Stitchwort and wildflower conservation

I had resolved not to blog for a while so as to save my time and energy for novel-writing but I couldn’t resist posting this picture of the first stitchwort to appear this year. It was just the one and it looked so brave and hopeful standing on its own in the hedge.

I keep records of wildflowers because it interests me and because I think it might help when I’m writing about different times of year in my fiction. According to my records, stitchwort doesn’t usually appear until the beginning of March (although in 2012 it appeared on 1 January and in 2010 not until 10 April).

This means I suppose that the weather is warmer than usual (if there is a usual any more). One thing to be grateful for perhaps – and another, as my neighbour said this morning, ‘At least they’re getting it in the Thames Valley as well now’. (By which I don't mean that I don't care desperately about everyone who's flooded but that, the closer these things come to the powers that be, the more likely they are to help or to do something about them - if they can.)


The stitchwort above is ‘greater’ stitchwort. There’s also a ‘lesser’ stitchwort which produces mats of exquisite star-like flowers in the summer. (Perhaps that’s why their Latin name is Stellaria). The stitchworts are related to garden pinks and also to the wildflowers chickweed and campion.

A mat of lesser stitchwort in July 2011

As its name suggests, stitchwort was once used to cure muscular aches. It’s also said to be a cure for any misfortune that suddenly strikes one down. When I was researching my folklore books (see my old blog ‘Mad Englishwoman and Dog’) I came across a warning not to pick stitchwort because if you did you ran the risk of being ‘pixie-led’ – being deliberately led astray or confused by the West Country’s little people.

My advice would be not to pick any wildflower, ever. They need all the help we can give them, and I can’t understand why they have a lower profile in the conservation stakes than birds. To my mind they are just as entrancing (and they stay still so that you can get a good look at them) and equally essential to our health and happiness.

There is a wildflower charity called Plantlife to which I belong whenever I can afford it. In the meantime I simply try to spread the word.