The bloom is off the (legislative) rose

Once, many years ago, I was involved with getting some legislation through the Minnesota legislature. For the most part, we were successful. Years before than, I was involved in the "Spring cleaning" (i.e., mucking out) of a horse barn. Of the two, I much preferred the Spring cleaning. It was a more rational process that involved less horsesh*t.

Now that that's out of the way, let me ask you this: When you think of wildflowers, do you mostly think only of Spring? That's been my tendency until I started looking at the photos I've taken over the past several years and then, thanks to the wonders of modern technology, looked at the automatically applied time stamp on the photos.

Last year in June we still had trillium, although the older blossoms were fading to pink. We also had columbine and hoary puccoon in bloom.

fading trillium in June

Photo by J. Harrington

columbine in June

Photo by J. Harrington

hoary puccoon in June

Photo by J. Harrington

The Minnesota Wildflowers web site has a "What's in Bloom" section. Some rainy day soon I'll see if I can figure out how much overlap there is from month to month and how many species bloom each month. Meanwhile, tomorrow's posting will feature the pictures we have of blooms for July and, maybe, August. Now that I think about it, horse manure contributes nutrients for plant growth and no one or nothing is useless that at least serves as a bad example. In case you missed it, we just circled back to the legislature, and congress too for that matter.

Summer

By John Clare 

Come we to the summer, to the summer we will come,

For the woods are full of bluebells and the hedges full of bloom,

And the crow is on the oak a-building of her nest,

And love is burning diamonds in my true lover's breast;

She sits beneath the whitethorn a-plaiting of her hair,

And I will to my true lover with a fond request repair;

I will look upon her face, I will in her beauty rest,

And lay my aching weariness upon her lovely breast.

The clock-a-clay is creeping on the open bloom of May,

The merry bee is trampling the pinky threads all day,

And the chaffinch it is brooding on its grey mossy nest

In the whitethorn bush where I will lean upon my lover's breast;

I'll lean upon her breast and I'll whisper in her ear

That I cannot get a wink o'sleep for thinking of my dear;

I hunger at my meat and I daily fade away

Like the hedge rose that is broken in the heat of the day. 

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