Ohio state flower: The enduring legacy of the scarlet carnation
September 6, 1901. A hot, humid day in Buffalo, New York. President William McKinley was greeting a long line of admirers at the Pan-American Exposition. In his lapel, as always, sat a bright red carnation—his “lucky charm.” A young girl approached him, and in a characteristic moment of kindness, McKinley removed the flower and handed it to her, saying he wanted to give it to “another little flower.”
Minutes later, an assassin’s bullets changed the course of American history. McKinley died eight days later. While the man was gone, his favorite bloom became a permanent part of the American landscape. It wasn’t just a flower anymore. It was a symbol of a fallen son of Ohio. But here’s the thing: the story of the ohio state flower isn’t just about a tragedy. It’s about a quirky doctor, a political rivalry turned friendship, and a botanical wonder that smells like Christmas in the middle of July.
A president’s lucky charm: Why Ohio chose the scarlet carnation
I’ve always found it fascinating that political symbols usually come from hard-fought battles or deep-seated traditions. But for Ohio, it started with a doctor in the town of Alliance. Dr. Levi Lamborn was a man of many hats—a physician, a politician, and a world-class horticulturist. In 1866, Lamborn began breeding carnations from French stock, eventually producing a vibrant, deep-red variety he called the “Lamborn Red.”
Now, here’s where the history gets a bit “small-town Ohio.” Lamborn was a Democrat. In 1876, he ran for Congress against a rising Republican star named William McKinley. Despite being political rivals, the two were actually friends. Before their debates, Lamborn would pluck one of his signature red carnations and pin it to McKinley’s coat. McKinley, who was a bit superstitious, began to associate the flower with his success. He won that election. He won the governorship. He won the presidency. He was never seen without a scarlet carnation on his lapel after that.
Actually, it’s even weirder than just “luck.” McKinley’s staff eventually made sure there was always a fresh supply of these flowers wherever he went. When he was assassinated, the state of Ohio felt the loss deeply. In 1904, the General Assembly officially named the scarlet carnation as the ohio state flower specifically to honor the memory of the “martyr president.” It beat out other contenders, including the native Ohio buckeye (which eventually got its own status as the state tree), because of this deep emotional connection.
Beyond the boutonniere: The biological profile of Dianthus caryophyllus
The scarlet carnation isn’t just a political prop; it’s a biological powerhouse. Scientifically known as Dianthus caryophyllus, the name itself is poetic. “Dianthus” roughly translates from Greek as “flower of the gods” (dios for Zeus and anthos for flower). If you ask me, the scent is the real winner here. It’s not that cloying, sugary floral smell you get from modern grocery store roses; it’s a spicy, clove-like aroma that lingers in the air.
What makes a scarlet carnation stand out? Let’s look at the details:
- The petals: They are famous for their “serrated” or “pinked” edges. In fact, the word “pink” (referring to the color) actually comes from the Frilled edges of Dianthus flowers, not the other way around.
- The foliage: Most people notice the flower, but look at the stems. They are a cool, waxy gray-green or blue-green. This “glaucous” coating helps the plant retain moisture.
- The bloom: Unlike wild carnations that might have five petals, the scarlet carnation used in Ohio’s symbolism is a “double” flower, packed with layers of ruffled petals.
How to grow the scarlet carnation in Ohio’s climate
You might be wondering if you can grow these in your own backyard. The short answer: Yes, but they can be a bit picky. Carnations are generally hardy in USDA zones 6 through 9, which covers almost all of Ohio. But they don’t like “wet feet.” If you plant them in the heavy clay soil common in places like Cleveland or Columbus without amending it, they’ll rot faster than you can say “McKinley.”
Pro-tips for a thriving garden
If you want a bloom that looks like it belongs on a presidential lapel, follow these rules:
- Sunlight is non-negotiable: They need at least six hours of full sun. In Ohio, that means putting them in a spot where they won’t be shaded by your neighbor’s massive oak tree.
