Lemon-Yellow Copper Iris
Iris fulva, yellow form
I had heard of black bears in the Basin. I never imagined I would see one in Catahoula. But there it was, two Thanksgivings ago, toddling across the turn-row of the cane-field, so close I could see its nose. In my lifetime—I’m almost fifty—I’ve seen exactly one. I may never see another one again. I’ve seen a two-headed lizard. I’ve seen deer swept away in a flood. I’ve seen snow blanket St. Rita Church. And planted in my memory among these once-in-a-lifetime sightings is a yellow copper iris that I discovered last April, rare as a black bear in Catahoula.
Iris fulva, reddish-orange form
The copper iris, Iris fulva, is native to Louisiana and surrounding regions. It’s one of five species of native irises grouped together under the umbrella term Louisiana iris. The irises have distinct appearances, yet they’re related closely enough to form hybrids with each other, and the range of colors they can produce would rival any rainbow.
The five species of Louisiana iris are often categorized into Reds and Blues based on whether they tend toward the red-orange or the blue-violet end of the spectrum. The giant blue iris, Iris giganticaerulea, for example, is a Blue. The copper iris, Iris fulva, is a Red, with colors ranging from copper-orange to brick-red to almost scarlet, and every shade of rust in between. Every spring, copper irises bloom by the hundreds in low-lying areas across the parish. Consider yourself lucky if you find a yellow fulva in the wild. In my lifetime, I’ve seen exactly one.
Iris giganticaerulae
Two pigments—anthocyanins and carotenoids—are responsible for giving irises their color. Anthocyanins are the same blue and purple pigments that give color to blueberries and grapes. Carotenoids are the same red and orange pigments that give color to pumpkins and carrots. In “Blue” irises, dominant genes produce anthocyanins, almost always, painting their petals with blues and violets and purples. Rarely, when recessive genes fail to produce those pigments, white, whitish-green or pale lavender petals result. In other words, white petals are the blank canvas upon which no pigments have been painted. In “Red” irises, dominant genes produce carotenoids, painting their petals with reds and rusts and oranges, and when recessive genes fail to produce those pigments, yellow petals result. For the copper iris, then, yellow petals, not white, are the blank canvas.
Iris fulva, yellow form
Irises vary not only in color, but also in shape and form. This wild yellow copper iris, as you can see, is quite plain to the eye, unadorned, especially when seen alongside domesticated hybrids. It lacks the “hair” of bearded irises, the petals are without frills, and instead of an area of contrasting color—the signal of an iris—there is a consistent lemon-yellow color throughout. Simple in the way that wild things often are.
Compare this to the yellow flag irises you may have seen planted in gardens or incorporated into landscaping. The yellow flag iris, Iris pseudocarus, is a non-native iris that has been introduced, unfortunately, into the area. While beautiful and easy to grow, this iris can be aggressively invasive, even traveling downstream for miles to find a new niche alongside native irises, often outcompeting them for habitat. And good luck trying to dig up their rhizomes. They’re tenacious.
Notice the fine maroon lines on the “falls” of the yellow flag iris. This is one way of distinguishing the native yellow iris from the non-native yellow iris. You can also look to the leaves to tell the two yellow irises apart. The sword-shaped leaves of the yellow flag iris are flat, erect and linear, with raised mid-ribs running down the center of them.The yellow copper iris has sword-shaped leaves as well, but they are entirely smooth and lack raised mid-ribs.
The lone yellow iris, happy and wet on a low-lying bank of Bayou Berard, just north of Catahoula Lake, tucked into a cluster of rust-colored irises, showed blooms for less than three weeks, long enough for the bright yellow petals to provide the perfect landing pad for bumblebees and other pollinators. When their work was done, the petals curled up, and the green foliage of the iris, swallowed up by surrounding vegetation, disappeared once again into the background of the bayou. I made a point of remembering the exact location, though, and when April came around this year, I was eager to see if the yellow iris would reappear. Not only did it reappear, to my surprise, where before there had been only one, now there were exactly two.