For 63 years - Dedicated to Protecting, Preserving and Promoting
The interests of The Eloise Butler Wildflower Garden and Bird Sanctuary
Phase one of the wetland restoration project boardwalk in honor of former Gardener Cary George is now installed. Dedication Sept. 20, 2015. Photos and details.
A brief review of the summer season of 2005, 1990, 1965, 1940 and 1915, details
A photo selection of August Flowers. Photos
The Garden hosts over 600 native plants with habitat varying from marsh to woodland to prairie and Oak savanna. For seasonal photos, species listings - read more. .
Clinton Odell's daughter recounts her Garden and Friends history in this interview.
Cary George writes about the pea family plants found in the Garden. Article here.
Eloise Butler claimed the species is indigenous to the Garden. She wrote in 1911: "For the late-blooming flowers we must turn to the floodplains and meadows still glorious in the white, blue and gold of the moisture-loving asters, gentians, lobelia and sunflowers, tricked out here and there with the deep red of the Cardinal Flower- the purest red found in nature. The brilliant salvia now blooming in the cultivated gardens has a tinge of yellow in its redness, but that cannot be said of the red lobelia known as the Cardinal Flower."
“One is constantly reminded of the infinite lavishness and fertility of Nature - inexhaustible abundance amid what seem enormous waste. And yet when we look into any of her operations that lie within reach of our minds, we learn that no particle of her material is wasted or worn out. It is eternally flowing from use to use, beauty to yet higher beauty; and we soon cease to lament waste and death, and rather rejoice and exult in the imperishable, unspendable, wealth of the universe, and faithfully watch and wait the reappearance of everything that melts and fades and dies about us, feeling sure that its next appearance will be better and more beautiful than the last." John Muir, 1911, from The Tuolumne Camp, My First Summer in the Sierra
Whence is yonder flower so strangely bright?
Would the sunset’s last reflected shine
Flame so red from that dead flush of light?
Dark with passion is its lifted line,
Hop, alive, amid the falling night.
Still it burns intenser as I gaze,
Till its heart-fire quickens with my own,
And when night shuts in dusky ways
Red and strange shine out the lights of home,
Where my flower its parting sign delays.