I thought you might like to have a picture of Rose Baywillow Herb. A quick check on Google shows that the spelling of wildflower names is one of man-(and woman)-kind’s more creative occupations. In the end I went with the one above – but please feel free to adjust it, should you feel a desperate need.
Rose Baywillow Herb is a first responder – any time there’s a vacant piece of ground Rose Baywillow Herb is at the front of the queue.
The herbalists of the Middle Ages – that period when we all spoke Anglo-Saxon, before contiguous generations of teenagers mangled it into the language we speak today – noted that Rose Baywillow Herb was a northern plant. It no doubt garnered its liking for minimal competition from the days when the ice sheet that covered most of the world started to melt back (global warming has a lot to answer for) leaving vacant ground ready for the taking. Even today, in the wilds of Alaska they chop it up and mix it with their dog food.
When the railways crept south from George Stevenson’s sheds, Rose Baywillow Herb took the raw scars of new railway lines as a sign from above – and moved south.
Those years we are blessed with a really rotten summer, the autumn brings a magnificent display of flame coloured foliage – a good summer leaves it brown, desiccated and uninspiring.
Ignore the bee – he’s just in it for the selfie.