daisy

On this June day with temps in the 70˚s, it hardly seemed possible that it might snow.

But indeed it did.

OK, so I hope the title caught your attention just as this field of daisies caught mine. The little flowers with their sunshiny centers (disK flowers) and white petals (ray flowers) that open with the break of dawn and close as the sun sets are an example of a $.50 cent word I recently learned: nyctinasty. I’ve read several theories about why some plants do this: perhaps to reduce its surface at night and thus retain temperature control; or reduce nighttime herbivory; or reduce the risk of flowers freezing; or protect pollen by keeping the plant dry at night.

All of these make sense, but it’s the daytime display in an unexpected place that has been mown for several years now, that captured my heart. I’d completely forgotten how beautiful this field could be with its array of daisies and hawkweeds and clovers. It was the daisies, however, that made the biggest splash.

By day, the field daisies attract any number of pollinators and as I stood beside and among them, they offered landing pads for a multitude of insects.

The White Admiral, with its handsome blue spots that mimicked the color of the sky, was nearly the same size.

With hundreds of those tiny disk flowers to feast upon, the butterfly had a full supply of nectar and in the midst of sipping it, gathered some pollen upon its feet, which it could pass off to the next daisy.

A Bumble Bee in constant motion, did the same. And added to the sound of buzziness in this place.

In the midst of all the flitting there was a tiny skipper sticking its proboscis into for a sweet sip. Such big eyes for such a little butterfly.

Big eyes are an insect thing–all those lenses in compound fashion offering views up, down, and all around so that as it stops in to take advantage of all that the flower has to offer, it can see all others in the area, including a certain photographer.

There were even teeny, tiny flower flies with long legs, veined wings, and equally teeny eyes, sucking from the source.

No, it isn’t my beloved snow that I came upon on this June day, but rather a field of daisies offering a scene reminiscent of snow white . . . with lots of colors and sounds in the midst spotted on this longest of days.

Happy Summer Solstice 2023.

Air traffic control to Flight 233. Over.

Flight 233 approaching runway. Over.

Runway lights are on, Flight 233. Have a safe landing. Over.

OK, so I have no idea what a conversation between air traffic control and a pilot really is, but I do know that some plants have runways to guide pollinators. And by the way–233 on a phone=BEE.

Have you ever seen a more beautiful runway than the one on an iris?

With their banner, wings and keels, the pea-like structure of the lupine is different, but . . .

it’s a favorite for a variety of pollinators.

A nip of nectar

and a dash of pollen

makes for a happy bumblebee and a happy flower. The bee’s orange pollen basket is almost full.

Some wildflowers don’t need pollination to produce viable seeds, but when a visitor drops by for a sip, some pollen will attach to its fuzzy body and be transported to the next plant.

Notice the hairiness below the flower of the orange hawkweed–I’ve read that that’s an attempt to keep slow moving insects, like ants, from coming in for a treat–they prefer flying insects. Rather picky.

Though chive blossoms consist of numerous flowers that are perfect, in that they each have both male and female parts, they can’t self-pollinate because the stamen sheds pollen before the pistil is ready.

Thus, they depend on flying pollinators to deal with the timing issue.

Like the hobblebush I mentioned in earlier posts, the daisy consists of a ray of white sterile flowers surrounding a disk of yellow fertile flowers.

It had just opened today, but already is attracting attention.

So many different guiding lights. Thanks for buzzin’ ’bout with me on this nectar flight.

wondermyway

Wonder along with me as I wander through the woods

Snow in June

Buzzin’ ‘Bout