'Andean Nymph' - A Pink Mimulus

Table of Contents and IntroductionAfrican Violets: the Doyen of House PlantsAgapanthusAlstroemeriasAmerican SagebrushesAmerican WildflowersAndean Nymph - a pink mimulusAquilegias (Columbines)AuriculasAustralian AnnualsBellis Perennis (Daisies)Black-Eyed SusanBlue African LiliesBreeding DelphiniumsBreeding Fuchsias: Part 1: From SeedBreeding Fuchsias: Part 2: HybridisationBromeliads from SeedButterflies in Soy SauceCacti RaisingCampanulasChilean Bell FlowerChilly Treatment for Peruvian LiliesCollecting SeedConserving Annuals and BiennialsCosmosCucumbersCycads: Living FossilsCyclamen for IndoorsDahlias from SeedDamping OffErythroniumsF1 Hybrid - What Is it?F2 and Open Pollinated VarietiesFrom Obscurity to the Height of FashionGentiansGeraniumsGermination to Pricking OutGolden Impatiens - The StoryGrowing Alpines From Seed: Part 1Growing Alpines From Seed: Part 2Growing Bananas From SeedGrowing Cyclamen From SeedGrowing Eucalyptus From SeedGrowing Ferns from SporesGrowing Foxgloves From SeedGrowing Fritillarias From SeedGrowing From Seed: From Packet to SoilGrowing Hardy Ferns from SporesGrowing Hardy Geraniums From SeedGrowing Lewisias From SeedGrowing Magnolias From SeedGrowing Meconopsis From SeedGrowing Proteas and Related Genera from SeedHandling Small SeedsHardy Annuals: Part 1Hardy Annuals: Part 2Hardy CyclamenHardy SpurgesHelleboresIncreasing your Violas and ViolettasKeeping Records of Seed SowingLettuce - the Vital Part of any SaladLord Anson's PeaMagnolias - the Root of the ProblemMimulus from Seed to Seed in Sixty DaysNew Guinea ImpatiensOld-fashioned Sweet PeasOnions with EverythingPansies are not Difficult to Grow from SeedParsleyPerennials for American GardensPetuniasPhygelius - their cultivation and propagationPinks: Evocation of the PastPlants That Flower OncePrickly but NicePropagatorsRadishesRaising PalmsRaising PrimulasSalad Leaves - a lot to be desiredShow Stoppers Twice OverSowing SeedsSowing in Open GroundSowing to Feed our FriendsSturt's Desert PeaSweet Peas - Autumn SownSweet Peas - Sowing and GerminatingTall and HandsomeTechniques with Tiny SeedTexas BluebellThe Effect of Light on Germination and SeedlingsThe Nervous PeaThe Scarlet Welsh PoppyThe Search for the Yellow Sweet PeaToad LiliesTomatoesTreasure Hunt for TasteUnderstanding Latin NamesUnique Poppy (Mother of Pearl)Viability of VegetablesWeaning SeedlingsWill the Real Mimosa Please Stand Up

John Watson describes the discovery and introduction of this popular plant.

There must be some mistake. No pink mimulus is recorded from South America.

(Kew botanist, 1985.)

Roger took me to Blooms and I could not believe my eyes. There were rows and rows of this mimulus in flower, this pink mimulus, my mimulus! I only ever found it once myself in the wild two years before up a difficult mountain track, and I could not identify it or find anything about it in the literature, so I thought it must be a new species. Roger told me this person called John Watson had collected it too.

(Adriana Hoffmann, Chilean botanist, 1987).

These reactions are hardly surprising. When the seeds we brought back in 1972 of the plant we subsequently dubbed Mimulus sp. 'Andean Nymph' germinated like mustard and cress and took to cultivation as duck to water, it immediately began to make itself familiar far and wide in horticultural circles, completely outpacing botanical investigation. In fact I suspect it could now be one of those species which, in common with the golden hamster, are far more numerous in captivity than in the wild (assuming we can call enough of the plants in our gardens the pure species).

A couple of points just hinted at need elaborating before, we go further, even though they may well tarnish the reputation of the 'Nymph' and shock the easily shockable. Illegitimacy: 'Andean Nymph' is a nomen illegitimum, an unofficial name of convenience for gardeners, that is, rather than conforming to any code of nomenclature. Promiscuity: the 'Nymph' has shown a tendency to put herself about, as they say, with various other mimulus in nursery stock beds, with resultant hybrids. More anon on both these issues.

