Thanksgiving Snowdrops

Thanksgiving makes me think of snowdrops because the weekend after the holiday my friends and I would travel to Hillsborough, NC to see one of the rare forms of Galanthus at Montrose, a historic garden tended by Nancy Godwin.  While most snowdrops typically start flowering later in winter, these autumn snowdrops (Galanthus elwesii var. monostictus) can be in full flower sometime around Thanksgiving, a full month or two earlier than other Galanthus

Closeup of autumn snowdrops.  I love how the petals of the inner perianth have the green upside down heart on them.

Closeup of autumn snowdrops. I love how the petals of the inner perianth have the green upside down heart on them.

My friends Alice, Keith, and Kim traveled with me on my last trek to see snowdrops while living in Raleigh in 2013.  The weather that Sunday afternoon was lovely.  Nancy described the mid-fifties with a sunny, bluebird sky as a “miracle,” and with it and good conditions over the past few weeks, the snowdrops were looking superb.  

Nancy stops our group briefly at Montrose to give us a teaser of the tour.

Nancy stops our group briefly at Montrose to give us a teaser of the tour.

We were some of the earliest of the sixty or so visitors to descend on the garden for the snowdrop walk, and our prompt arrival ensured us Nancy as our head guide.

As we approach the back of the garden, excitement began to build as THOUSANDS of snowdrops come into view.

GASP!  It almost looks like a dusting of snow in places, doesn’t it?

GASP!  It almost looks like a dusting of snow in places, doesn’t it?

While Galanthus can be appreciated while standing, the diminutive size of snowdrops beckons gardeners to humble themselves upon the earth to appreciate their beauty, much like we see Kim doing here with her camera.  

While Galanthus can be appreciated while standing, the diminutive size of snowdrops beckons gardeners to humble themselves upon the earth to appreciate their beauty, much like we see Kim doing here with her camera.  

Nancy was keen to lead us along the path to highlight her favorite views, which finally crescendoed into us seeing the plants with the sunlight to our backs and the snowdrops in our front, a perfect angle for the light to play off the flowers well.  She tells us that in 1987 she acquired 12 bulbs from a local seed store for less than a dollar, and by happenstance they were this rare variety.  She started the mass planting seen above in November 2002 and has helped it enlarge via division.  She made the comment that she’s glad she bought the bulbs.  We are, too. 

The snowdrops don’t stop here. We are then lead through the woods where a large, long drift—perhaps a 1/10 of a mile long—has been planted, and along the path Nancy points out a few Cyclamen coum that have just started flowering.  However, most need not be in bloom to be attractive as the leaves on some cyclamen appear as if ornately arrayed shields of green, gray, and white.

 
The long drift pulls you into the woods to see just how far it goes.

The long drift pulls you into the woods to see just how far it goes.

 
Some of the diversity in Cyclamen foliage along the path through the woods.  The leaves look like little shields scattered upon the forest floor.

Some of the diversity in Cyclamen foliage along the path through the woods.  The leaves look like little shields scattered upon the forest floor.

For me, snowdrops mark a turning point in the year, evidence that even though winter is here, spring approaches.  Many gardeners are fascinated by these winter bloomers to the point of obsession.  I’m not there yet, but I hold with Christopher Lloyd as he wrote in Garden Flowers, “We all of us need more snowdrops in our gardens”, and “[s]nowdrops are graceful, welcoming, sheer delight, and I fail to see how one could have too many of them.” If you’ve never seen them before, the pictures included here will certainly help.  When visuals are absent, I describe the plants as diminutive street lights, the white perianth dangling from six-inch scapes, much like a lantern might have hung from posts in days of old.

Galanthus flowers hang like lanterns on hooks.  While they produce no foot candles, they certainly brighten winter.

Galanthus flowers hang like lanterns on hooks. While they produce no foot candles, they certainly brighten winter.

