Save weeds. Feed birds.

Sow thistle is a springtime wildflower that pops up in lawns, fields and roadsides with abandon.  This tall, prickly, yellow-flowered plant with fluffy seedheads is related to dandelions and sunflowers. Although it is a hardy perennial wildflower, most people consider sow thistle a perennial problem.  It is usually mowed down well before it has a chance to flower and produce an abundance of white windborne seeds.

However, if left alone, sow thistle can provide human foragers with a nutritious green vegetable.

To learn about how to identify and cook sow thistle, watch this 9-minute video by Orlando-based wild plant expert, Green Deane.  

More importantly, it can also provide seed-eating birds like the American goldfinch with an important source of food.  Lately, goldfinches, seasonal visitors to Florida that travel in flocks, have been attracted to the sow thistles in our yard and I've been having great fun watching these yellow-white-and-black-feathered birds fill up on thistle seeds.

American goldfinch with a beak full of sow thistle seeds

But seed-eaters aren't the only birds attracted to this lance-leafed plant. Birds that eat insects like palm warblers and yellow-rumped warblers are also drawn to sow thistle. However, instead of targeting plant seeds, warblers are after the ants, aphids and other small insects crawling up and down plant stems and leaves.

In the short video below, a palm warblers finds a feast on a sow thistle plant.

I know prickly weeds will never be a welcome feature in most landscapes but I like to think there are others like me who see leaving a few weedy plants alone to feed birds and engage with nature without having to buy expensive nyjer seed (thistle) for our avian friends.

Instead of madly mowing down, pulling out or (gasp!) spraying with herbicides, I prefer to simply let nature be, believing that landscapes are more interesting when they're dotted with natural wonders. If birds can appreciate the positive features of prickly plants, so can I.

To learn more about sow thistle

Check out my 2016 essay:

Why I let some weeds grow 

Butterflies and bidens

I've never been a fan of Spanish Needle plants (Bidens Alba) even though it's a Florida native plant that acts as a nectar source for many bees, wasps and butterflies.

A common buckeye butterfly seeking
nectar from a Bidens Alba bloom

My main reason for disliking this member of the Aster family with small daisy-like blooms has always been because of its prolific seeds.  Each thin, pointy, black seed has a barbed end that latches on to any bit of clothing that brushes against it.  Of course, that same quality assures the plant's survival by enabling furry animals and clothed people to spread weed seeds far and wide.

These seed may look harmless enough but wait
until you try picking them off clothing 

However, in recent years my feelings about Bidens Alba have experienced a shift. While I still do my best to avoid contact with the plants so I won't have to waste time handpicking the annoying seeds off my sneakers or pants, I have come to appreciate Bidens as a butterfly magnet.

That change in attitude was reinforced recently when Ralph and I visited the lot at New Smyrna Beach where we'll soon be building a new home.  On the north border of the property I noticed quite a crowd of Common Buckeye and the Great Southern White butterflies fluttering around a narrow band of Spanish Needle plants.

As I stood there taking pictures and a short video, I couldn't help but appreciate what a valuable asset certain pollinator plants can be to the landscape.  I still may not want to walk through a patch of Bidens for fear of winding up covered with hard to remove seeds but, as the butterflies prove, it definitely has a place in the yard of anyone who wants to foster nature.

Want to learn more about Bidens Alba? 

This ubiquitous wildflower has been the subject of several

Simply Living columns

Click here to read more about Spanish Needle and see many other photos of Biden Alba, butterflies, bees and other pollinator plants

Why I let some weeds grow

Three species of sow thistle grow in Florida — spiny sow thistle (Sonchus asper), common sow thistle (Sonchus oleraceous) and field sow thistle (Sonchus arvensis) — but none is the type of plant most people want in their yard.

Even though all three species are edible, the broad leaves of these weedy members of the Aster family have sharp prickly edges that can poke and scratch skin.

Ouch!  Sharp prickles!

Like its dandelion cousin, sow thistle also bears yellow flowers. However, instead of growing low to the ground, sow thistle grows tall — up to six feet high — and each plant produces dozens of small daisy-like flowers that are not particularly showy.

Sow thistle looks similar to dandelions but grows much taller

As springtime progresses, the yellow flowers turn into fluffy white seedheads, which contain tiny brown seeds tethered to miniature white parachutes. 

Fluffy seeds waiting for a breeze to carry them away

When wind blows, the fluff takes flight carrying the attached seeds wherever the breeze takes them.

The wind blows and away seeds go!

Sow thistle has the potential to generate a tremendous number of progeny. Each plant can produce 4,000 to 13,000 airborne seeds. Even more astounding is the fact that after landing, each seed can remain viable for up to six years. This means if a seed touches down in the wrong spot or during unfavorable conditions, it has the ability to wait until its situation changes.

