Several people submitted entries to the Florida Native Plant Writing Contest sponsored by the DeSoto County Library and Association and the CHNEP. Each entry (provided below) describes why a particular Florida native plant is that person's favorite. Judges considered creativity, accurate facts about the plant, as well as grammar and spelling.

Winning Entries

The Slash Pine

by Sarah Hollenhorst

The slash pine has been dead for years

Lightning, disease, I don’t know why

The needles turned brown and fell off

Forming a carpet below.

The bark, red ridged sheath, sloughed slowly

off, pieces sailing in a quick wind

Abandoned by woodpeckers,

beetle pattered, termite pitted slowly

swaying metronome.

Hurricanes swirled and snapped

Live pines in supplication while

the slash pine skeleton whirled and danced.

On still days, the birds perch for

A clear view, predator or prey

I look for them

Crested caracaras golden in the slanted sun

Rare light through the rain

Woodstorks droop with the Spanish Moss

Black vultures stretch wings to dry.

A red shouldered hawk watches while

Quail hurry under palmetto fronds

Whistling ducks, a Great Blue Heron profiled

In a dimming light

A flock of ibis humming low to perch

A dead slash pine

A treasure every day when the sun

sinks low

I come home.

Passionflowers and Butterflies--Inextricably Entwined

by Karen Lemonds

The Purple Passionflower of Passiflora incarnata ranks high on my list of favorite native flowers because it is not only beautiful, but also important for several butterflies including our state butterfly, the Zebra Longwing. Two other butterflies, the Gulf Fritillary and the Julia, also lay their eggs on Passionflower vines.

I have seen over one hundred orange and black Gulf Fritillary caterpillars chomping through the Passionflower in our butterfly garden. As a novice, I feared the vines would not recover, but observation has taught me that they make a beautiful comeback each year.

What a life lesson this plant can teach us! Its outward beauty truly is spectacular with its fancy purple-white flowers and three-lobed leaves, but its beauty is more than petal deep. Each season, hungry caterpillars recycle it into butterflies, stripping it until the vines are nearly leafless, and yet it is constantly renewed to give of itself again.

By making or buying a butterfly cage, you can extend your appreciation of the Passionflower and its hungry visitors. When you see a tiny caterpillar, transfer it to the cage. Be sure to keep plenty of fresh Passionflower leaves available for it to eat. (Keeping the stems in water will help.) Also, include a small, branched stick for the chrysalis to hang from. Soon you will enjoy seeing the caterpillar transformed into a beautiful “flying flower.”

Purple Passionflower is great for beginning butterfly gardeners. It’s easy to grow and, as a Florida native, it is conservation-wise and does not require a lot of special care. Give it a place to climb in a sunny or lightly shaded spot with average moisture, and it will reward you with beauty and butterflies.

The Tortoise and the Pawpaw

by Jahna Leonard, eighth grader at DeSoto Middle School

The sun’s heat bakes the sand and flowers around my burrow, which is cool and damp inside. Outside, I crawl over to a pawpaw to munch on its tasty fruit. Its leathery leaves keep in moisture like my skin. As I crane my neck and push my small body upwards to take a bite of fruit, its pungent smell wafts into my nostrils. I quickly scan for predators. I do not see or hear anything. I waddle around to a new bush. Sensing something, I pull into my carapace; luckily, it was only a cow. I shuffle back into my burrow, to escape the treacherous heat outside. As I rest in my burrow, I think, what a beautiful Florida native, the pawpaw.

An Old Family, Friend--Smilaceae

by Rachel Renne

Barbed wire pastures cows

along the road; swollen

behind the ribs.

Soon each will push her ancient, maternal,

mitochondrial package--wet into the world.

Catbriar rakes across my calf

with hooks that pull into my flesh,

in dotted lines across

the bottom of some document:

sign here, beside the ‘X’

Capillaries capitulate to the request:

I sign in red, my signature

--unique!

(and not my name)

Instead of First, ‘M.I.’, and Last

I have unconsciously released

my species, mother, father, and

my sex:

XX.

