Posts Tagged ‘nature’
Twinflower (Linnaea borealis L.)
As we enter the winter months, I like to remember the woodland plants now waiting under the layers of fallen leaves to flower again next spring.
Twin-flower (Linnaea borealis L. var. americana (Forbes) Rehd.) is a low-growing, creeping evergreen, found blooming in late June in wooded swamps, coniferous bogs and clearings.
Each slender stalk bears a set of two delicate, nodding, fragrant flowers, white in color and tinged with pink. Other names for the plant are pink bells and, in French, linnée boréale. The specific name is from the Latin borealis, meaning northern.
The European variety was a special favorite of Linnaeus, the founder of the present system of naming flowers.
Twinflower
Linnaea borealis L.
~
conifer cathedral
slanting light
Linnaea carpets
stains the forest floor
to the edge
near the forest door
a woodland pool
~
on slender stem
mirrored
in the pool
and in the air
twinflower rings
pink boreal bells
at vespers
in whispers
a whisper
the rule
~
creeps under roots
and fallen leaves
Linnaea trails
over rude beams fallen
from fences built
when woods
were pasture
~
twin flowers
settle back to back
nodding heads
they cease to ring
and sleep
~
© Jane Tims 1992
making friends with the ferns #1
November is an odd time to think about identifying ferns, I admit. But identification of the evergreen ferns is still possible, as they hang on to their identity in the frosty air and even beneath the snow. Also, ferns are so beautiful, it is fun just to look over the field guides and reminisce about the days of summer.
a pressed Long Beech Fern in my copy of Boughton Cobb’s ‘Field Guide to the Ferns’
Ferns belong to the group of vascular plants known as the Pteridophytes. They have stems, roots and leaves but no seeds. Instead, they reproduce by spores and have complicated life cycles.
Ferns grow in many habitats. In our area they are found in moist and shaded woodlands. They are also inhabitants of fields, cliffs, wetlands and cityscapes. I have even seen ferns growing deep within the Howe Caverns of New York State where they have taken advantage of the scant habitat provided by artificial lighting.
The uniform ‘greenness’ of ferns and their highly patterned leaves make them popular as a motif, especially for home decorating and at Christmastime.
In New Brunswick, fiddleheads, the tightly coiled new leaves of the Ostrich fern (Matteuccia Struthiopteris (L.) Todaro), are collected for food every spring along the banks of rivers and their tributaries.
~
waking from a dream
Ostrich Fern (Matteuccia Struthiopteris(L.) Todaro)
~
bottom-land thicket
naked in spring
a rumpled bed
the throws of hibernation
~
new growth cocooned
in dry leaves, bent skeletons
of last summer’s fern
~
sun surge
an insult
between curtains
~
green fiddlehead
uncoils
head down
fist thrust
between pillows and down
fingers stretched
filigreed shadow
new blocking of sun
~
brown coverlet
kicked
~
new green bedspread
new green canopy
green shade
~
© Jane Tims 2011
Winterberry Holly (Ilex verticillata (L.) Gray)
In contrast to October, November is a colorless month. The exception – November’s red berries.
They punctuate the roads and ditches – Highbush-cranberry, Staghorn Sumach, American Mountain-ash, Hawthhorn and Rose. Eventually the birds claim every one for food, but through most of early winter, the berries remain to cheer us.
Highbush Cranberry in November
Last November, my husband and I took a walk in the thicket of saplings above the lake. As we came around the edge of a clump of alder, we were surprised to see a sturdy bush of Winterberry Holly. It glowed with orange-red berries, set off by sprays of bronze-coloured leaves, not yet fallen. We are used to seeing Winterberry along the lake, but in the grey and white thicket, the little bush was a gift. We went there again this past Saturday, and there it was, glowing in the morning sun.
our bush of Winterberry Holly
Winterberry Holly (Ilex verticillata (L.) Gray) is also known as Canadian Holly, Swamp Holly, Inkberry, Black Alder and Feverbush. The shrub is usually found in wet areas, including wetlands, damp thickets, moist woods and along waterways. The leaves turn a brassy purple-brown before they fall. The fruit is a small, hard orange-red berry, remaining on the bush until January.
In my poem, the words ‘lexicon’ and ‘exile’ are included as imperfect anagrams for Ilex (ilex).
Canadian Holly
(Ilex verticillata (L.) Gray)
~
drab November
and lexicon
expires
umber leaves
grey verticals
dull stubble
~
winterberries
astound the wetland
red ink on page
and words explode
from exile
~
fever flush and holly
above December snow
icicles vermillion
~
© Jane Tims 2011
Round-leaved Sundew (Drosera rotundifolia L.)
Carnivorous plants are a bit frightening. They seem more thoughtful than other plants. They are slightly macabre, possessing special adaptations for acquiring their food. They take on shapes not typical of flowering plants. On most days, you can find their prey, in various stages of digestion.
The Round-leaved Sundew, Drosera rotundifolia L., is also called Daily-dew or, in French, Rossolis à feuilles rondes. The Sundew is a carnivorous plant of acid bogs, barrens, moist roadside ditches and peaty soils. The leaves are in a tuft at the base of the plant and each leaf is covered with numerous gland-bearing bristles. These exude a clear fluid that glitters in sunlight, hence the name, from the Greek droseros meaning dewy. The delicate white flowers are borne on a slender, nodding stalk, and only open in the sun.
