Gardens by Kelly Productions

Finally got the video compiled from our trip to the Ozarks!  Thanks to Elizabeth C. for her awesomelatudinous videographer skills!  Enjoy a little nerdy fun with plants, an overzealous plant-a-holic, and a video camera!

Elizabeth catches me looking my worst!

Today concluded my plant-driven outing to the Ozarks with plant pals Josh and Elizabeth.  Part 4 proved to be the most fun and most exciting of the trip, thanks in large part to the invaluable assistance of Susan Farrington and Dan Drees, local botanists and wildlife experts who own several hundred acres of prime Ozarks habitat.  We spent the morning and early afternoon at the “Farrington/Drees Research Station” and began our trek back to Iowa around 2:00 PM.  I write from my office in Bedford tonight a little tired but ready to find some local prairies to trek through tomorrow.  I’m a sucker for the quest.

After scanning through a floristic inventory of the property that Susan kindly provided me, my eyes instantly caught sight of Nemastylis geminiflora, a native Irid (Iris family member) known commonly as prairie celestial.  I suppose it basically looks like a blue-eyed grass on steroids with giant, starry blue flowers held above grass foliage.  Susan led us to one of several populations where we collected seed.  Prairie celestial is another species I came to know thanks to Claude Barr’s out-of-print tome Jewels of the Prairie, which happily extolled its many ornamental virtues.  Though the flowers last only one day (and the longest of any Nemastylis mind you), the two to three weeks each clump remains in bloom satisfies want and yearn for blue in the spring garden.  Who says all plants must bloom on and on for eternity?  Why not appreciate the emblems of the season and the joy of the moment?  While I love the idea of my favorite plants (irises!) staying in bloom for longer than they do, it would be akin to Christmas every day.  And mom always said that would never be much fun.

Silene regia

Topping our list of must-finds today were the two red catchflies, Silene virginica and S. regia.  The latter, commonly dubbed royal catchfly is just beginning to open now in the Ozarks.  The former, called fire pink bloomed three to four weeks ago and had already set seed.  Many gardeners already grow both of these striking beauties, but with a little selection work these natives can become even better.  I think fire pink especially will prove promising for those seeking dianthus-like plants in better colors with better heat tolerance and garden carrying capacity.  Why grow sad, meltable Dianthus when you could grown a rough, tough, and red Silene?

Trekking through Susan and Dan’s glade was alone worth the trip, even if we didn’t add tons of new species to our “found” list.  Their glade seemingly spans on and on and flourishes at the hands of such able managers keen on preserving and conserving this fragile ecosystem.  We tossed back and forth ideas about horticulturally worthy plants (both have horticultural backgrounds/experience and even propagate native plants for local plant sales) found in glades and across the Ozarks.  We agreed most of the time! 

Closeup of flowers of Asclepias variegata

One plant we both agree warrants additional attention is the seductively beautiful Asclepias variegata, the redring milkweed.  The native milkweeds (with the exception of A. syriaca, the common milkweed) make such great garden plants!  They thrive, if sited well, without much care and continue to reward the gardener for a lifetime.  We’ve been on the lookout for four or five this week and have happily tagged populations of most for seed collection.  The redring milkweed especially calls a siren song to me and macro lens (note the burgundy ring subtending the showier, coronate petals).  Red stems, red rings, white flowers for contrast.  Say no more!

Asclepias variegata

The last plant that I’ll mention before tucking in tonight is the grass pink, one of my favorite orchids and a “weed” as far as native orchids go.  Calopogon tuberosus puts out showy pink flowers on grassy stems only when happily oriented in a bog setting, just like we found in Dan and Susan’s garden (99% natives) behind the house.  I squealed with delight.  This dapper pinkling could easily have a home in a homemade bog like this one or a flooded container garden (bog ala miniature).  Though not readily available, more gardeners should seek out this relatively easy orchid.

Calopogon tuberosus

This isn’t one of my better worded posts, and it lacks my usual fluency.  Mea culpa!  The comforts of home and bed tempt me now at this point more than my keyboard!  I’ll post more tomorrow from my local hikes and a recap video as soon as our team produces it in the next week or so.

The phrase “cardio workout” took on new meaning for me today.  We hiked Porphyry Mountain north of Eminence today, a 1,000 foot peak  (it’s an Ozark mountain) with steep trails and weather-beaten woods.  An “inland hurricane” as locals call it, ripped through the area about a month ago sending trees and power lines down throughout the county.  Workers have made some progress clearing the trails but lots of old growth forest and the trails through them remain in tatters–kind of like my heart and lungs after today’s trek.

