Getting to Know a Grass – Basic Anatomy and Identification

Have you ever tried to identify a grass? Most of us who like to look at plants and learn their names will probably admit that we often give up on grasses pretty quickly, or just ignore them entirely. They aren’t the easiest plants to identify to species, and there are so many of them. Without close inspection, they can all look pretty similar. Their flowers aren’t particularly showy, and their fruits are fairly forgettable. They are strands or clumps of green that create a backdrop for more intriguing forms of vegetation. Yet, they are among the most ecologically and economically important groups of plants on the planet. And actually, if you can ascend the hurdles that come with getting to know them, they are beautiful organisms and really quite amazing.

Kōura in the Grass

The grass family – Poaceae – consists of nearly 8oo genera and about 12,000 species. Grasses occur in a wide range of habitats across the globe. Wherever you are on land, a grass is likely nearby. Grasses play vital roles in their ecosystems and, from a human perspective, are critical to life as we know it. We grow them for food, use them for building materials and fuel, plant them as ornamentals, and rely on them for erosion control, storm water management, and other ecosystem services. We may not acknowledge their presence most of the time, but we very likely wouldn’t be here without them.

The sheer number of grass species is one thing that makes them so difficult to identify. Key identifying features of grasses and grass-like plants (also known as graminoids) tend to be very small and highly modified compared to similar features on other flowering plants. This requires using a hand lens and learning a whole new vocabulary in order to begin to understand a grass’s anatomy. It’s a time commitment that goes beyond a lot of other basic plant identification, and it’s a learning curve that few dare to follow. However, once you learn the basic features, it becomes clear that grasses are relatively simple organisms, and once you start identifying them, it can actually be an exciting and rewarding experience.

Quackgrass (Elymus repens) and Its Rhizome

Depending on the species, grasses can be annuals – completing their life cycle within a single year – or perennials – coming back year after year for two or more years. Most grasses have a fibrous root system; some are quite shallow and simple while others are extremely deep and extensive. Some species of perennial grasses spread by either rhizomes (underground stems), stolons (horizontal, above ground stems), or both. Some grasses also produce tillers, which are essentially daughter plants that form at the base of the plant. The area where roots, rhizomes, stolons, and tillers meet the shoots and leaves of a grass plant is called the crown. This is an important region of the plant, because it allows for regrowth even after the plant has been browsed by a grazing animal or mown down by a lawn mower.

The stem or shoot of a grass is called a culm. Leaves are formed along the lengths of culms, and culms terminate in inflorescences. Leaves originate at swollen sections of the culm called nodes. They start by wrapping around the culm and forming what is called a leaf sheath. Leaves of grasses are generally long and narrow with parallel venation – a trait typical of monocotyledons. The part of the leaf that extends away from the culm is called the leaf blade or lamina. Leaves are alternatively arranged along the length of the stem and are two-ranked, meaning they form two distinct rows opposite of each other along the stem.

The area where the leaf blade meets the leaf sheath on the culm is called the collar. This collar region is important for identifying grasses. With the help of a hand lens, a closer look reveals the way in which the leaf wraps around the culm (is it open or closed?), whether or not there are hairs present and what they are like, if there are auricles (small flaps of leaf tissue at the top of the collar), and what the ligule is like. The ligule is a thin membrane (sometimes a row of hairs) that forms around the culm where the leaf blade and leaf sheath intersect. The size of the ligule and what its margin is like can be very helpful in identifying grasses.

The last leaf on the culm before the inflorescence is called the flag leaf, and the section of the culm between the flag leaf and the inflorescence is called a peduncle. Like the collar, the flower head of a grass is where you’ll find some of the most important features for identification. Grass flowers are tiny and arranged in small groupings called spikelets. In general, several dozen or hundreds of spikelets make up an inflorescence. They can be non-branching and grouped tightly together at the top of the culm, an inflorescence referred to as a spike, or they can extend from the tip of the culm (or rachis) on small branches called pedicels, an inflorescence referred to as a raceme. They can also be multi-branched, which is the most common form of grass inflorescence and is called a panicle.

