On my kitchen table sits a glorious pot of gold. No – I wasn’t visited by leprechauns during the night, leaving me a treasure of untold wealth; I haven’t become instantly rich, and I would never find a merchant or bank to accept the gold as legal tender. The “pot” is a vase and the gold it contains is a treasure of another kind. It’s goldenrod – one of nature’s treasures.

“Cindy? Goldenrod inside the house?! Has all that allergy medication that you take for your hay-fever gone straight to your head, and left you delirious?” Thanks anyway, but save your tissues.

Edwin Rollin Spencer, in 1940, says of goldenrod in his book Just Weeds, “The goldenrods are truly weeds of the wayside, with emphasis on the ‘weeds.’ Aside from the beauty of some of the species, which has caused them to be adopted as State flowers in several States, the goldenrods have not a single commendable character, and they do have at least one very undesirable weedy trait. They are among the generators of hay fever. The ‘wondrous days of green and gold’ become horrible days for some people when the goldenrods come on the scene.”

Sure, goldenrod produces heavy pollen – just look at all the bees and butterflies that visit when it’s in bloom. And I suppose if you stuck your nose into the flower, it’d make you sneeze – just as you would if you got a noseful of pollen from any other flower. But the idea the goldenrod is the cause of hay-fever is an age-old misconception, and one that persists today as it did when Mr. Spencer wrote his book. Although the myth that goldenrod is the cause of hay-fever has been debunked, goldenrod is still often the scapegoat when the real culprit for those itchy, watery eyes, sneezes, and eye-closing sinus headaches is ragweed. (Achoo! Now you can pass the tissues, please!)

Goldenrod’s pollen is not air-borne; the pollen is sticky, and the plant is pollinated by insects. On the other hand, ragweed, (achoo!), which flowers at the same time as goldenrod, has wind-blown pollen.

Goldenrod is a wonderful cut flower; long-lasting, it’ll stay looking good for 7-10 days in a vase. Cut it when it’s still a lime-green color to use as filler for a mixed bouquet; it’s a favorite of florists used in this way. Pick when the inflorescences are just starting to show hints of yellow, or when it’s in its full golden glory. In every stage of bloom its beauty adds bright cheerfulness in the dog days of late summer, and a warmth that carries well into autumn. As with any cut flower, a teaspoon of sugar, and a teaspoon of white vinegar added to the water in the vase prolongs freshness. The sugar feeds the flowers, and the vinegar kills bacteria that speeds the decaying process.

Don’t hesitate to bring it into your house to enjoy – there’s no need to stock up on tissues first. Plant some in your garden too. Pick a bouquet to give to a friend; he or she will not only be thankful for your thoughtfulness, but also for the bouquet’s symbolism ... for this beautiful "weed of the wayside" really is a treasure. In the Language of Flowers, goldenrod represents treasure and good fortune, and folklore tells us it brings quick wealth if planted in the garden or displayed inside the house ... maybe there is a visit from that leprechaun in my near future after-all.

I live in the area known as Michigan’s Fruit Belt. Orchards and vineyards make up a large part of the countryside, and the small towns throughout celebrate the bounty these crops bring by honoring the various fruits with a myriad of festivals – any reason to throw a party for family, friends, and neighbors is a good one when you live in a small town.

The fruit festival season kicks off early with the Blossomtime Festival in spring; festivals heralding specific fruits follow when the blossoms fall, the fruit forms, and ripens throughout summer. The opening of strawberry season is commemorated with its traditional auction of the first crate of ripe strawberries. It's for bragging rights mostly – for both the grower, and the winner. This year's first case sold for a record $15,200.00. Yep, that many zeros for a crate of strawberries! All the money goes to a charity of the highest bidder's choosing. After strawberry season concludes, comes the International Cherry Pit and Spit Competition, and then the Peach Festival; the ‘Red Haven’ peach was developed right here in South Haven. The Apple Festival, the Wine and Harvest Festival, and the many all-encompassing, whatever-is-left harvest fests, round out the fruit festival season.

Here, in South Haven, blueberry is king, and our contribution to the fruit festival line-up is the National Blueberry Festival – or just “Blueberry Fest,” if you’re a local. South Haven is the Blueberry Capitol of the World, and though the title is a self-proclamation, it might not be too far off the mark. Michigan leads the nation in blueberry production, with much of the fruit coming from this immediate area.

