Snowy Snakeroot

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snakeroot in bloom gives my hillside the look of snow. (charlotte ekker wiggins)

Snowy Snakeroot

Fall-blooming white snakeroot is that nondescript weed that has been inconspicuously growing in shady spots all spring and summer. You barely notice the one- to four-foot-tall plant with toothy, dark green leaves until suddenly your garden looks like it snowed. One of the last wild natives to flower, Ageratina altissima is a godsend to hungry insects like bees, moths, and flies furiously foraging before the weather turns cold and food becomes scarce.

After blooming, its seeds are dispersed primarily by wind, their fuzzy tails carrying them far and wide.

The plant also spreads by rhizomes (underground stems), so you’re as likely to see a colony as a single specimen.

Originally a woodland plant, white snakeroot is also perfectly at home in sidewalks, vacant lots, and shady gardens. Mine is budding but not in bloom yet, looking forward to finding it scattered throughout this shady hillside.

Role in History

In the early 19th century, European settlers, unfamiliar with the plant, allowed cows and other domestic animals to feed on it. A toxin in the plant called tremetol tainted the cow’s milk, causing sickness and death to those who drank it.

Milk sickness claimed the lives of thousands of people, including, it is thought, Abraham Lincoln’s mother.

Native Americans, who made poultices with snakeroot, knew of its toxic properties, but their botanical knowledge was frequently overlooked by settlers.

A frontier doctor in Illinois named Anna Pierce Hobbs Bixby learned of the cause of the sickness from a Shawnee medicine woman. Bixby helped control the disease locally by instructing settlers to remove white snakeroot from their fields, but she too was largely ignored by the medical community. Research confirming the connection between snakeroot and milk was only confirmed and published much later.

Today, industrial agriculture has all but eradicated milk sickness. Since milk from thousands of cows is now combined when processed, the occasional toxin-containing contribution is diluted to harmless levels.

White snakeroot is most easily identifiable in the fall, when its fluffy white flower heads appear, but it has another distinctive characteristic that appears when it leafs out in spring. Look for elaborate, curving trails on some leaves. These are the work of a species of fly (Liriomyza eupatoriella) that makes white snakeroot its host.

The fly lays its eggs on the leaf, and after they hatch, the larvae feed on the leaf tissue, tunneling their way around and creating the beautiful, albeit destructive patterns. Vegetable gardeners may recognize these patterns as the telltale sign of leaf miners that attack their chard, beet, spinach, and tomato plants in much the same way. The intricate tunnels don't do these plants any good, though white snakeroot seems better able to tolerate them than some other species.

Charlotte

Rose Mallow

Missouri’s native rose mallow, or native hibiscus, is a lovely white with a red throat. (Photo by Charlotte Ekker Wiggins)

Missouri’s native rose mallow, or native hibiscus, is a lovely white with a red throat. (Photo by Charlotte Ekker Wiggins)

Rose Mallow

Rose mallow (Hibiscus moscheutos) is a large, fast-growing, cold hardy relative of Rose of Sharon, (Hibiscus syriacus), native to southeastern US swamps and wetlands. It has 6-8 inch flowers that entice bees and butterflies and are an asset to perennial garden borders.

This species of mallow, also known as swamp hibiscus, has become increasingly popular in recent years as a native alternative to tropical hibiscus in warmer growing zones. Though it is found in wet soils in nature, it grows quite well in ordinary garden soil as long as it has regular irrigation. I have some planted towards the bottom of a flower bed on an incline so it collects moisture to keep the roots hydrated.

You can tell there’s a family connection between rose mallow and the once-popular perennial “Rose of Sharons” now found in old homesteads. Rose Mallow tends to be white and red; Rose of Sharon, considered a woody shrub, has smaller pink, lavender and purple blossoms.

Because of their easy growth habit, there are many new rose mallow and rose of sharon cultivars being offered.

The other major difference with rose mallow is that the leaves are bigger, up to eight inches long. Depending on the soil they are growing in, they can have a deep green color. The leaves are also serrated making them just as interesting and showy as the flowers.

According to Don Kurz in “Ozark Wildflowers,” Rose Mallow is one of the largest wildflowers in the Ozarks. Their seeds are also a favorite food source for ducks and bobwhite quail.

Rose mallow plants grow as a single branched stalk that emerges from the ground in late spring where I live. In the fall, they tend to die back to the ground so it’s helpful to mark their location if you don’t want to inadvertently dig and plant over them.

Another perennial mallow is the hardy hibiscus called Rose of Sharon. (Photo by Charlotte Ekker Wiggins)

Another perennial mallow is the hardy hibiscus called Rose of Sharon. (Photo by Charlotte Ekker Wiggins)

Their cousins, Rose of Sharon, die back but leave their stems for regrowth the following years.

i added Rose of Sharon starts to my garden years ago, even before I had bees, because they flower mid-summer undisturbed by scorching heat. To make sure I can enjoy their lovely blooms, I’ve trimmed many of the plants into a tree shape, leaving the top canopy full of flowers.

To make sure young trunks grow straight, I tie them to rebar stakes for a year or two until their trunks are strong enough to stand on their own. This little corner Rose of Sharon has been growing in that spot for 5 years and just started blooming last year.

I trim most of mine hardy hibiscus into tree forms. (Photo by Charlotte Ekker Wiggins)

I trim most of mine hardy hibiscus into tree forms. (Photo by Charlotte Ekker Wiggins)

Rose mallow, and Rose of Sharon, are excellent pollinator plants because their pollen is easily accessible. They also start blooming when other plants are ending their blooming cycle, giving pollinators a food source.

The top of another tree form hardy hibiscus entices butterflies and bees. (Photo by Charlotte Ekker Wiggins)

The top of another tree form hardy hibiscus entices butterflies and bees. (Photo by Charlotte Ekker Wiggins)

This is one of the older Rose of Sharon trees growing in the front garden now covered in blooms, bee and butterflies. Great combination!

Charlotte