Round-leaved Sundew
Drosera rotundifolia L.
~
daily, dew is falling
sits on bristled leaves
of the sundew;
in innocence, believe
~
in our ditch is treasure,
glittering jewels, set
out in the sunshine,
a lure for insect fools
~
brilliance and beetles caught
in sticky dew, bristles tight
clutch creatures
they slew
~
tiny flowers cling
to the curve of a nodding stem,
opening when sunlight
shines on them
~
© Jane Tims 1984
(brackets in the birch grove)
Last week we went for a walk (more like a struggle) through the birch grove at the base of the grey woods (see the ‘map of the grey woods’ under ‘about’). To get there, we crossed the fern gully, mostly dry this time of year, and entered a mixed wood of birch, maple, spruce and fir, much younger than the mature spruce in the grey woods.
These trees grow in very wet conditions, and the forest floor is a hummocky, spongy growth of Sphagnum moss and fern.
There is no path through this woodland, so the ‘walk’ was an up-and-down, over-and-under kind of trek. To stay dry, you must take giant steps from hummock to hummock. To stay upright, you must check your footing and hang on to the young trees. With all this concentration on moving forward, I tend to miss some of the interesting detail, so I try to use each ‘balancing moment’ as a time to look around and observe the wild life.
One occupant of the birch grove is the bracket fungus. This is a type of fungus that grows like shelves on both living and dead trees. The fungus forms thick flat pads on the tree, usually parallel to the ground. They remind me of steps, a spiral stair to ascend the tree.
The semi-circular body of the bracket fungus is called a conk. The conks of the bracket fungus growing in our woods are thick, often oddly shaped, and constructed of various cream, tan and brown coloured layers. The conks are the outwardly visible, reproductive part of the fungus. The vegetative portion of the fungus grows as an extensive network of threads within the tree.
bracket fungi
~
1.
in this forest
staid
practical
grey
could any form
construe to magic?
~
fairy rings
moths in spectral flight
spider webs, witches brooms
burrows and subterranean
rooms, hollows in wizened
logs, red toadstools
white-spotted, mottled
frogs
~
2.
bracket fungi
steps ascend
a branchless tree
~
© Jane Tims 2011
in the shelter of the lane
Now, when the trees are shedding their foliage in yellow, red and orange, have you taken the time to stroll down a lane crackling with dry leaves?
1 lane n. 1: a narrow passageway between fences or hedges;
2: a relatively narrow way or track …
2 lane Scot var of LONE
Webster’s New Collegiate Dictionary, 1979
Words are so laden with connotative and denotative associations, those similar in meaning may not convey the same idea at all. For example, the word ‘lane’ is vastly different in meaning from ‘road’, yet a lane is a type of roadway.
A lane, to me, is a narrow corridor, built to admit people from the ordinary world of community to the private world of home. A lane is bounded on each side by trees, hedges or fences. A proper lane must have ruts for the tires and a centerline of grass to challenge the clearance of any vehicle. Once you are in the lane, it is difficult to see anything outside.
When I was young, visiting my mother’s family took us to ‘the old home place’. It was sandwiched between the main road and the river, but because it was connected to the outside world by a long, bent, shady lane, it was truly a ‘world-apart’.
I spent many happy hours in the lane, wandering up and down its length, singing and dreaming, exploring and examining. I loved the small woodland habitat created on either side. I picked the wild blueberries growing there, watched squirrels busy at the workings of their pine-cone industry, and made friends with specific trees.
One young Silver-leaved Poplar (Populus alba L.) was a particular favourite. It stood just before the bend in the lane, its bark marked with black diamonds. When the wind blew, it turned its leaves over in a generous offering of silver.
I have other pleasant associations with the lane. I remember my Dad working there with a shovel and a pickaxe, trying to fill in the worst of the ruts to save the undercarriages of his car and trailer. I remember listening to my Mom’s stories of how she and my aunt pushed their doll carriages up the lane to visit imaginary neighbours. I remembered how excited we always were to see the gate at the end of the lane wide open, since that meant my aunt or uncles were at home.
lane
~
trees along the lane
sentinels
to guard its ways
cone scale mounds
acorn stashes
the silver undersides of poplar leaves
doll carriages with squeaky wheels
blueberries in slants of light
~
the lane a wooden shelter
its base the rutted track
its sides the trees, muscled arms
branches overhead with fingers locked
~
charmed paths
moss tablecloths
fairy rings and follows
~
protected by
the closing of eyes
~
© Jane Tims 2011
‘blue’berry fields in autumn
This time of the year, the only thing ‘blue’ about our blueberry fields is the blue sky above them. The fields themselves are a blanket of scarlet and orange.
