The stinky tree

The Bradford pear is a “street tree” that’s blessed with benefits and cursed with shortcomings.

A cultivar of an Asian tree, the Bradford is actually a Callery Pear (Pyrus calleryana). Joseph Callery, a French missionary, “discovered” the species in China and sent it to Europe to be classified – and enjoyed. Today, it’s found along countless miles of American town and city streets. It laughs at pollutants like auto exhaust or road salt and needs barely a square foot or two of exposed earth as it rises from a cement sidewalk next to an asphalt highway.

In early spring, the Bradford produces thousands of showy, white flowers. Unfortunately, the blossoms reek – the smell has been likened to long-unwashed sweat socks. It’s a scent, nonetheless, that attracts scores of pollinating insects.

The tree has another disadvantage: It’s weak and it breaks. Sometimes, Bradfords split down the middle.

However, a rarely mentioned benefit of the Bradford pear is its tiny, marble-sized fruits. Birds love them, especially in the middle of winter when food is sparse. Even in January, it’s not unusual to see robins, cardinals, Blue Jays, even flocks of Cedar Waxwings, wandering its branches, snacking on the fruit, right in the middle of a town or city.

For that alone, we’ll deal with the spring stench and the risk of being beaned by a branch.

Windy names

April showers may bring May flowers, but March’s winds bring April’s windflowers.

At least, that’s what old-timers believed, not only calling our early spring anemones “windflowers” but scientifically naming them after anemos, the Greek word for wind. In fact, in Greek mythology, Anemone was a breezy nymph who hung out with Zephyr, god of the west wind.

Wood Anemone and Rue-Anemone, two white buttercups of our April woods, could thank the wind for more than their names. Lacking much color or scent in a chilly season when few insects are about, they rely on the wind to disperse their pollen.  

However, the naming gurus seem to have gone awry when labeling our common Rue-Anemone. The plant was long called Anemonella thalictroides, which literally means “a little anemone that looks like a thalictrum” – thalictrum being meadow rue, a summertime wildflower. But two decades ago, scientists reclassified the plant, deciding it really is a meadow rue and calling it Thalictrum thalictroides: “A meadow rue that looks like a meadow rue.”

Really!

April’s origin

April has had a bad time of it. Songs bemoan its showers, a poet calls it the “cruelest month,” its length has been cut, and its first day is for fools. Even the origin of its name is uncertain.

In the early Alban calendar, April was the longest month, with 36 days. Various Roman emperors fiddled with its size until Julius Caesar chose the 30 days that stuck. Because April is the time when trees and flowers come to life, many scholars believe its name came from the Latin, aperire, which means “to open.”

Others have pooh-poohed this idea, pointing out that no other month has been named for a condition of nature. Instead, they say, the likely source is a goddess.

These scholars, steeped in dusty mythology of ancient Greece and Rome, maintain that the Romans dedicated this month to Venus, the goddess of love, because April is the month when nature begins its myriad methods of reproduction. The Greek for Venus was Aphrodite, and, the scholars say, that is the root of the name – from Aphrodite to Aphrilis to Aprilis to our April.

Aperire seems so much simpler and more reasonable.

Scilla season

Late March and early April is the season for scilla, a pretty wildflower import that is hardy enough to survive freezing nights and conservative enough not to make a weed of itself.

Scilla siberica is a native of the woodlands of Eurasia. A century or so ago, planting its tiny bulbs was all the rage and today, many old homesteads have sections of lawn that, in early April, turn blue with thousands of small flowers that have spread from those old plantings. If the weather remains cool, the blossoms can last for weeks, providing not only beauty for the eye but nourishment for bees.

Scilla, also known by the rather unattractive name of squill, used to be more common, but some modern owners of antique houses spread weed killers on their lawns, wiping out the old colonies.

They did to scilla what scilla might do to them if they ate it. The word is from the Latin, “to harm,” reflecting the fact that most species are somewhat poisonous – which is actually a boon to gardeners.

It explains why, when so many other flowers are gobbled by the hungry deer, scilla blooms brightly and plentifully – as long as lawns remain poison-free.

'Ducks' without feathers

A Wood Frog sounds like a duck

You’re walking along a wooded road or a forest path in early spring and off to one side, you hear ducks quacking. Dozens of them, chattering away.

You look, but there are no ducks in sight, though there is water.

But if you look closely, you’ll see small, brownish frogs. Those are your quackers: You are hearing the chorus of spring mating calls of the Wood Frog.

