Like a Rocket - A Dame's Rocket, That Is!

The farmstead was abandoned long ago. Time has erased the evidence that this little grove of trees ever sheltered a family from the worst of the Kansas winds. 

Only the Dame's rocket was left behind. The spindly purple-headed plants are still nestled in a grove of trees along the Raymond Road. Randy noticed them several years ago, and since then, we watch every spring for their blooming. 

Kansas Wildflowers and Grasses says that Dame's rocket was "an ornamental often planted by early settlers."

Granted, I have a vivid imagination, but I think about a farm wife new to the open plains of Kansas. Many settlers at the time had come from the east - from areas with more trees and vegetation. And I think about her trying to beautify this little spot of a new home with some pretty purple blooms.

Dame’s rocket (Hesperis matronalis) produces either white, pink or purple flowers in April and May. It was introduced to North America in the 1600s from Eurasia.  It is often seen in roadside ditches, hedgerows and older farmsteads. Scott Vogt from Dyck Arboretum in Hesston sees Dame's rocket as an invasive weed. In a publication from Dyck's Arboretum, Vogt writes: 

Dame’s Rocket is closely related to other problematic weeds of the mustard, family such as garlic mustard, hedge mustard, wild radish and yellow rocket. All of these weeds are prolific and opportunistic, infesting field margins, woodlands, open grassland and wetlands.  It ... has the ability to produce chemicals that prevent or reduce the growth of other plants similar to garlic mustard. With these tendencies, Dame’s rocket and garlic mustard will quickly form dense monocultures within a few years, pushing out other desirable native plants. 

That may be, but I still love the purple nestled under the trees. Randy knows I love them, so he tried to transplant some of the Dame's rocket at our homestead last year. It didn't take. So he tried again this year. We'll see how it fares.

 I am firmly in Winnie the Pooh's camp on this one:

Weeds are flowers, too,

once you get to know them.

Winnie the Pooh

 

I Know A Green Cathedral

I still know the first few phrases of the first vocal solo I ever sang for a music festival. It was "The Green Cathedral." It was my 7th grade year at Skyline Schools, and I remember standing by the piano in the music room with Mr. Bob White, practicing over and over again, trying to perfect the performance before the music festival.

These days, I sometimes can't remember why I walked from one room to the other without retracing my steps and trying again. But the words to that long-ago solo were among the first I remembered as Randy and I stepped into the light and shadows of an abandoned farmstead.

"I know a green cathedral, 

a shadowed forest shrine.

Where leaves in love join hands above 

and arch your prayer and mine."

It might not be a forest in the middle of the Kansas plains. But the Dame's rocket flowers were a siren call stretching far into the shelterbelt and dotting the blanket of green underfoot and overhead with a splash of lavender.

That day, we had been driving by at 55 MPH on our way back home. But the splash of purple at the side of the road had me asking Randy to turn around.

We've been to this spot on other springtime afternoons. But never do I remember the flowers being so prolific and magical.

True confessions: I didn't remember all the words to the song without Googling them. (And, by the way, isn't that reference tool a major upgrade from the old card catalog? After all, it was probably 50 years ago or so.)

So, "The Green Cathedral" has joined the never-ending sound track of my mind.

"Memories, light the corner of my mind. Misty, water-colored memories
Of the way we were."

Oops ... wrong song.

"The Green Cathedral" 

Verse by Gordon Johnstone

 

I know a green cathedral, a shadowed forest shrine,

 Where leaves in love join hands above

 and arch your prayer and mine;

Within its cool depths sacred, the priestly cedar sighs,

 And the fir and pine lift arms divine unto the pure blue skies

In my dear green cathedral there is a flowered seat,

Birdhouse at Sterling golf course, photo taken the same day.

 And choir loft in branched croft, 

 where songs of bird hymns sweet;

 

 And I like to dream at evening, 

when the stars its arches light,

That my Lord and God treads its hallowed sod, 

In the cool calm peace of night.

