Nature is persistent

Grassy starwart has tiny, pale yellow discs in the middle of five white petals so deeply lobed they appear as 10 petals. The entire flower, with petals, is less than half an inch across.

The starwart, a chickweed, is aptly named. I did not know its name initially during my field research, but my first thought when looking down at the dozen tiny flowers was that stars had fallen from the heavens—speckles of white on this roadside awash in green.

The lightly-traveled road where our street turns back to the highway is only 125 yards long, separating home lots from a grassy, brushy field. The roadside along the field packs quite the flash of flora which I’ve studied year after year, absorbed by the variety and volume of plant life, from the ground-hugging pineapple weed to waist-high tansies, to vines and shrubs.

Last fall, the side of the road left to wildflowers and grasses was chopped down rather unceremoniously by a tractor mower. I could not determine the reason, for only a shed stands on the far edge of the property. I was dismayed. Only the handful of taller trees survived the slashing.

But nature is persistent. Soil, roots and stems don’t forget. Fed by a wet spring, the roadside is again flourishing in wildflowers and plants. It’s all bouncing back, and to confirm it and record it, I walked this short stretch.

I knew many of the species, and my phone’s plant apps filled in the gaps. On an afternoon in June, I recorded 48 species. The flora is mostly green, but spots of color show like Christmas bulbs—the red of wild roses and clover; the yellow of bird’s-foot trefoil, cinquefoil, oxeye daisy, and fleabane daisy; the orange of hawkweed; and the white of campion, yarrow, and hoary alyssum.

Each step brings a new display, sometimes even a bouquet, such as the daisies and roses—wild roses to me, nootka roses to my phone app. There are flowers in the low shadows, including alsike clover, its flowerhead white on top, pinkish on the bottom, and named after Alsike parish in Sweden.

There are the tall entries; daisy fleabane’s small flowerheads stand just above smooth brome grass. Oh, the grasses, everywhere, the brome, timothy and Kentucky bluegrass. Speaking of states, I found Virginia creeper, a vine that will gift us crimson leaves in fall, and Virginia pepperweed, its comblike spikes edible and with, of course, a peppery taste.

There are flowers waiting to bloom—goldenrod and tansies. There are climbers—woodbine and riverbank grape spinning around tree trunks—and loners—sheep sorrel, curly dock and yellow toadflax.

Oh, I’m rattling off names as if I’m a botanist. I’m only an observer with field guides and phone apps, far removed from the work of Wisconsin’s premier naturalist Increase Allen Lapham. Lapham studied and sketched wild plants on either side of statehood in 1848, recording Wisconsin’s flora at a time of sparse population and rugged roads.

Wrote Lapham in 1841, “I spend much of my leisure time in botanical pursuits and now have a very handsome collection of dried plants, numbering somewhere over 2,000 species. We have a great many interesting plants here.”

Yes, we do have interesting plants, right down to the tiny starwort in its grassy berth, a sprinkle of stars fallen to earth.

Dave Greschner, retired sports/outdoors editor at the Rice Lake Chronotype, writes about nature and the outdoors, pursues nature photography, and is the author of “Soul of the Outdoors.” He can be reached at davegreschner@icloud.com.