Native spotlight: Hepatica

By Susan Harkins

Kentucky doesn’t have many winter-hardy wildflowers, so gardeners plant non-natives—daffodil, crocus, and hellebore mostly—to brighten up their early spring yards. By the end of February, I’m crabby and needing a respite and those early blooms sooth my soul and remind me that within a few weeks the world will be warm and full of color again. Daffodils bridge the gap between my “I’m going to die…” stage and “Ah! Spring!” You don’t have to rely on non-natives though, thanks to Hepatica.

Shenandoah National Park

Hepatica isn’t Kentucky’s earliest native bloomer. That distinction probably goes to Symplocarpus foetidus, commonly known as skunk cabbage or polecat weed. Unless you have a shady bog to fill, you probably can’t rely on skunk cabbage to scout out spring. The next earliest native bloomer is Hepatica. By mid-April, they’re everywhere, but I’ve spied them earlier.

If they bloomed any later, these small delicate flowers would be totally overwhelmed by the riotous outbreak of warmer spring colors. Somehow, they arrive at just the right time.

Kentucky claims two varieties: Hepatica americana and Hepatic acutiloba. You might once have known this native as Hepatica nobilis, but that is the European species and it no longer applies to our Kentucky species.

Botany

Tiny hairs protect the tender buds that often push through late snow. If you examine them closely, they look fuzzy, as if they’re wearing fur caps for protection. Hairs also protect the stems and leaves, and it’s possible the hairs help retain heat. They are “evergreen,” living a full year.

Blooms appear in a variety of colors: white, pink, lavender, purple, and blue. Their “petals” are actually sepals held in place by three bracts. The number of sepals varies, and they last for weeks. Heart-shaped leaves grow at the stem’s base. Hepatica means liver in Latin, and the name is derived from its liver-shaped winter leaves. That also explains its common names, liverwort and liverleaf.

Once the sepals die, a set of new leaves emerge to continue soaking in the sun’s ray, storing up energy for next spring’s early blooms. As winter moves in, the leaves darken until they seem to disappear, but they’re ready to start photosensitizing with spring’s first hint of sun. That “evergreen” leaf is the reason Hepatica can bloom so early in the spring.

You might wonder how this flower pollinates considering how few insects are out and about in early spring. Cross-pollination by an insect, such as solitary bees, is preferred, but this plant is autogamous–it can fertilize itself!

In your garden

Besides keeping you sane until spring truly erupts, this little beauty makes a lovely garden plant. Once established, they spread quickly and form little clumps of flowers that are a sweet complement to crocus and other non-native spring bloomers.

Plant Hepatica in a moist rich soil that receives only a few hours of sun (not full shade). Because they can so easily be obscured, plant them in mass or among ornamental rocks. They need good air flow to prevent leaf spotting.

Fortunately for gardeners, Heptica grows easily from seed. The small seeds are ready to collect in late spring; if the seeds aren’t easy to remove, they’re not ripe. It’s easier to cut the entire star-shaped seed cluster into a bag than to collect only the seeds because of their small size. The seeds are still green when ripe and need a period of warm stratification, followed by cold stratification before they will geminate. For that reason, I recommend that you sow them immediately.

Seeds germinate and produce seed leaves the next spring. They’ll produce flowers their second year, so plan ahead. If you’re germinating in flats, prepare to keep them for two years before transplanting.

Whether you’re a native purist or simply looking for a bridge into spring, consider Hepatica. It’s so delicate that it hardly seems possible that it has survived the harsh winter, but year after year, it not only returns, it celebrates, and we celebrate in kind.

Huron-Manistee National Forests

From the Lady Slipper Archive: Floracliff’s Old Trees

The Lady Slipper newsletter of the Kentucky Native Plant Society has been published since the Society’s founding in 1986. This is one of a series of reprints from past issues. This article, about Kentucky’s oldest documented trees, first appeared in Vol. 24, No. 2, Winter 2009. If you would like to see other past issues, visit the Lady Slipper Archives, where all issues from Vol. 1, No. 1, February 1986 to Vol. 34, No. 1, Winter/Spring 2019 (after which we moved to this blog format) can be found.

