Archive for October, 2010

White as Milk

October 18, 2010 at 2:23 pm · Filed under 1, Wildflower Books, Wildflowers: White ·Tagged , , , ,

White as Milk . . .

White Snakeroot, Ageratina altissima, winds through a hedge line on West 11th Street. (Photo taken 10 18 2010)

A new theme has begun to emerge as the Wildflowers of the West Village project unfolds. The recent flowering plants I have discovered and profiled have been very different: one is a vine, one carries its blooms in graceful umbels, but all have reflected variations on the color white.

Like a blank sheet of paper, like a cloud, like milk: so white was another variety that began to appear around Manhattan’s west side in September. This plant preferred the shaded edges of green spaces and appeared most frequently along and within hedge rows. The leaves were deep green, ovate in shape, toothed, and ran opposite up smooth stems. The flowers were numerous, compound, and from a distance resembled miniature balls of white yarn.

I assumed this wildflower was another immigrant (my more positive term for “invasive”). When a plant becomes ubiquitous in an urban area, it is usually a transplant from abroad. This particular one had popped up in a lot of places with autumn’s arrival and had apparently taken the baton from the Common Nightshade, a European immigrant, which earlier dominated the neighborhood’s tree pits between June and August.

My search for a formal name proved to be more difficult than expected. First, I consulted my Invasive Weeds of North America, a laminated folded broadside – “A Pocket Naturalist Guide” – published by Waterford Press. The species are arranged by environment and type, yet none listed made a match. I next turned to my Wildflowers from the Peterson First Guides series. Again, nothing conclusive, although this source revealed the blooms of Boneset, from the daisy family, bore a slight resemblance to the mystery subject. The Boneset’s leaves, arranged in pairs and united around the stem, disqualified it from further consideration.

Using Boneset as a base, I dug a little deeper, and at last found my match. The main clue was again related to the color white, in this instance, milk. My search accidently encountered an online essay about a common Nineteenth Century malady called “milk sickness” caused by a wildflower named Tall Boneset or, more commonly, White Snakeroot. Dairy cattle that consumed this plant along the edges of fields would develop symptoms of trembling and vomiting, which were passed on through milk to humans. The source of the disease, long associated with witchcraft, was first pinpointed by a woman, Dr. Anna Hobbs Pierce Bixby. She used deductive reasoning to narrow down potential causes of the illness. She noted that symptoms in cattle and human sufferers appeared in the summer and declined to zero after the first frost. That timing coincided with the growing season. Cattle that grazed on managed fields also tended to be free of the disease. These facts lead her to assume the cause was a wild plant. She next observed what grazing cattle were eating in the field. One unlucky calf was tested with White Snakeroot, and the resulting symptoms, trembling and vomiting, matched those of the disease. Despite Dr. Bixby’s smart solution, the official cause was not listed by the medical community until 1928, nearly seventy years after her death in 1869.

This interesting story lead me to type “Tall Boneset” and “White Snakeroot” into the search bar at GOOGLE, and the images that popped up cried out as loud as a “Bingo!” at a county fair: leaves opposite, ovate, and toothed; flowers, held upright on umbels, grouped in tight compound balls consisting of a half dozen or so individual flowers with five pure white petals.

The individual flowers of White Snakeroot are as bright as fresh milk. (Photo taken 10 18 2010)

White Snakeroot, Ageratina altissima, is another member of the expansive Asteraceae family, the daisies. The plant is also a native perennial, which explains why I could not find it in my “invasive” field guide. While poisonous and so prevalent as to be sometimes invisible in plain sight, it is also very attractive, especially when viewed up close. Like so many other Wildflowers of the West Village, the White Snakeroot could be easily integrated into a townhouse garden if tended to carefully and consistently, and if kept away from the pet cow.

– rPs 10 18 2010

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Pretty Poison

October 14, 2010 at 11:02 pm · Filed under 1, Wildflower Books, Wildflowers: White ·Tagged , , , ,

Pretty Poison . . .

Poison Hemlock, Conium maculatum, resembles its cousin, Queen Anne's Lace. (photo taken 10 05 2010)

Recently, while on a quest for Queen Anne’s Lace, one of the prettiest late season wildflowers to be found in urban waste places, I stumbled upon its attractive yet deadly Doppelganger: Poison Hemlock, Conium maculatum.

