Covering more than 74 million acres of the South, this woody plant plays an important role in ecology, culture and childhood memory.
Dave Allen
At North Carolina’s Craggy Gardens, the passage of a storm highlights rhododendron color.
I’m not a sentimental person. I hate schmaltzy love songs, am nauseated by trite Hallmark movies and have been known to toss time-worn trinkets in the trash whenever they start to gather dust. But for all my cold-hearted pragmatism, damned if I don’t get dewy-eyed when I talk about rhododendrons.
It’s odd, I know. But these waxy-green plants have been a constant in my life. Growing up in the mountains of Western North Carolina, I spent almost every Saturday playing hide-and-seek in a backyard rhododendron thicket. I remember climbing on all fours through the knotty limbs, holding my breath as neighbor kids counted to 10. Rarely did they find me in that damp, inky place.
On frightfully frigid days in the thicket, the woody shrubs curled their greenery in silent protest. Rimed with ice, the tubular leaves looked like frostbitten fingers trembling in the wind. Later, as winter slipped into spring, the verdant vegetation unfurled to reveal a dazzling display of blooms. There were coral-pink flowers, deep-purple flowers and flowers the same shade as tulip poplar honey. Some plants even blushed fire-engine-red and clementine-orange.
Courtesy of Explore Asheville / Photo by Art Meripol
The signature blossom can dominate mountain areas when May and June arrive.
As a child, I figured those blooms were the most beautiful things on earth. But as I got older, life drifted away from that twisted tangle of branches. Like most kids reared in the Southern Appalachians, I spent my teenage years swallowing my southern drawl and planning an escape to flatter ground. I visited colleges in Charlotte and Raleigh—places my daddy said had more opportunities than our sleepy-eyed town. I even traveled as far north as Massachusetts and was accepted at Smith College, an all-girls school where my maternal great-great-grandmother played the violin.
But as I roamed the campus, I felt a nagging tug of nostalgia. Though the place was beautiful, what with its brick-paved paths and towering oaks, the rhododendrons were few and far between. And without their dark, mystical presence, I felt unmoored. Lost. Breathless. The world was too sunny and sprawling. Heart thumping loud in my ears, I returned to the mountains as soon as I could and, for the first time in a long time, spent an afternoon watching shadows dance in the neighborhood thicket. This was home. These plants, with their waxy-green leaves and honey-yellow blooms, were with whom I belonged.
Brazen Botany
Looking back, it may have been foolish to hitch my future to a plant. As my family often reminds me, I could’ve made something of myself in the bustling cities of New England. I could’ve gotten a job at a publishing firm or reported for some big-time paper. “You had a chance to leave this place,” my daddy always says, nursing joints fatigued by 35 years in a factory. But if the rhododendron proves any hackneyed truism true, it’s that you can bloom where you’re planted.
Eric Griffin, an assistant professor of ecological forestry at Warren Wilson College in Swannanoa, North Carolina, explains this in biological terms. According to Griffin, there are about a dozen or so rhododendron species native to the Southern Appalachians, the two most abundant being the Rosebay (Rhododendron maximum, a.k.a. the great rhododendron or big laurel) and the Catawba (Rhododendron catawbiense). Much like mountain folk themselves, these shrubs are hardy and stubborn. They thrive in inhospitable conditions, “commonly growing in infertile, acidic soils,” says Griffin.
Exactly how they do this is equal parts genius and villainy. Since rhododendrons form a dense, almost impenetrable canopy, light limitation prevents other hardwoods from regenerating.There’s something else at play too—a biological phenomenon called allelopathy, the process by which plants release metabolic secretions that either help or hinder the growth of other flora. Though the research is still shaky, many scientists believe rhododendrons pump toxins into the soil to kill competitors.
Dawnfire Photography
Rhododendron thickets can serve as both great areas for hide-and-seekers and as a bane to hikers and other outdoors explorers.
Many species of rhododendrons are also notoriously poisonous to large mammals—humans included—because the leaves contain grayanotoxins. If consumed, these chemicals cause a laundry list of concerning symptoms: nausea, vomiting, muscular weakness, bradycardia, severe hypotension, respiratory paralysis and death. Even honey made with too much rhododendron nectar can block nerve activity and result in a violently trippy ride.
But for all its viciousness, the rhododendron plays an integral part in the forest ecosystem.
“Its thick, outspreading branches and bountiful evergreen leaves provide unique habitat for common mammals such as skunks and deer and more unusual organisms such as slime molds and rare plants,” says Griffin. Throughout the course of human history, he adds, the rhododendron has benefited us humans too.
Evergreen Admiration
The first people in North America to recognize the rhododendron’s beauty and power were the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians. Per the writings of ethnographer James Mooney, the Cherokee carved rhododendron wood into spoons and combs.
Despite its toxicity, says Griffin, Rhododendron maximum was also used in conjunction with other plants to address involuntary muscle twitching, rheumatism of the knee and heart attacks (or what the Cherokee called usonuli unt‛ane‛ö or “sudden attack”). Another rhododendron-based elixir was used to relieve the nondescript condition unestanelidoloçöi (“when they have pains all over their body”).
European settlers were equally smitten with the shrub. In 1799, Scottish botanist John Fraser first identified the Catawba rhododendron on a high ridge in North Carolina. His son, John Fraser, Jr., went on to describe the voyage as an almost transcendental experience.
“I shall never forget so long as I live the day we discovered that plant,” Fraser wrote. “We had been for a long time traveling among the mountains, and one morning we were ascending to the summit of the Great Roa [Bald Mountain], in the midst of a fog so dense that we could not see further than a yard before us.
