If you’re considering plants in October, you might think of jack-o’-lantern pumpkins, bobbing for apples, porches filled with chrysanthemums or Day of the Dead marigold chains. Besides these popular entries, there are reams of cultural practices about plants and the supernatural. Elderberry branches hung above a doorway can repel witches, but those same witches could congregate under the largest elderberry in the forest at midnight. Wolfsbane (Aconitum) is a genus with more than 200 different varieties from Europe with the supposed ability to send werewolves packing. Looking for an American native with the same power? I’ve heard hyssop can dispel a werewolf’s lingering attention.
Whether you enjoy plant lore or would rather spend time weeding, here’s a few of my picks for wicked native plants who could deserve a spot in your garden:
Devil’s Walking Stick (Aralia Spinosa): There’s an astounding number of plants with “Devil” included in the common name—and most of these plants are plated with thorns and spikes. Aralia spinosa follows the trend, but looks surprisingly light and dreamy from a distance. I learned about this native during a class on identifying trees in the winter at the State Botanical Garden of Georgia (if you’ve ever considered it, signing up for the waitlist is worth it). Topping off at 15–20 feet, aralia grows large compound leaves. It produces a mass of white flowers 1–4 feet above the leaf canopy, giving the whole plant the appearance of being topped with a large, blooming Sunday hat. The flowers are a favorite of native pollinators and appear in the heat of summer. While the plant does resemble an ambulatory aid for a masochist, the ‘walking’ part of the name comes from its ability to spread through rhizomes as well as seeds. Plant one and it’ll stroll away from the original spot as it reproduces. Aralia prefers partial shade and works well in a forested area where competition for light and nutrients can keep it in check. If you’re looking for a pollinator booster you can successfully ignore, and who might also discourage people (small and large) from trampling your overgrown back garden, Devil’s Walking Stick is a winner. You can check out an excellent stand of aralia spinosa at the Dunson Native Flora Garden at the botanical garden.
Pitcher plants (Sarracenia family): Pitcher plants are a carnivorous plant, native to Georgia, and a great addition to a wicked native garden. Pitcher plants might not sport the body count of Audrey II, but they do feed on the bugs they trap inside their long, slippery, hollow bodies. Pitcher plants could be a great addition to any bog garden or a low-lying irrigated swale. The botanical garden owns two areas featuring pitcher plants. One, the water feature outside the visitor center is lovely, but could be hard to pull off for a home gardener. The second is an irrigated, sandy depression outside the Alice H. Richards Children’s Garden. This garden provides a template for growing pitcher plants that seems easier to replicate. This is an aspirational plant for me—I’d love to get this growing in my own garden, and took a few notes about irrigation lines and shade while studying the layout.
Witchgrass (Panicum capillare): This one is in your Georgia garden, whether you want it or not. It sprouts in the warmth of the spring, loves the disturbed soil of garden beds and absorbs nitrogen faster than cultivated crops. Witchgrass can slurp fertilizer so effectively that it ends up with nitrate levels high enough to become toxic to animals. I see this wicked weed as less of a hated enemy and more of an annoying maligned native we haven’t found a use for—yet. Witchgrass’ cousin, Switchgrass (Panicum virgatum) is a native perennial favored by conservationists and landscape architects for its deep roots, statuesque beauty and high tolerance for neglect. Maybe it will just take learning more about this plant and its place in the ecosystem for us to enjoy its fluffy seed head and reliable growth habit. I’m not the only one feeling like Witchgrass is maligned just because it does what it does well. If you’re feeling literary, check out “Witchgrass” by Louise Glück, a poem between the eponymous weed and a gardener.
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