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I need to begin this by saying Georgia is not tulip country. It does not get nearly cold enough for long enough to provide optimum growing conditions for these bulbs. We have to treat them as annuals – plant in the fall, enjoy in the spring and dig up the bulbs in the summer.

If you leave them in the ground, they will sometimes rebloom with scraggly, sparse flowers, mere shadows of their former selves. It is an embarrassment to both the plant and the gardener. So, mostly we just treat them as annuals. The question begs to be asked: Is planting tulips in Georgia an exercise in futility or an expression of hopeful joy? I suppose the answer depends on your budget, energy level and personality.

Other bulbs, such as iris and daffodils do well here. So, why not just plant them? Because…..tulips are astonishingly beautiful and there are so many different kinds to choose from and because they are going to look so amazing along the small brick wall at street and people are going to gasp with pleasure when they see my pink and white tulips as background for the light and dark pink pansies. Can’t you just SEE it?

I do have to admit that after spending days prepping the soil and planting the tulip bulbs, it’s a little disappointing to see nothing but bare ground. But I look at it like a blank canvas that I have now prepped and am ready for Mother Nature to bring into bloom. I can’t wait.

Tulips have always fascinated people and were probably one of the first crops cultivated simply because they were beautiful. Tulip designs are found on pottery jars dating back 2200 – 1600 BC.

Holland, of course, is the tulip capitol of the world. During the mid 1600s Holland experienced what is now known as “tulip mania” when the price per pound for tulip bulbs was sometimes more than for precious metals. It was during this time that breeders began producing the myriad of shapes and forms that still fascinate gardeners today. We can still get the feathered, striped, marbled, doubled and tripled blossoms that were developed during this time period.

I don’t usually indulge in planting tulips. I’m too pragmatic and generally save my gardening hours and dollars for things that will give me more bang for my buck and back. But this year, I needed a distraction from politics, storms, climate change and endangered plants. I could think of no better way than by participating in a little tulipmania of my own. I promise, I’ll send pictures next spring!

The devastation caused by Hurricane Helene is both astounding and alarming. With all of the news coverage and all of the talk about the consequences of the storm, no one is mentioning the root cause of such a catastrophic hurricane – climate change.

Peachtree Creek, about a mile from my house, flooded Bobby Jones Golf Course and surrounding houses.

There is no question that Helene increased in intensity as it crossed over the super heated waters of the Gulf. And of course those waters were at higher than average temperatures because the South just experienced the hottest summer on record and there is no longer any doubt that the earth is warming due to climate change. And we are responsible for climate change.

With houses and neighborhoods and in some cases, entire towns flooded and destroyed, it’s difficult to think about the impact that the storm had on the environment. Worrying about losing a few wildflowers cannot compare to the loss of life and property that occurred.

But I do worry about it. Fully and completely immersed in writing a book about the endangered plants, I think about the flooding in North Carolina and the impact on the rock gnome lichen clinging to cliffside’s of the Tallulah River. or the bunched arrowroot which grows in sandbars in the French Broad River. The ecological impact will be felt for years to come. With only a few populations, the loss of any of these rare and vulnerable plants could be catastrophic for the entire species.

Florida, bearing the full brunt of the hurricane winds, is also home to no fewer than 53 endangered plants. What has happened to the Apalachicola Rosemary after the storm hit? Or what has happened to the many, many endangered plants that live in wetland habitats that were inundated with sea or storm water. The environmental needs of these species are so exacting that any change in the water level has a negative impact on the longevity of the species.

Personally, we were very fortunate. Though there was significant flooding less than a mile from our house, we suffered no damage and the rains soaked my drought struck garden. 11 1/2 inches of rain replenished the moisture of the soil but by no means made it soggy. So we dodged the bullet – this time. But there will be a next time and a next time and a next time, for we have always had storms and hurricanes. BUT the frequency and intensity of today’s storms far surpasses those of the past, meaning “the next big one” is in our future.

My favorite walking path.

