By Wren Smith
For thousands of years plants have been linked with many ancient traditions as spell binders, capable of working specific magic. While I’m not suggesting that interpreters practice these ancient crafts in the literal sense, I believe plants can be powerful allies in our efforts to restore a deeper connection to our cultural and ecological heritage.
Even dandelions can be captivating. The author’s niece Rylie Marie investigates.
Stories Restore
There are stories in land, stories in the rocks, in the trees, and in the plants growing in your backyard. Plants offer interpreters stories that connect the histories of people, places, and animals, stories that sweep across cultures, languages, and even species, stories of invasion, cooperation, opportunity, survival, love, and loss. Unearthing these stories provides a treasure trove of interpretive possibilities. Our real aim in learning and sharing plant stories, as well as other stories, should never be about dispensing “nickel knowledge” of natural history, but about helping visitors restore a sense of their own roots in the land. Anchoring these plant stories in universal concepts makes them more memorable, meaningful, and, at times, magical. Ecologist and writer Gary Paul Nabhan suggests that we “re-story” the land by making it a part of our story, our seasonal celebrations, our community gatherings and festivals.
It is easier to protect places that are imbued with familiar and cherished stories. In his thought-provoking book, Cultures of Habitat, Nabhan says that if we track down these stories to the finest detail, our own lives will be enriched. He adds:
In every biotic community, there are story lines that fiction writers would give their eyeteeth for…. Dormancies of lotus seeds that outdistance Rip van Winkle’s longest nap. Promiscuities amongst the neighboring oak trees that would make even Nabokov and his Lolita blush.
Nabhan asks, with the myriad of stories around us, how many of them do we recognize as touching our lives in some way?
Most Americans can identify thousands of brand names and logos, but fewer than 10 common plants in their own backyards. These plants exist outside the zone of perceived relevance. Ecologist Aldo Leopold reminded us that the first rule of tinkering is to keep all the parts. Inherent in this rule is the notion that we should also know what the parts are; otherwise how can we hope to know what’s there, or what’s missing, or in the case of invasive species, what shouldn’t be there? How can we restore our connection to the places we want to protect without the stories from the Green Kingdom?
Learning the names from these other lives is one starting point to learning these stories. Once you know the name of a plant (or animal) you can begin to learn how its story fits into the stories of other members of an ecological community and even into our own stories. You might even discover the poetry of its name. Although I’m not suggesting that the only way to appreciate plants (or anything) is to attach a name or label to them; I’m simply saying that names are a tool, and as such, can be used to build bridges or barriers. It’s all a matter of application.
In the presence of a skilled and knowledgeable interpreter, both the common and botanical names can be used to create an array of connections with the everyday lives of any visitor.
Secret Stories from the Green Kingdom
You might say that there is a whole galaxy of interpretive stories hidden in the names of plants—sunflower, moonflower, cosmos, star chickweed, and aster, to mention a few. Martha Barnette’s small but delightful book A Garden of Words is a valuable etymology resource on the origins of plant names and stories. According to Barnette, the name daisy is in reference to the sun being the “eye of the day” or day’s eyes. Aster is certainly a fitting name for a flower that resembles the celestial “blooms” of the night sky. Likewise the genus name Stellaria is appropriate for the star-like blossoms of the giant or star chickweed, Stellaria pubera. The edges of our eastern woodlands are laced in September with the white flowers of white snakeroot, judged by many to be the culprit in the death of Abraham Lincoln’s mother who died from milk sickness. Cows ingesting the plant passed a toxic chemical through their milk. This plant belongs to a genus in the aster family that is known to hybridize freely, and thus some authorities question which species is the felon in this story. Plant stories are often mysteries!
Rylie Marie is captivated by summer’s bounty.
Yaupon holly, with the colorful species name Ilex vomitoria, points to a story worth telling to a group of middle school students who may think they aren’t going to enjoy learning about binominal nomenclature, the scientific two-part classification system. I love introducing visitors to the soapwort growing at Bernheim Arboretum and Research Forest in Kentucky. This plant goes by several other common names, including bouncing bet and fullers herb, each name has its own collection of stories. Wort is from the Old English word wyrt, meaning plant, herb, or root. The name soapwort makes sense in view of the plant’s use as a delicate laundry agent. The plant was also called fullers herb, a holdover from the process of washing new carded wool or fulling. Even the scientific name, Saponaria officinalis, is redolent with meanings and stories. For starters, the genus provides a clue that the plant may contain saponins, agents that produce suds. The species name, officinalis, points to its history in the official apothecaries, the forerunners of our modern drug stores.
Even Weeds Have Stories to Tell
Examining most lawns reveals numerous interpretive stories “hidden in plain site.” Since weedy species are abundant and widely distributed, visitors are likely to reencounter these plants, and such repeated contact reinforces these stories. Dandelions are often one of the first plants noticed by children. The yellow suns are easily grasped by little hands, and children beam as they offer a bouquet to their mothers.
“Oh Sweetie, thank you, but that’s just a weed,” I recently overheard a mother say. Her response was gentler than many other responses to this floral offering I’ve heard over the years. However, the label of weed points to only a part of the story.
Author and naturalist Tavia Cathcart says, “The name dandelion comes from a French phrase dent de lion (tooth of the lion).” It’s easy for visitors and even little children to see a possible connection between this name and the sharp green teeth on the edges of dandelion leaves. Not native to the United States, but now naturalized widely, dandelions provide us with tales of travels, trials, and culinary creations, as well as myth, magic, and medicine that extend at least to the 10th and 11th centuries. Dandelions also provide high drama when viewed through the lens of warfare.
