4,629 feet up - Max Patch Bald

Today I spent the afternoon in Madison County, walking the Max Patch loop. Max Patch, for those of you who have not experience it, is an Appalachian Bald, which is a mountain top that is completely barren of vegetation over six inches tall. From the top of Max Patch you have an uninterrupted 360 degree view of the Appalachian Mountains from Mt. Mitchell to the Great Smokies. The best part is, all the surrounding mountains are undeveloped. Oh they may have a house or two here and there, but it is a far cry from sights like Reynolds Mountain in North Asheville that is completely covered in million dollar mansions.
Max Patch is only one of several balds that top mountains in our region. The precise cause of these balds is unknown, but it is thought that seasonal forest fires may have originally left the mountains bald. It is known, however that many of the balds were used first by the Native Americans and then by the settlers to graze livestock and grow food.
For me, being on top of the world on a day like today was food for my soul. The first wildflowers I glimpsed as I dashed into the woods to heed mother nature's call (it's quite a drive from downtown Asheville) were Mayapples. None were in bloom and the leaves were quite droopy thanks to our late spring frost (see earlier post). But, nestled behind the tree I was using was a clump of sessile Trillium, none of which had opened yet, but bade well for my day on the bald.
The first half mile of the trip was exhilarating. With my two-year-old son on my back, I encountered several blanketed slopes of Spring Beauty (Claytonia virginica) mixed in with Giant Chickweed (Stellaria pubera) which has the interesting characteristic of a five-petaled flower that looks like ten petals: the petals are deeply cut, making them look like two.
Then I saw it, a little yellow face nodding down with black freckles and petals that curl back up towards the sky: The American Trout lily (Erythronium americanum). A little cluster of the flowers, thick, mottled leaves covering the ground. I had thought I'd missed out on all the Trout lilies. Most of the ones down at my elevation in Asheville had already passed, but these were in full bloom. Later on down the trail, I came across a huge colony of the lovely little ladies, but most of the flowers had been spent and only a few solitary heads hung above the mottled leaves. I can only imagine what that hundred square feet must have looked like when all those beautiful flowers had been in bloom. Then, just a few feet past the Trout lily colony, I found a little outpost of Downy Rattlesnake Orchid leaves. None had flowers, but just knowing that the white, squarish-veined leaves would sprout Orchids made my heart flutter.
Needless to say, I enjoyed myself thoroughly up on that bald mountain. My son Jackson seemed to enjoy it as much as I did, though I can say he was markedly less interested in the flowers.

Heaven on a Mountain

I visited the home and garden of Peter Gentling this past week and saw what a garden can be. He has 20 acres of the most pristene mountain garden I've ever seen. The garden path stretches down the mountain in little curves and cut-backs, creating nooks and surprise beds all the way down the slope. There were too many amazing plants for me to even go into detail, but suffice to say, there was nothing lacking. Unfortunately, this late frost hit him hard. Nearly all of his Japanese Maples were killed back to the trunk and a couple may have been destroyed completely. Although he said he hadn't checked yet, he was afraid that his 120 ft., 60 year old Dawn Redwoods might have suffered a fatal blow, as well. Hostas were turned to mush. Not a single azalea blossom survived the extened 16 degree F freeze or the 40mph winds. A fatal combination. It was the worst late frost damage he'd seen in his 40 years on the mountain.
Peter's native flower garden was not what you would call spectacular, but to a hortophyte, like myself, it was heavenly. Many of the flowers were dead or wilting or were not open, or had just opened. But he had Mayapples, at least four different species of Trillium, bloodroot, a double petaled bloodroot, Oconee bells, wild ginger, and so many more I can't remember them all. It was a beautiful sight.

Late Spring Frost

April 17th.

Two weekends ago we had a devastating late frost. It came in after all of the trees had set flower buds and my shrubs were showing new growth and my garden was just starting to look alive and colorful. My hyacinths had come up and I could smell them from anywhere in the front yard. I'd just planted heather, thrift, a Cardinal flower, native Lupine, Blue Moon Phlox, and my Foxglove seeds had just sprouted tiny seedlings, all tender and ready for spring. Luckily, by covering everything with all the sheets in my house, I was able to save most of it, though as I pruned all the dead leaves today, I can see that I've definitely taken some losses. My Pieris, whom I call Pierre, took the hardest hit. He had put out a swarm of new growth that was just as green as grass and he was looking healthier than I've ever seen him. After pruning back the dead leaves today, he looks like a Charlie Brown Christmas tree. A sad, sad sight. Ah well. With a little luck and some sunny, warm days ahead, he should bouncy back by the end of summer. As for my gardenia, I just don't know what to do with her. She has more black leaves than green and I can't tell if its the soil she's in that she doesn't like, or if she was just coming out of dormancy when the cold struck and killed her back. She hadn't put out any new growth since last year, but since the cold snap, she is looking mighty bad.
My potato sprouts died of course, but it looks like the onion, kale and lettuce seedlings may make it. Good old hardy veggies. We shall see, I suppose.