These hardy amphibians crawl out of the earth as soon as the snow melts and the ground thaws. They head for the nearest water, usually a vernal pool surrounded by woods. There they mate and their eggs are deposited underwater.

Vernal pools provide ideal mating grounds for these frogs and Spring Peepers. These ephemeral waters have the advantage of being around in the spring, but are usually gone by late summer. Consequently, they can’t support fish, which would eat the frog eggs and tadpoles. And they last long enough to allow eggs to become frogs.

Scientists say many amphibians seem to be in decline. The good news about Wood Frogs is that their populations appear to be in good shape, even increasing, especially as the former farmlands of our region return to forest, allowing for more vernal pools.

This trend could continue, as long as wise land-use officials see the life-giving value of vernal pools and protect woodlands in which they appear.

Peeper keeper

Peep. Peep. Peep.

Choruses of spring peepers have risen from the woods. But how did those inch-long amphibians deal with the vagaries of New England weather that can swing temperatures from the 70s to the 20s in April?

To peepers, a sudden freeze or even a spring snowstorm is no sweat. Cold air triggers the frog's liver to create glucose. Blood brings this antifreeze to the vital organs like the brain and heart, keeping them from freezing. But the rest of its body — more than 60% of it — can freeze for weeks without harming the frog.

So on a walk in a wood on a cold spring day, you may find a small, frozen frog. If you put it in your warm hand, the iced peeper will simply melt and hop away, no doubt with a song in its heart.

Sour Swamps

As winter thaws out of the ground and opens the waters of our swamps, a characteristic sour scent appears. It tickles our noses with a strong smell that is far from perfume, but still has a strange attraction. 
 
We are probably smelling a soup of scents.  

Anaerobic bacteria, the kind that thrive in water and soil with little or no oxygen, give off hydrogen sulfide and phosphine gases as they feed on the products of decomposing leaves, grasses and other vegetation from the previous seasons’ plants. Those gases combine with others offered by freshly thawed, but decaying vegetation. Add to the mix the malodorous Skunk Cabbage, and you have a special blend of wetland aromas that can be found only in early spring. 
 
This pungent and pleasant scent signals renewal in these hotbeds of life. Swamps are where the new season really begins, a nursery full of not only stinky bacteria, but countless aquatic and land insects, small fish, amphibians, reptiles, mollusks, as well as wildflowers, that serve as food for other wildlife emerging from dens or arriving by wing. 
 
And so, though it arises from death, this sour scent is really a sign of life.

What is the 'range' of a bird?

What does “range” mean when talking about a species of bird?

The range of a bird species is the territory in which one would expect to find it living at one time of the year or another. Ranges vary from small areas of less than the size of Rhode Island to nearly the entire world.

Several factors determine a species’ range, chief among them the climate and the kind of soil. Climate and soil affect the kind of vegetation that grows, and vegetation is the source of food, nesting sites and materials, and protection for most birds. Few birds can survive in the desert, where vegetation is spare, but some have adapted to it. Other birds require the sea, or at least lakes or rivers, for their survival.

Various factors also limit range. Oceans are the most obvious; few birds are capable of crossing an ocean under normal conditions. Temperature limits range; few birds can survive an Arctic or Antarctic winter, for instance. High mountains define some range boundaries -- many species are found either east or west of the Rockies.

The Red Knot can be seen in 
Connecticut, but Connecticut is not 
part of the Red Knot's range.

Many birds migrate and their territory includes a “summer” or “breeding” range and a winter range. Often the summer and winter ranges overlap so that a species might live year round in some states or provinces while in other regions, the birds appear only in summer or winter. In the case of such species as the Tundra Swan and the Snow Goose, summer and winter ranges are widely separated.

Although during migration these birds fly over a lot of land and may stop for a bite to eat on the way to and from ranges, the territory in between the winter and summer grounds is not considered part of its range.  For example, the Red Knot has a winter range at the southern tip of South America and a summer range in the northern Arctic. While it can be seen on Connecticut shores in March, Connecticut is just a brief stopover on its long way north and not part of its range.

Woodcock woes

Each March, nature centers and Audubon groups sponsor “woodcock walks,” as much a part of the tradition of spring as spotting robins in the yard or Red-wing Blackbirds in the swamps.

The American Woodcock is famous for its mating maneuvers. In his Essential Field Guide Companion, Peter Dunne describes it concisely: “Aerial courtship display is arresting and easily observed at dawn and dusk. Birds spiral aloft, calling as they climb, then descend rapidly to earth like broken kites. After an interval, the display is repeated.”