These are a few scenes of the October blueberry fields in south-west New Brunswick…
legacy
~
remaining in the room
a well-used blanket
red with two black stripes
inexpensive facsimile of
~
a white
three-beaver blanket
stripes red, yellow, green
~
a blue sky
two vapor contrails
~
the yellow double line
on an asphalt road
~
a band of stars
across a light-starved sky
~
a red leather book
with black ribbons
mark passages for giving
thanks:
look down from heaven
upon the fields, now white
unto the harvest
~
a crimson blueberry field
in October, draped across bones
of the landscape
double tracks leading away
over the horizon
~
© Jane Tims 2011
not naming any names (along the country road # 7)
What do you do if you are stranded beside a highway and have to wait for a long while? I name the plants I see growing in the ditches.
Part of my fascination with plant taxonomy is the interesting origin of the plant names. This includes both the Latin ‘scientific’ names and the common names. Many scientific names for plants can be traced to their physical characteristics. However, with references to mythology and local lore, and the modern unfamiliarity with Latin and Greek, the origin of many names may seem quite obscure.
For example, the Latin species name for Buttercup is Ranunculus, from the Latin name for ‘little frog’; Pliny gave this name to the plant because it grew where frogs lived. Some plants were named because they resembled parts of common animals; Larkspur has the specific name Delphinium since the flower resembles the shape of a dolphin. Other plants were given names because they reminded botanists of everyday objects – the species name of Meadowsweet is Spirea, from the Greek speira, wreath.
Meadowsweet (Spirea latifolia (Ait.) Borkh.)
Common names may vary with location. One of the reasons for using scientific names is the variety of common names assigned to a single plant by people of different localities. Botanists needed a way to make sure they were talking about the same plant. So Virgin’s Bower, or Devil’s-darning-needle, or Devil’s Hair, or Lovejoy, or Traveller’s Joy, or Love Vine are known by one scientific name, Clematis virginiana L.
Many common names also include references to mythology or religion. Coltsfoot (Tussilago farfara L.), the dandelion-like flower blooming in our ditches almost before the snow has disappeared, is also called Son-before-the-Father, which refers to the appearance of flowers before the leaves.
Since New Brunswick is a bilingual province, I like to know the French common names for plants as well as the English. Some examples of French names for common flowers include pas-d’âne (literally donkey-steps) for Coltsfoot, immortelle (meaning immortal) for Pearly Everlasting (Anaphalis margaritacea (L.) C.B. Clarke), and herbe aux gueux (meaning beggar or tramp) for Virgin’s bower.
So, what is this plant, discovered beside a stretch of highway while we waited for our friends to arrive?
what is my name?
~
common name unknown
~
1.
stranded beside the highway
entirely industrial
chain-link fence, ditches sandy dry
we passed the time
naming the familiar
giving names to unknown
road-side
vegetation
~
2.
three-leaflets
definitely clover
but what species
what common names might suit
a crowded cloud
of soft and purple
flower?
~
3.
we tried ‘common’
clover cloud
clover crowd
muffin-mound
rabbit’s whiskers
pussy-toes
pillow-fill
billow hill
lavender clover
Purple Pleiades Pleione
please!
~
3.
we tried Latin
Trifolium
lavandula
purpura
porphyrophobia
fluffense
~
we mixed Latin with Italian
musical notation
Trifolium pianissimo
very soft
~
4.
our drive arrived
our wait was over
botanical field-guide
verified Trifolium arvense
Rabbit-foot, ‘of-the-field’, Hare’s-foot, Stone Clover
~
a footnote: sometime the botanical description is no help at all…
Trifolium arvense L.
“…long-villous 10-nerved sessile campanulate calyces crowded, spreading, their setiform teeth much longer that the tube and the marcescent corolla…”
Fernald, Gray’s Manual of Botany, 1950.
© Jane Tims 2011
beneath the vine
Vines sculpt spaces as they grow, clinging to and draping across the surfaces they choose to colonise.
Telephone poles display armloads of Virginia Creeper (Parthenocissus quinquefolia ( L.) Planch.) …
The moose fence along the highway is softened by a curtain of Virgin’s Bower (Clematis virginiana L.) …
Purple grapes, ready to pick, fill the arbour with soft shade…
ripened shadows
~
under layered leaves
marbled shadows hang
in cloistered dark
~
cool nonchalance
columnar grey intensifies
as grapes grow ripe
~
taut green ferments
to purple must
and effervesces air
~
even where no surface intercepts
clustered shadows
ready to pick
~
© Jane Tims 2011
under the red maple
We have a huge red maple (Acer rubrum L.) in front of our house. It forces a turn in the walkway, but I love to greet it every morning and watch it through the seasons. When we first lived here 30 years ago, the tree was small enough to encircle with thumb and finger. Now I can’t fit my arms around its girth.
Autumn inspires this tree. It takes its time, gradually turning yellow, red and orange over several days. Then it gives up all its leaves within a day.
When I drive my car away the next morning, a dark rectangle of driveway remains, within the circle of new-fallen leaves.
summer in flames
~
suddenly
leaf fall
embers settle
on the walkway
patio table and chairs
~
suddenly
impossible
to walk in silence
red flames
and careful steps
a conflagration
~
suddenly
shadows lost
and branches
scratch the sky
sun bright
hands warm before the fire
~
© Jane Tims 2011
