This was the year I would finally have time to ask the homeowners if I could wander the wooded hills near their house. I had passed the lush forest the past two springs driving into town. I watched Erythronium albidium bloom in large colonies (yes, the flowers were visible from the road), Podophyllum peltatum unfurl in an area the size of our house, and Phlox pilosa carpet the edge with purple. If these plants were here, what else would be?
The mayapple colony was the first thing that caught my eye on this hillside. What other plants does this woods hold?
I got a hint the week before I visited with them when I got stuck going 20 mph behind a tractor in a no passing zone. I glanced over at the woods and a glimmer of white caught my eye. My mind riffled through early spring flowering white plants. Could it be... bloodroot?
Monday afternoon during spring break, I stopped by their house, asked permission, and got it! I offered some chocolate as a gesture to visit the woods, but I guess they didn’t want any.
I parked near the edge of their drive and struck out through the forest. At times it looked and even smelled like Appalachia and the east coast woods I used to wander. I said hello to the plants I had watched for two years, the Erythronium, the Phlox, and the Podophyllum. And, I made fresh discoveries like Viola palmata and Polygonatum biflorum.
A close up of a Sanguinaria flower. Out of focus are seed pods on this member of the poppy family
And, soon my inkling that the forest held Sanguinaria canadensis (aka bloodroot) was confirmed as I found a solitary patch. Giddy with joy, I started looking around until I found another. And, then another. And, then another!!!
They were scattered all throughout the forest, no doubt thanks to help from ants who collect the seeds and take them to their nests for their lipid-rich elaiosome on the outside of the seed coat. This type of seed dispersal even has a name—myrmecochory.
Up a ridge, I found the motherload. Hundreds of plants occurred in an area about half the size of a tennis court. Perhaps this was the progenitor colony that had spawned the many scattered populations around? Who knows.
Wow, what a colony! The road is barely visible in the upper right corner. Here it was hiding from me all this time.
Karen went back with me the next day for better lighting for pictures, and she provides a nice scale for the size of this colony. Again, the road is in the background.
And, here is the view of the colony behind me. Almost all those green leaves are bloodroot. I wondered what made them so successful here as other spots only had a few or even none.
I looked for diversity in the population, and the best I found was this larger leaf form. I suspect that the size is due to early emergence.
I was delighted to find this ephemeral only a few miles from my house as it is rare in Texas. Nacogdoches county is one of the southwestern most populations in the US, and seeing it brought back memories of finding the harbinger of spring when wandering forests back further east. The name bloodroot comes from the red coloration found when breaking the rhizome, a modified stem and not a root! Funny how common names can confuse those two sometimes. That coloration is also the origin of the genera Sanguinaria; sanguis is Latin for blood. While native Americans used the plant for dyes and a variety of ailments, the sap from the rhizome can actually kill animal cells and cause a scar.
A solitary leaf surrounds a bloodroot flower. Most individuals have eight petals, but some selections have been made in the trade that have more.
Bloodroot is such a fascinating native that deserves more use in our gardens. I’m happy to know that it will grow well here in dappled shade in east Texas, and I’m happy that I finally stopped to investigate that woods further. I never know what I will find!