Either way, you will want to take an even closer look at the individual spikelets. Two small bracts, called glumes, form the base of the spikelet. Above the glumes are a series of florets, which are enclosed in even smaller bracts – the outer bract being the lemma and the inner bract being the palea. Certain features of the glumes, lemmas, and paleas are specific to a species of grass. This includes the way they are shaped, the presence of hairs, their venation, whether or not awns are present and what the awns are like, etc. If the grass species is cleistogamous – like cheatgrass – and the florets never open, you will not get a look at the grass’s sex parts. However, a close inspection of an open floret is always a delight. A group of stamens protrude from their surrounding bracts bearing pollen, while feathery stigmas reach out to collect the pollen that is carried on the wind. Depending on the species, an individual grass floret can have either only stamens, only pistils (the stigma bearing organs), or both. Fertilized florets form fruits. The fruit of a grass is called a caryopsis (with a few exceptions) and is indistinguishable from the seed. This is because the seed coat is fused to the wall of the ovary, unlike other fruit types in which the two are separate and distinct.

If all this doesn’t make you want to run outside and take a close look at some grasses, I don’t know what will. What grasses can you identify in your part of the world? Let me know in the comment section below or check out the linktree and get in touch by the means that suits you best.

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Awkward Botanical Sketches #4: Boise Goathead Fest Edition

Covid-19 be damned, Boise Goathead Fest is happening in 2020. However, since we’re in the middle of a pandemic and the number of infections in Idaho have been far greater than we’d like them to be, this beloved, summertime event (now in its third year) is going to look quite a bit different this time around. No giant bicycle parade snaking through downtown Boise, no big gathering in the park to celebrate bicycles and recogonize all who helped pull goatheads across the Treasure Valley, and (I have to assume) no bike sumo. But we’re still going to decorate our bikes and ourselves like a noxious weed and go for a bike ride, and even though we won’t all be able to gather together in one spot, the sentiment will undoubtedly be the same.

I’m a big fan of the Goathead Fest, and not simply because I love bicycles and bike-culture. In fact, it’s mostly because a plant – while despised by all who ride bikes in this area – takes centerstage in the celebration. Not too many plants get this kind of attention. And sure, it may only find itself in the spotlight because of its bad behavior, but at least it has people paying more mind to green things.

In anticipation of this year’s Goathead Fest, I decided to make a few attempts at drawing Tribulus terrestris. Goathead art has played a big part in the festivities since year one, and this year is no exception. In a normal year, all of the artwork would be displayed together in Cecil D. Andrus Park. This year, pieces of art will be displayed around town for us all to happen upon as we embark on our socially distanced bike rides. However, you won’t see any of my artwork out there (for good reason). Maybe someday (one can dream, I guess). Until then, I’ll include a few of my awkward attempts below.

the flower of Tribulus terrestris

an attempt to color the flower of Tribulus terrestris

goathead nutlets #1

goathead nutlets #2

Tribulus terrestris leaf rubbing

Goathead Monster #1

Goathead Monster #2

More Awkward Botanical Sketches: 

Awkward Botanical Sketches #3: The Ginkgo Edition

For most of my life, ginkgo has been a meaningful tree to me. I remember first learning about it as a fourth grader. Our teacher had assigned us each to make a leaf collection. My grandparents heard about my assignment and sent me a ginkgo leaf from a tree growing in their front yard. It was unlike any other leaf in my collection, and it had a fascinating back story. Not only is it the only living tree in its genus and family, it’s also the only extant species in its division (Ginkgophyta). It was around during the time of the dinosaurs, and is considered a living fossil. I felt honored to have it, especially when I learned that I was the only kid in the class that had one.

Since then I’ve considered Ginkgo biloba to be one of the best trees. It continues to fascinate me. It’s a beautiful tree with captivating foliage, and it’s resiliency is amazing. It’s no wonder that depictions of ginkgo are so common across many cultures.