An Ozarks glade

Admittedly today was a slower day for “new discoveries” since we covered a lot of ground yesterday.  But we hiked through some tremendous examples of glade communities (and even shot some video in one of them…stay tuned for post-trip video compilation!)  Glades are outcroppings of limestone on sunny slopes.  These communities serve as home for a finite number of narrowly zoned plants that thrive in minimal soil profiles with basic pH.  Plants from these settings would site well in rock gardens, in particular, but in many cases have some range of adaptability for other stressed garden conditions (like hot barren spots where nothing will grow).  Plants from the Ozarks are tough.  Period.  More Ozark natives (like my favorite violet, Viola pedata) have been killed in cultivation with kindness than from poor suitability to the garden setting.

Delphinium carolinianum

So what did we find new today?  The day started off blue, literally in fact.  Alongside a dusty county road we came upon a small stand of Delphinium carolinianum.  I think these brilliant blue flowers would look smashing in the rock garden, but the perennial larkspurs have always had a somewhat lackluster reputation as garden plants.  They don’t have much of a presence and last for such a small amount of time.  Nerd plants?  Yes, probably.  But how can you beat that blue color?

We turned up LOTS of Echinacea simulata today, the kissing cousin to the pale purple coneflower (E. pallida) of prairies here and farther north.  Personally I think E. simulata has showier flowers with richer coloration, but other than a minute difference in pollen color (E. pallida is white, E. simulata is yellow) they look virtually identical.  E. simulata probably has some breeding potential for variation in flower form and intense coloration.  I don’t know if its genes have contributed to recent advances in the genus.  Anyone?  We tagged several populations with GPS for future seed collection.

Echinacea simulata

Our visit to the first glade added Cheilanthes lanosa, the hairy lipfern, to our list.  As I alluded to yesterday, I’m in love with ferns, and after seeing this soft-textured gem pop from crevices all day, I can’t imagine gardening without it.  It grew next to another plant that I love (and profiled on this blog last summer)–the prickly pear cactus (Opuntia humifusa).  These prickly pears appeared stress and weren’t in bloom yet either.  The pads were smallish and suffered from winter dieback (harsh cold winter winds easily desiccate hardy cacti).  I recently read (yes I read papers on the systematics of Opuntia in my spare time) that specimens of O. humifusa with orange centers are tetraploid and those with clear yellow flowers are diploid.  Funky? 

Scutellaria bushii

Perhaps the highlight of the day was finding another Ozark endemic, Bush’s skullcap (Scutellaria bushii).  I’ve pondered the ornamental features of this plant from time to time since so many of its cousins (like the sprawling S. resinosa and the shade-brightening S. incana) shape up into fine garden plants.  We tagged two occurrences, both with a limited number of individuals for future visits.  Though small, they easily attract attention from a distance.  I don’t think anyone should rush to the garden centers or feverishly flip through catalogs looking for them, but they may catch some attention in the future with serious collectors looking for subtle impact in the rock garden or other settings.

In the woody realm, we came across some smashing forms of Hydrangea arborescens today.  I know, I know it’s altogether bland and ordinary as far as hydrangeas go.  But this tough ol’ bird spans the gamut of flower forms and overall plant habits.  The choicest form occurred mid-way through the steep hike mentioned earlier.  In spite of my shaking hands and racing heart, I stopped to snap a photo of this overwhelming beauty.  Dark foliage.  Crisp white flowers.  Contrast is good, right?

Hydrangea arborescens

Tomorrow we’ll join local botanical experts Susan Farrington and Dan Drees on their private property for our last day of adventuring.  Now I’m going to sit back and enjoy the charm and hospitality of our hostess at Wild Horse Inn.  Catbirds are calling in the mimosa tree (Albizia spp.), robins are singing their nighttime adieus, and I’m sipping lemonade watching lightning bugs fly by.

To the readers who’ve sent emails and well-wishes…thank you in return!  Your encouragement powers us on!  Some of you have asked why I chose the Ozarks as the debut trip for my Plant Driven escapades.  The Ozarks are home to a number of plants that also call Iowa and the rest of the tallgrass biome home.  Though you could argue that forms from southern latitudes would be less hardy farther north, this rule doesn’t always hold fast.  In fact for species like Asclepias purpurascens (purple milkweed), the issue for upper Midwestern gardeners isn’t so much cold hardiness but genetic diversity.  Up north this species grows more sporadically than it does down here.  I wouldn’t hesistate to call it abundant here in southern Missouri, and in just a few miles of driving we probably spotted five or six color variants.  Larger assemblages (ie-areas with a greater abundance of plants) generally harbor more genetic diversity, which means a greater range of morphological expression (colors, leaf shapes, plant habits, etc.) and potentially genetically healthier populations.  ‘Nuff said about science at this late hour!

