"What the Hell Is a Toad Lily?"
My ornamental perennial garden has got some pretty good stuff growing in it. Well-known beauties like roses and hydrangeas share the territory with slightly more esoteric individuals like blue-flowered gentians and corydalis. But maybe the strangest (and among the prettiest and most exotic-looking) of my garden’s denizens are a couple of clusters of toad lilies. “What the hell is a toad lily?” Quite a few of my gardening friends have just recently asked me this very question. If you’re curious, read on and learn about this beautiful and surprisingly hardy perennial, and the unusual way in which my very first specimen found itself growing in my garden.
By John G. Stamos
Table of Contents
What the Hell Is a Toad Lily? An Introduction to My Own Toad Lily Scene
Nearly a week ago, I was working in my garden and happened to snap a few pics to share on social media. Two of these photos (which quite a few folks really seemed to like) featured a particularly late blooming resident which had just recently begun its display of floral finery. New blooms in October? In my hardiness zone (5B/6A)? Kinda weird, right?
Not if it’s a toad lily we’re talking about. And that’s exactly what we’re talking about. A toad lily. My photogenic, minor-hit-with-the social-media-crowd toad lily.
“Toad lily? What the hell is a toad lily?”
I’ve been asked that question a lot over the last several days…
But before I answer, I’ll really quickly mention that I hadn’t realized just how little-known this particular plant happens to be among my fairly large circle of gardening friends – on social media, and otherwise. If my stats are accurate, I’d say that two out of three gardeners I’ve spoken with over the last couple of years had no idea of what this plant was – nor had they ever even heard of it. When the pics in question went up on Twitter, many of my gardener friends (and I’m talking folks with some serious gardening chops) who saw it were unsure of what exactly it was that they were seeing. (Hence, today’s million dollar question.) A flower unknown to two-thirds of the gardeners with whom I consort on social media platforms, in my neighborhood, and at any number of local nurseries? Should this not be considered a fairly obscure flower? Sure seems like some pretty damned high-profile obscurity to me.
So, What the Hell Is a Toad Lily?
What is a toad lily? I’m gonna tell you. And this is the way it’s going down: You’ll get the basics. You’ll learn a little history. You’ll understand its scientific classification and learn why its not a true lily. You’ll get my field notes and basic planting and care specifications. And you’ll learn about the pretty astonishing way in which I was introduced to this most interesting and striking plant. Of course, along the way, you’ll get my recommendations for the products which I use to keep my toad lilies happy and healthy. So, what the hell is a toad lily? Well, sports fans, here you go…
The Basics
Common name(s) – Toad lily, Japanese toad lily, hairy toad lily. Botanical name – Tricyrtis hirta. Height – 12″-36″. Spread – 12″-24″. Roots – rhizomes. Light – partial to full shade. Bloom size – 1″-2″ across. Bloom form – orchid-like form with six tepals. Bloom color – white to very light lavender/purple with dark purple spots. Bloom time – early fall through the first or second light frost (in zone 5b/6A). Foliage – solid emerald green, or slightly variegated (emerald green with thin yellow margins). Herbaceous. Hardiness – zones 4-9. Growth rate – slightly slow to medium. Pollinators – bees, moths, butterflies, hummingbirds.
The toad lily is a striking plant in terms of its foliage, its overall form, and, of course, its flowers. The solid green or lightly variegated leaves are lanceolate (lance-shaped) in form and are positioned in alternate fashion along the main stem. This means that there is only one leaf per node, and they (the leaf and its corresponding node) occur on alternating sides of the main stem in ascending fashion. The leaves, by virtue of their shape and positioning on the stem, look almost like rungs on a ladder. These leaves are clasping in form, meaning their basal lobes (the leaf’s two lobes closest to the plant’s main stem – in fact, each leaf’s only lobes) wrap around, or “clasp” the main stem. The foliage is definitely visually arresting, and the resulting drama of the overall form of the plant is further enhanced by the stems, which are un-branched and, when in number, seem to all gently arch in the same direction. Each plant forms expanding clumps through its rhizomatous growth habit, and the resulting visual effect of a group of unbranched, alternate-leafed stems, arching “in unison,” is really pretty amazing. But as optically compelling as the overall form and foliage of a toad lily undoubtedly is, it’s the plant’s mottled, exotic, orchid-like blooms that steal the show. I’ve noticed, in the case of my toad lilies, that the flowers appear at nodes in the upper half of each stem. They emerge as single flowers, or in groups of two, and even three, at each node. Each flower consists of six tepals, six stamens (by my count), and three styles (again, according to what I can count on my plants). The combo of the mottled stamens and styles make for a really interesting structure which lends great visual depth and texture to each bloom. And if all of this exotic shape and dimension weren’t enough to hook you on these flowers, they’ve got another wildly cool-looking feature going for them – nectaries that come in the form of nifty little bulbs, or sacs, situated right at the base of every tepal on each bloom. These cute little sacs not only push the toad lily’s flowers beyond the coolness stratosphere, they make them smell great, too. You got it. The nectaries produce the flower’s nectar and are responsible for its sweet fragrance. (If I could choose to be anything other than what I am now, it would be a toad lily flower. Or a cowboy.) Surprisingly, the flowers are not large – I measured the largest of mine at less than 2″ in diameter – but they are beyond compelling. The form and mottling of these blooms contribute to the most exotic show in my garden.
