I Found My Thrill

Even casual readers of this blog will have gathered that Ruth and I are wildflower enthusiasts. Often, I remember hikes that we’ve done by recalling particularly memorable flowers. I might not remember the name of the trail, but I’ll say, “You know, the one with blue-eyed mary,” and Ruth will say “Taylor Hollow.” Or, “You know, that hike where it rained and I was miserable, but then we saw that flame azalea,” and Ruth will say, “Curry Mountain.”

After years of hiking in the Tennessee Valley, we got to the point that we knew many of the local wildflower hot spots, and even began to time visits so that we could see particular displays, such as the Virginia bluebells on the Sinks Trail at Monte Sano State Park in Huntsville or French’s shooting star at Cane Creek Canyon Nature Preserve.

When we moved to western North Carolina last year, we arrived after the peak of the spring ephemerals, and what with the hurly-burly of moving and getting established, we didn’t get out on the trails as much as we would have liked. However, we were ready to see what WNC had to offer by spring 2022, so we hit the trails more frequently. It turns out that WNC is a little slower to reveal its charms, as compared to north Alabama, but that’s probably due to the higher altitude here.

There was one wildflower in particular we were keen to see — the gorgeous painted trillium (Trillium undulatum). We had noticed on a late-summer hike on the Pink Beds Loop trail obvious trilliums with relatively large scarlet fruit, which we tentatively identified as painted trillium, and made mental notes to come back in the spring to confirm our theory. After a visit to Pearson’s Falls in Saluda (which we’ll write about in a separate post) in early April, in which we saw three different trillium species in bloom (but not painted trilliums), we guessed that it must be trillium season so we planned a return trip to Pink Beds. But before then, we wanted to knock off another hike in the Conserving Carolina White Squirrel hiking challenge — a return trip to Upper Whitewater Falls. We had previously hiked here in September 2021, before the hiking challenge was officially underway, so this was just a formality so we could check it off the list.

Our return to Upper Whitewater Falls on April 15 began with the usual pause to admire this stunning waterfall at the second (lower) observation deck before we left the crowds to continue our descent to the Whitewater River on the spur trail that connects to the Foothills trail. To be honest, we weren’t terrifically excited about this hike as it was familiar ground to us, but it was a beautiful day and we were feeling good.

And then, serendipity struck. Our previous hike here was in the fall, and we didn’t notice that the trail was just festooned with wildflowers. We were barely off the observation platform before I spotted trailing arbutus clinging to some rocks, and halberd leaf yellow violets were abundant.

The trail soon began a series of switchbacks on its way into the gorge, and as we came around a bend, to my delighted surprise I spotted my personal favorite among the trillium species, a stand of Catesby’s trilliums (Trillium catesbaei). This is a demure little beauty, with the flower hanging below the leaves, and the pink (or sometimes white) petals recurving, as if it is peering up at you bashfully. In fact, one common name for this wildflower is bashful wakerobin, and it’s also called a rose trillium due to its delicate color.

Just moments after finding this stand of Catesby’s trilliums, we came across a stand of yellow trilliums. With its mottled leaves and the flower sitting on top, this is an example of another main trillium subgenus, the sessile trilliums.

These were two lovely finds, but as it turns out these were far from isolated stands. The spur trail joined the Foothills Trail, and as we continued down into the gorge there were numerous examples of yellow and Catesby’s trilliums, nearly the entire length of the trail segment down to the Whitewater River. They often grew next to each other, and each stand of flowers seemed better than the last.

We were so taken aback at this abundance of trilliums that we gave scant attention to other more familiar wildflowers in the white and green palette, such as foamflower and false Solomon’s seal and sweet white violet and wood anemone. But they too were part of this botanical symphony, and a most welcome sight.

This hike had far exceeded our expectations, but as it turned out there was another astonishment to come. At a bend in the trail, I spotted a dash of color off to the left and upon investigation found the first of several Vasey’s trilliums (Trillium vaseyi) that we would see toward the bottom of the gorge. This brilliant dark red variety with lush petals is a real stunner.

At this point, the song sprung unbidden to my lips: “I found my thrill on trillium hill.” Technically, we were descending the northeast slope of Grassy Knob, but forever this shall be known to me as Trillium Hill.

Finally, we reached the bottom of the gorge, at about .75 miles, where we found the river tumbling along nicely among the boulders, with the steel bridge still in place over it (albeit still requiring a rock scramble to reach it). Since we had already done that part of the hike, we turned back here and headed uphill. Though the trilliums had petered out just below the bottom of the gorge, there were still a few other wildflowers in bloom near the river — cancer root, quaker ladies, and wild oats. And sharp-eyed Ruth spotted a very nice jack in the pulpit.

The ascent back to the parking lot seemed to fly by, as we knew we’d get another chance to admire the trilliums along the way. We had crossed another hike off the White Squirrel challenge, but got so much more out of this hike than just a checkmark.

No doubt, I’ll be recalling this hike at some point in the future, and will say, “You know, trillium hill,” and Ruth will say “Upper Whitewater Falls,” and we’ll both smile fondly. We probably won’t remember that we didn’t see a single painted trillium. And we never even missed them.

The Power of Three: Trillium Walk at the Huntsville Botanical Garden

For some people, it’s not spring until they have seen their first bluebird.  For others, spring hasn’t sprung until you don’t have to cover up your daffodils to protect them from frost.  For me, the sure sign of spring is the sight of a trillium in bloom.