The Green Kingdom is Not Always the Peaceable Kingdom
In one of the best interpretive programs I’ve ever attended at an NAI National Workshop, Fran Blanchard and Mary Ann Bonnell reminded us that plants and their stories can be filled with all the drama of a battlefield. They also clearly conveyed their theme that plants aren’t passive in their defense of the homeland. Dressed in faux military regalia and representing the Secretary of Homeland Security and the Secretary of State, these creative interpreters staged a mock pre-battle press conference (complete with charts, maps, and graphs) from the viewpoint of plants. Workshop participants were quickly shunted into the role of press agents vying to ask questions of our illustrative leaders. Our capable commanders demonstrated numerous tactics employed by plants (chemical warfare, armored defenses of thorns and spines, etc.) in defense of their territory.
Years later, the universal concepts and relevant stories shared in that session have helped me see new stories in the land. I find new drama among the dandelions, as I now witness the turf battles and ongoing skirmishes between fastidious landowners and these “lions of the lawn.” I’ve realized that dandelions’ strategic arsenal not only includes prolific paratroopers, launched from familiar fluffy seed heads, but also underground taproots that lay claim to their territory with tenacity. Dandelions even appear to have a highly effective intelligence agency. They seem to know how low to keep their crowns, before counter attacks of land owners on lawn tanks (lawnmowers). Once the tanks have moved on, dandelions quickly raise their victory flags of yellow suns. Fortunately, universal concepts aren’t limited to those associated with warfare.
The Business of Blooming
When we describe our favorite spring wildflowers, we often use such words as delicate, fragile, and lovely. All of these descriptors are certainly accurate but they can belie the hidden tenacity of these so called genteel ladies of our spring woods. The real stories are a lot less tame and point towards some of the earliest business strategies in the “world’s oldest profession.” Contrary to popular belief, spring wildflowers usually don’t disappear from view because they succumb to freezing or frost. The real reason has more to do with the economics of ecology than frailty or frivolity. As much as their beauty may please us, spring wildflowers mean business, and most flowers are in the sex business.
Woodland wildflowers are supremely alluring and enterprising. They must take advantage of a small window of opportunity that opens in the woodlands just as daylight begins to lengthen but before the trees leaf out and block the sun. In other words, they only have a few weeks to complete their reproductive life cycle. It isn’t just the sun that they need. Survival of the next generation of viable seeds often depends on attracting pollinators that carry pollen (usually) from the male parts of other flowers. Similar to some human enterprises, flowers advertise their wares. Bright banners flap in the breeze like colorful flags at used car lots. Others offer rich perfumery. “Stop here,” they seem to say in their sexiest chemical lexicon. “We’ve got what you want, you’ve got what we need.” Some flowers like violets offer clearly marked runways so that insects can find their way to the pollen or nectar. Many flowers even offer landing pads. How’s that for customer service?
There is deception among the flowers. Some orchids imitate bees, and according to Sharman Apt Russell, author of The Anatomy of a Rose, there are some flowers that don’t live up to their end of the bargain. These trick pollinators into expending energy to visit them and offer nothing in return. Cooperation, competition, deception, and manipulation—flowers are not only full of melodrama, they are full of universal concepts.
The Green Story in a Nutshell
Mystery and reciprocity live at the heart of the plant kingdom. A squirrel buries hundreds of acorns and eats some of them. A tree grows from one of them, and its leaves are munched by a caterpillar. The caterpillar is eaten by a bird. The bird lands on the branch outside my window and sings. Sunlight has become not only root but also wing, not only leaf but song.
For many of us this past winter was rough and long, thus we welcomed spring with its unfurling fire of green light with even more gratitude than usual. Although it is late spring at this writing, the Green Kingdom is lush, lovely, and alive here in Kentucky. But even if you live in a part of the country where the seasonal changes are less obvious, there is no escaping the inevitable fact that all living things are woven into a fabric whose warp consists of various shades of green.
Green is the color represented by photosynthesis, the solar-powered process so necessary for the richness of life on earth. In the presence of sunlight, pigments of chlorophyll like millions of miniature alchemists turn invisible molecules of water and carbon dioxide into visible forms of grass, leaves, buds, flowers, and trees. This turning of the invisible to visible and back again lies at the heart of photosynthesis and thus at the heart of the living earth. As the original alchemists, plants tap into the power of the sun and supply the energy for the planet. As interpreters, we are constantly looking for ways to create this sort of magic as we strive to restore our connections to the places we love. Learn more stories from the Green Kingdom; share them with your friends, family, and visitors. Chlorophyll may be at the heart of photosynthesis, but relevant stories are at the heart of our interpretive efforts. The Green Kingdom provides interpreters with stories that may help us turn sunlight into song.
Resources for Connecting with Plant Stories
Barnette, Martha. 1992. A Garden of Words. New York: Times Books.
Cathcart, Tavia, and Dennis Horn. 2005. Wildflowers of Tennessee the Ohio Valley and the Southern Appalachians. Auburn, Washington: Lone Pine Publishing.
Sanders, Jack. 1995. Hedgemaids and Fairy Candles. Camden Main: Ragged Mountain Press.
Sanders, Jack. 2003. The Secrets of the Wildflowers. Guilford, Connecticut: The Globe Pequot Press.
Wren Smith is the interpretive programs manager for Bernheim Arboretum and Research Forest in Kentucky. Reach her at 502-955-8512, x227 or Wren@bernheim.org.