This is the plant that literally killed the Greek philosopher Socrates. The concoction he was forced to drink after his Apologia in Athens was derived from this biennial native of Europe and North Africa. The active poison is an alkaloid related to nicotine called conine, which if ingested causes paralysis and, by extension, suffocation.

Poison Hemlock has a superficial appearance to the wild carrot, Queen Anne’s Lace, and to an unrelated flowering plant from the daisy family, Yarrow. Both the Poison Hemlock and Queen’s Anne’s Lace are part of an expansive family, Apiaceae, which includes such familiar names as the orange cultivated carrot, anise, cumin, dill, fennel, parsnips, and parsley.

Poison Hemlock, Queen Anne’s Lace, and Yarrow all possess compact white flower heads called umbels. The ones of Queen Anne’s Lace have been a popular subject of still life artists and most people have memories of seeing these sway along the roadsides and fallow fields of late summer and early autumn. Subtle differences that allow the easy identification of Hemlock are to be found in the details: Hemlock’s stems are long and smooth, while those of the Queen Anne’s Lace are hairy. Queen Anne’s Lace also has a heavier, more rounded umbel, often with a single infertile purple bloom at the center. As this umbel ages, it folds up and resembles a songbird’s nest. The Hemlock’s are smaller, irregular in shape, and uniformly flat and white. The individual flowers are tiny with pale green centers.

The umbels of Poison Hemlock form an irregular flower head that lacks a purple center. (photo taken 10 05 2010)

The gardens surrounding the Church of Saint Luke in the Fields, located on Hudson Street between Christopher and Barrow, have become one of my favorite spots to spend a green hour within the West Village. I discovered onion grass growing there in April and, ever since, have been following the garden’s progress. An evolving series of cultivated plants has ranged from common holly and hydrangea shrubs to exotic blooming annuals. In early October, I was sitting on a bench, enjoying a café au lait, and watching English house sparrows scurrying in the leaf litter. A white patch in the background caught my eye. The plant to which it was attached was graceful, its glossy leaves lacy, with smooth stems projecting over the path, holding umbels like white knitted mittens, or perhaps nonpareil candies. Inviting to contemplate, yes, but I will make no apology: only savor this one with your eyes.

Poison Hemlock blooms along a path beside the Church of Saint Luke in the Fields. (photo taken 10 05 2010)

– rPs 10 14 2010

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Blooms That Bind

October 8, 2010 at 2:11 pm · Filed under 1, Wildflowers: White ·Tagged , , , ,

Blooms That Bind . . .

Hedge Bindweed, Calystegia sepium - the wild morning glory - blooms in Hudson River Park. (photo taken 10 05 2010)

The fact that wildflowers operate on a staggered blooming schedule adds appeal to the search for new varieties. As the growing season progresses, the hunt evolves, and three main organizing themes emerge: the pastel flowers of spring, the vivid flowers of summer, and finally all the rest, the eclectic flowers of autumn.

The morning glory, which all urban commuters can appreciate during their walks to work, is one of the fall season’s most prominent cultivated flowers. Pink, blue, and purple blooms, carried on vines of heart-shaped leaves, look like the beads of a necklace as they trail up lattice work, twine lines, and around the trunks of trees throughout the gardens of the West Village. Out in the field, in this case along streetsides and vacant lots, there is a wildflower representative of this autumnal group: the Hedge Bindweed, Calystegia sepium.

The wild morning glory of the West Village is easy to distinguish from its cultivated domestic cousins, including those which have gone feral. Morning glories grown in gardens are primary colorful and have leaves shaped like Valentine hearts. Hedge Bindweed sports a funnel of crisp white flower and a striking pointed leaf shaped like an arrowhead, or spade.

Bindweed is a perennial in the morning-glory family, Convolvulaceae, with a cosmopolitan distribution throughout much of the world. The plant grows as a vine that wraps tenaciously around whatever stands adjacent to it, be it light pole, hedge line, or tree trunk. The winding pattern runs counter-clockwise. Equally tenacious are the Bindweed’s roots and seeds. Once established, the plant sets down deep roots next to impossible to remove; all a gardener can do is get on his or her knees and weed, frequently. The seeds, too, are tough. These have a shape not unlike a quartered piece of fruit and, not so surprisingly, come is sets of four. Tests have revealed a remarkable shelf life of at least several decades.

