Photo by Ingrid Jenson.
The wildflower garden at Gloster Arboretum.
Tucked away down a gravel road off State Highway 33 in Mississippi’s Amite County, a little over an hour’s drive from Baton Rouge, are some of the most wonderfully unusual landscapes in the Deep South. Together, majestic forests, cypress-edged fishing ponds, blueberry orchards, azalea gardens, and wildflower fields make up the Gloster Arboretum. Named for the tiny town in which it nestles, the 400-acre arboretum offers a distinct respite from the unremitting clamor of modern life.
Once a bustling town, today Gloster is pervaded with an air of desertion, undercut by the low, insistent rumble of the wood-chip processing plant in the distance. Across the faded tracks where the railroad used to run and behind a curtain of green foliage lies the welcome tranquility of the arboretum.
From sunrise to sunset, it is open, free, to the public. Its founders, W. Francis “Frank” and Sara Gary Gladney, purchased the land in 1956 and in 1965 established the nonprofit, the John James Audubon Foundation, to operate the property as an official arboretum. Because of their foresight, visitors from across the south still, to this day, have access to the jewel of Amite County.
The Gladneys—residents of Baton Rouge, where Frank worked as a lawyer—were both passionate about horticulture, taking a special interest in plants native to the Deep South. (From 1957 to 1959, Sara served as president of the Louisiana Garden Club Federation.) Their dedication to preserving native plants ensured that they were at the epicenter of vital conservation efforts in Louisiana and Mississippi.
W. Francis “Frank” and Sara Gary Gladney, founders of the Gloster Arboretum.
Their property in Gloster played an important role in these endeavors. Over the years, the Gladneys called in several friends to contribute their talents to the ongoing project of the arboretum. This group of experts included the naturalist, environmentalist, and writer Caroline Dormon (who helped to establish the Kisatchie National Forest), Dr. Robert S. Reich (who established the landscape architecture school at Louisiana State University), Dr. Clair Brown (a Guggenheim fellow and professor of botany at Louisiana State University), and the renowned landscape architect Dr. Neil G. Odenwald, who spent many years at the helm of John James Audubon Foundation. Dr Odenwald’s son, Von Odenwald, is today the site director of Gloster Arboretum, tending to the grounds with meticulous care.
There is always something blooming at Gloster, no matter the season.
The attraction that draws the arboretum’s most far-flung visitors is that of a rare native tree: the bigleaf magnolia. Listed as an endangered species in certain states, bigleaf magnolias are famous for their stunningly large flowers and leaves, the largest of any woody plant indigenous to North America. Averaging a length of thirty inches, the huge green leaves with their sloping, ruffled edges provide welcome shade in summer. The blossoms—emitting an aroma of citrus, spice, and cream—open to a diameter of twelve inches. Archaeologists have discovered fossils of magnolias that date back as far as the Cretaceous period (145–66 million years ago). These beautiful specimens, with their primeval look and surreal size, predate the existence of bees (their flowers developed to be pollinated by beetles) and were around when dinosaurs still roamed the earth.
Photo by David Jenson.
Buffalo Creek at Gloster Arboretum.
The Gladneys’ enthusiasm about ensuring the continued stability of native plants, combined with their passion for instating flora and trees from other countries, resulted in the uncommonly compelling landscape of the arboretum today. Native trees and plants such as Southern magnolia, Stewartia, and beeches brush branches with exotic specimens such as Japanese maples, Chinese witch hazel, and the succulent red teardrops of the sweet-tart East Asian Goumi berries.
There is always something blooming at Gloster, no matter the season. In spring and early summer, pale-pink mountain laurel (also known as “calico-bush”) and the white powder-puff blossoms of snowball viburnum transform the property into a bower of blossoms. During the peak of summer, the wildflower patch situated near the house is a veritable explosion of orange, pink, yellow, and white blooms, and the two blueberry orchards are heavy with juicy berries. (While admittance to the grounds of the arboretum is always free, picking fruit and fishing are privileges reserved for those who hold annual memberships, the cost of which is $150 per year.) Beginning in late summer and through the fall, the cooking pears are ripe (wash and peel the hard pears, and then bake them whole with brown sugar, cinnamon, and a little bit of butter for a simple but marvelous dessert). In winter, the crimson and pink camellias blanket the ground in soft petals.
[Read this next: "Take Me to La Terre—Building a flower farm in Kiln, Mississippi from scratch"]
Along with blueberry and pear picking, the annual membership fee of $150 includes the privilege to reserve a stay at the Gladneys’ house, with its equipped kitchen, dining room, three spacious bedrooms, two bathrooms, and library. The latter is crammed with books on gardening, science, history, and travel; with its comfortable, antique leather armchairs and corner-room view through a grove of camellia trees and across the property, it’s a great place to write or study. Depending on the number of guests in your party, the cost of renting the house overnight ranges from $50-$75. At night, the visibility of the stars is stunning, free of much of the light pollution that obstructs them in cities. At dawn, deer can often be glimpsed at the edge of the woods or darting across the dewy fields.
Photo by David Jenson.
Daisy from the wildflower garden at Gloster Arboretum.
There are several trails to hike at Gloster. The Dry Creek Road snakes through lush forest, and the Fenceline Trail almost wraps around the entire arboretum. The Perimeter Trail, which begins just a few yards from the house, leads to a narrow, babbling stream known as Buffalo Creek. This hike to the creek takes you down a shaded avenue of trees; through azaleas, snowball viburnum, and honeysuckle, and past tranquil ponds resonant with frog-song.
With the sunlight filtering through the dense green canopy overheard, the city feels like a distant memory. The gravel road dips and rises in dramatic hills and valleys compared to the flatness of Baton Rouge. Halfway to the creek, a smaller, less-frequently traveled trail snakes off deep into the pines, the ground on either side still scarred with deep ruts made by wagon wheels nearly a century and a half ago. Sometimes, it feels like it’s been that long since anyone passed though; except for birdsong, the woods are silent. At the end of the hike, the steep banks of the creek lead down to a stream of shallow water running over a pebbled creek bed that’s a rockhound’s dream. Over the years, I’ve found quartz, fossils, and even a couple of tiny, halved geodes under the cold, clear water.
While the gravel road is drivable by car, a slow walk reveals the tiny magics only observed when one takes the time to look closely. It is, after all, one of the chief missions of the arboretum: to make us stop, look around, and appreciate the sweet fragrance of the magnolias.
