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Nature’s Green Tiger

Six-spotted tiger beetles (Cicendela sexguttata) are typically green with two-to-six white spots on their wing covers.

An iridescent green beetle races along a sun-drenched country road. It’s tiny, but the intense metallic glow of the six-spotted tiger beetle’s wing cases (elytra), reflects the sun in a shimmer of emerald. Typically green, some shine bright blue. Most are studded with two-to-six white spots along the wing cover edges; some have eight spots and some have none.

Though it doesn’t look like a tiger, it is a ferocious predator like its namesake. Equipped with powerful mandibles to capture prey larger than itself, they kill more than they can eat. (The beetles have no interest in eating humans, but if they are handled roughly, or feel threatened, they will bite.) Able to generate bursts of great speed for such a tiny critter, they are temporarily blinded because their eyes can’t absorb photons fast enough to create an image!¹ They compensate by repeating a stop-and-go pattern: short periods of speed, followed by brief rests. At rest, the insect’s vision clears and it checks its location before continuing its pursuit. The same pattern pertains to their flight.²

This six-spotted tiger beetle warmed itself in a small pool of sunlight on our cabin deck. Most other tiger beetle species won’t tolerate shade.

To satisfy their voracious appetite, six-spotted tiger beetles and their larvae devour spiders, flies, caterpillars, ants, grasshoppers, numerous beetle species and other invertebrates. Unlike the speedy adult, the larva, a whitish-to-tan grub, digs a vertical burrow in sand or dirt, usually along a pathway. It stays hidden until it senses prey nearby, then lunges out and grabs the prey in its pincers. Hooks on the back of the larva’s abdomen anchor it into the soil. These stabilize the larva so that prey can’t pull it out of the burrow and escape.

Many critters, such as ground squirrels, moles, lizards, toads, songbirds, shorebirds, waterfowl, spiders, dragonflies and robber flies prey on the beetles. Six-spotted tiger beetles are most active from mid-May through early July. It’s not unusual to see a smaller number of them later in the summer, especially on hot, sunny days.

There are other green metallic beetles, but few compare with the six-spotted tiger variety. However, don’t confuse them with the emerald ash borer, an invasive beetle that kills ash trees by destroying their conductive tissue. Tiger beetles are larger, wider and a more brilliant green than ash borers, which are more narrow and bullet-shaped. Also, tiger beetles are indigenous to North America, whereas emerald ash borers are a foreign species native to Northern Asia. It’s believed that the ash borer arrived in the United States via wooden shipping crates from China, but it’s difficult to know for certain.³

Don’t mistake tiger beetles for invasive emerald ash borers (Agrilus planipennis) seen here, which are smaller, narrower and not as green.

¹A scientist who studies tiger beetles in Australia clocked one running at 5.6 miles per hour.

²See the Cornell Chronicle for 01/16/1998 by Blaine Friedlander.

³University of Minnesota Department of Entomology 

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Solomon’s Seal

Solomon’s seal (Polygonatum odoratum variegatum) form colonies in open woodlands and shade gardens.

Like tiny pairs of bells, the flowers of Solomon’s Seal hang beneath arching branches, softening the landscape of open woodlands and shade gardens in May and June. Solomon’s Seal (Polygonatum biflorum) is one of my favorite spring wildflowers. I was intrigued by the plant’s name when I first spotted it growing in the open deciduous woods at our cabin in East Central Minnesota.

How did it get its name? It refers to the rhizome, or underground stem, seen by few unless it’s dug up. (I’ve never seen it myself, but it is described as being rough and knobby.) 

When each year’s stem dies back, it creates a circular scar with markings that supposedly reminded observers of seals used by royalty in ancient times. Why it was named after King Solomon isn’t clear. A closely related plant, Polygonatum odoratum, is native to the Middle East. (We plant it in our gardens today.) Legend has it that the rhizome’s scars resembled Hebrew letters and reminded people of the seals used on royal documents. They named it after King Solomon to honor his wisdom and ability to heal.

Flower buds of Solomon’s seal will open into paired bells on slender maroon stalks.

