Author: Phyllis Root and Kelly Povo, flowerchasers.com

August 19, 2022

Author: Phyllis Root
Photographer: Kelly Povo

Native Orchids of Minnesota by Welby Smith lists 48 orchids native to Minnesota (plus one that grows wild but was brought over from Europe).  At some point in our wildflower chasing, we realized we were seeing many of those orchids, so we made it a goal to see all 48 native orchids blooming in Minnesota. 

Only one problem (well, actually three):  
the most recent specimen of Oklahoma grass-pink was documented in 1884; 
only one record of broad-leaved twayblade exists from 1924;
the two recorded specimens of southern slender ladies’-tresses are from 1889.

We revised our list of orchids we might reasonably see to 45, and slowly our list grew shorter until only two orchids remained, tall white bog orchid, which we’d seen in June 2021 blooming in a swamp in Wisconsin, and hooded ladies’-tresses, which eluded us.  We’d seen a posting of hooded ladies’-tresses in that same Wisconsin swamp, so when our Minnesota searches turned up empty, we headed across the river to Wisconsin on a moist sort of morning, cool and overcast with the promise of rain.  On our last visit we’d counted 12 different kinds of orchids at this site. Now in mid-August the only evidence of those previous orchids was a plethora of stemless lady’s-slipper leaves.  

Even without orchids, the bog was beautiful.  Under the trees green moss grew deep, while out in the open bog rosemary’s gray-green leaves stood out against rich red moss, dotted in places with large shiny ripening cranberries.  Purple pitcher plants nestled in the moss, their pinwheel flowers poking up as we made our way toward the north end of the small lake and the GPS coordinates where the hooded ladies’-tresses had been seen.

We were almost to where the orchid was said to be when we came to a bunch of braided water trails.  We’d crossed these water trails last year, but this year they were wider, deeper, and eager to suck up our boots when we took a tentative step. But we are intrepid, and by carefully helping each other leap across the streams (I use the word “leap” loosely, “stagger over” is a better description) we made it to more solid ground.

And there on the other side of the water trails we found the hooded ladies’-tresses, blossoms white against the green. Kelly took pictures while I counted at least 15 hooded ladies’-tresses plants in various stages of bloom. We felt rich in orchids. 

We still want to see hooded ladies’-tresses and tall white bog orchid blooming in Minnesota where they also grow.  But for now we celebrated actually seeing all the seeable orchids native to Minnesota blooming somewhere.  (And if anyone ever discovers time travel, we might just go back to the 1880s and 1920s to look for those last three orchids that once grew in Minnesota.)

As we hopped from hummock to hummock on our way back toward the car, we wondered why so many of the orchids in this swamp grew only at the far end of the lake.  A little internet research provided a possible answer: turns out the bog itself varies in alkalinity, with the north end more alkaline while the south end is more acidic.  Fourteen species of orchids are said to grow at this site, and by our count we had just seen the thirteenth.  

But that’s numbers and checklists and bean-counting. What really matters is the memory of those white spires of hooded ladies’-tresses in bloom, the deep greens and reds of the sphagnum moss, and the silence of a bog on a cloudy day. Whether or not we ever find that fourteenth orchid that grows here, we will be back to this magical place, happily hummock-hopping.

August 7, 2022

Author: Phyllis Root
Photographer: Kelly Povo

We’ve been chasing bog adder’s-mouth orchid for a while now.  It’s small (only a few inches tall), inconspicuous, and, according to the Minnesota Wildflowers web site, “one of the rarest orchids in North America, if not the rarest.” (Minnesota lists it as State Endangered.)  We’ve made multiple trips to a state-protected site in Clearwater County and seen at least 13 different orchids there over the years, but bog adder’s-mouth was never one of them.   

Year after year we wrote bog adder’s mouth on our “wish list.”  Even when a fellow orchid lover pointed us toward where he had once seen bog adder’s- mouth and we searched every inch of the site, the orchid still eluded us. 

Then another wildflower friend pointed us in a different direction, so once again we drove north as rain spattered sporadically from an overcast sky. When a partial rainbow arced across the clouds we took it as a sign–today might be the day!  

After all, how hard could it be in a few hundred wooded, often wet, acres to find Minnesota’s smallest orchid, about the size of a blade of grass, pale green against the green moss where it grows, possibly with tiny flowers or seeds on its stem and a few small leaves near its base?  We pulled on our boots and headed into the woods, hopes high.

Was this bog adder’s-mouth?
No, just pyrola gone to seed.

Was this bog adder’s-mouth?
No, that’s naked miterwort.

What about this?
Nope, that’s green adder’s-mouth that’s lost its mop top.

Hours passed. We scoured every mossy hummock where bog adder’s-mouth might grow and found countless pyrola, naked miterwort, and green adder’s- mouth.  

And then, just as we were about to concede defeat for this year– there it was.

Or was it?  

We’d been looking for a three-inch tall orchid, but the one nestled in the mossy hummock beneath a black spruce was at least twice that tall. Could this be white adder’s mouth, a similar-looking orchid, instead?  Close examination ensued.

White adder’s mouth has a single leaf, while bog adder’s mouth usually has several leaves plus a bulb-like swelling at the base of the leaves. The orchid in front of us had several leaves and the telltale swelling bulb.  

Next to the orchid a second orchid grew, this one only about three inches tall, with the same flowers, multiple leaves, and a bulb at the base. We had read that bog adder’s-mouth sometimes reproduces by forming structures on leaf tips that drop and develop into new orchids.  We might even be looking at two generations of bog adder’s-mouth. 