If you happen to miss the blueberry fields on the outskirts of town, our reverence for this fruit is apparent throughout the year once you hit downtown proper. The first thing you’ll see are these tiny, but plump, sweet little morsels of healthful goodness represented in basketball-sized form, nestled amongst other fruit and vegetables on a mural celebrating our agricultural heritage.

Directly across the street is The Blueberry Store, where you can get anything blueberry that you can imagine: blueberry scented soaps and candles, recipe books, pottery, clothing, chocolate covered blueberries ... mmmm, blueberry pancake and bread mixes, jams, jellies, syrups, honey, and my favorite – blueberry salsa. And they ship anywhere – the perfect “Taste of South Haven” Christmas gift for out-of-town friends and family.

But it is for four days in early August that the blueberries really take center stage. This year’s 45th Annual National Blueberry Festival, one of four blueberry festivals in Michigan, and approximately 38 in the nation, is one of the longest running blueberry festivals in the United States. An expected 50,000 to 70,000 visitors were estimated to attend this year’s event – that’s quite a small town party!

Here, if blueberry is king, than his court consists of the Blueberry Queen, the Blueberry Prince and Princess, and Little Miss and Mister Blueberry, and they wave to their kingdom high atop a float in the Blueberry Parade. I love small town parades; you can hear them coming for miles away with all the police cars, fire engines, and rescue equipment’s sirens blaring. This year the Coast Guard boats were absent; I wonder if it was because of budget restraints due to higher fuel costs, or if the perfectly gorgeous late summer day kept them busy out on the Lake. The local politicians made their appearance; they always do, and they are joined by local business floats, youth groups, community groups, and the marching bands – the bands are always my favorite.

In addition to the parade, festival activities include a raffle, a 5K run, a sand sculpture contest at the beach, an air-show at the municipal airport, fundraiser dinners, magician shows, a Renaissance group performance, sidewalk sales, and arts and crafts fair and antique flea-market. Down by the public marina, the street running along the channel is blocked off, and a carnival atmosphere is present. The air is perfumed with the heavy, slightly greasy and sweet scent of fair food: corndogs, elephant ears, cotton candy and plates piled high French fries.

I almost kept my vow this year to overcome my fear of heights by climbing the rock wall. Though I chickened-out, I redeemed myself on the mechanical bull ... sort of; the bull won, and the only medal I received were the silver stars spinning around my head upon my “artful dismount, Mom!!!” screamed by my daughter who got the whole thing on film.

The public marina lawns are a mass of wall-to-wall blankets and lawn-chairs, and the channel a maze of anchored boats – all there to listen to the nightly live music. As the sun sets over Lake Michigan and dusk arrives, there’s a magical quality in the air. Music plays while Friends Good Will, our town’s sailing pride – a replica of a 19th century tall masted sloop – solemnly and silently completes its last cruise of the night and settles into its dock at the Michigan Maritime Museum. This is all very typical festival stuff, but served up with a slice of local flavor.

And if it’s a slice of flavor you want, there is the Giant Blueberry Pie Social where you can get a piece of blueberry pie served up from huge 40-pound pies made by the local bakery. More than just a slice? Of course there’s a pie-eating contest – what fair would be complete without a pie-eating contest? To start off each day of the festival, there are Blueberry Pancake Breakfasts. At Blueberry Central, culinary skills are displayed in the categories of Main Dishes, Salads, Desserts, Breads/Muffins and Others in the National Blueberry Festival Cook-off. Vendors offer all kinds of jarred products, pies and breads, dried and fresh berries, and blueberry plants.

As Blueberry Fest came to a close, and our families made the weekend’s last walk home, my neighbor and I brought up the back of the pack. You see, she held in her hand the festival’s treasure – a five pound box of fresh blueberries. For me, popping handfuls of sweet berries into my mouth is the best way to end the celebration.

There are festivals and fairs like Blueberry Fest going on all across America bringing to light the character of small towns by celebrating their heritage with unique local flavor….whether it be blueberry, strawberry, or peach. Or chocolate? Now a Chocolate Festival! That’s something I could really sink my teeth into!

