The planting season is getting closer, and Master Gardeners are available to answer questions about lawns, vegetables, flowers, trees and ornamental plants; disease, insect, weed or wildlife problems; soils (including soil test results) and fertilizers; freeze and frost damage; and cultural and chemical solutions to pest problems. 

I got stuck thinking about plants in the genus Smilax after writing about them last time out. It is such a great genus of plants, and as I discussed in my last column, most people only see them as a nuisance. I think they might be one rank below yellow jackets (Vespula spp.) and poison ivy (Toxicodendron radicans) as the most despised organisms in the woods.

I get asked questions a lot about plants, nature and the woods. People will walk up to me, take out their phones and show me a picture of a leaf or flower they found on their last hike or growing in their back yard and ask, “Hey Adam, what’s this plant?” I love it when this happens, every time. It brings a big smile to my face and joy to my heart. 

When is a cedar not really a cedar? Well, in the case of the evergreen tree that most people know as eastern red-cedar (Juniperus virginiana), that answer is always. This cedar is not truly a cedar. Its common, or folk name is red-cedar, which I’ve also seen written as red cedar. And often people will shorten that to cedar and would assume that it is truly a cedar. 

Editor’s note: This is a re-print of a column that originally ran in 2022.

There are many different plants that Appalachian mountainfolk have used for centuries in their decorations and celebrations on or around the winter solstice. 

At the higher elevations in the Southern Appalachian Mountains grows a special and sacred tree whose red berries glow in the full sun against a clear blue-sky. Steeped in folklore and traditions brought by European settlers and colonizers, the sight of the rowan tree (Sorbus americanus) must have filled the hearts of Scotch and Irish descendants with nostalgia for home. 

It’s a hot and sunny afternoon on the outskirts of Franklin. At the corner of Highlands and Saunders roads sits a nine-acre property of natural beauty, one filled with endless species of flowers and plants, this wondrous piece of earth welcoming the public with open arms — Winding Stair Farm & Nursery. 

Dear reader, yeah, I mean you. You who are reading this while holding the paper in your hands or scanning through on your computer, tablet or phone. Yeah, you. I am so deeply grateful to you for reading my articles. This marks the 52nd column that I have written for The Smoky Mountain News, with one running every couple of weeks for the last two years or so. That’s one for each week in the year. One for every card in a deck.  

People interested in gardening will have the chance to join a network of like-minded folks across the state dedicated to learning and sharing research-based information, enhancing their communities through horticulture and connecting people with benefits of gardening. 

There are a few native plants whose names I call out loud like a prayer whenever I see them. This is especially true since the crazy times of the global pandemic and resulting shutdown. One of those is the whorled loosestrife (Lysimachia quadrifolia) whose name I slowly pronounce out loud as a benediction, “world, lose strife.” And I mean it.