If those characteristics are not enough to put sow thistle on the home gardener’s do-not-grow list, consider its root system. Sow thistle sends a taproot several feet into the soil as well as producing lateral side roots that spread vigorously underground in all directions. Combine these two extremely effective methods of propagation and you have a species with strong survival instincts and a bad reputation in gardening communities.

Sow thistle is such an invasive, fast-growing plant that people who love a well-behaved landscape usually hate sow thistle. I can understand that. My less-than-well-behaved landscape harbors a huge contingency of these botanical miscreants. They’ve popped up under the mulberry trees, around the trampoline and in the middle of the lawn, which truthfully is less lawn and more a motley assortment of green-colored weeds.

Initially, I didn’t mind the sow thistle plants in our yard, but once they started to grow tall, I knew I needed to deal with them. Mowing is an effective control, especially when done before the plants go to seed. So, that’s what I did. I revved up the battery-powered weed-whacker and whacked the sow thistles down. I chopped all of them except for two plants that I can see from the kitchen window.

The two tall sow thistle plants that were spared the mower's blade

I left those because, despite its many negative characteristics, sow thistle has positive features, too. As mentioned before, it is an edible plant. For thousands of years, people around the world have eaten the tender young leaves, which make a nutritious potherb and salad green similar to spinach. While I’ve personally never tasted them, I’ve watched wildlife attracted to the plant for food. Bees, flies and wasps gather nectar, and birds search among the leaves for seeds and insects.

The other day I photographed a palm warbler flitting around one of the tall sow thistle plants. It might have been after all the aphids on the stems or it could have been catching grasshoppers, gnats or flies. 

Warbler on sow thistle - is it after the seeds, tiny bugs or both?

Regardless of which prey it was seeking, watching the warbler hunt for food was gratifying and fun. It was even more fun a couple days later when I caught sight of a goldfinch pecking away on sow thistle seeds, fluff and all.

Both observations confirmed my instinct to save a few robust specimens of this unpopular plant from the mower’s blade. Allowing one or two sow thistle plants to grow may not be appropriate for every yard, but for my wildlife-friendly homestead, it seemed the natural thing to do.

Tiny treasures

I was outside taking pictures when I noticed a very small fly hovering around the sow thistle plant.  I didn't know what kind of fly it was but later, after looking at the image on the computer, I was awed by its beauty. Such colors in its thin, transparent wings!  Its two reddish-brown eyes are huge and it has such an amazing pattern covering its abdomen and thorax.

After doing some research, I found out the 1/4" long insect is called a Syrphid fly -  Allograpta obliqua - and it is one of the good guys, a beneficial insect that preys on aphids.  If I hadn't taken the time to look closely at a prickly plant that most people would rather avoid, I wouldn't have noticed the Syrphid fly at all.

So often, I've found, it's the small, unexpected wonders that fill me with pleasure.  They are treasure for the taking, if you take the time to look.

You can learn more about Syrphid flies at the Growing Produce website

Enjoying the view...

Two chairs face the lake

Metal table wedged between

Wild geraniums

Tufted cushions 

Stake the claim of nature's scheme 

I came for the view - to sit a while and watch the lake.  But when I arrived, I realized it had been a while, quite a while, since I'd sat there last.  Weeds - sprawling, feathery, flower-bedecked greenery - had woven their way in between the chair slats.  

I didn't sit down.

My intention was to take pictures of the water.  I wound up taking pictures of the chairs instead.

A weed with a long history

I was driving down Villa City Road in Groveland the other day when I noticed a solitary mullein plant growing by the roadside.

Mullein (Verbascum thapsus) stands out, especially every other year when this biennial’s tall, slender flower stalk is topped by a scattering of yellow blooms like the one I stopped to admire.

I first became aware of this widespread wildflower — some may say, weed — when I lived on Cape Cod in the 1970s. Back then, I’d find mullein growing on the edge of the bike trail, along quiet roads or in disturbed soil. Despite how much Cape Cod has developed since then, I imagine mullein still thrives in some of those same well-drained, sunny spots.

Mullein, which is native to Eurasia and North Africa, has a long history as a multi-purpose plant. Although its seeds are poisonous to people, in the 4th century BC yellow mullein flowers were used to dye hair while early Romans made torches out of the plant’s long stalks after dipping them in tallow. Colonists, who introduced mullein to the New World in the 1700s, used mullein seeds as bait to stun fish. More recently, an extract made from mullein leaves is used to control mosquito larvae.

With such a long flower stalk, it's no surprise early Romans thought used mullein as torches

Mullein is also one of the oldest known medicinal plants. For centuries, people around the world have used its leaves to ease respiratory and skin problems. Ancient Greeks sought relief by making a tea from the leaves while Native Americans dried leaves and smoked them.