There is no question that we must grieve for those families who lost loved ones in this terrible storm and there is no question that we must work together to rebuild so much of our region that was damaged. But I also think that there is no question that we must, we must be realistic about addressing climate change. Both the knowledge and technology is available for clean energy. We cannot afford to drag our feet any longer. Now is the time for working together to make the changes that will lead to a healthy, safe climate for all of us and for our beloved environment.

For more information about what environmental leaders are doing to fight climate change in the Southeast, read this article from the Southeastern Environmental Law Center. https://www.southernenvironment.org/press-release/southern-leaders-take-action-to-reduce-climate-risks-and-protect-vulnerable-communities/

I am proud and thrilled to announce that I have recently signed a book contract with the University of Georgia Press to research, write and illustrate a book to be entitled, Imperiled Beauty: The Endangered Plants of the Southeast.

This will be my 27th book and I have never been more enthusiastic or passionate about a project. As many of you know, I worked for over a year to put together an art exhibit showcasing the 19 native Georgia plants that are on the federal endangered species list. And then I was asked to paint the North Carolina endangered plants, and then the ones in Tennessee and one thing led to another until I thought, why not? Let’s just do a book and include all 89 plants that are federally endangered in our region.

Prickly apple cactus

t’s a big project and a big challenge. My goal is to raise awareness about the potential loss of these beautiful plants and to impart the information in a way that people can easily relate to. To that end I’m using both art and storytelling to share my enthusiasm and love for these rare and vulnerable plants. In addition to a LOT of information, there will be 60 watercolor paintings and 29 pen and ink drawings in the book and stories and legends relating how many of the places where these plants are found were held sacred by Native Americans.

For each of the plants, I hope to address both why they are threatened with extinction and how we are working to save them. But I also want to bring these obscure and little known plants to life, providing a biography and little history for each one so that they become not just a name or a statistic but a living part of our world.

Canby’s drop wort

In learning more about these plants, I am of course also learning a lot about their very specialized ecosystems. Many, many of the plants are endangered because they have very specific environmental needs and if their habitat is altered in any way, they simply cannot compete. These are places such as the cedar glades of Tennessee or the sandhill scrub of Florida, the longleaf pine forests and the pitcher plant bogs.

Alabama canebrake pitcher plant

Though exciting, it is very sobering work. The loss of biodiversity is, as Edward O. Wilson said, “more of a threat to our environment than climate change.” The loss of even one species is simply unacceptable. Fortunately, there are many people who are working tirelessly to find ways to safeguard these species and we should all be forever grateful to these individuals, government agencies, academics and organizations.

Even though the future of the environment sometimes looks bleak, it is comforting to know that some of the best minds in the country are working to save our natural world. I feel privileged and honored to be able to contribute in any way, to offer my writing and art to introduce you to these rare and lovely plants, the imperiled beauties of the Southeast.

When I say Montreal is cool, I mean it in both senses of the word. It is definitely hip – cool but it was also definitely a delightful cool break from the oppressive high temperatures and humidity we’ve experienced this summer.

When Jack asked me what I wanted to do on our short 4 day get-away to Montreal, of course I said “See gardens!” and Jack, being ever patient with my passions, agreed. We spent a delightful morning at the Montreal Botanical Gardens which is huge and filled to the brim with beautiful and interesting displays.

The Chinese garden was impressive with stone pagodas and pools filled with lotus and water lilies. I loved the quiet serenity, though there were quite a few other tourists who were also enjoying the “quiet serenity.”

But. my favorites were the display gardens where they had huge blossoms of every color stuffed into a small space, making you feel that you were totally immersed in flowers. What could be better? In addition to the floral extravaganza, they also had many beds dedicated to displaying all kinds of useful plants. From food to fibers, from medicines to dyes, each plant was labeled with point of origin and the most common usage. It was fascinating!

Back in the city, we soared over the skyline on “la grande roue,” (a huge Ferris wheel), went to several fascinating museums, popped into Montreal’s “Notre Dame” and ate more than our share of wonderful food.

Perhaps the highlight of the trip was a night listening to a blues band at the very cool “Upstairs” bar and music venue.

