Wild Flowers, Weeds and Art

Most of us enjoy wildflowers, such an important part of spring and summer when we take walks in the countryside. Even when driving along motorways and major roads, we are struck by the patches, or blends, of colours that verges provide: in country lanes, wildflowers attract our attention even more. They may even become part of garden design [1], although most gardeners prefer to cultivate plants that have been bred by horticulturalists for appearance, scent, or value as food. These garden plants, and their many varieties, are, of course, descendants of wild ancestors.

Wildflower meadows have high diversity, and growing plants in monoculture provides an “invitation” to animal pests and the invasion by some unwanted plants. That is especially so in farming, although we find the appearance of poppies in wheat fields to be very attractive and something that we enjoy, as in the painting from 1890 by Van Gogh (above).

Poppies in fields of wheat remind us of a story in the Holy Bible, where invading plants are referred to as tares [2]:

“ Another parable put he forth unto them, saying, The kingdom of heaven is likened unto a man which sowed good seed in his field: but while men slept, his enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat, and went his way. But when the blade was sprung up, and brought forth fruit, then appeared the tares also. So the servants of the householder came and said unto him, Sir, didst not thou sow good seed in thy field? from whence then hath it tares?  He said unto them, An enemy hath done this. The servants said unto him, Wilt thou then that we go and gather them up?  But he said, Nay; lest while ye gather up the tares, ye root up also the wheat with them. Let both grow together until the harvest: and in the time of harvest I will say to the reapers, Gather ye together first the tares, and bind them in bundles to burn them: but gather the wheat into my barn.”

The above quote uses the metaphor of good (wheat) and evil (tares) and this attitude to tares and weeds has persisted for millennia. It is, however, accepted that they were not planted by an enemy, but arrived naturally and modern farming machinery allows easy separation of wheat and poppy seeds,

We appreciate beautiful gardens and lawns, and we also like fresh fruit and vegetables that we can collect from fruit/vegetable gardens or allotments. Weeds, while not being regarded as evil in the Biblical sense, are removed wherever they appear, as we want to have a feeling of control over Nature (as we do with pruning, transplanting, and other gardening practices). According to the Oxford English Dictionary, a weed is: “Any herbaceous plant not valued for its usefulness or beauty, or regarded as a nuisance in the place where it is growing, esp. when hindering the growth of crops or other cultivated plants.”

Many weeds are well-known to gardeners, as are wild flowers to most, but should we wish to identify a plant we don’t know, we can use a flora [3] or, more usually, an illustrated guide like Roger Phillips’ Wild Flowers of Britain [4] that contain photographs of each plant, making identification much easier (an example is shown above). Phillips also gives notes on the time of flowering, habitat preferences, etc of each plant. Before photography, we were dependent on herbaria, drawings and paintings. I made my own wild flower herbarium when I was 11 years’ old [5], although that was for a school project, and I could have taken photographs if I’d had a camera. Examples of paintings by Anne Pratt (1806-1893), Harriet Isabel Adams (1863-1952) and Lilian Snelling (1879-1972) are shown below and, in addition to their helpfulness as an aid to identification, they are beautiful works of art.

It’s an art from that is alive and well, as shown in the wonderful book 50 Weeds, that has text by Edwin Oxlade and illustrations by Diana Oxlade [6] (one of which is shown below). Edwin and Diana are enthusiastic gardeners and allotment holders, and encourage us to view weeds not only as a nuisance, but also as fascinating, and sometimes beautiful, wild plants that happen to be in the “wrong place”, as the OED would have it. There are two quotes at the beginning of the book that set the tone: 

Edwin: “I spend a lot of time at my allotment trying to get rid of weeds. If I ever won the battle I would not be happy. Weeds are some of the most beautiful plants I grow”

 

Diana: “I have always admired and loved weeds. I don’t know why!”

