2 weeks Ago By Lee Buttala
While on a trip to Alabama to learn the art of making biscuits, I had the pleasure last week of heading both backward and forward in time. My friend Scott Peacock took us back in time to celebrate the history of the biscuit. At the same time, and because I am not the only species to cross the Mason-Dixon line along the Appalachian Trail, the botanical gardens in Huntsville and Birmingham took me to the future, with visions of what my own world will look like a month from now.
Columbines are native from Alabama to Canada and can be found at a range of latitudes.With all the talk of red states and blue states and regional politics, we live in a time where we often view anything not connected to us as “other.” But, oddly, at least in the Eastern United States, we have been connected across the 40th parallel by a single mountain range—the Appalachians—that has served for eons as a path not just for the hikers we see along Route 7 in the Berkshires, but by the flora and fauna that have travelled this same pathway.
(What we now call the Appalachians was once synonymous with the Alleghenies, though we now commonly recognize the former as the mountain range that connects Newfoundland with Alabama, and the latter as a specific region of that range.)Given the ephemeral nature of trillium, it is exciting to see them at the southern end of their range now and in a few weeks in my own garden.Whether moved by water, birds or other animals, or tectonic plates, the plants of these mountains have migrated north and south along the range to be enjoyed by us all and perhaps like us, have evolved ecotypes that are better suited to one region or the other but that are still recognizable as related no matter where they reside.
(This fact reminds us that not all plants in a species are equally adapted to local conditions and, when seeking a native plant, it is wise to select one that comes from a seed lot in alignment with our own local climate, e.g. a calycanthus selected in the North is more likely to prosper in my Berkshires garden than a seedling from down south).
As we traversed the paths of the botanical gardens in Huntingdon and Birmingham, the gardens were filled with flowering shrubs and leafed-out trees whose relatives were still barren back home, and with perennials in full bloom whose cousins were just emerging from the New England soil. Fragrant white swamp azaleas and orange flame azaleas illumined the gardens, along with bluestars, columbine, and trilliums that carpeted the understory, set against the bronzed foliage of last season’s native Pachysandra procumbens—or Allegheny spurge as it is commonly known.Flame azaleas vary in color and scent and, in my opinion, are best purchased locally and in full bloom to have a sense of how they will perform in one’s garden.
I found great pleasure in seeing these plants in bloom as something familiar. Often the plants that we see while traveling are not familiar to us, and in this complicated time, there was something comforting about a catalog of flora that not only reminded me of what was soon to be blooming in my own garden, but also of the interconnectedness of a country that currently feels divided and fragmented. Nature has a way of allowing us to see beyond our divisions and to recognize what we have in common, even if somewhat asynchronously.
The sweetly scented fringetree, known to Southerners as grancy graybeard, was sharing its soft fragrance with me now, only to do so a month from now back home. We may call things by different names (in my opinion, Southerners have us beat on having colorful common names) and experience them at different times, but hopefully the joy that they bring connects us together as gardeners and as Americans.Swamp azaleas have wonderful white fragrant flowers that are welcome whenever they bloom.
I imagine that Union and Confederate soldiers may have taken comfort in this common plant vocabulary as well, and I hope for a moment when we, like our forebears, can focus on common values and the plants that we all love.____________________________________A gardener grows through observation, experimentation, and learning from the failures, triumphs, and hard work of oneself and others. In this sense, all gardeners are self-taught, while at the same time intrinsically connected to a tradition and a community that finds satisfaction through working the soil and sharing their experiences with one another.
This column explores those relationships and how we learn about the world around us from plants and our fellow gardeners..
