When I was a young boy, I remember driving up Saint Charles Canyon with my family. This was back before the road was paved so entering the canyon on a dirt road made it seem even more wild. I was just developing my love for the outdoors, and in particular, my love for canyons with clear, cold trout streams.
On one trip up the canyon, dad stopped the car and pointed out to my mom a group of wildflowers growing on the side hill. He called it Indian Paintbrush. I remember looking at the plants and admiring the bright orange color. I was very young, and I wondered if the Indians actually used it to paint things. This was my first experience with wildflowers and the Indian Paintbrush became my favorite.
In recent years, I have learned a somewhat disturbing fact about the paintbrush. It is a semiparasite. It likes to grow near another plant and sends it roots down until they touch the roots of another plant. The paintbrush roots will penetrate into the roots of the other plant and steal some of its food. Throughout time, they have become so used to doing this that most paintbrush plants cannot survive on their own. As I hike through the woods, I now look at the paintbrush plants and have noticed that they always seem to grow near other host plants, sometimes right in a group of other wildflowers.
This year as me and my wife have hiked, we have taken a real notice of the wildflowers. We are not experts but we are slowly learning some of the plants. Mostly, we just like to look at them for the aesthetic value. Hillsides change from yellow, to blue, to purple with areas of white, orange, pink, and red blended in. The color is so strategically placed that it's easy to believe that a master artist has been at work.
On our last hike, I pointed out to my wife how showy some of the wildflowers are. Their colors really stick out. The bold blue, bright yellow, red and orange, dark purple, pure white, and pastel pink grab at the eye and fight for our attention. As we discussed this showiness, I noticed another plant that caught my eye. It pulled me in because it was a fairly tall plant--maybe about eighteen inches to two feet tall. From a distance it stood out but it was a drab color. I walked up to one to inspect it closer. I was amazed to see some small blooms. They were pretty in a soft way. I called my wife over to show her the delicate flowers. They were a pale greenish-white with small dots or flecks of purple on the outside edge of the petals. Though they didn't stand out from a distance, their beauty is there for those who take a closer look. I mentioned to my wife that I was going to name the plant the "shy" flower because it didn't jump out with color to get our attention--we only noticed it because of its height.
We talked about the shy flower on the way home. It intrigued me. I wondered why all the other wildflowers stood out with amazing color, and the shy flower's beauty was not noticeable until we got up close and really looked at it.
The day after our hike we decided to go to Red Butte Garden. As we walked up the stairs of the visitor's center to make our way out to the gardens my eyes were drawn to a display of framed pictures on the wall. There before our eyes was an enlarged photograph of the "shy" flower. I turned with excitement to my wife and asked her what the chances of the "shy" flowers picture being on the wall? I hurriedly walked over and read the name on the display: Green Gentian.
Since learning the "shy" flower's name I have done some internet searches, found it in my field guide to Rocky Mountain Wildflowers book, and discovered some amazing things. The Green Gentian often has the term "showy" in front of it's name. It is also known as the monument plant or Elkweed. I'm sure the showy term comes from its height as it can grow as tall as 5 or 6 feet. We never saw any of them that tall. Most of them were two feet or smaller. I found out that Green Gentian is a monocarpic plant which means it can live 20 to 80 years but will produce flowers only once and then die. Wow! A plant that at first glance stands out because it is taller than most of the other wildflowers, yet is drab looking so you're never really drawn to it. But if you get close to it, you notice it does have a flower that is beautiful. Then to realize that because it does have a bloom, it will die.
I'm glad I took the time to notice and to learn. I think there is a great lesson in the Green Gentian's life. Is there a metaphor here? Can we draw some comparisons between people and wildflowers?
I'll let your pondering and imaginations take you where it will.
