Season of the witch

The peculiar flowers of the witch hazel. — Grizdave/Creative Commons

Blooming in the off-season when it has the garden to itself, the witch hazel bears ribbon-like flowers and a bracing fragrance, all the more welcome in a dormant landscape.

The witch hazels have already been blooming as far north in the state as Montclair (see them at Van Vleck House & Gardens), and are in flower now in my central Jersey garden. Thank that blip of exceptionally warm weather we had earlier this month.

In the language of trees and shrubs, witch hazel is associated with the casting of spells. That must refer to the allure it has as a winter-blooming outlier since, despite what you might think, it was never put to nefarious use by witches and their kind.

The "witch" in witch hazel is a latter-day version of the Old English word "witch" or "wych," meaning a pliant branch. Back in the day, you might have wanted a forked branch of witch hazel as a divining rod to go water witching so that you’d know where to locate your well.

These plants, generically Hamamelis, also are known as winterbloom (for obvious reasons) and as snapping hazelnut, which refers to the loud, popping noise with which it ejects its shiny black seeds.

The common witch hazel, Hamamelis virginiana, blooms in very late fall, often while the golden autumn leaves still are in place. It’s among the last plants to bloom in autumn, just as Hamamelis vernalis and Hamamelis mollis, the Chinese forms, are among the earliest to appear — often weeks before spring has officially arrived.

Few flowers have such an odd structure as these; they look like a cluster of twisted satin ribbons hung from the spreading branches. They’re really rather festive, like a designer bow on an elegantly wrapped gift package.

Witch hazels can be quite showy while winter hangs on. — Photophanatic1/CC

Despite their fragile looks, the flowers are engineered to withstand winter’s cold and fluctuating temperatures. When thermometer readings are mild, they spool open and perfume the air; when readings dip, they close up tight and wait for better conditions.

Witch hazels are a gilded clan, with flowers that range from pale to strong yellow through gold, copper and a glowing burnt orange. Having seen a number close at hand, I’d recommend the clear yellow of ‘Arnold’s Promise’ over the pallid yellow-green of vernalis, and the deep, mellow orange-red of ‘Diana’ over the somewhat strident copper-pink forms. I’m disappointed in ‘Jelena.,’ my cultivar, since it holds onto dead leaves that obscure the winter blooms.

All witch hazels are hardy in New Jersey, and once established, are quite drought-resistant. They’re also tolerant of polluted urban air and, being neat of habit, rarely need pruning. Witch hazels enjoy a site in sun or partial shade, and will do best in a moist soil liberally amended with peat moss or leaf mold. Spring, when they’re blooming, is the best time to choose a variety; fall, on the other hand, is the best time to plant.

While good looks in the garden are important, witch hazel is best known for its cosmetic and medicinal properties, distilled from dormant twigs. It was Native Americans of the East Coast who first introduced the astringent medicinal preparation to the European colonists.

Poultices of witch hazel were to treat minor skin irritations like sunburn, insect bites, scratches and scrapes. It’s still used that way, but modern medicine has adapted it for treating eczema, cold sores and varicose veins. The theme is the reduction of inflammation.

One last traditional use of witch hazel intrigues me no end. It is said to "heal a broken heart and cool passions," which certainly would come in handy from time to time. A sprig of vibrant witch hazel flowers may not heal your heart, but is bound to lift it.