It’s that time of year when everything is coming up roses – time to get our spring rose order ready for next season.  It’s so hard to narrow the field down to the forty or so varieties we’ll carry at the nursery.  We pour over the catalogs; which new varieties are “must-haves”; do we really need hybrid teas – they tend to be fussier, and less hardy here than shrub roses, climbers, ground-covers, or the can’t-kill-it-if-you-tried rugosas. We must have at least a few teas, though; when some people think of roses, they have pictured in their minds a tea-rose – the kind of long-stemmed perfect roses that are ordered in floral shops for special occasions. Are they disease resistant, and with clean foliage? Do they re-bloom? Are they fragrant? These are all things that must be considered when placing the order. I’d love to be able look at the garden with rose-colored glasses and find no skeletonized leaves ... it’d be nice if they’d develop a rose that is resistant to Japanese beetles. Oh, and let’s not forget the long-time favorites – ‘William Baffin,’ ‘Therese Bugnet,’ ‘Double Delight,’ ‘Westerland,’ ‘The Fairy,’ and ‘Knockout,’ a bright cherry-red, she’s a real looker, putting out nonstop from June until frost.

That’s not the description of ‘Knockout’ found in the catalog; it’s accurate, but it’s one of my own. I think it’d be fun to write rose descriptions; many of them found in the catalogs appeal to my corny sense of humor.  There’s ‘Honey Perfume’ – “Bee it honey hued or appealing apricot ... it’s just bee-utiful.”  In the mood for roses … or for something else?  ‘In The Mood’ might be the rose you’re looking for then, because “nothin’ says lovin’ like a red rose … a really red rose that turns up the heat with big round petals virtually dripping with super-saturated redness. Each big buxom blossom holds that very same brilliance until they fall exhausted....”  Rose enthusiasts, and classic rock fans will appreciate ‘Hotel California,’ a rose named after the Eagles song of the same name: “We’re ‘livin’ it up’ with this great large-flowered clear-yellow Hybrid Tea … it comes from the Orard family in central France … ‘such a lovely place.’  If you’re looking for long cutting stems, elegant big buds and glossy foliage, ‘you can find it here’ ... most ‘any time of year.’ So give in and say ‘welcome to the Hotel California.’”

Many roses are named after celebrities.  There’s Julia Child, Barbra Streisand, Bob Hope, Judy Garland, and Ingrid Bergman, just to mention a few. ‘Elizabeth Taylor’ is “shocking deep pink with smoky edges. A showy star, Liz can wow ’em with her flashy hot pink colors, her shapely buds and her prolific production of long-stemmed beauties. And her long-lived flowers will draw a crowd of admirers. But keep an eye on your husband!”  Dolly Parton boasts “big buxom full-figured buds and blooms sparkling with provocative orange-red color that’s saturated with a powerful perfume of sweet rose and spicy cloves. As with its namesake, she performs all the better when the hot lights are blazing down.” I wonder what Liz and Dolly would think if they read these catalog descriptions? Eleanor Roosevelt voiced her opinion on the matter, “I once had a rose named after me and I was very flattered.  But I was not pleased to read the description in the catalogue: ‘no good in a bed, but fine against a wall.’”

There are people that purchase roses based solely on the name. A friend of mine helped me out of a bind when I returned to work after my second daughter was born by watching the girls until a slot opened for the baby at daycare. I wanted to repay her for her generosity. She would not accept money, so because she is a gardener, I gave her a nursery gift certificate. One of the things she chose was a bi-colored hybrid tea rose because of its name. Seven years later, “Double Delight” still flourishes in her garden, and with each bloom she tells me she is reminded of my daughters – who were a ‘double delight’ to watch.

I have Fairy roses in my own garden to represent my girls. I didn’t plant them for this reason, but because a co-worker calls my daughters “pixies,” I think of them when the Fairies bloom. The characteristics of Fairy roses represent my girls’ personalities perfectly – tiny, but tough-as-nails, and so very sweet … when they want to be. 

One of the sweetest rose stories I’ve heard happened just a few weeks ago. A woman came into the nursery, and when asked if she needed help, said "I'll know what I’m looking for when I see it.” She found the roses, and purchased eight bushes of a single variety. Her grandfather had just died – he was her ‘Grandma's Blessing,’ the name of the rose she chose. The eight roses were just enough for each of his grandchildren to have in their gardens as a memorial to their grandfather.

Roses or not, gardens aren’t just a mere collection of plants. They are extensions of the lives of the people who tend them. Personalities, family, friends, and memories are reflected in many of the plants we choose to grow. I enjoy stories of sentimental gardens; I’d love to hear yours.

