It is bloom time for the Southern magnolia. Last year I first noticed these beautiful, ivory flowers on May the 20th, or so my journal tells me. This year, I saw the first flower just before Mother’s Day.
Whatever their official start date, for me these enormous blossoms are the signal that summer is here. The air has changed dramatically in just the past week, so that, for example, yesterday, photographing the red cabbages in the “cool” of the morning I felt the first sheen of humidity-induced perspiration on the nape of my neck.
Earlier today, I stood out on the front porch and knew a storm was imminent, although the sky looked perfectly innocent of any such intention. There was a particular hot and heavy stillness that my skin knows very well, even after many intervening months in which to forget. Sure enough, less than a half-hour later, thunder pierced that eerie calm.
For those of you who aren’t familiar with the Southern Magnolia, allow me to make the introductions. Magnolia grandiflora is an ancient species of tree whose natural range is limited to the extreme southeastern corner of the United States. However, because it is rather adaptable, you can now find this lovely tree much further afield, and wherever it thrives, it is considered a subtropical indicator tree.
Its foliage is tough, leathery and evergreen, with a shiny dark green upper side and a paler green, velvety underside which appears more rust-colored as the brown, fuzzy coating ages. Mature trees shed some of these leaves all year round, from the interior of the canopy, which is why if you’re growing it in your yard, you may not want to prune the lowest-hanging branches, but allow them to drape naturally.
Otherwise, you will be continually picking up the fallen leaves, as I can attest from personal experience.
The blossoms of Magnolia grandiflora easily live up to their horticultural name. “Grandiflora” is Latin for big flower, and each of these cream-colored beauties is huge. I used to be able to say truthfully that they were the size of my head, but my head has sadly gotten bigger over the years, and now I can only say that they fall into a range of 8 to 12 inches (20-30 cm) in diameter, which sounds much less interesting.
Still impressive, though.
Why are the blossoms so huge? Because this is an ancient species. It is thought that the first magnolias developed around 95 million years ago. (For a comparison, the first oaks probably appeared just over 40 million years ago.) That’s so far back that there were no bees yet. So magnolia flowers evolved to attract some of the first available pollinators: beetles.
Anticipating visits from beetles, who like to chew and can be, let’s face it, rather hard on a plant, the magnolia flower has no distinct petals or sepals, but a rather tougher intermediary for which the botanists coined a special name: tepals. The reproductive structures are also large and strong, designed to withstand the onslaught of gnawing, crawling beetles and still manage to produce the next generation of seed.
A strong and ancient heart.
Everything else about the magnolia may be tough, no-nonsense and designed to withstand the practical realities of their time, but the haunting scent of those flowers is pure prehistoric magic.
In doing a bit of research for this post, I’ve seen their delectable fragrance described as “lemony fresh,” “bright,” “opulent,” and “citronella-like.” None of these descriptions even comes close, in my opinion, and the citronella comparison is just insulting. Yes, the candle-shaped, unopened bud seems to indicate a close kinship with citrus, fresh and sunny. But once the flower has opened, the scent is much more subtle and sophisticated. There are hints of champagne, orange, and antique roses, and even a barely-there sharp note, as green as pine.
One blossom can easily scent a whole house with evocative romance. I should know. My mother used to cut a single blossom and set it in a huge vase on our kitchen table, and lying in my bed at night, all the way at the other end of the house, I could inhale that fragrance while listening to the crickets’ serenade, moonlight filtering through the blinds to stripe my face.
Those flowers came from the very first tree that I knew intimately. That magnolia and I had a longstanding personal relationship.
When I was four, my grandmother sent my parents home from a visit to the city with a magnolia sapling that had cropped up on the edge of her tiny lawn. A full-grown magnolia would have meant the end of her lawn, but my parents’ suburban front yard was still achingly bare and new. My father planted the sapling, which he judged to be around three or four years old, dead center in that grassy expanse.
Now, I watched this behavior with interest, and it sparked a hundred questions. At the end of all of those patient, loving answers, two things were startlingly clear to me.
One: In spite of its misleading appearance, the stick with a couple of leaves on it was indeed a tree, albeit a very young one. (Evidence: Daddy would not lie to me.)
Two: The baby tree was probably the same age as I was.
“But I’m taller,” I protested in confusion. How could that be so, when almost every “tree” that met my simplistic definition was taller than Daddy, even?
