~I’d rather have honest eyes, but being full of cunning and guise is
what it takes to keep certain other organisms alive.
After three and a half long, draining, and super informative
and inspirational workshops and talks with great folks at the
Virginia State Parks Ranger Academy: 2013 Spring Interpretive Workshop,
it was time to head back home and prepare for one of my last days of teaching
high school for the 2012-2013 school year.
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| Part of the Soar Program, including this one-winged eagle |
I was reflecting on some of the
sessions and wise words from Interpreters and Educators, cruising up I-81, music playing, arm out the window, and before I knew it I MISSED my 118
Exit for Blacksburg. By the time realization occurred, it was too late.
Brain mushed from data-overload, being underslept and
drained, my mind jerked about momentarily, but sometimes, rather than curse
your situation (knowing it is miles before a turn around) I try to view it as a
blessing in disguise. Call it weak justification for inattentiveness, call it a chance. I once witnessed one of the biggest shooting stars of my
life because of a wrong turn.
Moaning at that moment of ‘wasted time’ in disdain, I tried
to look for a bright side. I’d seen over 20 wildflowers over the past 2 days in
the rich mountains of Hungry Mother State Park, but there was one member of our
Appalachian community I have yet to be graced by thus far this year. The timing
seemed appropriate so I made a detour. And there might just be a few tasty
morels left.
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| Wild Geranium in Hungry Mother State Park |
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| Wild Iris along a stream in Hungry Mother State Park |
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| An unusually early rhododendron (outlier) |
Nope, no morels, they have passed their fruiting stage here,
but my original hope came true, in a most graceful and elegant way.
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| Morel from earlier in season |
And now I sit in the woods, a brook rolling by, a thrush
singing in his smooth and fluid way, ferns waving in fractal fancy, and beside
me, one of the rarest gems inside the biodiverse living bounty of our
Appalachian mountains, the yellow lady slipper. Sometimes missing your turn winds up restoring your mind and spirit. The world is funny and serendipitous like that sometimes.
The yellow lady slipper, member of the orchid family, shape
is exquisitely elegant, demanding respect and awe from anyone who adorns flowers, and
getting some from even those who don’t. Twisted sepals more pronounced in this rarer
breed compared to the pink lady slipper, it is a special plant indeed.
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| Yellow Lady Slipper |
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| Pink Lady Slipper from elsewhere for comparison |
God and Mother Nature felt particularly sexy when the lady
slippers were made. I sit in the middle of three, awestruck, unable to withhold a grin. I wonder if an
insect will fall for her age old trick, a trap with no reward, forced to
deposit and brush against pollen through the only escape route. Then another
flower has to be lucky enough to tempt and fool an insect again. Fool me once,
shame on you, fool me twice, and pollinate a living rarity.
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| Spirals of serene |
Nectar for pollination is an almost ageless trade, a simple
and fine example of mutualism where both partners benefit for and from their
interaction. Pollination, many a person’s first real experience of different
organisms being dependent on one another in nature, that simple bee or
butterfly landing on a flower.
But certain plants do survive by trickery as well, in a
variety of shapes and forms. Some orchids fall in this category. And if the
trick isn’t fooling enough, that plant may enter the realm of genetic weakness
from purely vegetative reproduction, and some fall even further into extinction.
It’s survival of the fittest at its simplest. Deception comes with a price and risk.
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| Imprisoned insect - click picture for larger image |
That nice bright yellow, a fragrance, and a landing platform
all attract bees and other insects. But no nectar is there in return for the
uncertain chance of pollination. One member isn’t holding up their part of the
beneficial bargain. Hairs and the different shape of their flower force most
insects out exactly where the flower wants. Translucent spots guide imprisoned insects. Nature does have her deceptive side
now and again, keeping others and us on our toes.
Unsustainable collection and habitat loss have disastrous
effects on this very curvaceous and attractive flower. People try to transplant the
flowers to their landscapes, but without proper mycorrhizal fungus (mutualism
again) common to their habitat’s soil, attempts are often in vain and the
flowers die, no longer a perennial but compost instead.
The roots take year to develop, undergoing an intense
confluence and union with their fungal partners before being a seedling;
another reason landscape germination is difficult. It is still much longer,
sometimes 5 – 10 additional years, before some flower in nature! It is a fragile gem of Appalachia, and
something to cherish when one is lucky enough to be in the company of.
Interestingly enough they have always been used medicinally,
but most herbalists and naturalists, including myself, warn against picking and
using them any longer because population numbers are so painfully low. I am
unsure if a doe or a greedy person clipped one of these few around me. My hope
is that it was a deer.
The bloodroot, toothwort, and trillium around me have come
and gone, leaves leftover like subtle whispers of their recently colorful and
seeking selves. The lady slippers are patient, seeming to wait politely for the
other flowers to bloom and disappear before bursting with color and temptation.
Perhaps it is a strategy for survival. Perhaps every action is.
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