Text and photos by Adam Bigelow reporting for Native Plant News Spring 2025 and adapted from Smoky Mountain News
Spring has fully sprung across Southern Appalachia and we are awakened daily to birdsong and the bustling morning activity of bees and butterflies.
Flowers are blooming in a progression like a great parade along the trail, lacking only a broadcaster’s color commentary: “And here come the trilliums, all decked out in their finest shades of red, white, and pink. And oh, don’t the larkspurs look splendid?”
But, what is Spring? That word certainly means a whole lot of different things to different people, anything from a metal coil, to a source of water, to jumping over something. Of course, spring is the season of growth and renewal. One thing that most all definitions of spring contain is a connotation of resilience.
Dwarf Larkspur
Among my favorite springtime blooms is that of the Dwarf Larkspur (Delphinium tricorne), whose numerous purple blooms fill the hillside above my home and line some of the roadsides along the Blue Ridge Parkway in springtime. This small and stunning flower is filled with stories of mythology and ecological relationships, which are some of my favorite parts of teaching plants.
The botanical Latin name begins the story of the larkspur flowers. Delphinium is a reference to the Greek word where we also get the word dolphin, Delphos, which actually means womb. In Greek mythology Delphos is the son of Apollo. I didn’t understand the reference to dolphins in this beautiful flower of the mountains until I noticed in one of my photos that the unopened flower buds look exactly like a dolphin, or possibly their relative, the orca.
Once the flowers open, they take on the look of an old, grizzled forest wizard’s hat of flower petals but they are actually sepals, modified leaves that protect the unopened flower bud and offer the same attractive benefit as flower petals. These beautiful flowers range from blue to purple to white, often showing all of those colors at once, and are borne on a raceme or stalk above the geranium-like leaves.
The five showy sepals are arranged around the central flower parts and curve backwards to show pollinating insects and hummingbirds where to find the nectar. The top sepal forms itself into a long curving tube called a spur, where the sweet nectar is contained. The long-tongued pollinators must reach deeply into this flower to get their sugary reward, depositing and picking up pollen as they go.
Once pollinated, the ripening seed pods take on the shape of a tricorne hat with three corners arranged radially above the central stem. The small, round, black seeds are released when the seed heads split open, are easily collected, and may be sown in your shade garden.
Dwarf Larkspur leaves are toxic to most mammals, so they are rarely eaten by herbivores like deer, or even by your favorite dog companions. Make sure you don’t eat them as well, as all parts of the plant are toxic to humans. Delphiniums do offer host plant support for the flower-eating caterpillars of the darker-spotted straw moth (Heliothis phloxiphaga) that also eat the flowers of phlox (Phlox spp.). As the moth’s Latin name suggests, the suffix “-phage” means to eat.
Even within the definition most fitting for an article about plants, a time or season of growing, there is much confusion about when spring actually begins, leading me to another question: when is spring? Is it a date on a calendar? Is it the time of year when everything is warm? I talked about that idea a bit ago when reminding folks that warmth all the time is a description of summer, and that spring contains all weather. And it does, but yet as springtime progresses, it tends to develop a whole string of lovely days.
Trillium
Trilliums are some of the most beautiful and iconic wildflowers in the world, and the Southern Appalachian Mountains are filled with many different trillium species. Wake-robins, toadshades, bashful trilliums, large white trilliums, painted trilliums, and so many more. There are trilliums with white flowers, red flowers, maroon, yellow, and pink flowers. Some trilliums have variegated patterns on their petals, or variegation or mottling on their leaves.
There are at least 14 species of trillium in North Carolina, 14 in South Carolina, 16 in Alabama, 18 in Tennessee, and 20 in Georgia. Most of those species grow in the mountainous areas of those states, so were we to consider the entire bioregion of Southern Appalachia, we would be the trillium capital of the world (which we are).
Most everything about trilliums comes in threes. Three leaves, three petals, and three sepals. Sepals are modified leaves that form the outer covering of flower buds that then open and hold the flowers from below. Trilliums even have three stigmas, which of course are one of the parts of the flower. You remember the names for all the flower parts, I’m sure. Especially as you were taught them in elementary school. Flower structures are divided into two parts, the female and male parts of the flower. The female flower parts, where seeds are developed, are called the pistil, which are comprised of the stigma, style, and ovary. The male parts are called stamens, and are comprised of the anther, which produces pollen, on a stalk called a filament.
There are three general types of trilliums, continuing the triplet theme of this plant. There are trilliums whose flowers arise right on top of the leaves and have no flower stalk. These are called sessile, which means without a stalk. The term “sessile” can be applied to flowers and leaves in describing parts of plants.The sessile trilliums that grow around us include Sweet Betsy (T. cuneatum), which has maroon flowers that smell sweet, and the Yellow Trillium (T. luteum), which has yellow flowers that smell like lemon custard. Both trilliums have mottled leaves and are closely related enough that they can hybridize when growing in the same area. These hybrids produce a brown flower with a sweet scent.
The other categories of trilliums are those whose flowers are borne on a stalk, or pedicel. These stalked trilliums can hold the flower above the leaves, like the Wake-robin (T. erectum) and Large White Trillium (T. grandiflorum). And then there are the nodding trilliums, whose stalked flowers hang below the leaves, often seeming to hide from view. Examples of nodding trilliums in our area include Vasey’s Trillium (T. vaseyi), Southern Nodding Trillium (T. rugelii), and Catesby’s Trillium (T. catesbaei). These trilliums are named for historic botanists George Vasey, Ferdinand Rugel, and Mark Catesby, respectively. However, I prefer to call Trillium catesbaei by one of its other common names, the Bashful Trillium, since the flower is hiding below the leaves and blushes pink when you flip up the leaves to look at it.
