Category — Shade gardens

Most people know that foxglove is used in medicine. But here’s something less well known: foxglove heals plants as well as people. An old name for digitalis is “Doctor Foxglove”, because garden plants near it grow stronger and resist disease. “Apart from keeping plants healthier, they will improve the storage qualities of such things as potatoes, tomatoes, and apples grown near them,” report Maureen and Bridget Boland in Old Wives Lore for Gardeners.

Old names for plants often point to valuable clues about their uses, personalities, and associations.  A plant with a lot of names is a plant with a lot of clout.

Here are some of the older names for foxglove:
Witch’s Glove, Dead Men’s Bells, Fairy’s Glove, Gloves of Our Lady, Bloody Fingers,  Virgin’s Glove, Fairy Caps, Folk’s Glove, Fairy Thimbles, Lion’s Mouth, Fairy Fingers, King Elwand, Foxbell, Floppy dock, Flowster-Docker,  Fingerhut (German: means “thimble”), Revbielde (Norwegian).

Some of these names are a warning that foxglove can kill you, and others refer to the way the plant looks. The “glove” aspect of  many of the common names (including “foxglove”) is easy enough to see: can there be anybody who hasn’t surreptitiously slipped a finger into the hairy finger-shaped mouths of these flowers? “Digitalis”, the Latin name, makes the same connection: digitalis means “finger”.

But other names have even more evocative connections.

I’ve already mentioned the “glove” aspect of the name foxglove. The “fox” part is said to be derived from “Folk’s”,  referring to the fairy folk, who may have been plant spirits or the small dark Picts that the Celts and Anglo-Saxons overcame. The Picts were thought to have supernatural healing and magical powers, and they were pagans through and through, which accorded ill with the Romans and Christian regimes. The Picts may have been some of the original carriers of the knowledge of foxglove’s healing powers, or that knowledge may go even further back.

Some of foxglove’s other names hint of ancient powers. Foxglove is associated with the planet Venus; the names for foxglove that refer to the Virgin Mary are also likely a whitewashed or  in-code version of the older connections of foxglove with Venus.  Mary often did service in place of older, earlier goddesses, with more pagan fertility leanings. In some forms of Italian magic, foxglove is opens the user to strong sexual love, appropriate for a plant of Venus. But while romantic love is probably the best-known association with Venus, she also rules arts, beauty, and fairies, who live in earthly realms of enchantment. (I’m not sure who King Elwand is, but he has a very Oberon-like sound to him. Perhaps the overall shape of the flowering plant suggested this name.)

One version of Venus is the Tarot card “The Empress”, who sits enthroned (and often pregnant) in a garden of fruits and flowers, the ruler of earthly delights. That seems particularly appropriate for a plant that can improve the fertility of plants next to it, and even prolong the life of cut flowers.  If foxgloves are in an arrangement, all of the flowers in the bouquet will last longer. (As a cut flower, the best way to preserve foxglove is to cut the stem when only half the blossoms are open. Fill the hollow stem with water, then plug it and set in warm water. Although to be honest, I usually just whack off the stem and put into water in the same second; they still last for weeks if you keep them in a cool spot.) If you don’t have any foxgloves flowering, you can still take advantage of their life-enhancing properties: add foxglove tea to the water of other bouquets. You can make the tea by pouring boiling water on a handful of leaves and allowing them to steep overnight.

There are more literal associations with fertility goddesses, too: digitalis is extremely abundant in seeds (80,000 seeds per ounce, all high in protein, sugars, starches, and oils), and it propagates itself readily. Seeds are the usual way I get foxglove in my garden, though I do occasionally buy plants. In my zone-8 climate, the seeds germinate well if I plant them out in the winter and early spring rains. If I spring-planted digitalis, the sprouts would shrivel in early spring heat before they came to anything. If you have the room, the easiest way is to let foxgloves seed themselves; this way they naturally catch the cool raininess they like to sprout in. If you water where they’re planted, you may get a head start on next year. If you plant them where they’re happy, you’ll  have a steady parade of foxgloves.  Unfortunately for me, digitalis is from cool northern Europe and the UK; it has also naturalized in the Pacific Northwest, where I once saw it blooming thickly, purple and white backed up by giant firs, on the banks of Lake Crescent.

For a plant that prefers cool moisture, foxglove shows surprising adaptability when it gets old enough to have a root systsm. My garden notebook reminds me of at least two occasions where foxgloves did beautifully and bloomed for at least a month in 100-degree weather (38 C) and droughty conditions. One year,  I forgot some foxgloves in 4-inch (10.2 cm) plastic pots, hidden in the deep shade of a tree. I went off on a two-week vacation and left them unwatered (I never claimed to be a good gardener).  When I returned, they still looked fine, which was certainly no thanks to me.

