Well, I suppose that I should start this blog with a confession of my ugliest plant sin.  Whenever I see this picture, I feel a stab of guilt.  I killed this plant- probably one in a million.  

I'm a total bastard.

For years, my friend Janet had been raving about a variegated Veratrum viride that she'd seen with friends in the Cascade Mountains of Washington.  In late June of 2011, we decided to see if we could find it.  Her sense of direction and memory of places and place names isn't particularly solid, so I was not particularly hopeful.

As we wound through a paved forest service road at about fourth thousand feet in elevation, we caught glimpses of Lilium columbianum here and there.  We stopped briefly to check out some Calochortus subalpinus by a road sign- truly lovely.  The overstory changed from Douglas fir to Abies amabalis - probably with some A. procera mixed in.

Abruptly, we turned a corner to find a three-foot-deep snowdrift covering the road.  Cursing, I walked out on the drift for a hundred yards or so to peer around the corner. There was no way that we'd get through it.  After some of our usual bickering, we decided to head home and return in two weeks.


In July, we returned to find the drift gone.  A mile or two further up the road, however, yet more snow blocked our progress. This time, we were not to be deterred.  I still can't believe we didnt' get stuck up there, but we rammed through a nasty patchy of snow, slush and ice to make it through to the next patch of bare road.  We found the meadow that she had described, so I became more hopeful. (I also had to revise my opinion of Janet's memory and directional abilities.)  It was still covered in about a foot of snow, however, so we were going to have to try yet again.

Finally, in late July, we were back in the meadow at the right time.  The Vertatrums were a foot to three feet high- when the foliage is at its most exquisite stage.  Even typical plants without the variegation are pretty spectacular- they have broad, pleated leaves that are quite dramatic.  I can't believe more people don't grow these in their gardens.  Maybe it has something to do with them being violently poisonous and teratogenic or something...  In fact, a sister species, Veratrum californicum, is being investigated as a chemotherapy drug.  It has an alkaloid in it called cyclopine- named for its tendency to create cyclops lambs if the ewes eat the plant  during particular stages of pregnancy.  Seriously poisonous shit...

The meadow covers maybe ten acres, so we began searching for the variegated individual.  She remembered that it had been located on the South edge of the meadow, so that is where we concentrated our search.  It didn't take long.

You just don't expect to see something so strikingly unnatural right there in the middle of the regular Northwest summer greenery.  It jumped out at me...  the creamy yellow stripes were absolutely luminous.  I stood speechless for a second- Janet was a few yards away.

"Uh," was all I managed to say.

She came over and marveled at how it had not changed at all in the seven years since she'd seen it last.  That indicated to me that it was probably a pretty stable variegation.  (Many such variegations prove unstable in cultivation and revert to regular green in a few years.)

It pains me to talk about having dug it- in fact I don't think I can deal with describing that part.  In retrospect, I should have waited until fall when it was dormant.  I should have potted it up differently, kept it much more moist, and babied the hell out of it.  At the time, it seemed best to put it in the garden, where its roots would be kept cool by being down in the soil versus being in some container.

It was fine for perhaps a month.  Then there was a hot spell of maybe 100 degrees.  I remember going out one morning to see the foliage totally dead.  I assumed that it had simply gone dormant- they do that in the summer, after all.

The next spring, I waited anxiously for the striped leaves to begin poking up through the soil.  They never did.  Honestly, I tell you- I feel gross just writing this.


I suppose that some readers will instantly take a righteous conservationist stance and aim their disgust at me for being a pillaging, patriarchal so-and-so.  After all, "If everyone went out there and dug stuff up, just think of the mess we would have!"  Whatever.  This isn't a rare species, by any stretch.  In my view, digging a plant like that carries a risk of its death...  it also carries with it the chance that such a sublime mutant will find its way into our gardens.  Not enough of our native plants are grown- and spectacular forms like this would go a long way toward promoting interesting native plant gardening.

With all of that said...  this remains my single greatest plant sin.  I killed this unique freak of nature.  Sometimes I go out and stare at that little pad of soil in my garden- all of the little herbs that came with it- the Mitellas and the impossible Erythronium montanum- are still alive and come up to torment me in the spring. 

And so...  somehow, despite my ugly, mechanistic world-view...  I will find a way to make it up to you, my precious, slain beauty.