It's January, that post holiday time of the year when many of us tend to get the winter doldrums. The weather is unpredictable, but generally cold and the days are short. Green leaves, warm breezes, and spring flowers are still months away, so we're restless. Mother Nature seems to have abandoned us. But wait - there is a solution. The very first woodland harbinger of spring (or maybe it's really the first flower of winter), is blooming right now in a nearby wetland. Let's go find some skunk cabbages.

Yes, skunk cabbages aren't everyone's idea of flowering beauty. At first glance, they're homely and look a bit like twisted little red gnomes hiding in the groundcover. Look more closely, however, and you'll find they lead fascinating lives. Skunk cabbages are relatives of the jack-in-the-pulpit and can live for at least 100 years and probably longer under ideal conditions. They grow in wet, swampy places and along meandering streams. In fact, conservationists and surveyors rely on skunk cabbages as certain or obligate indicators of wetland soil.

In the dead of the winter when the ground is still frozen and the woods are studies in gray and brown, spiky green skunk cabbage shoots emerge. Over the next few days, the shoots morph into twisted reddish-brown sheaths called spathes, which protect the tiny bloom clusters inside. The inside of the spathes is very slippery so visiting insects are whisked down to the bottom where the pollen is. The spathes also hold in the heat generated by the flower spike. Yes, skunk cabbages have their own heating systems, a rarity in the plant world. Skunk cabbages can convert stored energy into enough heat to melt ice and snow on the ground around them. If you put your finger inside the reddish purple sheath and touch the actual flower head, you'll find that it's quite warm - sometimes as much as 36 degrees warmer than the outside air.

This heat generation, which lasts for about two weeks, protects the bloom and also attracts various insects. Spiders crawl inside for a respite from the cold, and in the process, pollinate the flower; sometimes they even spin webs over the entrance to the spathe. Bees like the skunk cabbage for the same reasons. Because they don't generally like to fly during cold weather, they will visit a skunk cabbage on a chilly day, crawl inside to the warmest spot where the pollen is located, collect the pollen, and after having warmed themselves a bit, leave for their next destination.

In March when the days are longer and warmer, skunk cabbage leaves begin to unfold in a spiral pattern. They are bright green with heavy ribs and resemble large Sum and Substance hosta leaves. When mature, the leaves can be 3 to 4 feet long and at least a foot wide. The unusually large size of skunk cabbage leaves helps them capture as much sunlight as possible for conversion into stored energy. They are very spongy and watery with few woody fibers. According to the lore of Native Americans in the western part of the United States, the height of the skunk cabbage leaves predicts the amount of snow for the next winter. If that prediction worked here in Virginia, we would get serious amounts of snow!

By midsummer, the leaves begin to decay in their own unique way. They don't dry up, fall onto the ground, and become part of the leaf cover. Instead, they develop small holes, droop, turn black in spots, and become slimy. They essentially dissolve and leave very little dry matter on the ground. It's as if they have withdrawn into the earth to await the new year. As the leaves disappear, the seeds develop into pea-size maroon fruits that fall to the ground, are eaten by birds, and thus spread around their habitat.

Skunk cabbages have huge root systems, making them very difficult if not impossible to dig out of the ground. There is no taproot, but many, many wrinkled, pencil-size roots with ridges. These roots have to ability to contract and draw the skunk cabbages at least a quarter inch deeper into the earth every year. This downward pull helps keep the leaves and stems close to the ground and makes it nearly impossible to dig up mature plants.

Yes, skunk cabbages stink. The blooms and crushed leaves really do smell like essence of angry skunk or perhaps rotten meat. This unique smell protects the plants from grazing animals looking for food. It also attracts insects, such as carrion beetles, which are tricked by the smell into thinking they've found rotten carcasses and wander from plant to plant, distributing pollen in the process.

Native Americans had great respect for the medicinal qualities of the skunk cabbage. They ground the dried roots to make a powder for treating wounds and drawing out splinters or thorns. They used the root hairs to soothe toothaches and made infusions to treat colds, headaches, and various other ailments. One of the most unusual uses was for tattooing the ill. Skunk cabbage powder was mixed with vegetable pigments and inserted under the skin in magical designs to prevent the return of patients' sicknesses.

According to folklore, bears like to feast on tender young skunk cabbage leaves after emerging from hibernation. One year, the trickster Raven tricked Bear into eating hot stones by wrapping them in succulent skunk cabbage leaves. Poor Bear!

The brave little skunk cabbage will never win a beauty contest or be found in fancy plant catalogs, but it is unique. What's not to like about a plant that blooms when we desperately need to see a glimmer of spring, has its own heating system for melting ice and snow, entices insects with a pungent smell, can live for at least 100 years, and is so firmly rooted in the ground that we shouldn't even try to uproot it.

So, if you're suffering from the winter doldrums, take Henry David Thoreau's advice. Go on a “skunk hunting” expedition in the nearest wet, swampy area and look for the “brave spears of skunk cabbage buds already advanced toward the new year.” I promise you'll feel much better.

posted on 1/18/10