Following a long tradition, Mullein Leaf Tea Bags and Mullein Oil are still used today for medicinal purposes

The plant’s anti-inflammatory properties also make the leaves useful as a poultice to soothe skin irritations. Oil made from the plant’s flowers is traditionally used to treat earaches and swollen glands.

Although I find its history fascinating, my own interest in mullein is more mundane. I simply like the way it looks. I like its tall stature and bright flowers. I especially like the plant’s soft leaves — the softest leaves of any plant I’ve ever felt! I also like that mullein attracts a wide range of wildlife. Goldfinch and indigo buntings eat mullein seeds while tiny hummingbirds like to line their nests with the plant’s soft leaves. Many bees and flying insects pollinate mullein and drink its nectar.

While mullein is not native to Florida, it has been part of the landscape for centuries. Like most wildflowers, it has a tendency to spread on its own but that doesn’t make it invasive. Mullein is not included on either of the two Florida Exotic Pest Plant Council lists of invasive exotic plants.

When I drove down Villa City Road and saw mullein growing by the roadside, I was pleasantly surprised. Seeing a plant I remembered from my earlier days brought back happy memories.  Mullein is a humble plant that commands attention without demanding care. Whether considered wildflower or weed, mullein is a plant with much to offer.

Pretty plant is pretty bad for environment

It’s interesting how a pretty plant can lose its attractiveness once its true nature is revealed.   That’s what happened with me and cogon grass.

I now realize a tall grass I once considered pretty is actually pretty awful

Cogon grass (Imperata cylindrical) is a non-native perennial listed as one of the Top Ten Worst Weeds in the World in the Global Invasive Species database.

Plants on the Ten Worst Weeds list don’t come by that dubious honor without reason. To do so, they must prove to be incredibly invasive, able to survive in a variety of habitats under a wide range of conditions, be difficult to eradicate and be harmful to native plant and animal communities.

Unfortunately, cogon grass fits the bill.

Native to southeastern Asia, cogon grass now covers approximately 500 million acres in 73 countries. It entered the United States in the early 1900s and quickly spread across several southern states. In Florida, where it covers about 700,000 acres, it is listed as a Category 1 invasive — the worst kind — by the Florida Exotic Pest Plant Council.

I didn’t pay much attention to cogon grass until 2013 when I noticed a few patches growing on our property. Before then, I used to drive by fields of white seedheads blowing in the wind and, while I wasn’t sure what kind of grass I was looking at, I admired its beauty. There were times when I even added a few of the fluffy white tops to dried flower bouquets because I thought the feathery white seedheads were so pretty.

Each seedhead produces abundant seeds to float off in the wind spreading the invasive grass far and wide 

Bad Sherry! Had I realized my innocent bouquet gathering contributed to the rampant dispersal of this nasty perennial, I would never have done it.

Wind currents can carry the white feathery seeds — about 3,000 seeds per plant — several miles, but the main way cogon grass spreads is through a network of underground stems called rhizomes. Although the grass can grow up to five feet tall, more than 60 percent of its growth is below the surface in a dense web of sprawling, dirt-hugging roots. Most rhizomes are within six inches of the surface, but some reach four-feet deep into soils ranging from sand to clay to loam and peat.

Like most invasive plants, cogon grass isn’t fussy about where it grows. While it prefers full sun, it can also take root in shady locations. In Florida, cogon grass poses a threat to the health of many pine forests by reducing tree survival and growth. It razor-sharp blades can cut wildlife when they try to navigate through the dense foliage, and its high content of the element silica makes it an unpalatable food source.

The sharp cogon grass blades can be identified by its off-center mid-line vein

Once you become aware of its appearance, you’ll notice cogon grass in a variety of places. I see it along the Florida Turnpike and in fields bordering quiet country roads as well as along busy thoroughfares.

Large fields of cogon grass can be found along highways, country roads and throughout fields

When I realized cogon grass had invaded our property, I figured we could get rid of it by mowing it down. Unfortunately, it’s not that easy. Rather than ceasing its spread, mowing increases it by spreading seeds and rhizome fragments from one place to another.

To think I used to collect the fluffy white seedheads to add to dried flower bouquets...

Because of its intense rhizome system, pulling out clumps doesn’t work either. It isn’t even possible to eradicate cogon grass by burning because it thrives when other species succumb to the heat and flames. The only effective control seems to be repeated applications of herbicides such as Roundup. Even then, complete eradication might take years and during that time who knows how many new cogon grass colonies the wind will carry onto the land.

The more I learn about cogon grass, the less I like it. I’m not sure what we’re going to do to about the infestation on our property but I do know it has changed my outlook. What I used to think of as ‘pretty,’ I now consider ‘pretty awful.’ Instead of seeing swaths of feathery seedheads as spectacles of beauty, I see the menace they present to the balance of nature. Words alone can’t prevent the spread of this aggressive invasive, but they can’t hurt either. Instead of spreading seeds, help me spread the word.

