I am partial to toads. Greenish-brown and warty, they perform useful functions in the garden, including consumption of troublesome plant pests. Despite those virtues, they are usually exempted from the good press lavished on their relatives, the frogs. This probably happens because frogs, with their smooth skins and slender profiles are considered the most glamorous of the amphibian tribe. Toads, by contrast, have dry, bumpy skin and fat hindquarters. If toads were on television, they would probably be the subject of makeover show, no doubt hosted by a buxom frog spokesmodel with a come-hither smile.
I am also fond of plants with “toad” in their common names. These include toad lily or Tricyrtis hirta, a fall bloomer with spotted flowers; toadshade—Trillium sessile—a trillium bearing dark red flowers framed by trios of lovely mottled leaves; and toadflax or Linaria vulgaris, a weed that bears more than a passing resemblance to a yellow snapdragon. The first two plants probably got their toady common names from the fact that they thrive best in toad-friendly conditions, including shade and moist soil. Toadflax, on the other hand, is a sun lover. Supposedly it got the common name from the appearance of its flowers, which allegedly look like toads’ mouths. I can’t see the resemblance to a toad’s mouth, but maybe that is because I have never gotten up close and personal with a toad.
The catalog pages hold many delights at this time of the year and I found one related to toads. It is ‘Licilia Peach,’ a variety of Moroccan toadflax or Linaria maroccana, a plant whose species form has long been naturalized in the northeastern United States. ‘Licilia Peach’ stands only nine to eighteen inches tall, with narrow leaves and flowers that combine the colors of an especially vivid sunset. Each bloom is lipped, like a snapdragon. The fattest part of the lower lip is yellow, while the other flower parts are red, pink and reddish-orange. The catalog copy suggests that the plant is both easy to grow and full of nectar for the likes of butterflies and other pollinators.
‘Licilia Peach’ and its toadflax relatives should not be mistaken for true flaxes, the source of both linen fiber and linseed oil. Those plants belong to a different genus, Linum, which generally bears blue or pink flowers and is not even closely related. This is why plant people continue to use Latin names.
The elegant Moroccan toadflax plant depicted in seed catalogs is dainty by comparison with common toadflax, which grows up to three feet tall. Both have the characteristic narrow, lance-shaped leaves and snapdragon flowers. The common, weedy variety features two-tone blooms. The swollen lower lip is yellowish orange, with the top lip and lower half of the lower lip contrasting in pale yellow. As with snapdragons, if you squeeze the middle of the flower, the lips will snap open.
I grew up knowing common toadflax as “butter and eggs,” so named for its colors. It is a roadside weed in western and central New York State and quite eye-catching in summer when it blooms. Flower lovers almost never see three-foot tall specimens, because the mowers that cut down vegetation on highway rights-of-way lop them off early in the season, stunting their growth. Given such draconian haircuts, most top out at about six inches tall.
Common toadflax is a mixed blessing. Their flowers offer up the same feast of nectar and pollen as the Moroccan species, so they are a boon to bees, butterflies and other beneficial insects. However, they are also weedy and invasive, easily outcompeting native plants that might provide the same benefits to pollinators. We have always picked butter and eggs for bouquets, a practice that provides beauty for the house while keeping the plants from setting seed and littering the landscape with ever more butter and eggs.
My copy of Hortus Third, the enormous plant information compendium by Liberty Hyde Bailey, et al., is the source for information on Linaria maroccana’s naturalizing habits. It is entirely possible that it is somewhat less weedy and invasive than the common type and that ‘Licilia Peach’ is less invasive still. It is billed as a cottage garden plant, which usually means that it has an informal look and a habit of reseeding itself. We shall see. I intend to order a packet of seeds, sow them as directed while the soil is still cold and see what happens. If it is too weedy in my garden, it is easy enough to pluck out the invaders before they set additional seed.
After the long winter in this part of the world, I would be happy to see a single snowdrop emerging from the cold shadows. The sight of a small photo of ‘Licilia Peach,’ with its vibrant colors, makes me absolutely euphoric. My garden is already blooming in the recesses of my brain. I am adding ‘Licilia’ to it with a few computer keystrokes. I feel as if I have just launched the rocket that will land me on planet spring.