In the hush of the bog we felt a kind of reverence and gratitude that at last bog adder’s-mouth had shown itself to us. 

Back in the cities now, we smile to know that somewhere north under black spruce and cedars, among mossy hummocks and wet pools, two bog adder’s- mouth orchids grow.  We’ve seen them. At last.

July 22 and 23, 2022

Author: Phyllis Root
Photographer: Kelly Povo

The north shore of Lake Superior holds its own magic:  rugged rocks, wild waves, endless sky.  We love the grand sweep of lake and shore, but our first trip to the north shore this year was in search of smaller things, plants that have survived among the rocks and waves as well as other native plants we had yet to see. On our wish list: alpine bistort, encrusted saxifrage, small false asphodel, and auricled twayblade. Early on a Friday morning (but not too early for coffee) we met a wildflower friend in Grand Marais who had promised to guide us to out-of-the-way places. Did I mention we were excited?

First stop:  Icelandite Coastal Fen Scientific and Natural Area (SNA) north of Grand Marais.  A fen is essentially a peatland with a source of fresh water besides rainfall, such as runoff from higher ground or an upwelling spring. (In a bog, which is also a peatland, the only source of incoming water is rain or snowmelt.) In Icelandite Coastal Fen a rare orchid, auricled twayblade, grows. 

And we saw it! Saw them, actually, twenty or more plants, tucked under alders. Many were blooming, their pale petals seeming to glow, while some plants had just the two leaves that give twayblades their name. 

Beyond the alders in the open fen we found bog rosemary, small cranberry, hundreds of blooming pitcher plants,  and our second orchid of the day, Platanthera huronensis. (We aren’t botanists, but we finally memorized the scientific names for Platanthera huronensis and the similar-looking Platanthera aquilonis, since overlapping common names for them left us confused.)   

A short drive and hike along a river revealed our next orchid, a lesser purple fringed orchid just beginning to bloom.  Orchid count: 3.

Alongside the path into Horseshoe Bay Wildlife Management Area (WMA) large white flowers of thimbleberry and small, sweet flowers of northern bluebells were blooming.  By the rocky shore we found northern paintbrush, one of the flowers on our wish list for the weekend, as well as the sticky yellow leaves of common butterwort (which is actually uncommon in Minnesota). 

Next destination: Fall River Patterned Fen, northeastern Minnesota’s only patterned fen, made up of ridges (strings) and pools (flarks).  A one-mile hike down the Superior hiking trail took us to a likely entry into the fen through a lowland black spruce forest, and we stepped out into a world of immense silence. The moss in bogs and fens can absorb up to twenty times its weight in water, and it’s easy to believe it might absorb sounds as well.  

The ground squished at times, quivering underfoot and springing back up, making us grateful for the rubber boots we wore.  Bright, delicate blossoms of rose pogonia stood out, far too many to count, and countless purple pitcher plants raised their pinwheel blossoms. In the lower, wetter places we found both round-leaved and spoon-leaf sundew blooming.

But the prize of the day was club-spur orchid, which we’d only ever seen in Wisconsin.  Though nowhere near as numerous as the rose pogonia, plenty of club-spur orchids were blooming, enough to make our hearts glad. An unexpected find:  one tall ragged fringed orchid only slightly past its prime.  Orchid count: 6.

Storm clouds roiled above us, so we reluctantly began the trek back out of the fen, promising ourselves we’d return to this silent, mysterious habitat. Rain caught up with us under the black spruces, turning the air misty, white, and even more dreamlike.

Even after the thrill of the patterned fen, we still had two more stops. At an abandoned gravel pit we found more ragged fringed orchids, along with western spotted coralroot orchid and green pyrola, a new-to-us species. A glimpse of a Great Lakes gentian not yet blooming made this another place we’ll return to in a few weeks’ time.

Last stop of the day: Artist’s Point in Grand Marais, where we found alpine bistort in bloom near the leaves of common butterwort and bird’s-eye primrose. We dropped off our friend with many thanks and headed to the home of other friends where we were staying.  After a nine-orchid day and two new fens to fall in love with, we fell into bed, tired but filled with wildflower wonders.

The way home the next morning included a quick stop at Sugarloaf Cove to check on the status of Hudson Bay eyebright, an arctic disjunct that grows there far south of its usual habitat.  We found the tiny, tiny plants, less than an inch tall, growing in cracks of the rocks.  A non-native similar species, Tartary eyebright, is a threat to these native plants, but at Sugarloaf, at least, we saw no sign of it.  We did see another Platanthera huronensis, which made us happy.

Our last stop of the weekend:  Virginia, Minnesota, where on the overburden,  piled-up earth left from open-pit iron mining, a new kind of habitat grows on the reddish earth and rocks.  A scrabbling scramble up a hillside of tumbled rock brought us to the top of the overburden, where last year we saw Case’s ladies’-tresses blooming.  It’s early for Case’s yet this year, only their green leaves showing, but the spiraling white blossoms of northern slender ladies’-tresses stood out in the rainy light, their stems so slight that the best way to spot them was from a ground’s eye view .

Still on our hope-to-see list for another trip north:  encrusted saxifrage, small false asphodel, hooded ladies’ tresses, Great Lakes gentian–other flowers for other searches.  For now we’re grateful for a nine-orchid weekend with two new-to-us fens, for friends who share their wildflower knowledge, and for friends who open their home to us when we are wildflower chasing.  And we are grateful most of all for the folks who know and protect these wild places full of strange and wondrous flowers.