Cut-Leaf Toothwort: Look Closely to See

We are walking a rugged trail along and above the Susquehanna River in southern Lancaster County, ascending and descending sun-wakened ridges, crossing streams and runs in shadowed glens, tracing a story of time and place— of bluff and bottomland, rock and flow— through river hills that have become a refuge of sort for us in recent years. As we make our way on a cobbled, root-bound trail, there is temptation and often good reason to keep heads down, looking neither left nor right, to watch one foot fall in front of the other, ignoring peripheral distraction. Yet, when we pause to catch our breath or stop to appreciate just where we are— when we look closely to see— here, then here and there, we often find cut-leaf toothwort by the wayside. As we've become acquainted with cut-leaf toothwort, it seems the most unassuming of spring ephemerals: clusters of dainty, four-petaled, pearlescent cream-to-pink flowers held above a spray of serrated leaves. It's easily overlooked amidst the delightfully disordered early spring landscape, and yet— once truly seen— the graceful arch of cut-leaf toothwort nodding in the breeze distinguishes itself and speaks to the heart.

In many ways, cut-leaf toothwort is well-suited to our new way of walking— navigating a landscape irrevocably and profoundly tinged with grief and sorrow— nevertheless continuing the journey with purpose, looking carefully, embracing the present while holding fast to memory— moving forward through a complex world brimming with empty space. It has occurred to me that we twenty-first century humans have a tendency to travel quickly through the moment and to place a premium on moving on— often in happy times, and certainly in search of instant gratification. Perhaps we think to do the same in grief and sorrow: as if we can run away from grief, escape sorrow, or fill the empty space of loss with light and sound and diverting objects. Finding cut-leaf toothwort in the rugged river hills does not take away grief, dissolve sorrow, or disallow loss— but as we pause along the trail, it seems to fill a corner of the empty space with something beautiful, gentle, and true. We find them, and somehow in turn, they help us find ourselves. — B.

Looking

closely to see

cut-leaf toothwort waiting

on a hillside, in a hollow,

nodding

gently—

the graceful, unassuming bloom

filling an empty space

with something kind

and true.

— B.

The cut-leaf toothwort is an interesting little plant that can be easily overlooked on an early spring walk. Search for it throughout the Eastern and Central United States in moist, wooded areas near trees— although it is a perennial, it also is ephemeral and only blooms for about a month. If you are walking and find a cut-leaf toothwort, take the time to stop and study it closely. You’ll quickly see how it gets its unusual name— the plant’s leaves are its most noticeable feature. Although it might initially seem like it has five sharp, toothed leaves, look again— there are actually just three leaves with deeply cut lobes. These leaves are very important to certain white butterflies. The female lays her eggs on these leaves, and the larvae will feed upon them. If the butterfly makes a mistake, though, and lays her eggs on the similar-looking invasive garlic mustard plant, the larvae will not be able to digest the leaf, and they will not survive. White butterfly mamas must look very, very closely. 

Try not to disturb the toothwort as you continue looking. You may be able to see the root— technically a rhizome— where the ground meets the stem. The toothwort rhizome has a long history of use in folk medicine, including helping with the pain of toothaches. Look once more. If the plant is flowering, you can see a single stem leading to four white petals on flowers that might remind you of a cross or shield, depending on your point of view.  This bloom may be why toothwort flower essence has come to symbolize protection and determination. You can help protect this little cut-leaf toothwort by leaving it be for others to find, observe, and contemplate. — D.

Most artists and scientists would agree that seeing is not the same as observing. Observing involves not only taking in basic visual information about something but doing so with a conscious focus and sense of inquiry. Think about something we all have seen many times— a one cent coin, for example. Now consider how many of us could accurately recall the information that is on each side of the coin. We have seen a coin but have not had a reason to observe it. An artist would need to observe a coin with great attention and care in order to paint it, and a scientist would do the same in order to study it. Interestingly, research has noted a relationship between close observation and connection; as we study an object or person, we are more likely to develop an emotional attachment to it.

Practice your ability to look closely.  Set aside just five minutes where you can be free of interruption, indoors or out, and find a comfortable spot to settle yourself. Listen to your own breathing. Be patient with yourself. Now observe— really look closely at an object in your environment. Try to imagine you’ve never seen it before. Draw it with your eyes. Paint it with your mind. Photograph it with your imagination. See if you can maintain your focus by getting curious about it. Notice when your attention naturally drifts, and gently call it back. How challenging is this experience for you? What can be gained from this kind of close observation? — D.

from The Pageant of Nature

The toothwort, although never really common, is probably more abundant than is usually supposed. The retiring habits of the plant must often cause it to be overlooked. Anyone who discovers a toothwort for the first time will always experience a feeling of wonder.

— Sir Peter Chalmers Mitchell, 1864-1945, Scottish zoologist and author