An Iowa Garden

Delicate is a word that can seldom be used in our garden; any plant that remotely fits that description is usually chewed up and spit out by our inclement climate in short order. That is why I am quite beside myself seeing this little darling rising up from the still half-frozen soil to check out spring in Iowa. It was planted last year, a tiny little cluster of grey-green leaves, which on the first hot day promptly disappeared... was it going dormant, or was it D-E-D; one never knows in these cases. So, it's a delight seeing it back and blooming. It's Eranthis stellata; the genus eranthis is in the buttercup family and has eight species, all native to Asia except for Eranthis hyemalis, the only one that is well known to gardeners (it's the winter aconite and native to southern Europe). Even winter aconite is not that often seen, so I am intrigued by reading that it supposedly has naturalised in North America... in fact some claim "widely naturalized". Well, I admit I don't get out enough, but when I think about it, I can't ever remember seeing Eranthis hyemalis in anybody else's garden, let alone taking over a vacant lot. Whether that's because nobody else plants it (you won't find it at Lowe's), or whether it doesn't persist around here, or whether it's just that it's so tiny and transient and early that I haven't seen it, I don't know... I'm usually not invited over for garden tours when there are still patches of snow on the ground, when winter aconite is blooming. In addition to Eranthis hyemalis, one occasionally sees a slightly larger species, Eranthis cilicica offered, and very rarely, at a dear price, one sees Eranthis cilicica X hyemalis (E. Guinea Gold) for sale.
The above picture of Eranthis stellata shows the whole thing: it just puts up a little cluster of reddish stems, each topped by a small collar of greyish-green leaves, with a single tiny white flower in the center. It probably is tougher than it looks, as it is native to S.E. Russia, North Korea, and northern China. It certainly is, however, a delicate looking little treasure... in fact, beyond delicate.

A few days ago I showed Eranthis stellata, and opined that I couldn't imagine a more delicate little flower blooming in the open in our garden... that was before it's cousin from the mountains of Japan, Eranthis pinnatifida, opened its wee blooms. I especially like the metallic-lavender centers of these small, white flowers. The little collarette of greyish green leaves will expand slightly with time, but still, the whole effect is liliputian. It's easy for a diminutive plant like this to get 'lost" in a garden setting; I really need to find a nice, grey rock to place behind it to set it off. The temperatures at night have been down to twenty degrees with heavy frost, so Eranthis pinnatifida is tougher than it looks.

Yesterday was improbably cold and bitter, with a thin blanket of new snow in the morning, stinging sleet driven by swirling winds in the afternoon, and a high temperature barely above freezing... not the most propitious day to take the camera out to the garden to find what's in bloom. However, this little flower, Shibateranthis pinnatifida, has been out for a week, shyly and bravely just poking through the brown leaf litter. In its native land of Japan its common name is Setsubun-so, meaning literally day before spring-flower ; an apt name if ever there was one. On the ancient Japanese lunar calendar (in use until 1873, when Japan adopted our modern, solar-based Julian calendar), Setsubun was the third day of the second lunar month, and was recognized as the end of winter; the holiday was kept when the Julian calendar came in, but Setsubun was re-set as the day before solar spring and "so" means flower or plant; hence Setsubun-so became the day before spring-flower .
The delicate appearance of this little Japanese alpine is deceiving, because in fact it blooms in nature (and in our garden) just at the edge of the receding snow. The leaves that ring the base of the flower seem almost an afterthought, looking far too small and frail to sustain the plant, being just a finely cut little collarette of bronze-green which wilts and disappears at the first puff of early summer's hot winds. The basilar leaves are almost more lovely and frail than the flowers, and soon also disappear in summer's heat.
The genus shibateranthis was split off from eranthis, with the seven Asian species being placed in the new genus (Shibateranthis pinnatifida, stellata, siberica, keiskei, uncinata, albiflora and longistipitata), leaving the two European species in the original eranthis genus (hyemalis and cilicica... the winter aconites). In our garden we do grow S. stellata, which is just starting to bloom, and we grow both of the winter aconites, which I need to start looking for amongst the dead leaves.
Seen closely, the tiny flowers of pinnatifida are quite fascinating; the white "petals" are actually sepals, while the little yellow protuberances are in fact structurally petals. The anthers are bright metallic blue and break open to release sticky white pollen granules, as you can see on the left side of the flower above. The stigmas in the center are light grape in color.
These miniature flowers will never be used in a spring bouquet; they are not going to be a cover subject for any gardening magazine; you'll not see them featured in garden catalogs... but they do wonders for the spirit on a gray and wintry day in Iowa.

Eranthis hyemalis and cilicica (the two species of winter aconite) have been charming little residents of our early spring garden for many years. This year they were joined by Eranthis x tubergenii 'Guinea Gold', a hybrid between the two species just listed, which has larger, deeper gold flowers. Apparently there are impostors that are sold that are hybrids as noted, but not the specfic selected clone of that cross that is truthfully called 'Guinea Gold'. I'm a little suspicious of my purchase, as the true 'Guinea Gold' should have bronzish foliage; I think mine did at first, but has now faded to light green. My bulb does show astonishing vigor, and very large flowers (well, large in this case is relative; the flowers are the size of a quarter). So, it may be the real thing; time will tell, as the true 'Guinea Gold' is a sterile hybrid.
I'm now envisioning a raised, rocky spot covered with these bright little sunbeams, interlaced with an early, deep purple crocus... oh, yeah!