Muscari neglectum is in full flower here at our homestead. In my search for naturalizing early spring geophytes for east Texas, I heard this species would grow well for us. I had seen yards full of it in the hill country further west in the state. I’ve killed other grape hyacinths like Muscari armeniacum. They’ll last for a season or two, but eventually fade.
However, this species, well, the epithet gives you an idea of the conditions this starch grape hyacinth tolerates. My plants came from an abandoned lot in town next to a makeshift parking lot. Nearby a discarded sofa and a chair sat, and being early spring, the grass and weeds hadn't grown up enough to hide the little purple bottles I spied passing by.
Late one afternoon, I decided to go dig some of the bulbs, and on a whim, I asked some students if they wanted to go help me rescue some of these geophytes. I figured that with the numbers I saw we could even use some in our plantings on campus.
When we arrived, we discovered dense clumps of this heirloom flower. Some bulbs had found purchase under the turf but others were exposed and sitting on top of gravel and in full flower! They were surviving, dare I say even thriving in this ruderal soil. I assumed this location was where an old driveway of a house used to be. We dug a few clumps, and then made our way back to campus to parse out our new accessions.
A handful of an original clump from the abandoned lot. These Muscari are quite easy to divide; lift them and then rip apart into smaller groups. It always amazes me how many bulbs are in one clump.
Once home, I planted them into a bed where I was already developing a cool-colored theme for spring. Planted nearby were the fuschia Glandularia canadensis and the soft blue Ipheion uniflorum.
Muscari neglectum flowers against the backdrop of Glandularia canadensis. The burn you see on the Muscari and Gladiolus foliage is from the February freeze.
That was two years ago. Now, for much of March, these three play off each others colors and are some of the first plants to start flowering in my beds. I love watching bees of all kinds flit about the flowers. One must get close to appreciate the finer details of the blooms, the little jugs with their white pencil-thin rims. And, the color gradient of the raceme’s flowers is so rich as it changes from indigo below to a periwinkle top. Once pollinated, the flowers become small tetrahedral seed capsules.
I have also planted them in our fledgling orchard on its shadier side where fewer Claytonia virginica grow. They look like little purple rock candy suckers sticking out of the rough turf. The darker slivers of the Muscari feel right in the dappled light, and unlike the fair-weather Claytonia virginica that only opens when the sun shines, these flowers are always on show.
In the time since I planted my first bulbs I have watched each year as my plants multiply, both naturally and by division. I find myself pulling apart thick clumps anytime they aren’t in flower, which is easy since their bad-hair-day foliage has been up in the garden since early October. The wetter soils of winter welcome the splitting.
The leaves curl a bit, like a bad hair day
The little slivers of Muscari emerging in a bed amongst other perennials
But, I discovered something new about propagating this species last year. Weeding one day I found a clump whose roots had been nibbled on by blasted gophers, and in pulling out what was left to reset in firm earth, I noticed that some of the bulbless leaves had roots on them! I was amazed. Eucomis is the only other geophyte that I know where more plants can be made via leaf cuttings, so this discovery was quite delightful. They are both in the Asparagus family, so perhaps there is some family connection with this adaptation. I am happy to know yet another approach to making more of this great geophyte.
Adventitious roots on the bottom of Muscari leaves. Look closely and you’ll even see new bulbils.