THE PASSING OF THE WILD FLOWERS 



105 



The Passing of the Wild Flowers. 



BY BESSIE L. PUTNAM, CONNEAUT LAKE, 

 PENNSYLVANIA. 



While scientists are lamenting the 

 total extinction of the passenger pigeon 

 and other birds, and are foreseeing 

 a similar fate for still others valuable 

 to man, it is fitting that a plea be made 

 for the protection of the wild flowers. 

 We have a flora rich and in many re- 

 spects unique. There is a retiring deli- 

 cacy among American wild flowers 

 which renders them at once attractive 

 and, at the same time, more or less de- 

 pendent upon us for their very exis- 

 tence. The professional root digger 

 has decimated plants with real or re- 

 puted medicinal value, notably the 

 beautiful bloodroot. But even more 

 disastrous is the habit of picking the 

 flowers — just for amusement ! 



The world seems to be plentifully 

 supplied with inhabitants that are not 

 only thoughtless and careless but un- 

 utterably selfish. Only a few days ago 

 I saw two immense branches of dog- 

 wood blossoms adorning the front 

 porch of one of the finest residences in 

 Meadville. They extended from the 

 floor to the top of the door, the spoils 

 of an automobile raid of the previous 

 day. Somewhere was left a badly mu- 

 tilated tree. Why did the vandals leave 

 any? Why not take all? The country 

 people are beginning to complain that 

 automobile riders are despoiling their 

 fruit trees for the sake of the "beautiful 

 bouquets," criminally careless of the 

 fact that for each blossom destroyed an 

 apple or a peach may be taken from the 

 year's harvest. The people thus treat- 

 ed are beginning to mention such 

 words as powder and shot. The same 

 words should justly be brought to the 

 attention of those selfish and careless 

 automobile riders, as well as others 

 who destroy our wild flowers for their 

 own pleasure. Every season brings 

 with it great bunches of trailing arbu- 

 tus to the city markets Children are 

 encouraged to gather for Decoration 

 Day memorials thousands of trilliums, 

 unconscious of the fact that their well 

 meant offerings are really a desecra- 

 tion of nature's sanctuary. Nothing 

 but death is left for the root thus rob- 

 bed of its foliage. 



Some twenty years ago a woman 

 who had always lived in the Middle 



West visited a relative in the East and 

 was charmed with the waxy white blos- 

 soms of Chimaphila maculata, then in 

 full bloom. "I'm going to see how 

 many blossoms I can find," was her ex- 

 clamation. Every plant which met her 

 eye was gathered. But — never since 

 then have those woods yielded more 

 than the merest scattering of the flow- 

 ers she "loved !" One man in Iowa has 

 a preserve of half an acre into which 

 he has gathered the species indigenous 

 to that region. In a smaller way, there 

 are rockeries in the home garden where 

 some of the native plants will thrive. 

 And most assiduously should we ab- 

 stain from carelessly uprooting or de- 

 capitating treasures which nature can- 

 not readily replace. 



The Work of a Tornado. 

 The tornado which in May of this 

 year killed more than a hundred per- 

 sons in Monroe County, Indiana, left 

 a track over two hundred miles in 

 length with almost forty miles of com- 

 plete devastation. The path of utter 

 destruction was from five hundred to 

 seven hundred feet in width. Outside 

 this were two zones from three hun- 

 dred to five hundred feet wide where 

 buildings were damaged beyond repair 

 but not laid flat. Still further out 

 buildings lost roofs and chimneys and 

 window glass. The usual counter- 

 clockwise whirl was well marked. Ob- 

 jects on the right of the center were 

 carried forward and inward, those on 

 the left, backward and inward. As 

 usual the area of greatest devastation 

 was at the right of the storm track, 

 where the forward movement and the 

 whirl combined to give the greatest 

 wind velocity. The blast was so pow- 

 erful that it twisted off huge oak and 

 elm trees and overturned freight cars 

 loaded with brick. 



Gold Thread. 



There must still be fairy sewing-bees. 

 For we find their golden thread 



All lying about in sylvan dells, 

 When fairy feet have sped. 



And gossamer garments must they be. 



With caps and wings and things, 

 All fashioned as easily as dew falls, 

 Or the bird in the tree-top sings. 



— Emma Peirce. 