Bad weed or good insect magnet...?

Simply Living

Yesterday, I watched three different kinds of bees fly from one red blossom to another on the small patch of Florida tasselflower in the front yard.

Florida tasselflower (Emilia fosbergii) is a weed. It’s also a pollinator magnet. Butterflies, bees and wasps are drawn to this lowly member of the aster family.

Even though most people consider this annual a nuisance, I like tasselflower. It does pop up in lawns and garden beds — places where it is usually unwelcome — but it also attracts important insects that aid plant pollination.

Although one of its common names is Florida tasselflower (other names include Flora’s paintbrush and Cupid’s shaving brush), Emilia fosbergii isn’t a Florida native. Sources suggest it may have originated in east or central Africa but quickly made its way around the world. It now grows throughout the West Indies, Mexico and South America as well as in Hawaii and parts of Indonesia. In Florida, it appears statewide except in the north and the Panhandle.

I’m not sure when tasselflower found its way into my yard but I remember taking note of it a few months ago. I was sitting outside enjoying the sunlight bouncing off the lake when I noticed a queen monarch butterfly landing on this thin-stemmed flower topped with several bristly red blooms. 

Several other blossoming plants grew nearby, but the butterfly ignored them all, settling repeatedly on this single species, going from one red flower to another. At the time, I didn’t know the plant’s name, but it was obviously the butterfly’s favorite.

Since that day, I’ve learned much about the humble tasselflower and paid attention to it whenever I see it. In doing so, I’ve been amazed by how many butterflies, bees and wasps land on its blooms. The insects come to sip nourishing nectar and, in the process, they do the essential work of moving pollen from one plant to another.

Zebra longwing butterfly on tasselflower

Yet, despite the ability of this pretty little wildflower to attract pollinators ­­— insects that are disappearing at an alarming rate — most people want nothing to do with tasselflower. They want it out of their yard, and they’re not averse to using herbicides to get the job done. After all, they reason, tasselflower is a weed, not a grass. Sure, it’s colorful and doesn’t have thorns or prickly burrs, but it grows taller than grass and that makes a neat lawn look messy.

If the object is to have a weed-free, all-one-level, green-only lawn, I suppose the appearance of volunteer tasselflowers can mess things up. But so can the spraying of herbicides. 

Wildlife that eat sprayed plants can be poisoned or even killed by toxic chemicals. Other plants can be harmed by over-spraying and runoff can have negative effects on groundwater.

It seems to me that if volunteer plants such as Florida tasselflower can satisfy the needs of beneficial insects like bees, wasps and butterflies, I should do my best to keep those flowers around. I may not live on the neatest, most manicured property but that’s the way I like it. 

Apparently, wildlife likes it too.

Begonias gone wild!

SIMPLY LIVING

Begonias spread like weeds

I didn't plant them.  At least I don't remember planting them...

That hasn't stopped dozens of pale pink begonias from planting themselves.  They're growing underneath the raised pots of herbs and vegetables in our west garden.  They're not exactly growing in soil - at least not soil in the traditional sense.  Instead, their shallow roots have settled into the leaf litter and organic matter that accumulates on any outdoor surface.

Now that I think back, there may have been one begonia in a container at some point in the past but, if there was, I paid it little attention.  I certainly don't recall ever propagating it.  However, I suppose whatever I did or didn’t do is inconsequential.  The plant obviously had intentions of its own.  It was determined to grow despite (or in spite) of my personal involvement.

The begonias in our garden are leggy plants growing up to a foot tall.  When they get that big, they tend to flop over onto the pathways between the narrow rows of raised pots.  

Tall and leggy

My husband, whose passion for edibles far exceeds his concern for flowers, doesn’t like it when the begonias get in the way.  He thinks nothing about stepping on, knocking over or breaking off wayward blooms.

Ralph loves growing vegetables and herbs like these parsley plants but he's not as enthusiastic about flowers 

Even though I didn’t plant them, I’ve become protective of these volunteer blooms.  Since I don’t like to see them squashed, kicked over or broken off, I try to be proactive.  I transplant young starts to pots and break off some of leggier plants to root the cut ends in an available container. 

So far, my efforts have paid off.  All of the transplants and cuttings I’ve made are thriving.  Turns out, begonias are ridiculously easy to propagate (hence the proliferation of volunteer blooms in our garden.)  I’ve done my plant-rescues without using any rooting compound or fancy tools.  I just scoop out a young start with my fingers, stick it in an available pot with soil (no special soil mixture necessary), push it firmly in place and let it alone.  It doesn’t seem to matter if the location I put it in is sunny or shady.  As long as the transplant gets regular water, the begonia does fine. 

