Of Snakes and Thistles

Years ago, when we lived in an apartment complex in eastern Pennsylvania, we got to know a snake.

Okay, I'm exaggerating a little bit. "Get to know" might be too strong a term, but there was a snake who lived for a while in the bushes near the back door of our building, in a "prettyish kind of a little wilderness on one side" (to quote Lady Catherine de Bourgh).

He was a long, harmless black snake who liked to sleep in the shade. We might never have noticed him at all except for the fact that we would sometimes startle him when we opened the door (a door we used often, as it was near where we parked). I think we frequently woke the poor creature up from his morning nap. He would literally almost jump some days (startling poor me!) and then slither back out of sight, so you only caught a glimpse of him in passing.

He was quite beautiful. I've never been fond of snakes...my snake phobia is not as bad as my spider phobia, but I've still never had a desire to really get near one...but this snake was lovely. I also became quite fond of his personality, which was as shy and retiring as one might wish for in a snake acquaintance. And I admired his tenacity: despite being rudely awakened when people came in and out of the building, he just didn't seem ready to relinquish his favorite shady spot amongst the bushes, weeds and herbs.

I actually named the snake Leroy (a royal name seemed to fit his dignity best) and found myself looking for him when I went in and out. "Good morning, Leroy!" or "Just me, Leroy, go back to sleep!" became common expressions.

One day some workers came to the apartment complex with lawn mowers and clippers. The next day Leroy had disappeared. We never saw him again.

I actually wrote a lament poem for that snake. It started "I fear Leroy has been murdered..." (I planned to post it today, but my writing files are in disarray at the moment and I can't locate a copy).

All of this probably happened 15 years ago or more, but I found myself thinking about Leroy again this week. That's because someone ruthlessly chopped up the thistle plant down the road, rooting it out and leaving almost no trace of the plant the sweet girl and I had been joyously watching as it grew this summer.

Thistles, like snakes, are much maligned. I think they might even be classified as "noxious weeds." They're prickly and spiky, like porcupines, not precisely friendly plants. Be that as it may, I was thrilled when I saw we had one growing through the tangle of grape vines climbing the metal fence at the end of our sidewalk. You have to remember, we live in a tremendously urban area. We take our nature where we can find it, rejoicing in new species as opportunities to learn and appreciate. Green stuff that grows in the cracks of broken sidewalks or through an ugly metal fence with barbed wire on top is priceless treasure. A plant like this one, hardy and amazing in its ferocious protection of its seed growing activities, with over half a dozen beautiful purple blooms at the end of its spiky leaves...well, we loved it.

And I had never seen an actual thistle, only pictures. I keep a small cross-stitched thistle (originally a Christmas ornament) on a shelf in the house, a beautiful purple emblem of my Scotch ancestry. Thistles are old Celtic symbols of nobility. Having had a chance to see one up close, I can understand that more than ever.

But now, like Leroy, it's gone. And we miss it. We went to look at it again the other day, and saw that it had been chopped completely down to the ground, rooted out. A few sad remains of spiky leaves dusted the sidewalk. We did manage to find one small, round globe of seeds, one spiky dried ball that had not been completely destroyed. Guess what we did? Yep, we opened it up, pulled out the milky soft strands, and let them fly away on the breeze. (Such rebels we are!) We cheered those tiny white flying seeds on loud and clear as they scuttled down the sidewalk on the back of the wind. We hope...we hope...



Note: I took these pictures of our thistle the evening of July 3, when we were celebrating with sparklers at twilight. This was the first of its many blooms. Given its soft thistledown, and looking at various pictures, I'm pretty sure this is a Asteraceae Silybum (Milk Thistle). If anyone knows differently, I'd love to hear! I'm counting it as #8 in our 100 Species Challenge.