Digitalis purpurea won’t stand complete drought forever, though: one year the water system failed in one of the foxglove beds, and I didn’t notice it. They did, though: they died.  In my mediterranean climate, rain in summer is so rare that we may not have it for years in a row. So when  a watering system dies, so do most of the plants

In my climate, foxgloves in the ground get plenty of high shade and plenty of mulch. In containers, I use moisture-retaining granules in the soil mix and give the foxgloves some form of bottom-watering, so they never suffer shock from going dry.

Tasha Tudor, the artist-gardener, grows towers of foxgloves that create the most romantic effect. But they are nurtured by a substance most consider most unromantic: manure tea. I have not yet tried manure tea on my foxgloves, but I intend to start this year; pictures of Tudor’s garden have raised foxglove-envy in my heart.

Another little-known use for foxgloves might contain a hint for gardeners: in Russia, prospectors looking for coal or iron deposits watch for foxglove stands from their helicopters. Since minerals and foxgloves have an affinity, mineral-rich fertilizer might be ideal for giant foxgloves.

Rumor has it that cutting back the stalks of foxgloves will give you a second flowering. This has never happened to me, despite a long growing season.  I was thinking that might be because it is just too hot here, but then I remembered I have seen foxgloves flowering in town in September. Maybe those gardeners have more water to spare, or maybe (much as I loathe admitting it) they’re just better gardeners.

There are a large number of garden variations on the Digitalis purpurea theme, some of which I’ve already mentioned in this series. I’ll be posting about a few more foxgloves that I’ve grown, then wind up with a wish list that includes unusual species as well as some garden cultivars which have only subtle differences from the wild foxglove.

Next post: Pink Foxgloves.  Sort of.

References for Digitalis purpurea:

Maureen and Bridget Boland, Old Wives Lore for Gardeners, Bodley Head 1976;  Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1977

Maude Grieve, A Modern Herbal, Harcourt, Brace, & Co., 1931; Dover edition, 1971

Sybil Leek, Herbs, Medicine, and Mysticism, Henry Regnery Co., 1975, pg. 142-143

Richard Le Strange, A History of Herbal Plants, Arco Publishing Company, Inc., 1977

Tovah Martin and Richard W. Brown, Tasha Tudor’s Garden, Houghton Mifflin Company, 1994

Magic and Medicine of Plants, ed. Inge N. Dobelis, Reader’s Digest Association, Inc. 1986, pg. 188

Joseph E. Meyer, The Herbalist,  Meyerbooks, 1960, 1976, pg. 46

Marina Medici, Good Magic, Prentice Hall Press, 1988

Lee Sturdivant, Flowers for Sale, San Juan Naturals, 1992

Cynthia Van Hazinga and the editors of Old Farmer’s Alamanc, Flower Gardening Secrets, Yankee Publishing, 1997

Katherine Whiteside and Mick Hales, Antique Flowers,  Villard Books, 1989

One of the common ways wild foxglove sports is to white, with the same deep maroon spots. You can see this sport in any population of foxgloves of pretty good size, in your garden or in the wild. Gerard’s Herbal, published in 1636,  mentions white foxgloves, but I’d be willing to bet that their appearance in gardens goes back even further than that.

Select Seeds says that there are records of white foxgloves in the U.S. as early as 1838. I don’t doubt that there white foxgloves were grown in U.S. gardens well before that, but 1838 was an era when seed vendor-garden writers were springing up all over, so this may well have been one of their early offerings.

While saved Digitalis purpurea alba seeds will sometimes sport back to the purple form, I’ve found these to be much more stable than the apricot-flowered kind. This is another clue as to why white foxglove was offered so early as a distinct type of seed; it doesn’t take as long to select and stabilize.

Breeders have made good use of white foxglove’s sporty character, cultivating variations. ‘Pam’s Choice’ is probably the best-known of these cultivars, and it irritates me that I must send you to another site for its photo, since my first successful closeups were of ants working ‘Pam’s Choice’ interiors. (Of course, what was a successful closeup to me then, and what works for me now, are two different things, so maybe it’s as well that I’ve lost track of those early photos.)

Ants love foxgloves; I’m not sure what the relationship is between the two of them, but they can be sighted in foxglove flowers, crawling up the nectaries, more frequently than you find them  in most other plants. I don’t know whether they are pollinators (along with bees, the official pollinators of foxgloves), or serve some other purpose.

