Wildflowers Need Not Be Named

I have a new passion for wildflowers. I receive such delight in seeing them, trying to remember their names, and noticing their intricacies. This summer, by many accounts, has been one of the best years ever for flowers. I am grateful.

Wildflowers have been of minor consequence much of my life. The main wildflower I remember from growing up in Iowa was the wild rose commonly seen along roadways. I am sure other native prairie flowers existed, but so much of the land was cultivated that I do not recall much about anything but domestic flowers.

When I was a counselor at Cheley Colorado Camps in 1971, one of the projects that campers could do on hikes was to identify wildflowers. They had to point them out to the counselors and when they recognized a certain number, they got a wildflower patch or something. I knew little about the flowers and when the campers came to me and asked if this was “such and such,” I usually responded yes. Perhaps I was unknowingly channeling Silas Houses statement that, “They are wildflowers. They would not want a name.”

My two years spent in Texas was not the best time of my life, but the fields of wildflowers in the spring in Texas were a definite highlight—Bluebonnets galore.

New rituals for me in Colorado are looking for the first signs of spring through wildflowers—the Pasque flowers and tiny Spring Beauties. The Pasque flower precedes most other greenery in the spring.

The final flowers of the summer are now appearing. The fireweed comes back to disturbed spots including the burned areas of the park. The adage goes that when the fireweed blooms to the very top, the first frost is not far behind.

The arctic gentians are the last summer flowers seen on the tundra. These delicate flowers are beautiful to encounter but portend the end of the flower season in the mountains. Rangers sometimes call this the “boo-hoo flower” because when it blooms the short alpine summer is almost over.

My favorite Colorado wildflower is Indian Paintbrush. It blossoms prolifically in many parts of the park for a majority of the summer and comes in a variety of colors-scarlet, orange, coral, magenta, yellow, white, and rose, although the varied colors probably have other more specific names. I never fail to smile when I encounter paintbrush while wandering on the trails.

Recently I read a Native American proverb that summarizes for me my new relationship and connection to wildflowers. Whether wildflowers have a name or not, this thought is my wish for everyone reading this blog: “May your life be like a wildflower growing freely in the beauty and joy of each day.”