I confess that I'm not much of a "pink" person. Frills, fluff and folderol aren't part of my make-up (There's not much of that, either.). However, when it comes to things botanical, pink has its place — and a very pretty one at that.
There are oodles of pink flowers. Carnations, coneflowers, geraniums and the ever-classic roses adorn gardens around the world. There are as many shades of pink as there are posies. (I should know, having written innumerable plant descriptions for a small nursery. I knew that I'd reached my linguistic limit when I described the color of one peony as a "robust shade of diaper-rash.") However, few pink flowers delight me as much as those belonging to the tousle-headed Joe Pye weeds (Eupatorium maculatum and E. fistulosum), towering above their lesser competitors in damp meadows and ditches.
 A swallowtail butterfly enjoys Eupatorium fistulosum |
Two men share the honor of association with this noble perennial. One a conquering ruler. The other a legend, a shade. Eupatorium ("of a noble father") refers to Mithridates Eupator, a somewhat determined despot who once controlled the kingdom of Pontus (which included what is now Turkey). Young Mithridates grew up with an unhealthful fear of being poisoned. This isn't surprising, considering that his mother made several such attempts on his life. It's rumored that, seeking to protect himself against similar efforts, he began consuming small quantities of various poisons, including that of the genus that bears his name, gradually increasing the dosage. Some might even consider him the world's first immunologist. Ironically, when finally conquered by Roman general Pompey, he sought suicide by the same means, only to meet immunological defeat and be reduced to falling on his sword. |
More than through Eupatorium, I tend to recall Mithridates from a bit of A. E. Housman's verse.
There was a king reigned in the East:
There, when kings will sit to feast,
They get their fill before they think
With poisoned meat and poisoned drink.
He gathered all that springs to birth
From the many-venomed earth;
First a little, thence to more,
He sampled all her killing store;
And easy, smiling, seasoned sound,
Sate the king when healths went round.
They put arsenic in his meat
And stared aghast to watch him eat;
They poured strychnine in his cup
And shook to see him drink it up:
They shook, they stared as white's their shirt:
Them it was their poison hurt
- I tell the tale that I heard told.
Mithridates, he died old.
A millennium later, we encounter a reputed Native American healer known as Joe Pye, or sometimes, Jopi. The stories of Joe Pye are as diverse as species of Eupatorium. Some say that he was a traveling medicine man from Maine, others that he was a landowner in Salem, Massachusetts who was forced off of his land despite his aid to European settlers. All, however, appear to agree that he used the plant to treat typhoid fever. The effect of the herb is unknown, except that it can cause profuse perspiration. Certainly, it must have been efficacious for this herb to bear his name.
At first glance, these flowers bear little superficial resemblance to other members of the aster family. While we picture pinwheels of daisies, Joe Pye flowers are naught but the hubs, comprised of tiny "disk" flowers in such profusion that they appear as rosy banks of cumulus clouds floating above the stems.
Butterflies and scores of bees wander among the blossoming heads, inserting long slender tongues into nectar tubes, searching for the last drop of sweetness, like ice cream pooled at the bottom of a waffle cone. Yet, the flowers are so closely congested that, even without this persistent probing, the rubbing of pink shoulders and buffeting by wind moves pollen from one to the next. Weeks later, fall breezes toss the narrow seeds aloft, bold adventurers suspended from fuzzy parachutes, wafting far afield. A ready supply of moisture and nutrients encourages Joe Pye weed's soaring height. Yet, despite ample sunshine, it frugally arranges its leaves in whorls around its stem, no individual leaf overshadowed by another, the better to capture every possible ray of light. What an efficient use of resources despite ample supply. We humans should be so inclined. Beauty, generosity and a pragmatic conservation ethic. An inspiration to us all, except, perhaps, for Mithridates. |
 Seeds attached to cobwebby parachutes float far afield. |
Questions, comments, or other feedback to Judy Sullivan.