The garden under the canopy. Shade is not a problem to solve but a place to plant, and these are the ferns, foliage plants, and quiet bloomers that make the cool, dim ground beneath trees and walls into one of the loveliest parts of a garden.
The southern maidenhair has a way of choosing impossible places. Look for this fern on a shaded limestone bluff where water seeps through the rock, or in the spray zone of a spring-fed creek, and you will likely find the fronds growing sideways out of a crevice as if that were the most natural thing in the world. The wiry black stems hold up fan-shaped pinnules so thin they seem almost translucent in morning light, and the whole plant trembles at the slightest breath of air. Few native ferns carry this much delicacy with so little fuss.
Maidenhairs take their English name from their stems, those fine black wiry stalks like strands of dark hair, and their Latin name from a quieter trick. Adiantum comes from the Greek adiantos, the unwetted one, because water will not cling to the fronds. Hold a maidenhair under a running tap and the frond comes out dry, the droplets beading and rolling off a surface built to refuse them. That is the sort of small marvel ferns keep to themselves until you go looking. This particular maidenhair breaks the family mold in one telling way. Where the rest are a byword for fragility, all lace and apology, the rosy maidenhair is faintly hairy and unbothered. Run a fingertip up the stipe and you will feel the bristles that named the fern: hispidulum, minutely hairy, set down by the Swedish botanist Olof Swartz in 1802.
A compact cast iron plant from Vietnam, Aspidistra vietnamensis 'Amanogawa' carries narrow, deep green, upright blades scattered with small creamy white spots, as if dusted with stars. The cultivar name, Japanese for the Milky Way, fits the effect exactly, and the speckled foliage brings light and pattern to a shaded bed where plain green would simply recede.
There is a strange romance buried in this plant's history, and 'Golden King' sits on the male side of it. Aucuba japonica reached England in 1783 as a single female, the yellow-flecked gold dust shrub that Victorians went on to plant by the thousand. Aucuba carry their sexes on separate plants, and for eighty years every aucuba in the country was a clone of that one female, waiting on the famous red berries that never came, because Japan had sealed its borders and no male could be had.
There is a book about Aucuba japonica called A Virgin for Eighty Years, which sounds like a romance novel and is, instead, one of the strangest stories in horticulture. The species arrived in England in 1783 as a single female plant. Aucuba is dioecious, male and female flowers on separate plants, so for the next eighty years every aucuba in English gardens was a clone of that one original female. Gardeners knew the plant was meant to bear bright red berries, since reports came back from Japan, but Japan had closed its borders, no male could be had, and they simply waited.
Carex flaccosperma, the blue wood sedge, is a clump-forming native of the Southeastern woodlands grown for cool, glaucous, blue to blue-green foliage. The blades are wide for a sedge, to half an inch, faintly quilted along the veins, and they catch the light with a soft powdery sheen that lifts a shaded planting where most greens recede.
Among ornamental grasses, Chasmanthium latifolium is the rare one that thrives in shade. River oats, also called northern sea oats and inland sea oats, is a clumping, rhizomatous perennial grass of the eastern and central United States, found in the wild along wooded creek banks, river bottoms, and shaded slopes from Pennsylvania south to Florida and west toward the prairies. The broad, bamboo-like blades are wider than most grasses can claim, and the plant carries them in a loose, arching mound that takes deep shade without sulking.
There is a moment in early spring when a new frond of Dryopteris erythrosora 'Brilliance' unfurls, and the sight is one of the more quietly spectacular things a shade garden produces. The emerging fronds are a vivid copper-orange, almost metallic in certain light, deepening through pink and bronze before settling into the glossy dark green of maturity. 'Brilliance' is a selected form of the autumn fern chosen specifically for the intensity of that color progression, pushing the coppery new growth further than the straight species manages and holding the color longer. In a garden where most plants arrive already green, this is a meaningful distinction.
Dryopteris ludoviciana, the southern shield fern, is a bold, glossy evergreen native to the wet woodlands of the American South. The species epithet ludoviciana means "of Louisiana," a nod to the swampy bottomlands, blackwater hammocks, and shaded seeps where the fern grows wild, from Florida west to Texas and north through the Carolinas.
Dryopteris ×remota, the remote wood fern or scaly buckler fern, is one of those quiet accidents of nature that turns out better than anything a breeder set out to make. The fern is a naturally occurring hybrid between the scaly male fern, Dryopteris affinis, of western Europe and the British Isles, and the broad buckler fern, Dryopteris expansa, of cooler northern woods. From the affinis parent the hybrid took shaggy stalks thickly clothed in golden-brown scales; from expansa, the fine, lacy cut of the frond. The epithet remota, meaning scattered or spaced apart, points to the way the lowest segments stand a little distant from one another along the frond, a subtle tell that separates this fern from the crowd of look-alike wood ferns.
Dryopteris ×australis is a fern that cannot, strictly speaking, reproduce, and is all the more vigorous for the lack. This is a natural hybrid, thrown wherever two Southern wood ferns grow within a spore’s reach of one another: the log fern, Dryopteris celsa, and the southern wood fern, Dryopteris ludoviciana. The cross comes out sterile, setting spores that never amount to anything, so the fern cannot seed itself across a bed the way a large fern usually will. Every plant in cultivation traces back by division to a wild clump found somewhere between Virginia and Louisiana, the greatest number of them in Alabama.
