Prairie Celestial

Prairie celestial. What a name. It sounds like the title of some futuristic pioneer-space saga.

I never even knew this plant existed until I caught a glimpse of blue in a ditch riding around looking for wildflowers several years ago. After a turn around and a pull off, I found myself staring at a large, faded-cobalt flower that was a little bigger than a half-dollar coin. The center was adorned with a spot of white and a small crown of yellow stamens. It seemed quite happy it this wet spot and I quite happy I had discovered a new-to-me species.

I had found Nemastylis geminiflora. I consider myself lucky to have caught it in bloom because this plant carries late store hours. It opens mid-morning around 10 or 11 am, and closes in the mid-to-late afternoon. A bit earlier in the day or even later, and I might have have missed it since its petals unfurl with the sun passing through its zenith in the sky.

An overview of Nemastylis geminiflora growing. You can barely make out the wrinkled in the Gladiolus-like spears of foliage.

In another year, I found a larger population of hundreds of individuals a few miles from my original location. These plants tend to prefer more calcareous soils and are plentiful further west. In fact BONAP shows that their range extends over into Alabama and up into Missouri and Nebraska, but I only know of these two populations nearby that are likely remnants of prairies lost long ago.

Hundreds of Nemastylis bloom on a roadside in east Texas with their petals oriented almost parallel to the earth.

I acquired some seed, which emerge from the top of the splitting capsule. Once the inflorescence stem collapses and falls, the seed pour out on the ground out of this elongated green bowl a little distance from the plant. I sowed them and nothing. I put the pot back in my propagation corner and considered them a lost cause. Then, next spring here arose 20 monocot leaves.

Growing this plant in the garden and seeing it flower has taught me more about this species. I delight in seeing the strap-like leaves emerge in spring with the ripples in the leaf, which has earned them another common name, prairie pleatleaf. They resemble a short Gladiolus, but touching them reminds me of how wrinkled fabric gives when you rub it. I now also know that the flowers will open for more than one day; usually a bloom will flower twice. Most stems have two blooms on them, hence the epithet geminiflora since gemini- means twins. I was also curious about the origin of Nemastylis. It translates as thin (Nema-) styles (-stylis) referring to the hairline part of the six pistils on the flower. I also learned that it tolerates drier conditions than I first observed the plants. Mine are growing on a hill that dries in the summer, and yet the couple of clumps seem to get larger each passing year.

The thin pistil styles, which you can make out two each in the image above between the golden stamens, earned this species the name Nemastylis.

Soon, my plants will be going dormant, and I will yet again be collecting seed to make more of this species in my garden. It is certainly a welcome addition of yet another native wildflower in my garden.

Swelling capsules indicate seed! Those that fade yellow failed to be pollinated.

I spy with my little eye, Spigelia

I shrieked as my truck came to a sudden stop.  

“What is it?!” Karen said after jumping out of her skin.    

“Spigelia marilandica!!!” I exclaimed.  

“I thought you had hit something in the road,” she said with a bit of consternation in her voice.  

I apologized.  It was just that I had never seen this incredible native in the wild!  

I spy with my little eye something red. Note the abnormal flower on the right with six yellow lobes. Most have five.

I pulled my truck off to the side of the broken back road and hopped out to walk over to the forest edge.  Camera trained on the flower, I snapped away in delight.  How lucky was I finding this ruby in the rough four miles from our house.  And, since it was early May 2018, a few weeks earlier or later and I might have missed this spectacle.  

Eventually, I got back up to walk to the truck.  I gazed down the road with the dark forest on the left and bright pasture on the right.  In the glare from the sun, I noticed a few more red flowers just down the lane and smiled in delight.  There were more than just this one! And, as my eye traced the road edge further, I began to make out hundreds of the little slivers of crimson that graced the north-facing forested slope.  My jaw dropped.  I had hit the Indian pink jackpot.  

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I got to know this wonderful wildflower better through my friend Jimmy Williams.  In a similar discovery as mine, he drove around all day in Henry County, Tennessee until he found a solitary flower growing in a roadside ditch.  He saved that plant from the mower blades and cultivated it into several clumps in his red border.  He has so many he was even able to share a plant with me that’s still back at my parent’s home in Tennessee.  

Spigelia marilandica in the foreground here provides color in Jimmy William’s red border in Paris, TN between the spring and summer flowering gap.