Late snow can be deadly for 'timberdoodles'

What also makes woodcock fascinating is that they are actually shorebirds – members of the Sandpiper family – that eons ago moved inland and inhabit forests and fields instead of beaches and dunes. Their main food is earthworms.

It is a pudgy bird whose neckless head appears to be what Dunne calls “a bump on the body.” He says that the overall effect of the bird is like viewing a “meatloaf on a stick.”

They have endeared themselves to countless generations of farmers and nature-lovers, who often call them “timberdoodles.”

The American Woodcock has been somewhat in decline in Connecticut, probably because of habitat loss. But in March, late winter storms can also take their toll.  In 2007, there was a big St. Patrick’s Day storm, and many reports of dying woodcock. 

For instance, George Rieger of Greenwich told us, “The morning after the recent ice/snow storm we found a woodcock outside of our front door near Bruce Park in Greenwich. The bird appeared healthy but was weak and unable to fly.

“We put it in a box with torn up newspaper and some water. We tried to keep the bird warm but not too warm. After 24 hours the bird was strong enough to escape the box and flutter about.”

He took them to a nearby sanctuary.

“Three birders were at the sanctuary. They suggested that we let the bird try to make it. I was skeptical. Two of the men took the bird to a tree and released it. I said to my wife and the third man that the woodcock was bait for predators.

“No sooner had I spoken than I saw a black shape flying toward the woodcock. I yelled ‘crow.’ The youngest of the two men sprinted toward the woodcock and arrived just in time to dislodge it from the crow's beak.

“We left the beautiful woodcock with the birders whom I am certain did the best that they could for the bird.”

They may have taken it to Meredith Sampson, director of Wild Winds Inc., and a wildlife rehabilitator in Old Greenwich. She had gotten many woodcocks that season.

Meredith reported on the Connecticut Birds internet discussion group, “Received the eighth woodcock for rehab. Sad to report the bird expired about a half hour later. It was extremely emaciated at 101 grams and apparently crashed into something which resulted in a misaligned beak and severe eye injury. Found in downtown Stamford.

“Out of the eight woodcocks in rehab, two have survived and were released three evenings ago. All came in severely emaciated, weights averaging around 90-100 grams.

“It's rare that I get in this species – I don't even get one a year! It’s heartbreaking to see this happening.”

What was happening? Milan Bull of Connecticut Audubon offered an answer on Connecticut Birds.

“Woodcock are apparently dying in considerable numbers across the Northeast this spring due to a crusted snow pack isolating these early migrants from the soil and earthworms below. We have had calls throughout Connecticut from members and wildlife rehabilitators reporting dead and emaciated woodcock in numbers I haven't seen in similar past events, and those are only the ones that are discovered!

“This is not a good sign, considering woodcock are on a long-term decline as it is.”

Fortunately, soon after, warm weather arrived and melted the hard-topped snow, giving the surviving woodcock access to their worms. 

And fortunately, our hard and thick pack this year has been steadily melting and in many places, has disappeared.

Flowers, finally!

The first flowers of a new season are always a joy to behold, especially after a long, cold and snowy winter. Crocuses in our yard this afternoon.

Wings and water

Early March is when many water-loving birds return to the Northeast: Red-winged Blackbirds, Kingfishers, and several kinds of ducks, for instance. Swamps, streams, shorelines and ponds are a draw for the first migrants because they offer food from the earliest bits of new life as well as from some leftovers of old life.

As soon as the ice and snow begin to thaw, insects such as carrion-eating flies start to appear in the air and others emerge in the water. Fish, once protected by ice, become exposed, and amphibians like salamanders and spring peepers crawl out of their winter beds. Plants that like wet feet become accessible in the water and begin to grow in the swamps.

Wetlands also offer treats left from last season in the form of berries and seeds still held by plants like buttonbush. The bush’s aged but still tasty fruits are designed to attract the hungry migrants. The birds eat and soon “plant” the seeds, complete with fertilizer, far from the mother bush and just in time for a new growing season.

The dead meat flower

Skunk Cabbage in full bloom

This is the season when we search the yard for snowdrops and crocuses, popping through the melt. Yesteryear’s farmers, however, looked not for these elegant garden imports, but for a reeking native to find signs-of-spring comfort.

