It is called Fritillaria Imperialis for good reason.
Everything about the crown imperial, or giant fritillaria, is outsized, regal and spectacular, from the huge size of the bulb that is supposed to be specially planted on its side, to its incredibly quick growth to a height of about three feet in early spring, to its cluster of weirdly swirling down-facing blooms on top of a single strapping stalk, to its unmistakable and most would say, downright unpleasant, odour.
From the first time one was spotted on a walk several years ago in my Erin Mills neighbourhood, it was something that just had to be tried.... and tried.... and tried.
The crown imperial was supposed to like heavy soils and clay, so it was buried first in the front yard, where it would impress the neighbours. Vanity thy name is gardener.
The planting instructions required it to be some impossible depth which was not unachievable in the concrete soil that was in place there at the time. Maybe that was the problem.
The bulb must be planted on its side, ideally with a layer of sand below it, to prevent rot. It has a huge hollow in its centre which collects rainwater if it is planted straight up. Perhaps that was not done properly.
It did start out wonderfully every year, pushing through the soil like a giant missile head, but it never bloomed. Sigh.
The first attempt was with the common plant with giant yellow blooms that really do look like bells because they bloom so close together and are slightly angled away from the plant, as if you had frozen them in mid-swing.
Other attempts followed before the crown imperials finally took in the backyard and actually bloomed. Emboldened, we tried another branch of the family, the Rubra. You can guess from the name that it is supposed to be red, but is actually orange. It was planted in the cottage garden.
One spring we arrived to find it at the absolute peak of its glory, a plant with a rich dark maroon stem, huge blooms that were twice the size of those on any other of the bulbs we’ve tried and a top-knot of strapping leaves that look like it was designed by a teenager with attitude and a hairdo to prove it.
One drawback of the plant for many people is the scent, which has been described as, “wet fur and garlic.” It is pungent, to be sure, but it grows on you. The smell gets sweeter every time you realize that it deters squirrels and other garden pests. Squirrels dash more gardening hopes than weather and thieves.
The Fritillaria even dies spectacularly, fading to yellow and swanning all over the joint before disappearing altogether, gone as quickly as it came. It is ideal to match with late-starting perennials as a result of this shooting star quality.
Crown imperial even has its own nickname in our household. Many years ago, my daughter took one look at the outlandish thing and came up with the perfect description — the “Dr. Seuss plant.”
Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store
Maybe Christmas... is a plant... that’s never a bore.