Ornithogalum

Scientific description

Ornithogalum Sibthorpii

Taxon: Angiospermatophyta (Magnoliophyta)
Class: Monocotyledonatae (Liliatae)
Subclass: Liliidae
Order: Liliales
Family: Liliaceae
Origin: Europe and Asia
Common name: Crow Onion

Description:
Herbaceous, perennial plant with a white bulb, 5–15 cm tall. Leaves linear, channeled, white midrib. Flowers white, opening in the morning, closing in the afternoon, arranged in terminal corymbs on small stems. Flowers 8–15 mm, lower flowers larger, star-shaped. Blooms March–April. Rare species in Dobrogea, xerophytic, important for biodiversity in rocky areas.

Propagation: Bulbs and seeds.

Ecology:
Grows on arid slopes, sandy shores, arid meadows on rocky subsoil, from silvostepic areas to oak forests.

Use:
Planted in gardens and parks as decorative in semi-shaded areas with clay-sandy soil.

Threat:
Rare species in Dobrogea, listed in Red List of superior plants of Romania (Oltean et al., 1994).

Creative writing inspired by Ornithogalum

Written by

Andreea Tote

Andrada-Alexandra Lica

The Two-Faced Flower

Long ago, in a rocky land swept by bitter winds and forgotten legends, there lived a girl named Colcha. She was quiet, slender like a flower’s stem, with hair as white as late snow and eyes as dark as the night. She lived with her mother, a woman known across villages as “the one who knows herbs.”

But Colcha was no ordinary girl. Born on a moonless night, it was whispered she carried an ancient fate, passed down from a forgotten ancestor - the witch Medea, daughter of the King of Colchis, who once poisoned dragons for love and lost everything in return.

One day, a nobleman from a nearby city came to their home. He saw Colcha and said, “I will take her as my wife. A girl like that shouldn’t be hidden.” Her mother refused him, but he left with threats in his mouth and fire in his eyes.

That night, Colcha said softly, “Mother, I am no man’s prize. I would rather wither than be torn from my roots.”

The old woman was silent for a while. Then, from her wooden chest, she took out a small white seed. “This is a rare flower. People call it the crow’s onion. Beautiful - but inside it flows both remedy and ruin. You must choose how to use it.”

Colcha took the seed. The next day, when the man returned, she met him at the door with a steaming cup of tea. No one knows what she said to him, but he never spoke of her again.

That spring, in the meadow where Colcha used to gather herbs, small white flowers began to bloom - fragile, star-shaped, and faintly sweet, yet bitter in scent. They grew in silence, in pairs, and faded quickly, like a whispered warning that no one dared finish.

Some say the flower is a curse. Others, a cure. But those who know Colcha’s story say it carries both: the fight and the peace. And that the crow’s onion, like the girl herself, is beautiful, dangerous, and free.

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