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.
An occasional visitor to my bird bath, in Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains. A Yellow-rumped Warbler (Setophaga coronata). Fondly called Butterbutts by birders. If you don’t have a bird bath, I sure recommend one equipped with a water warmer to keep the water from freezing during the coldest that winter can throw at you.
These warblers don’t partake of the beautiful bird buffet that I put out for them but I’ve read that they do enjoy suet, sunflower seeds, peanut butter and raisins at back yard feeders. AND down at my Mom’s feeder in Citrus County, Florida, they enjoy her suet. Maybe I should ask my sister for her recipe. They don’t seem interested in MY recipe.
When they’re not at a feeder during the winter they will feed on the berries of juniper, poison ivy, poison oak, greenbrier, grapes, Virginia creeper, and dogwood. Butterbutts also eat the seeds of grasses and goldenrod.
During the summer while they’re up north they eat spiders, and many insects like beetles, caterpillars, gnats, wasps, aphids, and grasshoppers.
Best of luck at getting to see Yellow-rumped Warblers and don’t forget, if I didn’t have a bird bath equipped with a water warmer I doubt I’d get to see these sweet little birds.
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.
Yesterday’s post was about an irruptive visitor. The tiny Red-breasted Nuthatch (Sitta canadensis) who shows up in the woods of the Blue Ridge Mountains of central Virginia, if its usual seed supply is less than optimal. But there’s another Nuthatch that lives here all year long. The White-breasted Nuthatch (Sitta carolinensis).
It is fun to find this Nuthatch searching for insects in crevices of tree bark. It goes up, down, and when heading DOWN the tree trunk it goes head first. It will eat insects, seeds, nuts, suet and peanut butter. A nice customer to have at the feeder.
I love to hear the White-breasted Nuthatch making its wonderful songs and calls. Announcing itself with a series of soft chuckles. Or on other occasions it may sound like the beep of a small tin toy car.
A little bird, larger than the Red-breasted Nuthatch, smaller than a Tufted Titmouse. Fun to find whether at the feeder or as I’m wandering the mountain.
A little feathered creature that I see some winters. A bird that is said to be “irruptive,” meaning it depends on the seed supply where it normally spends its winters. In years when the seeds of pine, spruce, and fir trees are not plentiful these birds will venture into areas where they are not normally seen.
The Red-breasted Nuthatch (Sitta canadensis) shows up here in the Blue Ridge Mountains of central Virginia every two or three years. I’m always pleased to see them. And their songs and calls bring a smile to my face. They sound like a chuckle, or like the horn of a terribly tiny tin toy car.
While they’re here they will visit my feeders, eating the sunflower seeds, peanuts and suet that is put out. Sometimes I’ll see a Red-breasted Nuthatch going back and forth to the feeders, much more frequently than what I might expect. More than likely this means it is going to a special hiding place, stashing food in crevices in tree bark. Putting the food away for later.
So glad you guys are here and I hope I’ll see you next winter too.
As the Queen Anne’s Lace flower ages and seeds develop the umbel curls up, creating a lovely cup, as I’ve caught in this image.
Queen Anne’s Lace is not native to our continent, but to Europe and southwest Asia. It is said to have some beneficial use in the garden, boosting tomato production and providing a cooler and moister environment for lettuce if the gardener plants QAL around the tomato or lettuce.
On the other side of the coin, QAL is thought to be a significant menace in pastures, where it remains viable in the soil seed bank for up to five years. For us humans, it can cause skin irritation and blisters and in some states it is considered a noxious weed.
I Prefer native plants in my gardens and surrounding woods, but Queen Anne’s Lace has cast a magic spell upon me. I enjoy having it around.
It has a color that pulls me in, bright medium blue, with a smidgeon of purple thrown in. It tugs at my heartstrings. Chicory, Cichorium intybus, is native to Europe but has become naturalized in many parts of North America, and is part of the roadside landscape here in central Virginia.
Chicory is a tough plant, sending its deep taproot into hard packed soil where other plants might have a difficult time. It blooms from June into October, producing just a few buds at a time on each plant. Each bud blooms for just one day.
The leaves are edible and are most tasty in early summer and in the autumn. The leaves in mid-summer tend to be bitter. The roots, roasted and ground, are used for an addition to coffee, or as a coffee substitute. Also, in beer brewing, the ground and roasted roots are occasionally added in the making of stouts and Belgian-style ales.
Its pollen and nectar entices insects, including bees, flies and butterflies. Chicory seeds, leaves and stems invite small mammals to come by for a meal or snack. And for those who love a bouquet of wildflowers, keep in mind that these flowers only last a day, and those stems are mighty rugged, requiring more than just a quick snap of the shoot.
Rather than taking some home, I will depend on my photographs and thoughts of that gorgeous purply-blue.
Late April and early May is Trillium time in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.
Seeing Trillium along the trails in the mountains close to my cabin has inspired me to include them in my gardens. Little by little, as the saying goes. Yes, little by little, I am getting Trillium incorporated into my cabin gardens. The photograph, above is one of my garden Trillium, a White Trillium, Trillium grandiflorum, which is easy to find on the trails of the higher elevations of Snow Mountain and Hightop.
And here, another image of White Trillium, Trillium grandiflorum, in bud.
There is another form of the White Trillium, pictured in bud above, which blooms in pale pink and white. This is Trillium grandiflorum forma roseum.I don’t have this form in my gardens. This image was taken further up the mountain, very near Shenandoah National Park.
I’m in search of a nursery that has this form of Trillium, but I must be *cautious* to only purchase any of these Trillium from a nursery which grows its plants from seed and does not dig them from the wild. One must be careful too, not to pick any portion of a wild Trillium, since doing this can cause the entire plant to die. Though I have many acres up here, I would not pick or transplant any of the Trillium on my property, since I believe they are happy where Mother Nature has planted them. I must find a reliable source to make my gardens beautiful.
Hiking this time of year provides such breath taking views of Trillium carpeting the forest floor. An experience that makes lugging two heavy cameras and various lenses well worth it. This image above, is another image of Trillium grandiflorum forma roseum.
Yellow Trillium, Trillium luteum, is another of the Trillium that are in my garden. Not many, but I am hoping for these and others to spread as the years go by. And, Oh MY! Does this one have a delightful, lemon scent!
Here, another species of the small population of Trillium that populate my gardens. This one, pictured above, Prairie Trillium, Trillium recurvatum.
Trillium are a family of plants that produce seeds that have an appendage, called an elaiosome, which are attractive to ants, who gather the seeds, and feed them to their larvae. Once the lipid and protein rich elaiosomes are consumed, the ants take the seeds to their “trash room” which is a splendid environment for the seeds to sprout. I’m hoping ants will help *my* Trillium spread.
The showstopper, above, is the Red Trillium, Trillium erectum, which I have only seen in Shenandoah National Park. It is on my mountain, but within park boundaries. One of these days I’ll find this one, at a dependable native plant nursery, and add it to my collection.
And now, my Trillium, at least the White Trillium, are fading, looking like the ghosts of Trillium past. I’m looking forward to seeing what stunning plants will emerge as the season progresses. How about you?
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!
