Seeds of Greatness: The Day Henry Shaw Arrived in St. Louis
This botanical history post was featured on The Daily Gardener podcast:
May 3, 1819
On this day, the young botanist and future philanthropist Henry Shaw arrived in St. Louis, a moment that would forever alter the botanical landscape of America. One might say the seeds of greatness were quite literally planted on this auspicious day.
St. Louis, though established over fifty years prior, was hardly more than a frontier outpost when Shaw disembarked. With a population barely exceeding 10,000 souls in 1820, the city was ripe for the ambitions of a clever young man with an eye for opportunity and, as we would later discover, a remarkable passion for plants.
The St. Louis Walk of Fame now bears testimony to Shaw's extraordinary contributions with an epitaph that, while factual, hardly captures the horticultural revolution he would inspire:
Henry Shaw, only 18 when he came to St. Louis, was one of the city’s largest landowners by age 40.
Working with leading botanists, he planned, funded and built the Missouri Botanical Garden, which opened in 1859. Shaw donated the land for Tower Grove Park and helped with its construction. He wrote botanical tracts, endowed Washington University’s School of Botany, helped found the Missouri Historical Society, and gave the city a school and land for a hospital.
Of Shaw’s gifts, the Botanical Garden is best-known. Said as early as 1868 to have “no equal in the United States, and, indeed, few anywhere in the world."
Fellow gardeners, let us pause to appreciate the magnitude of such vision! An eighteen-year-old arriving in a frontier town who would transform himself into a botanical benefactor of unparalleled generosity. How many of us, I wonder, have such clarity of purpose even in our maturity?
Among Shaw's most enduring legacies stands the Linnean House, constructed in 1882. This architectural gem remains the oldest continuously operated public greenhouse west of the Mississippi River. Originally conceived as an orangery—that most civilized of structures designed to shelter citrus trees, palms, and tree ferns through the harsh Midwestern winters—it stands as testament to Shaw's understanding that true gardening requires both passion and protection.
While excavating the historical record of Henry Shaw, I unearthed a delightful anecdote that perfectly illuminates his profound connection to his botanical charges. Published in the St. Louis Star and Times on April 5, 1933, it reveals more about the man's character than any formal biography ever could:
"Mr. Shaw was escorting a lady through his gardens, pointing out objects of interest.
The visitor said: "I cannot understand, Sir, how you are able to remember all of these difficult names."
He replied, with a courtly bow, "Madame, did you ever know a mother to forget the names of her children? These plants and flowers are my little ones."
Is this not the quintessential sentiment of every true gardener? While we may not all have the means to establish botanical gardens of international renown, we share with Shaw that intimate connection to our green companions. They are not merely specimens but relations, each with their own character, needs, and gifts.
As we tend our own modest plots today, let us remember young Henry Shaw stepping onto the shores of St. Louis, unaware of the horticultural empire he would build or the generations of gardeners he would inspire. In our own soil, we too plant possibilities that may flower beyond our wildest imaginings.
