Carolyn Harstad, one of the founders of the Indiana Native Plant and Wildflower Society, passed away July 24 in Minnesota.
INPAWS, founded in 1993, celebrates its 25th anniversary this year. “As co-founders, Carolyn and I watched INPAWS grow during its 25-year history,” said Ruth Ann Ingraham of Indianapolis. “Paid memberships now approach 1,000, Facebook followers exceed 10,000, and seven active chapters cover Indiana from Lake Michigan to the Ohio River. Each of us lends a hand, or a shovel, one way or another to fulfill Carolyn’s vision and help Hoosiers understand the vital role native plants play in the web of life.”
For nearly a year, Carolyn had battled pancreatic cancer. She pulled from the same resources she drew on to fight breast cancer three decades ago. The diagnosis came just months after the June 7, 2017 death of her husband, Peter T. Harstad. Peter was chief executive officer of the Indiana Historical Society from 1984 until his retirement in 2001, when the couple moved to Minnesota where several of their children and grandchildren lived.
Garden author, writer, photographer
A Master Gardener, Carolyn put her love of native plants into three popular books. Go Native Go Native: Gardening with Native Plants and Wildflowers in the Lower Midwest was published by Indiana University Press in 1999. Got Shade? followed in 2003 and Got Sun? in 2013, also with IU Press. A longtime member of GWA: The Association for Garden Communicators, she was regular contributor to Minnesota Gardener magazine. Some of her favorite stories were about state fair activities with the grandchildren, harvesting apples with her husband Peter, helping with a garden wedding for her grandchild, and discovering ways to grow some vegetables among her perennials and shrubs in the front garden. Her work was a breeze to edit. She was a popular speaker about native plants and shade gardening, and an accomplished photographer.
And while all of these accomplishments are worth noting, I think of Carolyn as a wonderful teacher about native plants, their names, their history, attributes and faults. It was not uncommon to see her petite frame, donned in duck boots and brandishing a shovel, salvaging native plants from construction sites (always with permission) throughout the state.
Spirit of the gardener
Not too long after I started writing this column, Carolyn invited me to visit in her garden, a green, thriving swath of nature in dense shade. There I learned about hepaticas.
Plants remind us of people and places and whenever I see hepaticas, I think of Carolyn in her Indianapolis garden on Lieber Road, introducing me to the little native spring bloomers she so loved.
Hepaticas bloom in her son Dave Harstad’s sweet memories of her, too, and he gave me permission to share his Facebook post. He wrote about walking the woods with his mom and described her nature perfectly.
“But when she found her favorite wildflower, hepatica, it was different. She’d lose her breath a little, and look at it intensely and quietly and without blinking. She was just overwhelmed by the delicate beauty of those fleeting little purple or white or pink flowers. She just loved it. And like so many things in her life, she passed her passions onto those around her.
“If you look for hepatica now, you won’t find it. It’s dormant until the spring. When it blooms it’s a trailblazer, confidently pushing through the brown leaves and snow before almost anything else. You won’t find it in a crowded grouping, or in a formal garden. And it won’t be showing off like an orchid or a rose. Hepatica will be on its own, usually on the high ground but also comfortable in low areas, small and understated.
“If you find it, and then take the time to really look at it, you’ll see my was mom was right: Hepatica is unbelievably beautiful. It just may become your favorite flower. Like all flowers it loves the bright sunshine that makes its way to the forest floor in early spring. But what makes it special is how It bravely endures the cold of early spring nights without complaining or wilting. And it doesn’t express any regret at how ephemeral its life is.”
RIP, Carolyn, and thank you for your generous, joyful spirit.