Skunk Cabbage is by far our earliest wildflower, often appearing even before all the snow has disappeared. Well supplied with antifreeze, Skunk Cabbage also generates heat by a process called thermogenesis. Inside the cabbage hood, which protects a ball of flowers, the temperature can be as high as 70 degrees when the outside air is freezing.

That heat, plus plenty of pollen, makes the Skunk Cabbage very user-friendly to some of the season’s first insects, which may gain not only food, but warmth, on an early spring day. Many of those insects were attracted by the plant’s stink, which is reminiscent of rotting flesh – just what a hungry fly loves!

Skunk Cabbage is clever in other ways, including its flavoring. The plant is rich in blistering oxalates that “burn” the tongue and discourage browsers. It’s a defense that has prevented deer from decimating its wetland colonies.

Winds of life

March is famous as the month that is supposed to roar in with leonine force, pruning some trees and felling others. But in the world of trees, the March wind is a new-life giver as well as an old-life taker.
 
As any allergy sufferer knows, trees produce enormous amounts of pollen – a single tassel of birch flowers can disperse 10 million grains. March winds can bear the pollen of red maples, American elms, ashes, willows, and other early bloomers to fertilize distant flowers, leading to seeds and, if all goes well, a new tree.

The wind is a reliable, effective vehicle for arboreal intercourse. Some years ago, the Paris Botanical Garden had a pair of female pistachio trees that bloomed for years but never fruited. Then one year, both were full of nuts. A researcher found that some miles away, on the other side of the city, someone's new, male pistachio had bloomed for the first time that year. 

While a high wind in March may spell the end for a few old trees, it can also bring life to many others.

To feed or not to feed

Each spring, many people take down their feeders for the season. There is plenty of natural food around, they figure, so why spend money on seeds?

Actually, plenty of food is almost always. Except in the direst conditions, such as a blizzard with deep snow and subzero temperatures, year-round birds can find enough food to survive our winters; otherwise, they wouldn’t be here in cold season.

For the birds, our feeders are added conveniences, be it summer, fall, winter or spring. For us, they are entertainment, as well as a source of knowledge about the wildlife around us.

The truth is, we feed the birds because it’s fun, not because they need our food.

However, there are arguments for not feeding in the early spring through late autumn. One arrived last week in the form of a warning from the Connecticut Department of Environmental Protection: it’s Black Bear season.

Bears have emerged from their winter dens and are wandering the countryside, looking for food and mates. Bird seed at feeders (along with garbage cans and outdoor grills) attract them.

“Homeowners can often prevent bear problems by making unavailable or simply removing food attractants that draw bears,” DEP said.

Most inland towns in Fairfield County, Connecticut, and Westchester County, New York, have annual bear sightings nowadays – Ridgefield had 11 last year, Wilton, 7, Redding, 3, Weston, 1, and New Canaan, 1, DEP records say. A Ridgefielder had two feeders torn down last fall by what was probably a bear (see photo).

Black Bears are shy and rarely get involved with humans. Some people would consider a bear in the yard exciting, but others would rather see these critters, weighing hundreds of pounds, only in a zoo. If that’s you, take down your feeder now.

Another problem with year-round feeding is disease. Warm weather can exacerbate the transmission of diseases, especially those involving bacteria like salmonella. Disease can come from seeds on the ground that develop molds and/or that have been tainted with feces.

Safe, warm-weather feeding requires maintenance: regular cleaning of the feeders as well as of the ground beneath them, especially if you use seeds with shells.

Some people don’t put out feed in the summer and fall because they think it will delay the departure of migratory songbirds, which may then perish in cold weather. However, scientists believe the changing length of the day – more light in spring, less in fall – triggers migration, no matter how much food is available locally.

Yard aficionados who like their lawns to look like putting greens eschew warm weather feeding, especially with sunflower seeds, because of the mess it can make. The husks of whole sunflower seeds, for instance, contain a poison that kills grass.

On the plus side, attracting birds to the yard in summer helps control many kinds of pest insects.

Bird-feeding in warm weather pretty much boils down to whether you want to do it, can afford to do it, and are willing to do it safely. If you are neat, clean and aren’t afraid of bears, feed on!

Wooing Mrs. Nuthatch

Bird watching can be a lot more than just identifying what shows up in the yard. A good bird watcher also notices what the birds are doing.

Nine-year-old Blythe Filaski of Ridgefield is a good bird watcher. “Recently, I spotted two nuthatches on my pear tree,” Blythe writes. “The nuthatches must have been mates, because their bills were together, almost as if they were kissing. I think they were sharing seed.”