Since I love looking at ginkgo leaves, I decided to try to draw them. If you’ve been following this series of posts, you’ll remember that my drawing skills are severely lacking. A shape as simple as a ginkgo leaf should be easy to draw, but not for me. I resorted first to tracing leaves that I had pressed, and then going from there. Below are some of my results.

Ginkgo biloba leaf rubbing inspired by a page in Gayla Trail’s book, Grow Curious. After several attempts, this was the best I could do.

Finally, a freehand drawing of a cluster of ginkgo leaves in my pocket notebook in celebration of Staple Day.

Some ginkgo leaves I mailed to the Smithsonian for their Fossil Atmospheres research project.

See Also:

2018: Year in Review

Another year has passed, which means it’s time again for a Year in Review. As I have done in the past, I am including links to a selection of posts that came out in 2018. Most of these posts are part of ongoing series. You can find the rest of the posts from 2018 in the Archives widget on the right side of the screen (or at the bottom of the page if you are viewing this on a mobile device).

Among many memorable happenings this year, the one I feel most compelled to highlight here is a short radio show that a friend and I started doing on Radio Boise, our community radio station. The show is called Boise Biophila, and each week Casey O’Leary and I spend about a minute each talking about something biology or ecology related with the goal of encouraging people to get outside and take a closer look at the natural world around them. After the shows air, I put them up on our Soundcloud page for all to hear for years to come. You can follow us there, as well as on our Facebook page.

Ficus carica via PhyloPic

In the spring of 2018 we set up a Donorbox account, which is a simple way for people who enjoy Awkward Botany and want to see it continue to give us a little financial encouragement. We received several donations at that time, and we are very grateful to those that contributed. But just like public radio or any other organization that would like to receive your support in the form of money, we continue our plea. If Awkward Botany means something to you and you feel compelled to share some of your hard-earned dollars with us, we are happy to receive them and promise to put them to good use.

Donate

Money aside, a major contribution you can make to the success of Awkward Botany is to share it with your friends. Spread the word in conversation, through the postal system, over the phone, or through one or more of the myriad social media platforms. However you choose to share is none of our business. We are just happy that you do.

You are also encouraged to follow our various social media pages: Twitter, Tumblr, and Facebook. Above all, keep reading. We have lots more posts in the works for 2019, and we wouldn’t want you to miss out on the fun. Our appreciation for plants and the natural world is a constant, and we hope you will continue to share in our botany nerd revelry throughout the coming year.

Fragaria vesca via PhyloPic

Book Reviews:

Botany in Popular Culture:

Tiny Plants:

Field Trip:

Eating Weeds:

Two-parters:

Guest Posts:

Book Review: What Weeds Are Thinking

Plant intelligence is a burgeoning field of research. Despite being predominantly sessile organisms, plants are able to sense their surroundings and make decisions based on environmental cues. In a certain sense, they can see, hear, smell, and remember even though they don’t have eyes, ears, noses, or brains. Not surprisingly, these fascinating findings have spawned books, podcasts, documentariesarticles, etc. The idea that plants could be intelligent beings like us is something that captures our attention and imagination.

For example, if plants are so smart, does this mean that they actually have thoughts? And if they have thoughts, what could they possibly be thinking? In her new book, What Weeds Are ThinkingErica Crockett takes a stab at what a particularly despised group of plants might think if, indeed, they could have thoughts. Weeds are, in Crockett’s words, “the deviants of the plant world.” This book was her chance to imagine what might be going on inside the minds of these deviants, despite the fact that they don’t have minds.Crockett conjures up the thoughts of 21 different weeds. Each thought is accompanied by an illustration by Sarah Ragan Olson. The drawings are charming, but the thoughts that juxtapose them aren’t always so sweet. Perhaps you imagine weeds to be potty mouthed? Well, so does Crockett. That being said, this book is not for kids, nor is it for anyone sensitive to adult words and themes. Each of the weeds in this book varies in its degree of irreverence – not all of them are so crass and some of them are actually pretty mild-mannered – but that’s just what you’d expect from such a diverse group of plants.

