#WeedsNotWeeds Archives - Humane Gardener

Category Archives: #WeedsNotWeeds

If a weed by the standard Webster’s definition is “a plant that is not valued where it is growing and is usually of vigorous growth,” then what’s a #WeedNotWeed? By the standard Humane Gardener definition, it’s a species deemed a weed by humans but relied heavily upon by wildlife. Some of these native plants need little introduction, having finally revealed their long-neglected beauty thanks to a growing interest in bee and butterfly gardening. Others are still commonly saddled with stereotypes, appearing most often in derogatory lists of “weeds” created for large-scale agriculture. This ongoing Humane Gardener series, #WeedsNotWeeds, highlights both the native plants in the limelight and those in the still-maligned-light.

American burnweed doesn’t care what you think. But you should think more about this plant anyway. It just might surprise you!

American burnweed seeding — American burnweed (Erechtites hieraciifolius) towers above the meadow, radiating in the autumn light.

American burnweeds are free spirits, throwing caution and seed to the winds and popping up irreverently in new places each year. And why shouldn’t they? Life is short when you’re an annual plant who must sprout, flourish, reproduce, grow old and die in one season. It’s especially precarious when you’re an annual plant under constant threat of being yanked and sprayed.

Burnweeds don’t care what you think, rising above—sometimes even seven feet above—all the insulting remarks made about their worthlessness and unconventional appearance. They dare to sport bold leaves and tiny flowers, an anatomical combination that seems to have grossly offended the human arbiters of floral and faunal value past and present. In 1944, Alabama botanist Roland Harper admitted that burnweeds were harmless to food crops before besmirching them anyway as “one of our most useless and disreputable-looking weeds, very unattractive in appearance, and ill-scented besides.” Today, university extension sites still chastise burnweed for being, as one detractor put it, an affront to “the aesthetic attributes of the landscape.”

The bees, wasps, and butterflies in my habitat would beg to disagree with those assessments of one of their favorite late-summer plants. Far from being “useless,” burnweed flowers provide nectar for many insects.

Common buckeye on burnweed — Apparently those who bemoan burnweed as unattractive have never looked closely enough to see the beautiful common buckeyes feeding on the plants.

Mason wasp nectaring on burnweed flower — Burnweed is such an important fall nectar plant that author and pollinator expert Heather Holm even recommends it in her Eastern guide to wasp pollinators. This mason wasp, Pseudodynerus quadrisectus, is among many wasps visiting the burnweed in our meadow.

Summer azure on burnweed flowers — The cylindrical flowers might seem small to us, but they are just the right size for diminutive summer azures.

Bumblebee on burnweed flowers — Burnweed is sometimes described as a nectar plant for small bees, but bumblebees also visit the blooms in the evening.

Flowers aren’t the only hot spots. Because of their wide, sturdy leaves and abundant growth, burnweeds offer perfect substrates for courting and mating. Much drama unfolds in the understory of these plants we so often overlook. “Femme fatale” fireflies, so named for their habit of eating males, perch on the leaves. Zabulon skippers stop by to court and mate, attracting the attention of interlopers who try to aggressively disrupt their dalliances.

Firefly perching on burnweed — A firefly in the Photuris genus perches on a burnweed leaf under a walnut tree. Some females in this group are known as femme fatales because they mimic the flashes of females of other species. When unsuspecting males respond, thinking they are about to mate, the femme fatales eat them. Photuris fireflies are not as chemically defended as other species, so such trickery helps them acquire much needed toxins.

Skippers mating on burnweed — Burnweed was a pickup joint for Zabulon skippers in early August, when I saw many love affairs play out on the leaves. This particular pair couldn’t get any peace from hangers-on who repeatedly tried to butt in.

Burnweeds are wild pioneers, proliferating in the wake of fires or other disturbance; in our habitat, they seized their opportunity after our next-door neighbor removed dozens of pine trees and sunlight filled the edge of our land for the first time. When they find their way into newly planted patches with young seedlings, I occasionally pull a few to give the babies of other species more breathing room. But most of the time, the burnweeds are free to travel through the meadow, along the fence line, and in all the wood-chipped areas where we’ve smothered invasive grasses to make way for natives.

Rather than marring the view, they bask in the autumn light, releasing seeds that encircle their neighbors in a glowing halo.

Blue waxweed covered in burnweed seeds — For the past week, the blue waxweeds (Cuphea viscosissima) have been aglow in white fuzz. Waxweeds are covered in sticky hairs, effectively gluing the burnweed seeds to their stems.

Jerusalem artichoke and burnweed — Burnweed embraces a Jerusalem artichoke in a spot formerly known as “the mugwort patch.” Both plants are among a mixture of species that have helped crowd out the invasive mugwort without herbicides.

Burnweed might even assist in cleaning up our messes; a Japanese study found that the plant gains high levels of nitrogen by assimilating nitrogen dioxide, which is formed by the burning of fossil fuels. Along with a few other plants tested—including species of eucalyptus, poplar, magnolia, and tobacco—burnweeds may act as a “sink” for the harmful air pollutant. “These plants are ecologically important,” the researchers noted, “and suited for use as vegetation in roadside green zones and parks to reduce the atmospheric concentration of NO₂.”

But maybe we don’t need a scientific paper to extol the virtues of burnweed when we have insects like this little white-crossed seed bug to remind us. He’s a new friend I made this summer thanks to the burnweed bounty, and I look forward to making more such discoveries wherever the plants decide to grow in the coming years.

White-crossed seed bug on burnweed — The white-crossed seed bug looks like some other insects I’ve known, such as milkweed bugs, but eats seeds of ragworts and, apparently, burnweeds.

As an early-succession species, burnweeds lay the groundwork for whatever comes next, eventually dwindling in the face of increased competition and shade. Why not enjoy and appreciate them as their progeny floats like snow over the waning meadows, seeing each bit of fluff as a promise that life will emerge again next spring?