Bloodroot: Bloom with Hidden Resolve

This early March morning, we're walking to the ruins of an old lime kiln at Silver Mine Park in Pequea Township, Lancaster County. A capricious breeze moves across undulating terrain, and this corner of the world wavers between sunlight and cloud cover— it seems the sort of day that can't make up its mind. We look to the hillside beyond the kiln. On-and-off for more than two hundred years, local laborers and wishful thinkers excavated an extensive tunnel system across the sloping ground, tracing quartz deposits containing silver-bearing veins with diligent digging and sporadic success. While there is evidence of at least three mines and a vertical shaft on the site's surface, nature has slowly regained its claim, and much of Silver Mine's history remains hidden underground. The bluff is quiet and still, echoing with long-ago purpose and tinged with abandonment. Suddenly, today seems the sort of day for bloodroot.

Across miles and through many spring ephemeral seasons, when we find bloodroot, it is in places like this and on days like this: blooming on the unpredictable bridge between winter and spring, bloodroot seems to have a preference for undisturbed wooded ground and a penchant for precipitous slope. This morning's path is rugged enough— having inexplicably left my hiking stick in the car, I pick up a sturdy fallen branch to assist with the ascent. As suspected, on an incline beyond the kiln ruins, we spot several bloodroot— blooms closed with cloud cover, single leaves wrapped possessively around each flower stalk. After exploring the hilltop, peering into yawning openings in the earth, noting time-scarred, moss-covered rock face at every turn, we begin picking our way down the rootbound, cobbled, yielding-possibly-slick trail. As we descend, a fortuitous turn of breeze banishes the clouds, and we return to find bloodroot in bloom, striking white petals and golden anthers basking in newly arrived sun, reddish sap secreted within. We greet these fleeting yet resolute beauties one by one, with bittersweet recognition that as Silver Mine's canopy opens, bloodroot blooms will fade and eye-catching leaves will recede to earth, rejoining buried histories and seasonal mysteries beneath our feet. — B.

One leaf

enfolds each stem

in furled, rapt protection

until bud rises to blooming.

In truth,

bloodroot,

with milk-white delicate flower

and sanguine demeanor

belies hidden

resolve.

— B.

Although the bloodroot is a member of the poppy family, it is monotypic— the lone representative of its genus Sanguinaria. Both the scientific name and the common name of the flower reference the idea of blood, describing the bright red sap that fills the root, stem, and veins of the plant. Bloodroots are early bloomers, braving unpredictable conditions with a set of remarkable and sometimes paradoxical abilities. The plant appears simple and fragile— with just one stem carrying just one leaf enwrapping just one flower. Bloodroots are surprisingly hardy, however, and able to rise with resolve, even out of a bed of snow.  In full sun, the single leaf unwraps, revealing a flashy white, multi-petaled flower with a golden center. Pollinators that visit the fragrant flower in hopes of finding nectar will discover that the sly plant has none. If no pollinators arrive, the plant can self-pollinate. As temperatures drop at night, the leaf rewraps itself around the flower like a mother protecting a baby, ready to emerge again in the sun of the next day.

Despite this protective strategy, the flower is ephemeral, dropping its petals days after pollination. Bloodroot largely spreads its seeds through an unexpected source– ants. The plant’s seeds entice the insects with tasty sugars and oils, and the ants carry the seeds back to their nests. After eating their fill, the ants discard the remaining parts of the seeds, allowing them to begin growing in their new home. Even the distinctive sap of the bloodroot is a paradox: while it has been used in traditional medicine for centuries, it is also known to be highly toxic for humans and other animals when consumed in excess. — D.

 

The bloodroot depends on its ability to acclimate to the uncertain conditions of late winter. In our fast-paced world, we all can find ourselves needing to adjust and respond to sudden changes in circumstance. Change is difficult for most of us; it works against our instinctual ability to predict and manage threat.  The next time you find yourself feeling adrift and uncertain, you might remember the bloodroot’s adaptability. None of us can reliably know what the future holds, but we can all work on our ability to manage unexpected difficulties. One of the basics to successfully navigating change is knowing your strengths and leveraging them when needed. Think about a time when you handled an unforeseen challenge well.  What thoughts and beliefs carried you through? What reliable resources did you use?  Where did you find courage and comfort? What traits and abilities are so ingrained in you that they carry you through dark days?  Jot down some of your thoughts so they are there for you when you need them. — D.

from A Niello

It is not early spring and yet

Of bloodroot blooms along the stream,

And blotted banks of violet,

My heart will dream....

— Madison Julius Cawein, 1865-1914, American poet