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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. 

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November Sunset

In November, the setting sun ignites red oak crowns and tints clouds with magenta, peach and rose. There’s neither summer’s long-lasting light, nor winter’s rapid descent into darkness. Dusk’s cool fingers seep in, chilling the air as the sun sinks in the southwest. In the tree tops, a group of robins roosts in a lingering sliver of sunlight. For a few moments they softly whistle their cheery song as though it were a spring evening. Time gently slips away in shadows of amethyst.

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Common Milkweed, Hidden Beauty

Gusty winds tease common milkweed seeds from their pods.

Its beauty isn’t on the outside. Common milkweed (Asclepias Syriaca), despite its attractiveness to monarch butterflies, isn’t the showiest of plants. Its large, smooth leaves and warty pods lack the delicacy of many native plants. Milkweed’s beauty is hidden within its pods.

Tiny green pods arise from fertilized pink, aromatic flowers.

Over the summer, small, perfumed pink flowers are fertilized and form tiny green pods or follicles. As they ripen, they grow to three-to-five inches in length. Inside, oval-shaped flat, brown seeds tethered to white, satiny strands designed for wind dispersal are arranged around a central column. Each is neatly tucked into a crevice on a membrane attached to the top and bottom of the pod.

Oval-shaped seeds attached to satiny strands are neatly arranged around a central column.

Wind fluffs the silky fibers into parachutes to disperse the seeds.

When the seeds mature, the pods dry and crack open. As wind enters the split pods, the silky strands unfurl and balloon into parachutes. One by one the seeds spin out of the pod like shimmering wind-borne dancers that glow in the autumn sunlight. I love to watch them sail — sometimes floating on a gentle breeze, sometimes scurrying on gusty winds. The empty pod is pretty too: Cream-to-gold colored and smooth inside, except for the center membrane, which is grooved to anchor individual seeds.

The empty pod is satiny smooth except for the grooved central column where the seeds were attached.

These lovely seeds used to be rare in Twin Cities urban areas, but now many residents grow one or more of 14 native milkweed species in their yard and boulevard gardens to attract monarchs and other butterflies.¹

Milkweed plants are the sole host plant for monarch butterflies.

¹When handling milkweed, it’s best to wear gloves and eye protection. The plant’s milky latex sap can cause eye and skin irritation on contact. According to several sources, the sap is slightly toxic to humans if eaten in large amounts. Animals are also affected by it, but most avoid the plant. This substance helps to make monarch butterfly caterpillars unpalatable to birds.

Sources and Further Reading

Eloise Butler Wildflower Garden Common Name Plant List

Milkweeds of Iowa and Minnesota (Xerxes.org)

Minnesota Milkweeds for Monarchs

Monarch Joint Venture

Spreading Milkweed, not Myths

 

 

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Autumn’s Bountiful Berries

Last May, blossoms delicate in form and scent ornamented woodlands and trails. Their luminous beauty lured early bees and butterflies to pollinate them. All summer the tiny ovaries slowly swelled. Fragile blossoms morphed into bright green beads, whose soft curves plumped and ripened to globes of rose, fiery red, purple, frosty blue and pearly white. Sun, heat, rain and pollinators concocted a gift lovely to look at and brimming with energy — a feast for birds and mammals throughout autumn and winter. Here’s a small sampling of nature’s autumn gifts:

Migrating songbirds, as well as turkeys and grouse, favor the white berry-like drupes of gray dogwood (Cornus racemosa).

Wild plum trees (Prunus americana) provide food for mammals, such as deer, raccoons and foxes. Songbirds, turkeys and other birds will also eat them.

Pale dogwood berries (Cornus obliqua) are high in fat content and are eaten by songbirds and mammals, such as chipmunks, white-footed mice and squirrels.

Highbush cranberry (Viburnum opulus spp.) is not a true cranberry. According to the USDA’s plant guide, the fruit often isn’t eaten until late winter. Repeated thawing and freezing makes it more palatable.

Though carrion flowers (Smilax sp.) smell rotten, their berries do not, and are winter food for songbirds and a few mammals, such as Virginia opossum and raccoons.

False Solomon’s seal (Maianthemum racemosa) fruit are often pink with red spots, but also can be solid red. They are eaten by woodland birds, such as the veery, and by white-footed mice.

