Native Azaleas Bloom Again at Herrontown Woods

This spring, Herrontown Woods had its first big show of native azalea blooms in many decades. They were all on one bush, but it was a start. I counted the blossoms--25, which is 22 more than the grand total from five years ago. A friend who grew up in Princeton told me that wild azaleas had once been a common sight in spring. What caused them to disappear? The answer is more deer and more shade. 

The pinxter azaleas are not the only species that has languished in the deep shade of the forest. Shadbush and hearts-a-bustin' have also been marginalized. It took some years of exploration to realize that they were still there, surviving in a miniature state, a foot or two tall, deprived of sunlight, nibbled down by deer. 

One of the first to be spotted, during a morning walk five years back, was a spindly pinxter azalea that had somehow managed to grow three flowers, like a weak SOS signal coming from a distressed ship. When the shrub failed to bloom at all the following year, I responded by digging a small sideshoot from the base and planting it in the preserve's Botanical Art Garden, where we maintain the equivalent of a forest opening. Bathed in sunlight and protected from deer browse, the azalea has thrived in a way it never could beneath dense trees.

Growing next to the azalea in the botanical garden is a shadbush, so named because it blooms when the shad are migrating up rivers in early spring to spawn. It, too, is finally getting an opportunity to grow to maturity for the first time in decades. 

Another species seldom encountered along the Princeton Ridge--only two have been found in Herrontown Woods thus far--is the pagoda dogwood. It's alternate leaves (arising not in pairs but instead singly on alternating sides of the stem) give it another common name, alternate-leaved dogwood, and also its latin name, Cornus alternifolia. The flowers aren't that showy--pompom-like clusters reminiscent of the more common silky dogwood--but the pagoda-like shape of the branches is striking. Hopefully we'll be able to witness that as this one grows up in a sunnier location than is available among the dense trees of the woods.

Other size-disadvantaged woody species being brought into the botanical garden to get out of the shade and deer browse are hazelnut, persimmon, and hearts-a-bustin'.

A native chestnut tree is also checking out its new home in the botanical art garden. The chestnut has been disadvantaged in today's forested preserves not by limited size but by the lingering chestnut blight disease that nearly eliminated them from the continent a century ago. This one is 15/16th native, crossed with an asian species that hopefully conferred immunity. Unlike the other woody plants mentioned in this post, the planted chestnut is not a local genotype.

In the early days of the Herrontown Woods preserve, there was a chestnut tree still growing along the yellow trail. The blight doesn't affect the roots, so it essentially sent the species "underground." Chestnuts persisted to some extent by sending up suckers that would grow to ten or twenty feet before succumbing to the fungus, at which point yet another sucker would be generated, to meet the same fate. Eventually, I suppose, the roots ran out of energy to keep sending up suckers.

Butternut, too, has been laid low more by introduced disease than by size limitations, and will be getting a home in the botanical garden. 

Add to these woody species all the sun-loving wildflowers that have an even harder time surviving in our tree-dominated preserves, and it becomes clear that what we have created at Herrontown Woods is a place where disadvantaged native species can have a chance to show their stuff. This opportunity for upward mobility was once built into natural systems, back when megafauna and fire served to set back the trees, when deer were kept in check by predators, and long before invasive species stifled with their overwhelming growth. We love our trees. For many people, trees are a symbol of nature itself, and yet it's important to remember that the less lofty species are also part of nature, and have as much claim as large trees to a place in our preserves. Thus, "plant a tree", for all its resonance and popular appeal, is more relevant to our streets than our preserves when it comes to actions we can take to heal nature and nurture diversity.

Four additional native azaleas were added to the Botanical Art Garden last year, rescued from deep latency and finally given a chance to grow. In time, they could make for a really big show, and it all started with a floral SOS along a trail. 

(Mostly) Native Flowers of Late April

This post documents some of the many native flowers to be found in late April, from deep woods to front yards. 

A medium sized shrub called Fothergilla, or witch alder, is having a good year in our front yard, though it's not found growing naturally in our local forests. 

Clouds of white in the woodland understory this time of year could be flowering dogwood, 

but blackhaw viburnums, central Jersey's most common native Viburnum, have also just opened up, dotting the understory with their large congregations of small pompom-like clusters of white flowers. 

Sometimes a closer look at an assemblage of white flowers reveals a flowering crabapple tree, as in this photo. Not completely sure as yet that these flowering crabs are native. 

Providing some contrast with the predominating white is the redbud, here seen at the "barden" at Herrontown Woods, where a forest opening allows it enough light to thrive.

On the forest floor, the most common wildflower is spring beauty, 

Rue anemone is an improbably delicate and fairly numerous presence along nature trails.

Trout lily should feel welcome to bloom more than it does, but seems content to mostly form carpets of sterile single leaves, few of which mature into the two-leaved plants that bloom.

By now, the bloodroots have passed from blooming to fruiting stage. 

Nice to see some young bloodroots popping up through the leaf litter.

Some native spring ephemerals occur only in the less historically disturbed lands along the Princeton ridge, like Herrontown Woods. Wood anemone grows distinctive leaves with five leaflets. 

Update: Sadly, some plants have been removed from this post due to reports of plant theft in Herrrontown Woods. Uncommon plants tend to be adapted to particular soils and hydrology, so are unlikely to survive transplanting. Even if it were legal, it's a bad idea. 

Meanwhile, in the botanical art garden (Barden) next to the parking lot in Herrontown Woods, Rachelle planted some Virginia bluebells, which are very rarely seen growing naturally.

Wood phlox is another flower in this category, native but rarely seen in the wild. 