True cardamom, Elettaria cardamomum, is a lush, aromatic member of the ginger family and the source of green cardamom, the ancient and costly spice traded for millennia along the Silk Road and across the Indian Ocean. Native to the humid, evergreen hill forests of southern India and Sri Lanka, the plant grows in the dappled shade of the understory, in deep, fertile, always-moist soil. Ranked historically among the most valuable spices in the world, cardamom carries a history as rich as the flavor.
Hardiness
Zones 8–10
Light
Part Shade / Full Shade
Height
6–12 ft.
Spread
3–6 ft.
Bloom
White
Plant type
Perennial
Traditional use
digestive health, respiratory support, general wellness
Every nursery keeps a few mysteries, and this trailing evergreen euonymus is one of ours: a plant still awaiting a firm name, possibly Euonymus aculeatus, collected by Frank Bell high on Mount Emei (Emeishan) in Sichuan, China. Low and spreading, the stems carry long-pointed, finely toothed leaves about two inches long, glossy and evergreen, on a habit that hugs the ground and wanders steadily outward.
The Lenten rose is not a rose at all, but a member of the buttercup tribe that happens to flower around Lent, in the raw weeks of late winter when the garden is otherwise bare. The blooms are nodding cups a couple of inches across, held just above the foliage in white, cream, pink, plum, and a smoky green, many of them freckled or veined at the throat. What look like petals are in fact sepals, which is the secret of the long show: rather than dropping in days, the flowers hold for weeks and age slowly to green, carrying color from late winter well into spring.
Itea, the sweetspires, are graceful shrubs of the family Iteaceae, named from the Greek word for willow after their willow-like leaves. Itea oldhamii is a little-known evergreen sweetspire from Taiwan, a compact shrub with an unusual party trick: the juvenile leaves can be holly-like, edged with small teeth, while the mature leaves settle to a smooth, entire margin. In late spring the plant carries racemes of small white flowers over glossy evergreen foliage.
Step into a North American wetlands grove, and you'll find Osmunda cinnamomea, the majestic cinnamon fern, standing tall on fronds that arch with the dignity of cathedral windows. Native to rich, damp woodlands and boggy stream edges across eastern North America, this stately fern thrives in humus-laden soil, the base cloaked in cinnamon-colored fibers that inspired the common name. In spring, the center of each dark green vase unleashes erect fertile fronds, spore-tossing cinnamon sticks that rise above the sterile foliage before maturing to warm, russet brown.
In the dim, humid hush of a Southern swamp or the shaded edges of a woodland stream, Osmunda regalis var. spectabilis, commonly known as the American royal fern, stands as a silent monarch. This grandiose fern, native across eastern North America, unfurls towering fronds that burst upward in graceful rosettes, often reaching 3 to 6 feet tall with a spread of 2 to 3 feet. The distinctive, dignified look has earned these ferns the moniker flowering fern, a nod to the upright, spore-laden fertile fronds that crown each spring with tassel-like clusters before maturing to russet-brown.
Almost everything about Pinus glabra argues against their being a pine at all. The bark is smooth and gray, close-grained, so like the bark of an oak or hickory that people walk straight past a mature one without taking the tree for a conifer; it is the single most reliable way to know the tree. The needles are soft, short, and paired, a cool dark green, worn in a dense rounded crown rather than the open candelabra of their relatives. And most usefully, they tolerate shade. Where nearly every other southern pine demands full sun and open, burned ground, spruce pine settles happily into the wooded margins just above the bottomlands, growing in the understory beneath oaks, beech, and magnolia. They were named by Thomas Walter, the English-born botanist of the Santee whose Flora Caroliniana appeared in London in 1788, the year before he died; the epithet glabra, meaning smooth and hairless, marks those glabrous young twigs. Even the timber keeps its own counsel, drying at so different a rate from other southern pines that mills cannot season it in the same batch. This is a pine for the places pines aren't supposed to go: the shaded corner, the woodland edge, the spot where you wanted evergreen structure and assumed you couldn't have it. Once you can recognize one, you start wanting them everywhere the light runs thin.
For a plant this common, the Christmas fern carries an oddly specific origin for the name. The fern was christened, the story goes, by one John Robinson, a botany professor at the Peabody Academy in Salem, Massachusetts, sometime in the late 1800s, and set down for posterity in a 1923 volume with the irreproachable title The Fern-Lover's Companion. Robinson's reasoning was seasonal. When the other ferns of the eastern woods go brown and crisp at the first hard frost, Polystichum acrostichoides holds green straight through December, which made the plant the fern people cut for wreaths and mantels at Christmas. There is a second theory, quieter and harder to settle, that the name comes from the leaflets themselves: look closely and each pinna carries a small lobe at its base, an ear or a thumb, that gives the leaflet the outline of a Christmas stocking. Both camps are probably right.
Hardiness
Zones 4–9
Light
Part Shade / Full Shade
Height
1–2 ft.
Spread
1–2 ft.
Plant type
Fern
Traditional use
pain relief, respiratory support, digestive health
Rohdea japonica, the sacred lily or Nippon lily, is a bold, slow, tufted evergreen perennial grown above all for foliage, and this selection carries the darkest leaves of all, an almost black, glossy green that anchors a shaded planting through the whole year and lights up a winter landscape when little else holds. Rather sizeable red berries ripen in tight clusters, half-hidden at the base of the leaves, a quiet second season for anyone who looks closely.
