Soapwort's Sweet Fragrance and Stately Beauty

The downward spiral has begun. Well, it began back in June, on the first day of summer. Now, the sun sets a wee bit sooner and rises just a touch later. And one of my favorite wild plants, soapwort, Saponaria officinalis, comes into bloom at this specific sun time.

It took me years to get this lovely flower established at my place. Seeds failed and transplants died. But eventually, I managed to coax two or three plants into existence. And from them, this European biennial took hold and now, it enlarges its territory each year.

Soapwort, so-called on account of its ability to produce soapsuds when placed in a vessel with water and vigorously shaken, has considerable value as an emergency form of soap. It has a gentle effect, like that commercial product that proclaims that babies won’t shed tears if they get it in their eyes.

But I rarely use soapwort as soap. The double flowers, white-and-pink, have a delicious, I’d say Heavenly aroma. Besides that, I just like to look at them. They are wicked pretty.

Soapwort, like most of our other favorite wild plants, has a brief window where it sets flowers, the flowers get pollinated by visiting insects and then produces seeds. The flowering cycle doesn’t last more than two weeks, but during that time the soapwort in front of my house gives me two weeks of sweet fragrance and old-fashioned, stately beauty.

Could anyone ask more of any wild plant?

Dragonflies

Sitting outside my place the other night, a welcome sight greeted me. It was the nightly dragonfly invasion. My two farm ponds prove fertile grounds for these prehistoric insects, a good thing for me.

In midsummer, biting insects descend upon my yard…well, call it a yard. Really, it’s an opening in the woods. Anyway, deerflies and mosquitoes make outdoor living difficult and at the least, less-than-pleasant.

Fortunately, just when that magic time arrives when the sun sinks low behind the tall white pines and the sky turns pink and gauzy-white, the dragonflies come around, picking off insects in mid-flight. Dozens and dozens of these helicopter look-alikes fly anywhere from ground level to perhaps 50 feet in altitude. And as they go, the blessed critters catch mosquitoes and other devilish pests by grasping them with their front legs.

I can just picture how it goes. The dragonfly sees a target, acquires it in its radar (okay, so it doesn’t have radar. But it has some kind of built-in acquisition device) and then ZAP! Gotcha! After being thus embraced, the hapless mosquito is then brought to the dragonfly’s mouth and summarily eaten.

There was a time when I used dragonfly nymphs for trout bait. These are easily gotten by walking along the shore of any small pond and with a hard-toothed rake, bringing bottom debris up on shore and watching as the alien-looking nymphs crawled back toward the water. But that was then. Now, realizing that not only are dragonflies beneficial as mosquito catchers, some species of dragonflies are becoming quite scarce, I wouldn’t think of harming any dragonfly.

For more info on dragonflies and their ultra-colorful cousins, damselflies, I suggest investing a couple bucks in the Maine Dragonfly Survey foldout fact sheet. This, courtesy of the Maine Department of Inland Fisheries & Wildlife, contains a full written description as well as accurate color drawings of all of the dragons and damsels in Maine.

To learn more, just go to www.mefishwildlife.com.

Don't believe everything you read

A recent trip to a chain bookstore opened my eyes to the vast number of new books about the medicinal virtues of wild plants.

After thumbing through one offered by a well-known national publisher, I was astounded at what lay inside.

Here’s what bothered me the most. The book listed a number of common wild plants, none of which are known for their medicinal properties. In many instances, it seemed that the author stretched the point by listing all the various ills that the plants were supposed to treat. And that seems at best, misleading.

Such books typically target “newbies,” folks who have only recently become interested in wild plants and their uses. So they buy these books and consider information therein as gospel. But this can be terribly dangerous. Here’s why.

Lots of people can’t afford medical treatment for their health problems. Others simply eschew visits to the doctor. For these folks, wild medicinal plants offer hope and in some cases, panacea. But in so many cases, treating a serious condition with some plant that may or may not have any worth is risky business at best.

Even worse, books, not just the new batch of books to erupt out of the “green revival,” but even books of some generations ago, go out of their way to list every conceivable use for any given plant. Typically, we might read something like (I’m making this up, it’s only an example), “Cattail pollen, mixed with water, was traditionally used by Zuni Indians to treat pneumonia.”

In truth, anyone who thinks he or she may have pneumonia should head to the nearest doctor, hospital or clinic, pronto. Delayed treatment means delayed recovery, something that can lead to tissue scarring, not a good thing at all.

