The Stench of Success: Ohio’s Corpse Flower Spectacle
This botanical history post was featured on The Daily Gardener podcast:
May 13, 2024
On this day in 2013, Ohio State University's greenhouse became an unlikely pilgrimage site for botanical enthusiasts and olfactory thrill-seekers alike.
The air hung heavy with an aroma that one might charitably describe as a pungent melange of sauerkraut and deceased marine life.
What, you may ask, could cause such an aromatic spectacle?
Why, none other than the rare titan arum, more colorfully known as the corpse flower, had deigned to unfurl its malodorous magnificence. This Sumatran native, a true diva of the plant world, had decided to grace the Buckeye State with its presence, much to the delight (and olfactory distress) of all in attendance.
Discovered in the late 1800s by an Italian botanist with, one presumes, a rather robust constitution, this floral phenomenon has been coy with its appearances. Since its discovery, there have been fewer than 200 recorded blooms worldwide.
One can almost picture the plant keeping a tally, reveling in its own rarity.
Cast your mind back, if you will, to 1889.
Newspapers around the globe were all aflutter, regaling their readers with accounts of the first recorded bloom at the Royal Gardens at Kew. One can almost hear the rustle of broadsheets and the clack of telegraph keys as the news spread like wildfire - or perhaps more aptly, like the stench of the corpse flower itself.
These intrepid reporters found themselves at a loss for words when it came to describing the flower's appearance. How does one capture the essence of such a unique specimen?
In their floral befuddlement, they turned to the familiar, reminding readers of the corpse flower's more common cousins in the arum family.
Picture, if you will, the demure jack-in-the-pulpit, the humble wild turnip, the much-maligned skunk cabbage, and the elegant calla lily. All members of the same family, yet none quite so... aromatic as their infamous relative.
Indeed, many arums have a tendency towards olfactory offensiveness. But the corpse flower, oh, it takes this family trait to new, eye-watering heights! One can only imagine the evolutionary path that led to such a fragrant strategy. Perhaps, in the steamy jungles of Sumatra, only the boldest of scents could cut through the verdant air.
So, dear readers, the next time you catch a whiff of something less than pleasant in your garden, take heart.
For you may just be in the presence of a distant relative of the grand corpse flower.
And who knows?
Perhaps one day, your own little patch of earth might play host to this most illustrious and odiferous of botanical celebrities.