Wild Geranium

Sticky Geranium
Geranium viscosissimum
Geraniaceae

Quick ID
This perennial herb rises 1-3 feet up from thick, meaty rhizomes at the ground, with stem nodes swollen like arthritic knuckles.  Two-inch flowers are scattered atop, often nodding tipsy above the leaves, their five round petals ranging from gentle pink to an earnest fuchsia.  In time the blossoms give way to fruit capsules, their styles elongating into a distinctly pointed 1-inch 'beak' that eventually splits open, catapulting the seeds out and away from the plant.  Pow! Genius.  Leaves are palmate, with 5-7 toothy lobes divided almost to the base, arranged opposite along the flower stem and then alternating below.  The bracts (below the flowers), upper stems and leaves are glandular and sticky.  We wouldn't go so far as to say "gooey"...they feel more like they've been sprayed with an aerosol adhesive and never dried.  

There are seven Geranium species in Montana, the most similar being G. richardsonii, the White Geranium, whose flowers are...white.  But before you get too comfy boasting your botanical prowess, remember that this genus is notoriously difficult to label.  If you're picky-picky (I am not) check out SW Colorado Wildflowers' awesome article on the nitty-gritty details of telling geranium species apart, along with other interesting taxonomic morsels.

Range
Found commonly in foothills to montane, from south-central BC and Alberta to Colorado, Utah and Nevada.  Like me, this species is not picky, and will be found in forests and prairies and open meadows, dry or soggy, shaded or in full reach of the sun.

What's in a Name?
In 1753, Linnaeus chose the genus name Geranium from the classical Greek word for a crane, geranos, in reference to the long beak-shaped fruits of late summer...today you'll often hear geraniums called "cranesbill" or "storksbill,"  The species name viscosissimum points to this species' sticky leaves and stems.  Viscum is the late Latin name for birdlime (a sticky goo spread on twigs to trap little birds) and ultimately comes from the ancient root weis-, meaning to melt or flow away.
Incidentally, the good old All-American Geranium we know and love (or loathe, depending on our moods), stocked so liberally in garden centers and windowboxes across the country, is not a geranium at all but rather a Pelargonium, evergreen and native to the tropics.   

Tidbits

Still going strong, first week of November

Sticky geraniums have a luxuriously long bloom time, opening blossoms dependably from May to August (depending on elevation of course).  This past fall (2016) was delightfully long and warm in central Montana, extending the blooming season clear into November.
As with most of our native species, the plant has a lengthy list of long-ranging medicinal uses.  It's edible but astringent and reportedly "unappealing".  We also need to take care not to confuse geraniums with monkshood (Aconitum columbianum), whose leaves are very similar and very poisonous.
         And finally...are geraniums carnivores?  May well be.  You'll certainly find wispy little bugs stuck on them, and to me that's an indicator that at least something's going on.  And some 20 years ago, a certain G. G Spomer's studies pointed to the fact that G. viscosissimum produces an enzyme capable of breaking down and digesting proteins.  As with everything, the question begs more study, but if you're interested you can check out his piece and see for yourself (Spomer, G.G. (1999). Evidence of protocarnivorous capabilities in Geranium viscosissimum and Potentilla arguta and other sticky plants. International Journal of Plant Sciences, 160(1): 98-101).

Wild Gardening
This is an excellent choice for native landscaping, as it's tolerant to a wide range of conditions and quick to produce blooms.  It's relatively easy to grow from seeds using a cold moist stratification method, but remember that the ripe fruits actively toss their seeds onward and outward, so collection can be tricky.  On the other hand, vegetative propagation through cuttings and rhizome divisions is a snap in the spring.  Give them dappled shade and not much water, and sit back ready to watch the pollinators come running.  Sticky geraniums are a great venue to observe all kinds of fascinating insect species...bees and beetles and butterflies all love them.  The petals are lined with dark-hued stripes that reflect ultra-violet light and guide insect towards the nectar source. Here, a scarab beetle that's evolved to mimic a bumblebee poses happily for a photo.  The resemblance is striking, but you can't fool me!  

