Plant Profile: Skunk Cabbage

"Skunk Cabbage Flower and Leaves" © Michael GambinoTHIS PLANT IS FAMILIAR TO MANY HIKERS AND WALKERS, yet is likely not getting a second look. This is too bad because Skunk Cabbage is a uniquely fascinating plant. It may be that its location deters people from getting up close – it is a lover of wet places, swamps, and streams. Or perhaps it’s because the flower is just not as showy as other emerging spring blooms for people to stop and admire it. Then again, it could be the name. And handing someone a bouquet of freshly picked flowers that reek of a pungent skunk-like odor just isn’t going to work as well as a bunch of smiling yellow daffodils or cream white lilies!

Nevertheless, Skunk Cabbage presents a beautiful flower in its own right. This perennial plant is often considered one of the first signs that Old Man Winter’s days are numbered. Yet its tightly rolled leaf shoots and flower buds are already rising from the muck in September. They endure the frost, snow, and ice awaiting the end of winter. Once the temperatures are above freezing, the flower buds begin to swell. One marvelous adaptation of Skunk Cabbage is the ability to raise its temperature to just over 70 degrees Fahrenheit. This is warm enough to melt the snow and ice around them allowing more access to sunlight and pollinators that are emerging from dormancy. The heating function may also allow the release of chemicals that call these insects. Once pollinated, the heating helps to accelerate the ripening of fruit. It is thought that the honeybees and flies take advantage of the plant’s warmth on cold days before buzzing off to the next flower.

Similar to the Jack-in-the-pulpit plant, the Skunk Cabbage flower has a hooded spathe covering the male and female flowers within. Passing through a swampy area in summer and seeing a great expanse of huge, green skunk cabbage leaves add to the beauty and mystery of such a habitat. No doubt the low "canopy" created by these leaves helps to slow evaporation of moisture from the swamp and creates a habitat for insects, birds, and amphibians. When crushed, all parts of the plant release their pungent fragrance. It is not a wild edible plant (except to slugs), though Native Americans and early physicians used the plant medicinally to treat whooping cough, convulsions, epilepsy, asthma, and to reduce swelling. (Click to enlarge images below).

Kitten Tails on a Stick

Another sure sign that spring is here in the Northeast is the blooming of Pussy Willow flowers. I remember as a kid seeing them in early spring in vases on the table at home and decorating the church on Palm Sundays. In some European countries and here in North America, the cut branches of willows in the Salix genus are carried as a substitute or along with Palm branches during Palm Sunday observances.

Male catkins showing golden yellow pollen. Pussy Willow trees are dioecious, meaning male and female flowers are on separate trees.I remember "petting" the soft furry catkins or rubbing them on my nose. (A quality sensory experience as a child exploring the wonders of nature.) Some days later, after they had been basking in the warm sunlight streaming through the window, the gray "fur" gave way to tiny yellow flowers on slender filaments. The flowers eventually dusted the table top with fine pollen. That was a time when names and scientific explanations (though interesting) were secondary to my direct experience of the natural world around me. In fact, now that I think of it, this is STILL the way it is for me, though I have acquired much science and nature lore since then.

For some reason I just like the word "catkin", which comes from "katteken", an old Dutch word that means "kitten", owing to its resemblance to a kitten's soft furry tail. The American Pussy Willow (Salix discolor) is perhaps most familiar here in North America, but many other willows in the Salix genus produce similar flowers. Keep your eyes open for this tree in the woods as you are purging yourself of winter's "cabin fever". (Click photo to enlarge.)

Spring Gray

The sky was a bit dreary today, looking more like winter than spring. Despite the celebration of bird song throughout the park, the mood of the lake and forest felt cheerless. As I walked the trails looking for signs of a green spring, the day's limited color palette of gray, brown, and straw colored hues began to affect my own "Barnacle-henge" – remnants of an old dock. (Click to enlarge)"The Lonely Shore" (Click to enlarge)mood. Soon, however, I began to notice the subtle accent of colors here and there; the pinkish red wash of buds on the maple trees in the distance, the golden yellow haze of willow tree catkins down the trail. A faint light-green glow seemed to hover like a mist throughout the tangled understory vegetation: an illusion created by tiny leaves unfurling on the invasive Japanese Barberry and Multiflora Rose shrubs. Even the cloudy sky, which initially seemed mournful, cold, and gray, gave up a whisper of hope in diffuse yellow here and there.

UFOs (Unidentified Flying Organisms, aka insects) buzzed or fluttered lazily past me, or danced on the forest floor hoping to mate. There are a lot of spring-emerging insects who must get down to business ASAP so eggs can be laid and offspring hatched – all before new baby birds are hatched and hungry.

Very close to the ground I found the small, dark green leaves of Garlic Mustard and mugwort plants set to challenge the other plants for their share of the landscape. Also, just barely breaking the soil surface I located the thick, red tips of Japanese Knotweed shoots.

Looking beyond the broad canvas of winter's gray retreat as I completed my walk, I felt reassured by these initial signs of spring.

Crossing the Celestial Equator

The Spring Equinox marks the date in Earth’s yearly cycle when there are equal hours of daylight and night. The Sun reached the celestial equator on March 20th, initiating another spring season here on Earth. While the Autumn Equinox also shares this balance of light and dark, the Spring Equinox marks the moment where the amount of light begins to overtake the amount of darkness in the day. Throughout the ages humans have marked this as a time of celebration and fertility. A time of hope and renewal.

This spring marks the completion of a half-century worth of yearly journeys I’ve made around the Sun on spaceship Earth (I haven’t calculated the frequent flyer miles yet, but I’m pretty sure it’s worth a round-trip ticket to New Zealand for two). I am at the mid-point of my (desired) lifespan, and am looking ahead to brighter days. Read my previous post for a special announcement.

It's Official: The Journey Begins – Again!

In honor of the journey I have made thus far through life and the solar system (and after posting entries and testing out various blogging software) , I am hereby officially announcing this website and blog Nature & Spirit.

I have so many ideas for posts, articles, photos, art, and more that I can hardly wait to create and post them! My desire is to help people explore a relationship with nature and spirit that guides and feeds the soul and leads to more personal joy, peace, and wisdom that is simple, but deep.

On this website, visitors will find posts and articles about plants, animals, general ecology, natural phenomenon, native wisdom, survival skills, tracking, spiritual practices and insights, ancient mysteries, conservation issues, personal challenges and triumphs, and so much more. At NatureAndSpirit.org you can discover that what lies beneath the ordinary is often extraordinary. I humbly invite one and all to share the journey with me. Just click on the Subscribe button in the navigation bar at the top of this page and I'll be sure to keep you informed about updates to this website.