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

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.

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.

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…

…until I stand at the base.

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, 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.

Adiantum and Uvularia, zig and zag.

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.

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.

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.

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 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. 

Hey, Sarracenia, I like your style

I learned how Sarracenia pollinate this week!  Some of my pitcher plants are flowering, and I text Jevon, one of my students who is keen on carnivorous plants, to help me understand what to do since I wanted to make some crosses in my collection.  He told me that the cap that shields the pollen is actually a modified style and has stigmas on the tips.  Bees enter the flower through entrances on the style platform where pollen drops, and before they leave they would brush against one of the five stigma, hopefully carrying pollen from a previous individual.  Boom, cross pollination occurs.  It’s a brilliant approach to help prevent self pollination.  I think the stigmas curled up and away from the pollen-loaded stamen helps even more.  

The appendage I’m grasping is part of the style on this Sarracenia alata. The white spot near my thumb is the stigma where I’ve just placed some pollen from Sarracenia × areolata. There are five stigmas, and I applied pollen to all five in hopes of getting seed set.

I was blown away.  In all this I realized I had never seen a pitcher plant in flower before with the draped petals, and thus never really had a chance to process the floral mechanisms.  It’s always nice as a professor when the student becomes the teacher.  

Recipe: German Red Cabbage

We harvested the last of our red cabbages this week.  What has been one of my favorite cool season vegetables for winter color has also become one of my favorite cooked edibles since I learned the recipe for German red cabbage on a trip to Fredericksburg, TX a few years ago.  Cooked down with apple cider vinegar, apples, and cranberries, it adds a tang to meals like sauerkraut and bratwursts as well a sweet tagalong for pork tacos.  Note, it will dye any article of clothing that you wear, so take caution.  And, chopping up red cabbage is a study in art. Cutting one open I feel like I’m starring into a cosmic swirl with the way the leaves are rolled on and around each other.  

Instead of giving you the forty-page history of my life, my wife, my non-existent children, every person I’ve ever met, and everything I’ve ever done or cooked like most cooking websites do before they give you the recipe, I’m just going to give you the recipe. :-)

INGREDIENTS

• 1 4- or 8-quart Crockpot (you can also cook this down in a large pot if needed in a shorter amount of time)

• 2 large red cabbages or 4-5 smaller heads (basically, fill the crockpot)

• One Granny Smith Apple (with skin on)

• 1 cup of apple cider vinegar (adjust based on taste)

• Cranberries (how many ever you like, it’s their time to shine)

• 1/3 to 1/2 cup sugar, to taste (again amount based on size of pot or crock pot)

DIRECTIONS

1. Quarter the cabbage, and slice off the core stem at the bottom.  

2. Chop into small pieces about 1 inch × 1 inch.  Rinse with water and put into crock pot.   

3. Cube the apple except for the core.  I leave the skin on.  Put in crock pot.

4. Pour in apple cider vinegar, the sugar, and the cranberries.  

5. Turn crock pot on high (4 hours), or low if you have more time.  We cook it until everything in the pot is a rich purple color.  You may have to stir the apples in as they will sometimes just sit on top.  

6. Serve and enjoy.  This dish reheats well.  

German red cabbage, a delicious side dish for spring meals.

Say Hi to Hymenopappus artemisiifolius

Spring is a ripe time to enjoy self sowers and volunteers like Papaver, Nigella, Centaurea, Consolida, and more.   I believe Hymenopappus artimissifolius belongs in with that bunch.  It’s a mouthful to say for such a lovely ruderal.  Old plainsman is the common name—so wise sounding for such a short lived plant.  

After we bought our house, I noticed this tall white flower on the roadsides near our house and wondered what delightful plant it was.  From a distance in bud it looks a bit like ping pong balls on a gray-green stick.  But, upon closer inspection you find a flower that resembles Astrantia.  There’s even hints of pink in it.  They are from two different families as Astrantia is Apiaceae, and Hymenopappus is Asteraceae.

I’m happy I live an an area where it occurs. This native’s range is limited to three states—Texas, Louisiana, and the southwest corner of Arksansas. But, it deserves wider use. Since it’s a biennial, my only concern is the hardiness of the basal rosettes. I have seen some germinate in late winter. Perhaps this late planting is an option for those who wish to try it further north.

Such lovely Astrantia like flowers. Note the white phyllaries, or modified showy bracts.

Unlike most of the self sowers, the color on old plainsman comes from modified bracts (also called phyllaries) instead of petals or ray florets.  Therefore, the essence of the plant appearing in flower lasts for much longer.  And, its height is much desired early in the season. I believe that both these contenders make the case that it is a great candidate for being a scatter plant in a naturalistic planting.

I haven’t quite figured out the germination requirements for this plant yet.  I scattered what little seed I had last year, and it seems I’ve had better success getting it to grow in our turf than the beds where I want it to reside.  But, once I do, you can be sure that I’ll have tons of it growing in my garden.  

Here’s a photo of the basal rosette of Hymenopappus artemisiifolius. One can barely see the discolor between the green tops and the silvery leaf bottoms.