For those unfamiliar with it, the plant has an overall similarity to other well-known 'alpine' mimulus, and only differs dramatically in its flower colour. The tube is clear winey-pink, which also to a greater or lesser degree suffuses the four petals, particularly the upper two. Slight variations between plants and aging of flowers account for the extent of pinkness present. Otherwise the basic ground pigment is pale, warm ivory-yellow, richer at the throat, where a heavy freckling of pink spills out to half-way down the lips, so that it is in fact a bicolour. Nor, of course, is it the only pink mimulus known, nor indeed the pinkest. In cultivation, if not in the wild, that honour belongs to the North American M. lewisii, whose striking colouration is unfortunately rather cancelled out by its untidy, floppy habit.

One curious feature of the 'Nymph', both in cultivation and the wild,' is a tendency to produce depauperate flowers with a reduced number of petals. Characteristically, it loses the two side petals, retaining the lip and upper petals, but may also be seen with just one lateral petal missing. I have even seen an extremely 'handicapped' example with just one upper petal and the lip, which looked distinctly lop-sided and odd. This phenomenon is quite unstable and unpredictable, and may occur at random on odd flowers of any plant at any time. It is possibly related to exhaustion or lack of nutrients, though this is not always apparent: plants just coming into flower are often affected. Other mimulus have produced stable hose-in-hose variants, well known in cultivation, where the calyx has converted into a second flower. In Turkey I have observed a population of the oncocyclus iris, I. paradoxa, in a ploughed field beside Lake Van. There the falls and standards occasionally fell into various combinations of twos and fours instead of regular threes. This I put down to the likelihood of centuries of vegetative division by ploughing perpetuating genetic 'hiccups'. Whereas it is highly likely that bits of brittle mimulus become broken off by water, wind, bird or beast and would readily root down into damp river sand, it quite clearly regenerates freely and mainly in nature by seed. Whatever the causes, unstable petal production has, in my experience, been limited to what I would regard as the pure species, and may well be one way of identifying it.

Martyn Cheese and I made the initial discovery on the hot, sunny early afternoon of 10th February 1972, towards the end of our five months work in Chile. We were driving up the wide shingle floor of the Rio Teno in Curico province towards the magnificent high Andean pass of Vergara, and were close to the village of Los Queries at around 1000m above sea level. Hunger had been gnawing at our innards for some time and we were desperate to demolish our lunch of large 'doorstep' sandwiches filled with cheese, onion and cucumber at some acceptably secluded spot. For this reason only we stopped beside a steep rocky side valley where an irresistible little stream, fast and gurgling, cut down through pools and waterfalls. It faced north, towards the sun, ideal for 'el picnic'. Straight away we picked out the small handful of scattered pinkish musk flowers in saturated sand and gravel by the waterside or growing on ledges within range of the drenching spray. Our appreciative collective term might have been a Stimulus of Mimulus, with heightened enjoyment from dabbling in the clear refreshing water alongside the 'Nymph'. But despite searching further afield, we could find no more plants. I have described this event within the context of the trip as a whole in the Bulletin of the Alpine Garden Society, Vol. 43, No. 4, December 1975. The plant in flower received collectors' number C. & W. 5084. We returned for seed on the 14th March 1972. It was our last but one gathering in Chile, and was widely distributed under its seed number, C. & W. 5257.

I am indebted to Adriana (Hoffmann) for most other information about the plant in the wild. One further unambiguous record is known to me: Adriana's own 1985 discovery in Linares province, some 100km (60 miles) south of our locality, but also in the foothills of the Andes at 1000m. Her mimulus was growing on a patch of damp ground. Not only was it a much more extensive colony than ours, but the flowers also showed somewhat greater variation in the degree and relative darkness of the pink colouration.

Adriana has written recently, informing me of a botanical paper published in Chile in 1968 where the pink mimulus is even illustrated (but apparently not named). I have yet to see this. Will the plant originate from either of our localities, or from a third site, and when was it recorded?