Asclepias purpurascens

So what cool plants popped up on our plant exploring radars today?  Well first off, two of the coolest vines the American native plant catalog has to offer.  Both, though, are sadly underappreciated.  Matelea decipiens, the climbing milkweed, boasts gorgeous clusters of chocolate-colored flowers with a satin finish.  Imagine a trellis or arbor wrought with their silken blooms!  The only downside I can see  (smell) with this plant is its fried-food odor.  The first thing my compadre Elizabeth said when she sniffed was “fry daddy!”

Matelea decipiens

The second emits virtually no perfume but would look classy tangling and rambling amid roses.  Clematis pitcheri, the leatherflower, sports smallish but cute-as-a-button flowers in various two-tone combos.  We found about three different forms today all happily vining up viburnums, hydrangeas, or hops trees (Ptelea trifoliata).  About the size of the quarter, the flowers would look charming cut in a nosegay with antique roses, the perfect combination of texture, color, and geometry.  Don’t doubt the power of small and simple!  Speak softly and all that, after all.

Clematis pitcheri

Ferns, ferns, ferns.  I can’t get enough of them even though I’m a hopeless novice with their nomenclature and identification.  Forms and variations abound!  Of the dozen or so finer species we observed and photographed today, the finest (in my humble opinion) grows right out of the cliff face.  Cheilanthes feei, the slender rockfern, first made contact with my neurons when I read cover to cover (for the second time) Claude Barr’s Jewels of the Plains.  This wide-ranging species grows throughout middle America always on cliff faces or in rock outcroppings.  Small and fuzzy it is, wimpy and cuddly it is not.  This dandy tuft of fronds has got to be one of the toughest ferns around.  Think about it.  Would you grow in 14 inches of rich, rotting leaf matter or a half an inch of silt with a pebble thrown in for good measure?  The slender rockfern might just well find a home in rock gardens or in nooks and crevices along the retaining wall next to the sidewalk.  Whatta ya say?

Cheilanthes feei

The greatest find of the day came near the end of our travels (it was getting hot, we were getting tired, you get the picture).  I stumbled upon this plant, let out a yelp, and scrambled to find the camera in the menagerie of junk hanging around my neck and off my shoulders.  The false aloe (Manfreda virginica) is one of the only members of the Agave family (Agavaceae) that you’ll find in the Midwest.  But look at the variegation on this one!  Spots and dots speckle many all throughout its range, but I’ve never seen one with such intense red coloration and pronounced splashing.  Shebang!

Manfreda virginica

Wow this got long!  AND more is on the way!  See you tomorrow.

June 10, 2009

Shannon County, MO

Temperature:  84 degrees

Skies:  Cloudy, storms approaching

We arrived in Eminence around 5:00 PM after a short stop north of town to take in the view.  Here on this sheer cliff face grew an assortment of natives we hope to find throughout our trip including Callirhoe involucrata, Penstemon cobaea (a particularly large-flowered, grape-colored form), and Coreopsis lanceolata. 

After checking in to our hotel and a short rest (driving here was exhausting particularly as we got closer and turned and spun around hairpin curves with the ease of a race car), we headed out for some pre-exploration along Highway 106 towards Alley Spring.  After ascending down a rather steep hill with a cement drainage channel on the side, I demanded the car stop.  Josh and Elizabeth dropped me off driving further up the road to find a place to pull over.  Here in just a 30’ x 30’ area grew an assortment of vines and ramblers including Passiflora incarnata, the veritable passionflower, and the diminutive and overlooked Rhynchosia latifolia, the prairie snout bean, a wandering vine with yellow, pea-like blossoms.  It amazes me how an otherwise pampered, cherished plant like passionflower grows in the wild only feet from where speeding cars travel and in red clay seemingly better fit for pottery than as a substrate.  A host of Echinacea pallida grew nearby amid outcroppings of Monarda bradburiana (remember from the pictures in my garden?)  What a great way to start the trip!

Nine days and counting before the Ozarks trip…

So I just couldn’t help but satisfy the itch to check out some native plants by tromping about my local haunts over the weekend. Of particular interest this time of year in nearby swamps and wet prairie remnants is Iowa’s only native iris–the Virginia iris (Iris virginica). I’ve collected a number of forms over the years; a handful of the best are still under evaluation including a few petite forms that totter in around 20″ tall.

