Story and photos by Gerry Steinauer, Botanist
You’ve surely seen this tall, stout-stemmed annual with broad leaves. It grows in road ditches, pastures and other areas that aren’t farmed. Its late-summer flush of golden blooms is hard to miss.
As its name implies, the common sunflower is indeed common. But before modern agriculture — with its 50-foot-wide cultivators, Roundup Ready corn, soybeans and other crops, and a “not an odd corner can be spared the plow” mindset — it was even more so.
Back then, farmers, their kids and hired hands spent long, hot, sweaty days earning blisters, hoe in hand, chopping sunflowers and any other plant that wasn’t a crop from between the rows. The sunflower competed with crops for moisture and sunlight, and in the fall, its dry, tough stalks jammed harvesters. Justly hated by farmers, it never shook its bad reputation.
But those were different times, when biodiversity was less appreciated. Overlooked in building its reputation were the insects and wildlife that thrived among sunflowers.
Now another confession. My wife, Grace, and I promote the disrespected sunflower on our southeastern South Dakota farm in a long-abandoned crop field and a degraded prairie pasture. In fall, we spray the smooth brome and Kentucky bluegrass with the herbicide glyphosate. Both are non-native grasses that dominate these sites. We also graze the prairie in spring when the brome and bluegrass are growing most actively. Both practices reduce the non-natives, favor remnant native plants and expose bare soil, which allows the sunflowers to germinate and thrive for a couple of years until the grasses regain control.
We fully accept the social consequences of our behavior. We’ve heard through the grapevine that our “weeds” are a source of local gossip. A visiting cousin had the courage to say, “The pasture is starting to look a bit shabby.” Grace promptly explained that his “shabby” was our “habitat.”
For us, enjoying the bugs and birds drawn to the sunflowers outweighs the social risks. In early summer, hen pheasants lead their broods into the sunflower patches. In the openness beneath the shading canopy, vulnerable chicks can wander freely and forage on plentiful grasshoppers and other insects, all while sheltered from the hot sun, wily foxes and hovering hawks. In late summer, bees, butterflies — including migrating monarchs — and other pollinators are attracted to the flowers’ sweet nectar and abundant pollen. While pheasant hunting the patches in fall and winter, I often see sparrows and goldfinches flitting about, plucking the calorie-rich, oily seeds still clinging to the dried flower heads. And lastly, I can imagine deer mice and meadow voles rustling below the stalks on a cold, calm, moonlit night, searching for fallen seeds.
Although the common sunflower is an eyesore or a weed to some, for those attuned to the summer hum of insects or the brown flash of a winter sparrow, it brings unapologetic pleasure.