Whether or not it’s a plant of legend, Solomon’s Seal is an important member of deciduous woodlands and shade gardens. In its native form, P. biflorum grows in Eastern North America from Saskatchewan to the Atlantic Ocean, south to Florida and west to Texas. Graceful, arching stalks and oval-to-lance-shaped leaves and berries are highlights. Leaf color is a bright lime-to-medium-green surface with whitish or pale green below. In May and June, long rows of delicate ivory-green flowers hang beneath the leaves and look like pairs of tiny bells. Bumblebees and many other species of native bees collect nectar and pollen from them. 

In autumn, leaf color softens from bright green to lemon yellow, gold and light brown.

In early autumn, green berries ripen to blue-black spheres beneath the leaves. The berries are toxic to humans, but are a delight for birds, especially members of the thrush family, such as American robins, bluebirds and veeries. (Our berries are always eaten while they’re still green!) Leaves morph from green to lemon yellow and gold before drying to brown.

Hairy Solomon’s seal (Polygonatum pubescens) is similar to P. biflorum, with the addition of fine, short hairs that grow along the underside of the leaf veins. It’s also slightly larger and has larger flowers than P. biflorum. Both grow well in shade/partial shade gardens. They prefer moist, rich soil, but will also tolerate dry conditions. Both varieties grow well in eastern North America, primarily in USDA and Canadian hardiness zones 3-8 and 3a-8b respectively. 

Indigenous peoples used Polygonatum in medicine and cooking. The rhizome was ground up and used as a poultice for wounds and bruises, and as an anti-inflammatory agent to treat a variety of respiratory, digestive and connective tissue problems. It was cooked and eaten similar to a potato and also was ground up to make flour.

Polygonatum odoratum, which is native to Eurasia, is a popular garden plant, especially P. odoratum variegatum. The leaves are egg-shaped, and variegated in icy green and ivory. When the shoots emerge and begin to unwrap in early spring, they are often streaked with pale pink, as are the early leaves.

The emerging tips of variegated Solomon’s seal are streaked with light pink.

In my partial sun/shade garden, I grow P. odoratum variegatum (USDA/Canada hardiness zones 3-9/3b-9a) with sweet woodruff, wild geranium, painted ferns, ghost ferns, Canada wild ginger and in one area of the garden, with a selection of variegated hosta.

Variegated Solomon’s seal grows well with ferns, wild Canada ginger and sweet woodruff in my shade garden.

Sources and Further Reading

Eloise Butler Wildflower Garden (This website features excellent photos of all parts of each plant.)

Missouri Department of Conservation

Sanders, Jack. (2014). The Secrets of Wildflowers: A Delightful Feast of Little-Known Facts, Folklore and History. Guilford, Connecticut: Lyons Press, Pp. 80-82.

TN Nursery

Wisconsin Horticulture

 

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Moccasin Flower or Showy Lady’s Slipper

Moccasin flowers, or showy lady’s slippers (Cypripedium Reginae) grow in a wet road-side ditch near Deer River, Minnesota. (Photo by T. Murray Hughes; used with permission.)

North America’s largest native orchid, the pink and white showy lady’s slipper, or moccasin flower, (Cypripedium reginae) is blooming in Minnesota now. Found in sunny, wet environments, such as bogs, swamps and damp meadows, it is one of six moccasin flowers native to Minnesota. Bloom time is from early June through mid-July.

Its white petals and sepals spread out over a deep pink labellum (lip), which is the moccasin or slipper that gives the flower its name. A new plant may take up to 15 years to mature and produce its first flower. Showy lady’s slipper is Minnesota’s state flower, but is now uncommon in much of the state due to drainage of wetlands, use of roadside herbicides and other habitat disruption. While not classified as endangered, it is a protected species, which makes it illegal to pick the flowers or move the plants.

An Anishinaabe legend tells the story of the moccasin flower. One winter a village was decimated by disease. The tribal leaders were too ill to go to other settlements for medicine. A young woman of the tribe snuck out of the settlement and obtained medicine from another village. However, she wasn’t able to make it back to her home because of the brutal winter conditions. She was rescued by others from her village and the medicine was delivered in time to save her people. The story says that the lovely slipper flowers grew wherever her moccasins left prints in the snow.