The last night it POURED down rain. When we finally ventured out of the restaurant and looked up, there was a perfect double rainbow. Now how cool is that!

It was a fun, short trip to a beautiful city. If you love to be cool, I highly recommend Montreal.

Today my garden was saved by a stranger.

Most of the time I love my garden but there are some days (like today) that I would like to just mow it all down. And the thought occurs to me that I’m just not going to do all this next year. Instead maybe I’ll put in a nice, neat Japanese style garden with a few rounded evergreens and precisely raked sand.

But, at the moment, I’m looking at a mass of Black-eyed Susans going to seed, powdery mildew on my zinnias, leafhoppers on my rosemary, horn worms IN my biggest tomatoes and weeds everywhere. It’s been extremely hot and humid with alternating periods of drought and floods. In short, the garden seems like a disaster and I really don’t want to brave the elements to go out and fix it.

But, after weeks of travel and then more weeks of entertaining out-of-town family, I have complete neglected the garden and it’s time to pay the piper so I waded into the weeds and began pulling. I began at the street garden and was working my way toward the house when a white pick up truck stops in front of my house.

I almost didn’t turn around because I’m dripping with sweat, swatting at mosquitoes and not exactly in a neighborly mood. Besides, I know my neighbors and this was not one of them. But the truck just sat there so I finally turned, putting on my best fake smile.

The man in the truck leaned out the window and says, “Thank you for bringing such beauty into the world. For the last month, I’ve been driving by your house and every time, I just slow down because I just love your house and garden and love what you have done with it. It makes me smile. Every time. Thank you.”

Oh, if he only knew what those words meant to me. I almost asked him if God had sent him down to talk to me but instead, I just thanked him. Profusely.

It was absolutely the best thing to happen at just the right time. After he drove off, I tried to look at my garden through a stranger’s eyes. And suddenly it seemed to look pretty good. Bees and butterflies are swarming, the blossoms are gorgeous and the entire thing looks profoundly alive.

Thank you, stranger. I hope I see you again so I can tell you that you saved my garden because you reminded me of why I garden. It’s not really for blossoms and tomatoes. I garden because if I can bring a little beauty into the world, then by God, I’m going to do it. Heat, humidity and mosquitoes seem like a small price to pay.

So, as soon as I finish pulling the weeds and tidying up the garden, I’m going to start looking at seed catalogs. One thing is for sure, it’s never too early to start planning for next year.

At the end of our splendid trip viewing the fjords in Norway (by bus, train, car, plane, taxi and funicular!) my husband Jack and I spent three days on the remote and stark Faroe Islands. Part of Denmark, the Faroe Islands (in total square miles, smaller than London) are located halfway between Norway and Iceland, 200 miles north, northwest of Great Britain. In other words, they are pretty much in the middle of nowhere.

And, when you deplane and look around, it’s LOOKS like you’re in the middle of nowhere. The landscape is as rugged and harsh as I’ve ever seen.

Huge rocky cliffs plummet straight into the ocean and everything is covered with grass. The only trees in the entire country are the ones planted and maintained in gardens in the towns and villages. Trees don’t thrive here because the soil is thin but also because the fierce winds carry a huge amount of salt spray from the oceans, making it hard for trees to thrive. For a forest lover like me, it was disconcerting. Every time I thought I spotted a small tree or shrub, closer inspection proved that it was only another sheep, of which there are multitudes.

The population of the Faroe Islands is 54,000 people and has an estimated sheep population of 80,000. If you want to know what the Faroe Islands looks like from the sheep’s point of view, click on the link below or google Sheepview360.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ywdqiyoQNgQ

The Faroe Island tourist group strapped a 360 camera to the back of a sheep and let her go. It’s a VERY accurate view of what the islands look like. There were also a smattering of the beautiful Highland cows.

Actually, once I got over the fact that there were no trees, I began to appreciate the lush, exuberant grass. With 300 days of rain, which we experienced first hand, the grass is amazingly green and very abundant. During the Viking days of the 9th century, the roofs of most of the buildings were covered with turf. Today, with a revival of traditional ways of doing things, many of the newly constructed, as well as many of the older houses have grass roofs. It provides protection from the rain and wind and has an insulation rating of R-19.