The same is true for cuttings.  I don’t bother with scissors, knives or fancy lopping tools, opting instead to break off a leggy section of an existing plant with my hand.  After poking a finger-sized hole in soil, I push the broken stem in, firmly pressing down on the dirt around it.  Other than regular water, it receives no further attention.  That doesn’t stop it from growing.  Within a couple weeks, the begonia has readjusted sufficiently to send out new growth.

Although begonias are native to India, their attractive foliage, long blooming period (they like hot weather) and invulnerability to pest problems, have made them highly desirable landscape plants.  They work equally well as bedding plants for shady areas, in hanging baskets, containers or as houseplants. 

Begonia cucullata is one of four species of wax begonias used to develop the thousands of different cultivars sold today.  I believe the volunteers in our garden are a type of wax begonia that has self-propagated from seeds.  Hundreds of too-small-to-be-noticed seeds develop inside brown papery pods, which, when released, disperse in the breeze, settling and rooting like weeds with minimal needs.

A comparison to weeds is not farfetched.  The pinkish-white-flowering begonias growing on the ground beneath our raised containers of vegetables and herbs have all the characteristics one would attribute to an invasive plant.  They appear prolifically in places where they are not necessarily wanted (at least by some of us…) aren’t bothered by pests and thrive without need for human intervention. 

I guess that makes them just another example of the old adage, “One person’s weeds are another’s flowers.”   

For me, the begonias are an unexpected surprise, a splash of color in an otherwise utilitarian space.  Perhaps my husband would like them better if he knew begonia leaves and flowers are also edible.  They are.  Although it’s not the best tasting vegetable in the world, the plant’s blooms and greenery make a pleasant addition to salads or cooked vegetable dishes.

I don’t know if that information will stop my vegetable-gardening husband from stepping on floppy flowers that get in his way but I hope it provides reason to pause before knocking one over.  After all, the volunteer begonias have demonstrated a strong desire to thrive in our garden.  They’ve obviously found a spot that meets their needs while inadvertently meeting my needs for unanticipated beauty.  They even have the potential for meeting my husband’s needs for more easy to grow edible plants.  It seems like a win-win-win situation all around.

Seeds in flight

A "Simply" Extra
Sow thistle is a tall weed with spiky leaves and yellow dandelion-like flowers.  On a recent walk I came upon a single plant growing on the north side of the berm that surrounds our property.  While normally I might have just passed it by, I happened to pass the sow thistle just as its seeds were taking flight.  There was beauty to be seen in the fluffy white parachutes, each bearing the beginnings of a new plant.

Seeing a familiar weed in a new light

Although the short-lived three-petal blue flowers of spiderwort only last a morning, by the next day new blooms have taken their place.

SIMPLY LIVING

April 8, 2013

My yard is full of spiders but only some are invertebrates.  A surprising number are botanical beauties called Tradescantia ohiensis, commonly known as spiderwort.

Although I never intentionally planted spiderwort, this blue-flowering Florida native has made an appearance in our lawn and garden beds for years.  Spiderworts usually pop up erratically - a few here, a few there, with no particular show of profusion. 

Until this year. 

In 2013, the population exploded.  Suddenly, I began noticing spiderworts everywhere.  While the majority surrounds the compost area, others have infiltrated the collection of weeds my husband and I call “lawn.”  Some have crept their way alongside dirt walkways, next to the clay wall while others crawled toward the lakeshore.  It doesn’t seem to matter what type of soil is present.  Spiderworts are thriving in sand, hard-packed orange clay as well as in rich loam.

Growing in clump, spiderwort flowers range from pink to blue to purple

The explosive growth of this weed/wildflower has caused me to pay closer attention.  While I’ve often admired its colorful blooms – yellow stamens surrounded by three pink-to-blue-to-purple petals – I did little more than acknowledge its presence.  I assumed it spread through some sort of underground root system since I always noticed it growing in clusters instead of isolated specimens.  However, it wasn’t until I did some research that I realized there was much more to this hardy bloomer than a pretty face with leaves that resemble a spider’s legs.

Spiderwort is in the Commelinaceae family of flowering plants that are often nicknamed dayflowers.  Like others in that genus, spiderwort plants and flowers grows in clusters, with each individual bloom lasting only part of a day.  In our yard, the petals open early but by midday, they’ve already begun to wilt.  By dusk, the once pretty blooms will have transformed into a soft jelly-like mush.  The next morning, however, new flowers appear and the cycle of beauty continues. 

In Florida,spiderwort is a perennial reappearing each spring.  While I was correct in assuming this two-foot-tall wildflower spreads by underground rhizomes, I didn’t realize it propagates by seeds as well. 

I also didn’t know it is an edible plant.  I discovered that all parts of 

Tradescantia ohiensis can be eaten – leaves, flowers, stalks and roots.  Although I haven’t tried them yet, people who have compare the steamed stalks to asparagus.  Tender young leaves can also be steamed or used fresh in salad and the blue-colored flowers work well both as a garnish and as a snack when working or walking outdoors.