The final overall characteristic I’ll mention here is unmistakable, and it’s the one that gives this plant one of its common names: Toad lilies are hairy. Literally every surface of each of these plants is covered in tiny hairs – leaves, stems, buds, and flowers. Hairy toad lilies. No doubt about it. If someone asks, “What the hell is a toad lily?”, “Hairy sumbitches” is my first answer. Definitely hairy.
Origins and Classifications
Toad lilies belong to a genus of plants, native to Asia (ranging from the Himalayas to the Phillipines), called Tricyrtis. There are four divisions of the genus, with a total of approximately 20 different species among them. The species hirta – our hairy toad lily – belongs to the genus division Hirtae. Our hirta species, is native to central and southern Japan, where it grows on shaded rocky cliffs and along the shady banks of rivers and streams. It’s only been within the last 30 years or so that toad lilies have been available to ornamental gardeners in the United States. In that time, many different cultivars and varieties of toad lily have been developed within the Tricyrtis hirta species. And any number of toad lily hybrids have been developed as crosses between Tricyrtis hirta and other Tricyrtis species. Although, for the purposes of this article, I’m classifying my toad lilies as Tricyrtis hirta, at the very least it’s certain that my garden’s two toad lily colonies are comprised of plants of two different respective varieties within the hirta species (as one colony is made up of individuals with variegated leaves and the individuals in the other colony have leaves of uniform green). And further, it’s entirely possible that my plants are hybrids – crosses between hirta and other species within the Tricyrtis genus. For the sake of simplicity, and general veracity, however, I’ll continue to refer to my toad lilies botanically as Tricyrtis hirta. A hairy toad lily is, after all, a hairy toad lily, no?
Are toad lilies really lilies? Nope. True lilies and toad lilies do belong to the same family, Liliaceae, but true lilies belong to the genus Lilium, while toad lilies belong to the genus Tricyrtis, as discussed. One practical difference between plants of the two respective genera is the fact that Tricyrtis species (the toad lily obviously included) all grow from rhizomatous roots, while true lilies (of the Lilium genus) grow from bulbs.
To read about, and see lots of pics of the true lilies (and daylilies -which also are not true lilies) which grow in my garden, please click here, and here.
Notes from the Field
These are amazingly tough plants. I’ve got one developing colony (the one comprised of individuals with variegated leaves) growing in a partial sun location, which, admittedly, doesn’t provide optimal shade levels (these plants love partial to full shade). In spite of this fact, this colony has grown from one individual plant to four in three summers. This colony’s location was determined by events outlined in the strange and interesting story you’ll read shortly. In any case, this particular clump of toad lilies is steadily expanding while basking in several hours of sunlight. Like I said, tough plants. There is one caveat here, however. Generally speaking, toad lilies like moist soil. They don’t like to dry out – even in optimally shady conditions. My sunlit toad lilies bear the extra burden of more sustained levels of sunlight exposure. Consequently, they require more watering than is necessary for shade-dwelling toad lilies. Keep this in mind if you screw up and plant yours in the sun.
My second colony of toad lilies is planted and growing in a mostly shady section of the garden. This is the solid green-leafed gang. These guys were ordered from an online nursery last fall (2021). They arrived this past spring, in bareroot form, and I started them in individual pots, outdoors. They grew well and I planted them, en masse, in their permanent location in one of my garden’s shadier planting beds. They’ve since set buds and are preparing to bloom at the time of this writing. (Said soon-to-bloom status is present in the face of nighttime temps in the mid-30s).