But this greenbriar and I are far from analytical machines;

here it grows together with the brush,

reaching for the sun--a tender shoot!

I snap it off and

chew it into pulp.

Delicious! And the vine exuding sap

in droplets from the break,

they fall into the sand, above

its roots, below my feet.

This simple sampling--a chat!

Old friends exchanging greetings on the street:

Hello

Good Morning

Is your family well?

Indeed.

I turn to go, but find I’ve snagged a thorn into my skirt--

I disengage myself and in goodbye,

tasting one more tender leaf--

I leave.

Honorable Mentions

My Favorite

by Sally Falkinburg

What a beautiful place I live in. Out here on this barrier island, my life is good.

My branches are full of football-shaped red berries, and the birds have been in and out visiting all day, even my favorite mockingbirds. Some other visitors that like to stop by and see me are the tourists. They must have heard I look a little like them, just because my bark is red and peeling. I’m nice and tall, about 40 feet. If I lived on the mainland, I might even be 60 feet tall! (That salty island breeze gets me.) Oh boy, don’t get me started on breezes. Or should I say winds. Last summer was wild. It seemed like one hurricane after another. All the Australian pines went flying by and even some oaks. It’s a good thing I am one of Florida’s hurricane-resistant trees.

After the storms were over and people saw that I was still standing, they really got busy. They trimmed some of my branches and just started pushing them into the earth. Before you know it, there will be a “living fence post” of trees. I’m so easy, that’s because I’m a native you know. I do loose my leaves a little while in February and March, but they grow back real fast. Oh, and I don’t like to get too cold.

I’ve done so much for Florida over the years, you really should check me out.

Aside from all of this, I’m beautiful, and that’s why I’m her favorite. I’m a Bursera simaruba, in case you didn’t know. You can call me Gumbo-limbo.

My Back-door Periwinkle

[Editor’s note: Native to Madagascar, the periwinkle is “naturalized” in Florida.]

by Lois M. Hendricks

I like a big of color on my dining room table, and often, impulsively, add a fresh bloom to my shopping cart.

But one morning, near my back door, a tiny pastel cluster caught my eye.

It was a plant, perfectly formed, its graceful branches adorned with oval leaves, topped with delicate, five-petaled blooms, soft pink with center shadings of lavender.

I was charmed . . . my very own little periwinkle, a volunteer from Florida’s soil, waiting to be noticed.

Its origin?--a seed borne by the wind or dropped by a soaring bird?

As I snipped the largest bloom and centered it on the table, I noticed a bonus--a tiny, pointed green bud, the promise of another flower.

One morning the bloom, still perfect, lay on the table, but the bud was now in full-flowered maturity, a five-petaled replica of its fallen ancestor. I smiled, pleased.

The small blossom thrived, until one morning it, too, tumbled onto the table, its life span apparently fulfilled.

The stem and leaves were still a life-containing green, and, when looking closely for new surprises, I noticed it.

A tiny bud was again emerging, replacing the fallen bloom. This hardy little plant was nature’s full embodiment of reproduction. I watched patiently as the bud produced yet another bloom, although a slower process this time.

But by now that little Florida Vinca rosea has earned its place, and when its life span has ended, I will simply return to the mother lode and snip another specimen.

My little periwinkle, born and reared in the sun, winds and rains of Florida, choosing its own place by my back door, is valiantly providing the hint of beauty I wanted for my table.

I’m glad I finally noticed it.

The Ghost Orchid

by Trevor Mansfield, a first grader at Memorial Elementary School

The very first ghost orchid was found in Cuba in 1844. Which is the same kind of flower that was found in Florida 50 years later. The scientific name is Dendrophylax lindenii.

This endangered orchid is my favorite because it acts like a ghost. It only blossoms between June and August, the rest of time, you can’t find it.

The reason why the Ghost Orchid got its name is that this orchid’s roots blend so well with the tree, the flower often seems to be floating in midair.