Comfrey is offended by cow manure being used as fertilizer and would rather be fertilized by “the decaying corpses of [its] relations.” Ground ivy is embarrassed and offended by inadvertently seeing the ankles of human passersby.  Plantain is apparently into being stepped on, and prostrate spurge is trying to “rebrand” to make itself more appealing and set itself apart from purslane. Cheatgrass, no surprise here, comes across as a big jerk. Originally from Eurasia, it is now a freedom-loving American, “choking out the rights of the natives.”

Most in line with what I would expect a weed to be thinking – especially one found growing in an urban area – is prickly lettuce. Upset after watching a fellow member of its species ruthlessly dug up, it laments: “Neither of us decided to seed down in the deep crack of this suburban driveway. We were blown here…It’s our home…Yet we are hunted.”

Milkweed is quite aware of its role as the sole food source of the monarch caterpillar. It sees how much humans appreciate monarchs, and admonishes us for killing off its kind: “Keep it up, and I’ll take every last one of those delicate darlings down with me.”

Botanical inaccuracies aside – and there are several – this was a fun book. The main appeal for me is that it is plant-themed and, more specifically, weeds-themed. If you follow this blog, you’ll know that pretty much anything involving weeds is going to get my attention. Beyond that, any project that puts plants in the spotlight and gives them a voice (even in a fictitious sense) is worth checking out. This book is no exception.

As a bonus, I asked Erica Crockett what other plants (apart from weeds) are thinking. This was her response: “Probably really precious or intellectual things. I imagine tomato plants are fairly self-important and zonal geraniums are divas. Bougainvilleas are likely social climbers and oak trees are dull, but honest.”

More Weeds-themed Book Reviews on Awkward Botany:

Awkward Botanical Sketches #2: The Dear Data Edition

In this special edition of Awkward Botanical Sketches, I took some inspiration from a book called Dear Data by Giorgia Lupi and Stefanie Posavec. In this book, two friends separated by an ocean chose something about their lives to collect data on every week for a year, then they exchanged the data they collected via weekly postcards. They did this by drawing out a representation of their data on the front of the postcard, along with a key to the drawing on the back. It seemed like a fun thing to do, so I decided to try it. Rather than mailing my postcards to someone across the sea, I am sharing them here.

My ability to creatively present the data I collected pales in comparison to Lupi and Posavec, but I had fun giving it a shot. Most importantly, it satisfied my quest to draw more. This first postcard is all about the weeds I came across in a week.

Weeds Identified in a Week, front side

Weeds Identified in a Week, back side

Whenever I listen to music I make a mental note of any botanical references made in the lyrics. I generally don’t do anything with these mental notes – unless, of course, I’m writing something about them (see this Botany in Popular Culture post, for example) – but this time I did. Saturday was a particularly busy day because I was listening to a lot of Ghost Mice.

Botanical References in Songs, front side

Botanical References in Songs, back side

My obvious obssesion with weeds and my intention to write a weeds-themed book someday – plus my career as a horticulturist – means that I frequently find myself involved in activities and conversations involving weeds. I wasn’t exactly sure how to track that, so this is my lousy attempt at doing so. In case you’re wondering what I was up to on Saturday (the big, blue circle), this tweet and Instagram post should help explain things.

Weeds in Conversations and Activities, front side

Weeds in Conversations and Activities, back side

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Further Reading: Review of Dear Data in The Guardian

Tiny Plants: Draba verna

Draba verna is a small but memorable plant. Common names for it include early whitlowgrass, vernal whitlowgrass, and spring whitlow-mustard. Sometimes it is simply referred to as spring draba. As these common names suggest, Draba verna flowers early in the spring. It is an annual plant that begins its life by germinating the previous fall. While its flowers are minuscule, multiple plants can be found packed into a single section of open ground, making their presence more obvious. This and the fact that it flowers so early, are what make it so memorable. After a cold, grey winter, our eyes are anxious for flowers, and even tiny ones can be enough.

