Swamp native…

Close up of Swamp Lily (crinum americanum) blossom in the Bonnett House parking lot. Living in wetland, near a creek that flows through the property the Swamp Lily was flourishing. Copyright 2018 Pamela Breitberg

This native Floridan loves wet feet. Copyright 2018 Pamela Breitberg

Everglades Swamp…

Funny how long it sometimes takes the mind (mine in particular!!) to make connections. Looking at these images from the Cypress Swamp in the Florida Everglades it dawned on me that I used to live next to (probably officially “in”) a swamp. In the Chicago area we called it “wetlands” but it was also considered a marshland or swamp. Quite a few of my older posts show this swampy nature of what we incorrectly called “woodland” in the springtime (see springtime posts prior to 2016).

The swampy part of the Cypress Swamp on the Seminole Reservation. Copyright 2018 Pamela Breitberg.

“Wet feet” plants only reside here. Copyright 2018 Pamela Breitberg

Seminole wet prairie…

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Cypress Swamp Dome, thin as itis. Copyright 2018 Pamela Breitberg

Outside the AhTahThiKi Museum on the Seminole Reservation in Florida is a mile-long boardwalk through a Cypress Swamp Dome. Prior to engineered draining of the Everglades in the 1930s this land was wet enough to canoe the wet prairie land, swamp. Seminoles canoed for hunting. This means of provision is no longer available, cattle farming is now the main product of the land. The floor is wet seven to ten months of the year, which is then the growing season for the Cypress trees. The Dome appears sparse allowing enough sunlight to sustain its lush fern ground cover.

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Fern rich floor. Copyright 2018 Pamela Bretberg

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Looking to the heavens. Copyright 2018 Pamela Breitberg

Images copyright 2018 Pamela Breitberg

Lady of the waters…

The white belly helps identify this as a Louisiana Heron, who contrary to its name is common to Florida. Adubon as given it the nickname of “Lady of the Waters”. This one was near the Great Egret pictured yesterday.

Delicate Louisiana Heron, but a very swift runner when after a fish. Copyright 2018 Pamela Breitberg

Cropped image to show its white belly. Copyright 2018 Pamela Breitberg

When is a prairie is not a prairie…

The overal scene looks so much like an untouched prairie; greens are flourishing and going on for miles and miles. The sky is never ending. A vulture scans for lunch. This prairie is wild; no telephone lines or roads interupt it’s untamed beauty.

But on closer inspection, or if you remember you’re on “Aligator Alley”, a part of I75, you see evidence that this isn’t even a wetland prairie swam or bog. It’s much wetter and is infact part of the Florida Everglades. Take the closer look into this profound region.

“Prairie” grasses with wide open skies; NOT. Copyright 2018 Pamela Breitberg

Hint: Great Egrets are not found in prairies. Copyright 2018 Pamela Breitberg

Alligators are definitely not a part of a prairie habitat. They do bask in the sun next to water while they await their next meal. Copyright 2018 Pamela Breitberg

The Snowy Egret takes off to continue it’s hunt for food in Florida’s Everglades. Copyright 2018 Pamela Breitberg

Good for nothing or something…

What a confusing louse! Eating this plant will fill you with lice. Looks like sideways slippers. Has hair and tiny teeth. Pinwheels are seen when looking at it from above. And it t takes food from others.

Swamp Lousewort copyright 2013 Pamela Breitberg

Swamp Lousewort copyright 2013 Pamela Breitberg

Meet the Swamp  Lousewort (Pedicularis Canadensis) aka Wood Betony. The Greek word, pedlilon, means slipper or sandal, and these slippers grow sideways on the stem. Indeed when looking down on the stalk the flowers form a distinctive pinwheel. The leaves are hairy with tiny teeth around the edges. Livestock that ate Lousewort were believed bug-ridden with lice. To confuse the nature of this plant the Native Americans used it for medicinal purposes (see below).

Wood Betony pinwheel copyright 2013 Pamela Breitberg

Wood Betony pinwheel copyright 2013 Pamela Breitberg

If all that isn’t interesting enough, the Swamp Lousewort is considered a hemiparasite.  It does use photosynthesis to make its own food (energy source); but it also take food from other plants via connections in their roots.  These particular images were made on a nearby prairie which was more wet than usual this spring.  I had never seen this plant before and this weekend the field was full of Swamp Lousewort.

It was routine for European settlers to name newly “discovered” plants with names they were reminded of from their homeland. This is the reason so many plants are called “false …..”; they look like a plant they know, but it a different species.