‘Elsie Kelsey’ is a newer white foxglove cultivar, offered by Pine Tree Seeds. It appears to be a variation on the ‘Pam’s Choice’ make-the-dark-blotches bigger theme. And a fine theme it is, too, though I don’t really see significant difference between the two from looking at the ‘Elsie Kelsey’ photo. I’d be interested to hear if someone has grown them both out and noticed any marked differences.

Another kind of white foxglove sport is Digitalis purpurea ‘Snow Thimble’, which has no spots at all. While this three-foot foxglove might be a beautiful sight in the garden, I’m going to give it a pass until I have more garden room: to me, the spots are one of the major charms of a foxglove. ‘Snow Thimble’ is supposed to make a good cutting flower, and I imagine it would be spectacular in the vase. (Sorry, I couldn’t locate a photo.)

Even without any manipulation by breeders, Digitalis purpurea alba is a fine plant. And a powerful one. While white foxglove may have a weaker strain of wild foxglove’s medicinal qualities, those active ingredients are still there, which means this is a plant you don’t want young children or animals to nibble - and you definitely don’t want it in your herb tea collection, unless you really know what you are doing or are ready to die.  Fortunately, the bitter taste of the alkaloids keeps most curious animals of all types from munching on it for long.

Despite its drastic qualities, there’s something innocently appealing about  white foxglove. Its gorgeous stalks, shining out of the shade - and its deer resistance - make Digitalis pupurea alba and its cultivars stars in the garden, especially a woodland garden. White foxgloves and red-purple Digitalis purpurea set each other off nicely when planted together ( and they often cross to make shades that bridge the spectrum between white and purple). And white foxglove is wonderful in the vase, where a single stalk makes a spectacular statement for weeks.

It’s powerful, it’s radiant, it’s magical: it’s well worth inviting white foxglove into any garden.

I liked the idea of a perennial foxglove: I often forget to keep planting the biennial ones, so either I have to buy sometimes-anonymous plants at the drugstore, or go without. (I’m not sure why drugstores have become plant emporiums, or when it happened, but two chain drugstores in my area are some of the cheapest and easiest sources for common bedding plants. Maybe it’s a roundabout way of having herbalism come back: many of our common ornamental plants are actually medicinal.) Like other digitalis, D. laevigata also has cardiac stimulant and tonic qualities.
I had great hopes of Digitalis laevigata, also known as Grecian foxglove (although its origins are probably in SE Europe, there is a subspecies gracae with smaller flowers packed together) and smooth foxglove, a translation of its Latin species name. “Smooth” refers to the leaves, which have more in common with a large plantain than with Digitalis purpurea.  I rather liked the way the old leaves turned into a sort of textured mosaic of colors and patterns.

But, honestly, I planted D. laevigata for its perennial qualities, and to have a different flower color in a foxglove. I thought a yellow foxglove would be nice. Since I had no pictures available at the time I planted it (it’s not a comon foxglove, and I got the seeds from JL Hudson’s wonderful but photoless catalogue), I was free to fantasize to my heart’s content, and envisioned a sort of blurry D. purpurea, with small creamy yellow flowers.

As you can see from the photo at the top of this page,  D. laevigata flowers look a lot more like acanthus than foxglove. They also, as it turns out, look a lot like Digitalis ferruginea flowers. For a while I was worried I might have mixed my foxglove up with D. ferruginea, but a look at a picture of D. ferruginea relieved me of that worry; its flowers don’t have the characteristic white lip of D. laevigata. Given that I’m not overly thrilled with D. laevigata, that pretty much puts Digitalis ferruginea off my wish list, at least until I get my own personal botanic garden.

Digitalis laevigata is not a bad plant. And it’s certainly a plant that can take hard use: I grow it in a container with several other plants that crowd over it; and I’ve grown it in spots from quite shady to fairly sunny. But I have to say that this is a digitalis that didn’t really win my heart. It was interesting to see it grow, and I’ve kept it because it was so obliging, and because it’s hard for me to tear a plant out, especially one I have nurtured from a seed..

But I have no desire to propagate it. Maybe the best I can do for it is show its pictures here, in hopes that its particular temperament will appeal to others, if not to me: an indirect kind of propagation.

For more on Digitalis laevigata:

http://www.dianeseeds.com/digitalis-laevigata.html - has seeds and a more enticing-looking photo-taken from above the top of the plant, it looks more graceful

http://www.ibiblio.org/pfaf/cgi-bin/arr_html?Digitalis+laevigata&CAN=LATIND
Botanical, medical, and horticultural rundown on this plant.

