Gorgeous fritillarias are great way to make deer steer clear

There are daffodils and tulips. Then there are fritillarias.

Even the fancy-sounding name (more on the etymology in a minute) tells you that something special is going on with these fall-planted, spring-blooming bulbs.

The best-known fritillaria probably is the crown imperial, aka Fritillaria imperialis. Often starring in formal gardens, it reaches 3 to 4 feet tall.

Atop the stout stems rests a ring of red, orange or yellow bell-shaped flowers. They in turn are topped by a jaunty tuft of spiky green leaves. The whole effect suggests a grand renaissance king who has been sipping mead on the sly with the court jester.

Fritillarias, in fact, have been cultivated for centuries. Native to Asia and Europe, they range from the statuesque crown imperial to less imposing, more delicate selections.

All, however, prefer full to partial sun. They also share another important trait: They are as close to deer- and rabbit-proof as you can get.

Experienced gardeners have learned to describe qualifying plants as deer-resistant rather than deer-proof, because, unfortunately, a hungry deer will eat just about anything.

But — knock on the wooden handle of my rusty, old trowel — in years of raising fritillarias, I have never noticed even one bulb or leaf munched by a pesky mammal. (That includes moles, voles and other furry little creatures that seem cute until they develop an appetite.)

Though all fritillarias seem to exhibit this welcome trait, the crown imperial actually smells like, well, a skunk and strongly so. Experts describe it as a foxy odor, but I have been closer to a lot more skunks than foxes, and to me it smells like the former. Just a few of these in bloom can “perfume” a medium-size garden.

Although eau de Pepe Le Pew might not be your favorite olfactory accompaniment for a spring stroll through your garden, enduring the aroma beats seeing all the buds nipped off your tulips, leaving the bare stems standing like so many oddly arranged soda straws.

After crown imperial, the best-known fritillaria might be Fritillaria meleagris — aka checkered lily, guinea hen flower, snake’s head lily and many more.

Compared with the brash crown imperial, checkered lily is demure and delicate. About a foot tall, it features dangling ivory or maroon bell-shaped flowers and slender, grasslike foliage. Unlike some bulbs, it’s totally OK with less-than-perfect drainage and light shade.

If you don’t mind stooping down to peer at the exquisite petals, you will notice a slightly skewed, miniature checkerboard pattern, as if someone had tried to draw graph paper by hand.

That unusual appearance is how these plants acquired their name — “fritillus,” it turns out, is Latin for “dice box.” In days of yore, such containers were intricately decorated with designs that called to mind the petals of their namesake flowers.

Another example from nature: the beautiful fritillary butterfly. You might even see one of these enchanting orange-and-brown creatures flitting around your garden while you are planting your checkered-lily bulbs, doubling the fritillarian fun.

Here are several lesser-known fritillarias that you might want to plant now for spring flowers:

• Persian lily, which boasts flowers that are either cream or dark purple, grows about 2 or 3 feet tall. If you use your imagination, the striking bloom spikes resemble foxgloves or delphiniums.

• Fritillaria uva-vulpis reaches about a foot in height and offers exquisite little flowers in maroon and gold. If the University of Minnesota had a flower to match its school colors, this would be it.

• Fritillaria acmopetala is what might result if checkered lily took steroids. At 20 inches tall, it features flowers in cream, burgundy and green that resemble little bells or hats.

Diana Lockwood, a freelance writer covering gardening topics, posts on Facebook at www.facebook.com/mrsgardenperson.