In regards to the name, Wood Betony, the Sierra Club’s Potomac Region Outings says, “It has the same name as one of the most well-known herbs of Europe, Stachys officinalis, the other, Old World wood betony, a perennial grass that has a purple spiked flower at the top (Stachys means ‘ear of grain’ in Greek) that is common in open grasslands and wooded areas in Eurasia and North Africa.”

Lousewort leaf  with dew, copyright 2013 Pamela Breitberg

Lousewort leaf with dew, copyright 2013 Pamela Breitberg

  • They continue by telling of the uses for Wood Betony by the Native American Indians:
    • The New World wood betony P. canadensis was not nearly as well established as the old. This is due in no small part to the marginal acculturation of the Native Americans that extended only to an oral history for the conveyance of historical practices. According to D. Moorman in North American Medicinal Plants, betony was widely used by a number of tribal groupings not only to treat maladies, but also for aphrodisiacal and veterinary purposes, some of which are likely whimsical. The Cherokee used it as an antidiarrheal, especially for “bloody discharge from bowels,” in addition to the more common uses as a cough medicine, a dermatological and a gastrointestinal aid. The Iroquois, on the other hand, used it as a heart medicine and as orthopedic steam bath for sore legs. The Meskwaki and the Ojibwa used it as a love potion – a sylvan cantharis of sorts. According to an oral account of a member of the latter tribe “the root was added to some dish that was cooking without the knowledge of people who were to eat it, and, if they had quarreled some, then they would become lovers again.” However, the interviewee reported that it was frequently misused. From the veterinary perspective, the Cherokee used it in dog beds to rid the puppies of lice and the Menominee added chopped up root to make their ponies fat and to be “vicious to all but the owner.” What is clear from this accounting is that the North American wood betony was used extensively by numerous tribes for a wide range of purposes.
    • When the New World was settled by the colonists from the Old World, P. canadensis became conflated with S. officinalis so that the properties of the latter were conveyed to the former. The Pennsylvania apothecary and printer Christopher Sauer wrote of the efficacy of S. officinalis in The Compendious Herbal published serially between 1762 and 1778. In a recent revival of the book William Weaver notes that “there are several native betonies, and those with the leaves and flowers most similar to the European plant were evidently used as substitutes.” The uses of native wood betony by the colonists must have been based in part on what they learned from the Native Americans about P. canadensis and in part about what they remembered from their previous deep-seated appreciation of S. officinalis. There is one anomaly with this association that warrants special mention, as it is the most noted of the etiology of betony. This concerns the origin of the common name lousewort and the reference to lice in the genus name Pedicularis (little louse in Latin). The National Audobon Society Field Guide to North American Wildflowers provides the detail that both the common and genus names “refer to the misconception once held by farmers that cattle and sheep became infested with lice when grazing on the plants.” This attribute applies only to the New World wood betony and must therefore somehow derive from the practices of the Native Americans. However, the only known citation is for the use of the plant to prevent the infestation of lice in dogs and not the attraction of lice to other animals. This bit of folklore will necessarily remain unsettled, and the alternative name of lousewort will unabashedly persist.”   From: http://www.sierrapotomac.org

How to feel inferior…

False Rue Anemone copyright 2012 Pamela Breitberg

If plants had feelings then this species would have an inferiority complex. The False Rue Anemone is another native given the first name of “False” in spite of its beauty and resilience. False Rue Anemone (Enemion biternatum) is a member of the buttercup family, so it also made a presence this past week in the forest preserve since it tolerates dry and moist woodland.

Anemone means “daughter of the wind”, which refers to a number of low lying spring flowers whose blooms are sturdy enough to survive March winds through the otherwise barren land.

One meaning of the word false is fake, and since this plant is real the name “false” is not a fitting name. False can also mean mistaken which in my opinion is in reference to the person(s) naming the species. They were ones making a mistaken identification thinking they had observed a Rue Anemone or the Wood Anemone. If they had observed the “False” Rue Anemone first would it have another name? Europeans were probably the first ones to name this species, like many native American plants, and their categorization would have been based on the prior classification a similar looking specie the Rue Anemone, found in the Eastern United States or the Wood Anemone originally from Europe.

It’s interesting to me that scientists have not found any incentive to re-name this Anemone with its own unique first name. Perhaps the unique five petal composition of the flower could lend an idea for a better suited first name. The Merriam-Webster Dictionary shows the origin of “five” to come from several places: Middle English, from five, adjective, from Old English fīf; akin to Old High German finf five, Latin quinque, Greek pente. Since the origin of “Anemone” is Greek then I think I’ll call this treasure of a flower, Pente Anemone.