Black-eyed Susan

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist

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

It was not always so. Pansies in the window boxes of our city home, and the jingling bell of the Good Humor man in the park across the street, were at one time my harbingers of summer heat. I don’t recall ever meeting a wild black-eyed Susan growing in the city parks, or between the sidewalk pavements, but our first summer at the creek she joyfully introduced herself. 

I remember how surprised I was to find this beautiful yellow flower beaming at the top of what I was certain had been a spindly green leafed weed. I know that our first spring in the valley, I must have pulled up quite a few of these “weeds,” as we cleared the land around our old barn and our cabin site. Luckily, we worked slowly that first summer, only visiting the farm on weekends, while we continued to live and work in the city, so I did not have the opportunity to pull them all. 

Ever since that first summer, however, I have found myself eagerly waiting for spring, when I can look for her lanky stem and now familiar pointed leaves, and then I stop by often as I patiently wait for her yellow flowers to appear.  

I have learned that black-eyed Susan is native to the North American continent, originally found only in the northeast, but she has now spread, with human help, from the east coast to the west. I am always interested to learn about the wild edibles I might find growing in the creek valley, and so I researched this lovely yellow flower and learned that our land’s indigenous peoples used the roots, but not the seeds, to make an herbal tea for the treatment of colds and flu, as well as they made a root poultice used in treating snake bites. Curiously, the early American settlers never adopted any medicinal or culinary uses of the flower, though they happily added them to their indoor flower arrangements, as do I.

Without any doubt, black-eyed Susan is a happy plant. She easily shares her gift of smiles from mid-summer’s heat through to late autumn’s first frosts. She can survive temperatures that drop well below freezing. Once she has withered away, however, she is really just preparing for next summer. Her seeds fall to the ground where they lie waiting to germinate the following spring.

I have seen black-eyed Susan return year after year, to the exact same spot, but she also surprises me when she starts to grow in a new location. She gladly graces the creek’s banks under the partial shade of the overhanging trees. She dances along the edges of the woods, peeking out from the shade and into the sunshine. She has taken root out past the orchard in the far end of the upper field, where we haven’t mowed for several years, and where she can enjoy a entire day filled with sunshine.  

I wondered though, how it was that black-eyed Susan got her name. I imagined that a gentle young man made a bouquet to give to his flaxen haired, dark eyed, true love, who was, yes you guessed it, named Susan. Curiously, this is almost the case. I wrote about this several years ago, but the legend has captured my heart. 

The flower’s name may have originated from an Old English poem written in 1720 by John Gay, titled "Sweet William’s Farewell to Black-Eyed Susan." The poem tells the story of how these two wildflowers both bloom in mid-summer and don’t die back until late fall. The poem was set to music in 1730, and became a popular song through the 1800’s. I understand why. The words are beautiful.

“O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,
My vows shall ever true remain:
Let me kiss off that falling tear;
We only part to meet again.
Change as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be
The faithful compass that points to thee.”

And so, it seems that every year I have company, as Sweet William and I both look forward to black-eyed Susan’s return. I have learned so much while living here in the creek valley, and yes, you also likely guessed it. I now am off to greet Sweet William. 

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in Ohio south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com. 

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