While I’m on the topic of blooming toad lilies and cold weather… I can tell you, without equivocation, that these plants are late bloomers, and they’re cold weather bloomers. My new colony is getting ready show off their premier blooms in the current chilly fall weather. My established colony has bloomed after the first couple of light frosts in late October last year, and continues to bloom robustly now, with loads of existing flowers and bunches of soon-to-open buds. If you’re looking for late season, cold weather interest for your garden, these guys’ll provide it.
Although my toad lilies are ostensibly indestructible, I will mention that slugs like to chow down on their foliage. Fortunately, my garden’s extensive frog and toad populations keep the slug problem minimized. But I could see where a healthy slug infestation would shoot some holes in your toad lily display plans. In spite of heavy predation by my frogs and toads, some wily slug felons have managed to leave their signatures, in the form of holes, in my toad lily foliage. Watch out for slugs.
Suggestions for Planting and Tending Toad Lilies
Plant them as soon as you get them. More than likely, you’ll be getting your plants – whether established potted individuals from a nursery (I have yet to find any at the four nurseries which I frequent), or bareroot individuals from an online source – in mid spring. Established plants can go in the ground right away. I suggest starting bareroots outdoors in containers. The same goes for any plants you’ve started from seed, or have propagated from root stock. They’ll get a chance to develop their roots and foliage in fairly well-protected fashion while remaining potted. I planted my bareroots (in pots) with their crowns roughly even with the soil in their containers. When they grew to an adequate size, I planted them in the ground with their crowns just at, or slightly below, the soil level. My variegated variety had a bit of a different start to life in my garden (of which you’ll soon learn).
Since these plants grow from robust, rhizomatous roots, one plant can, and will, become several over time. My original colony has grown from one plant to four, and the total area occupied by this creeping, expanding population is about one square foot. I like to plant my plants – all of my plants – in fairly dense fashion. I planted my toad lily bareroots all within approximately 12″ of one another. However, spacing them a couple of feet apart when sticking them in the ground is a safe bet.
Soil. Toad lilies like neutral-to-slightly-acidic soil that is loamy, continually moist, and well-drained. Continuously soggy soil means rotten roots and plant death. Keep your toad lilies watered but make sure the soil is well-drained. I planted mine in the ubiquitous potting soil mix in which all the plants in my garden grow. It’s slightly acidic, somewhat loamy, and enriched with a slow release fertilizer with trace amounts of N-P-K. My older, more established colony received a topical application of Espoma Plant-tone organic granular fertilizer for the first time this spring. I’ll apply a second feeding to this group, of substantially reduced amount of fertilizer, in a couple of weeks. Once the plants are dormant, no amount of fertilizer will trigger cold-weather growth, and the addition of the Espoma will enrich the soil and assist with root protection/development over the winter. As my second toad lily colony was fairly recently planted in the enriched potting mixture, those plants will not be fertilized this fall.
Water. Keep your toad lilies well-watered. Even in shade. Especially in sun. They like the moisture and thrive and flower beautifully when they’re given ample water. Again, it’s critical that their soil does not get, and stay, soggy. That’ll rot ’em and kill ’em. I probably shouldn’t say this, but my toad lilies have proven to be fairly drought tolerant. You’ll soon learn how I discovered this. But please don’t let your toad lilies dry out. It’s critical that they receive regular waterings.
Pruning and deadheading. Nah. Deadheading won’t encourage any more blooming, and there’s absolutely no pruning to do on these plants during the growing season. After the first hard frost or two, they’ll turn yellow, then brown. Cut them back to the ground at this point.
Companion planting. Since these guys are shade lovers, natural companion plants are hostas, astilbe, and ferns. My solid green colony grows with hostas, variegated liriope, pulmonaria, and astilbe as neighbors. My older, more established colony grows in the (sometimes) dappled sunlight beneath the branches of a large buddleia, with hostas as neighbors.
