Rodney Eason tracks down a remarkable vine that thrives in landscapes of refuge that rose in the wake of glaciers.
It was a cool late-October morning and the final day of my Florida botanical expedition. I headed out with Michael Jenkins, our local contact and Tallahassee-based State Conservation Program Biologist. Michael and I met Bob Farley, a renowned conservationist based in Apalachicola, at a Waffle House near our plant collecting site. We had one day left to collect what we had glimpsed just days before.
Two weeks prior to my trip, Hurricane Milton had cut a devastating path across central Florida, from Tampa to the Lake Wales area. The original plan was to explore these places, but I shifted my itinerary under the advice of our contacts in the Lake Wales conservation area to focus on the refugia vegetation within the Panhandle. Luckily, the list of target species I compiled with Miles Schwartz in concert with the Campaign for the Living Collections, was still a viable mission, and I set out in search of the species at the top of the list: bay starvine (Schisandra glabra). Native to the southeastern United States, S. glabra is now considered imperiled due to development and deforestation in Florida.
Florida’s ancient shoreline is now represented by the Cody Escarpment, which runs west to east, approximately from Tallahassee to Jacksonville.
For years, I had heard about the rich biological diversity in the Florida Panhandle. Its unique, abundant flora reflect the ecological and environmental history of this region. More than two million years ago, the Earth entered an ice age and over half of what is now North America was covered by the Laurentide Ice Sheet, which extended southward along the East Coast to Pennsylvania. The mass of the ice was substantial enough to weigh down the land, which resulted in the Atlantic Ocean shoreline being much higher than today. The majority of Florida’s peninsula was underwater; the only portion of the peninsular landmass that remained above sea level is now called the Lake Wales Ridge, south of Orlando. Florida’s ancient shoreline is now represented by the Cody Escarpment, which runs west to east, approximately from Tallahassee to Jacksonville.
Using this environmental history as a primer helps illustrate why plants slowly seeded their way south, at literally a glacial pace, and hit a full stop at the Cody Escarpment. The glacier began to melt away nearly 15,000 years ago when the Earth began to warm, causing the North American plate to rise as it was relieved of the weight of ice; and as the ice sheet retreated, refugia of temperate plants were left dotting the landscape of what it now the southeastern United States. Within the Florida Panhandle and southwestern Georgia, the resulting geography near freshwater streams formed “steephead ravines.” These headwaters to local rivers have steep terrain and, due to the natural springs that well up within, offer
a cooler environment, supporting hotspots of species-rich biodiversity.
Due to the natural springs that well up within, [steephead ravines] offer a cooler environment, supporting hotspots of species-rich biodiversity.
On the first day of the trip, Bob Farley and I bushwhacked through timberlands along the Apalachicola River in search of Schisandra glabra, homing in on a GPS point along the edge of a dirt road in a private timber reserve where the plant was known to be growing. Thanks to years of hurricanes, the underbrush and spontaneous vegetation was thick and prickly. At times, Bob and I both looked at our arms and legs to see that blackberry thorns had drawn blood. Along our quest route, we encountered the rare Magnolia ashei, Illicium floridanum, several different species of Carya, and—to my surprise Mitchella repens, a groundcover found naturally in woodlands around Boston. Seeing such diverse vegetation helped distract me from the thorns, mosquitoes, and the 92-degree heat and humidity.
Three hours of bushwacking later, our dot on the iPhone map lined up with the GPS spot and we started scouring the landscape for Schisandra. I saw several hydrangea vines, Hydrangea barbara (syn. Decumaria barbara) which Bob said was similar but to note that the Schisandra had alternate leaf arrangement, compared to an opposite arrangement for the hydrangea vine. We hiked down to the bottom of a ravine and then visually scanned the edges of a creek bank. As I stared down at a small vine along the ground, I heard Bob’s excitement, “I think that’s the Schisandra!” Upon closer identification, it was indeed bay starvine, but a small seedling. We counted the leaves—six total—and decided to leave it with hopes that it would grow up into a giant bay starvine in a few decades. With a bittersweet feeling, we decided to bushwhack back to our vehicles.
At times, Bob and I both looked at our arms and legs to see that blackberry thorns had drawn blood.
Maybe it was thanks to the luck of our Waffle House brunch that we managed to get a successful collection of Schisandra glabra on the last day of our trip. After breakfast, we headed to a biological hotspot near Lake Talquin. Driving through longleaf pine (Pinus palustris) savannah, we neared a massive live oak (Quercus virginiana) draped in Spanish moss. Among the pine and oak forest was a shrub layer that included huckleberry (Gaylussacia sp.) that looked almost the same as what grows throughout the woods of New England. The overstory was scattered with trees more indicative of the mid Atlantic, with hickories, magnolias, oaks, maples, and an occasional sycamore. We hiked around the landscape and saw silverbells (Halesia diptera), silky camellia (Stewartia malacodendron), and needle palms (Rhapidophyllum hystrix). No bay starvine yet, but I could sense we were close.
After we visited the remarkable ravine near Lake Talquin, Mike and Bob suggested we visit one more site that might have a Schisandra glabra: a residential preserve north of Tallahassee where they both knew the owner and had permission to visit the site. Once there, we traipsed through the backyard, which quickly transitioned into a natural woodland with a stream meandering through the property. Mike had been surveying the Schisandra on the site for years and led us to one of the larger plants that grew over an arbor. I looked at Bob and laughed, thinking back to our first day where we hiked both bloodied and bitten, to find a tiny plant. Here, just 15 minutes north of my hotel, was a collection of bay starvines in a residential backyard!
I smiled as I looked at the Schisandra seedling in the bag, precious evidence of plant resistance and biodiversity richness.
At the base of the big plant, we found a small seedling with just a few leaves. With permission from the property owner, I carefully dug toward the plant. Brushing away the sandy loam and disengaging adjacent poison ivy—which I am severely allergic to—I extracted the seedling and placed it in a small, resealable bag. After securing the seedling, I walked down to the creek, added some water to the plastic bag so the seedling would not desiccate, and then scoured my hands with sand from the creek to prevent an allergic reaction. I smiled as I looked at the Schisandra seedling in the bag, precious evidence of plant resistance and biodiversity richness.
Back in Boston, my first stop was to deliver the exquisite Schisandra glabra and pass along the seeds to our assistant manager of plant production, Christopher Copeland, for potting. Though there are scant Waffle Houses in this region, I will always remember the adventures that led to a successful collection of Schisandra. The kindness and generosity of our colleagues in Florida enhanced my experience in the uniquely biodiverse regions we explored, where I hope to return to collect more plants on our target list. Above all, I look forward to when we can plant out some of the collections from this trip at the Arnold Arboretum.
Rodney Eason is the director of horticulture and landscape at the Arnold Arboretum.
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