My kid brother was a botanist and an academic. He was, of course, more than that, but that is what distinguished him to society at large, though not his family. There was 14 years between us, an age gap that separated us, since four years after he was born I was married. Until then, though, I helped my mother with her new baby and very early learned to change diapers and feed a fussy appetite. When he graduated with his doctorate in environmental science, he took a position in Halifax and remained there for his working professional life.

 

He was a proponent of naturalized gardens, and his own reflected that. He liked all plants, but he was consciously invested in biodiversity as it pertained to native plants, distinguishing them from plants imported and cultivated from all over the world. Sustaining native plants was integral to his commitment to the environment. So he dug out of his garden everything that wasn't of native Canadian origins and slowly began replacing them with what we might term 'wild plants', plants that were uncultured by human hand.

I had been doing the very same thing of my own initiative but only to a degree. I retained all of the non-native trees, shrubbery and perennials we had planted in our own garden over the years. Unlike my brother I was not motivated by the wish and will to preserve native species; I was attracted to some native species because they were beautiful and I wanted to share some of our garden space with them. I had some successes and some failures, as some plants adapted, and others failed to.

Over the years I collected a few species that I sourced from our nearby forest. Taking bits of what was there in abundance, which, once established in our garden, flourished and spread, making a showy home for themselves, and delighting us in the process. There were trout lilies, trilliums, wild ginger, foamflower and Jack-in-the-Pulpits. They grew to spreading proportions, making themselves right at home. The Jack-in-the-Pulpits attained giant size and doubled, then tripled in number. 

When we were children in grade school, we were taught about native species of plants. That was 80 years ago. Many people who take hikes through the forest whom we come across from time to time and may have known for many years have no idea what some of the plants are; never heard of jewelweed or meadow rue, pilotweed or coltsfoot, fleabane or hawkweed, though everyone pretty well knows plants like asters, violets, goldenrod and Queen Anne's lace. 

But they're all there, in the forest, blooming in their seasonal displays, brightening the landscape with their presence. People who simply hike through the forest trails, or ride bicycles, without taking the time or interest in noticing, much less trying to identify these plants will never know what they're missing. The blossoms all over dogwood shrubs, wildflowers like pussytoes, honeysuckle shrubs, wild apple trees, hawthorns, even maple trees. They all have their brief seasonal time of blossoming glory and they're worth the effort to notice and admire.