Paintbrush

Paintbrush
Castilleja sp.
Orobanchaceae (Broomrape Family)



Quick ID
Castilleja blooms in early summer in a wild assortment of reds, oranges, pinks, yellows, even purples.  The colorfully painted brush atop each plant is not actually the flower, but rather the plant's leafy bracts that gradiate to green towards the base.  The actual flowers at the tips of these petal-like leaves are not much to speak of.  Paintbrush tends to be a moderately sized perennial herb, upright and with a woolly quality.  The narrow leaves  are alternately arranged, without stalks, clustered along a stem that can get woody at its base.  Castilleja could easily be confused with the closely related owl clover (Orthocarpus) or even the not-closely related Liatris, if one isn't careful.

Liatris (right) and owl clover above...both native, neither one a paintbrush!

At any rate, the species can be exceedingly difficult to tell apart, as they hybridize easily.  Even the most authoritative taxonomists in the business use caution with this genus.

Range
Around 200 species of Castilleja evolved in the Americas and northern Asia.  Most of the diversity is found in the Northwest region of the US and Canada, although species range down to the Andes.  Plants grow in a wide range of ecosystems. Look for them in forest meadows, rarely in dense stands but instead sprinkled in among other wildflower communities.

What's in a Name?
One used to commonly hear this plant called Indian paintbrush (although most gardeners and botanists I know have come to find the term distasteful) or prairie-fire. The genus name Castilleja was first published in Carolus (the younger) Linnaeus's Supplementum Plantarum in 1782, after Professor of Botany Domingo Castillejo of Cadiz, Spain.  The name was chosen by Jose Celestino Mutis, a world-class botanist in his own right, who must have been one of Castillejo's admirers.  The surname, incidentally, means "little castle".

Around 2001, the botanical family Scrophulariaceae started to get a major makeover.  To put it simply, improved research methods started revealing that as far as genetic relationships are concerned, way too many plants were being included in the family.  So taxonomists kicked a whole bunch of genera out of the group, squeezing them in with Orobanchaceae, Plantaginaceae and some other families.  This sort of taxonomic restructuring can get really technical...and really messy.  Take, for example, the Wiki entry on Scrophulariaceae (which, admittedly, has always been something of a mishmash family) :

Fischer (2004) considered the family to consist of three subfamilies; Antirrhinoideae, Gratioloideae, and Digitalidoideae. He further divided the Gratioloideae into five tribes; Gratioleae, Angeloniaeae, Stemodieae, Limoselleae and Lindernieae. He then divided the Gratioleae, with its sixteen genera (and about 182 species) into three subtribes; Caprarinae, Dopatrinae and Gratiolinae. The Gratiolinae had ten genera (about 121 species) distributed through temperate and tropical America; Bacopa and Mecardonia (formerly Herpestis), Amphianthus,Gratiola, Sophronanthe,  Benjaminia, Scoparia, Boelkea, Maeviella and Braunblequetia. Many of these were transferred to the family Plantaginaceae, in the tribe Gratioleae.

 Yikes!  While some folks, bless their hearts, really get excited with this level of nit-picky detail, the rest of us are left throwing our forever-outdated field guides up in the air, exasperated.   What's cool about the binomial nomenclature system (Genus species) is that everybody all over the world can use the same name for an organism, no matter what language you speak or what region you hail from.  Nice and simple.  All the new (yes yes, more accurate) swip-swapping of names can get complicated, and intimidating for the budding botanist.
At any rate Castilleja, formerly a scroph, is now in the Orobanchaceae (Broomrape) family.  This actually does make sense, as the broomrapes, like paintbrush, are largely parasitic plants.


Tidbits

Castilleja is what's known as a hemiparasite.  Unlike true parasitic plants, it has the chlorophyll to photosynthesize on its own.  It can even live on its own, but will be stunted and miserable.  It would much prefer to worm its haustoria (special roots for plants looking to borrow a bit from their neighbor) into their host plant's root system and pick up a little water- and nutrient-boost.  I thought Tracey Switek's post in The Olive Tree explained it really nicely, so give it a look-see to learn more about paintbrush's fascinating parasitism.

And before you cast it aside as a thieving rascal, take heart in the benefits the paintbrush brings to its environment.  Besides the utterly lovely burst of color it provides, this is an excellent pollinator plant, full of nectar and visited by all manner of bees and hummingbirds.  It's also an important larval host for Schinia moths and checkerspot (Euphydryas) butterflies.  The flowers are theoretically edible for people too, and have historically been used to treat various ailments (including love-sickness).  The plant's tendency to accumulate potentially-toxic levels of selenium in the leaves, however, means would-be foragers should go forth with caution.