Slipping Upon Cypripedium kentuckiense

It was one of those glorious spring days that we only get a few of in east Texas.  A passing cold front left us with a sunrise low of 44F, but the sun shone bright to warm the day and melt away the straggling fog from overnight.  And, it backlit every fresh green leaf in the forest canopy above us against that sweet bluebird sky.  

It was a perfect day for searching the back woods looking for Cypripedium kentuckiense, the Kentucky lady’s slipper orchid.  

This fascinating and long sought after native plant had been on my wish list to see for sometime as it is endangered in Texas.  Cypripedium species have faced several trials in recent years.  Over digging is one. Peter Loos told me that in some parts of the south, they used to celebrate Easter by digging clumps from the woods.  Climate change is also impacting populations.  Very likely, Cypripedium kentuckiense is a glacial relic from when the southeast was much cooler.  And, habitat destruction has also killed off plants.  These three reasons (and pests like deer!) have led to a drastic drop in numbers for many species in this genera.  Some colleagues told me that there’s likely 100 Kentucky lady’s slipper orchids left in the state.  

HOOARY, Cypripedium kentuckiense!!! Life list plant, check!

After making our way through forests that more closely resembled Appalachia than the pineywoods, we found four clumps at two separate locations.  Three plants were in flower, and two plants had more than three flowers.  Nearby were indicator species like broad beech fern (Phegopteris hexagonoptera) and wild comfrey (Cynoglossum virginianum).  Adam Black noted that a colleague said that you can always find a Cypripedium at the drip line of a dogwood (Cornus florida).  Both heavier flowering clumps were right under one.  Correlation or causation, you decide.  

A bit of lady’s slipper anatomy. Four greenish-yellow with maroon striped leaf-like appendages appear at the base of the slipper. The larger two at the 12 and 6 o’clock positions are part of the sepals, the protective and sometimes showy floral whorl that occurs below the petals. The two twisted ones at the 3 and 9 o’clock position are actually petals and with the slipper petal make up the corolla.

At a different location, we found a much more yellow form of Cypripedium kentuckiense.

After photographing the plant from several angles, we actually did some controlled cross pollinations on the plants.  In talking with Peter Zale of Longwood Gardens, he states that fruit often don’t form on these few and far between individuals.  The reason isn’t totally known, but it is possible that the pollinator isn’t present or because the plants are so isolated they may have trouble attracting the correct pollinators.  This video shows typically how a European species would be pollinated via insects. 

One flower we found on the ground, damaged within the past day or two from a cut worm or some other dastardly insect. We used the fallen to better understand the flowers. The structure in the middle of the image that looks like an ear is where the sticky pollen is housed, the pollinium. Each flower has two pollinia. The white structure to its right is the stigma.

We placed pollinia (right above the tweezers) from the broken flower onto stigmas of viable flowers. Why let them go to waste? You can see another pollinium outlined in maroon in the upper left.

We helped the plants along in their pollination by placing pollinia onto the stigmas.  I hope with these small helpful actions, seed will form and Cypripedium kentuckiense will live on longer in east Texas, to help make our woods here a little richer so that others on glorious spring days may find these enchanting plants like we did.  

The Foggy Flowers of White Fringe Tree

I love seeing our Chionanthus virginicus (white fringe tree) lit with the golden glow of dawn.  As I look west out the kitchen window, the flowers look more like white cotton candy hanging in the tree than petals.  

I was amazed when we first bought the house at how big a fringe tree we had inherited!  This fine vase-shaped specimen tops out around 15 feet tall.  And, every spring it brings me joy when it erupts in its haze of bloom. I worry about it a bit because there’s some deadwood that needs to be removed, but these trees have a way of surviving in the pineywoods.  I see them flowering up and down the roadside edges in much less hospitable environs.  And, I hope that emerald ash borer stays away for a long time from this area as they can complete their life cycle in fringe trees. Yuck.

Here’s a fun fact.  Did you know that Chionanthus virginicus is dioecious?  That means that you have separate male and female flowers on different plants.  Therefore, both sexes are needed for fruit set.  

Rarely, plants exhibit the interesting condition where they are polygamo-dioecious.  That means individuals that are male or female may have some perfect (male and female) flowers mixed in.  I have yet to see any fruit on ours; therefore, I assume it is male.  Here’s hoping that some of it’s pollen makes it’s way to a female or polygamo-dioecious male to make more of these incredible trees.  

Primrose Peerless is Blooming

Our last Narcissus to bloom here in east Texas is Narcissus × medioluteus, aka primrose peerless.  Such a haughty name.  Others call it twin sisters or April beauty, but I quite like a name that has a bit of oomph.  

My two clumps came from a backroad near Tyler, TX in April 2018.  I remember being amazed that a Narcissus was blooming a full month after the rest of my daffodil crew had finished their performance.   I guess you can be the top of your class if you’re the only one around!  

Last year, the flowers aborted, but this year, they seem to be flowering much more prolifically.  We had a very wet spring last year.  Perhaps that’s what made it less peerless.

