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Each summer, I anticipate leadplant, a 2-foot-tall native shrub, to reveal its interesting purple blooms amid a cascade of up to 50 leaflets that comprise a 10-inch-long stem. It’s usually blooming just as the black-eyed Susans are opening their yellow flowers.

This spring, the leadplant, which we had placed in a sunny spot in our garden years ago, appeared to be dead and we feared it was the end of it. But we noted a few of the stems had a bit of green and were bendable, so we left it alone, and now it’s in full bloom.

We did nothing to hasten its growth. The rain and sun did all that.

Leadplant's purple flowers complement the yellow flowers of black-eyed Susans in a Lake County yard. (Sheryl DeVore/For the Lake County News-Sun)
Leadplant’s purple flowers complement the yellow flowers of black-eyed Susans in a Lake County yard. (Sheryl DeVore/For the Lake County News-Sun)

When preparing a list of native blooming plants to grow in their garden, not many folks consider leadplant. It’s unusual. It flops if not held up by other sturdier plants or not in full sun. You need to get up close to appreciate its beauty, such as the red filaments and yellow anthers protruding from the blooms or the silvery gray hair on its leaves giving it a lead-colored appearance. The leaves are soft to the touch, light green on the bottom and dark green on the top.

When you learn more about this plant named by pioneers you become more enamored with it and more interested in establishing it in your garden.

It is a true prairie native that grew in the wild long before pioneers came. Today, it can be found in unplowed native prairie remnants as well as restored prairies. In fact, it’s often one of the plants chosen to restore prairies because of its ability to control soil erosion and release nitrogen, a nutrient required by many plants.

Leadplant flowers turn into tiny, hairy fruit pods in August and September. The leaves remain green until frost.

Leadplant has a rich ethnobotanical history, with most parts of it being used in different ways. Native Americans pulverized dried leadplant leaves to rub on cuts and wounds. They made tea from the leaves to drink when suffering with stomach ailments. Different tribes also steeped the leaves in water and used the liquid to treat eczema.

The roots were used to create a moist powder that Native Americans spread on their clothes hoping to attract bison. Some called the plant “buffalo bellows” because it bloomed at the time when bison, once known as buffalos were courting females. The “buffalos” bellowed during their interactions, which usually took place from about June to September. Early American settlers called them “bufello,” but the large herds of cow-like animals with horns roaming the native prairies and being established at various places like Midewin National Tallgrass Prairie are bison.

Early settlers gave another name to leadplant, one not so endearing. They called it devil’s shoestrings because the 14-foot deep, tap root system tangled the plows they used to attempt to remove it. Oftentimes, the leadplant remained stubbornly in place.

As with other prairie plants, the deep roots allow the leadplant to survive drought. Deep roots can find water beneath the ground to keep the plant from getting too thirsty.

At the Morton Arboretum’s Schulenberg Prairie, copious leadplants grow alongside the large, spade-shaped leaves of another native plant called prairie dock. The leadplant should be in full bloom right now.

Other places to seek leadplant include Volo Bog in Ingleside and Illinois Beach State Park in Zion. This time of year, you’ll likely see native solitary bees seeking nectar from the leadplant and transferring pollen to another plant. If you’re lucky, you might also see the southern dogface butterfly, a small, yellowish insect that lays its eggs on the leadplant. When the eggs hatch, caterpillars eat the protein-rich leaves of leadplant.

“The presence of leadplant is a sign of high-quality habitat,” writes John HiIty in his online treatise of Illinois wildflowers (Iillinoiswildflwoers.info). Though my yard wouldn’t qualify as a high-quality prairie habitat, it’s nice to be able to grow a plant that makes its home among the few prairie remnants that have never been plowed still growing in Illinois.

Sheryl DeVore has worked as a full-time and freelance reporter, editor and photographer for the baiduhai and its subsidiaries. She’s the author of several books on nature and the environment. Send story ideas and thoughts to [email protected].