Wild Gardening
Because paintbrush naturally grows in complex relationship with other plant communities, it's notoriously difficult to cultivate in the garden.  But not impossible!  Collect seed capsules midsummer to fall and dry them in paper bags.  Try giving the seeds a month or so of cold moist stratification...different species will respond to this treatment differently.  You could also try sowing seeds outdoors in fall so they're exposed to naturally fluctuating temperatures.  Start spring seeds in pots or again, try sowing them straight into the ground.  You should see germination within a couple weeks.  A host plant is not required to get seeds to germinate, but your paintbrushes will languish soon without.  Your best bet is to grow it near other native plants that it would be found alongside in nature.  Time to start building that native wildflower meadow you've always wanted!  Good luck!

Birch-leaved Spirea

Birch-leaved Spirea
Spiraea betulifolia
Rosaceae (Rose Family)

Quick ID

Yarrow (left) vs. Spirea

This wild spirea is usually classified as a shrub, although it doesn't typically take on the shrubby, fit-for-a-hedgerow form of its fancy cultivated cousins.  It is a showy little flower though, borne on a woody stem whose bark tends towards cinnamon colors and gets a bit shredded with age.  The leaves are alternate, oval with coarse teeth along the tips, mellow green with pale undersides.  Don't mistake the leaves for those of serviceberry (Amelanchier alnifolia), which are more heart-shaped at the base.  And don't mistake the flowers for yarrow (Achillea millefolium) either!  Birch-leaved spirea flowers are creamy off-white, arranged in flat-topped clusters called corymbs, and have waggly little stamens that reach out past the petals like so many antennae.  The whole shebang is generally  around 18" tall but grows up to 30" in some places.

Birch-leaved spirea has a showy cousin (Rose Spirea, S. douglasii, aka hardhack) that's a treat to find.  The flowers are a rich pink, arranged in sweet ice cream cone-shaped panicles.  Look for it forming dense riparian thickets up to 6' tall in the far northwest corner of Montana.

Rose Spirea

Where's it Found?

Fall color

Look in mid-elevation foothills and montane zones of the intermountain west.  Eastern WA and OR, western MT, southern ID, even in the Black Hills of South Dakota.  Here in Montana, I think of Doug Fir, Lodgepole and Ponderosa slopes, dappled shade, Ninebark understory.  This is a very adaptable wildflower, growing in moist or dry sites, out in the open or in shaded forests, from the foothills to the subalpine zone.


What's in a Name?
The common name spirea (pronounced spy-REE-ah) comes from the Greek speira for spiral or anything twisted, and references this flower's long tradition of gracing garlands.  The species name betulifolia literally means "birch-leaved," and the leaves do indeed look a bit like a swamp birch.  There are quite a few species of Spiraea, and many of them are known colloquially as "meadowsweet."  Spirea contain salicylates, which are the naturally occurring predecessors of our modern day aspirin.   They were first isolated from the meadowsweet now known as Filipendula ulmaria, which was once classisified as a spirea...hence the name, aspirin!



Tidbits
I first decided to write about birch-leaved spirea because of the drought.  Last summer (2015) western Montana had...no...rain.  Effects on the local flora were impossible to ignore.  An extremely warm winter followed by a bone dry spring sent the wildflowers into a panic.  Fearing doomsday, they flowered and set seed as fast as possible, leaving us botanists harumphing.  We started picking huckleberries in early June, and full six weeks too soon.  By early August the fall colors were already crackling in the 100°+ heat.  A dry and crispy summer where it seemed hardly anything kept its will to bloom...except spirea.  The birch-leaved spirea seemed to be doing fine, even thriving.  I can only imagine how happy the pollinators were for that sweet, elusive sip of nectar.

Wild Gardening
Spirea grows and spreads from its super-strong rhizomatous root system, rather than seeds, for the most part.  If you want to propagating it, try root stock or even layering stems.  Try part shade, although it's pretty adaptable.  Deer will eat it, but they don't LOVE it.  The USFS Fire Effects Information System (a SUPERB reference, btw) lists it as fair to poor forage for all the large grazers.  As a mid-summer bloomer, the native bees absolutely adore spirea, and you can always find a host of interesting bugs investigating the landing-pad flower tops.  Spirea has always made me think of granny cottages and comfy summer afternoons, both of which I love.

