Editor’s note: This is a re-print of a column that originally ran in 2022.

There are many different plants that Appalachian mountainfolk have used for centuries in their decorations and celebrations on or around the winter solstice. 

When it comes to fall leaf color, trees are what comes to mind for most. Sure, trees are big and there are lots of them. In Autumn when the leaves change they attract a lot of attention and draw tens of thousands of visitors. Most articles and reports about fall color are referencing trees, and possibly some shrubs. I’d like to show some love for the beautiful changing colors of herbaceous plants on the forest floor.  

There are many different wildflowers that signal the seasonal transition from summer into fall. 

I used to be overcome with the melancholy of fall when I would see the goldenrods (Solidago spp.) start to bloom, thinking “No, it’s too early for the end of the blooming season and the start of winter!” That’s how I used to think of fall. Goldenrods no longer usher in the sadness for me as I have successfully reframed them as a summer wildflower that blooms into fall. 

At the higher elevations in the Southern Appalachian Mountains grows a special and sacred tree whose red berries glow in the full sun against a clear blue-sky. Steeped in folklore and traditions brought by European settlers and colonizers, the sight of the rowan tree (Sorbus americanus) must have filled the hearts of Scotch and Irish descendants with nostalgia for home. 

Writing these columns for the last couple of years has brought me so much joy that I have decided to celebrate by changing the name of my writings to The Joyful Botanist. And nothing says launching a new name than launching a revolution while you’re at it. So, let’s start a revolution! 

Charles Darwin was many things, but in the classic sense of the word, he was not an artist. Lacking in the ways of visual art, and with miserably bad handwriting, the scientist eventually enlisted the help of his sons in creating utilitarian illustrations of the plants and animals with which he worked.  

Among the many plants that signify the start of summer, perhaps none is more showy than St. John’s wort (Hypericum spp.)

For the past few years, whenever I encounter the whorled loosestrife growing along a trail or roadside I have been saying its name out loud, and slowly. Like a prayer: “World, lose strife.”

Sylva has received the results of an in-depth botanical survey of Pinnacle Park revealing that the property is a bonanza of biodiversity. Now, the town is partnering with Jackson County and the Jackson County Tourism Development Authority to fund a master plan implementing survey recommendations.    

Each spring I am struck by the beauty and encouraged by the support given by bloodroot (Sanguinaria canadensis) as it emerges and begins its process of opening the flower and unfurling the leaf. The flower bud and leaf come up together, poking through the duff of last year’s tree leaves blanketing the forest floor. Before opening, the flower looks like an egg on the end of a long skinny stalk. This top-heavy flower might just flop over, were it not for the leaf wrapped around the stem, like a helping hand holding the flower for us to see.