By John Holback, Stewardship Manager
When I think back on the springs of my youth in southern Chester County, I think of muddy boots and dirty pant legs. I think of those relished lingering snow patches that disappeared slowly in the lowlands and the heavy snowballs that could be made from them. I think of prying free ice sheets from the edge of creek side gravel beds and throwing rocks to break the bergs as they floated down stream. I think of the crocuses coming up and later seeing sprouting daffodils, marking where my dad once made my brother and me “help” bury the bulbs. Spring was, and is still, good in southern Chester County. Now, with several decades of life lived, I have new thoughts of spring; spring cleaning, days getting longer, work getting busier, and taxes. Still, childhood memories endure, and one that perennially returns, especially during muddy lowland hikes, is that of trying to find an uninitiated victim to sniff some freshly sprouted skunk cabbage. I thought I was very clever then and sometimes still do, as I now try to get my nieces and nephews to take a whiff.
I know I am not the only one to opine on this interesting and charismatic plant, but I hope to offer something of a fresh perspective. A little background: Eastern Skunk Cabbage (Symplocarpus foetidus) is a member of the Aroid family, Araceae, and is endemic to eastern Canada down to Tennessee and North Carolina. It is an obligate wetland species, meaning that you will only find this plant growing in wetland conditions. Starting in late winter you will first see the plant’s flowering parts poking up like purple and green alien growths through often still frozen mud and snow due to its thermogenic properties (it creates its own heat). The hood like spathe opens to reveal the spadix – a spike covered by tiny crowded flowers. Sound familiar? That’s because you are likely familiar with other Aroids like Peace Lilly, Jack-in-the-Pulpit, and the new social media favorite, the Corpse Flower. Like many other Aroids, the plant is reasonably toxic. Should you taste it (please don’t), you will learn that the calcium oxalate crystals present in the plant have prominent tasting notes of hot needles and broken glass.
Though there is plenty of skunk cabbage in our region, in Tennessee, it is considered endangered. It might seem strange that a plant that is so abundant here can be considered endangered just several hundred miles away but because many of Tennessee’s lowlands are being destroyed for development, skunk cabbage is now at risk of disappearing there. Our lowlands are at risk too. Development, landscape degradation, and fragmentation cause harm to our natural areas and ecosystems. Excess runoff leads to soil erosion that can fill in and alter the soil chemistry of low areas, making it hard for the plants and animals that have evolved there to survive. According to The Chesapeake Bay Foundation, The Bay’s watershed continues to lose forest land at a rate of 70 acres a day, and while not all of that is skunk cabbage habitat, the impacts trickle down. Next door in the 13,539 square mile Delaware River basin, where we are located, nearly 15 million people and the region’s diverse flora and fauna, require access to clean water – something healthy, intact wetland ecosystems play a critical role in providing.
Perhaps you do not have the attachment to skunk cabbage that I do but I bet you do have a favorite plant, bird, or insect. “Charismatic megafauna” (yes that’s a thing) like the blue whale, gorilla, or bald eagle have served as a rallying point for conservationists everywhere and for good reason. My argument is that “regular ol’ flora and fauna” can be just as charismatic and serve as a rallying point too. I hope this spring, when you find yourself in the wetland areas at Ashbridge Preserve, Rushton Woods, or in your backyard gully, you take a moment to convince someone to sniff the skunk cabbage and remember that it and the wetland ecosystem it depends on are charismatic and important too.
