Glamorous Mystery

When I encountered this florist-worthy flower on a bike ride through local prairie country, I was certain it must be a garden escapee, persisting on ground that was once a yard, or arriving more recently in a load of soil. A dozen-odd volunteers formed a loose colony, with random pioneers scattered along the trail beyond for perhaps a hundred yards.

I was so taken with the glamour – and mystified that I couldn't identify this, given moderately wide experience of garden blooms – that I emailed a few shots to a friend who's a recognised expert on the topic.

The mystery only deepened when she couldn't identify it, either.

At last, my friend worked her resources and reached a verdict: Clarkia amoena.

Thus was I thoroughly humbled, because not only does this eye-catching bloom turn out to be native – while in theory I'm Mr. Wild Plants Guy – it's a fêted member of the freakin' Lewis and Clark herbarium.

Named after William Clark, for God's sake! (Way to rub it in, karma.)

Clarkia amoena, also called farewell-to-spring, is an evening primrose relative, which accounts for another common name: satin flower. It prefers well-drained and –sunned soil, and as that first common name suggests, tends to burst into glorious blossom just as things start to hot up. Which is exactly the moment in which I passed that day.

Indigenous peoples made a staple of this plant's tiny, grain-like seeds, eating them toasted as-is, steamed into porridge, or brewed into a thick, nutritious drink. In addition, Clarkia was one of several field-forming flowers on the pre-settlement prairie that sustained multiple species of butterflies and other insects that have since become endangered.

Finally, it counts among the relatively few North American flowers to pivot to cultivation, thanks to a ready willingness to thrive anywhere that supplies its minimum requirements.

And also, of course, its magnificence.

So, why has this once-classic local suddenly (re)appeared? Well, the land on which grows is actually a reserve, donated to prairie preservation by former owners who'd run a horse-training facility on it. As such it's undergone incremental restoration, some of which might recently have included inoculation with Clarkia seed.

The reserve trust has also taken to conducting controlled burns on their property, as fire is important to prairie health – among other things, nudging Clarkia seeds to germinate.

Whatever the reason, I'm glad it's back.

WW: Pokeweed

(This is Phytolacca americana, called poke in the American South and Midwest, where it's a rampant weed. [And also a wild edible, though just how edible is a plant that must be boiled in four changes of water to stop it killing you is worth discussion.]

I've never seen pokeweed on the North Pacific Coast till this summer, when I spied it growing on two neglected bits of land in my neighbourhood. The iconic, high-growing, and monopolising Southern brakeweed first evaded recognition, so far from its natural home, till I'd confirmed it online, where I also found that poke is now listed as an incipient invader here.

I'm about certain this is yet another misfortune of climate disruption. Protected before now by our wet, grey, cold weather, the new drier, hotter North Coast is proving quite hospitable to this latest headache, as well as many others.)

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WW: More oyster mushrooms

(Still Pleurotus ostreatus. I've posted on these before, but it never ceases to amaze me how attached this species is to the saltchuck. Rare just a few hundred yards inland, if you can smell the bay, this choice edible isn't just common, it's riotous. Something in the chemical signature of sea air.

The above photo documents just a few feet of downed big leaf trunk that's covered with them. And it's not the only host in this patch of woods, either; if I'd been of a mind, or just greedier, I could have had gallons.

But I only took about five stems, and am busy deciding what to do with them. [Among other things, oyster mushrooms are great breaded and fried, and make a worthy substitute for seafood or chicken in veganised dishes.]

A spring blessing that never gets old.)


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WW: Licorice fern

(Polypodium glycyrrhiza. Common fern of the North Pacific Coast, usually spotted as an epiphyte of broadleaf trees. When growing on a rock face, as here, you're looking at a site that gets above average rainfall. The common name reflects the use of its rhizomes as a "chaw" and tea mixing ingredient.)

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WW: Winter haws

(Fruit of the hawthorn [Crataegus], these often persist into winter, where they add needed colour to the soggy North Coast landscape. After the leaves fall, the tree's bare branches remain heavily decorated with thousands of these tiny scarlet apples, which, when fresh, are a welcome amendment to jams, jellies, wines, and cider.)

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WW: Red-flowering currants

(Ribes sanguineum. Common native food here on the North Coast. Eponymous flower here.)

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WW: Invasive snail

(Cornu aspersum, the brown garden snail. Originally imported to the North Coast from Europe to be eaten as escargot; now it's eating us.)

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WW: Rose hips

(Even in midwinter on the North Pacific Coast.)

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WW: Jelly mushrooms

(This is Dacrymyces chrysospermus, the orange jelly mushroom. It grows on deadwood in moist forests – two things we have aplenty here on the North Pacific. It's also a winter harvest, making this fungus doubly useful, since it's eminently edible when sautéed in butter. )

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WW: A bounty of boletes

(Typical on the North Coast this time of year, where you can often fill a 5 gallon bucket with large boletes in a matter of minutes. Suspect these are Suillus clintonianus, the larch suillus.)

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WW: Giant acorn barnacle

(Balanus nubilus. Found it on the tideline after a heavy storm. It was delicious.)

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WW: Japanese cherries

(This is the fruit of the Japanese cherry tree [Prunus spp.; Cerasus spp.], whose blossoms bring world-famous glowing colour to the north and south Pacific Rim in spring. Its fruit, on the other hand, is viewed as inedible; some authorities even insist it's poisonous.

It isn't. It just tastes bad.

The stiff, bitter flesh of Japanese cherries is indeed uninspired fresh fruit, to put it mildly, but they still have the vibrant colour and heady fragrance of their more palatable cousins. Hence, cooked well and sugared judiciously, they can yield a cranberry-like jelly that's not at all objectionable.

Here I've gleaned about 3 cups of them from a local tree; I plan to simmer them in cider to impart to it their colour and perfume, much as sorbs – a similar fruit – are sometimes used. Afterward, I'll probably make kvass from the cider.)

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WW: Oyster mushroom catch

(Found these while biking, growing by the side of the road. Interesting thing about the way Pleurotus ostreatus behaves in these parts: it only seems to grow within about a quarter-mile of the shore. I've found them many times, but always where you can at least smell, and often see, the bay.)

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WW: Nettle season

(Good eating while they last.)

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WW: Dried kelp

(Nereocystis sp. Great toasted as a salty crunchy snack, or broken into soups, sauces and the like as a vegetable.)

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WW: Black- and raspberry wine

(Here's a bucket of wine I put up on the fridge this week, made of equal parts blackberries and raspberries frozen in summer. It'll be ready to bottle in several months, and fit to drink a year thereafter.

The kvass in the plastic soda bottle was fermented from the second press. Its crisp dryness and beautiful jewel-like colour bode well for the wine to come.)



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WW: Wild blackberries

(Rubus armeniacus.)

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WW: Beach plums

(Oemleria cerasiformis. When they ripen in about a month, they'll be deep purple – almost black – and have a strong flavour reminiscent of dark chocolate.)

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WW: Purple nettles

(I found the patch of nettles [Urtica dioica] in the upper photo beside a bike path last week. Notice their purple stems and leaf veins. Usually nettles are entirely green, like the ones in the photo below that one, which was taken about five feet away.

This kind of variation isn't unusual in some plants, such as Digitalis, but I've never seen the like in nettles. Unfortunately they're past eating; I suspect they also taste different.)

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WW: Lady fern sprout and scrambled egg crêpes

(To be specific: whole-wheat sourdough lady-fern sprout and scrambled-egg crêpes in a white sauce. Part of my annual spring-greens crêpe festival.)

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