Apart from these two, or possibly three, definite 'pink' locations, workers from Concepcion University, the centre for the projected new Flora of Chile, found something corresponding to the pink mimulus along with pure Mimulus luteus, also in the Teno Valley near Los Queries. A verbal description gave it as having a lot more yellow in it, their taxonomists diagnosing it as a form of M. luteus.

At the end of my latest stay in South America (1987/88), Adriana and I accompanied two other Chileans on a field trip to the Rio Clarillo nature reserve just south of Santiago on 21 March 1988. By sheer good luck, as we were on the point of heading for home, one last search yielded three frail juvenile plants with one flower apiece growing among the boulders of the Clarillo river. Not to mention literally jumping for joy, we both very verbally and enthusiastically immediately related them to the 'Nymph', but again much more yellow, less pink, and a different flower profile. There was no time in hand to explore extensively, but a brief sortie up a nearby side gully did reveal solid clumps of bright yellow M. luteus. Yet again we were at 1000m.

My theory is that our new Clarillo material and the Concepcion people's Teno plants may very well turn out to be natural hybrids between M. luteus and M. sp. 'Andean Nymph'.

Apropos, it may seem unlikely that a plant should remain undiscovered for so long on the very threshold of Santiago. Bear in mind that the mountains thereabouts are often extensive, complex and fairly inaccessible, even nowadays. One of the Chileans with us, a mature student, had found an exciting new species of alpine Viola high up on the watershed above the Clarillo whilst surveying the reserve in detail earlier in the season; and quite possibly a new alstroemeria as well.

Equally inexplicable is the separate recording from four places over a period of a few short years of a distinctive and previously unknown mimulus. This corresponds to a strange 'syndrome' whereby a plant, after having lurked unsuspected in the wild for a long time and then brought to light, is soon found in other localities. A classic example of this was the new 'Pink Frit' which was brought back from Turkish Armenia in 1966. It was subsequently named Fritillaria alburyana by Martyn Rix: one month later another gathering was published under another name by a Turkish botanist! It is now known from at least half a dozen other places. More notorious and sinister is the case of Cyclamen mirabile, the only existing scientific record of which was destroyed during the Second World War. Nobody knew where to find it until the mid-fifties and sixties, when botanists and responsible collectors rediscovered it here and there, but still rarely. Subsequently it appeared in enormous numbers in a well known chain store masquerading as another common species of cyclamen.

A modest sample of mimulus pods gathered in 1972 still yielded sufficient seed to distribute as a packet each to the majority of our 200 odd subscribers world-wide. These included a number of nurseries and botanic gardens. The following season it flowered for many, was subsequently offered in seed lists and shortly afterwards for sale as plants by specialised nurseries, in all cases under its collectors' number. After a few years, as it became more widespread and popular, there was growing dissatisfaction with having nothing but a number for it and, as the introducer, I came under increasing pressure to put a name to it. With any wild species, horticulture must needs to refer to botanical sources for purposes of accurate identification. Problems are bound to pile up if a plant takes off in gardening whilst remaining static, or more accurately, dormant and unknown in scientific terms. These problems are going to be compounded when that plant can be propagated at speed and in large numbers by seed, cuttings or division, at several generations per season, if needs be. At that time I was far too preoccupied for any botanical investigation, or even to seek the help of a professional taxonomist. So, around 1979/1980,I took it upon myself to offer the temporary solution of Mimulus sp. 'Andean Nymph'. Whilst the cultivar name was obviously 'illegal', it seemed the only practical answer to the very urgent problem of the plant spreading throughout horticulture to unsophisticated gardeners and small generalised nurseries who were going to have no truck with ridiculous collectors' numbers and might very well begin to make up their own names at random. Inevitably, of course, the 'sp.' was dropped, along with the number, and it became Mimulus 'Andean Nymph', which is even worse, taxonomically speaking.

