Such great fortune to have Mother Nature as my landscape architect up here in the mountains. She provides me with such wondrous plants to enjoy. Like native Golden Ragwort (Packera aurea). I just have to help her out with things such as the removal of exotic species invasives. Which I have to admit is not at all a small price.
While reestablishing a long abandoned trail in the woods I’ve come upon an impressive expanse of Golden Ragwort. Needing to get from one side of it to the other I found myself apologizing to the plants I was tiptoeing across. I can only imagine the wonderful sight they will be when they are in bloom.
Right now they’re in bud. Quite fancy, even at this early stage. They’ll mature from a deep rich purple to a yummy luminous yellow. Those yellow blooms perched upon flowering stalks perhaps as much as two feet tall.
If you’d like to plant Golden Ragwort in your formal garden it grows well in mesic to wet soils in sunny to shady locations. It’s a plant that will outcompete many weeds that will show up and I wouldn’t suggest it be in a garden with bashful plants who will be lost in the shuffle.
A spring ephemeral, a perennial native to eastern North America. Cutleaf Toothwort (Cardamine concatenata).
The “toothwort” of its name is thanks to the appearance of its rhizome.
The Cutleaf Toothwort likes woods with mesic soils covered with lots of leaf litter. This certainly must be the description of the woods where I live. Many of these plants greet the spring each year up here, including a few spots where colonies have formed.
Buds protected by four pale green sepals open to reveal four barely pale pink petals. At the center of each flower is a style with a sphere topped stigma which are surrounded by stamens with green filaments of varying lengths topped by yellow anthers.
Many different pollinators visit these blooms. Fruit of the Toothwort is a slender pod about an inch long containing a single row of tiny seeds.
When the invasive, Garlic Mustard (Alliaria petiolata), starts growing in the area of a population of Cutleaf Toothwort its numbers soon decline. A good reason to fight those invasives.
The same day that I first heard the raucous clacking of wood frogs coming from the pond, my Winter Aconites (Eranthis hyemalis) were beginning to bloom. Just hours before meteorological spring was about to begin.
These small screaming yellow beauties were a gift from a dear friend years ago. Since then they have won my heart. Blooming in what seems an effort to bring a bit of jubilation in winter.
My first introduction to Winter Aconite was on a walk through the State Arboretum of Virginia at Blandy eleven years ago. Though it was early March, there glowing at the foot of a beautiful rock wall was a swath of cadmium yellow flowers. Flowers that shouldn’t be there so early in the year. In the dead of winter.
A short time later my friend shared some of the tubers from her garden to spread the joy of friendship and bright colors.
Winter Aconite cover can be expanded by dividing the tubers, or by spreading its seeds.
Not native to this continent, but native to Europe (France to Bulgaria). In my gardens I try very hard to add only natives for fear of adding an invasive plant that will soon get out of hand. I must say though these little plants have behaved just as I would wish.
A spot of glee in an otherwise subdued black and white, pen and ink landscape.
The cold temperatures of winter can create such works of wonder. Often so delicate they can’t be touched for fear of destruction.
Occasionally the beauty makes me forget that what I am looking at, such as these rose hips of Multiflora Rose (Rosa multiflora), is something that I work diligently to rid my woods of. A very aggressive invasive that has the nerve to mimic our native blackberries during their times of blooming. But frosted during the cold of winter it has its charm. AND take a look at that image again. There is an undulating line of frost that starts on the left, about 1/4 of the way down that goes to the right, from that first rose hip, on to the second and then the third as it drops and then ends. THAT is a spider web also decorated with frostiness.
The berries of Smooth Sumac (Rhus glabra) with its frost rivals ANY image of a Cardinal in the snow. Glorious red with stark white. Perfection.
With the hoarfrost the needles of Virginia Pine (Pinus virginiana) each get their own personal set of needles.
The leaves of young White Oak (Quercus alba) don’t drop as most deciduous leaves do in the fall, but hang onto them until late spring. That gives them the chance to be dressed up. To be decorated by the spines of ice. The artwork of Mother Nature.
Jeffersonia (Jeffersonia diphylla). In 1792 the botanist Benjamin Smith Barton named this plant after Thomas Jefferson. In 1807 Jefferson had Jeffersonia growing in one of the oval flower beds of Monticello. I’m proud to have something in common with my neighbor Thomas.
Within a matter of four weeks I’ll be searching for these little signs of life. Hints of spring sprouting up from the garden’s soil.
It took missing the arrival of Jeffersonia for a few springs before I etched into my memory to be on the alert. They arrive when there is still snow around. In my gardens generally mid to late March.
Jeffersonia is native to eastern North America but is listed as a threatened or endangered plant in Georgia, Iowa, New York, and New Jersey because of habitat destruction and invasive species.
The flower of Jeffersonia is atop a bare stalk. It’s composed of eight white petals which as a bud were protected by four sepals. Two of those fading sepals can be seen here drooping below the flower, a washed out pale purple with a slight hint of green.
The petals surround yellowish stamens and in the center a green ovary. Quite the fleeting bloom, the petals fall after just a couple days.
A common name for Jeffersonia, Twinleaf, comes from the shape of the leaf. Open butterfly wings. Each pair, one leaf nearly split in two.
The flowers as they decline produce a fruit. A fruit that brings a smile to my heart. Is it a fruit or actually a smiley outer space alien?
The seeds inside this capsule each have an appendage called an elaiosome which attract ants with its lipids and proteins. The ants carry the seeds to their underground nest where the elaisomes are fed to their larvae. After the feeding, the seeds are discarded in the ant’s nest to their “trash room.” The perfect place for seeds to grow. ANT FARMERS! If you would like to add a fancy word to your vocabulary, this whole process of “ant farming” is called myrmecochory.