Dad tamped down the soil in the planting hole with his foot, firming the earth around the tree’s roots, and stood back to see if the stick stood straight. “Yes, that’s true,” he said absently, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “You’re taller than a tree, honey. How does that make you feel?” He grinned at me and went to turn on the hose.
Well, truth be told, it felt wonderful. Like I’d been transformed into a little four-year-old goddess. I know they say every little girl longs to be a princess, but it’s not quite true. Some of us would rather be tree-topping goddesses.
If the lower branches are left unpruned, they will often trail to the ground, resulting in charming scenes like this one, where a lovely flower seems to have bloomed out of the ground.
For the rest of that year, every time I came home from pre-kindergarten classes, I went and stood beside that tree, measuring it up to my own body. It had not escaped my knowledge that I was one of the shortest in my early classes, but as long as I was taller than a tree, everything would be just fine.
After every check-up, I’d pat the tree very gently on its growing tip, or hug its spindly trunk, or stroke the velveteen back of one of its leaves, give it a little praise and maybe a progress report from my own life, and then skip away to do… whatever it is that four-year-olds do.
But alas, magnolia trees grow quickly.
Oh, I know human children do, too (especially if they are your own, I’m told). But we only have to reach five or six feet tall, and much less wide. Here’s a picture of part of a mature magnolia specimen, for comparison. The oldest, healthiest trees may reach 90 feet tall.
Clearly, my magnolia needed to get busy — even if it meant leaving the littlest goddess in the dust.
But by the time it had clearly eclipsed me, we were fast friends. I even wondered, much later on, if my whispered praise and conversations had not helped it to grow so well.
It was a huge tree when it succumbed to a tornado in my late 20′s. I’d been home for a visit, and huddled in the hallway with my mom, terrified, both of us praying the roof would hold as we held hands. The roar of the storm was so loud that when it stopped, my ears were ringing. A few minutes later, I stood on the front porch in shock, amazed that we hadn’t even heard the crash of a 40-foot tree.
My friend lay across the yard and sprawled into the street, blocking traffic. I couldn’t take it in at first. Later I sobbed, heartbroken.
Dad said that the trunk was snapped off at the base “like a toothpick,” and yet the wood was twisted, curled somehow, as though the tree had turned in mid-fall. Now, I do understand how tornadoes work. But in my more fanciful moments, I like to think my magnolia tree deliberately fell away from the house, sparing the roof above the hallway where we sat cowering.
There is an epilogue to this story.
Because the tree fell just when its flowers had matured their crop of seeds, a magnolia sapling sprang up two years after the tornado. It chose to sprout in the rose garden on the edge of Mom and Dad’s property. It is still small enough for a honeysuckle to climb the nearby fence and drape over its lower branches.
But it is already much taller than me.
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Awww, I’m so sorry about your magnolia friend…but how neat that one of its seeds has taken root in your parents garden! And thank heavens the tree fell into the street – I think you are right and it made the ulimate sacrifice.
We have a lot of saucer magnolias in our area. They are so beautiful.
Talon´s last blog ..Photos and music…
I am really grateful that it fell the way it did, and I love the way you phrased it, Talon. Yes, perhaps my friend did make “the ultimate sacrifice.”
Saucer magnolias are one of the delights of spring. Enjoy!
Oh Meredith what a lovely post and so informative.
Amazingly beautiful big ancient flowers with tepals.Gorgeous.
Your longstanding friendship with the Magnolia tree touched me
deeply. As I too have had relationships with trees. Never a Magnolia however.
Next spring I am going to Fla. perhaps I shall meet one then….
I’ll say hello.
gemma´s last blog ..
Thank you, Gemma. I’m so pleased you enjoyed the post. Tree friendships are an important part of my life, I think, and this particular relationship was definitely the first and most formative one.
I do hope you meet some lovely magnolias in Florida. Northern Florida is part of their original native range, and you can encounter some huge specimens — or should I say personalities? — there.
Ohhhh one of my favorite trees. I love the magnolias. Beautiful words (as always) and beautiful pictures.
Alisha´s last blog ..Lust not, want not
Thank you, Alisha. I’m so glad to have written about one of your favorites, which you must be missing in Chicago. (Or wait, they’re so adaptable… I wonder if some have gone so far north?)