But, I was quite surprised to find it here in the wild in Texas.  I guess having never even seen it in situ I really didn’t know what its range or its habitat was.   

However, one thing I did know is that the plant wasn’t pink.  No, it seems to have been adorned with the same name as pinks or members of the Caryophyllaceae family that appear to have their petals clipped by pinking shears.  But, Spigelia isn’t even in the same family (it’s in Loganiaceae) or even order, and yet it has the same froufrou name.  Go figure. 

I liberated a few clumps from the roadside that day to take back to my house.  They were growing in gravel tailings, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before a grader would come along and do them in.   I planted them near our house because I was afraid that deer would come along and nibble them down.  I’ve since learned that’s probably not too big a concern due to the presence of toxic alkaloids in the leaves.  

Spigelia marilandica flowering just behind our house.

The next spring, I was delighted as my plants came back and bloomed heavier than any of the clumps I saw the previous year on that shaded hillside.  I chuckle now reading accounts about how this plant needs TLC, woodland edge, and moisture.   Mine are planted on a north facing slope in sandy fill soil and receive over half a day of full sun that burns other shade lovers I’ve tried in the same spot.  And, y’all, this is in Texas.  

One plant is lovely in bloom, but en masse the floral effect is spectacular.  I’ve notice over the years in large plantings at botanic gardens that there can be quite the range of colors in flowers from seed-derived plants, everything from a dark crimson to a light salmon. Even bloom time varies within a population.  My small grouping of six plants seemed to exhibit a range of genetics, too.  

How spectacular is this mass of Indian pink in Bell’s Woodland at Chanticleer in Wayne, Pennsylvania?

The variation in color in Spigelia marilandica is apparent in this seedling-derived population in a dry creek bed.

While most Spigelia marilandica vary in their color of red, this pink Indian pink in my garden is a testament to their color variation. Note this individual’s lack of red in the developing flowers on this cyme. I’m monitoring it because along with the lack of color there seems to be something off about the way the flowers open.

And, being planted near where I sit, I’ve enjoyed watching Ruby-throated Hummingbirds dart through the Indian pinks.  They and the flower have enjoyed a long dance of coevolution, the flower preferring the lead of the bird over the bee, evidenced by evolving the long, tubular red flowers.  Yes, I was quite happy with myself to see my transplants doing so well.  

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I gasp as I sped up a bit on the same broken back road.

“This is not good,” I said to Karen who was joining me on yet another backroads excursion.

On either side of the pavement there wasn’t a leaf to be found.  It was August 2019, and while the month can certainly be a scorcher, this blight was from herbicide.  

I pulled along side where my precious Spigelia had been blooming only months earlier.  The curtain of foliage that was there had been removed and I could see deeper into the woods than I ever had.  And, there wasn’t a single Spigelia plant on the roadside edge to be found.  I was crushed.  

It kills me when road crews blanket herbicide.  I understand keeping the right-of-ways in check, but what was so bad about this hillside that needed to be controlled?  Did I need to put a sign up that said, “Only known county record of Spigelia marilandica”?  I found myself thinking about how glad I was that I did move those six plants to my house, and I drove off anxious to see this population next spring.

This month, I revisited the site, and I’m happy to report that there are still Indian pink on the hillside.  In fact, after some snooping I’ve come to realize that the population is quite safe as there are hundreds on the slope further up from the road.  I guess with such a thick edge I wasn’t able to see the Spigelia for the forest.  And, somehow even a few plants remained on the road edge.  A few show a bit of herbicide residue from their curling leaves and stunted growth.  

I’m happy that this population of Spigelia marilandica is safe from roadside spraying. This snapshot is only a few of the hundreds of plants growing on the hillside.

But, this time I didn’t take any chances.  I rescued several clumps from the ditch that I had passed over previously, and they have since joined their brothers and sisters at my house.  Plants as good as this deserve to live and flourish without want or worry from county road maintenance.

Winter Botanizing in East Texas

I joined Peter Loos and Dawn Stover on a recent botanizing trip in early January to look at some of some rare native flora in east Texas.  Tagging along with us were Jordan Cunningham, Dawn’s greenhouse assistant, and Cole Gandy, a horticulture graduate student.  

SEEDS OF A BOTTLE

Our first target for the day was Gentiana saponaria, the soapwort gentian.  While plentiful back east, it is very rare in Texas. Naturalist Matt Buckingham stated that there may only be five populations in Texas.

