Time to smell the flowers
Williamsburg meadows are covered in wild flora
By Callan Bentley
Flat Hat Variety Editor
Originally, I planned to write about beetles this week, but then I took an evening stroll through Colonial Williamsburg and saw all kinds of botanical beauty shooting up out of the ground. I sat amongst the flowers and marveled how intricate and amazing they were. The flowers were small, brightly colored, sculpted like tiny masterpieces, and had appeared almost overnight. I was inspired.
I knew flowers are the sexual organs of plants, showy collections of modified leaves that housed the organs that produced the plant's gametes. Flowering plants have evolved a close association with the insects that pollinate them. If either the flowers or the insects were to disappear, the other would follow it into extinction. The colorful nature of the petals is designed to attract the insects to them. Many flowers have designs etched on their petals visible only when viewed with ultraviolet light, which many bees can perceive, though humans cannot. Many flowers have evolved to an incredible degree of specificity with a particular species of insect. Some orchids, for instance, have pollen-bearing parts that imitate the shape and coloration of a certain female wasp. The male wasp of the same species is attracted to these parts and attempts to mate with them. When the male lands on the alluring decoy, his weight sends another part of the flower pivoting down to crash into his abdomen, showering him with pollen. The male wasp will then fly to another flower where his pollen will be picked up and utilized.
All this seemed vaguely interesting to me, so I went to the library and checked out all their wildflower books, which is what I do when I need background information for these articles. Included among the books that I brought home was Peterson's Guide to the Wildflowers, widely hailed as the best field guide around on this subject.
Making my way back to a flower-covered hill in CW several days later, I discovered that the guide was mostly black-and-white drawings. I tried identifying the flowers there, but only managed to get one positive identification out of five or six tries. How was I going to write about these flowers if I didn't know what they were?
Well, maybe I knew a few myself. What did I need a guide for? There was a dandelion, a fuzzy yellow flower surrounded by dark green serrated leaves. I saw a buttercup, also yellow, but with small oily petals. I thought I recognized some little blue ones as blue-bells. The purplish trees all over campus are called redbuds. But the six or seven types of white flowers that that inhabited the hill (and initially inspired me) were mysterious characters. Who was I kidding? I had no idea what most of them were.
A Flat Hat photographer accompanied me to the hill to take the pictures that will accompany this article. I was frustrated with my attempts at identification, and I gestured towards some weeds, complaining to the photographer. My hand brushed through a bunch of dark green plants with fuzzy, heart-shaped leaves.
Suddenly, insanely, the nerves in my hand went haywire. It felt as if I had just plunged my hand into fire. I jumped back in shock. What was happening?
Shaking my hand to assuage the pain, I looked at the plant. It was covered in thin transparent spines.
Small white bumps were puffing up out of my skin, which had turned an angry red. The pain was alternating with intense itching. How had this all happened so quickly?
Then it occurred to me that this plant was one of the varieties of stinging nettle, well known for their painful defense against predation. The nettle has stinging hairs covering its leaves and to a lesser extent, its stem. When touched, they emit an acrid juice that causes inflammation and pain. Supposedly, this toxicant has no effect in places where the skin is thick. There are over 30 species of nettle in the New World; The library's guidebooks weren't sufficient to tell me which one had graced my hand.
I had the photographer snap a shot of the hateful weed and decided to call it quits. I limped home, licking my wounds and grumbling at my inadequate guidebook.
The point of all this is that I don't know what kinds of flowers are out there. They are pretty and they put me in a spring-time mood, but I couldn't tell you for the life of me which one is which. To tell you the truth, I think it's better that way. I enjoyed the flowers a lot more before I tried to understand them.
Spring is a fantastic season
for the eyes. Blooms sprout everywhere, green becomes the world's favorite color,
and the sunshine starts to mean something again. Flowers unfold and break up
monotonous views of the grass. Don't bother trying to understand it. Don't study
terms like pistil, anther, and stamen. Don't worry what breed of violet it is.
Just go out and try and take it all in. Colors, movement, and fabulous forms
are the stuff that inspiration is made from. Spring wildflowers can be appreciated
just as finely by sitting among them taking in the sun than by knowing their
family, genus, and species.