Blue-Footed Musings

It never fails. If I walk late, and especially if it’s cloudy, I always see things that need to be photographed. That’s what happened today. Of course, nothing photographs well under such low light, but I took pictures anyway, and I’m going to share them.

The first thing I noticed was that some of the black medick was looking kinda fuzzy. What? That can’t be. As we know from last year, the flowers turn into hard black seeds, not fuzzy ones. So I looked closer, and it was actually a small rabbit-foot clover plant, the first one I’ve ever found on my property.

Then I spotted another one.

The caterpillar wasn’t the only critter around.

But these jewels are what really caught my eye.

I’d never given much thought to why the plant was called “jewelweed.” I guess I just assumed it was because of the brightly colored flowers. Several sources suggest that it’s actually either because of the way water beads up on the surface of the leaves or because of the silvery look that the leaves get when submerged. Apparently the leaves are water-repellent, which is why water beads on them, and they also have microscopic hairs that trap air, which is what causes that silvery look when leaves are submerged. But, it wasn’t beading or silveriness that made me take the picture. What interested me was how the water droplets had caught on the teeth of the leaves. I wonder if holding on to the drops that way could provide some benefit to the plant. I don’t know. In any event, it was pretty and worth photographing, even under such low light.

I don’t now about you, but when I see the word “plantain” I think of that banana lookalike that’s sometimes sold in grocery stores. But, there are plants growing right outside that also go by the name “plantain.” Though the name is shared, the two types of plant are unrelated and even pronounced differently. It’s “plan-TAINS” for those starchy, tropical fruits and “PLANT-ins” for our local plants.

When I was a child, my friends and I often made make-believe salads with this plant, but we wouldn’t have called it “plantain.” We had no name for it. As I have since learned, there are two plantains that have that same general appearance. One is broadleaf plantain (Plantago major), also known as common plantain, which is native to Eurasia. The other is Rugel’s plantain (Plantago rugelii), which is native to North America. Online sources say that the most noticeable difference between the two plantains is that Rugel’s plantain has a purplish tint at the base of the stems. Whichever one it was that grew in my parents’ yard, I only pretended to eat it, but if I had actually ingested any, it wouldn’t have done me any harm. Both of these plantains are said to be edible (raw when the leaves are young, cooked when they get bigger and tougher).

Rugel’s plantain is sometimes called “blackseed plantain.” I have noticed that the seedheads eventually turn black, so the name seems fitting. I can’t say, though, if that’s a feature which distinguishes it from common plantain. There is apparently a difference in seed shape between the two plantains, though. Rugel’s plantain seeds are said to be elongated while common plantain’s are more egg-shaped.

I hope that I haven’t worn out your patience for plantains, because there is a second type of plantain that also grows in the yard. Here is a picture of it.

This is Plantago lanceolata, known as English plantain, buckhorn plantain, ribwort, or ribgrass. Its leaves are thinner, more lanceolate, and don’t draw as much attention to themselves, but the tall flower spike prevents the plant from going unnoticed. (BTW, I had a moment of doubt when comparing the flower spikes of my plants against those in photos online, because they did not look the same, but this webpage helped to clear matters up.) This plantain is said to be similarly edible to its cousins, though possibly more bitter and fibrous. As a primarily wind-pollinated plant, English plantain is not a big draw for bees, but it is a food source for several insects, including certain butterflies and katydids.

All things considered, I think both plantains deserve a place in the yard. They are theoretically edible, and they are demonstrably wildlife-friendly. Today I saw just how much the local bees appreciate our Rugel’s plantain.

And, because I remember both of these plants from childhood, they are like old friends. They visit us only once per year, but I am always happy to see them, and I enjoy having them here.

Many of the plants in my yard are aggressive spreaders, and I often characterize them as battling one another for dominance, especially as new plants arrive and join the fray. But there don’t seem to be any major losers in this battle so far. Most of the existing plants have either held their ground or moved themselves to less contested areas. I wouldn’t have thought plants could move themselves, but they do. The small white violets, for example, have shifted themselves from the back yard to the side yard.

Over time, some of the weedier plants have won me over somewhat. Ground ivy, for example, is aggressive and non-native, but it’s also attractively colored and bee-friendly. And, because ground ivy grew in my parents’ yard, it reminds me of home, especially when it is freshly mown (it has its own distinctive, earthy smell). I realized quickly the futility of trying to eradicate it, and perhaps the inevitability of its presence here helped me to get over any dismay I felt over its invasive tendencies.

But there are also some plants that I’ve come to like less over time. Dwarf cinquefoil is a native plant, said to be popular with the insects, and it grows in poor soil. It also has cheerful yellow flowers. Those are definite pluses, and I can’t really find anything negative about it online, but I don’t find it to be a good yard plant. Every year it expands its range, butting out some of the other plants, and leaving the soil poorly protected with its low and patchy growth.

One particularly worrisome plant is hairy bittercress, an invasive import. Had I realized what it was when I first saw it, I might have managed to limit its spread, but it’s well established now. Its leaves are so low and its flower stalks so skinny that it blends into the grass, making it nearly invisible and hard to assess quantity-wise, but I would guess that it exists in every square foot of the front yard, and it’s rapidly spreading into the side yard. Every year I pull some of it out, but never enough. One day this spring I pulled a whole grocery-bag’s worth. Some of it was already seeding, and it blasted me as I pulled it (OMG, how those seeds fly!), but most of it was on the cusp, and I got to it just in time. I know it was an exercise in futility, but it made me feel better. Hairy bittercress is said to be edible, so I suppose it would be a good plant to have around during the Apocalypse. That’s about the only nice thing I have to say about it.

I am also troubled by the way a few of our inherited garden plants are spreading (more on that to come in a future post). I think that some of them will ultimately need to be removed. Right now I’m working on a landscaping plan for the yard. It’s a complicated task made harder by the fact that I have little gardening experience. I would like to finish the plan this year, after keeping a close eye on how the native plants behave in various parts of the yard, and begin implementing it next year. We have some beautiful native plants that would be even more beautiful if they could be convinced to grow in the right places and the right density. Perhaps it’s just a pipe dream, but it’s a good dream.

For now, I continued to be fascinated by the arrival of new plants, and I enjoy watching them try to make homes for themselves here. However troubled I may be by the aggressiveness of some, it’s heartening to see so many success stories. I don’t keep an inventory, but I think it’s likely that every type of plant that I’ve ever identified in the yard is still growing around here somewhere. They’re all survivors.