Wishing for Milkweed-Clover Honey

I felt bad—or at least nostalgic for better environmental conditions in years past—reading Hal Borland’s Nature note for July 2 in his book “Twelve Moons of the Year”.   (See my blog for July 1.) Borland describes patches of milkweed so large in the countryside that you could smell it.  He says it and clover smelled like the honey that bees would make from it.  I believe he wrote that note in the 1940s.

This reminded me that bees are another creature that benefits from milkweed.

Sadly, born in 1948, I haven’t smelled a big patch of milkweed in my lifetime—and the chances have greatly diminished in recent decades.  I remember raising a Monarch butterfly caterpillar, around the late 1990s, and how hard it was to find enough milkweed to give the caterpillar its daily needs for milkweed leaves.

At least we’re still “in the clover”.   Borland confirms my observations recently that clover types grow at different heights:  The white clover on some lawns grows very low, thankfully; red clover grows fairly tall.

I read an article in a recent Columbus Dispatch newspaper article saying that white clover on lawns has gotten a bad rap over the years.  The writer likes it because it attracts bees, makes nitrogen fertilizer for lawns, and reminds her of her youthful days enjoying a rest on a clover-laden lawn.

We have white clover on our lawn—the only “weed” there I’m proud of—and I see red clover in the vacant lots along Ridgeland Drive and in the “wildflower oasis” at the far edge of the Clubhouse area meadow that fronts Apple Valley Drive.  But I don't know why it's called red clover when it looks very purple to me.

And I do relive my childhood when our toy poodle, Friendly, "forces" me to rest on our lawn with him!