All About Goldenrod

It was about a mile between my house and my school. I walked that mile and back every day for five years. The Appalachian mountains of east Kentucky were untamed in those days, most of them untouched and untended. On my way home in spring I gathered branches of redbud and it wasn't unusual for me to climb a little way up the hillside and gather a branch or two of blooming dogwoods. My mother was a little perturbed when I poured about half of her bottle of Sheaffer's ink into the water that held dogwoods. When I explained that I wanted blue blooms on that dogwood, she mentioned rather harshly that I shouldn't be playing around with Mother Nature's white blooms, nor with my mother's blue ink.

By the time school was over for the year, I was gathering wild columbine and firepinks. They were the bouquets I brought home to my mother.

My mom was a really good woman. She was a schoolteacher and she had the patience of a saint. Because she was a teacher and because my dad was away in the Philippines during WW II, I spent most of my youngest days with my Granny Ninna, Dad's mom, and my great Aunt Bett, my mother's aunt. They taught me all kinds of things, mostly they taught me to have a creative mind of my own. My creative mind didn't always coincide with my mom's saintly patience.

The spring bouquets for my mother ended in fall, when the dusty mountain road was bordered by the last big show of the year, goldenrod (Solidago). I was never allowed to bring goldenrod home; my mother insisted it caused her allergies. I think that's why I loved it so much; it was one of those plants I couldn't have. I never quite understood my mother; I could stick my nose right in the middle of goldenrod blooms and never even think of sneezing. Since Ninna lived with us, I couldn't bring goldenrod home to her either. So I took the golden bouquets to my Aunt Bett. She loved them and she taught me about the magic medicine that lived within the plant.

There's just something about the scent of goldenrod that even now reminds me of fall in my mountains. Quite often I went home with golden pollen all over my face and streaked through my hair. Mom would take one look at me and steer me straight to the shower while she took herself as far away from me as she could get.

I thought it was the most glorious sight, rows and rows of goldenrod growing on each side of the road in front of Aunt Bett's house. From a distance it looked as if the road were lined with floating gold velvet glowing in the sunlight. It didn't seem to matter that coal trucks left a dusting of black all over the gold; no, it didn't matter at all because the gold was so much brighter than coal dust. Of course, most of the time the coal dust stuck to my face, too, right along with the golden pollen. Mom didn't have to get very close to see the coal dust.

Goldenrod has quite a history. Most of that history was told to me by Aunt Bett. She knew all there was to know about the wildflowers that grew in our part of the Appalachian mountains. Goldenrod is native to the United States and grows just about anywhere it can find dry open fields and woods. When the American colonists rebelled against British taxes by dumping taxable tea into the Boston Harbor, they found themselves without tea to drink. Some say that along with chicory, tea made of dried leaves of goldenrod became the next drink of choice for them. That was one of the historical tidbits that came from Aunt Bett's teachings.

Aunt Bett also told me that before the colonists came, Native Americans used the plant medicinally. That's why it held so much interest for her, she used it as a remedy, too. A tea was made of the leaves, both fresh and dried, for intestinal disorders. The leaves and flowering tops were made into a tea to ease the discomfort of colic in babies. She also made another brew from the flowers to treat urinary tract disorders and as a diuretic to prevent edema. Occasionally the leaves were used topically for skin blemishes and bruises. Sometimes she let me help her and she always welcomed the goldenrod that I brought to her on my way home from school.

Goldenrod is a perennial herb that can grow up to 40 inches tall. It has long narrow leaves growing up a single stalk, and tiny yellow clusters of flowerheads appear in late July on the upper ends of the outwardly curving branches; the blooms last till frost. You can be sure it's a beautiful sight seeing them among the reds and golds of fall leaves. About 30 varieties grow in Kentucky, some have broader flower clusters and there can also be a difference in the leaf appearance. It's Kentucky's state flower and also claimed by Nebraska and more recently, South Carolina. States quite often change their political minds, though, and proclamations of fame sometimes get dumped by the wayside. But for Kentucky, goldenrod has worn the badge of honor since 1926.

I wasted many years of arguments trying to convince my mother that it wasn't goldenrod that caused her allergies. Aunt Bett told me it was pointless to argue with her, but I argued anyway. If I had known then what I know now, I wouldn't have been banished to my room for talking back so often. The pollen of goldenrod is heavy and sticky. It doesn't spread by blowing in the wind. You'd have to be a bee with your nose stuck up inside a bloom before you could even find the pollen.

On the other hand, there's ragweed, Ambrosia.  It's a good thing it has a beautiful name, because there's nothing else pretty about it. Ragweed has inconspicuous tiny pale green flowers; it blooms unnoticed at about the same time as goldenrod. Its billions of seeds are airborne and it's considered to be the greatest allergen of all pollens. If the wind blows in September, those with allergies can be in big trouble. It is food for the larvae of several butterflies and moths, and during winter its seeds feed many bird species. That's about all I can tell you of its reason for existing. I don't have pollen allergies, but ragweed can make even me sneeze.

Because it grows in similar conditions along roadsides and fields, and because its blooms are right there for every eye to see at about the same time, goldenrod gets blamed for all the aggravating sneezes that ragweed causes. I think it's about time somebody speaks up for goldenrod.

Goldenrod is a companion plant; it plays host to some beneficial insects, and repels some pests. The plant is used as a food source by the larvae of various Lepidoptera species; the praying mantis lays its eggs on goldenrod so the babies, after hatching, can feast on the smaller insects that are also drawn to goldenrod.

The honey from goldenrod has a very light color and is mild to the taste. Goldenrod is a good companion for the beekeeper.

There is another economic aspect of goldenrod that not many know.  Inventor Thomas Edison experimented with goldenrod to produce rubber, which it contains naturally. He created a process to maximize the rubber content in each plant; his experiments produced a 12 foot tall goldenrod that yielded much more rubber that was resilient and long lasting. Examples of the rubber can still be found in his laboratory, elastic and rot free even after all these years. Edison turned his research over to the U.S. government before his death, but goldenrod rubber never went beyond the experimental stages.

I never did convince my mother that she wasn't allergic to goldenrod. Of course I never told her about the time I sneaked into the house, my arms filled with its blooms. I didn't tell her that I dusted its pollen all over her brown plaid jacket that hung on the doorknob. I didn't tell her that I accidentally dropped some pollen on the back of her favorite chair. And I never did tell her that I kept that vase of goldenrod on my nightstand so long it dried and turned to dust. It was a very good thing that my room was upstairs and by that time, I was in charge of taking care of it. 

I never told my mother where the yellow dye came from either; the gorgeous golden yellow dye that I managed to talk Aunt Bett into letting me make on her old wood cookstove from the goldenrod blooms I brought her. That was a secret shared only between Aunt Bett and me. I suppose Mom might have noticed that my white blouse somehow turned yellow, and that I sported yellow streaks in my white hair, but she never said a word.

I remember waiting for weeks the year of my experiment to hear Mom's first sneeze, but it never came and still I never told her. I don't remember how I got rid of the goldenrod without anyone ever knowing, but I suppose I opened my window and tossed the entire dried mess of it out into the night, just like I tossed away a lot of other secrets. I always thought of it as my first successful scientific experiment, even though I never told anybody about it. Well, maybe I did tell Aunt Bett, but she never told either.

Some secrets are best never told.

Monarda photo: Creative Commons: J.Schneid

Solidago photos: Public Domain