Draba verna

Draba verna is in the mustard family (Brassicaceae), which is easy to determine by observing its flowers and fruits. The flowers are about 1/8 inch across, with four, deeply-lobed petals. The fruits are oblong, “football-shaped,” flattened capsules that are divided into two chambers and hold up to forty seeds or more. Flowers and fruits are borne at the tips of branched stems that are leafless, hairless, and very thin. Stems arise from a small rosette of narrow leaves that are green to purplish-red and slightly hairy. The plant itself is generally only an inch or two wide and a few inches tall, easily missed other than its aforementioned tendency to be found en masse.

flowers of Draba verna via eol.org

Draba verna occurs throughout much of eastern and western North America, but is said to be introduced from Eurasia. A few sources claim that it is native to North America, but as far as I can tell, that is unverified. Either way, it is naturalized across much of its present range, and even though many of us consider it a weed, it doesn’t seem to be causing too much concern. It’s too tiny and short-lived to really be a problem. It makes its home in disturbed and neglected sites – along roadsides; in fields, pastures, and garden beds; and in abandoned lots. The one place it may be trouble is in nurseries and greenhouses, where it might be able to compete with young plants in pots.

open capsule and seeds of Draba verna via eol.org

The flowers of Draba verna are self-fertile, but they are also visited by bees that have ventured out in early spring. The foliage might by browsed by rabbits and other small mammals, but otherwise this plant is of little use to other creatures. Being in the mustard family, it is likely edible, but again it is so small that harvesting it would hardly be worth it. Instead, maybe its best to leave it in place and enjoy it for what it is: a tiny, brave reminder that spring is on its way and an encouragement to get down low once in a while to admire the little things.

An attempt at sketching Draba verna fruits on a raceme.

See Also: Tiny Plants: Duckweeds

Awkward Botanical Sketches #1

At the beginning of the year I unveiled my plan to share some of my sketches with you as I learn how to draw. This is to make up for not writing quite as many posts so that I can spend time working on some other projects. It also serves as a great motivator to actually draw, which isn’t something I do very often. Turns out that if you want to get better at something, you actually have to do it.

To help me in my quest, I collected a few books. Some are instructional and others simply feature inspirational artwork. I’ve included links to a few of these books with my drawings below. If you have any books you would like to recommend, particularly a book that has helped you learn to draw, please let me know in the comment section below.

And now on to my dumb drawings…

My first drawing in Drawing Nature by Jill Bliss

Drawing of a hibiscus flower with help from Illustration School: Let’s Draw Plants and Small Creatures by Sachiko Umoto

A sketch inspired by Carcassonne: Over Hill and Dale

Sketch of an old tree inspired by a drawing in Clare Walker Leslie’s book, Drawn to Nature

Sketch of agave in bloom inspired by an image on the back of some guy’s shirt at Treefort Music Fest

Sketch of a tiny tuft of grass I was trying to identify. It’s still a bit of a mystery.

2017: Year in Review

Awkward Botany turns 5 years old this month! 

In the five years since I first introduced myself I have had the pleasure of sharing my writing and photos with thousands of people. Together we have formed a tiny community of nature lovers, botany nerds, and phytocurious folks. It has been fun seeing the audience grow and our interactions increase. The World Wide Web is a crowded and chaotic place, and you can never be sure what will come of the pieces of you that you throw at it. Luckily, my little project has not gone completely unnoticed. The crowd that enjoys it may be small, but it is composed of a solid group of people. Thank you for being one of those people.

If you were following along in 2017, you are well aware that weeds and invasive species have been regular themes. Both of these topics are still obsessions of mine, so while I don’t have plans to continue to saturate the blog with such posts, I will still be writing about them. I’m actually working on a larger project involving weeds, which you can read more about here.