Gentiana saponaria habitat in east Texas.

While the plants bloomed back in November and December, our quest today was to ascertain the seed set on them.  We arrived at our site far down a logging road under gray skies on a warmish winter day.  Dawn and Peter had flagged plants back when they were in bloom, and now we could check pollination success.  

While many flowers had no seed, some did.  Gentiana saponaria is a bottle gentian, named because the tops are closed and require a pollinator like a bumblebee to force them open.  Dawn found a capsule split above a flower and pointed out to me how interesting the seed dispersal was.  We looked at some seeds closer up.  They were as fine as dust and resembled teardrops.  At the time, I thought it odd as to how the capsule got above the spent flower.   Once I got home I would discover that once pollinated the pedicle of the flower actually elongates so that the seed can find a new home.  We checked approximately 25 plants, but I’d say we only observed seed on about 7 of them. 

A hint of color left on this Gentiana saponaria

Once pollinated, the pedicel elongates to disperse the next generation. If you look closely at the base of the V, you can see the dusty, white seed.

Here’s a close up of a damaged seed pod. Notice how fine the seed are.

Peter Loos checks a Gentiana saponaria for seeds. Many grew on the sides of the creek.

Most of the plants that we looked at were either clinging to the edge of the stream or within 20 feet of it.  The stream likely acts as a refugium for this species, providing water and perhaps a fire break to prevent reproductive damage.  Peter commented to Cole that later in life he should come back and see if the gentians are still here.  We certainly hope so, but this species is likely a relic from when Texas was much cooler and wetter.  If the climate continues its warming and drying trend, gentians may one day be absent from Texas.  That is why these investigations into the reproductive success of Gentiana saponaria are important.  Dawn and Peter’s work is trying to prevent their demise and preserve the genetics of this southwestern population.

WITCHHAZEL HUNT

The second species, and one that I have wanted to see for some time, was Hamamelis ovalis, the big-leaf witchhazel.  I’m a witchhazel nut, and I wish so much that we could grow many of the hybrids in Texas.  But, alas they struggle in the deep south due to our lack of chilling hours.

The other reason I was excited to see this species is because it is fairly new to science.  In 2004, Steve Leonard found what would become Hamamelis ovalis in Mississippi. He noted even though it had similar red-to-yellow flowers and bloom time to Hamamelis vernalis that occurs in the Ozarks, it was about 600 miles further south.  And, while this witchhazel distribution overlapped with Hamamelis virginiana in the Mississippi locale, this species had larger leaves and tomentose (aka fuzzy) undersides to the leaf.  He published the name and description along with a great write up in Sida, Contributions to Botany in 2006. Then, in 2009 Wayne Webb found a population of these plants in Alabama, and since then it has been found in a total of five counties in Alabama.

Peter said that he had been shown this Hamamelis by Lynn Lowery in mid-1980 when these populations in east Texas were classified as disjunct occurrence of Hamamelis vernalis.  Later, Peter found additional sites like the ones we saw last May on our class outing, and it was sometime around 2010 after Hamamelis ovalis was named that he began to suspect that what occurred in Texas was actually Hamamelis ovalis all along. He and other native plant experts in the area have come to the same conclusion.  

Even though it may only occur in a handful of places in the southeast, this southern species deserves wider use. Hardiness further north doesn’t seem to be much of an issue. There are specimens in the Arnold Arboretum in Massachusetts (zone 6b).

Hamamelis ovalis begins flowering in the wilds of east Texas. Their strap-like (aka ligulate) petals unfurling reminds me of octopus tentacles.

We parked on a logging road, and clambered up the hillside of the right-of-way to find a dense thicket of trees.  Right inside was a wide10-foot-tall Hamamelis ovalis just starting to put on a show.  The flowers were smaller, just like the rest of its native cousins. However, they were colorful, and many individuals reminded me of the coloration you see on ‘Jelena’ or ‘Wisley Surpreme’.  Peter commented that we were early.  Last year when he visited, he could see the large tree through the brush from the other side of the road. 

I had read online another identifying feature is to tug on the new shoots around the base.  On Hamamelis ovalis, they will give some, and sure enough branches did rise up from the ground with a gentle heave.  My hands moved from a larger branch to a smaller pencil-thin whip and I noticed an abundance of pubescence.  As far as fragrance, it varied specimen to specimen.  Some you would catch that sweet witchhazel smell while others had little if any scent.  