Tradescantia ohiensis also has medicinal properties.  The plant’s crushed leaves are purported to alleviate the sting of insect bites while a tea made out of boiled roots has use as a laxative. 

It has been an eye-opening experience to learn so much new information about a familiar garden face.  As it turns out, spiders and spiderworts have more in common than just a name.  Neither receives the appreciation they deserve for all the good they have to offer.  Once I stopped thinking of spiderwort as just another annoyingly “creepy” weed, I was able to see it as the valuable botanical beauty it is. 

A pretty little weed

Oxalis debilis is an attractive weed with pretty pink flowers, shamrock-shaped leaves and a compact mounded form

Simply Living
December 10, 2012

There are certain non-native plants (aka escaped exotics/weeds) that I’m rather fond of despite their purported invasiveness.  Among them, pink sorrel (Oxalis debilis) stands out, literally as well as figuratively. 

Without any assist from us, this low-growing, no-fuss perennial appears in our flowerbeds.  All year round – except during winter freezes - clusters of pretty, pink flowers top the green, shamrock-shaped leaves.

Little pink flowers bloom practically year-round

 

Although the plant spreads through underground rhizomes, I haven’t found pink sorrel to be particularly invasive.  That’s probably because it seems to have a decided preference for the enriched soil of garden beds and container plants.  I’ve walked all over our property but have never seen pink sorrel growing anywhere except areas where the soil has previously been augmented.  In such settings however, especially if they are sunny, I usually find multiple mounds of unplanted beauty.

Oxalis debilis is one of 900 members of Oxilidaceae, the wood sorrel family.  Although native to South America, wood sorrel plants exist in all but the coldest locations around the world.  There are some 30 varieties in the United States with six in Florida. 

All wood sorrels are edible, but they do contain oxalic acid, a chemical compound present in spinach, kale, beets, parsley and a number of other foods.  If eaten to excess, oxalic acid is toxic and can lead to kidney problems but it would be highly unlikely for that to happen with pink sorrel.  The leaves of this perennial plant are small and have a sour lemony flavor.  A few added to a salad might result in an interesting flavor but eating an entire bowlful would provide more tartness than most people would find palatable.

While I appreciate pink sorrel’s edible quality, that’s not the reason I’m so fond of the plant.  I like this self-propagating wildflower because it’s so pretty.  The green foliage forms rounded mounds that can reach up to eight inches tall with a foot-wide diameter and the small five-petal flowers that grow in clusters atop thin stems look like small pink stars.  In the evening and during periods of drought, the blooms close up.  The leaves do too.  When closed, the shamrock-shaped leaves look like tiny versions of those fortuneteller games I used to make out of folded paper when I was a kid.

Although pink sorrel grows wild in temperate garden beds, I like the plant best as a container plant in individual pots or mixed groupings.  I keep a couple containers of sorrel on the porch-side patio but people who live in colder climates often grow it indoors solely as a houseplant.  That’s what my daughter does.  Whenever I visit Jenny in her Massachusetts home, I admire the lush mound of Oxalis triangularis that sits on a table by a window in her living room.  Triangularis is a purple-leafed relative to Oxalis debilis that also produces pink blooms.

Oxalis triangularis has large purple leaves and pink-white flowers.  In this picture, it is growing in a container alongside a variegated spider plant

The Florida Exotic Pest Plant Council (www.fleppc.org) does not include pink sorrel as either a Category I or a Category II invasive plant but because it is a non-native plant with the ability to aggressively self-propagate, native plant advocates don’t encourage its use in the landscape.  The Florida Native Plant Society (www.fnps.org) lists only one variety of wood sorrel, Oxalis comiculate (better known as common yellow wood sorrel) as a Florida native.  However, from my experience, I’ve found the native oxalis tends to pop up in lawns, sidewalk cracks and between steppingstones.  Common yellow wood sorrel is also less showy and more difficult to eradicate than non-native pink sorrel.

Oxalis comiculate is a native plant with tiny yellow flowers and small leaves.  

Deciding what plants to incorporate into your landscape and which ones to discourage can be confusing, especially if one of your objectives is to work in harmony with the environment.  For me, the decision often comes down to which plants offer the most advantages to the home gardener for the least amount of time, effort and resources.  Pink sorrel fulfills those guidelines by being a disease-and-pest-resistant, drought-tolerant plant that doesn’t require irrigation or toxic sprays in order to thrive.  Its small flowers bloom practically year-round and it has lovely foliage to boot.  Even better, I don’t even have to plant it because this low-growing wildflower plants itself! 

Pink sorrel is an escaped exotic but that doesn’t make it a bad plant.  It’s a weed, albeit a pretty one, and while I’m not about to fill my garden with it, a few judiciously selected plants can add a bit of landscape beauty with minimal work.   