Sources

Farmers Almanac

MN DNR

Tekiela, Stan. (1999). Wildflowers of Minnesota Field Guide. Cambridge, Minnesota: Adventure Publications, Inc.

University of Minnesota Landscape Arboretum: Orchids at the Arboretum

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Canada Wild Ginger: A Hidden Surprise

The unusual blossoms of Canada Wild Ginger (Asarum canadense) are tucked beneath the plant at the base of its heart-shaped leaves. They remind me of fuzzy, patterned winter hats.

It’s elfin, plain and hidden — Canada Wild Ginger isn’t a typical Minnesota spring wildflower. A few days ago, flecks of smoke green caught my eye in the shadows, perhaps remnants of last year’s foliage. I crawled under the arbor vitae for a better look and found new leaves of Canada wild ginger (Asarum canadense) pushing into the light.

Freshly emerged, they looked small and wrinkled, but they will unfurl into pairs of rounded, heart-shaped leaves that will turn deep green and cover that area of our small shade garden until late autumn.

Newly emerged Canada wild ginger leaves don’t resemble typical springtime foliage!

Soon after the leaves assume their heart shape, round buds and then tiny maroon-and-cream flowers appear near the base of the plant. Often overlooked because of their small size, hidden location and earthy color, their unique pattern is worth seeing. Gently lift the leaves aside and look at their base for pinkish-green buds, or small flowers that remind me of fuzzy, knitted winter caps.

Round, pink buds appear tucked into the fork of two leaf stalks on the ground.

The flowers are a spring ephemeral¹ and last only a few days in April or early May. The beautiful leaves cover the ground through autumn, especially in shaded, moister areas of the garden and woods.

How are such early flowers pollinated, since most bees and other pollinators are inactive and the flowers are hidden? Current thinking is that the plant mainly relies on self-pollination. When the buds open, the anthers (male) are ready to receive pollen. A few days later, the plant’s stamens (female) will stretch upward toward the anthers carrying the pollen so that fertilization takes place within the plant. Other methods have been suggested, but there’s little proof to support them. These include: Ants, small beetles and tiny snails use the flowers as resting places at night and unintentionally move pollen around. Some researchers believed that tiny spring fungus gnats also pollinated the plants. However, there is little to substantiate this method for this species of wild ginger.

Current thinking is that the flowers of Asarum canadense are primarily self-pollinated, though some insects may accidentally pollinate the flower.

Pollination isn’t the only thing done differently by this plant. The seeds are dispersed primarily by ants and a few beetles in a process called myrmecochory. Like bloodroot, another early ephemeral, wild ginger’s seeds have a special piece called an elaiosome that is rich in nutrients. Ants carry the seeds home where they consume the elaiosome and toss the seed aside in the “garbage pile” of their underground nest. The ants benefit from the nutritious snack; the seeds benefit because they’ve been carried away from the parent plant to a new location. Being in the dirt of the ants’ nest also protects them from mice and other rodents who would dine on them above ground. It’s possible that seeds may also be transported by animals that brush against the plant.

Canada wild ginger slowly spreads into colonies in gardens and natural settings by means of plant rhizomes. Rhizomes are shoots that spread horizontally underground to establish new plants, such as in iris and asparagus. I first spotted Canada wild ginger growing at our cabin and was attracted by the leaves that hold their beauty all season. I love their heart shape and that they deepen in color as they age.

The colony in my home garden started with one plant from a local native plant nursery a dozen or more years ago. I planted it with other woodland species that do well in dappled sun and shade with slightly moist soil, including ghost ferns, painted ferns, sweet woodruff, Solomon’s seal, wild geranium, bloodroot and Virginia bluebells. Later in autumn, delicate and sparse zigzag goldenrod blooms around it. Asarum canadense is found throughout the eastern region of the U.S. and Canada. It grows in Canadian plant hardiness zones 2 through 8 and in USDA zones 2 through 8, although I’ve also seen it listed in zones 3 through 7 or 4 through 8. 

Dark green Canada wild ginger leaves provide a reliable ground cover in shadier gardens and woodlands.