Floracliff’s Old Trees: Acorns of Restoration for the Inner Bluegrass Region

By Neil Pederson, Eastern Kentucky University

“Woodie C. Guthtree”, Kentucky’s oldest known living tree at 398 years.
Photo by Beverly James.

Old trees are windows into historical events. The science of tree-ring analysis takes advantage of a characteristic common to all trees: no matter how bad things get – an approaching fire, tornado, drought, etc. – trees must stay in place and absorb these abuses. Though each tree is an individual, environmental events like these impact all trees in a similar fashion: events that limit a tree’s ability to gain energy reduce the annual ring width. Scientists interpret patterns of ring widths within tree populations to reconstruct environmental history. To date, tree-ring scientists have successfully reconstructed drought history, Northern Hemisphere temperature, fire histories, insect outbreaks, etc. Tree-ring studies have also enriched human history. Scientists have dated logs from ancient structures that, in turn, triggered revisions of human history. Similarly, tree-ring evidence indicates that a severe drought likely contributed to the failure of The Lost Colony in Roanoke, NC and to the outbreak of a highly-contagious disease and subsequent crashes of the human population in ancient Mexico City. Just a few old trees in a small landscape can shed light into long-forgotten or unobserved events.

Floracliff Manager Beverly James cores “Old Twisty”.

In late-summer ‘08, Beverly James, manager of Floracliff Nature Sanctuary, contacted me about sampling some trees in Floracliff to gain insight into the preserve’s ecological history. Having been in Floracliff previously, I was skeptical of coring its trees. It is so close to a major corridor (even pre-Daniel Boone), has a series of fields within the sanctuary, is dominated by a second-growth forest being overrun by bush honeysuckle and lies in the vicinity of the oldest European settlements in Kentucky. How and why could old trees survive these conditions? I feared that the coring of any trees here would reveal little beyond the fact that Floracliff was a young forest heavily cut within the last 100 years.

Later that fall, with permission from the Kentucky State Nature Preserves Commission and a great crew, including Dr. Ryan McEwan of University of Dayton, Ciara Lockstadt (a volunteer assistant at Floracliff), and Chris Boyer (undergrad at Eastern Kentucky University), the six of us cored 20 living chinkapin oaks. The first tree we cored came in at 372 years, the oldest documented tree in Kentucky—a record, it turns out, that did not last more than 30 minutes. Our second tree came in at 398 years and is now the oldest-documented tree in Kentucky. Named “Woodie C. Guthtree”, he now has his own “Facebook” page [Visit Woodie C. Guthree’s FB page].

Floracliff’s old growth “epicenter” by Beverly James.

I teach a course on the ecology of old-growth forests. A reoccurring theme of the course is, “What is an old-growth forest?” As our society moves farther and farther away from the 1600s and fully appreciates the value of biological conservation, this question becomes pertinent. If the definition of an old-growth forest is simply a forest untouched by people of European descent, then there are no old-growth forests and little incentive to protect once, twice or thrice disturbed forests. However, if we define old-growth forests using the philosophy of Michael Pollan, who states that old-growth forests (or anything natural) will only persist because of human will, then it makes sense to allow the influence of humans into the old-growth forest definition. Making this allowance then allows for future creation and restoration of old-growth forests, a concept that the former definition makes impossible.

To be clear, these old trees are cull trees in a second-growth forest – these trees were left behind by loggers because they were seen as “inferior”. They did not grow to be prime, sawboard-producing trees. Their value, in my mind, is great. Not only have they been witnessing changes in the environment since well before Daniel Boone stepped foot into Kentucky, they are an important link to the past in an area that has more legend right now than facts. Floracliff and its Original Individuals can be a core for the recovery of the Inner Bluegrass landscape. See, while these trees were not considered “superior” when the Floracliff was cut, they contain genetic structure that is directly tied to pre-European forests. There was likely a loss of genetic diversity with logging. Yet, the architecture of the Original Individuals, which is what allowed them to live through the pre-sanctuary era, was likely shaped by what they struggled against to survive – direct competition, rather than weak genes. Plants seem to carry multiple copies of their genes. And, if the new discipline/area of study epigentics is any indication, genes are dynamic; a tree’s DNA system might be more dynamic than previously thought. Hope might genetically spring anew from these old chinkapin oaks.