The lantern comment brings to mind a story I once heard in a sermon.  Robert Louis Stevenson as a child was sickly.  One evening, the nurse came to check on him and found him sitting near the window watching the lamplighter.  The nurse hastened him to get back in bed, but he was mesmerized by the lamplighter who he said was “poking holes in the darkness.” For me that’s what snowdrops do.  They poke holes in the darkness of winter, and having some that bloom early like these autumn snowdrops and some that bloom late can make sure that all of winter is a little brighter in our gardens.

Autumn at Montrose

One of the highlights while living in North Carolina was visiting Montrose in October, a garden tucked away in Hillsborough, NC. I loved visiting this time of year because the garden expanded my knowledge of plants that celebrated fall with their foliage and flowers.

Nancy and her husband Craufurd bought Montrose in 1977 to live there and enrich the gardens. The property had bones; it dated back to the 1800s when it Governor William Alexander Graham lived on the site and had his law office there. Now, Montrose is know for its unique collection of plants that provide four-season interest. Nancy is also well-known in the world of horticulture from her running Montrose Nursery from 1984 to 1993. I recall even seeing her name pop up in books occasionally as a renown expert on Cyclamen and other interesting perennials.

If you’d like to learn more about the garden, you can live a year in Nancy’s shoes by reading her book Montrose: Life in a Garden. It was one of my favorite reads during the evenings of graduate school. I loved the day-to-day garden life that she shared. But, for now, enjoy these photos and a few perspectives from an autumn visit to Montrose.

Celosia rises from a hodgepodge of perennials in this border near the May garden. The garden is set around numerous historical buildings. The law office can be seen in the distance and dates back to the 1800s.

Celosia rises from a hodgepodge of perennials in this border near the May garden. The garden is set around numerous historical buildings. The law office can be seen in the distance and dates back to the 1800s.

Verbascum chaixii ‘Album’ liked to grow near the gravel pathways.

Verbascum chaixii ‘Album’ liked to grow near the gravel pathways.

One of my first encounters with a fall favorite—Cuphea micropetala or candy corn cuphea.

One of my first encounters with a fall favorite—Cuphea micropetala or candy corn cuphea.

Another cute cuphea I saw was Cuphea cyanea. The flowers are small but there are plenty of them for effect. If you look closely, you might see the bat face in the flowers.

Another cute cuphea I saw was Cuphea cyanea. The flowers are small but there are plenty of them for effect. If you look closely, you might see the bat face in the flowers.

Nancy tries to time her open house weekends during the peak of autumn splendor. I hit it just right this visit to see Colchicum ‘Waterlily’ in flower.

Nancy tries to time her open house weekends during the peak of autumn splendor. I hit it just right this visit to see Colchicum ‘Waterlily’ in flower.

A nice massing of Sternbergia lutea brightened this shady spot. It is such a quaint autumn geophyte.

A nice massing of Sternbergia lutea brightened this shady spot. It is such a quaint autumn geophyte.

My first encounter with Centratherum punctatum was at Montrose. Since moving to Texas I have discovered what a wonderful heat-tolerant self sower this plant is.

My first encounter with Centratherum punctatum was at Montrose. Since moving to Texas I have discovered what a wonderful heat-tolerant self sower this plant is.

Dahlia coccinea erupts with vermillion flowers come October at Montrose.

Dahlia coccinea erupts with vermillion flowers come October at Montrose.

A close up of Dahlia coccinea.

A close up of Dahlia coccinea.

Cosmos sulphureus forms a wall of foliage and flowers that other plants can pop against.

Cosmos sulphureus forms a wall of foliage and flowers that other plants can pop against.

I love to use this image and the next to teach students about how a person’s orientation to the plants and sun can affect color and intensity. Here, Helianthus angustifolius glows bright with the sun to my back.

I love to use this image and the next to teach students about how a person’s orientation to the plants and sun can affect color and intensity. Here, Helianthus angustifolius glows bright with the sun to my back.