Meredith, I enjoyed your post very much! I can appreciate the loss you felt for your magnolia. We have an enormous magnolia tree on the edge of the woodland garden, and I took photos of it just today, as it is beginning to bloom. This tree was somewhat twisted by the tornado in 1990 that damaged our house and took out most of the trees through the center of the property. I was greatly relieved that it had survived. It fully recovered and is a treasure, well on its way to ninety feet!
debsgarden´s last blog ..Shades of Green and Golden Light
Deb, I’m so glad your magnolia survived that tornado in 1990. I absolutely adored the post where you describe the devastation — and how you took that loss and gradually transformed it into the lovely garden paradise you have today. Not only was the story fascinating and uplifting, I found it a powerful metaphor for life after loss.
Meredith, what a lovely history interwoven with your history. Well done and what a gorgeous flower!
I appreciate the generous compliment, Gloria!
And I’m glad you enjoyed the flower shots. I guess you don’t get many of them so far to the North.
Hi Meredith, i never realized Magnolia trees are that big. About the flowers i already saw one bigger than a foot in diameter as bouquet when my friend was married years ago. I actually thought it was a very big white rose flower before they said it is Magnolia. They only thrive in our uplands because the climate there is semi-temperate. Your photos are always beautiful. thanks.
Andrea, it’s so lovely that your friend used a magnolia in her bridal bouquet. Very original. I’d love to have seen that!
In my research for the post, I did come across some information that magnolias planted outside of their usual range may not reach such heights, but still survive and bloom anyway. So your local versions may not be 90 feet tall, but still able to provide plenty of ivory blossoms for creative brides.
Beautiful story and I’m so happy your friend left you another pal to get to know and love. Mamma G has a Magnolia out the back here, not the same as yours but it is 30 years old and very impressive for it’s type (whatever that is *blush*) and blooms magnificently. I find it horror inducing that the fragnance could be considered lemony! it is, as you say much more complex and very comforting.
carrie´s last blog ..Crappy Flu stills lingers on but…
Thank you, Carrie. I’m so happy someone else agreed with me about “lemony” just being all wrong.
Saucer magnolias might be more suited to your climate. (I could be dead wrong, though.) A 30-year-old saucer magnolia in bloom must be a glorious sight to see!
Meredith, That was a beautifully told story~Thank you for sharing. I love the wonderful scent of a magnolia blossom and would love to have a stately tree in the garden~Perfumers (?) can try to recreate the scent, but they will will. gail
Gail´s last blog ..May Blooms For You
Gail, I’m so glad you enjoyed it. Perfumers can do some amazing things, it’s true. But recreating the scent of a magnolia blossom might still be beyond their reach. Heck, I even had difficulty *describing* it.
I would have sobbed, too! How lovely that you had such a special relationship with this tree. And I am so glad to hear that it left something of itself behind.
Lynn´s last blog ..Light on the stairs, HGTV and tribute
Yes, the emotions ran high that day… and for some time after its loss.
But there is definitely some comfort in the sight of its offspring growing tall and strong, glossy leaves shining in the sun.
I very much enjoyed reading your post. Nature has a way of abruptly changing things doesn’t she? I’m glad a sapling is taking the place of your fallen friend.
Sweet Bay´s last blog ..May Bloom Day
Thank you, Sweet Bay. Sometimes I’m convinced that to Nature, the whole thing might as well be a blank canvas. But human beings learning from Nature about what can be changed, what is possible in an existing landscape, brought us great gardens and gardening, so I won’t complain.
Hello Meredith,
I just love these majestic trees. There is a large one growing at my alma mater, Arizona State University – it is so tall!
Noelle / azplantlady´s last blog ..May’s MGB…..Monthly Garden Bouquet
Amazing, Noelle. I did not realize this tree was so adaptable it could thrive in such a dry setting. I’d always read that it preferred moist soils! I’m duly impressed.
Meredith — Your photographs are sensational!!! Words don’t express how they capture me, especially since I also love the Magnolia tree. I didn’t know the history and I thank you for sharing it. It makes sense now that the flowers are so big!
Where I’m at, our magnolias have almost finished their blooming, to my sorrow. They grow everyplace here. You can look out into the wildest areas and there will be the magnolia tree. She’s the stunning and dignified lady amidst the scraggly brambles and bushes:~)
Sara´s last blog ..Story Photo: The Dragonfly
Aw, Sara, you’re making me blush now. Thank you for those kind words about my photographs. That really started off my day beautifully.
I’m so glad I could share what I know about the magnolia’s amazing, ancient origins. They are stunning reminders of a world long gone.
I just love to see them in the wild, Sara. There is one on the edge of the forest surrounding our house, but I’m not so sure it wasn’t planted, and then the space around it not tended properly, allowing the ragged, wooded edge to creep forward and envelop it. You are one lucky woman, to see them all around you.