Neil Pederson with “Woodie.”

As this chapter of environmental investigation closes, I look forward to the future of Floracliff and discoveries of the environmental history of the Inner Bluegrass Region. Floracliff is an emerald of the Inner Bluegrass; it can seed restoration of future old-growth forests while providing hope for the discovery of more forests with similar connections to ancient times. Floracliff will also be the lead forest in the reconstruction of regional environmental and human history. Its trees can help us answer questions such as, “What was the climate like during the settlement of Fort Boonesborough, Harrodsburg and Danville?” and “Were there any large-scale disturbances in the forests of the Inner Bluegrass region during the last 300 years?” The rare old trees of Floracliff will reveal important slivers of historical Fayette County ecology – slivers which will allow us to ponder and construct plans for a more sensible and hopeful future environment.

Native Spotlight: Sporobolis heterolepis

By Susan Harkins

A few summers back, I stopped outside a local nursery to admire a huge pot of Sporobolis heterolepis, commonly known as prairie dropseed. I gently caressed the long thin green leaves and tiny brown seeds. Not only was the tactile sensation comforting, the released fragrance, similar to cilantro, was mesmerizing. It grows in my yard, but I thought to myself then that the next year I would have a pot of dropseed on my porch. Someone knew what they were doing when they positioned that pot of dropseed at the entrance to the store.

This native grass is aptly described as an elegant fountain. Its fine-textured arching leaves grow up and curve down toward the earth. Loose branching clusters of airy florets produce tiny fragrant brown seeds. This time of year, when our fields and yards are a blaze of yellow and purple, dropseed offers lovely spots of gold, orange, and pink.

Botany

Sporobolis heterolepis is a warm-season deciduous bunchgrass, which simply means it grows in clumps. The 3 to 8 inch panicle comprises multiple branches that terminate in small spikelets. A single floret has three reddish anthers and a short feathery stigma when in bloom. Once pollinated (by wind), the floret produces a mostly round small seed in a hard hull. It’s a dense turf with alternate basal leaves.

Culture

This drought-tolerant native prairie grass is often used to fight erosion and control water runoff because of its deep fibrous root system. As you might expect, it grows well in dry soil and full sun. Because it tolerates heavy clay, it’s a good species for Kentucky gardens. It also grows in glades and open areas left by human development.

I’ve found that this perennial likes a bit of room. If too crowded, they don’t reach their normal 2 to 3 feet in height and spread.

Propagation

Seeds are best collected in October before they drop from their hulls. They germinate in cool weather so sow in the late fall or early spring; they require stratification if sown in the spring. (An easy stratification method is to sow in dry soil for at least ten weeks.) Although Sporobolis heterolepis grows easily from seed, it’s not a prolific self-seeder, so don’t expect it to fill in as ground cover. Division is possible, but difficult because of its dense root system. Many experts recommend divisions over seeds, but I’d rather seed heavily or buy mature plants than take a chain saw to the roots because that’s the only way I’d be successful!

In your garden

Due to its late blooming florets, this species is a fall beauty, and its arching leaves lend elegance almost year round. Snow doesn’t flatten the leaves and the graceful leaves and seeds poking through a new snow are lovely.

A mass planting of Sporobolis heterolepis.

Plant in mass or as a single focus point. However, I don’t recommend them as a formal border because this species is diverse in form from plant to plant. They’re not a cookie-cutter plant. Plant 18 to 24 inches apart and don’t crowd them. It can hold its own against Andropogon gerardii, big bluestem, and Sorghastrum nutans, Indian grass, but don’t allow nearby taller plants to block the sun; placement is important when combining Sporobolis heterolepis with taller prairie grasses.