Blythe was lucky enough to observe an interesting courtship behavior of the White-breasted Nuthatch. Here is how Arthur C. Bent described a pair of nuthatches 60 years ago:

“All through the winter the pair has lived not far apart, feeding within hearing of each other, but the male has paid little attention to his mate; in fact, on the food shelf, he has shown dominance over her; but now in the lengthening, warmer days of spring, he becomes actively engaged over her comfort.

“A real courtship begins: He carries food to her and places it in her bill, he stores bits of nut in crevices of bark for her convenience, and he often addresses his singing directly to her. Standing back to her, he bows slowly downward as he sings, then in the interval before another song he straightens up, then bows as he sings again. The songs come with perfect regularity over and over again and can thus be recognized even in the distance as the courtship song.”

Ornithologists have been fascinated by this behavior in many species, including cardinals and hawks. Of course, on the simplest level, it can be taken as a way of wooing a mate by making her happy – just as men often take women out to dinner on dates.

However, scientists see more in the behavior. The food exchange not only develops pair bonding, but may also help convince the female that her mate will be a good provider during the forthcoming nesting period.

“Increasing evidence suggests that females who receive more food from their mates lay larger clutches” of eggs, wrote David W. Winkler, in Handbook of Bird Biology (Cornell Lab of Ornithology, 2004). “Mate feeding probably makes it possible for a female to raise more young, by keeping her in good condition and allowing her to put more energy into feeding the young.”

In other words, a nice dinner now may mean more and healthier kids later.
So, for the nuthatch and many other species, “the way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach.”

Mating matters

The season of nesting is a good time to take a look at the kinds of male-female relationships that exist in the bird world. Many birds form lifetime partnerships – though they may have quick “flings” on the side – while others mate for only short periods or have multiple mates.

Ornithologists describe three kinds of mating arrangements: monogamous, polygamous and promiscuous. In monogamous pair bonds, the birds mate for at least the breeding season, raising their young together. Ornithologist David Lack estimated that at least 90% of nest-raised birds come from monogamous pairs. So do 80% of precocial birds – those able to walk about and feed themselves shortly after birth.

In many, perhaps most cases, monogamous pairs remain mated until one of them dies. Canada Geese are among the most faithful birds, mating for as long as 20 years. Most gulls also pair for life. The Rose-breasted Grosbeaks at the left are monogamous. This system is the most efficient and effective, providing the best protection and service for the brood of nestlings.

Some birds, such as House Wrens, generally stay with one mate for only one brood. In fact, while the male is raising the first brood, the female may take off, find a new mate, and begin a second nest. Talk about energy!

In the case of polygamous pair bonds, one male or one female may have several mates. In the more common arrangement, like the harems of lore, one male has several females. This is called polygyny. Wild Turkeys, Ring-necked pheasants, grouse, Bobolinks, and Red-winged Blackbirds are polygynous. The male generally sticks with and protects his several wives and their offspring while each female takes care of raising the children. This system is more selective than one-on-one mating; The one male that is able to build a harem of several females will be stronger and perhaps healthier than the average male and will likely pass on these traits to offspring.

In a few species, the female makes use of several mates. The Spotted Sandpiper lays eggs in several nests and the males incubate them. This system, called polyandry, allows one female to produce many eggs and is useful in situations where the breeding season is short, such as in the Arctic.

Promiscuous mating occurs when two birds have sexual relations and part company. Typically, and perhaps not surprisingly, the male takes off, leaving it up to the female to raise the resulting family. The most famous practitioners of promiscuous mating are the hummingbirds and woodcocks. Dr. Steve Kress, a noted ornithologist with National Audubon, says that typically, either the brood is small, such as in hummingbirds, allowing the female to raise the chicks alone, or the offspring are precocial, as in woodcocks, able to walk and feed themselves soon after birth.

For a long time ornithologists thought that monogamous birds were totally faithful to one another. However, DNA testing and close observation have revealed that monogamous birds may have fleeting “affairs” with other partners.

Zoologist David Barash and Judith Eve Lipton reported in The Myth of Monogamy in 2001: “When it comes to actual reproduction, even bird species long considered the epitome of social monogamy, and thus previously known for their fidelity, are now being revealed as sexual adventurers. Or at least as sexually non-monogamous.” These include eagles and geese, long thought to be strictly monogamous.

Swans, doves, finches, hawks, wrens, flycatchers, thrushes, and warblers occasionally switch from monogamous to polygamous pair bonds.

