The Last Wild Franklinia: How America’s First Botanists Saved a Species

August 2, 1938

On this day, dear garden friends, while the rest of the world fretted over European politics and the lingering effects of economic depression, a small newspaper in Belvedere, Illinois concerned itself with matters far more enduring - the christening of a tree.

The Belvedere Daily Republican, that stalwart chronicle of Midwestern life, published a modest article about a magnificent botanical specimen named for one of our nation's most illustrious founding fathers.

One can hardly imagine a more fitting tribute to Benjamin Franklin than a flowering tree discovered in the wild forests of America.

A man who cultivated both minds and gardens would surely appreciate such an honor, don't you think?

The article, in its brevity, revealed a horticultural treasure almost lost to time:

"About 200 years ago, John Bartram, an eminent botanist, discovered a strange flowering tree in a Georgia forest and named it "Franklinia" in honor of his fellow Philadelphian, Benjamin Franklin."

What the good people of Belvedere may not have realized as they sipped their morning coffee and perused this botanical tidbit is that Franklinia alatamaha (to give its proper scientific designation) represents one of the most remarkable stories in American botanical history.

This isn't merely a tree, dear gardeners, but a rescued species!

John Bartram and his son William, America's first native-born naturalists of note, discovered this exquisite flowering tree along Georgia's Altamaha River in 1765. By 1803, the tree had completely vanished from the wild.

Every single Franklinia growing today - every one! - descends from seeds collected by the Bartrams before the tree's extinction in its natural habitat.

Imagine that!

A living legacy of Revolutionary-era America persists in gardens throughout the nation, its creamy white blossoms with golden centers blooming precisely when most gardens have surrendered their floral displays to autumn's approach.

How perfectly Franklinian this tree is in its practical beauty.

Like its namesake who flew kites in thunderstorms and warmed himself with a "Pennsylvania fireplace" of his own invention, the Franklinia combines spectacular beauty with remarkable resilience. Each autumn, as its glossy leaves transform to brilliant red and orange before falling, one cannot help but see the parallel to Franklin himself - a man whose brilliance only seemed to intensify with age.

For those brave gardeners willing to attempt cultivation of this historical treasure, know that it requires acidic, well-drained soil and protection from harsh winter winds.

Unlike its namesake who thrived in the spotlight of international diplomacy, Franklinia prefers dappled shade and consistent moisture.

A challenging specimen to be sure, but like democracy itself, worth every effort to preserve.

So when you next encounter a Franklinia in some fortunate garden, pause a moment to appreciate this living connection to our nation's earliest days - a botanical Benjamin that, like its namesake's most famous invention, continues to shed light long after its creator has departed.