Sources:

Eloise Butler Wildflower Garden Common Name Plant List

Illinois Wildflowers

Minnesota Wildflowers

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Beyond Monarchs and Viceroys

Great-spangled fritillaries sport a checkerboard pattern on their dorsal wings. A creamy yellow band separates silvery spots or “spangles” on the ventral surfaces.

In late summer, chances are good that you’ll notice lots of orange-and-black butterflies in gardens, meadows or roadside areas. But, not every one that you see is a monarch, or its look-alike, the viceroy. Fritillaries, another group of large orange-and-black butterflies, are on the wing into September in the Upper Midwest, favoring open sunny gardens, grasslands, and meadows.

Fritillary comes from the Latin word “fritillus,” which means checkerboard or dice — and most butterflies in this family sport a checkered design on their wings. Of Minnesota’s 12 fritillary species, the most widespread are the great-spangled, Aphrodite, Atlantic, silver-bordered, meadow and variegated.

I’ve spotted great-spangled fritillaries (Speyeria cybele) in our garden and along country roads where I’ve recently walked. The largest of Minnesota’s fritillaries, with a wingspan of 2.5-to-4.0 inches, great-spangled adults display an orange, brown and black pattern of stripes, dots and bars on their upper wings. The undersides of the hindwings shimmer with two rows of large silver spots (referred to as spangles) separated by a wide, creamy yellow band not seen in other fritillaries.

Faded colors and worn, jagged-edged wings indicate an elderly great-spangled fritillary nectaring on this thistle.

In June, great-spangled males appear first, followed by females about a month later. Females lay eggs in late summer and fall, placing them singly, on or near the base of common violet species (viola) — violets alone are the host plant for their larvae. The caterpillars hatch in the autumn, but stay hidden in leaf litter until the following spring when violets are freshly growing. Caterpillars are black with reddish-orange knobs that give rise to black spines. They are secretive and only feed at night.

Great-spangled fritillary caterpillars, and many other fritillary larvae, feed only on violet (viola) species.

Unlike their violet-dependent larvae, adult fritillaries nectar on many different flower species, including milkweed, clover, black-eyed Susan’s, vetches, thistles, Joe-Pye, monarda, members of the mint family, dogbane and many types of coneflowers. Fritillaries are preyed upon (especially the caterpillars) by dragonflies, paper wasps and other large insects, spiders and birds.

What can you do to help these beautiful pollinators? If you have violets in your garden, don’t weed them all out. Without violets, there would be no fritillaries! Leave a few in your garden or yard year-round for great-spangled and other types of fritillary caterpillars to eat.

Most common in eastern North America, great-spangled fritillaries range from British Columbia across southern Canada and the northern United States to the Atlantic, south to central California, northern New Mexico and northern Georgia.                              

Leave a few violets tucked into your garden so that fritillaries can lay their eggs on them in the fall. Caterpillars will feed on them in the spring.

Sources and Further Reading

Butterflies and Moths of North America

North American Butterfly Association

University of Kentucky Entomology

Weber, Larry. (2006). Butterflies of the North Woods. Duluth, Minnesota: Kollath & Stensaas Publishing

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More Than a Weed

I’ve battled bishop’s weed (Aegopodium podagraria) in my garden for 35 years.¹ As much as I detest it, (please don’t plant it), I’ve learned that what’s despised by one creature may mean survival to another. Bishop’s weed, a member of the parsley family, is one of a small number of host plants or “homes” for native black swallowtail butterfly caterpillars.²

A black swallowtail caterpillar (Papilio polyxenes) feasts on bishop’s weed, a member of the parsley family.

As I dug out the weeds a couple of weeks ago, I spotted a caterpillar with light blue-green and black stripes dotted with yellow. The clues to its identity were its location on a member of the parsley family, the only plant type that black swallowtails live on and eat, and the color and pattern of its stripes. (It looked similar to a monarch, but monarch caterpillars only eat milkweed and their stripes are yellow, black and white.) I searched through the rest of the bishop’s weed and found a second caterpillar. In May I’d seen an adult black swallowtail visiting the weed, where it must have deposited eggs.

Two rows of well-defined yellow spots help to distinguish the black swallowtail from other swallowtail species in our area.