But, from this angle where I face both sun and plants, we now see more shadows, which creates more of a shade of yellow in the flowers.

But, from this angle where I face both sun and plants, we now see more shadows, which creates more of a shade of yellow in the flowers.

Stepping into the tropical garden, you can see that color is not the only driver here. Texture also creates a richness.

Stepping into the tropical garden, you can see that color is not the only driver here. Texture also creates a richness.

One of my favorite sights from Montrose was this old sugar kettle planted with hardy Orostachys. In their bloom they looked like flames licking out of a cauldron.

One of my favorite sights from Montrose was this old sugar kettle planted with hardy Orostachys. In their bloom they looked like flames licking out of a cauldron.

Nancy had a knack for creating simple yet effective plant combinations. I loved seeing this Tradescantia pallida ‘Purple Heart’ planted with this Symphyotrichum.

Nancy had a knack for creating simple yet effective plant combinations. I loved seeing this Tradescantia pallida ‘Purple Heart’ planted with this Symphyotrichum.

Another great color combination was this pairing of white Colchicum with this matrix of Ophiopogon planiscapus ‘Nigrescens’.

Another great color combination was this pairing of white Colchicum with this matrix of Ophiopogon planiscapus ‘Nigrescens’.

Celebrating Easter in Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest

One of the most memorable Easters of my life was in 2011 when I attended a solo sunrise service in Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest just across Lake Santeetlah from Robbinsville, NC.

It was part of my weekend wildflower pilgrimage in the mountains.  Easter is a fickle date since it is held in tandem with the Sunday following the first full moon after the vernal equinox.  That year would be one of the latest dates it would fall, and with time off from grad school classes, it would coincide perfectly with peak bloom in the mountains.  

I left Cherokee, NC at... well I don’t even remember when.   Probably 5:00 or 5:30 in the morning.  I drove a little over an hour until I reached the Cherohala Skyway very near my destination.  I pulled off into the Hooper Cove parking lot (elevation 3096 ft) at just before 7 am, and I watched the sunrise.  From there, I left to head to Joyce Kilmer.  

Sunrise at the Hooper Bald overlook on the Cherohala Skyway

Sunrise at the Hooper Bald overlook on the Cherohala Skyway

Vibrant foliage of Rhododendron flank a stream in Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest.

Vibrant foliage of Rhododendron flank a stream in Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest.

But, why all the effort to visit this forest?  Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest is one of the few virgin forests left in eastern North America.  I had heard tales of the mammoth trees, and I just had to see them.   You may also wonder who Joyce Kilmer is.  He authored the poem “Trees”.  It is a fitting passage for an Easter morning spent in the woods. 

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
— Joyce Kilmer
Tiarella, Phlox, and a host of other perennials blanket the understory in Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest.

Tiarella, Phlox, and a host of other perennials blanket the understory in Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest.

He died in 1918 during World War I in France, and to remember him, the New York chapter of the Veterans of Foreign Wars asked the government to name a forest in his memory in the mid–1930’s.  Around the same time, the government purchased 3,800 acres of pristine forest in North Carolina to preserve “one of the few remaining examples of the great hardwood forests that covered the slopes of the Appalachians when Columbus discovered the New World”.  It was this tract of land that would be named in his honor in July 1936.  

Fronds as far as the eye can see.

Fronds as far as the eye can see.

I was enraptured upon my arrival, and I saw not another soul while I walked the trail. I quickly saw why the government paid $28 an acre instead of the typical $3 or $4 an acre cost at that time.  I stood in a forest cathedral with the rays of light coming through the stained glass foliage above and the choir of songbirds singing in the broken morning.  The trees had these interesting lolly-pop crowns, few branches below from self pruning and rounded tops from crown shyness.  I suppose both those effects were due to being ancient and clustered so close together.   They were MASSIVE, over 100 feet tall, and many of these giants from this long lost era had been dated to at least 400 years old.

