Summer Solstice Sweetness

My dear friend Carissa sent me an e-mail about this week being Pollinator Week and challenged me to write about it. Her inspiration came from an e-mail she’d received from Natureworks Horticultural Services in Northford, Connecticut–part of our old stomping grounds as babes, toddlers, tweens and teens. (She grew up in Northford, while I grew up on the other side of the tracks in North Branford–two distinct villages that formed one town.)

Part of the message included this passage: “Happy Pollinator Week. There really is a week for that? You betcha. Pollinators are vital to life on this planet. And, at Natureworks, we are teaching our customers to protect and help pollinators every single day. It all starts with an organic garden. It includes planting lots of pollinator-friendly flowers. It continues with the way you manage your landscape and the way your community manages their public spaces. Pollinators are in decline around the world. We need to take this seriously. Let me just say . . .  we have the plants for that!

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And then another friend, Pam, invited me to join her on a mini-hike to Foss Mountain today in Eaton, New Hampshire, and it all came full circle. To travel here with Pam was an incredible opportunity because she had some personal experience with the property and shared the local lore, including a story about a peddler who long ago repeatedly traveled a road that crosses the mountain and apparently spent some time canoodling with another man’s woman. And then, on one of those journeys, the peddler vanished into thin air–never to be seen or heard from again.

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Pam’s brother and sister-in-law had previously owned the land we were about to explore, but it’s now owned by the Town of Eaton and is protected in perpetuity by the Upper Saco Valley Land Trust. The property is managed by the Eaton Conservation Commission, which maintains the trail and blueberry fields.

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The blueberry fields were really a sign of early succession following a 150+ year history as pasture land. According to information posted on one of the three kiosks, there was a description of the farming heritage that included along the timeline the decade that the fields reverted to blueberries, juniper and gray birch, and the man who oversaw the blueberry crop–Frank French.

At some point along that timeline, the Brooks family homesteaded there, but not much was known about them. Pam and I wandered about the remaining cellar hole as we tried to interpret the scene, but didn’t quite understand all that we saw. (We sure wished our friend Janet had been able to join us and add her understanding of such historical sites.)

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We continued on the short journey upward, passing through a pleasant White and Red Pine forest along a well-defined trail with switchbacks to help eliminate erosion.

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Suddenly, the natural community changed and we entered an open area where White-throated Sparrows serenaded us with their “Old Sam Peabody, Peabody, Peabody” song. Sheep Laurel surprised us with its bright pink flowers, but . . . we spied no pollinators.

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We also discovered a cinquefoil growing abundantly among the rocks, and though it had a few pollinators, it was just that–only a few.

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Now allow me to interrupt with an explanation of the common name for this cinquefoil or Sibbaldiopsis tridentata: it’s known as Three-toothed (tridentata) for the three teeth at the tip of each leaflet. Do you see them?

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Though we only saw a few pollinators among the cinquefoil, the abundance of blueberries suggested a lot of previous action. A few blueberries had already ripened. We conducted a taste test and suggest you totally avoid Foss Mountain this summer for we certainly couldn’t taste the sunshine in those little blue morsels. (And my nose just grew longer–Pinocchio-style.)

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As we reached the summit, we shifted our attention from flowers and pollinators to the 360˚ view that surrounded us.

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In every direction . . .

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we relished the sight . . .

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of blueberry plants . . .

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and mountains–including the Ossipee, Belknap and Presidential ranges.

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After a lunch break in the middle of this longest day, we started down and made more discoveries–including the sweet flowers of Blue-eyed Grass and its fruits indicating it had been pollinated.

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And nearby on a Red Clover . . .

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a bumblebee sought nectar while simultaneously filling its pollen sacs.

But in the whole scheme of things, we saw few pollinators and wondered–what’s up? This is an organic field and public space, as Carissa’s contact at Natureworks encouraged. And yet . . . Pam and I weren’t able to answer all our questions today.

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But . . . as we looked upon the abundant blueberry crop before us on this first day of summer, we gave thanks for those who had protected the land and those who had performed the mighty act of pollination despite adversity and we looked forward to the sweetness that will follow this Summer Solstice.

What’s So Special About Bee Balm?

I have childhood memories of ugly red bee balm plants surrounding a maple tree in our front yard. In addition to being ugly, what really bothered me about this flower was the smell. The scent tickled my nose in an unpleasant manner and gave me an instant headache.

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And then I grew up. Well, I suppose that’s questionable, but what did happen is I came to appreciate the showy flower and aromatic scent. (Funny thing is, an infusion of crushed, boiled bee balm flowers apparently treats headaches–I should have used it to treat the very symptom it caused. It has many other medicinal uses as well.)

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This summer, like others, I waited in anticipation.

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Even before it bloomed, its leafy bracts showcased a fluid beauty.

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And those leaves set at right angles to the square stem offered a crossroads where color and texture met.

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Finally . . .

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with the aid of raindrops

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and sunshine, the bracts pulled away and revealed star-capped tubes nestled within.

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Ever so slowly, flowers began to emerge.

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With a hat reminiscent of a jester, they crowned the plant.

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Stamens projected from the tubular upper lip, while below, three slender lips provided a landing pad for visiting insects seeking nectar-filled sweetness.

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Like me, the pollinators’ eyes shone brightly

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as they sought

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fulfillment.

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I’ve spent many moments starring–in awe and wonder–at the structure, simple yet complex, and all of its idiosyncrasies.

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And I know I’m not the only female who stops by to soak in the glory of this old-fashioned perennial.

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What’s so special about bee balm? Everything.

P.S. This one is for you, Jinny Mae, because you, too, are special.

 

Buzzin’ ‘Bout

 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.

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

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

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it’s a favorite for a variety of pollinators.

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A nip of nectar

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and a dash of pollen

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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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

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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.

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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.