Speaking of which, I have threatened a couple of times now to interrupt my weekly posting schedule in order to make time for other projects. So far that hasn’t really happened, but this year I am fairly certain that it will. It’s the only way that I am going to be able get around to working on things I have been meaning to work on for years. There are also some new things in the works. I think these things will interest you, and I am excited to share them with you as they develop. Once you see them for yourself, I’m sure you’ll forgive the reduced posting schedule.

One thing I have resolved to do this year is learn to draw. I love botanical illustrations, and I have always been envious of the artistic abilities of others. My drawing skills are seriously lacking, but a little practice might help improve that. While it is bound to be a source of embarrassment for me, I have decided to post my progress along the way. So even if you have less to read here, you will at least get to check out some of my dumb drawings. Like this one:

Drawing of a dandelion with help from Illustration School: Let’s Draw Plants and Small Creatures by Sachiko Umoto

One of my favorite things this year has been Awkward Botany’s new Facebook page. With Sierra’s help, we have finally joined that world. Sierra has been managing the page and is the author of most of the posts, and she is doing an incredible job. So if you haven’t visited, liked, and followed, please do. And of course, the invitation still stands for the twitter and tumblr pages, as well.

Lastly, as I have done in the past I am including links to posts from 2017 that were part of ongoing series. These and all other posts can be found in the Archives widget on the right side of the screen. During the summer I did a long series about weeds called Summer of Weeds, the conclusion of which has a list of all the posts that were part of that series. Thank you again for reading and following along. Happy botanizing and nature walking in 2018. I hope you all have a plant filled year.

Book Reviews:

Podcast Review:

Poisonous Plants: 

Drought Tolerant Plants:

Field Trips:

Guest Posts:

Summer of Weeds: Plantains

This is a revised version of two ethnobotany posts that appeared previously on Awkward Botany: White Man’s Foot, part one and part two. Plantains have a long history of ethnobotonical uses, as well as a bad reputation of being pesky, hard-to-eliminate weeds. The two most common introduced plantain species in North America are broadleaf plantain (Plantago major) and lanceleaf plantain (Plantago lanceolata). Wherever our daily travels take us, chances are there is a plantain growing nearby.

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Plantago major is in the plantain family (Plantaginaceae) a family that consists of at least 90 genera, including common ornamental plants like Veronica (speedwells), Digitalis (foxgloves), and Antirrhinum (snapdragons). The genus Plantago, commonly known as plantains, consists of around 200 species distributed throughout the world in diverse habitats. Most of them are herbaceous perennials with similar growth habits.

Originating in Eurasia, P. major now has a cosmopolitan distribution. It has joined humans as they have traveled and migrated from continent to continent and is now considered naturalized throughout most temperate and some tropical regions. P. major has a plethora of common names – common plantain being the one that the USDA prefers. Other names include broadleaf plantain, greater plantain, thickleaf plantain, ribgrass, ribwort, ripplegrass, and waybread. Depending on the source, there are various versions of the name white man’s foot. Along the same line, a common name for P. major in South Africa is cart-track plant.

common plantain (Plantago major)

Common plantain starts by forming a rosette of broad leaves usually oriented flat against the ground. The leaves are egg-shaped with parallel veins; occasionally, leaf margins are faintly toothed. The inflorescence is a leafless spike up to 20 centimeters tall or taller with several tiny flowers that are a dull yellow-green-brown color. The flowers are wind pollinated and highly prone to self-pollination. The fruits are capsules that can contain as many as 30 seeds; an entire plant can produce as many as 15,000 seeds. The seeds are small, brown, sticky, and easily transported by wind or by adhering to shoes, clothing, animals, and machinery. They require light to germinate and can remain viable for up to 60 years.

Common plantain prefers sunny sites but can also thrive in part shade. It adapts to a variety of soil types but performs best in moist, clay-loam soils. It is often found in compacted soils and is very tolerant of trampling. This trait, along with its low-growing leaves that easily evade mower blades, explains why it is so common in turf grass. It is highly adaptable to a variety of habitats and is particularly common on recently disturbed sites (both natural and human caused). It is an abundant urban and agricultural weed.

