<a href=”http://Image by Jasmin777 from Pixabay
I guess you’ll recognise this flower straight away – during late April and May, cow parsley seems to erupt out of nowhere as if nature’s said to hell with the diet and sprayed frothy, whipped cream everywhere. I’m so pleased attitudes towards this underappreciated plant have changed from something local councils strimmed out of existence in the 1970s and 80s, to being left to joyously brighten verges and fields – not to mention being motorway service stations for huge numbers of insects.
So which name do you use? Cow parsley seems to be the usual one, however, I prefer Queen Anne’s lace as it aptly describes the beautifully intricate delicacy of the flowerheads. Each ‘flower’ isn’t really one flower, but hundreds of tiny ones in a cluster resembling an umbrella – it belongs to a group of plants which scientists call umbellifers, coming from the Latin umbella meaning a sunshade or parasol.
What is surprising is the large number of other names it’s had over the centuries: fairy lace and spanish lace are understandable, kecksie and Grandpa’s pepper seem somewhat odd, but rabbit meat and step-mother are just plain weird! ‘Mother die’ was also commonly used, and it’s thought this was to frighten children away from picking the poisonous hemlock by mistake. Hemlock has purple-coloured spots on its stem (which is also solid not hollow unlike Queen Anne’s Lace), otherwise it looks very similar to the non-expert eye.
Queen Anne’s lace belongs to a family of plants that we use every day: it’s a cousin of carrot, celery, parsley, coriander, cumin, fennel, angelica, anise, dill – the list seems endless! In past times, cow parsley also was part of the natural medicine cabinet – if you had stomach or kidney problems, breathing difficulties or a cold, you’d have been given remedies containing Queen Anne’s lace.
Plus, the significant amount of natural sugar in its tap root meant it was used to sweeten puddings and other foods. However, in another interesting twist, crush the leaves between your fingers, and it’s the fragrance of aniseed you’ll inhale.
It might be Queen Anne’s lace’s relatives that we reach for in the kitchen, but for wildlife this plant is the real feast. If you’re tempted to see it as just a roadside weed, crouch down and look closely on a warm May day. Watch the hoverflies, beetles, soldier flies and bumblebees jostling for space on those tiny flowers, drawn by the abundance of pollen and nectar on offer.
That activity, multiplied across millions of plants lining every verge and hedgerow in the country, in turn feeds the numerous insect-hungry birds whose song fills our mornings. Queen Anne’s lace is a vital part of the natural food chain.
Next time you drive past a roadside cloud of it, spare a thought for that.
