The Blueys are Blooming…again.

When the North American Native Plant Society asked me to write about a plant for the cover of their newsletter, I picked “the Blueys,” one of my favorite urban wildflowers, and one of the toughest. It blooms all summer in trash alleys, ditches, cracks in the asphalt, and this morning, at a telephone pole.

Thanks to recent rains, the Blueys are having their fall revival, so it’s time to share the article here at SidewalkNature. Irene Fedun, editor of the Blazing Star kindly gave permission to reprint a version below.

First, here’s a screenshot to show the artwork by Beatrice Paterson:

And here’s an audio clip in case you’d rather listen to the whole thing:

Who can resist a true blue flower? As blue as a bluebird wing, as blue as a summer sky, bluer than any local butterfly?

In Nashville, we’ve got several species of native, blue flowers, but most lean toward violet or lavender. Even a smidge of pink can nudge blue to not-truly-blue. True blue is rare.

Whitemouth dayflower is true blue. In books, it’s also known as Slender dayflower and Widow’s tears, but none of these names reference what’s so striking about the plant – the clear, bright, beautiful blue – so at our house, it is known as the Blueys: as in “Hey, the Blueys are blooming, come and see.”

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Fall Author Events and a butterfly update

Below, I’m listing local events where I plant to speak or share or both. The first one is this Saturday (Sept 27) at the Hendersonville Public Library.
But first, an update from this month’s Native Nature Share:

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Nature Show ‘n’ Tell for Grown-ups

Here are some highlights from the past few Native Nature Shares. What is Native Nature Share? It’s a monthly get-together at Warner Park Nature Center: “an opportunity to learn from each other about our local habitats, and to build community in an informal, supportive gathering.”

Basically, It’s show ‘n’ tell for grownups. Everyone is welcome. All you have to do is bring one seasonal, right-now wonder that you think is urgently interesting and probably native: a plant, leaf, fossil, rock, stick, feather, fungus, bug, whatever.

You can ask the group to identify your treasure or you can tell us what it is, but either way, we’ll talk about it, and we’ll learn from each other.
The collective enthusiasm and experience and curiosity around that table is itself a wonder.

It’s like a Book Group, but without the guilt of not reading the book.

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Book: This is How a Robin Drinks (an invitation, and recap of Launch)

I wrote my first book in Kindergarten. It was about an ant:

This is How a Robin Drinks: Essays on Urban Nature is my second book, and it is finally real.

The advance praise is gobsmackingly wonderful, so I’ve made a page for what Margaret Renkl, Doug Tallamy, David George Haskell, Georgeann Eubanks, Erika Howsare, Michael Sims, and The Humane Gardener, Nancy Lawson took the trouble to say, along with some reviews so far. Here’s that page: link.
One review made me glad I read it alone in the kitchen, so I could clutch the countertop and have a proper, joyful, and very ugly cry.

Photos of the *Book Launch* at Parnassus Books with Margaret Renkl are below, but first, a request:

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Cicada update: babies

Look who hatched today! The first baby of Brood XIX periodical cicadas! With lots of luck, this new nymph will survive the next 13 years underground, then emerge and molt into adulthood in May 2037. Right now, it is barely bigger than the egg it came from, but you can see six legs, two antennae, and cute little eyes.

Part of that luck starts with the egg itself. If eggs are deposited in a twig that snaps, browns, and hangs (“flagging”) or in a twig that breaks onto sunny lawn, the eggs are not likely to survive. They dry out if not protected by living plant tissue. And then, at hatch time, if a nymph drops to any other surface but soil, it is doomed. And if the merest breeze wafts it to the roof, driveway, bird bath, street: doomed. And if it gets mown, trimmed, blown, sprayed w/ any pesticide: doomed. And if it gets spotted by even one of a zillion predators above-ground or below: doomed.
Good luck, little cicada!

New nymphs will be hatching for several weeks now, so watch for falling, tiny, white creatures. I’m pinning black t-shirts to the clothesline, the better to spot the contrast. I’m also watching our dog’s black-furred back as we walk her, in case neighborhood nymphs drop on for a ride.

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By the way, I wrote a book

After a festival or a hike, my husband will ask, “Did you tell anyone about your book?” or “Did you mention you have a blog?” and I will answer “No.”
Honestly, I forget. And I’d rather talk about Mosquito Buckets of Doom or Caterpillar Host Plants or Native Habitats than talk about myself, even when “myself” is 100% relevant to the topic at hand.

So, I am extra grateful that Margaret Renkl let slip that my forthcoming book is finally coming forth.
She put two surprise shout-outs in her essay in The New York Times, “The Cicadas are Here, Singing a Song for the Future” (link). While quoting from one of my cicada Instagram posts, she mentioned my book, “This is How a Robin Drink: Essays on Urban Nature.”

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First Week of April: Trees

A roundup of quick Sidewalk Nature updates: one warning and three wonders.

Trouble with Double

Kwanzan cherry trees don’t feed pollinators or birds. They look great two weeks of the year but they don’t support our foodweb. Prunus serrulata ‘Kwanzan’ / ‘Kanzan.’

My concern is that when people have room to plant one tree, this is the one they’ll want. It is cultivated for pretty, and pretty it is, but it doesn’t have nectar, doesn’t make fruit, and as a nonnative congener, its leaves support only a fraction of the Lepidoptera species a native Prunus / cherry can.

But at the Cherry Blossom Festival this month, festival-goers can walk away with a free Kwanzan cherry tree from the Nashville Tree Foundation.

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Periodical Panic: Why Not To

Nashville’s 13-year periodical cicadas are coming this May, but what’s already here is panic.

For months, worried people have been asking about the 2024 “invasion.” Should they cover their trees? Should they wait to plant new trees? Should they reschedule outdoor events, and even indoor events? Will there be “too many” cicadas? No. The answer to all these questions is “no.”

3 reasons not to panic about “too many” cicadas:

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Cottonwood petiole gall

Underneath Cottonwood trees right now, you might find leftover leaves. They tell a story. A strange story.

It’s the story of a particularly interesting aphid. Virgin birth! Live birth! Eggs! Wings! No wings! Sexual! Asexual! Above ground! Below ground! Sucking mouthparts! No mouth at all!
These aphids do it all.

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What a Robin Sees (Spring edition)

I caught a Robin Redbreast red-handed: she was taking soil from a tray on the porch. She took my seedlings, too, but only to toss them aside. She was treating my lovingly planted seedtray as her personal mudpile. Robins need wet soil to make their nests.

Most yards nearby are solid turfgrass with no soil in sight, but even my yard’s bare patches aren’t useful to her: they are compressed with our walking, and cracked with no rain.

So I sat on the porch and watched the tray.
She came, she stole, she flew across the street.

Then I hid the tray under my chair. A moment later, the Robin was under my chair, too.

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