What the hell is a toad lily without the proper nutrition? I love Espoma’s organic fertilizers. Plant-tone is the one I use for the majority of the flowering plants in my garden, including my toad lilies. It’s got an N-P-K ratio of 5-3-3 and is a great all-purpose organic fertilizer. It works perfectly for plants like corydalis, viola, dianthus, shasta daisies, and primroses, to name just a few. I feed the majority of the flowering plants in my garden Espoma Plant-tone. You can learn about this product, and order it here directly from Amazon, by clicking the #advertisement link.
What the hell is a toad lily without the proper protection? If your garden is troubled by voles or chipmunks, you may want to consider adding the application of this product to your planting methodology. Repellex Systemic Granular is an amazing, non-lethal systemic product which treats ornamental plants from the inside out. It’s incredibly effective – it protects my toad lilies and all of the other plants in my garden from vole and chipmunk assault. I recommend it wholeheartedly. Click here to read my article about its use in protecting my own ornamental plants from vole and chipmunk assault. Feel free to click the #advertisement link here to order this amazing product directly from Amazon.
Toad Lily Spontaneous Generation, or, "Where'd You Come From?"
Maybe “What the hell is a toad lily?” wasn’t always the most relevant question bandied about in my garden as it concerns these cool and strange plants. Maybe all along it’s really been “Where’d you come from?”…
One day, in late May of 2020, a toad lily showed up in my garden. It sprouted from a patch of ground almost immediately beneath my home’s gas meter. When it first sprouted, I didn’t know it was a toad lily. I thought it was a hosta. Specifically, I though it was a ‘Patriot’ hosta. I thought this for two reasons. The first reason was based on observation: the foliage that was coming up out of the ground looked like Patriot foliage. Sort of. This sprout’s leaves were lightly variegated, and were approximately hosta-like in shape. The second reason that I was thinking “hosta” was based on the fact that I had, a couple of weeks prior to the sprouting of this plant, staged some potted Patriots in this immediate location. One of these potted hostas, I’d noticed, had died. At this point, I upended the pot and emptied its contents in the exact spot I noticed the sprout emerging. I initially thought that a section of the former hosta’s roots maintained some vitality and viability, and started sprouting. It didn’t take long, however, for me to determine that this sprouting plant was not a hosta. It started developing a distinct stem and it started, slowly, getting taller. By late July, I’d tentatively identified it as a toad lily. A stowaway toad lily.
There are a couple of points of interest here. First, this plant was indeed a stowaway. It arrived in the deceased hosta’s pot (was its presence the hosta’s cause of death?), that much was clear. Second, the plant rooted and sprouted without receiving much in the way of water, and in what I considered to be sandy, inhospitable earth. Most of the substrate, at that time, was sand. The only decent soil was the stuff that got dumped out of the pot, along with the little, as yet undetected toad lily. I was astounded that this plant had taken root and was growing.
I decided to leave it where it was that first year. I assumed (correctly) that it was safe, and at least moderately happy in its gas meter location. I top dressed its immediate location with the fertilizer-enriched potting soil, added mulch, and kept it watered. It thrived through the first hard frost, and then hibernated. It never set buds, nor flowered that first year.
I’d spent some time over that winter boning up on toad lilies. That following spring (which was the spring of 2021), I was ready to administer some toad lily TLC. After it emerged from the ground, I let it gain some size (at that time, I noticed another stem emerging within a few inches of the original plant), and then I carefully dug the entire little clump up. I was surprised at the extent of its root system. By this time, in anticipation of the toad lily relocation effort, I had excavated a large hole some distance from the gas meter (but in the same planting bed), beneath the overarching branches of the aforementioned and fast growing buddleia. I filled the hole with the usual enriched potting mix and planted the toad lily mini clump (with crowns just at, or slightly below, the soil level). And the rest, as they say, is history. The plant grew and flowered well that fall, and has grown back thicker this year with more stems and much more profuse flowering. And even though its location does not provide it with optimal light conditions, that single little plant has developed into a small, successful toad lily colony. I expect big things from these little plants in the years to come.
"What the Hell Is a Toad Lily?" Now You Know
“What the hell is a toad lily?” We’re at the end, and now you know. Yep. You’ve got enough toad lily info in your heads to keep you from getting tripped up the next time somebody asks you the million dollar, titular question. My dear readers, the mystical, meaning-of-life-type toad lily secrets have now been revealed, and you’ve got them all. You’re aware of the fact that a whole bunch of my gardener friends were in the dark about these plants, and are now no longer (assuming they’ve read this article). You know all of the toad lily basics – from their beauty to their biology. You’ve got some toad lily history under your belts, and some toad lily taxonomy, too. You know that a toad lily isn’t really a lily. You’ve got the lowdown on all of the hands-on wrangling I’ve done with these guys in my garden. You know what toad lilies like, and you know what they don’t like. You know their needs, and you know their wants. You even know the story of my first ever toad lily and how it snuck its way into my garden.