Rocky Mountain Juniper

Rocky Mountain Juniper

Cupressaceae (Cypress Family)

Rocky Mountain juniper.  Appressed leaves.

Quick ID
Rocky Mountain juniper is a small conical tree that grows to be around 30' high.  The bark is raggedy and shredding, reddish-brown to gray.  Its leaves are actually made up of thousands of tiny little needles, about 2 mm long.  If you look close, you'll see that some of these needles stick out all over the stem like a Doug Fir.  These are the juvenile leaves.  Mature leaves are squashed up flat against each other (known in the botany world as appressed), layered like shingles on a roof.

Common juniper.  Nothing appressed about these leaves.

There are three other species of juniper native to Montana.  Common juniper (J. communis) is a small shrub that's easy to recognize.  Its needles aren't apressed; they go poking out all around the stem in whorls of three, and have distinctly white undersides.
Creeping juniper (J. horizontalis) has leaves much like the Rocky Mountain juniper, but it grows in dense mats, never more than 2' tall.  The leaves are usually a dark green, whereas J. scopulorum tends to be more blueish-gray.  And finally, the Utah juniper (J. osteosperma) is another 30' tree.  Everything about it somehow seems more blunt: broader needles, a squarish crown, and a generally more squat appearance.  In Montana, you'll only find it in Big Horn and Carbon counties, south of the Pryor mountains, where it's at the northern edge of its range.

~Western Red Cedar~

You might confuse juniper with the western red cedar (Thuja plicata) in northwest Montana.  The leaves are similar, but the branches are more flattened, spray-like and brighter green.  The cones are also woody, whereas juniper bears seeds in what look like blue berries (they're technically female cones).  Juniper "berries" form in May or June and take two years to mature; you'll find green immature berries all over the branches along with the blue ones, which are usually covered with a white bloom.  If you're looking to harvest the berries, remember that, unlike most trees, junipers are dioecious (from the latin for "two houses"), meaning that individual plants are either male or female.  

"Male Bark"

Only the female plants have berries; the male ("staminate") cones just look like little brown nubs at the tips of branches, which scatter pollen to the wind.  Female trees also tend to have shreddier bark, as opposed to the patchier bark on males.

What's in a Name?

The species name of Rocky Mountain juniper, scopulorum, comes from the Latin 'scopul'  meaning rocky crags or cliffs, which is just where you'll find these bristly trees on your botanical field excursions.The origin of the common name juniper (and genus Juniperus) is shaky.  I've been combing through a lot of suggestions this morning, some silly and some sensible, and I'm not sure who to believe.  I do love the salty old etymologist Bill Casselman's take on the topic as a whole, and found this article pretty enlightening.Juniper is also becoming a popular baby name.  Ultimately, the given name is probably not derived so much from the plant as from the Welsh name Guinevere (which also gave rise to the name Jennifer).

Gorgeous juniper habitat on the Madison river

Range

Look for Rocky Mountain Juniper in dry, rocky foothills and montane regions from BC and Alberta south to New Mexico and east to the Dakotas.  The range is extended somewhat due to the fact J. scopulorum hybridizes regularly with other juniper species and horticulturally cultivated varieties. 

Tidbits

Junipers, along with other members of the cypress family, have been around for a looooong long time.  Ever since the earth's land masses were clumped together in the super-continent  Pangaea, 250 million years ago.  This is why you can find the very same species, Juniperus communis, as a native shrub in North America, Asia and Europe.  This ancient plant, as you might expect, has a rich and fascinating history.Juniper's light, durable wood is naturally streaked with a lovely red and white grain, and makes fine tools and decorative utensils.  The shredded bark has been used in rope-making and padding for diapers.  The dried berries can be dried and strung into necklaces; Navajo mothers are said to have given these "ghost beads" to their babies to prevent bad dreams.

