Scientifically named ‘Arisaema triphyllum’, this woodland creature is more commonly known as the Jack-in-the-pulpit. A number of years ago I purchased it from some home improvement store, in one of those plastic bags that has a beautiful picture of a fully-grown ten-year-old specimen at the height of its beauty on it, only to spill out some desiccated little nest of seemingly-dead roots, light and lifeless and surely void of any future glory. I half-heartedly dug a hole for it in the corner of a shaded garden and promptly forgot about it. I didn’t plan on seeing that $4.99 again.
A year later, a dark spire rose in its place. Having entirely forgotten about what I’d planted, I waited to see if it was some strange exotic weed. It was too thick and robust to be one of the standard weeds I’d come to know. It was also more substantial than the little spikes of lily-of-the-valley that were encroaching on that particular space. Slowly, it unfurled its three-pronged leaves, and then the hood covering the spathe, and I was enthralled to recall the Arisaema triphyllum I had planted the year before.
This particular variety is darker than the plain green version I knew as a child. It lends it a more sinister and mysterious aspect, something I enjoy at the garden in this portion of the year, when everything else is so bright and chartreuse and innocent. The garden should be a place of balance and contrast, as well as a land of mystery. There should be room for magic and the casting of spells, and even little heads named Jack.