While some call it Narcissus biflorus due to the pair of flowers that occur on each scape (occasionally it may be plus or minus one), Narcissus × medioluteus is a more accurate name because it is a naturally occurring hybrid between Narcissus tazetta and Narcissus poeticus that’s been around since the 16th century.  I look forward to seeing how well the heirloom bulb will grow at my house for years to come.  

Dividing Leucojum before a Rain

I love dividing perennials before a good soaking spring rain.  I feel like I’m making a great investment.  Not only am I increasing the number of plants I have, but I’m also saving time by not having to immediately water them for the next few days.  

It has to be a sizable forecast, too.  A tenth of an inch won’t do.  When I saw an inch of rain was slated to come later in the evening, I knew that it would be a great day for transplanting.  

Leucojum aestivum ‘Gravetye Giant’ was on my list.  I planted a handful of bulbs two falls ago under a Taxodium at the edge of our small orchard, and I have enjoyed their perky white blooms from our kitchen window for the past few weeks.  I noticed them slowing down and thought now would be a good time to divide some.  

One plant…

…becomes two.

With shovel in hand, I loosened a clump from the soil and teased tunicate bulbs apart.  It’s easy to break these these geophytes apart at the basal plate. If they were still part of one bulb, I held off splitting. I plunged the shovel back into the soil, pried back and forth, and dropped the small bulbs in.  Larger bulbs take a few more stabs to open up a spot large enough.  

A Leucojum planted back into the soil after division.

Once they are in the ground, I provide purchase with a firm foot step and close the soil’s wound.   A tenant of my life is water plants after planting.  But, I’ll break it this once.  It is late enough in the day, and I’m betting on mother nature’s liquid help.  

A firm press on the soil closes the gap.

It’s like the Leucojum was always there. And, that’s not a weedy grass. That’s Carex glaucodea on it’s left. I’m bulking it up in this area as well.

In case you’re wondering, my investment paid off.  It started raining around sundown, and we got an inch and a half overnight.  Now I await more blooms next year.  

Sandyland Bluebonnets Blooming

My sandyland bluebonnets (Lupinus subcarnosus) are flowering!  Yippie, the first bluebonnets blooming at our house!  And, what a show they are.

Lupinus subcarnosus flowering at our house.

All four of them.  #sarcasm

I guess something went wrong with their germination?  Last fall, I scarified the seeds with a fingernail clipper since I didn’t have very many and soaked them in water overnight.  I counted about a dozen that germinated, but these few are the only survivors left. Hopefully, they will spawn more next year.  

Eventually, this scene is what I want.  

Last spring, Karen and I ventured out to Chireno, TX to see Peter Loos’s patch of sandyland bluebonnets.  My seeds last fall came from Peter’s population.

When people think of bluebonnets, they usually conjure images like the following of Lupinus texensis. 

A swath of Lupinus texensis blooms alongside a Texas Hill County highway.

However, Lupinus subcarnosus is lesser known and native to east Texas and Louisiana.  Lupinus texensis has a broader distribution west.  You can easily identify the two.  Lupinus texensis has a tuft of white at the top, which earned it the name el conejo or the rabbit from the Spanish settlers who saw it.  This tuft is absent on Lupinus subcarnosus because the flowers are more spaced apart on the apex.  Most people think Lupinus texensis is more showy due to the dense blooms on the raceme.  I find some humor in this preference because it was actually Lupinus subcarnosus that was first adopted as the state wildflower.  Finally, all bluebonnets were lumped under that title in 1971.  

Either way, both flowers remind me of blue Yoshi from the Mario games.  

Blue Yoshi!

Now you can’t unsee blue Yoshi, can you? Note the banner spot color change on the lower flowers.

And, the white spots on the banner petal will change to a reddish-purple color with age on both species. For Lupinus texensis the color change happens around 6 days after opening, which is believed to be a signal for pollinators. Researchers have noted that around 95% of bee visits are while the spot is still white, and the pollen count drops precipitously after 6 days. I assume these pollination dynamics are similar for the closely related Lupinus subcarnosus.

From the looks of it, my four plants have a few purple spots on them indicating I should see seed in a few weeks.  That’s a good start to having more.

Texas toadflax

Texas toadflax is charming plant that is blooming now in several parts of our yard. I hate to call Nuttallanthus texanus a weed, but it sure does like disturbed areas. I also hate to call it toadflax or Nuttalanthus (no offense, Thomas Nuttall), but I suppose a name is a name.

As a ruderal this annual has carpeted a bare patch in our orchard, and I’m finding it in overgrown beds in the vegetable patch. Anytime I find it in my garden beds I leave it as it adds a cheerful and wild essence to the planting.

I also leave it for insects. The North American Butterfly Association states that it is a great early-season resource for pollinators, and the foliage serves as food for Common Buckeye larvae.

If you get close, you can appreciate the flower’s interesting morphology—a pair of lips for petals, and a spur on the back of the flower. The sea of baby blue blooms—each flower no bigger than your pinky fingernail—seem to appear over night. And, as quick bloomers, they are gone before you know it, too.