If Sternbergia Lutea had sat for its portrait by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and if its descendents were painted today, the yellow faces would be identical. Gardeners have become so accustomed to new, improved varieties of plants, that it is a surprise to sec a flower that has remained unchanged for more than two centuries. To find the actual descendants of bulbs that were planted 200 years ago growing in the same town is a rare occurrence today.
Sternbergia lutea, erroneously known as fall crocus, was among the plants imported to the Palace of the Royal Governors in Williamsburg when Virginia was a British Colony. After the Revolution had been won and the Palace had burned, the gardens fell into decay, but sternbergia continued to bloom and spread among the weeds.
As Williamsburg began to settle into dust, even the old, guarded walls of the grand garden were forgotten. Ladies living in the quiet town dug a few bulbs here and there, and planted them in their own yards, not with any thought for posterity, but for love of the flower.
Every September, when the first rains had softened the earth and cooled the air, a sudden thrust of strong, yellow-green stems lifted the yellOw flower buds, and overnight borders blazed -vith their gleaming cups.
When patient researchers and builders began to resurrect Williamsburg, the hunt started for the plants that grew in the 18th century gardens. Lists were compiled, inventories studied, old letters read and re-read and diaries dragged out of ancient attics. For years the residents lived in an atmosphere of daily discovery.
Sternbergia was, of course, soon discovered. For plants, the ladies dug into borders planted by great grandmothers.
Thus the first stern bergias to bloom in the restored Palace garden were truly direct descendents of the first bulbs that had started life behind elegantly reposing brick walls, where they were tended by humble slaves.
Visitors to Williamsburg sometimes express disappointment when they do not see hedges, banks and meadows smothered in flowers. If they come in the midst of the 90¡ heat-wave in April or at the end of a scaring summer, they are then inclined to be sympathetic toward the gardens they do find and to wonder that anything ever does survive.
Gardeners, however, do not give up, but accept the inconstant weather as a challenge, and the plants that grow -yell year after year are cherished for that very reason. With one hand they reach for the newest hybrids – the super giant pansy, the fragrant viburnum, the heat-resisting sweet pea and the red daylily. With the other, they cling fondly to the flowers of grandmother’s day the Roman hyacinth, the pale yellow primrose, the intensely fragrant jonquilla simplex and the common mock orange (Philadelphia oronaria), with its delicate scent.
Sternbergia lutea has stood both the test of time and history. Its botanical name derives from Count Caspar Sternberg, and it has several common names, such as autumn or fall crocus, fall daffodil, king cups and lily of the field. The plant is neither a crocus, nor a daffodil nor a lily, but a very sturdy member of the amaryllis family. Its original home is Palestine, and the common name lily-of-the-field suggests that it may be one of the true “lilies of the field.”
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