A pretty but prickly Florida wildflower

"It's tricky picking pretty prickly poppy plants." Try saying that five times fast.

Argemone albiflora

If you're having difficulty twisting your tongue around the words, it's a lot easier than wrapping your hand around the bristly stems and thistly leaves of this Florida wildflower. Safer, too.

Look but don't touch the white prickly poppy, a roadside wildflower that appears in well-drained, dry sandy locations March through mid-summer.

White prickly poppy (Argemone albiflora) is a Florida native that appears along roadsides when the weather begins to warm in March and continues flouting its showy blooms throughout the early summer months.

Several white prickly poppies growing alongside the highway in Minneola

Rather than growing in sprawling clusters like blanketflower, black-eyed Susan, tickseed or phlox, individual plants have a tendency to pop up in random locations. Along a short stretch of U.S. Highway 27 north of Minneola I've noticed several spots where single prickly poppy plants are growing in the disturbed area between pavement and tree line.

The plants, which stand about 3 feet tall and half as broad, have milky blue stems with sharp needle-like spikes that are responsible for one of its common names, Bluestem prickly poppy. Other nicknames include the equally apt thistle poppy and crested prickly poppy.

Prickly leaves and bristly stems do an excellent job of protecting this pretty wildflower

Regardless of what name it goes by, one thing is certain — ignore prickly poppy and it's happy. Pamper this white-flowered beauty and watch it waste away.

Prickly poppy won't thrive if placed in a garden-like setting with rich, organic matter where it is watered frequently, fertilized and mulched. The environment it needs has dry, well-drained sandy soil in a sunny to partially sunny location.

I find it interesting that such a well-armored, leave-me-alone plant has such pretty, delicate blossoms. The white nearly flat cup-shaped blooms are 2 to 3 inches wide with bright yellow centers. They are easy to notice when driving down the road because they provide a sharp contrast to the green landscape.

Travelers aren't the only ones to notice these warm-weather bloomers. The pollen-rich flowers attract bees and butterflies, but deer and livestock know better than to approach these prickly bloomers because, like other members of the poppy family (Papaveraceae), all parts of white prickly poppy contain highly toxic components.

Break the stem and a white latex sap leaks out.

The ancient Romans, Native Americans and traditional healers in many cultures have used the alkaline liquid, which turns yellow as it dries, to relieve skin ailments like cold sores and warts. However, the sap can also cause irritation and even glaucoma if it gets into the eyes. Similar risks are associated with the plant's seeds, roots and leaves. The seeds have a sedative effect but can also cause vomiting. The flowers and roots have usefulness in treating congestion but only if administered in proper proportions. The entire plant contains too much risk of toxicity for anyone but a trained herbalist to use.

"It's tricky picking pretty prickly poppy plants" is more than a tongue twister — it's a good thing to remember when approaching this roadside beauty.

Mother of thousands

An umbrella of red blooms sits atop a leggy stalk on a Mother-of-thousands plant

Simply Living
January 2, 2012

There’s a plant growing in my yard that I can’t seem to get rid of.  Some people call it Mexican hat plant, Devil’s backbone or Alligator plant.  Others know it as ‘Mother-of-thousands’ but from my experience, ‘Mother-of-millions’ might be a more appropriate moniker. 

The botanical name of this prolifically reproducing succulent is Kalanchoe daigremontianac.  Native to southwestern Madagascar, Mother-of-thousands is a perennial in Florida and other warm-weather regions of the country.  In colder climates, it is cultivated as a houseplant and perhaps that’s where it belongs – some place where carpet, tile and hardwood flooring will limit its uncanny ability to self-propagate prodigiously. 

Mother-of-thousands looks a bit like aloe.  This potentially 3-foot-tall plant has a center stalk out of which grow a series of fleshy, 4 to 6-inch long serrated leaf-like stems that are green with a hint of purple on the undersides.  During winter months, the stalk can produce an umbrella shaped terminal from which dozens of bell-like red flowers dangle.   

Hummingbirds favor this attractive bit of botanical finery, which should make this easy-to-care-for perennial a welcome addition to the wildlife garden.  Unfortunately, its invasive nature counterbalances its more positive features.

The key to Mother-of-thousands’s reproductive magic is visible on the edge of each of its leaf-like stems where small, round dark-colored plantlets form.  One ‘leaf’ can contain 20 to 50 of these babies-in-waiting and every Mother-of-thousands plant boasts at least a dozen leaf-like stems.  Do the math and the potential problem becomes obvious.

When the plantlets fall off, sometimes with white thread-like roots already in place, they settle on the ground and proceed to grow.  Not fussy about soil needs, Mother-of-thousands seedlings have successfully rooted on our property in moist spots as well as in areas where water supply is limited.  Much to my vexation, these tenacious succulents even manage to flourish where soil is seemingly nonexistent.  I’ve seen plantlets achieve purchase in the cracks of concrete walkways as well as in the narrow spaces between our paved patio and stucco walls.   