Trillium seeds have developed an interesting way to spread themselves around. The seeds of trilliums have a fleshy, protein-rich attachment called an elaiosome that is a delicacy to ants. Ants take the seeds back to their homes, where they eat the elaiosome. But native ants do not eat the trillium seeds. Rather, once the elaiosome is off, the ants then take the seed to the waste pile in each ant mound, effectively planting it. This method of seed dispersal by ants is known as myrmecochory. So, if you see a cluster of trilliums growing in the woods close together, often with their flowers facing different directions, they were probably planted by ants, or even by yellowjacket wasps, which have also been found to enjoy elaiosomes and plant the seeds. Who knew ants and wasps were such prolific gardeners?
When those warm periods and the corresponding blooms arrive depends on a whole lot of interrelated factors, primarily where you live. Northern hemisphere or southern? Latitude? Spring arrives much later for those who live in northern states than it does for those in the south. And around here in Southern Appalachia, when springtime arrives at your door depends on elevation, as we can yearly watch the progression of leaves emerging on trees that starts in the valleys in early April and works its way up to the mountaintops, filling in the canopy by the end of May.
Spring Beauty
Among my favorites of the really small and really beautiful wildflowers of the Southern Appalachian springtime are Spring-beauty (Claytonia spp.). With flowers about the size of my pinky nail, it is all too easy to overlook this spectacular plant. Plus, Spring-beauty are considered one of the true spring ephemerals, meaning that for most of the year these plants lay dormant under the ground, waiting for that perfect blend of warmer soil and air temperatures and available sunlight that reaches all the way to the forest floor, before the trees have time to put on their leaves. The Spring-beauty, along with other true ephemerals like Cutleaf Toothwort (Cardamine concatenata) and Bishop’s Cap (Mitella diphylla) emerge from the ground in springtime, leaf out, make a flower, set seed, and die back to the ground in the span of only a few weeks. So, you either get to see them when they bloom or you must wait until next year to catch them again. This, combined with their beauty, makes them special.
There are two species of Spring-beauty that bloom in the woods around us. The Virginia Spring-beauty (Claytonia virginica) has long, lance-shaped leaves, while the Carolina Spring-beauty (C. caroliniana) has leaves that are shorter and wider than its Virginia cousin. Now, don’t let the names fool you as both the Virginia and Carolina Spring-beauty can be found throughout the eastern U.S. and into Canada. Often, plants with state names in their botanical name just mean that is where the first European explorer found them growing.
The flowers of both species look similar, and at first glance seem to be pink. Upon closer inspection, often while lying on the forest floor, it turns out that their five flower petals are white with pink stripes. They even have pink-colored pollen, and in certain light they look like they are coated with sugar crystals, leading me to think that they should taste like peppermint candies. They don’t, trust me. However, one of their other common names, Fairy Spuds, refers to their edibility and use. Spring-beauty has an edible tuber, like a potato, and would make a great giant baked potato—were you the size of a fairy. Since you’re not, perhaps they are best left in the ground to grow, and to flower, and to bring joy on an early spring day.
Trout Lily
I love to watch this progression in the emergence and bloom time of trout lilies (Erythronium spp.) which I can go see in early February at lower elevations just off the mountain in upstate South Carolina or north Georgia. They typically start blooming en masse around Cullowhee by the end of February and early March. And I have seen this plant’s remaining leaves as late as the first week of June at the highest elevations of the Smokies.
The thing about Trout Lily is that they are a true spring ephemeral, and each plant is only above ground for a few short weeks in any given area, yet they can be seen blooming from February through May, depending on where you live. So, if you miss the Trout Lily bloom on the trail next to your house, you can travel up higher in elevation to see them in bloom.
Or you could drive northerly in latitude to catch them. It is similar, as there is a relationship between elevation and latitude that makes for some interesting travel. Going from the valleys and town up to the high elevations along the Blue Ridge Parkway and Great Smoky Mountains is similar in temperature and bloom to driving north for hundreds of miles. When you go high enough into the Balsams where the evergreen trees grow, it is as if you are driving and walking across Canada or Maine.
If you do drive north to follow springtime’s blooms and you’re lucky enough in your timing, you might even catch a White Fawn Lily (Erythronium albidum), which look very similar to the trout lilies that grow around us [Dimpled Trout Lily (E. umbilicatum) and American Trout Lily (E. americanum)] except that instead of yellow flowers these bloom a beautiful white with hints of lavender in the petals.
No matter where you are or how you define springtime, it is a time of celebration and exuberance. And I encourage you to celebrate it exuberantly by getting out and looking at some wildflowers. I’ll join you.
Adapted with permission from “The Joyful Botanist” by Adam Bigelow, in Smoky Mountain News.
Adam Bigelow is a horticulturist and botanist who has been studying plants and wildflowers of Southern Appalachia for over 20 years. He is the owner of Bigelow’s Botanical Excursions, an ecotour business leading interpretive plant walks in western North Carolina. Adam is a member of the planning committee for the Cullowhee Native Plant Conference, the largest and oldest Native Plant conference in the country. He lives in Cullowhee at 3,600 ft surrounded by native plants and wildflowers with his two cats, Hazel Alder and Silky Willow.