Weeds have been living on the planet way longer than humans and one cannot but admire the strategies that they use for continuing to be successful, annoying though they can be for gardeners. All plants are part of nature and it is us humans that have decided that some plants are worthwhile and others are not, despite our admiration of seeing the same plants in the countryside. In 50 Weeds, Edwin Oxlade writes descriptive accounts of each of the 50 weeds selected for the book, including something of their history, their uses, and their control. The text for each plant is complemented by copies of Diana Oxlade’s watercolours, that have the softness characteristic of the medium and are a reminder of how attractive these successful plants can be. 21 of Diana’s original paintings, that are copied in the book, are on display in the main concourse of Cork University Hospital [7], such is their soothing and decorative value.

50 Weeds is a lovely book and all gardeners should have a copy to help them celebrate weeds. Invasive plants can be a nuisance but, unlike tares, they are not symbols of evil, but plants that extend their successful strategies to both gardens and fields of crops. People who view humans as being part of nature understand this and find it something to be admired, but those with strongly anthropocentric views do not feel at all positive about weeds and their control is then paramount, with no admiration of them as plants that have evolved successful strategies to disperse, and which can be very attractive. As Wordsworth wrote in Lines Written a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey:  “..Nature never did betray the heart that loved her..”. A Romantic sentiment it may be, but it is a very important one.

The final word must go to Edwin Oxlade, who writes [6]: 

“..However much we gardeners might hate them at times, we would hate even more to be totally without them. When, as sometimes happens, the things we are trying to grow are beset with sickness, mould, drought or malnutrition, we can rely on the weeds to look healthy and bright. It is reassuring at these times to know that we have been capable of creating an environment where at least something can grow well and give us pleasure.”

[1] https://www.rhs.org.uk/lawns/creating-wildflower-meadows

[2] Matthew 13:24-30 in the Holy Bible (Authorised King James version)

[3] A.R Clapham, T.G.Tutin and E.F.Warburg (1964) Excursion Flora of the British Isles. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press

[4] Roger Phillips (1977) Wild Flowers of Britain. London, Pan Books

[5]  https://www.amazon.co.uk/Walking-Gosse-Roger-S-Wotton-ebook/dp/B08HMCJS9J

[6] Edwin Oxlade and Diana Oxlade (2017) 50 Weeds. Belfast, GPS Colour Graphics

[7] https://www.cuharts.com/weeds (showing several of Diana Oxlade’s watercolours from 50 Weeds)

 

 

 

 

Natural history and COVID-19

 

Every evening, I watch the BBC News to get the latest data on COVID-19, supplemented by images of patients in intensive care, and knowing that their numbers are increasing. It’s grim for all of us and, as I have a temperament like A. A. Milne’s Eeyore, I feel a strong need to escape from the current situation. I do this by reading and by walking. 

Taking a break from a succession of novels by Anthony Trollope, I have thoroughly enjoyed “The Consolation of Nature: Spring in the Time of Coronavirus” by Michael McCarthy, Jeremy Mynott and Peter Marren [1]. The three authors all write beautifully about their observations of Nature, set against the backdrop of the first wave of the pandemic. This coincided with the glorious weather of Spring 2020 and the book ends with the easing of lockdown and the transition into summer. 

Michael lives near Kew, Jeremy in Suffolk and Peter in Wiltshire and they all kept diaries of the local walks they made; entries being edited during joint sessions held to fit the publishing schedule. As Jeremy writes in a splendid blog post on the “Winged Geographies” website [2]: 

There was another, self-imposed intensity to the writing, since we agreed with a publisher at the outset that we would deliver a complete typescript in June if they would publish it in October, a demanding schedule that had us every day walking out from our front doors to see what we encountered, notebooks in hand, writing up our discoveries later, and then sharing our copy every evening for some rapid and ruthless joint editing. In the event, working so fast was surprisingly liberating – our experiences not so much ‘recollected in tranquillity’ but penned with an al fresco spontaneity. 