We’ve mentioned a few times that Ruth is quite fond of bluebells, and we really enjoy our spring walks and the wildflowers that dot the trailsides.  They have become old friends to us — from the showy phloxes, shooting stars, and trout lilies to even the humble unwanted grape hyacinth — but the wildflower that always catches our attention has three leaves, and if in bloom, three sepals and three petals.  Around here, we have a pretty good representation of the trillium genus, with Sweet Betsy, twisted trillium, and lemon trillium growing in profusion on many local trails.  On our visits to the Smokies, we’ve also enjoyed large-flowered trillium, the glorious painted trillium, and my personal favorite, the diminutive charmer known as Catesby’s trillium.

Various maladies, work schedules, social engagements, and uncooperative weather have kept us off the trails these last few weeks, so I was rarin’ to go when I had a small window of time to attend a plant ID walk of the trillium collection at the Huntsville Botanical Garden.  Ruth and I have been to the Garden several times this spring, and we always make a beeline for the Holmes Trillium Garden to see what’s in bloom.  The plant ID walk was free with admission to the garden, and I knew that the guide for this particular walk would be a special treat — none other than Mr. Harold Holmes, the person responsible for starting the trillium collection at the HBG.

I joined a small group in the Visitor’s Center and Harold struck up a conversation with me, asking me what I knew about trilliums.  I knew three things about trilliums, I said, and after telling him those three things I found out that one of them was wrong!  So I knew I was going to learn a lot, which was great news.

As is often the case in the Rocket City, Harold was a retired missile guy who was looking for a hobby.  His wife said she wanted him to plant some native trilliums around the house, and he did some research and found the topic to be so fascinating that he built an amazing trillium garden at his house.  Actually, he didn’t volunteer that much about his own personal garden, but I’ve heard about it from some of the “grubbers” — volunteers at the HBG.  Anyway, he approached the HBG about starting a trillium collection in 2006.  He explained what he had in mind, and mentioned that it might take a while to get a good collection started, since it can take 7-10 years for a trillium to mature enough to bloom.  The HBG management eyed him warily and asked him what would happen to the collection if he didn’t live that long.  That’s a flinty bunch, those garden managers!  Luckily for all of us, Harold is still applying his scientific skills to the study of the genus, and the HBG has the nation’s most extensive collection of eastern North American trilliums.  Yep — we’re number one!

Twisted toadshade (Trillium stamineum)

I could use the cliche and say that Harold has forgotten more than I’ll ever know about trilliums, but that’s not true — I don’t think he’s forgotten anything.  We walked down to the Mathews Nature Trail trillium collection as Harold told us that there are two main types of trilliums — toadshades (subgenus Phyllanthereum), which have mottled leaves and flowers that do not grow on stalks; and wake-robins (subgenus Trillium), which do not have mottled leaves, and have flowers that grow on stalks.  The most common ones I’ve seen on the trails in north Alabama are the trillium cuneatum (Sweet Betsy) and trillium stamineum (twisted trillium).

Harold pointed out several specimens in bloom, and told us that the collection that is known as the Holmes Trillium Garden is actually made up of several smaller collections.  Some are memorial gifts to the Garden, some are donated by other trillium enthusiasts, and some are special purpose collections used for research.  A few of them are candidates to be declared as new species, or are rare.  At the time of my visit, more of the toadshades were in bloom, such as the lemon, reclining, and Louisiana toadshades.  Toadshades vary quite a bit, from flower color (Louisiana is bi-colored, for example) to leafstalk height (reclining grows just barely above the ground), to leaf shape (lance-leaf has pointier leaves).  Most toadshade leaves are mottled and fade after pollination, but not so for the splotch-leaf toadshade.  And for some species, the flower odor is a telling characteristic — either pleasantly fragrant (Sweet Betsy) or pungently fetid (stinking toadshade).  Odors are very fleeting, though, and can usually only be detected during pollination (just a few days) and on warm days.  And though trilliums generally follow the rules, Nature is chaotic — some trilliums can actually have more than three leaves, and a few species break the mottled leaves/no flower stalk pattern.

This was much more than a plant ID walk, though.  Harold told us about his research in propagation of trilliums, growing them from seeds or by manipulating the rhizome to encourage growth.  He has in some cases gotten plants to flower in about half the usual time.  He had placed a few posters along the walk to show some of this process, and had a tub full of 3-year-old “babies,” showing their characteristic three leaves but years away from blooming.  It turns out that what I had thought was the entire trillium collection was only one part, as there are many more trillium beds toward the back of the garden, north of the Bush Azalea Trail.  These research collections are the site of science in action, as various propagation techniques are trialled here.  Trilliums are also raised in the Garden’s greenhouses, for scientific research, for display, and more than a few for the Garden’s annual plant sale (coming up April 13-15, with an early-bird day on April 12 for Garden members).

I learned so much in two hours!  Harold’s self-deprecating sense of humor, personified in the “Trillaholic” cap he was wearing, kept things entertaining, and it was a privilege to listen to someone so enthusiastic and knowledgeable.  I know a lot more than three things about trilliums now — such as they can live 50-70 years, deer love to eat them, and ants are crazy about trillium seeds.

Bent wake-robin (Trillium flexipes)

And as it turned out, it was my lucky day.  Harold had potted two bent wake-robins as door prizes, and thanks to my sharing a birth month with him, I was a lucky winner!  After getting some tips on how to transplant it (I mean seriously — when a trillaholic gives you a specimen from the nation’s best trillium collection, you’d better not go home and bungle it), I brought my prize home and promptly planted it on a north-facing slope, near some azaleas (Harold tends to pop trilliums near azaleas in the Garden).

So word to the wise — the first two weeks of April tend to be the peak time for seeing trilliums in Garden.  Let’s hope for good weather!