A few weeks back, I got an email from Native Plant Trust with the breathless subject line, “Trillium week begins this Sunday!” It went on to say, “Trillium Week at Garden in the Woods is just around the corner! Join us for a week full of special programs and events all about New England’s most celebrated spring ephemeral.”
I went out to have a look at my own trilliums. Many of them came from a friend who was given them by her son. They were given to him by his 92-year-old neighbor, who confided that some 70 years ago she and her young husband found trilliums in the woods and dug them up to plant in the backyard of their new home. She related this tale with so much regret (and a certain amount of trepidation) that he assured her that her secret was safe with him.
What is it about trillium that inspires otherwise sensible plant people to flights of excited prose and rests heavily on the shoulders of a 92-year-old plant rustler even 70 years on?
According to the United States Forest Service, there are 43 trillium species worldwide, with 38 found in North America, primarily in the eastern states. Here in Massachusetts we have four that are native: Trillium grandiflorum, the white wake robin; T. erectum, known as stinking Benjamin, which has red flowers; T. cernuum , or nodding trillium, whose white flower is carried below the leaves; and T. undulatum, the painted trillium, a beautiful flower whose three wavy white petals are stained maroon in the center. This last has specific relationships with soil fungi and therefore is nearly impossible to cultivate. Grandiflorum, with its showy, upward-facing, white flower, is the one you most often see in garden centers (and the cause of the nonagenarian gardener’s youthful transgression).
Trilliums are ephemerals, welcoming spring with their blooms and dying back as summer nears. They prefer moist, rich, loamy soils with good drainage, a neutral pH, and partial to full shade. They do best in areas that do not have afternoon sun and where they can have moisture during the growing season and drier soil when they are dormant. This last one sounds like a tricky requirement, but it basically describes April showers leading to May flowers and the subsequent heat of summer; just don’t plant them in a bog. Trillium will form great masses and can put on quite a show. Occasionally you may find a trillium plant has popped up far from the original patch. That one was likely planted by ants (the most underrated insect in North America) or a ground-dwelling wasp. Trillium seeds have an oily, calorie-rich blob, called an elaiosome, attached to them. This is what our ant or wasp is after. The elaiosome will be fed to larvae; the seed is discarded, free to germinate far from the parent plant.
Growing trillium from seed is a long process, taking four to seven years from seed to flower. Propagation is easiest by division. (Beware of “bargain” trillium; they almost certainly were dug in the wild.) Digging and dividing the rhizome of dormant plants is the preferred method; be sure you plan ahead and mark exactly where your plant was growing in the spring so you can find it again come fall. I divide mine in spring, when they are in flower. Dig carefully so as not to decapitate any plants. Gently separate them — each rhizome will have a stem and leaves — and plant them straight away into moist soil (prepare your bed ahead of time). Give them a little extra TLC with a bit of compost top dressing, and be careful with watering. Usually they are fine and flowering the next year.
But what is it about trillium? Well, they seem to come from nowhere, poking up through the leaf litter and right into bloom, which is kind of thrilling. And it really is a pretty thing, whether it is the “look-at-me!” grandiflorum or the more subtle nodding trillium, or stinking Benjamin with its crimson red bloom, or the lovely painted trillium. The three leaves (more properly, “bracts”) are also attractive and somehow appealing, just on their own. Perhaps it is the simplicity and symmetry, three leaves, a three-petaled flower, and nothing more, that strikes a chord. And then there is the beautiful truth inherent in all the ephemeral flowers: winter is over and spring, the season of growth and renewal, is well and truly here—reason enough for celebration.
Dorothy gardens in Belmont, where she lives with her husband, Steve, and their two dogs, Rosie and Jasper. She has six grandchildren — all perfect by definition — and has enjoyed introducing them to gardening. She has an abiding interest in nature and is always amazed by the wonders to be found in her own backyard.
Trillium grandiflorum in the garden; it is prudent to mark the location of ephemerals so you do not dig them up by mistake later in the season. (Dorothy Gilman/Belmont Voice)