“As we reached the top, the fog began to clear away, and the sun to shine out brightly. The first object that attracted our eye, growing among the long grass, was a large quantity of Rhododendron catawbiense in full bloom.”
In the centuries to come, Southern Appalachia would go a little rhododendron crazy. In 1903, for instance, Rhododendron maximum was designated as the official state flower of West Virginia after being voted on by public school students. Apparently, it beat honeysuckle and wild rose by more than 15,000 votes.
Nicholas Moore
This classic shot of Catawba rhododendron against the backdrop of the mountains was shot in early June along the Blue Ridge Parkway near Bear Trap Gap Overlook at Milepost 428.5, elevation 5,580 feet.
In the 1920s, Appalachian State University in Boone, North Carolina, published the college’s very first yearbook. They dubbed it “The Rhododendron.” A decade after that, Arkansas-born singer-songwriter Elton Britt released a lonely-sounding song titled “Where the Rhododendron Grows.”
Then, in 1947, the Citizen’s Club of Roan Mountain in Tennessee and the Bakersville Lions Club in North Carolina banded together to host the very first Tennessee Rhododendron Festival. Complete with music, dancing, crafts and a pageant, the celebration took place amid 600 acres of blooming Catawba rhododendron. The event was so widely attended that the town of Bakersville hosted its own get-together in 1952.
More than 70 years later, the obsession persists. Each spring, hundreds flock to the mountains of Tennessee and North Carolina for each respective festival. Celebrations have cropped up elsewhere too, with a month-long jubilee now taking place in Beckley, West Virginia, each May.
Despite all the fanfare, rhododendrons have managed to maintain their mystique. Case in point: There are still conflicting thoughts on whether or not the wood is toxic when burned.
“Out of an abundance of caution, I would likely avoid it,” Griffin quips. Scientists also argue that there are undiscovered species of rhododendron lurking in far-flung hills and hollers. Rhododendron smokianum, for instance, was discovered just two years ago in the Great Smoky Mountains.
I think that’s why I stayed in my sleepy-eyed hometown with the rambling rhododendron thicket. Sure, these plants tug at my heart and remind me of my childhood. But in their dark and damp mystery, they also remind me that there’s more to this place than meets the eye. That there’s something to be discovered in the ordinary, if only you’re willing to look.
Rhody Show: Where to See Rhododendrons in the Blue Ridge Mountains
Rhododendron blooms are nothing short of magic, ranging in color from pure ivory to hot pink. But for a truly picture-perfect scene, you have to know where to look. Here are a few favorite viewing spots in the Blue Ridge Mountains.
Robert Stephens
Catawba rhododendron, late afternoon clouds and mist frame a mystical Smoky Mountain view as seen from Woolyback Overlook, Milepost 452 on the Blue Ridge Parkway near Cherokee, North Carolina.
Craggy Gardens. Located about 25 minutes northeast of Asheville, North Carolina, Craggy Gardens is a mile-high bald covered in rhododendron. Blue Ridge Parkway, Milepost 364.
Roan Mountain Rhododendron Gardens. Straddling the North Carolina-Tennessee state line, the Roan Mountain Rhododendron Gardens offer a spectacular display of purple-magenta blooms in mid-June. State Rd. 1348, Bakersville, North Carolina.
Grandview. With jaw-dropping sights of the New River and spectacular displays of Catawba rhododendrons, Grandview in West Virginia is a springtime must-see. 4700 Grandview Rd, Beaver, West Virginia.
Apple Orchard Falls. The Apple Orchard Falls Trail is a 2.6-mile trail near Buchanan, Virginia. Though considered strenuous, your efforts will be rewarded with views of a 200-foot cascade and plenty of rhododendrons. (The falls itself is also reachable from Blue Ridge Parkway, Milepost 78.)
Cherohala Skyway Drive. Running from Robbinsville, North Carolina, to Tellico Plains, Tennessee, this thoroughfare crosses through the Cherokee and Nantahala National Forests. Come late spring, you can see blooms as you drive.
Tip: How to Grow Rhododendrons
As a horticulturist at Carolina Native Nursery in Burnsville, North Carolina, Shelby Jackson knows all the secrets of growing beautiful rhododendrons. Her number-one tip? “Don’t plant it too deep in the ground,” she suggests. “Rhododendrons like good drainage and hate soggy roots.”
Flora Festivities: Rhododendron Events This Spring
Georgia Rhododendron Festival. Every Friday, Saturday and Sunday through May 14 at the Georgia Mountain Fairgrounds in Hiawassee. Crafters, live music, food, drinks, plant sale, seminars and more. Also tour Hamilton Gardens.georgiamountainfairgrounds.com/localevents/id/227
Tennessee Rhododendron Festival. Now in its 76th year, the Tennessee Rhododendron Festival will be hosted on the top of Roan Mountain (elevation 6,285 feet) on Saturday and Sunday, June 17 and 18. Expect handmade crafts, bluegrass music and old-timey demonstrations. roanmountain.com
West Virginia Rhododendron Festival. Each May, the City of Beckley hosts a month-long tribute to the rhododendron with concerts, garden tours, photo competitions and more. beckley.org
North Carolina Rhododendron Festival. Slated for Friday, June 16, to Sunday, June 18, the North Carolina Rhododendron Festival in Bakersville features a pageant, craft fair, 10K and two nights of street dancing. ncrhododendronfestival.org
The story above first appeared in our May / June 2023 issue. For more like it subscribe today or log in with your active BRC+ Membership. Thank you for your support!