We have huge patch of Mayapples growing in our woods. To date we have made no attempt to move any of them to our shade garden near the road. The problem is with their growth habit that I have only read about. Apparently all of these plants are connected by shallow roots that serve to transport nourishment harvested by a single deep root. Without that tap root any transplant will perish. We have encountered that problem with other native plants. Wintergreen is just such a plant. Written words describe a method for its successful transplantation. One must expose the runner root just under the soil surface and sever it on both sides of the desired plant. A marking flag attached to a wire will aid in finding the chosen plant the following year when a deeper root may have formed.
This newly opened flower caught my eye. Having no idea of just what the name of this plant is, we will wait for Becky's return from her visit to New Paltz to identify this plant. Without anything other than a quick look at the photo, Becky identified this as a Red elderberry and reported that the deer feed on this plant unmercifully. We will soon return to see just how these flowers present themselves.
Just how plants are named is a subject rarely encountered in books. Trout lily is the only plant where the naming process is known here. In one of his many essays, John Burroughs describes his issue with two common names of a native treasure. Dog's Tooth Violet or Adder's Tongue both seemed just wrong to him. The flower in question is a lily as shown by its flower parts so identifying it as a violet would never do. Any similarity to the interior of a snake's mouth seemed indefensible. Burroughs suggested Trout Lily as a more appropriate name.
This pictured plant is frequently called Stinking Benjamin for reasons that remain unknown to me. An unpleasant odor of the flower is possible but once again kneeling on the muddy ground to take a sniff did not seem wise to me today. If a flower is seen higher up on the bank, a sniff test might be made. That still leaves the connection to Benjamin unknown. Wake Robin is another somewhat common name for this plant but it does not prompt a smile that frequently accompanies uttering "Stinking Benjamin".
At a greater distance from the road, White trilliums cover the ground in impressive numbers. These plants are just getting started opening their flowers so this picture showing mostly green will likely fail to excite anyone. New posted signs have been placed so we remain on the public road.
This is another photo that most people would see as little more than something green. For reasons that remain elusive, Bloodroot grows only in one small piece of this wooded hillside. Its flowers are always very short lived and harsh weather prevented the formation of any seed pods this year. Since our visits to these woods have been nearly daily this year, the lack of seeds is an accurate observation. At home our plants failed to open a single flower but some of the old seeds are pushing up new small leaves. Fortunately we find that incredibly exciting.
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We picked a red trillium we found in our woods many years ago. We put it in a bud vase on the counter near the bathroom door. We accused each other of stinking up the bathroom, and then we wondered if a critter had died under the crawlspace. That's how we learned it's Stinking Benjamin. It smells like skunk.
Good to know about the Mayapples. I've never tried to plant or transplant them, but we have so many on this lot. Re: the Stinking Benjamin...yes, it does stink, like rotten meat...as a pollination technique. I often see flies on it. You have some awesome plants there.
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