'Abominable Mysteries' at Yahoo Falls
By Allen Bush
http://www.dailyyonder.com/yahoo-falls/2011/12/15/3646
It's hunting seaon. Two Kentucky plantsmen head unarmed into the
territory of putty root and pink muhly, finding the highest
waterfall in the state and other wonders.
Allen Bush
Leaf of a Magnolia macrophylla, an "abominable mystery," Daniel
Boone National Forest, Kentucky.
I had no idea what was in store last spring, when Paul Cappiello
began talking about an autumn day-trip to Eastern Kentucky. Paul is
the Executive Director of Yew Dell Gardens in Crestwood, Kentucky.
The premise - or the excuse for a fun walk in the woods - seemed
simple enough: try to find cold-hardy native stands of the pink
muhly grass, Muhlenbergia capillaris. They were there, somewhere in
the Cumberland Mountains We knew that. Julian Campbell had said so.
And Julian knows where just about every native plant is, in every
nook and cranny across the state. He had found pink muhly seedlings
in Rowan County earlier in the year.
Pink muhly is a popular ornamental grass across temperate North
America but isn't always reliably winter hardy in colder
areas. It's suspected that most of the commercially available
seed originally came from deep southern USA origins. These pink
muhly plants are treated as annuals in areas that dip below 0 F
(-18 C). A cold-hardier perennial selection would be a
welcome addition for gardeners.
Allen Bush
Muhlenbergia capillaris
at Yew Dell Gardens,
Crestwood,
Kentucky.
I still thought we were going to Rowan County a week before
Thanksgiving when we left Louisville early in the morning.
Later, as I was edging over in the left lane, about to head east on
I-64 toward Morehead, Kentucky and Rowan County, Paul told me
abruptly to head south down I-75. "Not toward Morehead?" I asked
anxiously. "South toward Corbin," he waved frantically. Once
I'd veered across four lanes of traffic, I asked Paul, "What's near
Corbin?" As a teacher would for a slow learner, he answered
patiently, "Cumberland Falls. "
The directions became clearer. We'd be on the lookout for an
electric transmission line near Cumberland Falls in McCreary and
Whitley Counties. There among the clearing we'd hit pay dirt. Or so
it seemed. How many transmission lines could there be in the rural
mountains?
I was still trying to shake the sleep from my eyes after we got off
the interstate south of Corbin. I started to pay attention when we
passed Tidal Wave Road, and my eyes were peeled by Dog Slaughter
Road. Soon, there were dozens of tall grasses standing at attention
- like silver wands-along the woodland's edge. The plump seed
heads must be Andropogon glomeratus! This was like fishing for
crappie and striking a bluegill. It wasn't pink muhly grass but so
what. At least, we had a fish on the line.
Andropgon glomeratus, the bushy bluestem, grows from California
along the southern tier of the United States and up the east coast,
predominantly near warmer coastal areas. There are a few outlier
populations farther inland. Jelitto Perennial Seeds has grown the
grass species from an origin in the Sandhills of North Carolina
that has not proved cold hardy. But neither has the loblolly pine
that grows in the same vicinity. (Mike Hayman is, however, growing
a few of these, Pinus taeda, at Whitehall, only a few miles from my
Louisville home. A few of these long needle pines have looked
magnificent the last few years, but I'm holding my breath. We'll
have another cold winter again when temperatures dip to - 10 F (-23
C) or colder and, then, all bets are off.)
Allen Bush
Paul Cappiello and Saccharum alopecuroidum. Not bushy bluestem and
pink muhly but not bad!
Finding the Andropogon glomeratus in a colder location in the
Cumberland Mountains might extend the hardiness range for
gardeners. Seeds were ripe.
I emailed news of my small catch the next day to Georg Uebelhart,
my Jelitto Perennial Seeds colleague at the home office in
Schwarmstedt, Germany. He knew right away that I was off the mark -
not for the first time, either. Georg knows his stuff. He
replied, "I doubt that this is Andropogon glomeratus at first
glance of the photos. It looks to me more like Saccharum
alopecuroidum formerly Erianthus or a related species." He
said that he would grow it out for trial and put some in the seed
bank. But, in a few words, it seemed clear: this was no big deal.
He reminded me that on a previous outing together in April 2008, we
had seen the dried foliage and plumage on a lone bushy bluestem,
standing in the middle of a field in east Tennessee. I thought
there was the barest resemblance, but Uebelhart could see the
difference.
Paul and I drove a few miles farther, deeper into the Daniel Boone
National Forest, to Cumberland Falls. There was a beautiful rainbow
in the mist above the falls. On a clear night, during a full
moon, Cumberland Falls even has a rare moon glow. Once we'd snapped
a few photos (Cumberland Falls really is beautiful) we walked a
narrow path along the river's edge below the falls. Sandstone
cliffs rose to our right. Galax, rhododendrons and sourwoods were
good company.
Paul and I were in a zone-two plant hounds baying in the woods. I
don't think others fear these trails; most just have other vacant
distractions. Many Americans know the name Kim Kardashian, the star
of television reality. Few would know - or care - that the
ancient big leaf magnolia grows in the Cumberland Mountains. And
not many would suspect the Magnoliaceae family lays claim to some
of earth's first flowering plants. Magnolias used to be considered
among the oldest, but molecular systematics has pushed them aside
in favor of Amborella trichopoda (Amborellaceae family), found on
New Caledonia in the Pacific.
