Harbingers of Fall Part VI: Cimicifuga
Like people, most plants aren't perfect. They have their strengths and weaknesses and we put up with the aspects we don't like because of the ones we do. If there is such a creature as a "perfect plant", I think Cimicifuga simplex var simplex (originally sold to me with the invalid name of (C. ramosa) is the one.
What makes this a prime contender for the 'Perfect Plant' award? Well, let's see... To start with, the emerging foliage in spring is quite lovely. Like many others of the Ranunculacae (Buttercup) family, the leaves break ground in tight, ruffled clusters which I find most interesting. All season, the foliage steadily expands, remaining clean and not bothered by slugs or other munching insects. The stems are strong and don't require staking, and on this variety, they are stained with a purple cast that I like. This plant does not have the deep purple foliage and stem color of C. r. atropurpurea (which is what it was sold as) or the cultivar "Brunette" (which I'd like to own, if I could find it and afford it when I did), but the subtle hint of color makes things more fascinating for colored foliage freaks like me.
As the summer progresses, flower stems elongate, reaching (on my beloved plant) over five feet (1.52 m), until, in September, the flower buds open into white, fragrant wands that fill the garden with a honey scent for several weeks. The spent flowers fall cleanly and are replaced by golden brown seed heads, in themselves quite decorative. Now, just what more can you ask of a plant?
The flowers drive the insect population wild. Although I mostly see every sort of bee, The Butterfly WebSite Planting Guide lists it as a plant desirable for attracting butterflies. The flowers really hum and you have to check twice before burying your nose in one of them.
Copious seed are set, but in the seven years I've had my plant, I've only found one seedling. After trying my usual tactic of scattering seed around the parent plant, to no avail, I decided to get a bit more scientific about things. Nearly four years ago, I planted seed when it was ripe and waited. The following spring, I had one lone seedling emerge. It remained a teeny, bitty child all season. I kept it in the seed tray and the next spring was surprised to find several more seedlings popping up. I gave away the first one and left the rest in the seed tray for another season. Last winter, I moved these to a larger flat -- there were nearly a dozen of them and I had visions of a grove of Cimicifuga. Well, the squirrels got into the flat and had a good time this spring, leaving me with five plants. These have put on some growth, but the largest is only about six inches (15.2 cm) tall. So, I can see why propagation is generally done by division! It has to be one of the slowest growers of the plant kingdom.
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