- Soil pH matters: Unlike azaleas that love acid, carnations prefer slightly alkaline soil. A little bit of lime can go a long way in Ohio gardens.
- The “deadheading” secret: This is the most important part. When a flower starts to fade, don’t just leave it. Snip it off. This tells the plant, “Hey, I’m not done yet!” and encourages it to send up new blooms.
- Circulation: Don’t crowd them. They need air to move between the stems to prevent fungal issues. Ohio summers can be humid, and humidity is the carnation’s secret enemy.
How the scarlet carnation stacks up against other state symbols
It’s helpful to see how our floral emblem compares to others. While some states chose wild, native flowers that pioneers ate to survive, Ohio chose a cultivated beauty that represents character and history.
| Flower | State/Region | Primary color | Key characteristic | Symbolic meaning |
| Scarlet Carnation | Ohio | Vivid red | Spicy, clove-like scent | Love, martyrdom, and luck |
| Sego Lily | Utah | White/Lavender | Edible bulb | Survival and resilience |
| American Rose | USA (National) | Various | Thorny stems | Passion and beauty |
| Goldenrod | Kentucky/Nebraska | Bright yellow | Wild/Native growth | Growth and abundance |
The “carnation city” and the language of flowers
Anyway, back to why this matters today. You can’t talk about the scarlet carnation without mentioning Alliance, Ohio. They’ve dubbed themselves the “Carnation City,” and they don’t take the title lightly. Every August, they hold the Greater Alliance Carnation Festival. It’s a classic piece of Americana—parades, pageants, and plenty of red flowers. It’s a living tribute to Dr. Lamborn’s original greenhouse experiments.
But the red carnation has a life outside of Ohio, too. In the “language of flowers” (a Victorian-era trend where people sent coded messages via bouquets), a deep red carnation signifies deep love and admiration. It’s a bold statement. It’s not the shy “I like you” of a daisy; it’s the “I respect and admire you” of a leader.
Common questions about the ohio state flower
Is the scarlet carnation edible?
Actually, yes! While not many people in Ohio are snacking on their state symbol, carnation petals have been used in culinary dishes for centuries. They have a surprisingly sweet, spicy flavor—again, that clove hint. They are often used in salads, or even candied to decorate cakes. Just make sure they haven’t been sprayed with pesticides before you take a bite.
Why didn’t Ohio pick a native flower?
This is a common point of contention among native-plant enthusiasts. The Dianthus caryophyllus is originally from the Mediterranean. However, the legislation in 1904 wasn’t about ecology; it was about history. The scarlet carnation was “born” in Ohio via Dr. Lamborn’s breeding program, making it a product of Ohio’s ingenuity, if not its ancient soil.
Is it toxic to pets?
Yes, this is an important “heads up.” Carnations are mildly toxic to cats and dogs. If your cat decides to chew on your bouquet, it can cause gastrointestinal upset or skin irritation. It’s best to keep these beauties on a high mantelpiece where Fido can’t reach them.
How did it beat the buckeye?
It’s a bit of a myth that it “beat” the buckeye in a direct contest for the *flower* title. The buckeye is a tree, and its flower is… well, it’s not exactly a showstopper compared to a ruffled red carnation. The two symbols coexist peacefully now: one represents the sturdy nature of the people (the tree), and the other represents the heart and history of the state (the flower).
The heart of it all: Why the scarlet carnation still matters
So, what do we do with all this? Is it just another trivia fact for a fifth-grade social studies project? I don’t think so. The scarlet carnation represents a specific kind of Ohioan spirit. It’s hardy. It’s vibrant. It has a bit of a spicy edge. Most importantly, it’s rooted in a story of friendship that crossed political lines—something we could probably use a bit more of these days.
Next time you’re at a local nursery, skip the generic petunias for a second. Look for a pot of Dianthus. Take a sniff. That clove scent is the same one that William McKinley wore as he greeted crowds over a century ago. It’s a tiny, living piece of history you can grow right on your porch. And if you ask me, there’s something pretty cool about that. Plant one this spring—for luck, for history, or just because they look damn good in the sun.