Milkweed
July 24, 2014
Asclepias syriaca, a species of milkweed
POD OF THE MILKWEED
— Robert Frost
Calling all butterflies from every race
From source unknown but no special place
They ever will return to all their lives,
Because unlike the bees they have no hives
The milkweed brings up to my very door
The theme of wanton waste in peace and war
As it has never been to me before.
And so it seems a flower’s coming out
That should if not be talked then sung about.
The countless wings that from the infinite
Make such a noiseless tumult over it
Do no doubt with their color compensate
For what the drab weed lacks of the ornate.
For drab it is its fondest must admit.
And yes, although it is a flower that flows
With milk and honey, it is bitter milk,
As anyone who ever broke its stem
And dared to taste the wound a little knows.
It tastes as if it might be opiate.
But whatsoever else it may secrete,
Its flowers distilled honey is so sweet
It makes the butterflies intemperate.
There is no slumber in its juice for them
One knocks another off from where he clings.
They knock the dyestuff off each other’s wings—
With thirst on hunger to the point of lust.
They raise in their intemperance a cloud
Of mingled butterfly and flower dust
That hangs perceptibly above the scene.
In being sweet to these ephemerals
The sober weed has managed to contrive
In our three hundred days and sixty-five
One day too sweet for beings to survive.
Many shall come away as struggle-worn
And spent and dusted off of their regalia,
To which at daybreak they were freshly born,
As after one-of-them’s proverbial failure
From having beaten all day long in vain
Against the wrong side of a windowpane.
But waste was of the essence of the scheme.
And all the good they did for man or god
To all those flowers they passionately trod
Was leave as their posterity one pod
With an inheritance of restless dream.
He hangs on upside down with talon feet
In an inquisitive position odd
As any Guatemalan parakeet.
Something eludes him.
Is it food to eat?
Or some dim secret of the good of waste?
He almost has it in his talon clutch.
Where have those flowers and butterflies all gone
That science may have staked the future on?
He seems to say the reason why so much
Should come to nothing must be fairly faced.
— Comments —
Karl D. writes:
Early last summer, I specifically transplanted some milkweeds into a section of my garden to have a butterfly garden section. This year about eight sprung up from the four transplants. I was really excited and planted a bunch of wildflower seeds in the same bed. I was even keeping my eye peeled for Monarch caterpillars to put on the milkweed plants. Much to my disappointment, only two of the milkweeds blossomed (in mid June) and the rest have done nothing. The seeds didn’t take too well either. Now all I have is a bunch of Milkweeds crawling with red ants, sparse patches of wildflowers, and no butterflies. Not exactly what I wanted.
Laura writes:
I have never grown milkweed, some varieties of which are invasive in untended lots and meadows, so I don’t know for sure, but they may take a couple of years to adjust and start to flourish. Also, if you haven’t done it already, you might want to enrich your soil with compost, lime and Triple Superphosphate, a combination which for me solves almost all growing problems.
Hurricane Betsy writes:
Maybe that 3-part amendment worked for you because your soil was too acidic in the first place. However, we don’t know what kind of soil your commenter Karl D. has. “Milkweed requires a moderately acidic soil to grow, surviving in soil pH levels from 4.8 to 6.8. As with most other plants, it cannot tolerate pH levels below 4.”
On the other hand, it may not be that simple. Our soil’s pH is not only 8.0 [!], but swamp milkweed grows here just fine. Comes up on its own, I’ve never seeded or planted any. The spot in our yard where it grows is wet, all-around poor in every sense, and weedy, too. Yet the monarchs seem to find it. I do think that further reading and perhaps consultation with a wildflower expert might be in order for Karl.