Patience is a virtue, so they say, and you’ll need it with this species when growing from seed or plugs. It takes nearly five years to fully develop from seed, so I recommend buying large plants if you want a quick display from this plant. Once established, this grass requires little care, but keep it well watered the first year. Dethatch it once a year and remove weeds; that’s it!

If you garden for wildlife, the seeds persist into winter providing food for birds. Its clumping nature provides habitat and protection for birds and small mammals and nesting material and shelter for native bees.

Although it’s slow to establish, Sporobolis heterolepis is one of the showiest bunch grasses. It fits into almost any landscaping theme, from formal to rustic. It’s a great plant for restoration projects and is trouble free once established. But for me, the fragrance is its most endearing quality—put a pot on your porch and enjoy.

From the Lady Slipper Archive: Kentucky’s ‘Tropical’ Fruit, the Pawpaw

The Lady Slipper newsletter of the Kentucky Native Plant Society has been published since the Society’s founding in 1986. This is one of a series of reprints from past issues. This article, about North America’s largest native fruit, the pawpaw (Asimina triloba), found in every county of KY, first appeared in the fall of 2005, Vol. 20, No. 3. If you would like to see other past issues, visit the Lady Slipper Archives, where all issues from Vol. 1, No. 1, February 1986 to Vol. 34, No. 1, Winter/Spring 2019 (after which we moved to this blog format) can be found.

The author, John Thieret, left a huge legacy to the native plant community when he passed in 2005. “Kentucky has lost its most renowned American plant taxonomist of the 20th century. John W. Thieret, Professor Emeritus of Biological Sciences at Northern Kentucky University, retired Director of the Northern Kentucky University Herbarium, Associate Editor of Sida, Contributions to Botany, and Editor of the Journal of the Kentucky Academy of Science (JKAS) passed away on 7 December 2005, at Alexandria, Kentucky.”

To learn more about this giant of Kentucky Botany, read the articles and tributes to him in the Winter 2005/Spring 2006, Vol. 20, No. 1, of the Lady Slipper archives.

Kentucky’s ‘Tropical’ Fruit,
the Papaw

by John Thieret, NKU

pawpaw fruits
Photo: Ellwood J.Carr, from the collection
of the Pine Mountain Settlement School

A visit to a fruit/ vegetable market in the tropics is a great experience. All sorts of plant products that we in the temperate zones do not recognize are there. Among these are fruits of the Annonaceae, the custard-apple family, including the bullock’s-heart, cherimoya, guanabana, sweetsop, and soursop. These are unknown to most people in our part of the world, but we do have a member of the Annonaceae that does NOT grow in the tropics, our papaw, Asimina triloba. This is a shrub or small tree, which, as I have seen it, never exceeds perhaps 20 feet in height and 6 inches in trunk diameter, although there are reports of individuals 50 feet tall and with a trunk 2 feet in diameter, truly a mega-papaw.

A common enough plant, the papaw thrives in rich woods over much of eastern U.S. from northern Florida to far eastern Texas, then north to New York, far southern Ontario, Michigan, Iowa, and southeastern Nebraska. It grows throughout Kentucky, almost certainly in every county.

Although some papaw enthusiasts wax ecstatic over the fruits, papaws are not everyone’s favorite. This divergence in appreciation stems from, first, natural differences in fruits from different trees and, second, differences in people’s taste buds. I have found fruits from some trees not worth the effort of trying to get them down from the branches. But other trees can produce fruits that I’d describe as almost excellent. The best papaws I ever tasted were in southern Illinois on a rather cool, almost frosty fall morning. Yes, quite worthwhile. The Indiana poet James Whitcomb Riley described, in hoosier dialect, the gustatory experience:

And sich pop-paws! Lumps a’ raw
Gold and green,—jes’ oozy th’ough
With ripe yaller—like you’ve saw
Custard-pie with no crust to.

Another assessment of the taste, by an Indiana lad, is included in Euell Gibbons’ book Stalking the Wild Asparagus: “They taste like mixed bananers and pears, and feel like sweet pertaters in your mouth.” I’ll second that, at least for a good papaw.