As we explored the population, Peter pointed out a large colony of Texas leaf cutter ants and commented that they had been there as long as he has been visiting this site.  The space the mounds occupied could have easily fit into two or three parking spots.  He joked, “This time of year, yaupon holly is about all you’ll see around the holes.  They’re caffeine addicts!”  

A Texas leaf cutter ant mound. Notice the abandoned shreds of Ilex vomitoria.

A minute or two later as I was photographing a witchhazel I noticed one of the ligulate petals moving.  A leaf cutter ant was hauling it away!!!  I gave a little squeal at seeing this little marvel of nature. Seems we humans are not the only creatures that enjoys the blooms.  

A Texas leaf cutter ant carries a witchhazel petal.

Having seen the diversity at this site, we got back in our cars, and drove down the road a bit to a second Hamamelis ovalis site at a local trail.  We walked about half a mile to a see a second population, passing emerging Trillium and a forest that more closely resembled the east coast than Texas.  

Early Trillium foliage rises from the leaf litter.

We reached a spot in the trail where more light came through the bare canopy.  At first, all we could find was small Hamamelis saplings, but before we left I was spotting small trees 12-to-15 feet tall with their blooms high above.  Peter said that many of the runts were likely small due to dense shade from the canopy, but a storm a few years ago removed some branches and opened it up for more light to reach the forest floor. 

One of the taller big-leaf witchhazels. You can see the blooms against the darker colored tree trunks.

While we noticed more interesting color variants (even a yellow flowering one!), it was here that I really started to see some clonal nature to this species.  Two specimens a few feet apart would have the same color pattern, or you could see at another colony where two seemed to grow out from the same spot yet be a few feet apart.  Another gentle yank on some showed me the plants had layered on the forest floor.  

This clone faded from red to orange to yellow in the petal.

A more orange colored form.

We even found a yellow flowering big-leaf witchhazel!

At this second location, I also saw Hamamelis ovalis exhibiting a common characteristic to witchhazels, marcescent foliage. It varied from clump to clump as far as how many leaves were retained, but in general most of them were deciduous.

We headed back to the cars from a day full of botanizing and learning more about the flora of Texas.  Even in the dead of winter there are plants to be enjoyed, and with a better understanding of soapwort gentian and big-leaf witchhazel, I hope these jewels of the winter landscape can be preserved and continue to shine for many years to come.

One final glimpse of big-leaf witchhazel in flower. What rich color for a gray day!

Bogs and Baygalls

This post is the second part of our May field trip to see interesting flora of Texas with Peter Loos. To read the first post, click here (Stewartia malacodendron and more).

After leaving Little Cow Creek, we headed back west, grabbed food to go at Hamburger Depot, and crossed Lake Sam Rayburn to continue our herbaceous plant explorations.  Peter Loos took us deep into the Angelina National Forest to see a carnivorous plant bog he has been restoring from too much erosion.  We bounced in the van on an obscure backroad as the students finished their lunches. Juvenile longleaf pines (Pinus palustris) that had avoided tires and blades marked the drive with their dense, grassy crowns that resembled marking whiskers more than baby plants.

At the end of the trail was a gate and an opportunity for me as the driver to finally eat a bite. On the other side of the barrier we could see hundreds of Sarracenia alata visible even before we exited the van. As I scarfed down my burger and fries, I chuckled at the irony of eating food in the presence of plants that could digest, too. The pale pitcher plant is the only Sarracenia native to Texas, and seeing them in the wild certainly piqued my interest in growing them.  We saw other bog cohorts including Pogonia, Eriocaulon, and Utricularia mixed in with the pitcher plants, and woody shrubs like Rhododendron oblongifolium and Eubotrys (Leucothoe) racemosa flanked either side of the trail.  

Sarracenia alata growing well on either side of the path. On the right you can see where some erosion has occurred.

A closeup of the flowers of Sarracenia alata

Students were elated to find Sarracenia alata!

Pogonia ophioglossoides bloomed right alongside the pitcher plants.

The lollypop flowers of a Eriocaulon species.

Rhododendron oblongifolium was in flower at the edge of the bog.

