Natural foragers

We have one swamp milkweed in bloom. I just noticed it today while doing some chores. It’s just a few feet away from several clusters of elderberries which may, or may not, be beneficially consumed by humans, depending on which source we give the most weight to. Birds and small mammals are reported to feed on the berries, so they probably won’t go to waste if we don’t cook ‘em.

Swamp Milkweed (Asclepias incarnata)

Photo by J. Harrington

Meanwhile, I’ve convinced myself that there are, indeed, a number of milkweed plants without flowers that eventually turn into seed pods. But, despite repeated efforts at internet searches, I can find no mention of the significance or causation of why some plants flower and produce seed pods while others don’t. Feel free to share a resource or two in the comments if you can provide a clue.

The bur oak at the end of the drive has been dropping green acorns for more than a week now. And yet, every other day or so, there are no acorns on the ground. Squirrels? Deer? Chipmunks? The fact that today I noticed several wild turkey feathers around the yard and along the drive provides some clues as to who the primary culprits may be.

We are now in the midst of our second downpour this afternoon. Fortunately, there’s been little thunder so far which means SiSi’s anxiety hasn’t yet been triggered. We’ll keep our fingers crossed that the rest of the day continues in a like vein. We’ll also keep them crossed that we continue to be able to schedule our walks between, not during, the downpours. When Dylan wrote A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall he may well have been imagining precipitation like today’s. As I look at the morning headlines these days, I truly wish he hadn’t been so prescient.

Milkweed

by Philip Levine

Remember how unimportant
they seemed, growing loosely
in the open fields we crossed
on the way to school. We
would carve wooden swords
and slash at the luscious trunks
until the white milk started
and then flowed. Then we'd
go on to the long day
after day of the History of History
or the tables of numbers and order
as the clock slowly paid
out the moments. The windows
went dark first with rain
and then snow, and then the days,
then the years ran together and not
one mattered more than
another, and not one mattered.

Two days ago I walked
the empty woods, bent over,
crunching through oak leaves,
asking myself questions
without answers. From somewhere
a froth of seeds drifted by touched
with gold in the last light
of a lost day, going with
the wind as they always did.

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