The Goldenrod Chronicles, Don’t Forget Cycles

(plus, actual goldenrods)

Before the cycles, let’s do a few updates:

1. Friends were made at pickleball today. Thanks all for the encouragement.

2. Friends were made reconnected based on my last missing about how to make friends. (Actually, we are writing together as we speak I type.)

3. Not an update at all, but I was reminded this weekend that JOANN’s is going out of business and now all I can think about is buying a whole bunch of fabric for ‘projects’ that are project that will not happen until ~2028.

But on to the cycles.

Last week I went back to physical therapy after a long time away. At least 90 days away, according to the scheduler because I had to make an appointment as a new patient, even though Shari had been taking care of my ragged, aging, perimenopausal body through almost all of 2024.

I (proudly) left work with sufficient time to walk to my car and drive the thirteen minutes cross town to University Research Park where one of the offices of my health care system sits. (I say one of the offices because thre are SO MANY LOCATIONS and en route to almost every appointment I have a deep, deep panic that I am heading to the wrong location. Even my PT can be seen at more than one location, depending on the day.)

Driving through Research Park I felt that sudden sense of calm upon setting eyes on the monochrome swaths of prairie. Yes, this research park is dotted with prairies and swales as part of their commitment to sustainability, and it brings me a lot of joy each time I travel through.

In passing by a long patch of prairie paralleling the road - I remembered how last year I pulled into the little parking lot behind it to enjoy some of the very yellow Goldenrod in the peak of their September color.

Hard not to feel the sunshine radiating from this photo - right?

Do I have enough time to stop and take a look now? Do I want to stand in the calm winter-ochre field and smell the air and feel the wind and enjoy the soft fuzz of goldenrod seeds?

Of course I wanted to, but even though I did leave work with sufficient time to get to my appointment on time I did not leave with enough time to dilly-dally.

I spent an hour with my physical therapist. She reminded me of all the progress I had made since she saw me at the beginning of 2024. And she pointed out how much that headway had stuck despite being out of the game since December. She identified some new things to focus on. She taught me how to flex a specific muscle in my butt I couldn’t get to engage without her poking on it. We talked about how weird and hard it is to be women in aging bodies when science and doctors don’t always take seriously the issues and concerns facing women in aging bodies.

We scheduled an appointment for two weeks out, and I left while the sun still shined bright in the afternoon (which it is doing more and more these days).

On my meander along Science Drive I rolled past the same prairie on my way out of the park. With that sun shining and no where to be in any hurry - I pulled into the same parking spot as last fall to check out my flowered friends (and grasses and sedges).

By this time of year, late February, there is always a good chance some of the prairie plants are no longer standing. Weighed down by the weight of a few good snows or blown through by the winds, it’s just as likely they’ll be flattened along the ground.

So I was so excited (like a squeal escaped) to find the exact same goldenrod from the fall still standing.

What happens after the sunshine fades and the flowers turn to seeds.

You guys - IT’S THE SAME PLANT!

And yes, it’s the same actual stem from the same plant as above and the flowers have matured into seeds - but also THIS IS STILL A GOLDENROD.

It may look different - but this is as much a goldenrod as the sunny yellow and green photo above is a goldenrod.

In fact - the golden yellow and bright green goldenrod above couldn’t exist without this brown and haggard goldenrod¹.

And can I just point out, that beautiful and star-shaped sepal in the center of the photo below. IRL it was just such a perfect little firework in the middle of this fuzzy masterpiece and I could not resist pointing it out to you.

OMG - but here’s where we finally get to the cycles part in the title line of this missive. (It took a while, remember guys, I am all description and no plot.)

If you visited Wisconsin and saw your first prairie in the last bits winter, you would wonder why someone was letting the dead, brown corridors and patches of land just exist. You *may* ask if someone ran out of time to clean up their garden before winter hit. Or perhaps you’d think that someone had sprayed it all dead.

But it wouldn’t be until spring (perhaps after a controlled burn²) you’d notice the tiniest of a green blur emerge at the ground level, followed by wild green shoots and leaves, followed by the most robust parade of colors and insects and birds through the late spring and summer (and early fall) months of bloom.

Each year, for thousands of years, the tallgrass prairie of the Midwest has been in just this cycle. Emerge. Grow. Flower. Seed. Brown. Emerge.

Emerge. Grow. Flower. Seed. Brown. Emerge.

Emerge. Grow. Flower. Seed. Brown. Emerge.

Emerge. Grow. Flower. Seed. Brown. Emerge.

Emerge. Grow. Flower. Seed. Brown. Emerge. Burn.

Yes, this feels like an immense amount of absolute insanity in our country right now. (and FYI, it feels that way because it is that way right now.) But maybe we can look to the natural world around us for a little bit (the tiniest bit) of comfort right now too. Looking at cycles.

Cycles.

Cycles of regeneration.

Cycles of continuing.

Cycles that restore balance.

Cycles of joy.

Cycles.

And at the very least, we can always burn a prairie down if it gets too weedy - the prescribed option for a restart when needed.

Apparently only the resilience of nature can make me feel any optimism right now. I’m okay with that. I’ll look to any possible strategies (phone bank and canvassing for the upcoming Wisconsin supreme court election, calling my elected officials daily, sings, organizing, yelling into the void), but the inimitable strategies of nature tend to hold strongest.

Here’s to it (whatever it is),
🍂 vanessa

P.S. If you ever wonder how many photos I take of goldenrods, this is a screenshot of all the photos I took at Research Park last September.

1. Okay. Friends (especially if your name starts with the letter “D” and you know things about plants) technically goldenrods would still exist and thrive without going through seed stage and casting their little seeds on the wind to every corner of the world. Goldenrods actually grow from rhizomes, and they are tenacious AF, which means that technically they don’t need these adorable fuzzy little seed heads. So, just needed to say that for, you know, plant accuracy (which is the only type of accuracy you will find on The Goldenrod Chronicles). Also, if you want to understand what goldenrod rhizomes are check out these AMAZING illustrations by Lizzie Harper.

2. Hmmm, what is our controlled burn for this situation?