Of course lots of excellent wild plant medicines exist out there, but nowhere near as many as some people would have us believe. And worse, some plants can have serious interactions with prescription medications. In other cases, using wild plants as medicine can be dangerous for people with certain medical conditions.

It is always advisable to check with a qualified medical practitioner first before ingesting any wild plant as medicine. And relying on some obscure reference in a book may be even more dangerous.

So think before treating. And don’t believe everything you read.

Thump went the snake

Seeing is believing, so they say. And I surely would not have believed what happened this morning had I not seen it.

Sipping coffee in my kitchen and peering out at my yard, I saw something fall into some perennial plants outside my glass door. It seemed to have some bulk and I though that perhaps a bird had flown into the house and dazed itself. But I hadn’t heard that telltale, “thump.”

Intrigued, I stepped out into the 90-degree heat and looked all around, but saw nothing. Then, glancing up at where the object, or whatever it was had fallen from, I saw something that made me question my senses. There, on a ledge under the roof overhand, was a large garter snake, all coiled up, peering pack at me.

So it must have been another garter snake that had fallen from the ledge into my plants. The two were probably vying for space on the little ledge, when one lost its balance and fell to the ground.

I then remembered seeing a shed snakeskin in a closet area inside my house, directly beneath where the snake currently sat. “So that’s how they get in,” I thought. I took my walking stick and gently prodded the critter, but instead of dislodging it like its companion, it found a crack and made its way into the wall.

Instead of a stick, I should have grabbed my camera and snapped a few photos. Perhaps next time.

Still, the event makes me wonder, how on earth do snakes climb up a vertical wall and not fall off? My place has rough-sawn trim and pine shingles, so both would offer at least a little traction. But I just don’t know.

Nature is full of mysteries, but this one beats all.

Yellow Smoke

Wild Plants and Wooly Bears

Driving along a back road a few days ago, it seemed that my glasses had become foggy. But that wasn’t it. Then I realized that the air was filled with smoke. But it didn’t smell smoky. Besides, it was yellow smoke. What makes yellow smoke? Then the answer became clear. With each gust of wind, white pines released a heaping measure of yellow pollen.

Later, back home, I sat on my back deck and watched the tall pines behind my house. Each gust of wind precipitated a burst of yellow pollen, fine, smoky dust. Then a realization struck me. The pollen must not become available all at once, but in stages, over a fairly lengthy period of time.

Pines produce pollen on male cones. These are smaller than female cones and in evidence primarily at the start of the flowering stage. So we have male cones to thank for the yellow coating on our cars, picnic tables, roofs and even the surface of ponds and lakes. And, of course, this pollen provokes allergy symptoms in susceptible humans and probably animals as well.

Soon the time of “yellow smoke” will end and we will forget all about it. Until next year, that is, when the cycle repeats itself.

"Save A Tree?"

My latest Central Maine Power bill has a provision for getting receipts for payment electronically. “Save A Tree,” it says. I pay automatically and find that option very useful. But regarding receipts, I like paper and for good reason.

Of course CMP is not unique in their tree-saving efforts. For sure, lots of people who opt out of hard-copy receipts do so in all earnestness. Besides, I’m sure it makes them feel good, too. After all, everything we can do to contribute to the health of our environment is a good thing. Isn’t it?

Let’s consider paper. Here in Maine, the pulp and paper industry (I have absolutely no connection to the industry, by the way) owns the lion’s share of our woodlands. With the exception of a few parks and other lands owned and/or maintained by the various land trusts, we have the pulp and paper people to thank for what wild land remains.

Taking things a step further, were it not for the paper companies, what do you suppose would happen to all this wild land that we are so proud of and that so many of us freely recreate on? I’ll tell you what would happen. It would be sold to private industry, read that to mean developers, before you could say Jack Robinson.

Like them or hate them, the paper companies have kept our woodlands woodlands. As Jim Robbins of Robbins Lumber in Searsmont once said, “In northern Maine, they cut trees and grow trees. In southern Maine, they cut trees and grow houses.”

Jim’s astute comment pretty much sums up the situation. As an example, consider Plum Creek, a mega-developer that eats up woodland and spits out resorts. Plumb Creek has, as we all know by now, gotten its money-making hands on land around Moosehead Lake, the premiere, wild lake of the eastern United States. The company planned to build from the start and after a long, legal struggle, has come out on top and now the once-pristine, Moosehead Region will soon resound to the “music” of heavy equipment and then, hammers and saws. That’s what happens when paper companies are driven to sell their woodlands.

