“The first large, successful American business run by a woman was said to be the Lydia E. Pinkham Medical Company, founded in 1875 by Lydia Estes Pinkham. Her main product was Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound, a patent medicine to treat “all those painful complaints and weaknesses so common to our best female population’ — in other words, menstrual pain. A main ingredient was black cohosh, but the concoction’s popularity might have been due to its nearly 20 percent alcohol content.”

— Jack Sanders, The Secrets of Wildflowers, (2003)

Five turtle species reside in Western North Carolina: snapping, musk, and painted turtles are primarily found in streams, lakes, and ponds. The elusive and rare bog turtle is found in the habitat for which it’s named. The eastern box turtle will enter water during dry weather, but it’s largely terrestrial. For that reason, they are the species with which we have the most contact.

Those who’ve participated in my natural history workshops know that that I’m not a very good source for information regarding edible plants. For the most part, I obtain vegetables at the grocery store or, in season, from our gardens. But there are exceptions.

Two weeks ago, we reviewed current theories about the uplift of the Appalachian Mountains about 250 million years ago, as well as opinions about how high the Appalachians might have been when originally uplifted. Last week, we took a closer look at the geographic area of the Appalachians in which we reside — the Southern Blue Ridge Province, which extends from the Roanoke River water gap in southwestern Virginia to Mt. Oglethorpe in north Georgia, including the mountainous portions of east Tennessee, Western North Carolina, and northwestern South Carolina. This week’s final excerpt from my Blue Ridge Nature Journal text surveys the forest zones of that region.

Last week, we reviewed current theories concerning the uplift of the Appalachian Mountains about 250 million years ago. And we also reviewed several theories about how high the Appalachians might have been when originally uplifted. Opinions among various authorities range from about 10,000 feet to 30,000 feet in elevation. This week, let’s take a closer look at the area of Appalachians in which we reside — the Southern Blue Ridge Province.

The inter-related geologic and geographic heritage of the Blue Ridge Province is a complex but fascinating and rewarding subject to consider. As part of the introductory portion of my natural history workshops, I give a presentation called “Where Are We?” This allows me to touch upon the basics of the region’s geologic history as well as its present day geography — thereby laying the groundwork for subsequent field trips, during which methods for identifying the habitats, plants, and animals of the Blue Ridge are taught. That presentation goes something like this.

On one level, the natural history of a region consists of its terrain, habitats, plants, animals and how they interrelate. I also believe that no full understanding of the natural history of a region can be realized without coming to terms with its spiritual landscape. And when we consider the spiritual landscape of the Smokies region, we enter the realm of the ancient Cherokees.

Nothing is fairer, if as fair, as the first flower, the hepatica. I find I have never admired this little firstling half enough. When at the maturity of its charms, it is certainly the gem of the woods. What an individuality it has! No two clusters alike; all shades and sizes. A solitary blue-purple one fully expanded and rising over the brown leaves or the green moss, its cluster of minute anthers showing like a group of pale stars on its little firmament, is enough to arrest and hold the dullest eye.

— 19th century naturalist John Burroughs

Hepatica doesn’t display the earliest flowers that bloom each year. Those of bitter cress, henbit, purple dead nettle, bird’s-eye speedwell, and others appear in open moist sunny spots by late January or early February.

In the natural world here in the Blue Ridge, there are certain visual images that rivet the attention of human beholders. One such is a timber rattlesnake suddenly encountered in the wild. That sight literally galvanizes the senses. The vibrating rattle-tipped tail sounds its uncanny almost-musical warning ... you freeze in mid-step, holding your breath but unaware that you are doing so ... the hair on the back of your neck stands on end ... the event remains imprinted in your memory bank.

Hopefully, any encounter you have with a skunk will be a sighting, not a spraying. Neither my wife nor I have ever been sprayed by a polecat. But our dogs have — and they were pitiful creatures for days afterward.