This plant has a light scent similar to Asian ginger used in the kitchen, but it is not edible for humans and the two plants are unrelated. Some sources note that Native Americans used the plant as a poultice for wounds. (Two antibiotic substances have been found in the roots.) Others note that it may have been used to flavor some foods. However, because it contains carcinogens and other poisonous compounds, it isn’t widely used in culinary work today. Enjoy its lasting leaves and unusual flower in your shade or woodland garden.

Zingiber officinale from Southeast Asia is a common ginger used in cooking, but there are many others in the Zingiberaceae family. It is unrelated to Canada wild ginger. Photographed at the Marjorie McNeely Conservatory, Saint Paul, MN.

¹Spring ephemerals are wildflowers that grow, bloom, produce seed and usually become dormant by early summer. They typically grow on the forest floor before the overhead canopy of leaves opens.

Resources and Further Reading

Forest Service U.S. Department of Agriculture

Prairie Moon Nursery

The Secrets of Wildflowers by Jack Sanders Pp. 83-85

University of Illinois Extension Services

University of Richmond Scholarship Repository

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Musings on a Patch of Sunlight

We are creatures of the sun. We seek out solar spaces — places of warmth and light, though they are fleeting in Minnesota’s late October days. I share my spot of radiance with lady bugs, a meadow hawk dragonfly, a butterfly, bumblebees and a hardy green bee. They soak up energy to power their flight muscles, and I to relax sore back muscles. I revel in this gentle warmth and comfort of a sort I won’t feel again until next spring. 

These solar rays travel 93 million miles (150 million kms) in approximately eight minutes and fuel most of life on Earth. Specialized green plant cells called chloroplasts capture sunlight and transform it into glucose to power a plant’s existence. This converted solar energy is transferred to all creatures who eat the plants, and, in turn, to all who eat the creatures.

We are the stuff of stars, our atoms born in the fusion furnace of some sun, who knows where or when. Scientists believe that most hydrogen and helium atoms were produced during the Big Bang about 13.8 billion years ago. As stars began to “burn” and move through their life cycle, the hotter, denser stars produced heavier elements needed for life, such as carbon, nitrogen and oxygen. The heaviest elements (anything greater than iron) were generated during supernovae, when old, very large, heavy burning stars collapsed and exploded, spewing out elements into the universe to be used again.

I like to ponder these mysteries of creation and connection, of where our atoms have been and will someday be after my time. What better place to reflect than within a warm pocket of sunlight shared with a few earthly companions?

A green bee (Agapostemon ssp.) nectars on (Heliopsis ‘bleeding heart’).

An autumn meadowhawk dragonfly (Sympetrum vicinum) suns on our garden wall. These dragonflies often remain active into November.

An orange sulphur (Colias eurytheme), nectars on the last of the asters (Symphyotrichum novae-angliae).

Sources and Further Reading

The Early Universe

Cosmic History

Our Sun: Facts 

DOE Explains Nucleosynthesis

Are We Made of Stardust?

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Baltimore Orioles

Baltimore orioles were named for the orange and black colors on the heraldic crest of the Baltimore family of England, for which the City of Baltimore, MD, is also named.

Like miniature suns, Baltimore orioles (Icterus galbula) light up early summer’s lush green foliage. About the size of a red-winged blackbird, these orioles are colorful members of the blackbird family. They are often recognized for their golden color and beautiful woven hanging-basket nests.¹

I saw my first Baltimore oriole in the Twin Cities when I was five or six. Graceful American elms lined every street then, and were the preferred nesting tree of orioles. Since the demise of the elms by Dutch elm disease, many of the orioles I see and hear are in the woods at our cabin. In the city, I find them most often when I walk next to the Mississippi River and around the Minneapolis lakes. Their call is described as paired, pure flutelike notes. They’re easy to listen to and their song contains fewer harsh notes than other oriole species.

Most years, they weave a nest in the outer branches of quaking aspens that overhang our cabin yard, but one year, they nested in a red oak tree next to the cabin. The female constructs the nest using a combination of plant fibers, such as long strips of bark from grape and other vines, grasses and hair. She often selects artificial fibers, too — yarn, fishing line and twine. The two outer layers of the nest provide the saclike structure. The third inner layer consists of soft hair, wool and downy fibers to protect the eggs and hatchlings.

