Iron Weed
These past few weeks there has been is a good-size
slash of deep purple on the backside of a section of split-rail fence in my
backyard. My brother Tom would have
described the color as ‘deep passionate purple’. The vocal color will stand out for a couple
of more weeks before the flowers dry back and seed out. The patch of iron weed, the most enduring
success I have had in cultivating some native pollinators, has been gracing us
with its persistence for most of the 31 years we have lived here.
When a plant has the term “weed” as part of its name,
it would seem like something that should not be encouraged in your garden. I would argue that iron weed is a wonderful
exception to the rule. The term weed can
conjure up two reactions: the first is that the plant must be obnoxious for
some reason and therefore must be eliminated by any means necessary; the second
is that anything not intentionally developed by a person in a green house is
certainly a “lessor-than”. Both
reactions are quite mistaken in terms of iron weed.
The plant is a holdover from the days when big prairie
held claim to much of the upper Midwest.
That is evident in its height.
The plants in my yard stand a full 6-7 feet tall. That the plant can still be found when the
big prairie has long been mostly paved over and/or tilled, is a testament to its
tenacity. If you think it is strange to
refer to a flower as tenacious, you have probably not ever seen a dandelion
growing right up through a blacktop road.
I think that both its height and the brightness of its
flowers make it a beacon – kind of like a floral lighthouse, that signals to
nectar-loving insects. I went over to
take the picture that accompanies this essay on a recent afternoon shortly
after the sun broke through what had been a cloudy and gloomy day. In a short ten-minute span, I counted two
swallow tail butterflies, three monarch butterflies, two honey bees, and three
bumble bees that made a visit.
You can grow them from seed but to do so you have to
let the seeds be exposed to a winter before planting them. Iron weed is untamable in that way. They are like us in that it is actually the
harshness of the hard times of our lives that leads to periods of growth. We can’t thrive spiritually without testing. God made us – and iron weed – that way!
“Aslan is a lion- the
Lion, the great Lion." "Ooh" said Susan. "I'd thought he
was a man. Is he-quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a
lion"..."Safe?" said Mr. Beaver . .."who said anything about
safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you.” ― The
Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, by
His Peace,
Deacon Dan
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