The Wildflower That Makes The Swamps Shine Cowslips – the common name for marsh marigolds – decorate a quiet stream. Most people would wonder what possible connection there is between William Shakespeare and marsh marigolds, a well-known wildflower in the process of decorating thousands of swampy areas, wet meadows and stream banks throughout eastern Wisconsin. A phrase from his writing, "And winking Mary-buds begin to open their golden eyes," probably refers to what many Americans call the marsh marigold, or at least a close relative of this favorite early spring flower. His use of the word "Mary-buds" can in all likelihood be associated with some form of marigold used in church festivals during the Middle Ages as one of the blossoms devoted to the Virgin Mary. A marigold can actually be one of several distinctly different genera of flowers. Photo by Laddie Chapman The so-called pot marigold, a Calendula, is one of the best-known of this bright group of flowers. African and French marigolds, belonging to the genus Tagetes, are also very popular plants. Several weeds fall into the marigold group. One, the Bidens, is commonly known as bur marigold, stick-tight or tickseed. Another very common yellow-blossomed weed in fields of England as well as eastern North America is the corn marigold, actually a species of Chrysanthemum, C. segetum. Those of you who have driven along the Pacific coastal highways near Los Angeles surely admired the banks of ice plants, also called fig marigolds or Hottentot figs. These attractive plants have proven their effectiveness as sand dune binders or stabilizers. A wildflower admired by a great many Midwesterners is the so-called marsh marigold, Caltha palustris. Caltha is the Latin name for a strong-scented yellow flower, perhaps the common marigold. Marsh marigolds, by the way, don’t have a strong odor. Its species name, palustris, means "of swamps." So the "strong-smelling flower" of swampy ground carries with it somewhat of a religious connotation in its marigold name. Actually this attractive wildflower isn’t even remotely related to the marigolds but rather is a member of the large buttercup or crowfoot family, Ranunculus (ra-NUN-kew-lus). This is the name describing a little frog and was originally applied by Pliny to these plants, the aquatic species commonly existing where frogs abound. Ever since as a small boy I was introduced to these bright yellow spring flowers adorning the swampy section of my Aunt Mandy and Uncle Walter Barr’s woods northwest of Kewaunee I have known them as cowslips. Naturally it was easy to associate their habitat with a place where "cows would slip" and consequently I never further questioned the derivation of this interesting plant name. It was while reading a book dealing with European primroses, many which grow wild there, that I came across what I believe is an accurate interpretation of the word "cowslip." One of the wild primroses, a white-blossomed species, was called "ox-lips." Another, a yellow-flowered variety, was referred to as "cow’s-slips." It so happened that early European settlers in eastern North America, homesick for their favorite animals, birds and especially flowers rejoiced when their first spring arrived and with it the swamps filled with what looked like their beloved cow’s-lips. Gradually through the years the pronunciation, as so often occurs in this country, degenerated or changed from cow’s-lips to cowslips! I still prefer the name cowslips over marsh marigolds. Examine their leaves and you’ll find them appearing as though a seamstress had trimmed them with a pinking shears. Gradually their striking chrome-yellow blossoms, consisting of sepals rather than true petals, will emerge, if they haven’t already done so where you live. Tiny nectar glands on the sides of each pistil will entice many insects, especially the brilliant Syrphidae (SIR-fi-dee) flies, into moving around the flowers, brushing against the stigmas, and cross-pollinating these handsome wildflowers. Depending upon where they are growing in Wisconsin, their time of blossoming can range from mid-April into early June. Apparently their blooming period is closely correlated with the water and soil temperature in which they grow. What are usually looked down upon as dank, smelly, mosquito-infested environments, the swamps, will soon come alive with golden beauty. Go to where the "cows slip" and enjoy one of spring’s most dazzling spectacles. This column appeared in the Door County Advocate on 05/11/2001. © Copyright 2001 Roy Lukes. All rights reserved.