Down South Wildflowers And Unique Plants

His fluid Dixieland patois was almost as big as this larger than life man. From the moment I met him, it betrayed his born-with-a-silver-spoon-in-his-mouth Southern birthright, letting all the world know that he was a wealthy native son of Savannah, Georgia.

Standing at attention before this four star Air Force General, I was but a low ranking airman, now assigned as his personal aide. Like the true gentleman he was not, he stood to greet me, with not so much as asking my name, as he took my assignment orders:

Looking me up and down, he pronounced, "You have but one job soldier, that is to look pretty and be nice to the officers when you accompany me to the Officer's Club. There's a red crash phone on your desk. If it should ever ring, you'd better answer it on the first ring. Other than that, you'll be attending to my personal whims and needs."

"Yes Sir," I aptly replied.

He crossed the room, shut, and locked the door. Before returning to his desk, he pinched my behind and sniffed my hair.

Grinning from ear to ear, he laughingly told me, "Better get over that red-faced glow Missy. I'm your commanding officer, and you'll find that everything about me is a flight on the wild side. I'm all about down south wildflowers. Even a California girl like you, looks like one to me."

I was twenty years old and he was one year away from retirement. There was an incomprehensible war going on in Vietnam. The General, mad that he'd been denied action and forced state-side -- was waging his own private war. His was a defiant rebellion in having the time of his military life, partying away those days remaining in his career. Being his personal aide was indeed a flying by the seat of your pants walk on the wild side -- but it's not what you're thinking -- it was a flora and fauna wild life walk, with a most incredible self-made naturalist, who was writing a book on Southern wildflowers in his spare time.

Yes, there was what we would clearly label "sexual harassment in the work place" today, but it was primarily all Dixieland sweet talk, unless you counted the occasionally cop-a-feels, and rubber bands being shot at your boobs, when he caught you off guard.

Well, the General owned his own plane, an old retired WWII plane, formerly turned crop duster that had once belonged to his daddy. It was an almost weekly occurrence for him to go on a Southern "secret mission," that very little to do with military concerns, and everything to do with his book project.

He might have been off duty, but I wasn't when he ordered me to accompany him. It was my job to take notes while he dictated the contents of his studies and took photographs.

The very first covert flight, he flew us from Abilene, Texas to Biloxi, Mississippi and then to somewhere near to the Okefenokee Swamp, where a friend of his met us in a rust bucket of an old Ford pick up, and off to a dark and gloomy swamp. Before landing in a remote field on his friend's farm, he flew over that swamp several times, never mentioning, but clearly looking for something.

The General, was as you might have guessed, a bit of a rogue clown. I'd made the mistake of admitting that I was not fond of small planes, not trusting the potential engine failure of a plane that clearly was older than I was. As mischievous as any naughty boy, he decided to test my temperament, as he would later put it.

Coming away from that swamp in the direction of the field, he reached over and switched something off. Immediately, the plane did a nose dive, and my first scared observation was that the normally unflappable General, seemed to be hesitant about what was to happen next. That alone scared me the most.

Then, he switched another control, and the next thing I knew, we were doing a loop in the air. My handbag went flying out of the opening in the plane, and it was the least of my concerns, especially when up-side-down. Needless to say, by then my eyes were tightly shut, I was screaming, and certain a horrible death awaited us.

It was eerily silent and we seemed to be suspended in slow motion, when I once again heard the miraculous sound of the airplane engine. It was only then that I dared open my eyes, to see the General, clearly enjoying himself way too much.

"OK sissy Missy, we've got a lizard's tail to chase down. Your girly purse was government issue, and I'll make sure you've got a new one when we get back to the base. Let's get crackin' -- we've got miracles to see."

On that trip I learned that not everything in swamps is dark and gloomy and that a simple wildflower can indeed seem like a miracle. In the darkest places there is always something to relieve, partially at least, the solemn aspect -- something which will "brighten the corner," even though it be a heavily shadowed one.

It is certainly the business of the Lizard's tail plant (Saururus cernuus) to chase Mr. Gloom out of the swamps. Standing from two to three feet out of the water, these plants bear aloft five wonderful white racemes (slender, clusters of flowers), appearing like torch-bearers.