My quick foray on Sunday night turned up some neat forms and even a few tetraploids (I’m guessing). Ploidy level (the number of sets of chromsomes an organism has for you non-geeky readers) can be difficult to gauge in plants without a little microscopic examination. But a few tell-tale signs include larger flowers, foliage, and increased nectary production (ie-smells more)–all things I discovered on my trek. Check out the flower size relative to my hand!

Now look at the flower size from a “typical” population (dad’s hand used for comparison).

What’s the big deal about tetraploidy? It equates to double the genetic information! That means bigger flowers with more space to display color, heftier plants with coarser texture, and more opportunities to shake up the genetic sandbag. That’s a plant breeder talking! Even though I don’t have a serious breeding interest in them, I think that a great many more forms and varieties should be available to the gardening public. Stay tuned!

But the Virginia irises weren’t the only plants catching my eye. It just so happens that early June marks the peak bloom season of the prairie phlox (Phlox pilosa), a sorely underappreciated phlox with remarkable tolerances to the host of diseases that plague so many of the traditional varieties. Low-growing and with medium-textured foliage (not as coarse as P. paniculata or as fine as P. subulata), prairie phlox boasts charming clusters of firey pink blooms that can literally stop traffic. It’s easy to grow too and goes great with dwarf irises, heucheras, and shorter ornamental grasses (like Molinia, Festuca, and Sporobolus). If those grasses sound enticing, stay tuned for more about them this summer!

My traveling companion for the evening was Dee Rankin, neighbor, dear friend, and biology teacher at a local high school. We stopped by an oak savannah cemetery that we’ve kept an eye on for nearly seven or eight years. In that time we’ve watched a stand of Michigan’s lily (Lilium michiganense, a previously profiled, awesomelatudinous plant that you should ALL be growing) struggle to find its niche in a limited environment. In the wild, Michigan’s lily prefers a marginal habitat between open grasslands and shade. Get the shade too dense and they won’t bloom. But put them in the wide open and they’ll cower to the ground. Though they sound finicky, they really are just particular and in the garden seem best suited in part shade (I’ve grown a handsome clump now for at least six seasons). All this aside, Dee and I were elated to discover the most seedlings we’ve ever seen, probably 20 or 30 scattered in a number of directions from the “original clump”. A few will bloom this year but most look to be second or third year plants, which will really start to put on a show in their fourth year. How exciting to watch the pendulum of nature swing to and fro.

I think it goes without saying that I’m plant driven. Some would say driven to the point of madness, but then they really don’t know many plantsmen then do they?

As alluded to in my last post, I’m going to start blogging about my plant hunting experiences. At my core (root, haha horticultural pun), I’m a plant explorer and a plantsman. In search of new plants to thrive in American gardens, I along with my fellow hortiholics Josh Schultes and Elizabeth Childs will embark upon a number of little expeditions this growing season including a June trip to the Ozarks. I want to use these opportunities to extol the virtues of native plants. Maybe you already grow some that we’ll see. Maybe not. At any rate my goal is to expose you to the joys of wandering wild lands and the bounteous rewards that our native lands hold for gardens.

The first such installment of Plant Drive happened this past weekend during a spell of fabulous early spring weather here in Central Iowa. About a week ago I caught word of blooming Trillium nivale (pronounced ni-valley), the snow trillium, at a nearby wildlife preserve. Sojourn our cadre did on Saturday and Sunday in search of this and other bijou ephemerals, the harbingers of spring.

We spent Saturday hiking around without much success. Several hepaticas (Hepatica nobilis, formerly H. acutiloba) were budded and showing off some fabulous foliar variegation, but alas no blossoms. We stumbled upon an expansive outcrop of ferns including maidenhair fern (Adiantum pedatum), walking fern (Asplenium rhizophyllum), and bluntlobe woodsia (Woodsia obtusa). We’ll revisit this site nestled among the cliff faces and sandstone outcrops this summer. We did find a few evergreen specimens of maidenhair fern, something fairly unusual as far as ferns in this part of the world go.

Sunday yield the most rewards. We found extensive swaths of snow trillium, perky little hepaticas popping out from the leaf litter, and even some of the first claytonias (Claytonia virginica).

The ephemerals get a bad rap it seems from high-browed muckety mucks who pompously proclaim that greenlings that small have no place in gardens–they’ll be overlooked. Who’s doing the overlooking I wonder? The flowers of spring offer gardeners more gladness than their size might suggest. Indeed that gladness was our motivation.

Check out a geeky little video from our adventure: