Such a conflict. They are an exotic invasive, aggressively growing where native plants would otherwise grow. Wineberry (Rubus phoenicolasius).
Wineberry is native to eastern Asia and was introduced to North America in the 1890s as a potential breeding stock for raspberries.
On the other hand, these berries are delicious. They are an ingredient for a wonderful sherbet. Much anticipated every year by my family. They’re soon to be ripe here on the mountain.
Also a marvelous topping for cereal. Making cereal a favorite breakfast.
Every member of the family loves these berries. The compromise solution, keep some, and make way for the natives by removing the rest of the aggressive plants. Oh I wish that were easy. They are (there’s that word again) ubiquitous.
Many of you know that I love winter, my totally, over the top, favorite season. But I also delight in the seasons changing. If the seasons stayed the same, day after day after day after day I wouldn’t be content. I think the world of CHANGE.
Sometimes even Mother Nature just doesn’t want to let go. To let the seasons do their things. And she brings us surprises. These images are from April 15, 2020. I think this was one of those times when she felt, if nothing else, mischievous.
For the winter lover in me, I’m certainly at an advantage being at a slightly higher elevation than those in the lowlands of Virginia. Mountains have their benefits. That elevation helps create snow, when otherwise there might not be any. For sure it was the case on this day.
Blooms of Redbud (Cercis canadensis), and Flowering Dogwood (Cornus florida), and new unfurling fronds of Christmas Fern (Polystichum acrostichoides) all got dumped on with a fair amount of wet snow. But they are native plants and can take what is dished out.
A few hours of sunshine and things were back to normal. And we all were quite content.
One week later, another native plant, Dwarf Crested Iris (Iris cristata), was up and blooming as if it was a perfectly normal spring.
This native perennial is found in southeastern Canada, eastern North America (as well as New Mexico and Colorado) and eastern Mexico. Wood Betony (Pedicularis canadensis).
The first time I ever saw this plant was along a trail here in the Blue Ridge. As is often the case, I took a picture of the flower, went home and found out what it was by paging through my wildflower books.
Wood Betony is an interesting plant, aside from looking like a collection of cute little turkey heads, it is a hemiparasite, meaning it is partly dependent upon other plants as a source of water and nutrients. If there are no plants available around it, it will get by using its own resources to obtain water and nutrients. Exactly which plants Wood Betony parasitizes is not known for sure but it is thought to be native trees such as oaks and native grasses.
Bumblebees are a major pollinator of Wood Betony. And after the flowers fade, seed capsules grow in their place. Seed capsules that burst open explosively to scatter the seeds across the nearby landscape.
Since my first sighting of Wood Betony I have found a nursery that propagates its own Wood Betony. And now I’ve added a few plants to my garden. I’m looking forward to seeing them in bloom again come the middle of April.
An ephemeral spring plant native to eastern North America. Virginia Bluebell (Mertensia virginica). I’m watching. I’m waiting.
I just checked. No sign of them yet. BUT very soon. Surely in less than two weeks I’ll be seeing leaves of purply-green emerging from the soil. Reaching for the sun. These plants enjoy being in a shady location. A location that is exposed to the sun during the spring. A location that will see shade as the leaves of the trees emerge.
The buds my favorite to see. Looking so beautiful soft folds with pink, bluish pink, or purple coloring.
Spring sees two or three weeks of Virginia Bluebells that fade leaving fruit which contain four seeds each.
Midsummer sees the fading of the leaves and stems that will turn into the soil. To be seen next spring again.
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.
It’s hard for me to believe since I’ve still got snow on the ground, but spring is nearly here. At least meteorological spring. It arrives on March 1. The weather here is assuredly unpredictable. We’ll see what the month of March brings forth. Spring or more winter? But plants will be sprouting no matter. One of the plants I expect will greet me later in March is Bloodroot (Sanguinaria canadensis). A plant that’s native to eastern North America.
Take care when you’re out hiking, particularly when you aren’t on a well established trail. These little first sprouts of spring are not necessarily obvious.
Bloodroot emerges from the soil, stem carefully wrapped in a deeply veined dark purply leaf.
As the bud grows the leaf unfurls and turns to a rich green with a silvery-green ventral side. With each flower there is a single deeply lobed basal leaf. A leaf with five to seven lobes that grows to be three to five inches across.
The flower is a burst of eight to sixteen snow white petals centered with an oval yellow-green pistil which is topped by a pale yellow stigma. The pistil is surrounded by bunches of stamens with glowing yellow anthers. The blooms don’t provide any nectar but the pollen on the anthers brings bees, flies and beetles that pollinate the flowers.
And that pollination allows the seed pod to expand. Filling with seeds that have appendages called elaiosomes. Ants bring those seeds to their larvae. The larvae is fed the elaiosomes and the still intact seeds are discarded to the nest’s “trash room” which is the perfect place to start these seeds growing. This process which happens in many cases throughout the plant world is called myrmecochory. A weird/fun word which has become one of my favorites.
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.
An orchid that is native to eastern and central U.S., and Canada. Putty Root (Aplectrum hyemale).
The world of Mother Nature is always filled with surprises. This plant provides one of those surprises. Its growth timing seems backward. In autumn the plant sends up ONE basal leaf to collect dappled sunlight during the fall, winter and spring. That leaf may grow to be as much as eight inches long. The top side of the unusual leaf is green with thin white stripes, the under side is purplish. Spring approaches, the leaf will fade.
Come late spring that single leaf will be totally withered away and in its place will grow a solitary flowering stalk that can rise to be perhaps ten inches tall.
Without striking colors, the leaf is more noticeable than the flowers. Still, it’s a native orchid. Remarkable.
It has been so dry, but yesterday brought a glorious 1/4 inch of rain. Hallelujah! That rain brings a brief moment of relief to suffering vegetation.
The rain also brings beauty to the landscape. I love what rain does to colors, deepens them, makes them more rich. But of coursemore rich! Those colors are decorated with DIAMONDS. Here a Catbrier leaf, Smilax bona-nox, sparkling with rain drop diamonds, set against berries of Japanese Beautyberry, Callicarpa japonica.
Those berries will go begging for a while. There are more yummy things to tempt the birds right now, but as the days get shorter until we reach the dead of winter, birds will gather in the branches of these bushes and strip them bare.
Keep in mind if you are interested in Beautyberry, there is a highly recommended native, Callicarpa americana. Keep that scientific name in mind as you shop. Natives are the way to go.
About a week ago I noticed a favorite patch of Woodland Sunflower, Helianthus divaricatus, being quickly gobbled up by gregarious, tiny caterpillars. I took pictures of the less than one half inch critters, and started pouring over my many books on butterflies, moths, and caterpillars.
I always love a mystery – caterpillars eating beloved plants – good or bad? I was relieved to find that the sunflowers were being eaten by the larval stage of a lovely, native butterfly. The culprit? The butterfly, Silvery Checkerspot, Chlosyne nycteis. This is good! My woods, up here on the Blue Ridge are a butterfly garden!
Silvery Checkerspots have a wingspan of between 1.5 and 2 inches. Their host plants, or plants that their caterpillars eat, are Black-eyed Susans and Sunflowers. Adults chow down on the nectar of Red Clover, Common Milkweed, and Dogbane.
Almost grown caterpillars of the Silvery Checkerspot overwinter at the base of their host plants. I’m so pleased that the woods up here provide a good environment for Silvery Checkerspots!
AND I have no problem sharing the gardens around my cabin with native butterflies, even if sometimes things end up looking a bit battered. It is all for good.
