Climate, hunger, war, challenges to democracy, the collapse of biodiversity… I wish I could lighten the world’s load, but I feel like I’m trying to move a mountain with my bare hands.
So I asked myself what I could do today, and what have I heart to do. Some goldenrod seeds I gathered ahead of the first snow answered me. They called out to be planted.
A mannerly flower
Not just any goldenrod. The seeds are Old Field Goldenrod, Solidago nemoralis. This is a native goldenrod that a gardener would plant on purpose. It is not weedy or aggressive. It grows about knee high, and not in masses, but sparely — a single one here and there in an unmowed field. Toward its tip, a wand of flowers leans over, drooping slightly, which I find graceful and charming.
Prairie remnant
It has grown here on its own in the Midwest’s native prairie for thousands of years. In fall, it starts blooming later than other goldenrods, extending the time of gold. It generously feeds butterflies, moths, and other pollinators. In winter, goldfinches eat the seeds, and native bees nest in the the hollow of the stems. It’s a plant we don’t want to lose.
How to know it
It has two sizes of leaves. The largest grow along the main stem. A cluster of small leaves comes out at the base of each big leaf. It’s easy to see the difference in leaf sizes.
Individual leaves have relatively smooth edges, with tiny, inconspicuous notches.
Collecting the seeds
I always want more Old Field Goldenrods. Here is how I collect the seeds.
In September or October, when the plant is in bloom, I tie a ribbon around a stem. Then I wait. After the flowers fade, I pick the stalk, with its ripened seeds.
I pull off the seeds with their white parachutes. The parachutes are fibers that let the wind carry seeds to new locations.
Planting the seeds
Today I planted some of the seeds in small pots and set them outdoors. They’re in a space that’s safe from chipmunks, but where they’ll taste the rain and snow and feel the winter temperatures, which they must experience before they can germinate.
Next year, I’ll transplant the seedlings into my garden. Because they will not bloom the first year, I label each one carefully so as not to dig it up by accident.
The following fall, butterflies will explore every golden blossom, getting fed and doing the work of pollination.
Doubtless I did not save the planet when I planted Old Field Goldenrod seeds. But with what strength I have, I gave a little push. Who knows if the earth felt ever so slight a lift?
Ah, but the butterfly effect...
As one who spends time hand-removing invasive plants, I can attest that the earth does feel every little push like yours in planting Old Field Goldenrod. Sometimes I think it's the loving care that matters as much as what we actually do. Thank you.