BY LESLIE REGO
Upon seeing the blue camas lily (Camassia quamash) on June 12, 1806, Meriweather Lewis wrote, “the quamash is now in blume and from the colour of its bloom at a short distance it resembles lakes of fine clear water, so complete in the deseption that on first sight I could have sworn it was water.”
My husband and I drove to Boise this past weekend and the blue camas was in full bloom – on May 7 (not June 12) – a whole month earlier than when the expedition saw the plant! Blue camas grows in moist meadows or alongside streams or rivers. The fields by Fairfield were full of the flower and it certainly did resemble clear blue lakes. The “lakes” even had gentle ripples as the flowers swayed in the wind.
The camas bulb was a main staple for Northwest Native American cultures. The bulbs were cooked in stone fire pits and provided large amounts of energy as they were a good source of carbohydrates. Apparently, the cooked or dried bulbs were almost as valuable as smoked salmon for trading purposes.
Meriweather Lewis wrote lengthy passages about the flower in his journal. On June 11, 1806 he devoted several pages to the description of the flower as well as the preparation of the root as a food source. After a particularly long passage of all the possible ways to eat the roots and how they fit into the daily culinary life of the Northwest Native Americans, he ends the description ominously with, “…this root is palateable but disagrees with me in every shape I have ever used it.” The camas root is notorious for producing large amounts of intestinal gas and Lewis goes on to note in his journal, “…when in the Indian hut I was almost blown out by the strength of the wind.”
The first time Lewis and Clark and their men encountered the flower was when they finally staggered down from the Rocky Mountains onto the plains. They were malnourished and ready to eat anything. The Nez Perce generously shared one of their prized camas roots with them. Unfortunately, the root was extremely difficult on the men’s already compromised digestive systems. Clark wrote, “I am verry Sick to day and puke which relive me.”
When the plants are not in flower, it is easy to confuse the blue camas bulbs with the death camas bulbs, which are highly poisonous. The Native American women, as gatherers of the camas roots for the tribes, did all of the collecting and were well versed in how to tell one from the other. We would be wise to enjoy the vivid blues of the flowers from afar and not take our chances on whether we have mistakenly chosen a poisonous one.
Leslie Rego is an Idaho Press Club award-winning columnist, artist and Blaine County resident. To view more of Rego’s art, visit www.leslierego.com.
Fishing season opens in less than two weeks. With spring runoff on our local freestone rivers expected to last into the first part of June, coupled with a likely showing of the brown drake on Silver Creek, the Creek could be a busy place for a few weeks. With that said, and with not a lot to report on just yet, we’d like to take a minute and chat about a “busy” Creek.
CHATTY CATHY
BY JOELLEN COLLINS
I have enjoyed being a storyteller, a characteristic I finally realized when I looked back at the brightest experiences of my life. In most cases I am pleased with what this trait has meant: as a child adopted by parents who were childless for 10 years of marriage, I was encouraged to talk about everything. My parents considered “shut up” not only rude but almost obscene. Thus, I performed for family guests; I even “helped out” my radio-announcer father by sitting on his lap from time to time and being allowed to share his mike; and I joined AFTRA [American Federation of Television and Radio Artists] before I was 16. Later, I developed a public speaking business. In short, my verbosity was inordinately rewarded.
Naturally, I became a high school and college English teacher – what better captive audiences – and some former students have told me they actually enjoyed the little vignettes of stories I would use to capture their attention. Now I still get to teach teenagers and hold occasional workshops in my community. I am blessed and my soul is rewarded with almost indescribable pleasure at these opportunities.
However, some of my being so talkative has interfered with my joy in communication. My memory falters and so even familiar names and titles frequently elude me. This may be a natural consequence of growing old, but it seems especially embarrassing for one who has always relied on her verbal skills.
Another mistake of being as loquacious as I am is the babble that I often create. The other day, a group of readers was discussing a book. My English teacher imp leapt into my anxious-to-give-an-opinion self, and I couldn’t resist contributing a comment when the chance arose. I expressed an idea which I later realized came out the opposite of my meaning, not reflecting a view I would have stated more effectively if I had waited and thought. I suffered what I call an emotional hangover over the misstatement.
I catch myself interrupting more than I used to and repeating things unnecessarily. I never wanted to be considered a clichéd “garrulous old lady,” but I may have become so. I am trying to listen more and talk less. I HAVE learned as a grandmother not to offer “wisdom” or advice to my daughter and son-in-law, unless asked, and even then to be careful about any judgmental opinions.
Recently, I had whooping cough and was virtually voiceless for several weeks. I fear that my friends and family were slightly relieved that no one had to pay attention to the usually verbose woman in the corner – moi!
I am hoping that the benefits of some awareness and maturity will help me rein in my need to babble on. Unfortunately, as one who lives alone, I probably talk to my dogs too much and, once released from home, find myself throwing out verbiage even to strangers. I will try not to! I hope the next time someone asks me how I am, I won’t be tempted to tell them the details!