The sod for the roofs comes from good pasture land. Pieces of sod are cut one square foot and about 3 inches thick. Once on the roof supports, they are watered in and nurtured like any good lawn. Generally speaking, extra irrigation is not necessary due to the abundance of rainfall. But, the weather can change at the drop of a hat. Locals say that the weather is so volatile, Vivaldi could have composed The Four Seasons in a single day on the Faroe Islands.

We are, I think, a product of the land and environment from which we come. For me, a child of forest and flowers, the Faroe Islands seemed to be harsh and barren. But perhaps some of the Faroese would find my world crowded and claustrophobic. But that’s what travel is all about, right? discovering and learning to appreciate worlds that are not our own, expanding our horizons and learning to love the Other.

Josh Todd has a tough job. He is volunteer coordinator for the Atlanta Botanical Gardens and is responsible for keeping over 500 volunteers happy and busy throughout the year. It must be a challenging job but volunteers are essential for keeping the gardens looking beautiful and we’re all grateful to Josh for doing his job with such grace.

I think about Josh, sometimes, when I’m working in my own garden because I, too, deal with a lot of volunteers and coordinating them is sometimes a little overwheming. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) my volunteers are not of the human kind but are the profusion of “volunteer” plants that make it into my garden. From sprouting seedlings to creeping runners, many of the plants in my garden offer new, free plants.

Coordinating all these volunteers takes constant attention. I appreciate the offerings and know that without them, my garden will look a little thin, but gosh! sometimes they just want to take over (I feel for you, Josh.) Deciding what plant is best suited for what job is a juggling act. Some are no brainers. The zinnias that reseeded from last year are welcomed with open arms, even though they are not exactly where I would have wanted them! But who wouldn’t love a zinnia at the edge of the driveway?

It was no surprise that the Malabar spinach, which produced thousands of berries last summer, has reappeared IN MASS this year, most of them downstream from where they were planted. I have pulled most of them up but have left a row (probably way too many) at the edge of the walkway. My plan is to get a short trellis or something for support. In my mind’s eye, it’ll make a charming entry into the garden. Sometimes, though, my mind’s eye and reality don’t exactly look the same.

In the back, I’ve begun to let a few select tree seedlings grow. Knowing the importance of trees to the native wildlife, I’ve decided more trees are better. Oaks, maples, redbud, and tulip poplars seedlings are now three or four feet tall and growing. But I can’t let them all grow or none would receive the space and nutrients to thrive, so I continue to weed out the vast majority.

Some volunteers are so invasive that I get rid of them as soon as I see them, or at least try. Arum, English ivy, vinca, privet…….unfortunately, it’s a long list.

But some volunteers I have to work with and coax along but their contributions are so magnificent that it’s well worth the extra effort. My begonias are an excellent example. I put leaves in water last fall and the stems produced an abundance of roots. This spring, I planted these and by now they are thriving. Okay, they are not technically “volunteers” but they are free plants.

So, here’s to volunteers everywhere – to my friends and co-volunteers at the Atlanta Botanical Gardens, to my husband who volunteers for the Red Cross, to all those who spend their time and effort helping other people! But here’s also to the volunteers in my garden which make it a rich and lovely and wonderful place to be.

When my sister, Diana, asked me to come to her home in southern Oregon this spring, she suggested that we might hike a bit. Diana knows of and shares my deep enthusiasm for wildflowers and she said she’d try to find some trails where there were some wildflowers.

Well, the thing about my sister is that she doesn’t do anything half-way so when I arrived last Friday, she had done weeks of research and had hiked a dozen or more trails to find THE BEST flowers for me. And, being Diana, she had chosen ones in all different directions and different areas of the beautiful region she calls home. The region includes both the Siskiyou and the Cascade mountains and she wanted to me to see it all. In four days.