The berries and aromatic branches of the juniper have also been used medicinally since ancient times (the Greek physician Galen mentions it as early as the second century AD), for a list of ailments too long to go into here.  The essential oil does contain the diuretic compound terpinen-4-ol, as well as Amentoflavone, which has antiviral properties.  Juniper berry tea has a long, complicated, sometimes dangerous association with child-bearing.  It was used by Shoshone women as a contraceptive, and Zuni and Apache women drank the tea to promote muscle relaxation during labor.  Juniper oil does increase uterine contractions, and many native tribes (and pioneer women) used it to induce abortions, sometimes with fatal results.The berries are not particularly edible on their own, but they do lend their distinct flavor to that most delightful spirit, gin.  The earliest juniper-flavored alcohols were medicinal concoctions,  and would have borne little resemblance to our modern take on gin.  The species most often used in gin production today is the long lived Juniperus communis communis.

Camped out at my favorite (top secret) juniper picking spot

For the most part the berries (a thousand tons a year or more!) are still wild-harvested, coming principally from Tuscany, Morocco and eastern Europe.  Hand picking is long, laborious work because remember, there are berries in all stages of ripeness on each branch.  To only pick off the dark blue berries and leave the green fruit alone requires a lot of elbow grease and some skill with a good whacking stick. Once harvested, the berries are infused into a neutral base spirit (vodka) and violá!  Oh Captain, my Captain.  Distillers can be a little secretive about their recipes, but common additions often include angelica, orris root (a type of iris that acts as a fixative for other flavors), cardamom, bay leaf, citrus, ginger, grains of paradise (in the ginger family Zingiberaceae), lavender, coriander, fennel and cubeb (similar to black pepper). 

Hogarth's Gin Lane

We could go on and on about the history of gin.  It's production as "medicine" during prohibition.  England's 18th century Gin Craze.  The fascinating story of quinine.  Jenever, Old Tom and London Dry.  Bathtub gin.  So on and so forth.  If you'd like to read more, and in fact discover a whole incredible world of botanicals as they relate to alcohol, please do pick up a copy of Amy Stewart's The Drunken Botanist.  You'll be glad you did.

Wild Gardening

The Garnet Range is a great place to see giant J. scopulorum

The Rocky Mountain juniper is one of our toughest little trees, and is a perfect choice for natural gardens.  The tiers of branches, loosely woven, call the eye upward and beyond the borders, providing structure and texture in every season. Waxy-coated leaves make it incredibly drought resistant and winter hardy.  Junipers want full sun or part shade, and very little water.  If you are going to irrigate, mke sure the soil is really well drained.  Although very slow-growing, give it enough space to accommodate its mature size (about 20-30' high with an eight foot spread).

Try propagating juniper by taking heel cuttings after a couple of hard freezes, and using a rooting hormone.  If you want to try growing it from seed, sow them in the fall and cross your fingers.  It's possible, but expect your germination to be pretty low.  Plants are also readily available at nurseries, but ask questions to be certain you're getting the true native species.  There are a ton of Juniperus cultivars and ornamental varieties.  There might be nothing wrong with that per se, but as a general practice, the more your garden plants resemble the native species found in your area, the better they'll be at providing food, shelter and nesting sites for your local insects and other wildlife.

Juniper berries are relished in fall and winter by many small birds, especially waxwings and grosbeaks.  Junipers are larval host plants for the Juniper Hairstreak butterfly (Callophrys gryneus).  Watch for males perching amidst the branches on your next summer excursion.

Columbine

Columbine
Aquilegia sp.
Ranunculaceae (Buttercup Family)

Quick ID

Ternately divided leaves

Columbines are upright, rather delicate looking plants with basal leaves generally around 6" tall, and flowering stalks that can reach 2 1/2'.  The fruits are a distinctive follicle of five slender pods with extended pointy tips, clustered together and splitting open to release rather large black seeds.  Leaves are usually two times divided into threes (making nine leaflets per leaf), and mostly clustered at the base of the plant.  The flower stalk sports a few smaller leaves; for the most part they're fairly insignificant.

Pod-like fruits

The flowers, however, are unmistakable. Five colorful sepals encircle five (usually) lighter colored petals whose bases sweep back into knobby spurs.  Colorado columbine (A. coerulea) has light purpley-blue sepals, with straight spurs twice as long as the petals.  Another species  common in Montana, yellow columbine (A. flavescens) has lemony yellow sepals that sometimes run towards pink,  and the spurs are much squatter and more curled in.  Both have a waggly tuft of stamens and styles poking down from the center of the blossom.