What happens when a mate dies during the nesting season?

Birds that form monogamous pairs do so largely to share in the job of raising young. Nesting season is a dangerous time, full of threats to the parents as well as the eggs and nestlings. Predators, as well as disease and accidents, may kill birds, leaving a widow or widower to care for the nest. Among monogamous pairs, it’s difficult or impossible for one bird to find food and protect the nest.

Fortunately, there are what ornithologists Allan and Helen Cruickshank call “a floating population” of unmated birds that are available – even anxious – to jump in and replace missing mates.

Ash yellows

For folks with White Ash trees, early May can be a nail-biting time as they wait and wait for the leaves to appear.

Ashes are one of the last native trees to leaf out in the spring. Many are still not out yet.

But ash owners aware of the “ash yellows” are particularly anxious to see leaves in the hopes that this deadly disease has not struck their tree. The result could be a hulk costing many hundreds of dollars to remove.

Ash yellows is a protoplasma, a kind of parasitic bacteria possibly transmitted by beetles, that attacks ashes and can kill them as in as quickly as one year – an amazing feat, considering White Ash may be anywhere from 50 to 100 feet tall, with up to a five foot diameter trunk.

One sign of a diseased tree are “witches’ brooms,” spindly clusters of leaves amid limbs that are otherwise leafless (see picture)

No one knows for sure how it spreads or exactly how it works, and no one has a way of preventing ashes from catching it.

But by now, if your ash has avoided infection, at least leaf buds should be appearing. If not, better plan on calling a tree crew.

Save the wood, though – ash is great in the fireplace.

Treetop visitors

Spring’s leafless trees are a far cry from Shakespeare's bare ruined choirs of winter. Where late the sweet birds sang is springing to life with song. Those branches are the hotels and summer homes of countless migrants.

The earliest of the tree flowers are blooming. Where there are flowers, there are usually insects. And where “bugs” are, birds are sure to follow. In fact, insects drawn to the early-flowering trees are important food for warblers, tanagers and other small migrants heading north in the weeks to come. Some will stop here to nest for the summer while many others eat and run, heading farther north.

For bird watchers the leafless limbs of early spring are a blessing. The scores of colorful arrivals are much easier to spot without lots of green blocking the view.

So instead of watching spring arrive on the thermometer, dust off the binoculars and point them to the passing parade of treetop visitors.

Why this weed is a winner

Got one of those March colds? In the old days, you might have turned to a March weed for help.

Many roadsides will soon be lined with Coltsfoot, a wildflower whose bright yellow blooms are often mistaken for dandelions.

Although it’s colorful and among the earliest and hardiest of the spring wildflowers, Coltsfoot was imported from Europe not for its beauty, but for its alleged abilities as a cough medicine. Its generic name, Tussilago, means “cough dispeller,” and for centuries its juices were used like Pertussin or Robitussin (notice those coughing “tusses”) from the drug store. Ailing New England children in the 19th Century were fed Coltsfoot drops, made of plant extract and sugar.

Don’t do it today, however. Modern research suggests ingesting Coltsfoot may cause liver tumors.

Instead, enjoy Coltsfoot for a different characteristic. The import has adapted to some of the worst soils North America can offer. The most likely place to see it is in within a foot or two of highway pavement – soil permeated with winter sand and salt, oils from asphalt and cars, and, yes, litter.

If there’s a terrain in need of beautifying, it’s our roadsides, especially in spring when we are hungry for outdoor color. This post-winter weed is a winner.

The Big Stink

There’s been a big stink at the University of Connecticut lately. No, it’s not some scandal or controversy, but the blooming of a Titan Arum – two, in fact – at a university greenhouse. Only twice since the 1930s has this species flowered in the Northeast, and UConn has two in one season.

Natives of Sumatra, Titan Arums bear huge blooms that literally reek. Both in their foul odor and reddish color, the flowers mimic carrion, all in an effort to draw flesh-eating flies to pollinate them.

However, you don’t have to go to UConn or Sumatra to see the same technique in action in our own woods. Early each spring, our wetlands are bursting with Skunk Cabbage flowers, another Arum that uses exactly the same technique – carrion color and scent – to attract flies.

Still another spring stinker is Purple Trillium, a fly-baiter that may qualify as the worst-smelling wildflower in North America. But its odor is not a defense and unlike an Arum, the trillium is not bitter-tasting. Unfortunately, hungry deer won’t turn their noses up at a bad smell, and have been eating our trilliums into oblivion.