To side track once more, a few other examples of this sort come readily to mind. They always tend to trail a wake of confusion and dissatisfaction until finally cleared up. Something called Albuca sp. 'Basutoland', a neat bulb, used to grace catalogues for ages, provoking occasional debate, until it was finally established as A. humilis. That was relatively uncomplicated. Slightly more so was the tiny Cyclamen cilicium 'E.K. Balls' (more often it would appear with an E.K.B. collectors' number). Speculation about this burned up considerably more paper over the years than with the Albuca. It was eventually sorted out as part of the in-depth investigation for the Flora of Turkey and emerged as a separate species, C . intaminatum. My final example, a campanula, is still unresolved, so far as I know, and like the 'Nymph' must be one of a sizeable pool of plants floating around in horticultural limbo without a proper officially recognised 'handle'. Fortunately most of these plants, being relatively difficult to grow or limited in appeal, remain within highly specialised circles. It is only every now and again when one spills over into the public domain that things get out of hand, as with the mimulus and, to a lesser extent, the campanula. A dainty white thing that used to bear one of Peter Davis' lengthy collectors' numbers, it has long been a popular alpine of catalogues. Presumably someone also eventually grew tired to its 'telephone' number and christened it 'Mist Maiden', which it answers to this day. A friend tells me that Peter Davis was quite reasonably asked about the plant, but equally reasonably could offer no help as there was no note of the number to hand, nor the country of origin, nor indeed anything else. Now Peter Davis has collected tens of thousands of plants in the Mediterranean and Near East, and not a few campanulas amongst them, I'll warrant. He may quite possibly have collected this plant in seed and never seen it in flower himself. So don't shoot the collector! Wrong names. No names. Name changes. All a cause of botanists and gardeners spitting fire at one another over plants that drop through the gaps in the floorboards. What we actually have is more a mismatch of priorities and activities, or even awareness, rather than deliberate attempts to be bloody-minded. They disguise the generally harmonious and symbiotic relations between the two disciplines, which tend to get frayed round the edges a little on none but the odd occasion.

At the International Rock Garden Conference in Nottingham during April 1981, a specimen of the 'Nymph' in a pan was exhibited by Kew. It was labeled Mimulus aff. cupreus. Nothing further occurred until 1985, when I was approached by a Kew botanist with a view to the plant being published in the Kew Magazine as a new species. Unfortunately, for various good reasons, this was shelved for the time being. The latest suggestions is that Adriana, possibly with my assistance, should set about naming the plants in effect belatedly to make an honest woman of the 'Nymph', even though we cannot, would not wish to, curb her wilder natural instincts.

It is to these I turn next. Suspicions of hybridisation in the wild are strongly reinforced by the existence of several in cultivation. The same range of hybrid variation has tended to crop up in different places, with three clearly identifiable types known to me at present. Although all have been spontaneous and accidental so far, it is not too difficult to suggest likely parents for them. The first to come to my attention originated at Robinsons Hardy Plants of Crockenhill in the late seventies. Its flowers were a sort of crushed raspberry and cream complexion, larger and flatter faced than the 'Nymph', the whole plant being slightly stouter. They called it 'Strawberry Fields', but alas, it may not have been for ever, for although available to customers for a year to two, it seems that the entire stock may have been wiped out by a bad winter. However, a near identical hybrid has appeared recently at Anglia Alpines under the name of 'Aztec Prince', and is also commercially available now. My proposed second parent for these would be one of the darker reds such as 'Highland Red' or 'Wisley Red'. The next pair of hybrids, from Don Mann's Forge Nurseries, clearly owe the other half of their blood to those flagrant painted M. variegatus types. Both had strong growth with typically vast flowers spectacularly splashed, dashed and blotched with war paint of dark rich pink on white. One was discarded as inferior. Much discussion took place about a name for the other, but unfortunately it eventually went out under more than one and may still be circulating under any of the following synonyms: 'Indian Chief, 'Inca Chieftain', 'Andean Min' or 'Mannifique'. I have heard of what sounds like something very similar found by an amateur elsewhere. Two more linked hybrids are from the Anglia Alpines stable. These are much closer to the original species in colour, character, shape and markings, but richer all round in colouration. The yellow is a sort of golden ochre, the pink almost crimson lake, and laid on much more definitely than with the wildling. The first was named 'Inca Sunset' and has been in commerce a good while. The other was similar, but even warmer in colour. I am not sure whether it has been segregated out and developed: I hope so. It seemed to me that 'Inca Sunrise' would be appropriate name for it. I would stake a small bet on Mimulus cupreus as the parent for these, though whether the second one arose as a chance separate repeat hybrid or a back cross from the first is another matter.

