Tomorrow, the third Saturday in May is the running of the Preakness Stakes in Baltimore, the second leg of horseracing's triple crown. The winner of the race will be covered in a blanket of Black Eyed Susans, the state flower of Maryland. It's been a while since I wrote the following story. Reese Dean has passed away, but every time I drive past his field I think of him and his wild flowers. The picture was taken some time ago for it's still a little early for the Rudbeckia to bloom -- they used painted daisy's for the race blanket --.
Years ago, when I was in the greenhouse business raising plants and vegetables for folks to grow in their gardens, all the trade publications were strong on the idea of changing people’s habits to refer to the plants, especially the flowers, by their Latin names. Logic was that the common in common names meant debased or vulgar, rather than in everyday usage.
Many flowers are already known by the Latin, for example Gladioli, shortened, of course, to Glads, the image of bright colors that they are. To me, though, it seemed strange to advocate abandoning many colorful and descriptive names for the sake of uniformity. The term Everyday Bloomers is a much more apt and succinct handle for that wonderful family of plants than the misunderstood and often misspelled Latin Impatiens.
In the summer on my way to work I drive along the country road that runs beside Naked Creek. There is often a light summer fog that clings to the meadows at that early hour before sunrise. Reese Dean, the farmer that owns the particular farm of which I now speak, has let one of his fields grow wild. The pasture is covered with small flowered white daisies and sprinkled among the daises are what the learned would have us call Rudbeckia. The large orange petals radiating out of the black centers of these flowers are so much better described by the common name, Black-Eyed Susans.
I have no idea who Susan was to have such a fine plant bare her name. She possibly was from Maryland, for it is their state flower. I recall a few Susans from my youth that had the fire and sturdiness of the plant, but they all were light-eye colored. There was, I remember, a Lola with dark eyes and a bright smile. Perhaps if the Latinists succeed in getting everyone to call the plant Rudbeckia, I’ll change the common name to Black-eyed Lolas.
I drive slowly past Reese’s field in the mornings, windows down, listening to the clack of the kingfisher bird through the mist. This is how wildflowers are supposed to be found.
Nearly every state highway department now decorates the medians of the interstate highways with patches of ‘wildflowers’. I do appreciate the splash of color as I speed by, however, I wonder if it is worth the effort. God has created a wildflower meadow in Mr. Dean’s old cow pasture more glorious than any the state could produce, and all for the price of nothing.
In the fall cattle are placed in the field and the steers eat the remaining flowers. By then, though, the plants have reseeded themselves for the next year. Perhaps the steaks and hamburgers that will come for the Black Angus will have a hint of the flavor of daisies and black- eyed susans.
