Green Legacy: How Henry Shaw’s “Little Ones” Transformed American Gardens

July 24, 1800

On this day, the illustrious Henry Shaw drew his first breath upon this mortal coil - a man whose green thumbs would later transform the botanical landscape of America with such a magnificent flourish that one cannot help but wonder if he emerged from the womb clutching seedlings.

Shaw, dear readers, sits comfortably among the aristocracy of American botanical benefactors - a position earned through vision rather than mere inheritance. One might say he planted himself firmly in the fertile soil of St. Louis when merely eighteen years of age and proceeded to grow his fortune with the same determined vigor as his beloved specimens.

By forty, he had amassed landholdings that would make lesser men swoon.

But what separates our protagonist from the common wealthy man is what he chose to do with his bounty - creating lasting verdant legacies rather than mere monuments to himself.

The St. Louis Walk of Fame commemorates him with an epitaph that, while factually sound, hardly captures the revolutionary spirit of the man:

"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.'"

The Missouri Botanical Gardens - affectionately known as "Shaw's Garden" or "Hank's Garden" to those who appreciate both horticultural splendor and diminutives - stands as his crowning achievement.

One imagines the satisfaction he must have felt walking those paths, watching visitors gape in wonder at nature's magnificence, carefully arranged by human hands yet wild in spirit.

In 1882, Shaw constructed the Linnean House, named for the father of modern taxonomy, Carl Linnaeus. This architectural gem remains the oldest continuously operated public greenhouse west of the Mississippi - a shelter initially designed as an orangery where citrus trees, palms, and tree ferns could escape the brutal Midwestern winters.

What truly captures Shaw's character, however, is not merely his buildings and collections but his relationship with the botanical world.

A delightful anecdote published in the St. Louis Star and Times on April 5, 1933, reveals the man behind the magnificence:

"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."

There, dear gardeners, lies the essence of true horticultural passion - not the mere collection of specimens or the construction of impressive structures, but the intimate relationship between cultivator and cultivated.

Shaw knew each Latin name not through rote memorization but through love, the same way one recalls the birthdays, preferences, and peculiarities of beloved family members.

For those of us who talk to our roses, apologize to our trampled herbs, and celebrate the unfurling of a new leaf as though witnessing a birth, Shaw's sentiment resonates across centuries.

His gardens continue to flourish long after his mortal form returned to the soil - the ultimate achievement for those who dedicate their lives to growing things.