Clothed in prickly-haired stems, lance-shaped leaves, and a cone with porcupinelike quills and radiating petals, this tough North American native appears ready to fight the onslaught of hungry herbivores. It also gracefully survives both the blasting heat of prairie summers and the deep frosts of inland winters. The appearance of Echinacea may be a little rough, but this plant, commonly called coneflower, appeared luminous at the end of last summer's long drought, when little else besides black-eyed Susans was flowering in my garden.
If the prickliness of Echinacea doesn't put you off, you'll discover this is an amazing plant of great resilience, long bloom time, and undemanding ways.
The flower petals of E. purpurea radiate a good 4 inches across, on plants that can grow nearly 5 feet tall. Typically, though, you'll find they stand 2 to 3 feet high. Several cultivars, among them 'White Swan' and the diminutive 'Bright Star', offer flower color that deviates from the standard purple. The Perennial Plant Association named E. purpurea 'Magnus' 1998 Perennial Plant of the Year. E. angustifolia is the shortest species, with pale, purple-pink rays of petals that droop toward earth.
Echinacea is far from picky about its surroundings, as it has evolved to survive rigorous conditions. It looks right at home in a natural border and will appreciate a full measure of sun and loamy soil. Average soil fertility suits Echinacea just fine; give it some extra nutrients, and it will respond with abundant growth.
Grown from seed, Echinacea plants will sometimes flower in the first year, surely by the second, from July to September. In a border, the plant's crown (where the stems and roots meet) increases until you have a colony -- drifts of pink or purple flowers.
Don't crowd them too much or they may develop fungus on their leaves during humid weather. Space plants 18 to 24 inches apart, depending on the variety. Water new plants regularly until their root systems are established; after that, they'll tolerate drought. But for floriferous plants, water during dry spells. When plants emerge in the spring, you can feed them with organic fertilizer or a sprinkling of 10-10-10; that should suffice for the season.
Deadhead Echinacea to keep its blooms abundant, or watch the flowers mature. The central cone is a shimmering, fluorescent green when fresh. As it dries, it darkens, until the cone, minus the flower petals, looks like a sea urchin. As the season wanes, leave the cones on. They'll provide food for finches and other birds.
Japanese beetles sometimes damage Echinacea; they are easily removed by hand. Aster yellows, a viruslike pathogen, causes malformed flowers and stunted growth. There's no cure, so plants should be discarded (not in your compost).
Modern medicine is finally catching up with the centuries-old practices of holistic healers and Native Americans by recognizing the therapeutic value of Echinacea. The Plains Indians of North America used the plant to treat ailments from sore throats to snake bites. Numerous scientific studies have now shown that Echinacea contains anti-inflammatory, antiviral, antitumoral, and antibiotic substances that boost the body's immune system.
The nod of approval from the medical community has helped to foster a profitable industry and with it, the opportunism that often accompanies the popularity of a therapeutic agent. Buyers should know that the efficacy of the product depends on how and when the Echinacea was harvested, and whether it is adulterated with other substances.
The current fervor for Echinacea has resulted in the rush to capitalize on the plant by harvesting it in the wild, or even on private lands.
where Echinacea grows abundantly. Not only are colonies of Echinacea uprooted and sold, but habitats are damaged in the process. Let's hope that the amazing durability of this native plant helps it survive this latest environmental challenge, bringing new meaning to the phrase "flower power."
Janet M. Jemmott is a former associate editor at Kitchen Gardener. Photo: Jodie Delohery From Kitchen Gardener #24, p. 51
