From time to time I’ve come across stunning, unusual biennial flowers that are not difficult to cultivate. One beauty, Lunaria, deserves special notice. A bird deposited the first seed years ago; I was still building the garden and didn’t notice the little plant establishing itself until a visitor exclaimed, “Oh! You have baby silver dollars growing here!”
Lunaria, perhaps better known by its common names- 'silver dollar’ or ‘honesty’ plant, blooms every two years. What a delight to watch the flowers mature into moonlight-pale coins of delicate fragility and web-thin beauty!
Growing ‘money’ is easy. Buy the seeds and scatter them atop the soil. They will happily dig in. A nondescript stem produces broad, toothed green leaves easily mistaken for weeds by an inattentive gardener. The three-foot tall plant’s rich purple flowers earn the most interest from visitors. In alternate springs that vivid color adds a zing to the garden when it’s most needed. Curiously, no bugs or disease seem to bother it. A little sun and a lick of rain will nudge the seedpods into developing into the signature moonlight-white discs, protected on both sides by wafer-thin, dirty gray protective covers. Everything is supported by slim, delicate branches. Finally, when the discs have mostly evolved to white, one should very gently massage each one, using thumb and forefinger, until the semi-transparent gray covers on either side fall away. Freeing each one takes time, but the reward is worth it. (Florists prize this hard-to-get beauty, but it’s tricky to include in arrangements due to its extreme fragility.
It’s easy to lose the plant to excessive wind and rain, or to a neighboring plant that grows too large and crowds it, thus snagging the fragile branches, which often snap. It seems happiest when offered a bit of space, some sun, water and decent soil, and then left untouched for months. Most visitors to my garden have been very respectful.
And yet…some years ago in late September, I stood by the kitchen window watching in amazement as a dark-haired, thirty-something woman standing near the alley gate next to them glanced around to make sure she was the only visitor before bending down to expertly pull out Lunaria and cut its branches into fat bouquets. (Had I not paused to glance outside I’d never have known when or how this treasure had vanished.) She checked the area again, and jumped when saw me glaring at her. Caught! Dropping the gathered flowers she moved quickly toward the alley gate and, in a blink, was gone. I ran out and gently gathered up the tossed beauties. Some drooped, disconsolate: their delicate supporting branches had snapped. But the rest were salvageable.
It was nearly time to harvest them anyway, though some darker discs had needed perhaps another week to develop.
Why would she do such a thing? Maybe all that beautiful money lying around had triggered her worst instincts.
I placed the lot in an old silver-plate urn I’d polished earlier just to hold this harvest. The rough bouquet brightened the dining room table.
By the way, ‘arranging’ is impossible. It’s too easy to snag and sever the dry, slim branches that carry the discs. One’s touch must be light-as-air. Accept that the bunch you have casually, carefully collected is the bunch you get. No fussing allowed.
Now, twelve years later, my lovely Lunaria still shines in that urn in its place of honor. Only one piece of silver has ever dropped off.
May this investment grace our table for many more years!
Lunaria, perhaps better known by its common names- 'silver dollar’ or ‘honesty’ plant, blooms every two years. What a delight to watch the flowers mature into moonlight-pale coins of delicate fragility and web-thin beauty!
Growing ‘money’ is easy. Buy the seeds and scatter them atop the soil. They will happily dig in. A nondescript stem produces broad, toothed green leaves easily mistaken for weeds by an inattentive gardener. The three-foot tall plant’s rich purple flowers earn the most interest from visitors. In alternate springs that vivid color adds a zing to the garden when it’s most needed. Curiously, no bugs or disease seem to bother it. A little sun and a lick of rain will nudge the seedpods into developing into the signature moonlight-white discs, protected on both sides by wafer-thin, dirty gray protective covers. Everything is supported by slim, delicate branches. Finally, when the discs have mostly evolved to white, one should very gently massage each one, using thumb and forefinger, until the semi-transparent gray covers on either side fall away. Freeing each one takes time, but the reward is worth it. (Florists prize this hard-to-get beauty, but it’s tricky to include in arrangements due to its extreme fragility.
It’s easy to lose the plant to excessive wind and rain, or to a neighboring plant that grows too large and crowds it, thus snagging the fragile branches, which often snap. It seems happiest when offered a bit of space, some sun, water and decent soil, and then left untouched for months. Most visitors to my garden have been very respectful.
And yet…some years ago in late September, I stood by the kitchen window watching in amazement as a dark-haired, thirty-something woman standing near the alley gate next to them glanced around to make sure she was the only visitor before bending down to expertly pull out Lunaria and cut its branches into fat bouquets. (Had I not paused to glance outside I’d never have known when or how this treasure had vanished.) She checked the area again, and jumped when saw me glaring at her. Caught! Dropping the gathered flowers she moved quickly toward the alley gate and, in a blink, was gone. I ran out and gently gathered up the tossed beauties. Some drooped, disconsolate: their delicate supporting branches had snapped. But the rest were salvageable.
It was nearly time to harvest them anyway, though some darker discs had needed perhaps another week to develop.
Why would she do such a thing? Maybe all that beautiful money lying around had triggered her worst instincts.
I placed the lot in an old silver-plate urn I’d polished earlier just to hold this harvest. The rough bouquet brightened the dining room table.
By the way, ‘arranging’ is impossible. It’s too easy to snag and sever the dry, slim branches that carry the discs. One’s touch must be light-as-air. Accept that the bunch you have casually, carefully collected is the bunch you get. No fussing allowed.
Now, twelve years later, my lovely Lunaria still shines in that urn in its place of honor. Only one piece of silver has ever dropped off.
May this investment grace our table for many more years!