Paul Cappiello
Hexastylis arifolia, little brown jug.
An evolutionary trail of hundreds of millions of years took us from
mosses, liverworts, and hornworts to ferns, conifers - and miracle
of miracles - to flowering plants. Charles Darwin was left
scratching is head over the "abominable mystery" -the origin of
flowering plants like magnolias that "…erupted out of nowhere 130
million years ago." Kim Kardashian erupted out of Paris
Hilton's world over five years ago. (I've done my homework.)
There are more mysteries.
Are Cappiello and I freaks, hotwired to find plants and nature
constantly fascinating? Would others be even slightly intrigued if
I told them they could see acres of the big leaf magnolia in
McCreary County? Few would find the fallen, dried-up
parchment-like leaves on hundreds of big leaf magnolias as
interesting as we do. Would they perk-up if I told them the backs
of the big leaves are the color of a faded tin roof? Would they be
curious at all if I told them the pristine white blooms in late May
are the size of giant platters? Long checkout lines at the
grocery store during the gray months ahead hold the dismal promise
that I can skim a few tabloids to catch-up on Kim Kardashian.
Paul had mentioned previously that he and Rick Lewandowski, from
Delaware's Mt. Cuba Center, had roamed nearby woodland hillsides
around Yahoo Falls near Whitley City. They found ripe seed of the
mountain camellia, Stewartia ovata. They had good directions from
Charles Tubesing of the Holden Arboretum who had been here years
before with Bob McNiel from the University of Kentucky. Georgia
plantsman Jack Johnson and Ethan Guthrie from the Atlanta Botanic
Garden had gotten wind of this place, too; so had Todd Rounsaville
from the University of Kentucky Arboretum.
Paul Cappiello
Pleopeltis polypodioides var. michauxiana near Yahoo Falls.
The windy gravel road in the Big South Fork National Recreation
Area took us along woodland hillsides dotted with the tell-tales
leaves of the big leaf magnolia. Paul said there were specimens in
the woods of Magnolia tripetala and Magnolia acuminata, too. So too
were Rhododendron maximum, Clethra acuminata, Viburnum acerifolium
along with assorted buckeyes, patches of wintergreen and scattered
evergreen box huckleberries. We reached a parking lot above Yahoo
Falls and walked down a path past clumps of little brown jugs and
club mosses.
It was the first time I'd seed the pleated blue-green foliage on
Aplectrum hyemale, a terrestrial orchid, commonly called putty
root. The corms have been ground, traditionally, to make a sticky
substance used to mend clay pots. The leaves will disappear before
next spring when the spur-less blooms open. We passed dozens of
foamflowers and wondered why neither one of us could grow them in
our own gardens. It always surprises me to see the resurrection
fern, Pleopeltis polypodioides var. michauxiana, growing on mossy
rocks. The small fronds shrivel-up in dry spells and unfurl again
when rains return.
Eventually we reach towering rock ledges at the bottom. There are
coral bells, Heuchera villosa, growing in the dry shade along with
maidenhair fern-the staple of moist woodlands. These ferns must be
divining moisture from somewhere since it seems so unlikely to see
these two plants paired together in this dry overhang.
Paul Cappiello
Yahoo Falls, Kentucky's highest.
Yahoo Falls is not the centerpiece of state tourism like the larger
Cumberland Falls. It's in a deep ravine that's not easily
accessible. You've got to park it and walk it-a challenge for the
idle. And there is no access for technological gizmos,either,
so that could exclude 53% of youth 16 - 22 years of age who'd
give-up their sense of smell before they'd give-up their
cell.
Allen Bush
Silene rotundifolia blooming near Yahoo Falls,
McCreary County,
Kentucky, November 2011
Pity those who may never see Yahoo Falls, the tallest waterfall
(113'/ 34.5 meters) in Kentucky. If they'd taken a
mid-November walk with us they could have seen the scarlet blossoms
of the rambling Silene rotundifolia. What are they doing in flower
now? In fact, most are long gone and the seeds have been picked
nearly clean by some critter that must have been attracted to the
sticky seedpods. We linger reverently over the last few
blooms.
I'm still wondering where the pink muhly grass might be. They
are not going to be in this shady hollow. As we were leaving, I
reminded Paul that we ought to look again for the power line.
(There are many power lines.) We drive back toward Cumberland
Falls, find a clear-cut and park the car across the road. There is
nothing telltale along the clearing. We walk to the edge of a
slope. We see nothing.
Rose Cooper Bush
Allen Bush
As we are heading back, a hunter dressed in camouflage gear walks
out of the woods. (How could I hope to spot pink muhly grass when I
can't see a guy who's been staring at us for the last ten minutes
from one hundred feet away, with an orange vest as bright as a
solar flare.) He's pleasant enough but is curious what we were up
to; he'd seen us park the car. I said we were looking for pink
muhly grass. Somehow, that doesn't seem so peculiar to him.
He casually acknowledges, "Ok," with a shrug that signals that he
doesn't have a clue what I'm talking about. He confesses he
hasn't seen a deer all day, either.
It's getting colder and the sun is going down. We're out of time
and luck. None of us will go home tonight with a trophy
catch.
Allen Bush, director of Special Projects for Jelitto Perennial
Seeds, in August received the Award of Merit from the Perennial
Plant Association, its highest honor. Allen lives in
Louisville.
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