Jeremy’s post also provides an excellent taster for the book. I love the enthusiasm expressed in “The Consolation of Nature” (even forgiving the occasional lapses into anthropomorphism) and I wish I had the skill of the three authors in being able to identify all that they saw, especially the birds. As they remark, many birds are identified by their song and, unfortunately, this is something that I never learned and never will learn, as I am now rather deaf to high frequency sounds. I can recognise the commoner birds by sight, and was able to identify most of the butterflies and some of the wild flowers that I saw in the warm spring, but it was the smells of the walks that most affected me. The scent of honeysuckle always bowls me over and Michael describes the familiar aroma of elderflowers and Peter the characteristic smell of privet, the latter always taking me back to the warm days of my childhood and walking through the local park to go trainspotting. That association works every time for me. 

Some sections of “The Consolation of Nature” had a special appeal for me and these are given below in the form of a dialogue. They are just a small selection of my responses to the many delightful observations in the book. The initials of the author of each quote are given, together with my comment: 

JM – [In discussing the names of moths] …you can have a pretty good evening just reading the index of a moth fieldguide!… …it will be a spiritual tragedy if we risk losing, along with the moths, this treasury of the most extraordinary and beautiful names given to any animal group. 

RW – Agreed, but among many other groups, I think the extraordinary and beautiful names of sea anemones run those of moths very close [3]. 

PM – [Who has chalk streams in his walking “patch”] In chalk streams, most of the small life of the river clings to the underside of stones, or finds other refuges in the waterweed – our champion ranunculus, which puts forth its gorgeous yellow-centred white blossom in May (its botanical name is the stream water-crowfoot). 

RW – I also live within walking distance of chalk streams (that are very rare worldwide). In addition, I have been involved in a research project that investigated “ecological engineering” by Ranunculus. Individual stands of water crowfoot alter the pattern of flow in streams and this serves to keep the finely-divided leaves at the margins clean, while sediment builds up under the plant to provide nutrients. The leaves of each stand are also colonised by huge numbers of tiny invertebrates that transform organic matter, so each plant is a mini-ecosystem of its own. 

PM – [On a visit to a spring feeding a chalk stream]. I fish about in the gravel bed to see what is living in these gin-clear cold springs. Looking down on it, you would think the water to be near lifeless, but remove some of the stones into an enamel dish and life appears, scuttling, wriggling, crawling, or, in the case of the tiny black limpets anchored to the flints, just sitting there. There are caddis cases attached to the stones, a few young stonefly nymphs with their double-pronged tails, and numerous shrimps, named Gammarus pulex from their resemblance to Pulex, the flea. There are also skeletons of last year’s leaves, as black as Florentine lace. 

RW – As we are terrestrial animals, we are not familiar with aquatic life, whether marine of freshwater. As Peter points out, taking some stones from a stream and placing them in a dish of water shows us what is living there. The limpets move slowly over the surface using a rasping tongue to feed on algae and bacterial biofilm adhering to the rock. Stonefly nymphs are either predators or feeders on detritus, and the freshwater shrimps, often very abundant indeed. feed mainly on decaying vegetation – contributing to the lacy appearance of the leaves provided by the strengthened veins that are less favoured in the diet of the shrimps. Gammarus is found throughout the year, so what sustains the high population densities, other than the supply of vegetation in autumn? I think I know the answer, but interested readers should seek out research papers on the topic to find out more (with apologies for the sense of mystery). 

PM – [Describing his observation of “pond slime” using a binocular microscope]. I have to say that, even as pond slime goes, this isn’t prime material. This is very low-grade gunk. The delight I used to take in microscopy as a boy was in large part due to its revelation of beauty in surprising places. There are wonders in the leg of a flea, the tongue of a fly, even the guts of a worm. The disgusting sludge on your slide dissolves into a microcosm, the world of single cells, shaped like stars. bananas, violins, boats (one of the commonest algae is Navicula, the ‘little ship’). 