Fascinating post and I love the story of your childhood magnolia friend. I just noticed the beautiful undersides of the leaves last week while driving by a huge magnolia down he street from you. They look like brown velvet. We have several tiny magnolia trees in our yard. Do you know how big/old they have to be before they bloom?
Kathy´s last blog ..Caution: Tortoise Crossing
Kathy, I’m so glad you liked the story. How exciting to have several on your property! Are they wild seedlings?
I believe that a typical Magnolia grandiflora blooms around age 10. As for their size at that time, this will likely depend upon how nice their growing conditions are. Things you can do to encourage bloom: make sure the tree is not shaded, check the soil ph and make sure it is good and acid like they prefer, and fertilize with a fertilizer not too high in nitrogen (which encourages rapid growth of foliage) in early spring.
Oh, and maybe praise them a bit.
Oops! I mean “a huge magnolia down the street from ME”
Kathy´s last blog ..Caution: Tortoise Crossing
LOL! Would you believe I read that sentence as intended, not as written? I guess our brains go ahead and fill in the blanks for us sometimes.
Lovely post Meredith. I hadn’t really thought about how plants were pollinated before bees. I agree, likening the fragrance of a magnolia to citronella is simply unacceptable. I’m so sorry your friend was lost to the tornado, but so happy to read that one of that magnolia’s offspring still survives, and I’m sure will be just as magnificent soon.
Curbstone Valley Farm´s last blog ..Clintonia andrewsiana
Citronella is the worst comparison, definitely, Clare.
I’m so glad you enjoyed the post. Isn’t it strange to imagine a world without bees? I personally hope I never have to witness such a world…
Great story. There was an episode of My Friends Tigger and Pooh where roo thought he was shrinking because the tree where his height was being marked kept growing. Cute story.
I have a Southern magnolia that is living but severly stunted, which is just as well b/c I really didn’t know how big it could get when I planted it a mere 15 feet or so from my house!
Wendy´s last blog ..POP! a glorious sound
Aw, that’s so cute, Wendy. You see the things I miss by not having small children?
(I didn’t even know there was a show called “My Friends Tigger and Pooh.” The only acquaintance with Roo, Tigger, and Pooh I ever got was from the books.)
If it’s only 15 feet from the house, I’d say you’re lucky your tree is stunted!! Yikes!
Meredith, This is such a delightful and touching post. Seeing your childhood friend fallen like that must have been so hard… the entire experience of the storm sounds frightening! I absolutely love your writing! It flows like thick, sweet honey. A very sweet story of a child connecting to nature… I love the image of your standing near your Magnolia measuring yourself and your dad’s words … your title… so dear. Very interesting too about the beetles. Sadly I cannot remember the fragrance of this species. I had a Magnolia such as this growing in our lawn in my teenage years… I loved the blossoms and the suede-like underside of the leaves always intrigued me. Your photos are truly fabulous and capture the magic of this ancient tree. I hope someone takes to the seedling in your parents rose garden as you did all those years ago.
Carolflowerhillfarm´s last blog ..Lightness of Being Amongst Wings in a Garden
Thank you for saying that, Carol. How prettily you phrase your compliments! I am touched.
Suede! Why couldn’t I think of that? I struggled with how to describe the downy underside of the leaves, and finally settled on velvet, but suede is an even better description. (I ought to have gone to the thesaurus.
)
It was indeed very hard to see my friend downed, and I’d prefer never to go through the terror of such a storm again, if at all possible. I wish for all children that they could make these connections early and often. I’m convinced it would change the world.
I loved your story. I found it when I searched for info on the recent torndao in my hometown.
When I was 2 I planted a Magnolia tree in my grandmother’s side yard. By the time I was 30, the next generation was calling it the “climbing” tree, as it was so perfect for this purpose.
When my son was 2, he planted a Magnolia in his grandmother’s front yard, as well as ours. Every year, on his birthday, we take a photo of him standing in front of it. He is now 15 and it has, of course, surpassed him in height.
Up here the blossoms are one of our first signs of spring.
Thanks for the story, information, and photos. I knew Magnolias were old, but we learned much more from your article. You are so right, the citronella comparison was a total insult.
Carol, I just saw this lovely comment, which I somehow missed on my birthday back in June. Thank you for stopping by, and I’m so glad you enjoyed the piece.
I love that your family is carrying on the tradition of magnolia planting for the new generation. Such a beautiful way to commemorate the years!