“But these companies cut trees,” someone might say. Sure they cut trees. Paper is made of trees. However, the same person who so dutifully objects to taking the life of a tree has no idea in the world what kind of tree he or she is defending. But I do. Let me tell you.

Historically, paper was made and still is, of balsam fir, Abies balsamea. People who can’t immediately recall what a fir looks like have only to consider Christmas trees. Balsam firs are THE Christmas trees.

Firs grow well over 40 feet tall, but by that time, generally have been attacked by disease and insects. Cut a big fir and chances are good that it will be what woodcutters call, “hollow-hearted.” Firs are short-lived and for that reason, fast-growing. To put it simply, firs are a renewable crop, no more and no less.

In my own lifetime of a little over 60 years, I have seen many woods-cutting operations on the same plot of land. Private woodcutters did this, people who concentrate upon fir and sometimes spruce for the pulp and paper industry. In fact, I was once an independent logger and the woodlot that I now own and live on, was once my worksite.

While I’m getting a bit old to take on a full-fledged logging operation, my woodlot is about ready for another go-around. That’s how fast fir grows.

Industry has, since I carried a chainsaw into the woods for profit, developed a way to use poplar, too. “Popple,” as many refer to the various members of the Populus group, was once utterly worthless, not fetching enough money to warrant cutting it. Poplar is, first and foremost, a pioneer tree. It is one of those trees that quickly colonized cut or burned-over land, establishing the canopy so necessary for other, more long-lived trees to gain a foothold.

So here we have two, different trees that if not cut and used, will sooner rather than later, succumb to disease, insects and even high winds. It’s better to cut fir and poplar and allow a new crop to come online, than to keep the old specimens in situ. Regular, thoughtful and planned harvests insure that our trees and our forest in general, stay healthy.

So before jumping on the “save a tree” bandwagon, consider what trees are worth saving and what are better used to our good when they reach their prime. Besides, if we save too many trees, there might not be any more trees to save. Our forests will revert to houses and resorts, not a good thing at all. That’s the way it works.

Dame's Rocket

In keeping with my tradition of encouraging native plants to grow on my property, I long ago scattered the seeds of dame’s rocket, Hesperis matronalis.

A place along the railroad track, overlooking a tidal river in Belfast, Maine, was alive with pink, white and blue dame’s rocket. This typically flowers in June and as summer progresses, is pretty much forgotten by casual observers. So I took pains to note the exact location of the plants and in late summer, harvested dozens of ripe seedpods. These were the genesis of the rocket that presently grows outside my office and around my front yard.

Of course this year, 2010, has seen things get a little skewed. The schedule of blooming and ripening is several weeks early. Consequently, the rocket that would normally cheer my senses in June is in full bloom now, in late May. Along with rocket are wild lupine and chives, all of a bluish hue. I used to call June the “blue time,” but again, that feature has been pushed forward by a considerable length of time.

Anyway, rocket looks very much like garden phlox, but it isn’t. Phlox has five petals to the flower, while rocket has only four. Rocket properly belongs in the mustard family, a showy example of what that group offers.

In addition to striking color, rocket releases a powerful, sweet scent at night and also on overcast days. The aroma has such an effect on me that when it wafts past my nose, I am a child again, carefree and totally happy. I’m not an aroma therapist, but it’s easy for me to see how scents and aromas can play on our emotions and well-being.

Anyway, if this has you interested in rocket, just keep a sharp eye out and if you see what looks like phlox (actual phlox comes around well after rocket has faded away), take note and mark the spot. Return in late August and bring a small bag. The seeds are borne in a typical, mustard seedpod. Hold the bag under the ripe pod and pull it from the stem. If it breaks, that only means that the seeds are fully ripe, ready for dispersal.

Then go home and envision where a three-foot, showy flower would look best and scatter the seeds. Wet them with a hose or watering can and with that, the “jobbie is deen,” as the Scots would say.

Don’t expect much the next year, but after that, watch out. These plants spread on their own after becoming established. Even when they show up in places I would prefer they avoid, I have never felt the need to pull them. They are simply too pretty, too deliciously fragrant and too ethereal. Soon, rocket will fade and other wild plants will take center stage.

But for now, dame’s rocket says it all. I just love it and hopefully, you will too. Enjoy!