Long before Europeans began their assault on the North American continent,the indigenous peoples, along with various animals—possums, raccoons, squirrels, and skunks—sought the fruit. The first Europeans to see it—some 450 years ago—were De Soto and his entourage. They wrote of it, mentioning its “very good smell and excellent taste.” About 200 years later the plant was introduced into cultivation by Europeans who brought seeds to England. Then in1754 the first illustration of the papaw appeared in Catesby’s Natural History of Carolinas (see right). Lewis and Clark, in the early 19thcentury, found the fruits to be welcome additions to a meagre diet. To this day, the fruits are collected and used by country people and by city dwellers who like to eat their way through the landscape.

As for ways to use the fruits, first and foremost they can be eaten out of hand. As they ripen, they change from green to brown or nearly black, then looking not especially appetizing (recalling ripe plantains). The fruit pulp, creamy and sweet, contains several large,flattened, brown seeds. One of my friends made a necklace for his wife from the seeds. Better, I guess,than one made from finger bones.

Enthusiasts use the fruit for pies, puddings,marmalade, bread, beer, and brandy. I’ve tasted papaw bread and found it OK. Barely. I once tried to make papaw bread—I’ll say no more about that dismal experience. (The persimmon bread I attempted was no better.)

On a few occasions I have seen the plant grown as an ornamental. With its large, somewhat drooping leaves, it is rather attractive. The maroon flowers,which bloom in spring when the leaves are still young and covered with rusty down, are not all that conspicuous, and the fruits—well, my experience has been that papaw plants in cultivation as lawn specimens just do not make many fruits. As a matter of a fact, I have always noted that, even in the wild,the fruits are not abundantly produced. Maybe I just was not at the right place at the right time. The plants seem to require cross pollination, which is a disadvantage to those who would use them as ornamentals and, at the same time, would like some fruits.

If you have never tried one of the fruits, head for the woods in the autumn and attempt to find one. Maybe someone you know can help you. Even if you do not find the fruit much to your liking—maybe you will,maybe you won’t—you will have had a new gustatory experience.

For many years attempts have been made by horticulturists to ‘improve’ the papaw and make it into a commercially viable fruit. Their efforts notwithstanding, the fruit remains a Cinderella. On only one occasion have I seen papaws for sale: at a roadside farmer’s stand in southwestern Ohio among a fine display of squashes of a dozen kinds. Breeding and selection work has been carried out in several places, notably at Kentucky State University where about 1700 papaw trees grow in KSU’s 8-acre experimental farm and where the PawPaw Foundation is headquartered. Once, in Pennsylvania, I saw a papaw orchard of maybe 50 trees. I wish now that I had stopped and spoken with the orchard’s owner.Perhaps, with continued efforts at breeding and selection, papaws might some day be common items in our temperate fruit and vegetable markets, as common even as are the annonaceous cousins of Asimina triloba in markets of the tropics. This is the goal toward which papaw enthusiasts and breeders are striving.

From the Lady Slipper Archive: 2005 Wildflower of the Year, SHOWY GOLDENROD (Solidago speciosa)

The Lady Slipper newsletter of the Kentucky Native Plant Society has been published since the Society’s founding in 1986. This is one of a series of reprints from past issues. This article, about one of Kentucky’s loveliest goldenrods, first appeared in the spring of 2005, Vol. 20, No. 1. If you would like to see other past issues, visit the Lady Slipper Archives, where all issues from Vol. 1, No. 1, February 1986 to Vol. 34, No. 1, Winter/Spring 2019 (after which we moved to this blog format) can be found.

The author, Mary Carol Cooper, left a huge legacy to the native plant community when she passed in 2016. In almost every native plant gathering, her name is mentioned and a moment is given over to appreciate her knowledge, which she freely shared. Her passion led many of us to our love of natives; she was a mentor and friend to many of us.