Meadowrue - same leaves, different flower

Aquilegia leaves can be easily mistaken for another Ranunculaceae member, the meadowrue (Thalictrum sp.) that grows in similar spaces.  Once they're blooming it's easy to tell them apart; Thalictrum has inconspicuous flowers that can't compare to columbine's showy blossoms.
There are many species of Aquilegia in the US (five in Montana), with lots of varieties within themselves, and the species have a tendency to hybridize with each other as well.  That being said, color is not always a great way to tell species apart.  The morphology of the spurs and where the plant is found growing can provide better clues. 

Range
Look for columbines in moist meadows and forests.  In Montana, A. coerulea has a smaller, more southerly range (extending from the lower quarter of the state and down to New Mexico) and prefers shadier sites.  A. flavescens can take more sun, and is pretty widespread in high elevations throughout western and central MT, on down to Utah and Colorado.

The pink sepals hint that this may be a hybrid of A. flavescens and A. formosa  (red columbine), a less common species that grows at lower elevations.  This photo was taken at Pine Creek in the Paradise Valley.

What's in a Name?
This plant is totally named for its looks.  Aquilegia probably comes from the Latin aquila, "eagle," for the spurs that look like talons.  Other sources claim the genus is derived from aqua (water) and lego (to collect), for the spurs' resemblance to ancient water urns.  The species name coerulea is quite common in the plant world, and means blue, while flavescens (and its equally common root flavens) means yellow.  The name "columbine" itself comes from the Latin word for dove, columba.  People say the flower looks like five little doves sipping from a water bowl together, tails poking towards the sky.

Tidbits
Columbines are pollinated by hummingbirds and hawk moths, who can reach deep into the flower to get at the nectar.  I've also seen plenty of bumblebees in my garden burrowing down into the tubes.  Growing up in Minnesota, red columbines (probably A. canadensis) were common, but we always knew them as "honeysuckles."  Indeed, it was my favorite thing as a wee one in the woods, to bite off the sweet little nectar-filled spur tips of these flowers.  Of course now I know that, like all these Ranunculaceae characters, Aquilegia can be pretty poisonous.  Eating a large enough quantity of the seeds, especially, can be dangerous and even fatal.  These toxic little seeds have been used in the past as a parasiticide to treat lice infestations as well.  Beautiful and deadly...

Wild Gardening

A. coerulea fitting into a shady woodland garden nicely, along with alumroot (Heuchera cylindrica), hosta, bleeding heart and bedstraw (Galium odoratum)

According to Lone Pine's totally awesome new Alpine Plants of the Northwest field guide, yellow columbines are Montana gardener's number one favorite native perennial herb.  And for good reason.  Most of us are forever on the lookout for an easy-to-grow plant with gorgeous blooms that does well in shady spaces.  These perennials are tolerant and adaptive, very easy to start from seed, and bloom in the thick of summer, late June to August.  I've noticed mine spreading over the years, filling in their shady nook, but not to the point of being obnoxious.  I've also noticed that, as the flowers start to fade, their almost always seems to be a collection of aphids gathered on the developing fruits.  This has never caused any problems in my garden whatsoever, but it does tend to make the protruding flower stalks look a little yucky.  At this point I usually snip those stalks off at the base, and enjoy the pretty foliage for the rest of the season.

Pasqueflower

Pasqueflower
Pulsatilla patens
Ranunculaceae (Buttercup Family)

Quick ID
Look for tufts of silky leaves growing from a perennial root crown, about 6" tall.  The leaves are divided into wispy leaflets, generally in threes.  The silver dollar sized flowers lack petals; what a "normal" person would call the petals are technically sepals, forming a cup-shaped calyx around a cluster of waggly yellow stamens.  (Calyx is what the sepals are called collectively.  If they were petals, it would be called a corolla.  Botany, boom.)
Flowers, which come up before the leaves, are shades of purple, from deep mauve to pale lavender.  They have silvery hairs on the outside, with smooth, lighter colored inner surfaces.  Although you might find a rare white P. patens, it's more likely what you're seeing is the western pasqueflower, P. occidentalis, or one of the Anemone species.

The flowers poke upright when they're new, then hang down like a bell as they mature, and finally give way to little smokebombs of tufted hairs as they set fruit.

