Logo
Prev
Bookmark
Rotate
Print
Next
Contents
All Pages
Related Articles
Browse Issues
Help
Search
Home
'
National Geographic : 1915 May
Contents
THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE from the pink, which he accuses of having no power of invention at all. Ordinarily we think of the pink as having a pink flower, and, if we reflect at all, that the color we describe as pink lends its name to the flower; but the etymologists mostly disagree therewith. They declare that the pink is the lender and not the borrower, and that the color owes its name to the fact that it so closely imitates the flower. It is said that the word pink as applied to the flower is derived from the verb "pincken," meaning "to scallop," so that the flower borrows its name from an act and transfers it to a color. We habitually use the word pink to express our highest ideals along many lines, thus unconsciously paying high tribute to this beautiful little flower and its relatives. A woman we may describe as the pink of perfection and a man as the pink of courtesy. COMMON EVENING PRIMROSE ((Enothera biennis L.) (See page 489) Who has not seen the common evening prim rose with its pale yellow flowers "luikin out o' their leaves like wee sons o' the sun" has missed a sight that has gladdened millions of hearts. In the United States the evening primrose is a hardy warrior in the competition for ex istence and is not over-particular as to where it is stationed on the battle-front. Roadsides, dry fields, thickets, and the corners of the old fashioned worm fence are satisfactory stations for it, and it is equally at home in Labrador and Florida and as far vest as the Great Plains Mountains. It is when the sun goes to bed that the even ing primrose's morning dawns. It is one of the denizens of the Great White Way of the Flower City, waking while the world sleeps and sleeping while the world wakes. As the sun approaches the western horizon the evening primrose awakes and bedecks it self in yellow and white, perfumes itself up with the most seductive of sweet-scented odors, and prepares to welcome the sphinx moths that come to tarry and to sip its sweetness through the long and silent night. Before the dusk grows deep we may behold the visitors arriving and departing and the grand reception in full sway. Now comes a beautiful little moth dressed in rose pink, its wings bordered with yellow; now the Isabella tiger-moth, and now another and another. All of them have long tongues, though it has never been charged that they use them for gossip. The nectar cup of the evening primrose is deep, and the short-tongued moth stands a chance of going hungry. The primrose, though it revels in the night, is yet somewhat stingy with its favors, for often it will open up only one flower to each stalk. It does this to insist that its messengers who feast on its nectar shall carry its pollen to a flower on another plant. One night of revelry is enough for a flower of "milady primrose," for when morning dawns the corolla wilts, hangs awhile, and then drops away; and when we see her next day the freshness is gone, and she presents the appearance of one whose dissipations have laid heavy toll upon her. But if by any chance no visitor has come during the night to sip its nectar and to be pollen-bearer for it, the primrose does not close when the moths retire at dawn, but keeps open house for an hour or so in the morning, unti the bees can repair the neglect or until a humming-bird can pass its way on her rounds. Toward the end of summer, after a sufficient number of seeds have set to insure the future, the primrose becomes more generous of its sweets and often bids welcome to the bees the whole live-long day. The evening primrose must not be con founded with the true primrose of England and the poets, a very different plant, belonging to a different family. STAR GRASS (Hypoxis hirsuta (L.) Coville) (See page 490) The yellow star grass is a quiet and modest little flower that asks only for a chance to live in the dry open woods and fields, gleaming out of the turf by day as the stars gleam out of the heavens by night. From May to October it shines out of the landscape, and it finds but few parts of the United States where it cannot dwell prosperously. Usually only one of the tiny blossoms on a stalk opens at a time. The others wait their turn, each hoping that those ahead may have the honor of entertaining the tiny bee that de lights in their sweets and pays them back in pollen-bearing messenger service. Butifa flower "blushes unseen" by the bee for too long a period, it grows tired of "looking and hoping," gives up its ambition for cross-fer tilization, and, folding itself as the Arab folds his tent in the night, it brings its own pollen laden anthers into contact with its own stigma, and thus produces self-fertilization as a last resort against death without posterity. But if the bee comes the flower is happy, and offers its visitor not only its nectar, but gives it pollen to carry to its home as flour for the bee-bread which the bee's tiny babies must have. Nature's frugality is revealed in the case of the star grass. When its flower is upright and almost closed, she paints its outside with green color; but when the blossom is spread out the inner side of the petals display the chief deco ration. WILD GERANIUM OR CRANE'S-BILL (Geranium maculatum L.) (See page 491) This graceful flower, purplish pink or lav ender in color, comes in April and goes in July. It has a preference for woods, thickets, and shady woodsides, and does not seek the 510
Links
Archive
1915 Jun
1915 Apr
Navigation
Previous Page
Next Page