Saw Palmetto

by Karen Smoke

The Saw Palmetto, Serenoa repens, is a native plant many love to hate, but it provides habitat to many Florida creatures. It is found throughout the state in nearly all plant communities. The fan-shaped leaves have long petioles that are covered with harsh saw-like teeth. The recumbent, prostrate stems creep along the ground, sometimes rising up six feet or more. Roots on the underside of the stem reach deep, making it very drought resistant. In spring large panicles of tiny cream-colored flowers appear, followed by green fruits about the size of an olive, that mature to black with a pungent odor.

Slather on some insect repellent, and hunker down among the stems of a palmetto clump. Sit quietly, and soon you will see an entire community begin to move about you. Honeybees flock to the blossoms, palmetto bugs and carpenter ants scurry about, while anoles and skinks hasten after a quick meal. Birds, of course, are attracted to the shelter and smorgasbord of food found there. The catbird and Carolina wren will both build nests between overlapping leaves, using woven fibers from the stem. Rake over the litter of old leaves, and you’ll usually find a toad, or maybe a diminutive ring-neck snake. Tree frogs take shelter in the unfolding bud leaf, and many of the larger snakes are lured to this easy meal. Gopher tortoises make their burrows beneath the arching stems, and a bevy of small mammals--including mice, cotton rats, moles, squirrels, rabbits and skunks--all can be found in the palmetto community. Gray fox and bobcat will stalk silently through palmettos, while if you hear a crashing noise, you can bet it is a pair of amorous armadillos. Opossums, raccoons, and deer are attracted to the ripe fruit.

It is not a plant easily transplanted, and it takes many years to establish a dense stand from seed. But if you are blessed with saw palmetto, it forms a beautiful natural backdrop for other native plants. Because saw palmetto is home to so many Florida creatures, it is a native plant deserving more respect, and preserving it when developing land ought to be required by law.

Spanish Moss (Tillandsia usneoides)

by Russell Stromsnes

Spanish Moss is in the pineapple family (Bromeliaceae), consisting of cascading masses of slender stems, covered with gray scales, with a solitary inconspicuous flower at the end of short auxiliary branches. It flowers April through June.

Spanish Moss is an air plant (epiphyte), not a parasite, because it photosynthesizes its own energy from the sun. The scales help the plant absorb water and nutrients, most of which come from minerals leached from the foliage of the host tree.

Although there are many tree resources to support moss habitat and its continued growth, I do see a trend that I have witnessed in my lifetime, which dates back to 1946. We have lost an untold number of trees due to weather phenomena, urban sprawl, and other factors. In those early years, there were many more Live Oak trees. On occasion, I return to these same locations, and for reasons previously mentioned, I no longer see the same natural beauties that once graced our landscape in many areas of our moss friendly state.

Unless you are well read on mosses, most people do not know that Spanish Moss was once used to pad chairs, mattresses, and other furniture. Before it could be used for these purposes, the moss had to be dried. As a youngster, I assisted my father in this procedure. The moss would be hung on a barbed wire fence for about three to four weeks to dry out and completely die. Then it would be gathered and stuffed in burlap bags and delivered to Plant City. The money from this transaction was used to help sustain a rather large family during those times.

It would be nice to see more Spanish Moss once again hanging from our native trees. Perhaps we should all strive to preserves this natural species.

Ode to Stachytarpheta

by Elise Zarli

Oh, prolific, perennial Porter Weed--

Your lowly name belies the beauty of your blossoms.

Your reds and corals and purples and blues

Are the butterflies’ and bees’ most favored hues.

Come Spring, the sight of gathered hummingbirds is awesome,

While at your feet, your progeny burst forth from seed!

As a single plant, your blue-green foliage

Is so unprepossessing as to go unnoticed.

But--gathered in a cluster, a hedge, a mass,

Your long, tiny-blossomed spikes reveal at last

Your color and pastels on which the insects have focused.

Hummingbirds prefer your reds--their nectar of the gods!

A tropical native, the self-sowing Stachytarpheta jamaicensis

Will always grace my walls and fences.