2005 Wildflower of the Year
SHOWY GOLDENROD (Solidago speciosa)

By Mary Carol Cooper
Salato Native Plant Program Coordinator
Salato Wildlife Education Center

Showy goldenrod (Solidago speciosa)
Photo by Tom Barnes

Wildflower enthusiasts from all across the state have selected Showy Goldenrod (Solidago speciosa) as the Salato Native Plant Program’s Wildflower of the Year for 2005. The Wildflower of the Year is chosen based on the number of nominations it receives and how well it fits the established criteria; must be native to Kentucky, common and widespread across the state, seeds must be readily available, must be easy to grow, and must have good wildlife value.

Showy Goldenrod is a hardy perennial that grows 2 to 6 feet tall, depending on where it is planted. It is a rather showy species with stout, smooth, reddish stems and smooth, deep green leaves that are 4 to 10 inches and not toothed. It grows in rich thickets, woodland openings, fields, and prairies. It likes average to well drained soil and grows in sun to partial sun. It has dense upright pyramidal flower clusters. Each flower head has 6 to 8 rays. Showy Goldenrod blooms in late in the summer (August to September) and is wonderful as a late summer nectaring source for bees, butterflies and hummingbirds. It also provides food for several species of songbirds such as the Goldfinch, Junco, Pine Siskin, Song and Tree Sparrows.

Goldenrods are insect pollinated and their pollen is heavy and sticky. Therefore their pollen is never in the wind, so contrary to popular belief, this is not the plant that has always been blamed for causing hay fever. It is ragweed that causes all the misery! Ragweed blooms at the same time and is wind pollinated. I’ve enjoyed watching more and more floral designers use goldenrods in their arrangements and wonder how many people are aware that their lovely bouquet is full of the “dreaded goldenrod”.

Goldenrod is truly a North American flower. There are approximately 125 species in North America and more than 30 of these are native to Kentucky. Since the State Flower is Solidago ssp. this must mean that we have 30 State Flowers! Two of out native goldenrods, White-Haired Goldenrod and Short’s Goldenrod are on the Federally endangered species list.

Showy Goldenrod makes a nice background or midground plant in a sunny perennial garden. Establish this plant at the very rear of the garden or in the very middle of a circular or oval garden. Allow 3 feet between plants as this species grows into large clumps very fast. They can be divided every year or so and given to friends and neighbors. Nice companion plants are Ironweed, Great Blue Lobelia and New England Aster. Plants naturalize quickly on dry sunny banks. The cuttings are outstanding in arrangements.

The genus name Solidago comes from the Latin word that means “to make whole” or “to heal”, a name chosen because of medicinal power the plant was believed to have. The Native Americans used this plant for many things including ridding people from pain and evil spirits. One Goldenrod superstition says that he who carries the plant will find treasure, therefore, Goldenrod is the symbol for treasure and good fortune.

Goldenrod seeds and plants are available from many native plant nurseries. It is also very easy to propagate either by seeds, or division. Sow seeds thickly in outdoor seedbeds early in the fall or sow stored seed later in a flat indoors or in a cold frame. Transplant when there are 3 to 4 leaves. When the roots fill the pot, transplant in the garden after the last frost date. Collect seeds in late September or October. Cut off seed heads and put them upside down in a large paper bag. Let them dry for up to a week and then shake them in the bag and put the seeds in a sealed container.


From The Lady Slipper Archives: New England Aster: 2010 Wildflower of the Year

The Lady Slipper newsletter of the Kentucky Native Plant Society has been published since the Society’s founding in 1986. With this article, we will begin to occasionally feature an article from a past issue. This one, about one of Kentucky’s loveliest natives, the New England Aster, first appeared in the summer of 2010, Vol. 25, No. 2. If you would like to see other past issues, visit the Lady Slipper Archives, where all issues from Vol. 1, No. 1, February 1986 to Vol. 34, No. 1, Winter/Spring 2019 (after which we moved to this blog format) can be found.

The author, Mary Carol Cooper, left a huge legacy to the native plant community when she passed in 2016. In almost every native plant gathering, her name is mentioned and a moment is given over to appreciate her knowledge, which she freely shared. Her passion led many of us to our love of natives; she was a mentor and friend to many of us.