RW – I spent much of my research career looking at material using a binocular microscope. Not only did that provide insights into a world hidden to the naked eye, but it also enabled measurements to be made and, after various stains were used, the ability to see the location of materials on/in the bodies of organisms and in the slime to which Peter refers. Then, a compound microscope allowed observation of organisms and detritus at a yet finer scale, including bacteria and other microorganisms. When I retired, I decided to leave that world behind and I have rarely used a microscope since. What I can never forget is all that accumulated knowledge and I carry it with me on walks. It gives me a sense of understanding of what might be going on at a very fine level and adds a great deal to my enjoyment of Nature – alongside the birds, insects, wild flowers, trees and all the rest. As readers of “Walking with Gosse” will know, I was introduced to microscopy as a boy and was delighted to spend half hours in the tiny world, to quote the title of a book published at the end of the 19th Century. That century saw the development of the passion for natural history, and books by some talented authors, of whom Michael, Peter and Jeremy are the literary descendants. 

JM – [When considering the world of fungi] People sometimes recoil from fungi, because of their associations with decomposition and their other-worldly appearances, but they play a crucial role in the world’s nutrient cycles and ecology. 

RW – Much of the folklore associated with fungi comes from our observations of fruiting bodies and most of us know little about the mass of filaments that form the mycelium. Yet it is these filaments that are involved in decomposition and there are very many fungi that do not have obvious fruiting bodies. Together with the bacteria, they are the great decomposers and, as Jeremy says, they have a vital role to play in the turnover of organic matter. It is the colonisation of dead leaves by decomposers that makes them attractive as food for animals like Gammarus and many terrestrial invertebrates and they, in turn produce masses of faecal pellets. If decomposition incites recoil in people, a consideration of faeces does so even more. Yet our compost heaps contain extraordinary numbers of pellets and it is these, together with their colonising microorganisms, that provide many nutrients for growing plants. 

MM – Beauty right in front of me, beauty in the distance – it is a fitting end to the coronavirus spring, the loveliest spring that ever was. I have never looked so closely at nature before, and I think I have learned something worthwhile: the more you observe it, the more there is to observe, and you realise that the richness of it is infinite. 

RW – I agree so much with this statement in the coda of “The Consolation of Nature”. We are discovering more and more, yet that makes us realise that we know only a smaller and smaller fraction of what is out there – the infinite to which Michael refers. Towards the end of my research career, I realised that I could never get answers to the myriad of questions that I had about how ecosystems actually “worked”. It was humbling and I turned to other types of research, but I will always be a natural historian and my knowledge accompanies me on my solitary walks. There is so much to see, hear and smell throughout the year. 

Reading “The Consolation of Nature” in this second, major wave of COVID-19 makes it easy to conjure up how we felt in the first half of 2020. We have yet to have the warm and sunny days described and, indeed, the bleakness of the data on the pandemic are matched by the current bleakness of the landscape. Yet there is still much to see and I walk as regularly now as I did then. Solitary walks in nature have always appealed to me and I know of their beneficial effects [4]. However, there are occasional disappointments. The image below was taken in one of the country lanes that is part of a favourite walk of mine and, on seeing the fly-tipped refuse, I initially felt anger that then softened as I walked on. Maybe it was a case of “out of sight out of mind”, but I certainly remembered the unsightly mess and I wonder whether the people who dumped it have any appreciation of Nature at all? Our local Council is good at cleaning up this kind of mess (unfortunately, it occurs fairly often) but, even if they didn’t, plants, animals and microorganisms would get to work on it and either decompose the contents or hide their presence.

As I wait, with millions of others, for vaccination and the first signs of the Spring so well described by McCarthy, Mynott and Marren, there’s still an exhilaration in solitary walks and also in the simple pleasure of watching birds in the garden. A consolation indeed and I’m lucky to be aware of so many aspects of Nature and yet so few. It keeps “Eeyoreness” at bay.

 

[1] Michael McCarthy. Jeremy Mynott and Peter Marren (2020) The Consolation of Nature: Spring in the time of Coronavirus. London, Hodder & Stoughton.

[2] https://www.wingedgeographies.co.uk/post/the-consolation-of-nature-spring-in-the-time-of-coronavirus

[3] https://rwotton.blogspot.com/2019/09/pufflets-pimplets-and-muzzlets-gosse.html

[4] https://rwotton.blogspot.com/2014/10/solitary-walks-in-nature.html