Imagine 365 acres of land along Lake Michigan’s shoreline, and 1,300 feet of pristine beach frontage.  It’s a developer’s dream!!!  Lakeshore property such as this is being devoured all too quickly; houses and condos are rapidly replacing forest and dune.  Not this property though.  William Erby Smith saw to it that hungry bulldozers would never sink their teeth into this land.  Referred to as an environmental jewel along the lakeshore, this is Wau-Ke-Na Preserve, a name Smith created which means “forest by the water.”

Mr. Smith spent a large amount of his time and resources, and worked with Southwest Michigan Land Conservancy (SWMLC) for ten years in an effort to improve wildlife habitats by restoring hardwood forests from pine plantations, and creating wetlands and grasslands.  When he died, at the ripe old age of ninety, he bequeathed the land to the conservancy.  

We arrived a few minutes late.  It was just one of those days.  An argument between my daughters in the morning, resulted in a lecture from me, after which I received “The Look” from my oldest.  Anyone who’s lived with a teenager is familiar with “The Look”:  the eyes roll; the mouth is slightly open in an exaggerated sign of disbelief, and arms are defiantly crossed in front of the chest.  “The Look” this particular morning meant, “I can’t believe you’re taking her side over mine.”  It set the tone between us for the remainder of the morning, and carried over until I got home from work with only minutes to spare to grab a bite to eat before leaving for Wau-Ke-Na.     

When we entered the community building, Nate Fuller, SWMLC’s Conservation and Stewardship Director, and our guide for the evening, was already explaining to this evening’s guests the diversity of eco-systems on the preserve.  Tonight, twenty or so of us would be exploring a small bit of the twenty miles of trails that wind through the maple-beech forest, wetlands, remnants of the lake plains prairie, clay bluffs, duneland, and another forest made up of yellow birch, hemlock, tulip tree, and red oak. 

“Mom?  When are we going to see the birds, Mom?”  I had told my seven year old we’d see birds; over 100 species of birds have been sighted and documented on the preserve.  I knew she was looking forward to seeing something big and impressive such as the blue herons in the wetlands, or something more elusive like the shy barred owls that live deep in the forest on the preserve.  Nate pointed out the little sedge wrens calling from the thick grassy area on the side of the path.  Tiny – smaller than a house wren – they were once quite rare here, but their numbers are increasing since more areas are left unmowed.  Impressive and elusive maybe, but my daughter had in mind something bigger, and with more flash.   

She did find evidence of larger birds when she picked up a wild turkey feather.  There were a lot of turkey feathers, in fact; some animal recently partook of a turkey dinner.  “It was probably a coyote,” I explained.

“Mom?” her eyes lit up with excitement. “When are we going to see the coyotes?”

The answer came in the form of an eye-roll from her sister.  “This is not the zoo, Shannon,” said the Sullen One. 

“I know that, Shelby,” Shannon retorted with matching eye-roll.  Sigh.  My girls look so much alike. 

The trail led us to a special little clearing.  While we listened to our guide explain the geological uniqueness of this eco-system – there are only 26 acres of “hanging fens” in the country, my oldest slipped her arm through mine.  The lingering tension melted; the Sullen One became my sweet daughter again as Nate pointed out the rare plants found only in these types of fens.  Shannon had all her attention mounted on a Monarch butterfly. 

After leaving the fen, we came to a wildflower field of blue vervain, helenium, black-eyed susans, and Joy-Pye weed, all in bloom.  Shannon got the flash she was waiting for in the form of the flamboyant cobalt blue of an Indigo Bunting that flew across the trail. 

They caught toads, handing them off to each other between cupped hands.  And in the highlight of their evening, they fed the fish in one of the ponds.  Cups filled with fish food pellets were passed around, and in a frenzy that reminded me of piranhas devouring a cow like you see on those nature shows, the catfish came to feed.  There were about twenty or thirty of them, as long as my leg, and with mouths, it seemed to me, large enough to swallow a seven year old.  Some of them even seemed to try to come up on land, they were so ravenous.  With unrealistic, nightmarish visions in my head of Shannon falling in, and being eaten piranha-style, the girls laughed together in sisterly camaraderie until their refilled cups were empty.  As we left the pond, the evening became quiet again, except for my daughters’ laughter echoing in my ears.  It’s such a sweet sound. 

If William Erby Smith was alive today, I’d like to meet him.  I’d thank him for all the effort he put into restoring and preserving what he called “a sanctuary for wildlife and a peaceful place for visitors to enjoy.”  I might also add a word of thanks for restoring a peaceful, if not sometimes tenuous harmony between two sisters, and preserving a mother’s sanity … even if it only lasts a brief time.