New England Aster: 2010 Wildflower of the Year

By Mary Carol Cooper, Salato Center Native Plant Program Coordinator

The Wildflower of the Year is chosen based on the number of nominations it receives and this year more wildflower enthusiasts statewide voted than ever before! They chose New England Aster (Symphyotrichum novae-angliae) as the Salato Native Plant Program Wildflower of the Year for 2010. Aster comes from the Greek word for “star.” It describes the star-like form of the flower. Other familiar words using “aster” are astronomy, astrology and astronaut. According to Greek legend, the aster was created out of stardust when Virgo (the maiden Astraea, goddess of innocence and purity) looking down from heaven, wept. Asters were scared to all the gods and goddesses and beautiful wreaths made from the blossoms were placed on temple altars on very important festive occasions. Known in France as “eye of Christ” and in Germany as starworts, asters were often burned to keep away evil spirits. A hodgepodge of asters was thought to cure the bite of a mad dog. Shakers used the plant to clear their complexions and ancient Greeks used it as an antidote for snakebites and to drive away snakes. Virgil believed that boiling aster leaves in wine and placing them close to a hive of bees would improve the honey. Native Americans found many uses for asters, from treating skin rashes and earaches to stomach pains and intestinal fevers. Nerve medicines and cures for insanity were made from some asters and others were eaten as food. Some were smoked in pipes as a charm to attract game, especially deer. Today there are no medical uses for asters.

New England Aster, photo by Thomas Barnes

The genus Aster has recently undergone a name change due to close study using DNA testing and other techniques. There are about 150 flowering plants in North America traditionally placed in the aster genus. About 50 of them are considered common and widespread. Now there is only one species left with the name Aster. The other species have been given several tongue-twisting generic names. For the botanist, renaming of the asters brought accuracy and order. For the layperson, it removed some wonderfully colorful names and replaced them with unspellable and unpronounceable names! Aster novae-angliae was translated as “star of New England” and now as Symphyotrichum novae-angliae, it is literally “fused hairs of New England.” The word Symphyotrichum was created in 1832 to describe the hairs on the seeds of a European plant.

New England Aster is an erect perennial that grows to a height of 2’ to 6’ tall with a stout root crown or thick, short rhizome and clustered stems, usually with spreading hairs. The leaves are alternate, sessile, entire, lanceolate, 1” to 4” long with pointed lobes at the base that conspicuously clasp the stem. The ray flowers range from violet, rose, or magenta and are very showy. The disk flowers are yellow. This aster is one of our largest and showiest asters. There can be from 40 to 80 ray flowers on a head! These asters bloom from August to October and are a critical late-season nectar plant for butterflies, especially the Monarch, that stock up for their long migration to Mexico. New England Asters are found in mesic to wet open woods and fields across Kentucky. They prefer average to moist soil and full sun. Not only are the New England Asters critical for Monarch butterflies, it is the host plant for the Pearl Crescent and one of the host plants for the Saddleback Caterpillar Moth. Several game birds, including the wild turkey, a few songbirds, including the tree sparrow, and small mammals, such as the chipmunk and white-footed mouse, feed on the leaves and seeds. Work plantings of New England Aster into your fall landscape. Use them singly or in small groups in the rear of a sunny border. They look beautiful with our native sunflowers, goldenrods, mistflower and rose mallow. They are also perfect for rain gardens as they thrive on moist to dry soil. They are easy to naturalize in roadside ditches, road banks, and open grassy areas. A sunny site where soil remains moist throughout the season is also ideal. Asters have always been recognized as decorations. The flowers of most species last several days after being picked and put into vases, so what better than New England Asters in beautiful fall arrangements along with other fall bloomers.

Native spotlight: Baptisia australis

By Susan Harkins

As the song goes, June is busting out all over! No month is kinder to Kentucky wildflowers than June. The delicate and often elusive ephemerals have given way to an abundance of rambunctious textures, colors, shapes, heights, and fragrances. If you love wildflowers, you have to love June. Maybe that’s why so many brides choose June—it’s all about the bouquet! A spectacular bouquet will include Baptisia australis. Regionally, you might know this species as wild blue indigo or false blue indigo.