Illustration of three Plantago species from Selected Weeds of the United States (Agriculture Handbook No. 366) circa 1970

Even though it is wind pollinated, its flowers are visited by syrphid flies and various bee species which feed on its pollen. Several other insects feed on its foliage, along with a number of mammalian herbivores. Cardinals and other bird species feed on its seeds.

Humans also eat plantain leaves, which contain vitamins A, C, and K. Young, tender leaves can be eaten raw, while older leaves need to be cooked as they become tough and stringy with age. The medicinal properties of  P. major have been known and appreciated at least as far back as the Anglo-Saxons, who likely used a poultice made from the leaves externally to treat wounds, burns, sores, bites, stings, and other irritations. It has also been used to stop cuts from bleeding and to treat rattlesnake bites. Apart from external uses, the plant was used internally as a pain killer and to treat ulcers, diarrhea, and other gastrointestinal issues.

P. major has been shown to have antibacterial, anti-inflammatory, antioxidant, and other biological properties; several chemical compounds have been isolated from the plant and deemed responsible for these properties. It is for this reason that P. major and other Plantago species have been used to treat such a diverse number of ailments. The claims are extensive and worth exploring. You can start by visiting the following sites:

Excerpts about plantains from The Book of Field and Roadside by John Eastman

Concerning their cosmopolitan nature: “Although both plantains [P. major and P. lanceolata] are Eurasian natives, they have long been thoroughly naturalized global residents; the designation ‘alien’ applies to them in the same sense that all white and black Americans are alien residents.”

In which I learned a new term: “Both species are anthropophilic (associate with humans); they frequent roadsides, parking areas, driveways, and vacant lots, occurring almost everywhere in disturbed ground. Where one species grows, the other can often be found nearby.”

Illustration by Amelia Hansen from The Book of Field and Roadside by John Eastman

Medicinal and culinary uses according to Eastman: “Plantains have versatile curative as well as culinary properties; nobody need go hungry or untreated for sores where plantains grow. These plants contain an abundance of beta carotene, calcium, potassium, and ascorbic acid. Cure-all claims for common plantain’s beneficial medical uses include a leaf tea for coughs, diarrhea, dysentery, lung and stomach disorders, and the root tea as a mouthwash for toothache. … Their most frequent and demonstrably effective use as a modern herb remedy, however, is as a leaf poultice for insect bites and stings plus other skin irritations. The leaf’s antimicrobial properties reduce inflammation, and its astringent chemistry relieves itching, swelling, and soreness.”

Even the seeds are “therapeutic”: “The gelatinous mucilage surrounding seeds can be readily separated, has been used as a substitute for linseed oil. Its widest usage is in laxative products for providing bulk and soluble fiber called psyllium, mainly derived from the plantain species P. ovata and leafy-stemmed plantain (P. psyllium), both Mediterranean natives.”

An excerpt from Weeds: In Defense of Nature’s Most Unloved Plants by Richard Mabey

“Plantain, ‘the mother of worts,’ is present in almost all the early prescriptions of magical herbs, back as far as the earliest Celtic fire ceremonies. It isn’t clear why such a drab plant – a plain rosette of grey-green leaves topped by a flower spike like a rat’s-tail – should have had pre-eminent status. But its weediness, in the sense of its willingness to tolerate human company, may have had a lot to do with it. The Anglo-Saxon names ‘Waybroad’ or ‘Waybread’ simply mean ‘a broad-leaved herb which grows by the wayside.’ This is plantain’s defining habit and habitat. It thrives on roadways, field-paths, church steps. In the most literal sense it dogs human footsteps. Its tough, elastic leaves, growing flush with the ground, are resilient to treading. You can walk on them, scuff them, even drive over them, and they go on living. They seem to actively prosper from stamping, as more delicate plants around them are crushed. The principles of sympathetic magic, therefore, indicated that plantain would be effective for crushing and tearing injuries. (And so it is, to a certain extent. The leaves contain a high proportion of tannins, which help to close wounds and halt bleeding.)”