Now a dilemma which lies at the heart of identifying the species. Two different clones, or strains, existed in the stock of 'Andean Nymph' I used to grow. One corresponded to the wild plant, so far as I can recall, even to the flowers with reduced numbers of petals. The second was a slightly more vigorous and upright plant, rather whiter in flower colour, larger and flatter faced, and apparently not losing petals. There is also a variation in the foliage, though I should stress that these differences are so slight as to be barely detectable, and have no significance in cultivation. But the question arises: are they genetic variations with the species, or is the second one another hybrid? In an attempt to seek an answer, we are hoping to raise seed from wild stock for comparison with established stock in cultivation, much of which is now certainly generations removed from the original.

Suspicions of the purity of identity of plants are not rare, both among species and hybrids, especially where the original reference may be lost or inaccessible. Gentiana farreri is said not to be the same in colour as the plant originally brought back, and experts are eagerly awaiting comparative material from an ever more open China. Closer to home, from the time I developed an interest in alpine plants, I knew of Mimulus cupreus only in the form offered as 'Whitchcroft Scarlet'. When, some twenty years later I visited the Andes for the first time and saw M. cupreus in the wild, it was exactly the same plant. All descriptions I read and pictures published in gardening literature about M. cupreus 'Whitecroft Scarlet' up to that point confirmed this view: 4-6 inches (10-15cm) stems of coppery vermilion flowers, paling with age. Ten years further on I was given a wonderful little plant as 'Whitecroft Scarlet'. It was quite different. A tight little bun or cushion with larger, rich velvety red, yellow-throated flowers. These flowers virtually stemless so that they sat on the plant in ones or pairs, and even in flower it was no more than 2in (5cm) high until it started to mound up. Unable to reconcile it with 'Whitecroft Scarlet' of books and my experience, I called it M. cupreus 'Minor' for reference. Subsequently I have seen an illustration of 'Whitecroft Scarlet' where the flowers are identical to my cushion plant, but on stems several inches high! So what is the true Mimulus cupreus 'Whitecroft Scarlet', where does such confusion arise, and how can it be stopped?

Borderline hardiness has proved no more of a barrier to the popularity of 'Andean Nymph' than to any other colourful well-presented mimulus, including her progeny. Like them, it is an impulse buy in good flower and may even be found these days gracing the gardening sections of supermarkets. They all continue to sell like hot cakes despite, or perhaps because of what must be a massive loss rate amongst the unenlightened public, who are seldom, if ever, given the slightest clue about the simple yet vital rules for mimulus management. Amongst the informed, on the other hand, are those with claim the 'Nymph' to be as hardy and persistent in the open garden as M. luteus. Other caring growers lose it annually to winter cold or summer dehydration and need to keep replacement stock constantly on the go, whilst the majority find it survives mild winters and succumbs to severe ones. It probably rates somewhere between M. luteus and M . cupreus in toughness, hardiness and natural life-span. One factor that aids both drought and cold survival is the formation in healthy plants of a solid network of white underground rhizomes similar to those of M . luteus. There is no doubt in my mind that reduced vigour due to summer drying out lessens the chances of successful over-wintering in mimulus.

May I close by encouraging any interested reader, amateur or professional to set up their own breeding programme, properly controlled and recorded of course, based around 'Andean Nymph'. Seedlings germinate rapidly and in quantity and will flower the same season. The fine seed is best mixed with a quantity of silver sand to ensure even and well-spaced germination. Sow without covering. Should you be impatient for results, start in February or earlier under glass at a temperature between 50-60F (10-15C). Otherwise they may be sown without heat from April onwards. The main thing is never to let mimulus dry right out, from the moment of sowing to ever after. For mature plants I favour a spongy, open, soil-less peat-based compost rich in feed, and frequent division or propagation, essentially at least once during the growing season, which also encourages renewed flowering. I have found this regime to be exceptionally effective with the delightful little M. primuloides as well. Most mimulus in the wild are probably constantly supplied with fresh nutrients from their watery environments. At all events they soon burn out in cultivation. But is it remarkable how rapidly a minute exhausted or droughted scrap will recover to transform once again into a healthy blaze of colour in fresh moist compost. I am sure it would be worth making deliberate crosses with any other good mimulus of the luteus/'cupreus persuasion, especially with the dwarf, stemless cupreus. Any distinctive new hybrid is certain to be full of commercial potential, above all if tougher than average. Hopefully we may soon be reading of more 'Nymph' offspring in these pages.