So, what the hell is a toad lily? C’mon guys, you got this!
For further reading, please feel free to check out the following two excellent articles: “Hairy Toad Lily, Tricyrtis hirta“ by Susan Mahr of The University of Wisconsin, and “How to Grow and Care for Toad Lily” by Erica Puisis of The Spruce.
As always, my dear readers, I thank you for your kind interest and readership. I am dearly grateful.
Cheers, and Happy Gardening!
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My first-year toad lilies have not produced stems or flowers. They’re just hugging the ground. All the articles I’ve read talk about the stems. It’s September 3. Is it too soon or should I console myself and wait til next year!
Great question. Assuming you’re growing them in an appropriate hardiness zone, in the proper light conditions (they like shady/partially shady conditions), and that you’ve planted them in bare root form (within the last few months), I think it’s probably reasonable to not expect much performance from them in this, their first year. One of the clumps that grow in my garden was started with a few individuals in bare root form a few years back. If I remember right, there wasn’t much vertical growth that first year, and no blooming. You might want to try giving yours an end of summer feeding with a high quality organic fertilizer in an amount specified by the manufacturer. Over the winter, your plants will have time to develop and extend their rhizomatous root systems. You should see much better performance from them next year. Incidentally, none of my toad lilies – all of which are established and growing in ever-expanding clumps – are blooming this year. Sometimes the climate will throw our plants – even steadfast and reliable ones like toad lilies – a curveball or two. It definitely happens. I think next year will be a breakout year for your toad lilies. Thank you so much for reading the article, and for commenting. it’s very much appreciated. I’d love to hear how they do for you – please do reach out and fill me in. Best of luck, and thanks again!
I was not familiar with toad lillies until now. They are delightful little flowers that proved to be a great surprise.
I’m glad you like them, Kevin – they’re really wonderful plants. And yes, I think those little blooms are delightful, too. I’m glad you got the chance to meet them. As always, Kevin, I thank you for your kind thoughts and interest.
A “Toad lily” what an amazing discovery!!!
It’s absolutely beautiful !!!
Thank you for another wonderful and very educative article🙏Superb images 😍❤️🌹
Thank you so much, Roxxy! I’m glad you liked the article and the photos. I’m not much of a photographer, but those toad lily blooms are so beautiful, even I couldn’t screw them up! As always, Roxxy, I appreciate your lovely thoughts and your kind interest – thanks once again!
I am very distressed to know that toad lilies will probably never be happy in the warm, dry climate of San Diego. Truthfully, there are days when my plants have to live with little water. The segment about the little toad lily at the gas meter was wonderful. The idea that a little plant in a bad place with little care could become healthy, happy and productive is inspiring. The multitudes of gardeners with an interest in this unique plant will know everything they need to know to become toad lily specialists.
You are very kind, Colleen – thank you for your lovely compliment. I’m happy you’ve found the article informative and I’m so glad you’ve detected the pathos in the story of my stowaway toad lily. I was also touched by this little plant’s “will to live.” If nothing else, its story underscores the genus’ amazing hardiness. Frankly, I wouldn’t be afraid to try my hand at growing them in San Diego’s “forbidding” climate :)! As always, Colleen, I thank you for your kind interest and lovely thoughts.
Thank you for LOTS of information on a beautiful little flower.
I’m so glad you liked the article – thank you! It really is a stunning bloom and a beautiful, tough plant. Thanks again!
John,
Interesting article. I have never seen this plant.
Thank you, Scott – I’m so glad you liked the article! I’d never heard of a toad lily until I lucked out and identified my mysterious first one with a plant ID app. I was surprised at the number of gardeners who didn’t know about this plant. Again, I’m glad you liked the article – thank you, Scott!
Particularly beautiful flower. Thanks for the tutorial
Thank you, Rick. I agree with you. The toad lily bloom is one of the loveliest I believe Ive ever seen. I’m very glad that you enjoyed the article – thanks again!