There are a couple nonnative wildflowers that are particularly noticeable blooming now in wild areas. This mustard, which I remember from travels in the english countryside, where whole fields were colored yellow by its blooms, was found growing along the gas pipeline right of way at Herrontown Woods. As plant lovers and dreamers, we sometimes envision a pipeline right of way becoming a corridor of native flowers and grasses. Reality tends to defeat this sort of dream, as the linear right of ways instead play host to the most tenacious of invasive plants--Phragmitis and mugwort.

Garlic mustard, a less tenacious invasive plant but worth pulling, has tasty leaves in early spring. A biennial, it blooms the second year, becoming less tasty as it matures. In this flowering stage, I pluck the flower heads, then pull the whole plant out of the ground, roots and all, the idea being to prevent it from producing seed and thus reducing future sproutings.

Some May Wildflowers

A random assembly of May wildflowers, some seen here, some there.

Fringe tree is more like a shrub, but sometimes achieves the size of a small dogwood. Give it some sun and it will fill its form with lacy white in May. Native to the southeast U.S., I've seen it growing in the wild only once, in a preserve we created in Durham, NC. Some internet postings say it can be attacked by the emerald ash borer, but we have two that are flourishing thus far.

This black cherry was blooming conveniently next to a friend's front porch. Black cherries have "black potato chip" bark and little black cherries preferred more by birds than humans. They are common in backyards and in the wild, thriving on edges or in younger forests, before getting shaded out by larger trees.

Two other flowering trees easy to spot along roadsides this time of year are black locust, with its masses of white flowers, and princess tree (Paulownia tomentosa), an asian species with tubular purple flowers.

Another friend who was donating a tree to us happened to have a Leucothoe in his backyard. A good specimen like this can be attractive. There are native species--one that goes by the name "doghobble"--but I can't say I've ever actually seen them growing in the wild.

Big-leafed magnolia--relative of the very common tulip tree--is one of many seldom seen native magnolias. There are some growing in an area of the Institute Woods in Princeton, but I had also seen one growing in Herrontown Woods a few years ago, some distance off one of the trails, downslope from the ridge. Not remembering where it was exactly, I wondered if I'd ever encounter it again. Then one day recently my friend Kurt was showing me some trail work that he and his wife Sally were doing. Our conversation, which began shifting from trails into philosophy and history, took me out of my usual way of moving through that particular section of trail, and when I looked up I saw in the distance the big-leafed magnolia, twice the size it was before and in full bloom.

Each flower is like a candle centered on a platter of leaves.

Surprised to see cuckoo flower still blooming,

and rue anemone, too, is having a long season in this cool spring weather.

Mayflower can cover the ground in leaves but few flowers, as is the habit with trout lily earlier in the spring.

Each leaf of Jack-in-the-Pulpit has three leaflets. Males have one leaf, while the females, arising from a more robust root with enough stored energy to support production of seeds, has two. Each individual plant can change sex, year to year.

Jack-in-the-Pulpits are fairly common, in part because deer often leave them alone. If they do browse the leaves, it's more often of the females, whose leaves may be more nutritious.

Golden ragwort in the field next to Veblen House,

growing in what looks like a field of grass, but in this small patch there is no grass but instead something unidentified, more like a sedge or rush.

Wild geranium adds some color along trails.

Fairly rare is the wild comfrey, with a few small flowers lifted above a rosette of big velvety leaves, growing only on the special soils of the ridge.

This cool, wet spring is showing the showy orchid to be more widespread along the ridge than I had previously thought.

A bellwort with its yellow flower hanging like a bell.

A bit of a celebration here. These are the first blooms of a native azalea relocated to a sunny area of our botanical garden next to the parking lot at Herrontown Woods. This species, once common along the ridge, has long been prevented from blooming in the wild due to deer browsing and deep shade.

Coralberry: Late-Bloomer in the Whole Earth Center Raingarden

The narrow little raingarden in front of the Whole Earth Center, along the Nassau Street sidewalk, is a bit of an anomaly. It flourishes beyond all expectation and despite several factors that could easily work against it. Portions of it are covered by a canopy, which means those areas receive no rain. And though I weed it periodically, do some thinning and trimming, and clean up any trash that blows in, there are others who take care of it as well. A professional landscape crew comes in each spring and lays down fresh mulch. I see signs now and then that someone on staff is also paying it some attention. That none of us communicate or coordinate would normally lead to problems, and yet it all works out.

There are, too, a few plants in the raingarden that wouldn't normally be considered ornamental. Fringed sedge and deertongue grass are wild natives, and yet provide a look of surprisingly attractive grassy opulence along the sidewalk's edge. And the native coralberry in these photos, taken a few weeks ago, makes a nice mound at the building's corner.

Bees, I discovered one day walking by, take an interest in coralberry deep into the fall.

A closer look was rewarded by this scene. Turns out the coralberry has its own brand of commerce--a sort of roadside stand set up in front of the Whole Earth Center, serving organic nectar to honeybees.

It's not coincidental that this native shrub looks reminiscent of the nonnative and frequently invasive honeysuckle shrubs. Both are in the family Caprifoliaceae. Grab your botanical latin books to find out the meaning buried in the scientific name, Symphoricarpos orbiculatus.

At the other end of the raingarden are the more mainstream native shrubs, favored for the showy flowers and bright fall colors that the coralberry doesn't deliver on. Fothergilla (witch alder) turns brilliant orange, contrasting with the purplish oak-leaved hydrangia behind it.

One nice trait of the corralberry for us lazy propagators is that it makes new plants when its branches touch the ground. Each can be dug and grown into a fullsize shrub. From old raingardens, new ones can be born.