Fern Glen Essays
Where's The Beef?
by Judy Sullivan

The first moment that I spied the wakerobin in full wine-red bloom, all of spring seemed distilled in its aspect. Lifeblood red, rich and robust, it fairly vibrated with élan vital. Mesmerized, I drew close. My nose, already giddy with the scents of lilacs and loam, homed like a bee to honeyed hive, buried itself in those velvet petals
...and recoiled.

Several sneezes later, I rheum-inated over the list of common names duly recorded in my wildflower guide for Trillium erectum. Tucked between "birthwort" and "squawroot" was "stinking Benjamin." Not "fragrant." Not "perfumed." But, "stinking."

Funny how perspective can change in an instant. "Lifeblood red" suddenly assumed a new forensic facet. Why would a flower smell so foul? Several mosquito bites later, a clear answer. The only visitors prowling the petals were flies. Here was logic that was brilliant in its simplicity. If it looks like dead meat and it smells like dead meat, it must be a great place for maggots.

The foraging flies were quick to spot deception. However, in the process of investigation, they managed to acquire a prodigious amount of pollen, which would be transferred to the next blood red, foul scented object that they encountered, be it beast or bloom.

Was I disappointed by this apparent conflict of form and fragrance? Not a whit. It's all too easy to assume the anthropocentric view that beauty is created only for our idle pleasure. It's much more fascinating to discover the function behind the fragrance. Then again, could it be true? Could that ripe carcass cologne actually be heaven scent and our perception the real stench? Perhaps the unknown Benjamin, so honored by association with this ruddy Trillium, wasn't really malodorous, but merely a handsome lad whose aroma served a different ecological purpose.

Questions, comments, or other feedback to Judy Sullivan.