In the Dakotas they call them "prairie crocus'. Elsewhere you usually hear them called pasqueflowers, although I think the ones this year at the Gardens will mostly be done blooming by Easter...these near relations to Anemone</em> are irresistible to anyone who loves puppies, kittens and things that are cuddly, adorable and soft. One or another kind of pasqueflower is found on plains, tundra and mountain meadows across the northern hemisphere: dozens of names can be found in floras, and hundreds of variants in every color from yellow and vermilion through the spectrum of lavenders, purples and near blues and of course crystalline whites. You can't beat the furry lavender of our native Pulsatilla patens</em>, which ranges across much of the central and northern United States and Canada. Alas, our native gem is hard to grow. But this nearly twin plant from eastern Europe has graced my garden for nearly ten years. Pulsatilla halleri</strong></em> also comes in a violet purple shade: although that is a dazzling color, I go for this lavender any time! I've heard it said that Horticulture is the slowest of the performing arts, and watching this furry diva emerge in late winter, gradually come into bloom and finally sport its shimmering head of seeds (you shall have to take that on faith: I don't have pix of that yet!)...well that's part of the magic of gardening, don't you agree? Denver Botanic Gardens has exemplified transformation in recent years. what plant better embodies the magic of change more elegantly than pasqueflower? We can enjoy this spectacle from March in the lower foothills all the way to July when I have found vast fields of pasqueflowers in full bloom on Medicine Bow Pass in Wyoming, or on the high tundra of the Collegiate Peaks in central Colorado. I have more pictures of true crocuses and pasqueflowers and maybe snowdrops than any kind of plant: each spring comes and I have to get just a few more pictures, maybe these will be the ones that capture that incredible furry beauty on the petals, on the leaves. There are societies for roses, carnivorous plants, alpines: heck, even gladiolus and daffodils have their society. Let's declare a society of Pasqueflower devotees, and I'll sign up right away!</p>
</p> So begins a poem by the great 20th Century French Poet Guillaume Apollinaire (see below). I hasten to point out that the plants depicted (blooming right now at Denver Botanic Gardens) are technically not heathers (Calluna vul</em>garis--a single species from Northern Europe) but heath (Erica</em>--an astronomically larger group with hundreds of species mostly in South Africa). They're all very closely related, so let's not get too technical with common names, now. The pictured species from central and eastern Europe (Erica carnea</em>) is notable for many reasons: it is by far the hardiest of heathers, the one that loves limy soils and thrives in Colorado with only a modicum of supplemental irrigation: and best of all it blooms much of the late winter and spring. </p> </p> Erica carnea 'Vivelli' in Rock Alpine Garden</p> I've been disappointed in a few plants this spring: some of the bulbs have passed too quickly, and with our polar cold (-22F at my house) there has been winter damage, albeit far less than I feared. But the winter heaths are simply spectacular. I am distressed that plants that thrive so manifestly, that we have shown off so superbly at Denver Botanic Gardens for so many decades have literally languished in undeserved and pitiful obscurity, while Box Stores and even our noble local garden centers stock so many plants (how shall I put it tactfully?) of lesser merit. Considerably</strong> lesser</em> merit....ahem!</p> Fear not! You can buy these from many sources mail order! A great way to get plants, by the way (and with Paypal and the new convenient computer programs, you can be bankrupt in no time at all!). If you didn't get it, I linked the very best source subliminally at the start of this paragraph...</p> Now let's get back to literature: clear your throat, lean back and proclaim (in your very best French):</p> L’adieu </strong> </p> J'ai cueilli ce brin de bruyère L'automne est morte souviens-t'en Nous ne nous verrons plus sur terre Odeur du temps Brin de bruyère Et souviens-toi que je t'attends</p> Farewell</strong></p> I have plucked this sprig of heather / Remember herein that autumn has died / We shall never again see one another / Whiff of that time--a sprig of heather / And I still wait for you--remember! </p> Guillaume Apollinaire</p> </p>