There’s something magical and exotic about this flower—its structure is so different from what we usually see in our gardens. I expect to see fairies flitting about as the sun sets and the moon begins its climb into the night sky. I tell my grandchildren if they want to see fairies, that’s the flower to watch.

Baptisia australis
Tim Waters

Botany and wildlife

Baptisia is in the legume (Fabaceae) or pea family, which explains the bloom’s departure from the more familiar trumpet and ray flowers. In addition, Baptisia has both male and female flowers. The blooms mature from the bottom up, and the older female flowers produce lots of nectar. Blooms toward the top of the stalk are pollen-rich males.

Donna Long

A bumble bee travels to the preferred lower flowers, seeking their nectar prize. The bee grasps the female’s pistils and thrusts itself inside the bloom. Eventually, the bee makes its way up the stalk, reaching the male flowers. This same propelling action brushes the pollen-covered anthers across the bee’s abdomen. After reaching the top, the bee flies to the female flowers at the bottom of the next stalk, depositing its pollen onto the female pistils.

The blooms also attract butterflies and hummingbirds, and Baptisia is the only known host of the Wild Indigo Duskywing (Erynnis baptisiae) butterfly.

Another native Baptisia is Baptisia alba. It’s similar in every way to australis but its blooms are white. There’s a yellow variety, Baptisia sphaerocarpa, but it isn’t native to Kentucky.

Culture

When Mary Carol Cooper gave me my first Baptisia, she advised me to find a sunny spot and leave it there. They grow a long taproot and don’t like to have their roots disturbed. Besides, you might not be able to move it even if you decide to. Established plants resemble asparagus when they break ground in early spring but underneath, the roots are woody. I’d describe the roots as a steel octopus. Established Baptisia is almost impossible to dig up without superpowers.

They prefer fun sun but will tolerate a bit of shade. They’re very forgiving in their water needs, so go for sun first, then water. However, they need well-drained soil. Steer clear of high pH soils or amend the soil regularly if necessary. Baptisia blooms from April to July. If they stay small and the leaves are a bit yellow, pH might be your problem. They take a few years to produce volumes of blooms, but they are worth the wait.

Propagation

Given Baptisia’s rooting disposition, division isn’t a great method of propagation. Cuttings will root but few will sprout the next spring.

Leonardo Dasilva

Seeds are the way to go. To collect, wait for the pod to turn brown or black. Blooms persist toward the top while pods ripen along the bottom. Fortunately, they hang on to the plant for weeks so they’re easy to find. Store dry seeds in the refrigerator. They’re easy to germinate and require only 10 days of cold moist stratification and then scarification in hot water. Plant about ½ inch deep.

Because Baptisia is a legume, it requires microorganisms that inhabit nodules on the plant’s root system. If you’re purchasing a healthy plant, don’t worry about it. You might never need to know this, but it can’t hurt to tuck away this bit of botanical trivia in your brain’s gardening section.

In your garden

In nature, you’ll find Baptisia along moist woodland edges and prairies. In your garden, give special care not to crowd them. They grow large and bushy so give them lots of room. The blooms are small, but the volume creates a showy vertical display. You might want to surround them with a bit of ground cover but don’t ask them to compete with another showy plant.

This bushy perennial grows from two to four feet from its woody base. While not a shrub, one plant can spread to three feet. One Baptisia is beautiful and three make a breathtaking display. However, in my opinion, a mass planting loses its visual impact because you see only the color and not the individual, and spectacular, plant.

Baptisia of any color provides both height and depth to any sunny garden spot. It’s spectacular as a focus spot or in a perennial border with other natives. After blooming, its blue-green foliage makes a nice backdrop for later bloomers and persists into cooler weather as do the dark seed pods.

When purchasing plants, look for older plants that are blooming; from seed, this plant takes three years (and patience) to produce flowers. Give Baptisia what it needs, and not only will it take center stage, but it will also be hearty—to the extent of being almost indestructible.