Not a rare butterfly, but a handsome one, the black swallowtail (sometimes called the parsley swallowtail) is native to the eastern United States and Canada. Its body and wings are black with highlights of yellow, blue and orange. The tail ends in two narrow lobes that give it the common name of swallowtail. Two rows of bright yellow spots mark the wings. The hindwings are blue in the area between the yellow rows near the tail. Each hindwing ends in a circular reddish spot. The underside of each wing has rows of light yellow spots, with bands of orange separated by spatterings of blue. Females usually show more blue coloring and males usually have more yellow. The wing span is 3.5 – 4.5 inches, with the female generally larger than the male.

The undersides of the hindwings are marked with bright orange and a dusting of blue.

In the Upper Midwest, black swallowtails produce two generations of offspring between May and October. The second generation overwinters in a brown chrysalis until the following spring. The caterpillars in my garden probably hatched in May. Depending on weather conditions and host plant availability, the eggs hatch in three-to-nine days. The caterpillars eat and grow through five stages, or instars, as they increase in size and change in appearance, which may take up to 30 days. The mature caterpillar forms its chrysalis and molts one final time. The ones I saw will leave their chrysalises in two-to-three weeks as mature black swallowtails ready to produce the next generation. Adults nectar on clover, milkweed, thistle, bee balm and other perennials. Watch for them to be on the wing in July — and, consider growing one of the more well-behaved members of the parsley family, such as dill, carrot, parsley or sweet fennel, on which this lovely creature can live and dine!

1Also known as goutweed and ground elder, this non-native member of the parsley family was imported and marketed as a fast-growing ground cover that was frequently planted with European buckthorn (Rhombus cathartica) and creeping bellflower (Campanula rapunculoides). There’s also a variegated form called snow-on-the-mountain. Over the years, we’ve had it chemically treated, dug out and the soil replaced, but it returned each time. Now, I just try to prevent it from spreading.
²Other members of the parsley family include carrot, dill, sweet fennel, Queen Anne’s lace and, of course, parsley.

Further Reading:

Butterflies and Moths of North America

Wisconsin Horticulture – UW-Madison

Weber, Larry. (2006). Butterflies of the North Woods. Duluth, Minnesota: Kollath & Stensaas Publishing.

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Wild Roses

Wild rose buds (Rosa blanda) usually open in June in Minnesota.

Wild roses bloom across the oak savanna in early June. Their petals blush the delicate color of a northern spring sunrise. To my mind they are classic blooms: simple petals, sun-gold centers, and a delicate aroma. They dot woodland edges, roadsides and trail borders. Like the majority of springtime wildflowers, they vanish quickly. However, they are soon succeeded by a riot of red rose hips — fruit that will decorate the plants until next spring, or until eaten by wintering birds and mammals. Besides providing rose hips later in the season, the blooms are attractive to many types of bees, butterflies, tiny wasps and other native insects that seek nectar and pollen in the small, plentiful blossoms.

Metallic green bees (Agapostemon) are among the many native pollinators that visit wild roses.

Bright red rose hips decorate each plant until the following spring, or until eaten by wildlife, such as birds, squirrels, rabbits and bears. Each hip contains several seeds.

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Rime Ice, New Year’s Eve

Rime ice etches the evergreen leaves of boxwood shrubs.

On the last morning of the year, soft gray clouds insulate the city. The air is still and quiet except for a few American robins and goldfinches calling. In the silence of the night, fog crept in and dressed every tree branch and plant with beautiful needle-like ice crystals.

When fog or mist droplets freeze instantly on contact with the wind-facing side of a cold surface, rime ice is formed. The milky white color of rime is caused by the air pockets between the ice particles. 

How is rime ice different from hoar frost? First, they differ in appearance: Hoar frost often looks feathered and lacy, in contrast with the sharp needles of rime. They also form by different processes. Hoar frost typically forms on cold, clear nights rather than during cloudy conditions. Water vapor freezes and crystallizes on surfaces without becoming water droplets first. Both rime ice and hoar frost add a magical beauty to the monochrome winter world.

Rime ice’s sharp needle-like crystals decorate a garden obelisk.

Sources:

Wisconsin State Farmer

National Weather Service, Aberdeen, SD