Yellow Bells -- Fritillaria pudica

The hardened landscape of the Inland Northwest, baked in summer and frozen in winter, is softened each spring by an abundance of wildflowers. So many of these spring wildflowers appear tender and fragile, seemingly out of place and yet a vibrant component of the land none the less. Among these many plants you will find yellow bells (Fritillaria pudica) with their small flowers nodding stoically, heralds of spring, like wild daffodils, lifting spirits after a long winter. From southern British Columbia to northeast California, through Idaho, Montana and western Wyoming, yellow bells are found in the shrub-steppe that characterize this part of the country, the iconic sagebrush (Artemisia sp.) habitat, and also open ponderosa pine (Pinus ponderosa) habitat where these towering trees meet the shrub-steppe. Among such robust and gnarled neighbors, the species name “pudica”, translating to shy or modest, seems well suited to yellow bells. It reflects the downcast view taken by the pendulous flowers, their diminutive size and fleeting nature. But I don’t really consider yellow bells to be shy or modest. They are brilliant. Massed, they make a loud statement which is amplified all the more for being made by such a plant in such a landscape.

A geophyte, yellow bells exist underground for the majority of the year. Meaning “earth plants”, geophytes possess a large underground organ such as a bulb or tuber in which a large amount carbohydrates and water can be stored for later consumption. These plants generally spend much of the year in dormancy; out of sight but still alive, living off of their food cache. Among them are many names familiar to gardeners like tulips and lilies, potatoes and carrots. In fact, geophytes are very common and especially so in places that experience harsh seasonal variation. For yellow bells growing in eastern Washington, summer drought, winter freeze, and the prevalence of large herbivores like mule deer and elk are realities to be reckoned with. Escaping to the relative safety found underground allows them to dodge these bullets. The other viable strategy for surviving in this landscape, taken by sagebrush among others, is to harden. Through natural selection, these plants have evolved leaves that are small, leathery, glaucous, and aromatic, all qualities which help to limit losses against drought, sun, and herbivores. Many look tortured, and in fact they are. Standing above ground through all of the tests of life, they endure. Yellow bells on the other hand look tender, and their visible growth is, but they live a life on the edge as well, enduring underground, eking out a living made possible by the food stored in their bulb.

The small bulb of yellow bells is actually an amalgamation of several tightly packed fleshy scales. Surrounding the bulb of a mature plant are numerous tiny bulblets, rice sized vegetative offsets that can break off to become self-sustaining clones of the parent. The Syilx people of present north central Washington and south central British Columbia call the bulbs ʕ’áʔtemn’ or “little tooth” a great description of the small white bulbs. These little teeth hold enough food to get yellow bells through late summer, fall, and winter. And then spring arrives, prime time for yellow bells, when temperatures are mild and soil moisture reaches its peak. But spring is the short season and yellow bells must emerge as soon as the snow starts to melt in order for the leaves to capture enough energy to recharge their bulbs.

Grass-like linear leaves typical of geophytic monocots appear mostly at or near the ground, but are also found clasping the lower half of the flower stem. The leaves are often fringed a faint red and the highest generally overtakes the flower, reaching as much as 10 inches tall but usually closer to six or seven. These leaves persist through early summer and photosynthesis as much as possible before fading away. A single flower sits on the end of the curved stem, though occasionally two or even three can be found together. The bell-shaped flower is comprised of 6 bright yellow tepals which are open toward their ends but remain overlapped for more than half of their length. Facing the ground, the reproductive parts of the flower are generally out of sight for towering humans but more than visible to small pollinators passing through lower to the ground.

Just as the leaves must work quickly, so too must the flowers. After a very short time lighting up yellow, the flowers start to change color. Hints of orange begin to mark and then overwhelm the yellow. Orange then turns to red while the area near the stem takes on a bit of purple. At the same time, the flower begins to close in on itself. The change, a process called ontogenetic color change, is a result of successful pollination. This fairly common trait is believed to serve as a signal to potential pollinators and benefits both plant and pollinator by reducing wasted time and energy. Insects drawn in by the colorful masses of a population of blooming yellow bells are able to differentiate between the orange-red of a fertilized plant and the yellow of an unfertilized plant. Having a color code directing pollinators toward unfertilized flowers increases the number of successfully pollinated plants. More pollinated plants means higher seed production which in turn keeps the population high in successive generations. Insects, for their part, benefit by avoiding fertilized plants that no longer have energy-rich pollen and nectar on offer. Like many things in nature, this is an example of co-dependent organisms evolving together in a mutually beneficial way.

The orange-red fertilized flowers of yellow bells not only work to direct pollinators already nearby, they also help attract pollinators by continuing to contribute to the colorful display. Fading after pollination to a vibrant color instead of turning a dull brown is a brilliant adaptation because it increases the chances that the yet unfertilized yellow bells in the population will also be pollinated. In plants that quickly turn brown or drop their petals immediately after fertilization, the last remaining unfertilized flowers will be less noticeable to passing pollinators and more likely to go unfertilized. Particularly for plants that have small flowers, such as yellow bells, the brighter a population can remain throughout the pollination period, the better they will attract the attention of passing pollinators and the more flowers will be pollinated.

By the end of spring, the bashful flowers give way. The tepals, now a deep red, finally whither as the stem uncurls to the hold the developing green seed pod upright. No longer nodding shyly, yellow bells face straight up toward the intense early summer sun which works to desiccate the pod. As it dries in the heat, the pod also shrinks. Shrinking puts stress on the seams between the three compartments of the pod and eventually causes a split which reveals hundreds of tightly packed seeds stacked one atop another. Exposed to the high winds that scour the land, the small seeds are scattered a short distance. The lucky few that avoid predation and land in the right spot, a crack in the soil or a sheltered spot in organic matter underneath a neighboring plant, will have a chance of germinating the following year with the return of spring. Development from seedling to mature plant will take a number of years as the bulb grows and the energy required to flower is amassed.

For a number of reasons, yellow bells have become one of my favorite plants since I first saw them on a hike four years ago. They are beautiful and charming plants, there is no doubt of that. I love small things and hidden brilliance, things which requires some searching to recognize. There are the positive associations that go along with seeing them in the wild. The joy of yellow bells is the joy of spring, of being outside in open land, the breeze and the sun, the spice of sagebrush just beginning to perfuming the air, bird calls, freedom and rebirth. And there is something about their fleeting nature. Being regular but not constant, being something to look forward to but never used to.

Really, it is wrong to think of yellow bells as fleeting. To my human eye, these plants that only stand for two or three months a year and then shrink away do seem ephemeral. It is easy to forget that they have been here for ages and that they are not fragile. Though they will suffer by us, and already do, as we have learned to alter their land and change the climate, they will likely outlive us in one way or another. They have moved with the ebbs of flows of the environment over the ages and will continue to do so. They will change form in response, they will shape and be shaped, will adapt or be extinguished from this land that will rise and fall, be covered by rock and ice, water and dust. That is not fleeting, that is not fragile. That is truly awesome. That is the beautiful essence of reality on this planet, an overwhelming truth. It is good to remember this but not to dwell on it because it is too much for a person to hold. So in the fleeting moments of my own life, this that seems to me like everything but is actually just a blip, I want to walk on the ancient basalt flows that hold these little yellow flowers as often as I can, to share space with them. Yellow bells help me understand that life on this planet is simultaneously fragile and robust, fleeting and enduring, both modest and brilliant. They help me to appreciate these facts and feel wonder at the world around me. I am reminded to be good because here I am, a part of this too, a fragile thing which will shape and be shaped.