In early October I came across a good example growing in Hudson River Park. The term “thicket” was well on display as the Hedge Bindweed assumed its space along the tangled edge of an otherwise manicured lawn. A pretty string of white flowers trailing from the ground up to a tree trunk earned its place as a wildflower, rather than a weed, in my eyes.

Hedge Bindweed provides a clear illustration of the term "thicket" . . . (photo taken 10 05 2010)

– rPs 10 08 2010

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The Yellow Centerline

October 6, 2010 at 11:05 pm · Filed under 1, Wildflower Books, Wildflower Illustrations, Wildflowers: Yellow ·Tagged , , , ,

The Yellow Centerline . . .

Stands of Yellow Sow Thistle (Sonchus oleraceus) paint the West Side Highway's median bright yellow. (photo take 06 08 2010)

The search for wildflowers within city limits leads the urban naturalist to the edges, the fringes, and the medians.

Median strips are one of the best places within a city to find wild plants in bloom. Variety and quantity are both possible because the green strips between roadways are often public, yet maintained only sporadically, two factors that allow wild plants to reach the flowering stage.

The borders I drew for the Wildflowers of the West Village contain two sizeable median strips. The first is located east to west on West Houston Street. The other one runs north and south between the frantic lanes of the West Side Highway.

I was exploring the middle oasis of the latter when I discovered scattered stands of plants about waist high with sharply lobed leaves that displayed the chalky blue and green coloration of cruciferous vegetables like broccoli and kale. The upright blooms borne on sturdy smooth stems consisted of yellow gold florets supported by a ribbed calyx shaped like an urn. There were so many opening buds that the median had become a living yellow centerline.

My first reaction was to find a name for the colorful faces I was greeting for the first time. The quick reference I carry is Wildflowers by Roger Tory Peterson, the condensed version that is part of the Peterson First Guides series. This edition is narrow, perfect for the back pocket, and the species are arranged in color-coded sections, which is probably the single-best organizing principle for flowers.

My personal copy of Wildflowers by Roger Tory Peterson. (photo taken 10 06 2010)

Peterson and his books have been a part of my life since I was a grade school nature boy. He himself was a native New Yorker, born in Jamestown in 1908, and later a resident student in New York City proper. His body of work is extensive, earning him a rightful reputation as one of the greatest naturalists and outdoor artists of the Twentieth Century. Peterson is regarded primarily as an ornithologist and illustrator; his Field Guide to the Birds being the standard of the genre.  He authored, co-authored, and illustrated numerous other titles, including the vast Golden Guide series: little hand-sized books I read and reread, with images I contemplated so often and long I could, in some cases, see and read the pages in my mind’s eye.

I have not internalized my condensed version of Wildflowers to such a degree, so I flipped through my copy right there between the lanes of the West Side Highway. The yellow section lead me right to an exact match on the bottom of pages 52 and 53: the Sow Thistle, Sonchus oleraceus.

As with most thistles, this one is a Eurasian immigrant from the extended daisy family. The basal rosette from which the plant rises, its toothed leaves, and the composite bloom of yellow florets all bear a close resemblance to its cousin, the dandelion. Both wildflowers are members of Asteraceae.

The Sow Thistle’s blooms are hermaphroditic and go to seed in the familiar form of white parachutes that take to the wind and spread far and wide. Like other ruderal species, the plant can take root wherever a seed lands, including the often neglected narrows of roadway medians.

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Close-up of a Yellow Sow Thistle bloom, which is a composite of hermaphroditic florets. (photo taken 06 08 2010)

The cruciferous look of the sow thistle’s leaves advertises its edibility. Serve fresh with balsamic vinegar for a mildly bitter salad green akin to endive. When steamed, the flavor becomes closer to Swiss chard. As with most wild greens, the younger leaves near the top of the plant possess the most palatable flavor and texture. Those near the bottom, although more substantial in size, become stringy and bitter with older age.

An individual Yellow Sow Thistle (Sonchus oleraceus) stands in Hudson River Park. (photo taken 08 16 2010)

– rPs 10 06 2010

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