Range

P. patens is found in the boreal zone (45°-65° latitude) all around the northern hemisphere.  It's fairly common in the the western region of North America, from Alaska down to New Mexico.  The pasqueflower prefers drier places than many of its Ranunculaceae cousins.  Look for it in grasslands or open rocky (often south-facing) slopes, in steppe to subalpine zones. (Side note.  Steppe communities are basically grassland prairies and plains, where the only trees found are the ones growing by water, and the subalpine region is found just below the treeline.  The elevation of these zones can vary dramatically based on where you are in the world.)

What's in a Name?
"Pasque" is from the original Latin word for Easter, Pascha.  You can usually find these flowers blooming around the Easter holiday...oftentimes before the snow is even off the ground.  The species name patens means "spreading," and is one you see a lot in the plant world.  Pulsatilla is derived from the Latin pulso, meaning battered or beaten.  This might be because the flowers, top-heavy on their delicate stems, bob around and seem battered by the wind.

This segues nicely into a quick chat about anemones.  Most (but not all) sources agree that anemones were named for the Greek anemos, "wind," hence the common name of windflower.  Maybe, as some say, it's because the flowers only open when they're beaten by the wind, or on the other hand, won't open if the wind is blowing.
Maybe the Greek wind gods, the Anemoi, use these flowers to herald their arrival in spring.  Or maybe (and this is the one I like to believe) they're windflowers because their seeds are so obviously and perfectly adapted for wind dispersal.  Their tiny nut-like achenes (a one-seeded fruit) sport feathery plumes that just beg to be blown and tumbled across an open prairie.  Pulsatilla patens shares pretty much all characteristics with those of Anemone, except the hairy tails of their fruits are long like a kite.  Indeed, pasqueflower is often cited as Anemone patens.  

Common names for this plant can be confusing.  It's sometimes called prairie smoke (in reference to the hairy fruits), although this is more widely accepted as the common name for Geum triflorum.  Many sources list it as prairie crocus, although the garden-variety crocus we all know and love is actually in the iris family.  It's also known as the Easter flower, May Day flower, cutleaf anemone, and probably a host of other regional names.  

Tidbits
As with all of the Ranunculaceae crew, the pasqueflower contains poisonous compounds that can make you really sick, causing nausea, dizziness and a drop in blood pressure.  And as with pretty much all poisonous plants, there are numerous accounts of people using it medicinally to treat an array of ailments.  Here's what Montana Plant Life has to say...

Use of pasqueflower reportedly lessens sexual excitement. It does not diminish sexual power but rather strengthens it by lessening excitement. A drug derived from the chopped whole plant induces vomiting and irritation of the kidneys. In high doses it acts as a depressant on the central nervous system and the heart. A decoction of the plant was used by the Blackfoot Indians to speed delivery of a child.

Yeesh.  As always, proceed with caution.  Plants are crazy dangerous.  Durr.
I did think it was interesting, however, to find so many references to using mashed pasqueflower leaves as a "counter-irritant" for bruises, sore muscles and rheumatic joints.  Is this like when you have a toothache and someone offers to stomp on your foot to distract you from the pain?  Must be!  I do know these leaves are covered in little hairs, and handling them too much can be really irritating to sensitive skin.

Being a common plains wildflower, the toxins in pasqueflower can be a problem for domestic grazing animals.  I've also read that dense stands of pasqueflower is an indication that the land has been overgrazed, but can't find any decent explanation as to why this is.  Are they pioneer species, the first to colonize the disrupted ecosystem, or are they just growing in abundance because grazers selectively avoid them?
I did find some interesting reading on the decline of P. patens populations in boreal forests due to decreased grazing and increased fire suppression.  As domestic grazing declines and normal forest fire cycles are disrupted, the vegetation undergrowth gets thicker and more closed-in.  This has a pretty drastic effect on many species in the boreal ecosystem, especially those that grow in open sites with relatively small amounts of forest litter. 

Wild Gardening
By all means!  Seeds are easy to collect and don't require cold stratification, although the Native Plant Network does recommend a 60 day cold spell.  You can also divide clumps or take root cuttings in spring or late fall.  Keep them in the sun, in fairly dry soil, and know that plants might go dormant in drought conditions.  The flowers are lovely, and the feathery leaves last well into the summer.  Being such an early bloomer, pasqueflowers provide crucial nectar reserves for early emerging wild bee pollinators.  Try some in your rock garden!  Send me pictures.