Female Baltimore orioles skillfully weave a hanging nest of natural and artificial materials, such as grapevine, hair, fishing line and twine. They may use wool, down from cottonwood trees or milkweed to line the nest.

When left to their own resources, Baltimore orioles typically eat caterpillars, moths and many other types of insects. Like warblers and flycatchers, they dart out and back from foliage to snatch flying insects. At other times, they remind me of chickadees as they perform acrobatics over and under tree branches in search of beetles, aphids and spiders. They also like flower nectar and fruit, and can sometimes damage fruit crops. During spring and fall migration, our neighbors, Ed and Melinda, keep a fresh dish of grape jelly on their deck railing for the orioles. My father-in-law always suspended fresh orange slices from the bird feeder pole for them. Both delights attracted lots of orioles (and hornets in autumn)!

An immature oriole feeds on grape jelly, one of their favorite foods.

Baltimore orioles spend most of the year on their wintering grounds in Central America, southern Mexico and Florida. They breed in eastern and northern North America as far west as the Central Great Plains and north into southern Canada. Their time in Minnesota is brief: I usually spot my first oriole in mid-May and see the last one in early September. In addition to Baltimore orioles, Minnesota is also the summer residence of orchard orioles and, occasionally, Bullock’s oriole.

Female and immature male Baltimore orioles are sometimes difficult to tell apart.

¹In the Great Plains states, the Baltimore and Bullock’s orioles frequently interbreed and produce hybrid offspring. Between 1983 and 1995, scientists believed that the birds were one species, which they named the northern oriole. Later, genetic testing proved they were two separate species and ornithologists returned to using “Baltimore” and “Bullock’s.”

Sources and Further Reading

All About Birds – Baltimore Oriole

Audubon Field Guide – Baltimore Oriole

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Mining Bees

A mining bee (Andrena spp.) pollinates Canada cherry blossoms (Prunus virginiana, ‘Canada Red’).

Redbud, crabapple, dogwood, wild plum and cherry are just a few of the trees blooming in May. What’s pollinating all these beautiful blossoms? 

More than 500 species of native bees are responsible for pollinating many of Minnesota’s spring flowers and trees. Mining bees (Andrena spp.) are one of the earliest to emerge and get busy. Like bumblebees, they are wrapped in warm, fuzzy hair that helps insulate and equip them to be active when it’s still too cold for honey bees to work. 

Mining bees are solitary ground nesters. Unlike honey bees, bumblebees and others that nest in a colony, each mining bee digs her own individual spot, though they often nest near each other. Look for their small burrows, (about the diameter of an average pencil), in an exposed area of ground. I’ve seen them in soil along garden walls, in bare ground in the garden, or bordering sidewalks. The nests are only active for a very short time in spring and are interesting to watch. Female mining bees place small balls of pollen and nectar in their tunnels, lay an egg on top of each ball and then seal the chamber. Each larva will feed on the pollen and nectar during its development. The female dies soon after reproducing, while the larvae overwinter in their tunnels, typically leaving the following April or May to mate and continue the life cycle.

A mining bee (Andrena spp.) is dusted with pollen after working inside a Siberian squill (Scilla siberica) blossom.

Other species of mining bees reach adulthood in late summer and fall. Their life cycle is similar to their springtime cousins’, but they pollinate a range of different flowers, such as goldenrod and wild asters.

Sometimes people want to oust mining bees for fear of being stung, or they dislike the appearance of tiny tunnels in their garden or lawn. Unlike hornets and wasps, these small bees are quite docile and rarely sting unless handled roughly. They’re focused on producing the next generation and aren’t interested in sampling your supper or glass of wine! (In fact, most of the bees zipping around the nesting area are males, who don’t have stingers.) When I notice their nests, I just work around them and the bees ignore me. They’re more active when the sun warms their nesting area, so it’s easier to garden near them when it is shady and cool.

Besides pollinating flowers and fruit trees across North America, mining bees are prey for many songbirds, small rodents, jumping spiders, some species of ants and other insects.

Further Reading and Sources

Backyard Ecology

Bug of the Week (UW-Milwaukee)

Sharp-Eatman Nature Photography

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Spring Blues

Siberian squill (Scilla siberica) grow under an ash tree in our backyard.