 
Hard to have scale for how massive this tree is…

Hard to have scale for how massive this tree is…

 
…until I stand at the base.

…until I stand at the base.

Look at this little cutie. Viola canadensis or Canada viola. One is lovely…

Look at this little cutie. Viola canadensis or Canada viola. One is lovely…

…and thousands are even lovelier. Look at all those white flowers!

…and thousands are even lovelier. Look at all those white flowers!

And, there was magic.  The forest floor was carpeted with wildflowers and natives of all kinds, and the earth-hugging tapestry shifted with habitat—ferns on one hillside, violets on another, and Tiarella and Phlox scattered along side a dry creek.  I encountered half a dozen species of Trillium.  Most were past their prime, but Trillium vaseyi and Trillium cuneatum still looked good.   

In Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest I met Carex plantaginea for the first time. Most know it by its seersuckered foliage, but I was enchanted by the inflorescences.

In Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest I met Carex plantaginea for the first time. Most know it by its seersuckered foliage, but I was enchanted by the inflorescences.

Adiantum and Uvularia, zig and zag.

Adiantum and Uvularia, zig and zag.

My first encountered with the urn-shaped flowers of Gaylussacia ursina.

My first encountered with the urn-shaped flowers of Gaylussacia ursina.

One of my favorite Trillium is Trillium vaseyi. I love it for its large (about the size of a camera lens cap) crimson flowers.

One of my favorite Trillium is Trillium vaseyi. I love it for its large (about the size of a camera lens cap) crimson flowers.

A close up of Trillium vaseyi.

A close up of Trillium vaseyi.

I saw plants growing on top of fallen trees.  These nurse logs as they are called were covered with Tiarella and other flora of the forest.  And, I saw the shadows of these life forces, evidenced by the tree root stilts showing where the log’s circumference used to be.

My jaw dropped at seeing plants growing on logs for the first time. The white-flowering Tiarella cordifolia looks quite happy. These habitats must be moist to support plant growth on fallen timber.

My jaw dropped at seeing plants growing on logs for the first time. The white-flowering Tiarella cordifolia looks quite happy. These habitats must be moist to support plant growth on fallen timber.

And, here the ghost of a log can be seen. I wonder how long ago it faded into the forest floor.

And, here the ghost of a log can be seen. I wonder how long ago it faded into the forest floor.

When I see such sights, I am filled with wonder and awe but also a bit of sadness as I think that much of the world used to look like this virgin forest before we spoiled it.   Even some parts of the forest showed the effects from mankind.  Along the path were massive Tsuga canadensis that had fallen with trunks twisted like toothpicks.  I wondered what had caused such damage.  Later, I read how they used dynamite drilled into the trunks to explode them and mimic these snags falling from a storm.  These ancient ones had to be felled because they had died from the horrid woolly adelgid, and those near the trail had become a liability for potentially dropping detritus on pedestrians.  

 
Dynamite-exploded trunks of Tsuga canadensis, eastern hemlock. A few dead trees still stand.

Dynamite-exploded trunks of Tsuga canadensis, eastern hemlock. A few dead trees still stand.

 
Here’s a close up so you can see how gnarled they were.

Here’s a close up so you can see how gnarled they were.

I count 225 rings on the cross section of this fallen Tsuga canadensis. A few small sections were too faded to count, and I didn’t include them. With that error it means that this tree likely was a seedling at the founding of our country. So sad to …

I count 225 rings on the cross section of this fallen Tsuga canadensis. A few small sections were too faded to count, and I didn’t include them. With that error it means that this tree likely was a seedling at the founding of our country. So sad to see that we led to its demise with the introduction of the woolly adelgid.

However, even in its brokenness, visiting places such as Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest reminds me of the wonders we can still experience on this planet.  And, it resurrects the belief that we need to do all we can to protect these special treasures.  For, I too, think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree.  And, a forest as lovely as Joyce Kilmer.