Who needs dirt?  Mother-of-thousands can sprout and grow in the tiniest crack in concrete

On the positive side, Mother-of-thousands is easy to uproot.  One yank with a gloved hand (to protect against the serrated edges) can pull these shallow-rooted perennials from their roost.  On the negative side, each yank has the potential to dislodge several of the small, round dark-colored plantlets, making the entire let’s-just-yank-them-out-to-get-rid-of-these-pests plan redundant.

Considering the difficulty of total eradication, I’ve opted for the same approach with Mother-of-thousands as I’ve taken for Mexican petunia (Ruellia brittoniana) and wedelia (Wedelia trilobata), two other overly active reproducers that I made the mistake of introducing to the property.  I stop treating them like garden plants.  I dig up and relocate the offending perennials to wooded areas where they receive no irrigation or soil enrichment.  I’ve found that when I stop treating invasives like pampered garden plants, they stop acting like unruly, out-of-control pests.       

Mother-of-thousands isn’t a bad plant.  It just isn’t the right plant to put in certain places.

Learning as much as possible about a plant’s behavior before installing it in your yard goes a long way toward avoiding future problems but don’t fool yourself into thinking education will put an end to errors.  A cultivar’s beauty, color, fragrance or special characteristics can sway the mindset of even the best-intentioned gardener. 

To prevent plants like Mother-of-thousands from becoming Mother-of-millions, exercise a gardener’s form of tough love: “You can stay on the property but I won’t spoil you.”

When miscalculations occur, make the best of them.  Sometimes an effective compromise is the right answer when total eradication is too daunting. 

Fields of flowers

Broad fields of coastal-plain golden-aster bloom in early autumn.

Simply Living
October 3, 2011

Some things are so common, they become unnoticeable.

Blue skies are like that. When I moved to sunny Florida from overcast Cape Cod, I was constantly aware of the continual brightness. Every day I'd awaken to find rays of sunshine streaming through my windows. Although I was initially awed, after about a year of living in the Sunshine State the novelty of one brilliant day after another began to fade. Bit by bit, my mindset adjusted. I stopped being keenly aware of the sky above and began to take daily doses of brightness for granted.

"It's another picture-perfect day!" someone might say. "Oh, yeah," I'd respond matter-of-factly, glancing upward. "So it is."

The same thing can happen with wildflowers.

It took me about a week of driving past large fields of golden-aster before I realized the land I was passing was bursting with blooms.

During early autumn in Central Florida, huge expanses of coastal-plain golden-aster are flowering. The small, daisylike blossoms are about an inch across, with about 20 dandelion-colored petals encircling a slightly darker center. Multiple flowers open atop ungainly 2- to 3-foot-tall woody stalks. While each bloom is a sweet little flower, the entire package — stalk, stem and blossom — is unimpressive and ordinary.

In my rural neighborhood, golden-asters cover acres of undeveloped land. They also appear in small clusters alongside roadways and mailboxes and in just about any other place where land is untended and weeds can grow.

The fact that golden-aster isn't a showy plant might contribute to its anonymity. Unlike larger, brighter or more unusual blooms, this humble flower is easy to miss. What isn't as easy to overlook is the plant's ability to dominate acreage. Once aware of its existence, you will notice these wildflowers everywhere.

There are three reasons that golden-aster has proliferated so successfully. It tolerates a wide range of conditions, it's extremely hardy and it has an effective method of dispersing seeds.

The plant does best in dry, sandy soil — the type found in pinewoods, oak scrub and disturbed areas. It likes sun but proliferates freely in shady habitats as well. Extremely moist locations are a no-no for this no-nonsense perennial. And when it comes to propagation, golden-aster has it down pat, dispersing individual seeds in its puffy, round seed balls through air as well as by contact. This plant rarely succumbs to disease or insect attacks, but it does attract a fair number of butterflies and moths, which find it a suitable source of larvae food.

With so much going for it, you'd think this herbaceous Florida native would be a must on any gardener's wish list. Think again. The plain truth is, despite its attributes, golden-aster isn't as attractive as other plants in the aster family. Demand is low, so few native plant nurseries carry it. Beauty sells. Anything less...not so much.

If, instead of golden-aster, I drove by acres of sunflowers, coneflowers or phlox, I bet it wouldn't have taken me a week to notice them. Then again, like the Florida sky so blue, over time even stunning flowers might have gone unnoticed.

We live in a world filled with splendor. To enjoy it, all we have to do is open our eyes to the ordinary as well as the extraordinary. Golden-aster may be a fairly nondescript wildflower, but when seen from a distance, it fills the land with a golden hue. Blatant beauty may sell, but subtle beauty survives, and if the landscape around my neighborhood is any indication, golden-aster is nothing less than a thriving survivor.