The tip of these torch flames, however, do what flame cannot do -- that is, bend over and point downward. Every raceme -- and this is one of the most characteristic things about lizard's tail flower clusters -- is that it bends over at the end. The tip thus weakly nodding and dangling about in the easy-going breezes of sheltered swamps.

If one looks closely at the white inflorescence of this plant, he will observe a remarkable thing about the tiny individual flowers. They have no sepals and no petals -- only the stamens (pollen-bearing parts) and carpels (seed-bearing parts) are present.

Scientists have long believed that the ancestors of this plant had sepals and petals like most flowers, but in the evolution of this flower these were lost.

It is interesting to note, that the remainder of the inflorescence, including the stem and the flower-stalks, becomes white, so that a very showy structure still is present to guide the inset to the little flowers for the purpose of pollination.

It's annoying to know that today, the Lizard's Tail plant is considered an invasive weed by many, who fail to recognize that it is a vital plant and absolutely necessary plant in terms of both shelter and egg laying for many insects and other animals.

Another favorite miracle plant of the General's was the Galax, not found in the swampland, but in the mountains. He was fascinated by the fact that this herb was far more widely known and enjoyed for its leaves, than for its flowers. The high regard in which southern folk held the leaves of the Galax is well deserved.

The foliar organs are truly unique in many ways. They are nearly round in outline, with a prominent heart-shaped base. The margin is irregularly wavy, with minute light colored glands on the tips of the projecting parts.

The main veins radiate from the base and divide by a simple system of forked branching. The blade is leathery and evergreen, shining on both sides. A rich bed of Galax made up of hundred of these beautiful leaves is a sight few see and never to be forgotten by those who do.

When the Galax leaves become a year or more old, they change to a rich bronze color, especially above. In this condition they are even more unusual than when green. For decades, florists have found a wide use for these deep reddish brown leaves.

The flowers are also interesting. They are small, not over a fourth of an inch long, and are thickly borne on a single simple wandlike stem ,which comes out of the ground near the leaves. The plant has been long known in folk medicine for treating cuts and wounds, as well as for kidney ailments.

The Galax plant may be found in the southern Appalachians and eastward toward the coast, although the nearer the coast, may be only found in rich woods, and generally on cool northward-facing slopes.

Much like the General's personality, always in motion, Sea Oats grow along sand dunes of many Southern beaches and it's rare to not see them in motion.

They are tall slender kind of plants, bearing in the summer and fall a loose cluster of very large spikelets (the compact groups of the grass flowers), which dangle about in the wind in the most care-free manner. They are swinging about most of the time, for it is seldom that the wind stops blowing over exposed dunes wherever they are found.

In the fall, when the spikelets are dry and hard, the stiff winds cause them to rattle so hard that at night their rustling is likely to keep a camper awake. But of more interest, is the fact that if one gathers a bunch of this grass in the fall, they may set it in the corner in an empty jar at home.   Often people dye the stalks and use them in home decorating.

They are like an attractive sheaf of golden grain, and will last a long time and will continually bring to mind the glorious days enjoyed by the sea. In the deep South, in states like Florida, this plant is the most permanent plant on any sand dune.

In the General's opinion, the miracle of Sea Oats is remembering that they are vital to soil stabilization beach projects, because their long root structure firmly holds loose sandy soil. Sea Oats are a "protected grass" in most states along the East Coast.

I was a reluctant and no-so-happy soldier in the General's hush-hush war campaign to write the most comprehensive book on Southern North American wildflowers and plants. I did, however, grow to be fond of this fine old Dixieland man who at the time, seemed to be more a tormentor, than a mentor.

I wish I could say that we could all find his book, that he so fondly labored on for years, but I cannot. Two days after retiring, the General died in an aborted take-off in his plane, when it experienced some unexpected wind sheer.

I was fortunate to learn from him (and others) about being passionate about your life and interests. If you take away anything from reading about his flamboyant unfinished naturalist quest -- remember this -- his favorite Albert Einstein saying was:

"There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle."

After quoting that brillant thought -- the General would always grin and say, "There are miracles surrounding us everyday. You just have to know where to look for them."