By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist

She has come for her annual visit to the creek valley. She usually comes when heat and humidity settle unpleasantly over the fields and forests, but thanks to her I look forward to this time of year. I know she will always stop by. It seems the late afternoon heat is not quite so oppressive as I see Black-eyed Susan standing tall in the evening light.

It wasn’t always like this. Pansies in the flower boxes of our townhouse and the tinkling bell of the Good Humor Man in the park across the street were once my harbingers of summer heat. I can’t remember ever seeing a wild Black-eyed Susan in the city parks or between the sidewalks, but during our first summer by the creek, it made a joyful appearance.

I remember how surprised I was when I found this beautiful yellow flower on the top of what I thought was a spindly green-leafed weed. I know that I must have pulled up quite a few of these “weeds” our first spring in the valley as we cleared the land around our old barn and cabin property. Fortunately, we worked slowly that first summer and only visited the farm on weekends while we continued to live and work in town, so I didn’t have the opportunity to pull everything up.

But since that first summer, I have been eagerly awaiting spring, when I can look for its slender stem and the now familiar pointed leaves. And then I often stop by and wait patiently for its yellow flowers to appear.

I learned that the Black-Eyed Susan is native to the North American continent and was originally found only in the Northeast, but has since spread from the East Coast to the West with human help. I’m always interested in learning more about the edible wild plants I can find in the creek valley, so I researched this beautiful yellow flower and learned that the native people of our country used the roots, but not the seeds, to make an herbal tea to treat colds and flu, and also made a root poultice to treat snake bites. Interestingly, early American settlers never used the flower for medicinal or culinary purposes, although they did like to incorporate it into their floral arrangements around the home, as I do.

Without a doubt, the Black-eyed Susan is a happy plant. It smiles at us from the heat of mid-summer to the first frost in late autumn. It can survive temperatures well below freezing. However, when it has wilted, it is actually just preparing for the next summer. Its seeds fall to the ground where they wait to germinate next spring.

I have seen the Black-eyed Susan return to exactly the same spot year after year, but it also surprises me when it starts growing in a new place. It likes to decorate the banks of the stream in the partial shade of the overhanging trees. It dances along the edges of the woods, peeking out from the shade and into the sun. It has taken root behind the orchard at the far end of the upper field, where we have not mown for several years and where it can enjoy a full day of sunshine.

I did wonder, however, how Black-Eyed Susan got her name. I imagined a gentle young man making a bouquet for his flaxen-haired, dark-eyed true love, who was, yes, you guessed it, named Susan. Curiously, that’s almost the case. I wrote about it several years ago, but the legend has captured my heart.

The flower’s name may come from an Old English poem written by John Gay in 1720 called “Sweet William’s Farewell to Black-eyed Susan.” The poem tells the story of how these two wildflowers both bloom in mid-summer and die back in late autumn. The poem was set to music in 1730 and became a popular song in the 19th century. I can see why. The lyrics are beautiful.

“O Susan, Susan, dear child,
My vows will always remain true:
Let me kiss away this falling tear;
We part only to meet again.
Change, you winds, as you will; my heart will
The faithful compass that points to you.”

And so it seems I have company every year, as Sweet William and I both look forward to the return of Black-Eyed Susan. I have learned so much while living here in Brook Valley, and yes, you probably guessed it too. I am now heading out to greet Sweet William.

Christine Tailer is a lawyer and former city dweller who moved with her husband Greg several years ago to an off-grid farm in southern Ohio. Visit her online at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.

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