They appeared early this year. Fresh green tips of Siberian squill (Scilla siberica) pushed through bare, frost-free soil in February. When they began to bloom, a spring snowstorm buried them beneath a shimmering blanket. Though not a native wildflower, their Russian and Turkish origins outfit them well for the toughest of Minnesota winters. The melting snow watered them, spurring growth and bloom. I love their ultramarine blue radiance, a color infrequent among flowers. They attract many early native bees and honey bees to our urban garden when few other spring ephemerals are blooming.1 Our backyard hums with the gentle drone of bees — the first I’ve heard since last November. I’ve missed them.

1If you don’t have Siberian squill in your garden, it’s best not to plant them. A non-native, they can become invasive, especially near woodlands and other natural areas.

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Common Snowdrops

Common snowdrops (Galanthus nivalis) blossom early this winter.

Common snowdrops popped early this winter; the calendar said February, but the air felt like March. First, creamy teardrops dangled from blue-green stalks nestled in shredded hosta leaves and fallen spruce cones. The teardrops opened to pearly bells etched in spring green. They look fragile as they quiver in the wind, but these hardy bulbs, which are native to Northern Europe, parts of Asia and the Middle East, usually grow and bloom through snow cover and cold. Even with this year’s mild winter, these fresh blossoms are a joyful sight, a symbol of warming sun and soil.

Further Reading:

Wisconsin Horticulture

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Ornaments Stir Memories, Gratitude

The ornaments hanging on our family Christmas tree hold memories of people we cherish, events from our lives, times past and present. Most were gifts from family members, close friends, and students whom I taught in middle school; all are meaningful. 

As I hang them on our tree, memories flare to life. I recall the excitement and happiness of the gift givers, especially our young son and my students. Their faces, shining with excitement and joy to share their presents, were gift enough.

Some of the ornaments are handmade, such as the madonna and child that my sister cross-stitched when she was pregnant with her first child. A hand-knitted pair of tiny green-and-white mittens, a child’s wooden rocking horse, miniature Winnie-the-Pooh and Piglet figurines, and a sliver of a Santa moon are just a few of many special ornaments we received when our son was a baby. As he grew, he created his own decorations; from his toddler hand print and “Christmas countdown” paper chains, to a Nativity creche, candle, and beaded snowflake ornaments made in elementary school. He was so eager to show us his creations that it was hard for him to wait until Christmas!

Many of our ornaments symbolize nature’s gifts: Owls, warblers, black-capped chickadees, cardinals, a bumblebee, cricket, chipmunk, raccoon, miniature bears, Christmas acorns and pinecones. They evoke memories of hikes, biking trips, and quiet days spent at our cabin. I recall a family of barred owls raising a ruckus on a nightly hunt in the oak trees, the red fox family that lived under our porch one spring, wood thrushes’ morning chorus and the serenade of crickets on hot summer nights.

More than two dozen tiny red apples punctuate the branches with bright bursts of color. They are from former students and from my mother, who always finished her tree with the bright globes. This is our sixth Christmas without Mom. I recall the aromas of balsam fir and freshly baked Christmas cookies that scented our home each year as I grew up. Old-fashioned butter cookies, merry mincemeat bars, Christmas cake cookies and spritz are just a few of the treats that Mom baked each December. There are also jolly snowman ornaments that my dad gave to our son. They are happy-looking fellows that remind me of Dad, who died little more than three years ago. I miss him and we are so grateful for the joyful Christmas we shared together his last year.

Fragile glass and delicate handmade ornaments, created by a group of Ukrainian nuns, add a traditional touch to our tree. There are six soft-blue Wedgwood ornaments from my aunt. Old-fashioned glass icicles, teardrops, globes and other shapes glow in the soft white light. They stir my earliest childhood memory of Christmas: My brother and I would make a blanket nest under the lighted Christmas tree. In our darkened living room, we listened to Christmas carols and talked softly. We watched the multicolored lights and our reflections dance across the glass globe ornaments hanging above us. I felt peaceful and content. I never wanted the Christmas season to end.

In the yearly ritual of decorating our tree I experience, again, the love and joy of so many cherished people — both living and those no longer with us. I hold them close and bless each one in gratitude.