I wouldn’t exactly call what we did “hiking.” It was more wildflower sleuthing. And, we spent more time in the “botany squat” than we did walking. But oh my! if you love wildflowers like Diana and I, the days were heavenly.

The stats? We walked four days, 22 miles and identified. (drumroll, please) ………….98 different species of wildflowers. There were more that we haven’t been able to identify, yet. Diana wrote down the flowers as we saw them on the trail and each day we saw between 40 and 50 different kinds. Obviously, there were some flowers that were on all the trails – and some that were unique to only one of the trails.

I know my southern native plants pretty well but Diana was the expert on the native southern Oregon plants. Many of the plants I could identify down to the genus but then would have to turn to her for help. But no one knows them all, so each evening we’d kick off our hiking boots and dash to the books and the computers to spend hours late into the evening to get a positive I.D. for all the plants we had found. You may think I am exaggerating. I assure you, I am not. I know few people who would do this with me, how lucky I am that one of them is my sister.

But the best thing? We got to get up and do it all over again the next day – for four straight days. Even when we stopped for breakfast on the way to the airport for my flight home, Diana brought her computer and we tried again to identify the small white flower with fused petals. A Solanum surely but gosh darn, which one?

Though we got along splendidly, I have to admit to some arguing. It was all along the lines of…..”it had SIX stamen, not three, I’m sure!” or “I thought the leaves were lobed and you’re saying they were toothed.” One of our most heated discussion was about the ‘Hairy Oregon Sunshine,’ a plant the grew profusely along the Baldy Peak trail but nowhere else. Problem was that it wasn’t blooming so we couldn’t tell for sure what it was. But then? Voila! Two gorgeous, bright yellow flowers – which earned them their name of ‘Oregon sunshine.’

Photographs taken along the trail helped enormously, of course, though the phone plant I.D. apps proved to be all but useless. I learned a lesson after the first day about taking pictures. I had taken a photo of a gorgeous low growing white plant with four petals and pink stripes. I cannot tell you how many hours I spent trying to find the name. There just aren’t THAT many flowers with just four petals. Finally, we asked one of the women we had been hiking with if she would share her. photo and guess what? The plant has five petals. The flower I photographed had a petal hidden behind another. Identification came quickly after that.

I could go on and on about the plants, the area, the good times I had with my sister but I think I’ll let the pictures tell the story. I am so grateful that there are wild places still left where beauty can be found around every curve of the trail. Let’s fight to keep these wild and scenic places. And, thank God for sisters!

For years, I’ve complained that the lenten roses (Helleborus x hybridus) in my back garden are taking over. Even a few weeks ago, in this blog, I was wishing that I didn’t have quite so many hellebores since they were limiting the biodiversity in the garden. Be careful what you wish for.

I have come to the devastating conclusion that the hellebores in my back, which number in the hundreds and form the foundation of my shady gardening beds, are suffering from a virus that is called Hellebore ‘Black Death,’ officially HeNNV. There is no cure. Infected plants will die in anywhere from a few weeks up to a year and a half.

The virus was first found in the early 1990’s in England and continental Europe. It does not seem to effect H. nigra or H. argutifolius as badly, but the common H. orientalis and hybridus are killed by the virus. As of last summer, it was still considered uncommon in the U.S. but infected plants can take up to 1 1/2 years to show symptoms.

What does it look like? Black and nasty. The leaf veins turn a yellowish color that quickly turns black. New growth on older plants is stunted and dark and brittle. Though I’ve not read about this elsewhere, all the new seedlings in my yard are showing the black coloration as they emerge.

Just because I have this in my garden, doesn’t necessarily mean that you do too. There is natural die back every year, as older leaves die and new ones come in. But, if you grow hellebores, you might want to take a look. If there are big black splotches on the leaves and some of the new growth is dark and stunted, your plants might be infected.

Though the virus seems to be species specific and doesn’t spread to other kinds of plants, it is highly contagious among plantings of the same species. Scientists believe that the virus is spread by aphids or whiteflies, neither one of which has ever been much of a problem in my garden. The only thing to do is to cull the hellebores and put them into the trash, a daunting proposition in my situation.