I've Come to Watch Your Flowers Growin'

Slow down, you're moving too fast

You gotta make the morning last

Just kickin' down the cobblestones

Looking for fun and feeling groovy

Ba da-da-da da da, feelin' groovy

                                                          --- Simon & Garfunkel

There aren't any cobblestones on my road ... just the tiny pieces of gravel mixed with Kansas dirt. But I could probably heed the warning to "slow down" - at least if we're talking about operating a motor vehicle.

 

The old Simon and Garfunkel song also has a line about "I've come to watch your flowers growin'." Not long ago, when I went "up north" to help Randy, I found some flowers growing. I could easily have missed them as I sped toward my rescue mission. Or I could have decided I didn't have the time to spend. After all, one little errand for Randy had somehow morphed into an afternoon of several errands, and my own to-do list had changed into a "not gonna get done" mode.

But after my second trip to the field, I stopped anyway. Like the irises I wrote about earlier, the purple flowers aren't in someone's yard. In fact, if you don't know where to look, their delicate blooms could be covered up by dried CRP grasses and hidden away in the shadows under the branches of an old shelterbelt. 

 

We first noticed them a couple of years ago and learned they are called Dame's Rocket, or hesperis matronalis. The seeds were brought to America from Europe in the 17th Century.

From a distance, they kind of look like their name, a slender rocket of lavender color. But, up close, they are made up of intricate, delicate petals. I pulled over and took several photos.

With my errands done, I came back home and stopped at the mailbox. Many times, Randy is the one to bring in the mail. But that day, as I slammed the lid back shut, I happened to look down. At the base of the old cottonwood tree, there were dozens of mushrooms.

The wet spring had them popping up at the base of the tree and even on the bark itself.

Though small, they had plenty of delicate details. I snapped some photos and then went back to the house. The next day, I thought I'd try again, but most of them looked like a moldy mess of fungi. Instead of the delicate cream color, they were now black.

If I hadn't taken the time to look that first day, I would have missed them all together. It was just a reminder to make the most of every moment. Our days on this earth are never guaranteed. Too often in the past six weeks or so, life has been teaching us that lesson.

Every moment of the day, we have a choice: to compare life to our expectations or to thank God for what we have been given. We can rejoice in the small adventures and surprises that God hides inside every day for us to discover if we only give that day a chance.

"Life I love you, all is groovy."

Peekaboo Flowers

Sometimes, I get blinded by the road before me. I'm hurrying to the next thing - whether that's picking up someone from the field or getting to town for a meeting. The dotted lines down the center of the blacktop can be hypnotizing - churning away the miles to get me to where I'm supposed to be.

Sometimes, I think it's my eyesight that fails me. I see the fluffy clouds dotting a bright blue sky, and I say a little prayer for that extra bit of beauty in my day. But the smaller things seem to elude my glasses-obscured peripheral vision.

That's when it's good to have a farmer who only needs glasses for reading. He sees some of those little things I miss. And he's good about sharing. Last week, he told me about some pretty purple blooms along the Raymond Road. He saw them while on a tractor, so it also put his line of sight above the CRP grasses. I had to go and see them for myself. 

Besides having an observant husband, I knew I could send a photo to my Master Gardener friend, Jeanie, and have the blossoms quickly identified. She says they are Dame's Rocket or hesperis matronalis, if you want to get all technical. Her seed catalog says that "hesperis" is Greek for evening, and the name was probably given because the scent of the flowers becomes more conspicuous towards evening. I can verify that, as I parked the car and waded through the ditch and downed tree limbs to see them up close.

This beautiful "crop" is likely at the site of an old farmstead. Jeanie says she's been seeing stands of these purple blossoms as she's delivered mail on rural routes in the last few weeks. 

Dame's rocket was brought from Europe in the 17th Century. In our neighboring Colorado, this member of the mustard family has been identified as a noxious weed (according to Wikipedia). I'm reminded of an A.A. Milne quote:

Weeds are flowers, too, once you get to know them. 
A.A. Milne
Author of Winnie the Pooh

They look like flowers to me. And beautiful ones at that.