Essays

Wild On The Prairie: Plants

Wildflowers in a drought
April 29, 1999

The present drought has been harsh and severe. When the last dead grass stalks turned gray and crumbled under the oppressive sun of last summer, some Llaneros felt forsaken by their God. A number of ranchers sold most, if not all, of their livestock. Farmers wondered if the bankers would understand their inability to repay loans. Gardeners watered and watered, cursing the heat.

Migrant birds did not stop here last fall. Coyotes and foxes learned to dumpster-dive. Most baby animals never grew up. The drought depressed the soul. Would it ever rain again? Would wildflowers ever bloom again?

December 1998's record of most snowfall in a single day germinated millions of wildflower seeds. Tiny splotches of green dotted the bare soil everywhere. There was promise in the rosettes, but seasoned Llaneros were tough to convince; in a long drought a person expects the dryness to continue.

The dry months of January and February saw the withering of some of the rosettes. Cynics felt justified. “More drought to come, I told you so.” The sight of a tiny seedling with its leaves curled and gray wrenched the hearts of the more sensitive Llaneros. “If only… if only rain will come. It must, it must!”

In March it did rain! An inch and a quarter to two inches of rain sprinkled slowly in daylong rains. Parched soil inhaled the rain and wildflowers danced. Within days, fields turned yellow with Huisache Daisy and Bladderpod. Long-time Texans know Huisache Daisy as Honey Daisy because its scent is identical to that of the best honey produced in Texas – the Huisache Acacia honey from Uvalde. Imagine walking through the outdoors with the heady aroma of honey permeating everything, including the skin. Even clothing retains the smell after a stroll!

The first two weeks of April 99 were exciting. Zipping about town on errands, one could see fifty species of wildflowers: a drift of Tansy Aster pooling purple on gravelly soil; mounds of Blue Curls lending a royal blue hue to the sand. Magenta Texas Geranium sparkled brightly under the glint of direct sunlight. The yellow-tipped red pinwheels of Indian Blanket grew tall, above the yellow of the Huisache Daisy.

Everyone should go cruise the lesser-traveled county roads while the flowers are in bloom, stopping at every colorful patch. One should take the time to walk slowly, to examine closely, and to admire the brief moment of glory.

Do you know the Chocolate Daisy? A very common yellow daisy found in barditches, alleys, and pastures, Chocolate Daisy compliments the honey-smell of the Huisache Daisy. Every morning the sweet scent of chocolate percolates into the air, bubbles of intoxicating scent slowly gathering, until 11 a.m. when it seems that fudge is literally simmering. When the sun passes the meridian, Chocolate Daisy folds its ray flowers (a daisy’s petals). Before the bloom period (which lasts several days) an intricate broach forms the bud. After the flower fades papery-thin seed wafers replace the blooms.

In sandy soils, Spectacle Pod creates the illusion of snowbanks. Examine the Spectacle Pod closely. The seedpods are tiny opera glasses! Sandy soils also have two large evening primrose species – one yellow and one white. Touch their petals, and sniff their gentle scent, leaving a dusting of pollen on your nose. When the wind blows sand spirals high into the air, landing to form blow sand ridges, where many plants flourish. Every microhabitat has a plant that fits exquisitely.

The drainage ditches through town can be fascinating microhabitats as well. The seeds of Pink Evening Primrose some time ago escaped from home landscapes, surfing along the streets and plunging into the ditches. Now, great splotches of pink are splattered along the waterways. Later in the summer, look for delicate red Cypress Vine, a tiny red morning-glory twining gently around the grasses. In the ditches, a curious naturalist can find permanent pools, full of crawdads and leopard frogs.

Wildflower hunting takes a person outside of oneself. Troubles slip away. The cliché “take time to smell the flowers” is advice every doctor should give. It really does matter. Wildflowers are gifts - blessings beyond compare - and should be honored with attention and knowledge. To call a wildflower a “weed” belittles one’s own soul. The use of epithets that denigrate only illustrates ignorance.

Every plant has a role. Many of our worst “weeds” are performing a very basic and very important role – holding the soil in place when the wind blows. These first-stage succession plants (as ecologists term them) soon disappear if the site is left alone. Careless Weed, Kochia, Conyza, and Tumbleweed (which is not native to North America) are the most hated “weeds”. All are tall, and cause either sneezing or itching. Midsummer to fall is their time. Not now. Not in the floriferous springtime!

Mid-April brought more storms. Rain in the spring is a double-edged sword. Though cotton farmers needed the rain as much as did the natural world, rain in this season can become violent. The mid-April storm devastated a number of homes, turning people’s lives awry. Hail chopped up leaves of trees and broke hopeful young plants in the garden. It also mowed the last of the dead gray grass stalks so wildflowers could flourish unshaded, and sunlight could reach the bases of the grass stalks, promoting rich new growth.

The Sibley Center has an extensive Midland County herbarium to use as reference material. Zoe Kirkpatrick’s “Wildflowers of the Western Plains” and Francis Rose and Russell Strandtmann’s “Wildflowers of the Llano Estacado" are the best published introductions to our local wildflowers.

And yes, that was an Oriental Poppy blooming on Fairgrounds Road. (Its seed must have blown there from a garden nearby.) Plants are so amazing – they can awe us with their ability to survive.