Why Is It I Adore Skunk Cabbage So?

I grew up in rural, northern Maryland, just south of the Mason-Dixon Line in a town called Street, yes Street…not “A” street, but the town of Street.

At the time, I thought my parents were torturing us because everyone else lived in what we used to call a “development” when we lived in the “country”. We had no neighbor kids to play with, so we had to make our own fun…outdoors. Imagine children actually playing outdoors.

A novel idea, eh?

We were fortunate, although I didn’t realize it at the time, to have oldfields – a somewhat over grown or second stage meadow – to frolic in and a virgin beech forest in which we spent our summer days. There was a stream to hunt for crayfish and salamanders in the summer and ice skate around rocks and logs (we loved a challenge) in winter.

We built many forts, some temporary and some permanent. We ran through the forest barefoot, although I will admit always being fearful of snakes. Played in the meadow, along with the beef cows that called it home. The cows were our neighbors. We tried to play with them, but cows aren’t very playful. We teased and ran from the bulls, running so fast and escaping over the barbed wire fence just in time.

I have the scars to prove it.

Growing up in this environment was normal to me. I collected May apples (Podophyllum peltatum), the leaves of skunk cabbage and tirelessly tried to use trout lilies (Erythronium americanum) in flower arrangements for my mom as I repeatedly watched them wither in my hand as I walked from the forest to our house. This was all part of life for me.

I didn’t realize how lucky I was.

When I was four, my parents and aunt claim, although there are no pictures to prove it, that while we were camping in western Maryland, I acquired a pet moss. That’s right, moss. I picked up a piece of moss and carried it around, petting it and feeding it and talking to it during our camping expedition.

I was an only child at the time and the only child on the trip…I needed a friend.

Is this sad or cool? Am I weird? (Don’t answer that)

As an adult, I try to give my children the same experiences and I bet, if my parents had forced things on me like I force things on my children, I would not have been nearly as intrigued as I was, discovering these things all on my own.

My mom pointed out the skunk cabbage and the May apples to me, so I’ve known about them since I was a young child. My mom loved May apples – maybe that’s because she was born in May. She didn’t like the smell of the skunk cabbage leaves. That made me want to rub them even more…he-he.

My dad knew the animals, he showed us how to catch and safely release crayfish and salamanders. He taught us how to spot poisonous snakes in the woods. He helped us catch our box turtles each year for the annual box turtle race on July 4th.

Didn’t everyone have a box turtle race?

Mom had to feed the turtles we caught and she was the one who got up in the middle of the night to release the fireflies we captured and tried to keep as pets, because they were making scary noises in our room.

We had a good thing going. I try desperately to incorporate all of these things into my kid’s lives, but its much more work for me than it was for my parents.

Each spring, about this time, I stop the car and make my son walk the stream banks to see the first skunk cabbage. He loves it and looks forward to it each year. The leaves smell like skunk – what seven year-old boy wouldn’t love that?

I get so excited to see their leaves emerge. It makes my day. Somehow, that signals the official start of spring. And for some reason, it reassures me everything’s all right in the world.

I think skunk cabbage is way cooler than any hosta – plus they are native. There is an eastern species, a western species and an Asian species. The eastern species has a white flower (actually a spathe) and both the western and Asian have yellow flowers (also a spathe).

Sure, they need pretty specific growing conditions, but that makes them even more coveted. I remember touring Arboretum Trompenburg, in Rotterdam, The Netherlands many years ago (note to self: really need to get back there soon). They have a stream that is lined in a very ornamental way, with the yellow flowered, Asian version. This is the only “ornamental” use I’ve come across in all of my travels.

A skunk cabbage lesson, if you will:

Symplocarpus foetidus, grows in eastern North America.

Western Skunk Cabbage, Lysichiton americanus, grows in western North America.

Asian Skunk Cabbage, Lysichiton camtschatcense, grows in eastern Asia.

It’s so awesome, especially if you happen to be there when they are in bloom in late winter – it’s quite a sight.

Skunk cabbage is cool for many reasons. Most notably, for its ability to generate temperatures of up to 50-80°F above air temperature by cyanide resistant cellular respiration in order to melt its way through frozen ground, making it one of the very few plants to exhibit thermogenesis.

Although it often flowers in snow and ice, insects that emerge in late winter successfully pollinate skunk cabbage. Studies suggest the production of this heat not only allows the plant to grow in places where it might not be truly hardy, but the heat may help to spread its odor in the air. Carrion-feeding insects that are attracted to the scent may be enticed to enter the spathe because it is warmer than the surrounding air, increasing pollination.

Who knew skunk cabbage, a plant with a most unfortunate name, was so smart?

Once, I even taught a native plant flower arranging class at the Native Plants in The Landscape Conference and guess what?

That’s right…. we used skunk cabbage leaves. Everyone was grossed out at first, but they learned to love the glossy, architecture of the leaves.

Just don’t crush it…

So many things excite me in the spring; pruning roses, looking to see if perennials survived the winter, cutting back ornamental grasses, the emerging stalks of false indigo (Baptisia australis), which I’m happy to report is the 2010 Perennial Plant of The Year, and now you know a strange little secret about something else that excites me.

I adore me some skunk cabbage. Maybe I am weird, but at least I’m honest!

Sadly, I don’t have any stinky plants to introduce to you this week, but I do have one that surprises everyone who grows it. I would like to introduce you all to Astilbe ‘Delft Lace’, brought to us from those clever, plant finding folks at AB-Cultivars in The Netherlands.

This is no ordinary astilbe. I’ve killed many ordinary astilbe. No, my friends, this is one heck of an amazing astilbe and you MUST try it.

I spotted this new selection on my first visit to AB-Cultivars in 2006. The plants had been forced into bloom for my visit and they were magnificent. I ran over to the pots to see if they were real.

Being much more of an astilbe killer than an astilbe lover, I was intrigued by the deeply lobed, lacy, deep, bluish-green foliage. That was just the beginning. This astilbe had a silver overlay that really made it look like a cyclamen, at least that was what it looked like in The Netherlands, the land of milk and honey for perennials.

Would it look the same here in the US?

The blooms of this new selection were beefy and full, much like that of the ever-popular selection ‘Visions’. I like Visions because it can actually handle some sun and the foliage is just as pretty in the summer as it is when it emerges in the spring.

Delft Lace is a tough, vigorous selection too and when it came to the states, much to my dismay, the silver overlay all but disappeared, but wait…an even better trait emerged.

Given some sun, the leaves of Delft Lace turn burgundy, like the deepest burgundy of purple leaved bugbane (Cimicifuga racemosa ). Some astilbes leaf out with purple-ish red leaves, but I don’t know of one that continues with burgundy leaves all summer, especially when planted in full sun.

Delft Lace was one of our first introductions, but it is just now catching on with the growers. You will see this one for sale this year in many garden centers and home stores. If you’d like to try one, let me know and we can try to send you a bare root to plant before it is too late.

Happy egg dying and chocolate eating this weekend!

Remember to dye your eggs with those freshly picked beets at the farmer’s market. It turns them a lovely shade of magenta and spinach, which my son said made them look like pea soup.

Good times and happy weeding!

Angela Treadwell Palmer
President, Plants Nouveau