A bright sunny and delightfully chilly morning for a walk to the farmer’s market
Sunday morning found me walking to the Westover Farmer’s Market, through Mother Nature’s slant on things in an urban environment. An environment a bit different than I have become accustomed to.
Japanese Red Maple with sun shining through its leaves making them even more brilliant
Some of the trees, shrubs, flowers, familiar – from my childhood. The Japanese Red Maple brought back memories of a tree that my parents planted at the house where I grew up. A small tree with dainty, elegant, deep rich red leaves. That yard, from years ago – I think I could still map out each of the many trees that were within its boundaries.
Springstar, Ipheion uniflorum, related to onions, is a new flower to me
The beautiful Springstar blooms, I don’t recall ever seeing before. In one patch, they covered a wide swath of not yet mowed grass. Perfect timing for the blooms since the grass was still in sleepy mode and was only just beginning to think of growing.
Maple samaras
There were, of course, plants that I see everyday in my mountain woods. Maples with smooth, silvery bark. Samaras, which I called helicopters, long before I knew the word samara.
Young leaves of Honeysuckle
Honeysuckle, which is all too abundant in both this urban setting and in the mountain setting that I am used to. Honeysuckle growing rapidly, making it difficult for native plants to get a foothold in the competitive world of nature.
Lilacs in bloom with their fantastic fragrance filling the air
Lilacs, which I used to associate with Mother’s Day, but look it is blooming now. Perhaps my childhood home is a bit further north than this setting, or is this a sign of climate change, or a sign of memories a bit askew?
A happy Camelia, soaking up the sunshine
A Camelia, which makes me think of how fussy they always seemed to be, trying to bloom when it was still much too cold. Now in my mountain home, I try for plants that are native to that mountain, things that have proven to be survivors. Things that don’t have to be fussed over. I want to be out taking photographs, not fussing in the garden!
Redbud covering the streets with pink cheer
Small native trees like Redbud, require no fuss. They are everywhere along the road up to my cabin. Planted there by Mother Nature. I’m glad to have her on my side.
Squirrels everywhere, who are not shy
Mother Nature has a large team of assistants. Squirrels who collect nuts in the fall, bury them and often leave them to grow. Squirrels in this urban setting are much more bold than the ones I’m used to now. Country squirrels don’t wait to see what you are up to, they scurry quickly at the least little bit of movement.
Between home and the farmer’s market, parks abound
On the way home, the obligatory stop at the park brings joy to everyone. Smiles all around. No farmer’s market on my mountain. No playground to delight, but oh, so many other things to lighten my heart!
This morning I was greeted by a tiny bit less than an inch of snow here on the mountain. I skipped yoga (!!) and spent the morning walking and enjoying the sounds of snow. Okay, mainly the sounds of birds enjoying the new, white blanket. Many were robins, and cedar waxwings gathering in the tree tops, exchanging stories of how this winter has been mighty wimpy so far. They agreed with me. The winter is still young. There is still hope.
This first picture, above, is of greenbrier. There’s loads of it up here. It is a native, and though many people don’t like it, it has numerous benefits. Greenbrier provides good cover for small animals, and some animals eat the leaves and stems. Deer, beaver, and rabbits are three of the animals. That they eat this plant, impresses me. Those stems, complete with thorns, must be mighty tough. There is an impressive number of birds that enjoy the berries during the winter, along with squirrel, raccoon and possum.
These red fruits, are rose hips, from a plant that I really wish would just go away. It is a non-native, invasive. Rosa multiflora produces white flowers with yellow centers during its short blooming period. It forms an impenetrable mass, spreads rapidly and has very unfriendly thorns that are hooked backward, making being snagged an unpleasant experience. I’m waiting and hoping. There is a virus that is attacking these walls of thorns, slowly decreasing its population here in the Blue Ridge. I’m sorry that the same virus may be putting your garden rose bushes in jeopardy, but I am cheering it on, in the case of rosa multiflora.
Another plant that I captured in pixels on my walk this morning, smooth sumac. Among the plants that grow up here, I have many favorites. This is one. My favorite time for this sumac is winter, when birds enjoy its brilliant red berries. Cardinals, and many types of woodpeckers are among the visitors to the small trees.
Snow still covers my dirt, twisty turny, steep mountain road, but tomorrow morning I’ll be heading down to go back to yoga class. My “snow day” was a total pleasure. Yoga will be tomorrow’s total pleasure!
Late May, and the clusters of white blossoms are everywhere. Brambles covered with cascades of white. Blackberry or Multiflora Rose. For me, a friend and a foe. The two plants are nearly twins to the untrained eye. I think I’ve got it figured out though. In the picture, above, Blackberry, Rubus fruticosus. Notice the center of the bloom — a soft, pale green.
The spill of blossoms of the Blackberry, are a bit more thin and scattered than the Multiflora Rose.
Native Blackberry provides much benefit to wildlife here on the mountain. Not only does my family enjoy picking the berries, but many insects, birds and mammals benefit from its presence.
The Multiflora Rose, Rosa multiflora, above, has the same size flower as the Blackberry. The center of the bloom though, is quite a different color — soft yellow with school bus yellow stamens.
Stepping back, looking at the Multiflora Rose as a bush, the blooms are more tightly packed in their clusters than the Blackberry.
The Multiflora Rose is native to eastern Asia, in China, Japan and Korea. It is considered an alien invasive in eastern North America. Multiflora Rose should not be confused with polyantha roses which are garden cultivars derived from hybrids of R. multiflora.
Here on my mountain, and further up, in Shenandoah National Park, Multiflora Rose presents a challenge. It takes over large swaths of ground preventing native plants from establishing themselves and providing benefit to insects, birds and mammals.
Friend or foe? Blackberry is my friend, Multiflora Rose is definitely not.