From the bog we drove through pine forest whose understory was covered with bracken fern (Pteridium aquilinum) and south-facing slopes along the road were dotted with goat’s rue (Tephrosia virginiana).

We arrived at the last stop of the day, a baygall.  Baygalls are habitats in the southeast where springs and seeps keep the soil moist. Sweetbay (Magnolia virginiana) tends to be a dominate woody species.

The habitat of a baygall. The understory looks lush from the abundance of Osmundastrum cinnamomeum or cinnamon fern.

Here we saw rare plants including Trillium texanum seedlings.  We didn’t see any with residual flowers or seed heads.  Peter commented that populations have been disturbed by boars. 

Juvenile Trillium texanum

There was also a naturally occurring fernery.  Here cinnamon fern (Osmundastrum cinnamomeum), royal fern (Osmunda spectabilis), and netted chain fern (Woodwardia areolata) intermingled to form a lush fern gully.  Seeing them together gave me ideas of how to combine them here in the south.

So much green in this fernery!

Exiting the woods Peter pointed out a rare coneflower, Rudbeckia scabrifolia. It only occurs in a few counties in Texas and Louisiana.

Rudbeckia scabrifolia is in the right corner of this photo. You can see last year’s inflorescence still standing.

Overall, it was a great trip showing students several diverse habitats that occur in east Texas along with some rare plants here in the Lone Star State.  

Stewartia malacodendron and More at Little Cow Creek

Tuesday May 8th was incredible for exploring the wilds of east Texas.  My herbaceous plants class joined Peter Loos to see rare and unusual plants near Lake Sam Rayburn.

Students listen to Peter Loos talk about his plant explorations at Little Cow Creek.

One target species for the day was Stewartia malacodendron near Little Cow Creek, a refugia that allows this Theaceae member’s survival in Texas.  We found the plant in peak bloom, the bright solitary flowers glowing on the forest edge only a short distance from the stream.   Closer inspection revealed dark purple stamens resting at the center of a white platter of petals.  The forms we saw were shorter and more shrub-like than most Stewartia I’ve encountered.  On one plant the branches were almost hugging the ground.  It deserves to be planted more.  I collected some cuttings in the hope of encouraging that.  Peter mentioned they were difficult to root, but some colleagues shared some practices with me that might enhance the propagules’ survival.  

Here I’m shooting down at this hanging branch on Stewartia malacodendron.

A close up of the delicate flowers of Stewartia malacodendron. Notice the maroon filaments of the stamens.

The ruffled petal edges on Stewartia malacodendron.

We saw other unique woodies at this location.  Right next to the Stewartia was a Hamamelis vernalis with good maroon coloration in the emerging foliage and a healthy stand of fruit on the old growth.  

The red-colored pigments in the emerging foliage on this Hamamelis vernalis likely provide protection from sunlight.

A new tree to me was Crataegus marshallii (parsley-leaf hawthorn), which resembled a small-leaved Acer palmatum with the dissection and red petioles.  

The leaves of Crataegus marshallii look like little Christmas trees!

And, we found a nice stand of Rhus trilobata, an excellent native groundcover.

Students contemplate trusting Peter and me that this is actually three-leaf sumac (Rhus trilobata) and not poison ivy!

On the herbaceous side (since this was an herbaceous plants class trip), I marked a plant off my wish list for seeing in the wild—Trillium ludovicianum!  I adore Trillium and miss growing them and seeing them from haunts back east.  This species is one that makes it far enough west.  I was amazed to see the sandy soil it was growing in!  I always imagined this species growing in cool, moist ravines here in east Texas, and here it was growing on a ridge of sand just a few feet short of missing the road grader’s blade!  Trillium ludovicianum appears similar to Trillium gracile with speckled leaves, but it has a more clump forming habit.  

Trillium ludovicianum a bit past prime bloom but a spectacular find!

Another plant that I was happy to see was a species of pussytoes called Antennaria parlinii because I’ve been searching for good matrix species for the south.  It grew in an open spot under small trees, again in sandy soil.  Most Antennaria are good groundcovers, and while there was space between plants, perhaps with some encouragement the foliage would knit together.  

Before we left, we made a brief trip down to the stream to see a western population of Itea virginica and a disjunct population of Xanthorhiza simplicissima.   I’m was thrilled that Peter introduced us to this unique habitat where species that occur in abundance further east still find a home.  

Part two of the trip coming soon.