My first inclination was to put a For Sale sign up in the front yard and move to a high rise apartment, letting someone else deal with it. But I love my garden and my home and my neighborhood and I don’t really want to move. So, I began digging.

This is my strategy: First, weed out all the seedings so they don’t have a chance to establish. Then, starting in the beds closest to the house, begin to, as one friend put it “wrastle” with the plants, digging up the dense, fibrous, interwoven root system. In their place, I’ll replace the soil and put in shade loving natives, such as Mayapple, blue phlox, bloodroot, blue eyed grass, columbine and wake robin trillium

I’m continuing to cut back infected foliage wherever I see it, just for aesthetic reasons but the virus is moving fast and it’s hard to keep up. I really hadn’t planned on spending so many gardening hours dealing with hellebores, but that’s the way it turned out.

Is it all bad? No, of course not. I’m glad it wasn’t a virus that killed more useful native plants such as my creeping blue phlox. That would be a tremendous loss! And, this does present an opportunity to replace the lenten rose with a greater variety of native pollinator plants.

There’s a lot I don’t know yet. I’m hoping as the plant dies that the roots will also die and decompose quickly. I’m praying that it truly will not spread to other species. I’m really hoping that my situation is unique and that the virus is not widespread. Time will tell.

Nature has a way of humbling even the most enthusiastic of gardeners. It’s another reminder that I’m only one small part of nature and that even though I like to think I have control over my garden, there are many things that are beyond my influence. I have faith, though, faith that my garden will recover, faith that nature heals, faith that I won’t really sell my house and move into a high-rise apartment!

After decades of gardening, I’m still surprised at the explosion of energy that sunshine causes. In spring, of course, when the skies turn from winter grey to brilliant sunny blue, plants seem to just jump out of the ground. (I’m also still amazed at how much plants want to grow!)

But putting a plant in the right environment is critical to its health and success. And, let’s define “success” here from the plant’s perspective and not the gardeners’. Success, for a plant, means being able to reproduce. Fortunately for the gardener, this can also be defined as success as bright, big blossoms almost always lead to an abundance of seeds. It can also be defined as pollinator success because sun loving flowers form the bulk of the favorite pollinator plants.

“Shade tolerant” does not necessarily mean that a particular plant will thrive and reproduce without sufficient full sun hours. The sun loving plants that I’ve put in my shady backyard, hoping that they will do well anyway, just don’t. My grandmother’s peonies languished and almost died out before I carved out a space for them in the front where sunshine renewed and reenergized them.

Unfortunately, this sun to shade ratio is having a tremendous and detrimental impact on many, many of our native plants. Many of the native ecosystems of the Southeast were sunny grassland areas kept open naturally by fires started by lightning or by herds of grazing animals. The ecosystems evolved based on these periodic disturbances and sun loving plants settled in and called it home.

But then people moved in, fragmented the open areas, stopped the natural fires and pushed the wild grazing animals into small pockets of land. Without these natural disturbances, woody shrubs and vines began to grow in the grassland areas, eventually shading out our sun loving plants. And, many of these shade producing plants, such as Chinese privet, nandina, and autumn olive are also some of the most invasive plants, meaning that they spread at alarmingly fast rates.

So the result is the same as in my garden. Without sufficient full sun hours, these plants lose vitality, are unable to bloom and set seed and are in a state of demise. The best tool we have to keep these areas open is fire, set and controlled to keep the woody plants from moving in and creating shade.

There are other ways – mowing (at the right time), hand weeding and even occasionally selective spraying are all methods used to keep a wild grassland area open. In a small space, such as in my garden, hand weeding is by far the best method. But, as a gardener, it’s my responsibility to know what my plants need and to provide for them the best environment possible – and to be realistic about my expectations. If Grandma’s peonies need sunshine, I can’t expect them to succeed in the shade.

Through supporting organizations such as Forest Watch, The Nature Conservancy and the Southeastern Environmental Law Center, who work unceasingly to protect our native plants, we can help maintain environments that support our threatened and endangered species. I do see sunny days ahead.