Update on the native wildflower shade garden . . .
Since my last post about the sharp-lobed hepatica several weeks ago, the wildflowers in the shade garden have made a significant push. All of the live plants I put in the ground last fall have made it through the winter, and many of the seeds I planted have germinated and sprouted. Quick survey:
Top: the spreading Jacob's ladder (Polemonium reptans) is mounding beautifully and positively dripping with violet-blue, bell-shaped flowers. The plant lures many pollinators, including bees, flies, butterflies, moths, and beetles. And that foliage is so lush and green . . .
Next one: woodland stonecrop (Sedum ternatum) has established itself in the nooks and crannies of one of my rock features and is getting ready to bloom.
Next two: although the sharp-lobed hepatica (Hepatica acutiloba) has nearly finished blooming, the real joy starts for me when the leathery, thrice-lobed leaves with their often deeply-variegated patterns begin to unfold. This is flat-out one of the most unique and gorgeous wildflowers of North America.
Next one: creeping woodland phlox (Phlox stolonifera) makes for an enchanting ground cover and will spread quite rapidly in the right conditions. I have strong feelings for all the native phlox species, but this one has stolen my heart. It's native to a narrow strip of the Appalachian Mountains from Georgia to Pennsylvania. In the spring around here, it absolutely lights up streambanks with its dainty pink to rose-colored flowers.
Next one: dwarf-crested iris (Iris cristata) is another lovely groundcover but beware - it spreads like wildfire. The lavender and yellow to orange-crested flowers are a treasure to behold from late April to early May. And its arrow-like foliage provides much-needed contrast in the garden.
Next: among the seeds I planted, the yellow pimpernel (Taenidia integerrima) is making the strongest push. The plant produces yellow-flowered umbels similar to golden Alexanders and is a high-value nectar source for many pollinators. It's also the host plant for the black swallowtail and Ozark swallowtail butterflies.
Next two: anyone who visits this Tumblr regularly needs no introduction to heartleaf foamflower (Tiarella cordifolia), my unofficial poster child for Appalachian spring. I simply would not have a native wildflower garden without it. One of my foamflowers is a hybrid (sugar and spice) cultivated for its deeply dissected leaves and intense variegation.
Last (but not least): my eastern red columbine (Aquilegia canadensis) pretty much takes cares of itself - it's one of the best starter wildflowers for beginner gardeners, hardy and undemanding. But man, does it produce loads of beautiful red and yellow, bell-shaped flowers.
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Good news for nature enthusiasts in the Mid-Atlantic region. We now have even more of this already special place to celebrate.
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Morning sun filters through the overcast above Morgantown. Taken from my cell phone.
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Well after surviving incessant deer raids and a few frigid nights this past winter, lo and behold, my sharp-lobed hepaticas (Hepatica acutiloba) are having a moment. Hepatica is one of the earliest-blooming wildflowers in Central Appalachia, but it's by no means an ephemeral. The plant's leathery, three-lobed leaves persist all year, even through the toughest winters. Hepaticas are an absolute must-have for a shady spot in a native wildflower garden, especially when planted around rocks and along edges - just too gorgeous for words.
Incidentally, I buy my live native plants from Rare Roots, a small, women-owned business within reasonable shipping distance of Morgantown. The plants are always immaculately packed and in good shape when they arrive. So far, so good - the plants I bought last year have survived the winter and are putting out new shoots. And I've ordered more for the spring, including Meehan's Mint and lyreleaf sage, two positively stunning native mints I'm eager to establish in my garden beds.
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Light is a teasing spirit
conjured by the shallow sun
of a short winter's day,
in one instant pushing long shadows
across freshly fallen snow,
before it wavers and vanishes,
only to appear in the next instant
at a far place on the road,
a playful if elusive companion
at each step to journey's end.
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Studies in frost.
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"There is no end. There is no beginning. There is only the passion of life."
Federico Fellini
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