines as a way to soak up excess heavy metals from the surrounding soil.

I would add here that the Asiatic Dayflower’s proclivity for edges would make it a fine domesticated ornamental border in small gardens. The plant already gives life and beauty to West Village spots neglected either because of nearby construction or rentals occupied by folks too preoccupied to tend their tree pit.

With so many historical and practical uses, and because of its distinctive, deep blue bloom, the Asiatic Dayflower is my selection as the “most beautiful” Wildflower of the West Village.

Asiatic Dayflower (Commelina communis): the "most beautiful" wildflower of the West Village? (photo taken 06 23 2010)

– rPs 07 30 2010

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A Gentle Giant

A Gentle Giant . . .

A single Common Mullein, Verbascum thapsus, takes center stage in Hudson River Park. (photo taken 07 14 2010)

This is the short story of one plant; one very large plant.

Early in May I spied a single rosette of huge, fuzzy, ovate leaves sprouting behind the wall of the AIDS Memorial in Hudson River Park. I knew right away what I was seeing because of the sheer scale of the plant –

Common Mullein, Verbascum Thapsus

This biennial resembles a wildflower on steroids. The base can cover a full square yard and the flowering phase of the plant can extend its height up to six or seven feet.

Being a biennial, I was not sure if this particular specimen was in its first or second year of growth. The common mullein does not go beyond the rosette phase in its first year. I also feared I might never know. The plant could have been removed outright, or at least trimmed back by gardening staff, so as not to flower, ever, even if it was ready and able.

A basal rosette of fuzzy, ovate leaves is all that appears in the first year of the biennial Common Mullein, Varbascum thapsus. (photo taken 05 13 2010)

I was delighted to see the plant remained unscathed. Its height increased incrementally, leaf by leaf, like the stories of a skyscraper-in-progress. When I returned from a short vacation in the beginning of July, I visited the site and found its spike had shot up and had begun to flower. The large yellow blooms consist of five petals surrounding five stamens. These appear in a rough sequence, slowly working up toward the tip, as the summer passes.

The towering flower spike of a Common Mullein, Verbascum thapsus, reaches new heights in Hudson River Park. (photo taken 07 14 2010)

The Common Mullein is a member of the figwort family and a naturalized immigrant from Europe. The plant does not take over quickly or indiscriminately and should not be considered an invasive species. The plant is best described as a pioneer ornamental, as it often takes hold in areas recently disturbed by construction. One such place is along roadsides. Loose groups in their second year resemble clusters of rockets ready for launch and can be seen flanking, and flowering, the state highways of the American northeast.

The plant possesses some astringent qualities that have been used for skin care. Otherwise, the Common Mullein is just a very large, unobtrusive, yellow wildflower; a gentle giant.

– rPs 07 23 2010

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Shades of Night

Shades of Night . . .

American Nightshade (Solanum americanum) grows on the dark side beside a tree along Washington Street. (photo taken 06 23 2010)

The untended tree pits and other neglected outdoor corners of the West Village have gone green despite a very dry start to the 2010 summer season. There are various crab grasses and broadleaved ruderals such as plantains and lambsquarters to be found sprouting from these marginal patches. Another green citizen has also emerged en masse. This one stands vigorous and leafy and grows into a small bush that reaches a height somewhere between the knee and the waist. Colorful egg white blooms with projecting egg yolk stamens cluster beneath the shade cast by its alternating fuzzy leaves, blooms that turn into round green fruits that resemble unripe cherry tomatoes, one of summer’s favorite salad vegetables. Could it be?

NO! This one is NOT edible, although the tomato comparison is astute. This plant is a member of the same broad family – Solanaceae – that includes the pretty petunia, the controversial tobacco, and the tasty potato, pepper, eggplant, and tomato. Welcome to the wide, inclusive household of the Nightshade family.

The specific specie that appears by July all around the West Village neighborhood is the American Nightshade, Solanum americanum. A handsome annual when found in small numbers, it could be foreseeably cultivated in an adult garden, one tended regularly and free of casual contact with children and pets. The leaves are deep green and ovate in shape, forming an alternating pattern along strong hairy stems. The flowers resemble the tomato’s bloom except that the egg yolk coloration is limited to the stamens, which project in such a way that if the flower is viewed in profile, right side up, the shape brings to mind a manual citrus juicer.

An American Nightshade (Solanum americanum) flowers along Greenwich Avenue. The shape of the blooms resemble those of their cousin, the tomato. (photo taken 07 16 2010)

The berries that emerge from the spent blooms do resemble miniature tomatoes. Their poisonous nature comes from a variety of glycoalkaloids. All of the numerous nightshade varieties that are not cultivated as common vegetables share this toxicity. Their sheer number can also cause confusion in the identification. The immature berry and the underside of the leaf provide the two easiest identifying marks of the American Nightshade. The unripe green berries sport tiny white freckles and the underside of the leaves are not tinted toward the purple end of the spectrum.

When I was a boy, I became fond of this plant’s tomato-ish aroma, which grew to become one of my signature scents of summer.  The overgrown lots and hillsides upon which my friends and I played and explored were often covered with the plant. The berries, full of minute seeds, turn a deep purple when ripe. These made excellent ammunition for epic “berry fights” that would later make our mothers weep or curse, depending on their general mood. The stains the nightshade left behind were more tenacious than even the mulberry.

An American Nightshade (Solanum americanum) growing along Greenwich Avenue displays both unripe and ripe fruit. These berries may resemble cherry tomatoes, but are poisonous. (photo taken 07 16 2010)

Poisonous, yet pretty, and also very, very hardy, the American Nightshade is a native citizen of the West Village (and of all the Americas), one that should be appreciated, as much as respected, from a distance.

– rPs 07 16 2010

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