Next post: White foxgloves. These I like.

*Points to those who get the very obscure joke in this title.

One year, I had a grow-the-most-varieties of digitalis contest with myself.

Actually, it was two years, since most of the varieties I tried from seed were cultivars and variants of Digitalis purpurea, a biennial. This year, I’m doing another round of digitalis varieties, and many of them are, once again, cultivars or subspecies of Digitalis purpurea, the common foxglove.

Of the purpureas I actually brought to flower, ‘Sutton’s Apricot’ is probably my favorite. I say “probably” because it’s hard for me to choose among several favorites, and in fact the plain old red-purple wild variety is pretty fetching itself, especially found in the wild - though they like cooler and moister places than my area.

Apparently, flower color is an indicator of medical constituents in this plant, because Maude Grieve, who grew herbs professionally for the medical market, cautions that only flowers of “pure, dull pink or magenta” are the true medicinal plants. So medicinal growers selected for the wild-foxglove color.

Meanwhile, other growers were selecting from the variety of colorings that Digitalis purpurea tends to sport into. ‘Sutton’s Apricot’ is one of them. There’s another apricot Digitalis purpurea (if you think of the meaning of these names, that sentence looks really stupid) called ‘Apricot Beauty’, and there may be more, for all I know. I don’t know if there’s any significant difference among them or not.

Once a sporter, always a sporter. When I saved seeds from my ‘Sutton’s Apricot’ (bought as a plant), I got a lot of dull purple and whitish-purple flowers in the next generation. True, my sampling was pretty small - well, my garden is small, so it had to be. But I’ve concluded that ‘Sutton’s Apricot’ may need several generations of selection before it comes anything like true to seed. Or maybe there are varieties and cultivars which have more stable seed.

While I’m generally in favor of saving my own seed and eschewing most seed-grown hybrids, I’ll let the seed companies do my work for me on ‘Sutton’s Apricot’. I want to be sure that I’ll have many of these strong plants glowing in the shadow of the trees (and in my vase) in two years.

This is the time of year when I start to spend more time in by the fire than out in the garden (although I still have more bulbs to plant…). One of my amusements is to look through the garden pictures, with an eye to what worked and what didn’t.

I want to make my grouping of plants under the big madrone into a more cohesive group, so one of the things I’ve been looking for is plants that have worked well in semishade for me. Northern Shade has opened my eyes to how much texture and color you can get with the right foliage, something I might have worked out by looking at the forest floor. But sometimes gardening is like a crossword puzzle: somebody fresh has to come along to fill in the blanks you can’t get.  I’ll need to do research on the plants Northern Shade recommends, though, since my climate is a lot hotter and dryer.

Before I was reminded of the possibilities of foliage, though, my original shade-plant-finding focus was a hunger for flowers; flowers for summer (after the bulbs) and for shade to semishade, which is mostly what I’ve got.

The digitalis in the photo at the head of this post obviously did very well under the madrone (the red-barked shiny-leaved tree you can see in the picture). And I have a past history of digitalis doing well in places like this, where they get some morning sun, and occasional dapples throughout the day. This foxglove (an unknown variety from the drugstore) kept on gradually increasing its spire as it flowered, until it had a whippy spine of seedheads several feet high, topped with a few flowers.

My ‘Royal Standard’ hosta is a common plant, but a new venture for me. It sulked in the full shade I gave it before, putting out a few leaves but never flowering. I had mixed feelings about hostas; they seemed kind of like, I don’t know, plants for gardeners who had completely matched wardrobes and sock drawers with no strays: not plants that would fit in my garden.  But in my continual research for shade plants that flower, I’d found that hostas fit the bill, and that some of them even had fragrant flowers. When I went to a local plant sale, it was pretty easy for me to get persuaded into a good deal on Royal Standard.

I found that this junior leaguer actually fit quite well into my garden, once I put it in a pot on the back porch where it got more shots of sun. It brought forth the beautiful rose-flushed buds that turned into a modest scape of (to my nose) mildly sweet-scented flowers. (For those of you who are wondering about the dead leaves in the background: those are buckeye leaves, which are the earliest to come out, and shrivel by late summer.)

My prejudices began to tumble. I started to see what people saw in the leaves: the innocence of the tiny leaves on the flowering stem,

the sensuous ribs of the broad leaves below–

which turned gold all at once in fall.

Next post: more flowering shade plants