Witnessing the return of spring to Yellowstone Country is
like catching a fleeting glimpse of a person with whom you shared a short-lived
love. It may not last for long, but that
brief taste of spring’s sweetness gently kissing your cheek is a taunting
reminder that summer—Yellowstone’s season of glory—is just around the bend.
Spring in Yellowstone is an ephemeral affair. It is said by many residents of the
Yellowstone ecosystem that we only have two true seasons, yet there is
something enigmatic and romantic about those border months that act as
placeholders between summer and winter.
There is really no such thing as a typical spring day in our little
corner of the world, since temperatures range wildly from the low 30’s, with
snow flurries, to the high 60’s, with a lack of wind and swollen rivers. But if one were forced to pick a specific day
to represent spring in our neck of the woods, yesterday would have been a good
choice.
The day started with temperatures in the low 40’s, partly
cloudy with breaks of sunshine reflecting off of the north bowl of Electric
Peak, and light winds waving the flag at the north entrance gate. By the afternoon things had changed, with
temperatures approaching the upper 50’s and the winds threatening to rip the
flag welcoming visitors to the park to shreds.
Unlike the previous evening where a deep bank of clouds containing
typical May snow flurries shrouded Mammoth Hot Springs, the waning hours of
last night brought our first major electrical storm of the season, which lasted
for over an hour and provided anyone willing to watch a mesmerizing look into a
deeply charged Yellowstone sky.
All of the signs signaling spring’s return to Yellowstone
have now been witnessed with the appearance of: Bluebirds, Meadowlarks,
Sandhill Cranes, Ospreys, American white pelicans, Bison calves, velvety Elk
antlers, Skwalas and Mother’s Day Caddis hatches, and electrical storms. But one last long awaited reunion
representing a return of life to the Yellowstone River valley had not yet been
occurred—that is until this past weekend.
The budding of Cottonwoods.
Though over the past
few weeks, life has steadily returned to a landscape that for roughly 5 ½ months remained brutally dormant, it is not until the thick-trunked cottonwoods lining
the banks of the Yellowstone show signs of vibrancy that life fully returns to
the longest free flowing river in the lower 48 states. The Gardiner Basin itself lies in a banana belt
where prickly pear cacti are more common than the deciduous trees most often
associated with the northern Rockies.
And though Gardiner may be an extreme example of the climate in
Yellowstone Country, one must remember that Yellowstone National Park is
nothing like the most succulent ecosystem in the northern Rockies, just up the
road, in Glacier National Park, but instead represents a high elevation lodgepole
desert of sorts.
So for those of us who call Yellowstone Country home—and in
particular the Gardiner Basin—the budding of Populus balsamifera, otherwise
known as the Black Cottonwood, is a long-awaited event and celebration
signaling that we have indeed made it through another winter season, and though
short lived, spring has issued its final announcement of arrival.
Before the buds give way to the Cottonwood’s thick, egged-shaped
leaves, which lead to a sharply pointed tip, the resinous and overwhelmingly fragrant
buds serve as a treasure to those who cherish the medicines of the earth. Many tribes across the region utilized the countless
resources that the Cottonwood medicine provided, such as the sweetness of the
inner bark when the sap was still running; or the power of the leaves
themselves when applied to bruises, sores, and even the aching muscles of their
horses. A well known treatment for the
common cold was to chew the Cottonwood’s bark, and though considered slightly
poisonous, Bark tea was used in conjunction with cups of warm water to relieve
whooping cough and tuberculosis.
But for many residents of the Black Cottonwood community,
the collection of sticky, deep red, fragrantly rich resin that can be squeezed
out of the buds just prior to the emergence of their leaves is a natural gift
which can be used for its aromatherapy qualities. Or, for the more adventurous among us—my best
friend falls into this category—the richness of the coagulated blood-like resin
can be added to a tincture creating a highly fragrant perfume.
Though the resources the Black Cottonwood provides to all
residents of its community—two leggeds, four leggeds, winged and finned—are
endless, and could easily fill many more pages, the mere observation of a
budding cottonwood is a gift all too often overlooked by the casual observer of
natural things. This event alone is
worthy of celebration. Though deserving
of a circus, fireworks, music and overflowing beer, the subtle transformation
of the Yellowstone ecosystem which occurs in harmony with the budding of the
cottonwoods does not seek such attention.
Perhaps a major gala would be unfitting the humble,
unassuming announcement of spring’s continuation that the budding cottonwoods
represent. Still, it would be
appropriate for all of us who recognize the symbolic return of life to the
Yellowstone to take the time to tip our hat, give thanks, and appreciate for a
moment that another milestone of spring has passed and that with it, we have
moved one step closer in our own journeys—which will undoubtedly one day end in
our providing additional nutrients needed by the cottonwoods to continue their
work of returning life to Yellowstone Country.
~Michael Leach, Director
