by Meredith Jones, Education and Training Manager, Tulsa Garden Center at Woodward Park

In this small plant community we all occupy, the name Russell Studebaker comes with many connotations: plant genius, cranky, witty, astute, knowledgeable, opinionated, cranky - did I already say that last one? It is a household name, not only at the Tulsa Garden Center, but Tulsa in general.

I was having wine with my Aunt Lois, who is a true plantswoman, and mentioned my friend Russell Studebaker in passing. She interrupted me with, “Oh, I know Russell. Well, I don’t technically know him, but I read his articles for years.”

When I came onto the scene, all of those articles were unknown to me, in addition to the history. All I knew was the man at “Let’s Talk Gardening” on Tuesdays that both knew an insane amount of information about plants but also banged his cane on the table if anyone were to interrupt him. “Who is this person?” I had asked myself, impressed by his knowledge but confused by his etiquette. I didn’t know at the time that I would have the true privilege of learning.

Our relationship reminded me of the animal book, “Unlikely Friendships,” which shows a parakeet perched on a labrador or a monkey resting its head on a dove. All that to say, it wasn’t planned, and given that it blossomed in the age of COVID when I barely saw the people I was already friends with, it wasn’t practically likely. And yet, fast friends we became.

This isn’t just about our friendship, but also narrow leaf sunflowers, though the two themes can’t truly be untangled.

I began to visit his plant estate on 20th Avenue to take photographs for him. It was the Saint Joseph’s lily that he was so fond of, and that he wrote about for our Botanic Beet, that got me there the first time. I wandered over from Woodward Park on foot, camera in hand, and did my best to capture the red and white bloom’s beauty. He loved sharing his plant knowledge, as anyone who knows him can attest, and I think he recognized that day that he had a captive audience of one who was hungry for information. Other photo assignments began to pop up - regal lilies that needed to be captured in the morning light and orienpet lilies that needed to be photographed before the winds took them out. These photography sessions would usually end with a sit in his sun porch where we talked first about plants and then, eventually, about life.

May held the day that I walked away with my first gifted plant. It was a fairly unimpressive clump of green that he assured me would wow my yard by October: narrow leaf sunflower. I had walked over that day with my camera in my back pack, and I remember the bounce in my step as I carried the green growing in the reused back plastic container back to my office. The bounce in my step could be partially attributed to the free plant - I am guessing most reading can relate to that - but the plant was also a confirmation. I was no longer just his photographer, but also his unlikely friend.

By June, there was a gifted clematis after I had mentioned the plant on my list of one I would like to acquire. It “wasn’t his color preference,” he claimed, and was mine for the taking. By July, I was no longer Meredith but rather “Grasshopper,” like the neophyte in Karate Kid that didn’t know a thing. Of course, Russell was “Master,” the all-knowing plantsman, which indeed he was. And he was right about the narrow leaf sunflower. By late October, it was glowing.

Also known as “swamp sunflower,” like its name suggests, it doesn’t mind hanging out in damp conditions. Knowing this, I planted it in a dip at the end of my gutter drain spout, where it happily grew to over six feet tall. The truth is, he was working on a narrow leaf sunflower article for this very newsletter, so it’s only fitting that instead of explaining its admirable qualities, I let him.  

“Grasshopper Meredith, Yes, you have found me out in my affliction.  But wait, and hear this!   This plant has NO pest nor disease problems, easily grown, hundreds, and hundreds, and hundreds of SHOWY flowers for many, many weeks, and an insect's cornucopia of sweet nectar and pollen, AND NOT TO BE omitted, small seeds for fall and winter birds, and small mammals. I rest my case and my pardon.

I can remember the first Narrow Leaf Sunflower that I saw in flower, it was at the Mid-South Native Plant Conference in Memphis back in the 80s, and it was grown in a large container. I was so drawn into its radiant glow of beauty and have remained an addict and devotee ever since.” 

If my one single plant was blooming, this meant that Russel’s entire slope would be aglow. He reminded me of this, and implored me to come and capture the sight. By then, I had been inducted into the Sacred Order of the Narrow Leaf Sunflowers, and I had a duty to fulfill! 

“Grasshopper Jones, Ahh, you must make an Annual Pilgrimage and homage to the Sacred Grove of the Narrow Leaf Sunflowers on 20th Street when the altar to the Sunflowers is at their Zenith to keep your membership and be in good standing with the Society. Otherwise, your green thumb will blacken and cause you much grief in your plant endeavors.  -Master and high priest of Narrow Leaf Sunflower. P.S.  you might wish. to take some photos for a potential article in the newsletter?”

Of course, I could not toy around with the threat of a black thumb, but I was also eager to see the sight. On Saturday the 17th of October, I made the sacred pilgrimage, and captured the images shared here. It was a crisp and clear blue fall day, and the “hundreds of SHOWY” flowers had all shown up.

While snapping photos that day I had no idea that he wouldn’t be able to finish the article, or live through another bloom cycle. His knowledge was so vast that I think I believed he would be here long enough to share more of it with me, and the rest of us that are infinitely hungry to know more about these plants that, as he put it, “draw us in with their radiant glow.”

He had certainly drawn me in with his, and I will be making the proverbial pilgrimage to the Sacred Grove of the Narrow Leaf Sunflowers each October, if only in my mind - to pay my respects to the beloved flower, but also my beloved friend. 

THIS ARTICLE IS FROM IN THE GARDEN, TULSA GARDEN CENTER’S QUARTERLY NEWSLETTER PUBLICATION. TO SEE THE FULL ISSUE, CLICK HERE.