Pronunciation: (ah-kwi-lee-gee-ah kana-den-sis)
Okay, so what does that mean? Aquila translates to "eagle", likely referring to the five talon-like spurs on each bloom, and canadensis means, you guessed it - Canadian! A.K.A. Wild Columbine, Eastern Columbine, Granny's Bonnets, Dancing Fairies Height: 30-45 cm (12-18") Spread: 30 cm (12") Colour: brick red and butter yellow Cultural requirements: Aquilegia canadensis naturally occurs in moist, rocky soil in partial shade, but it readily adapts to most garden conditions. Hardy to zone: 2
Aquilegia canadensis is one of the few flowers that knew as a child - it grew in a garden just beyond our back door, at the bottom of a steep slope in the shade of an old purple lilac. Marching up the sunny slope behind this Columbine were Queen Anne's Lace, Ox-eye daisies, the beautiful blue (but painfully prickly) Viper's Bugloss, and the inconspicuous Bladder Campion whose dried seed pods I loved to crunch between my fingers. My parents never actually referred to this unused portion of the yard as a garden; instead it was considered to be a place where a garden might one day be planted, once time allowed and the weeds were cleared.
It's easy to overlook Aquilegia canadensis when it's displayed next to the many large flowered hybrids now available, but there are some real benefits to our native Columbine's subtle charms. Rather than forming a dense mound of foliage, Aquilegia canadensis tends to be light and airy in appearance, its sparsely clad stems lift the softly coloured blooms up and above surrounding foliage so that they appear to float above the garden. Since Columbine self-seeds readily, this is a particularly attractive feature - it's rarely necessary to thin or transplant seedlings for fear that they'll overpower other plants, I prefer to let them weave their way through the garden, lending a sense of continuity to the bed and giving them the freedom tochoose their own garden companions.
In early spring, the emerging foliage of Aquilegia canadensis merits daily attention - wiry little stems lift silvery spears upward, which then unfurl to reveal delicately lobed leaves of a soft green with just a trace of blue. Each new leaf is slightly larger than the last, and rises slightly higher, eventually creating an artfully layered clump of leaves up to eight inches in height. By May, dark coloured stems have grown to about 18 inches, and the unmistakable five spurred blooms of Aquilegia canadensis become the centre of attention for hummingbirds and gardeners alike.
By about mid-June, when Aquilegia canadensis has passed its peak bloom period, it begins to attract wildlife of a different sort - leaf miners. Virtually all Aquilegia species are plagued by leaf miners, tiny insects that devour the soft interiors of the leaves, leaving the tougher outer layers intact. A plant infested with leaf miners is easy to spot - the leaves will be riddled with pale, meandering trails about an eighth of an inch wide. Removing the pest is as simple as plucking the affected leaf and disposing of it, but that's only a viable solution in the early stages, when relatively few leaves have been disfigured. In my own garden, and in many others I suspect, the leaf miners are already well established by the time I discover them, leaving just two options: cut the entire plant to the ground to encourage the regrowth of healthy, unmarred foliage, or learn to appreciate the intricate patterns created by the leaf miner. I've chosen the latter course in my garden, and the plants don't seem to suffer any long-lasting ill effects.
Potted specimens of Aquilegia canadensis are now fairly easy to find in larger garden centres, or you can easily start your own plants from seed sown in pots or directly into the garden. If you're wondering what plants make effective companions for Aquilegia canadensis, may I suggest Queen Anne's Lace, Viper's Bugloss, Bladder Campion . . .
kev'n ward
