The Great Cutback

We’ve had glorious weather this week, and I have completed the yearly great cutback of our perennial beds.

There’s something cathartic about seeing the garden start fresh from the ground level. The blessings and blights of the past year are now gone, and excitement is in the air to see what the plantings will manifest this season.

Your’s truly with shears

I try to wait as long as I can before I cut back to enjoy winter interest. My telltale sign it’s time is the emergence of blades of Narcissus (daffodils) and Leucojum aestivum ‘Gravetye Giant’ (summer snowflake) in the beds. Some years I already have daffodils good and up before February, but the cold weather slowed them down and gave me some breathing room.

I’ve started having Jevon, one of our alumni who is now the city horticulturist for Nacogdoches, come and help me for a few hours on a weekend or two each month. I’ve been proud during my almost 8 years here at Ephemera Farm to have done as much as possible by myself. But, being a father has made me wiser. I am hunting for efficiency, and two of us tackling a task saves me great time.

Jevon is a pro at raking.

We make quick work of the stems with hand shears, electric shears, and pruners. I cut tall stems and lowly Carex (sedge) that are looking a bit tattered after winter, and Jevon rakes to see what was missed.

My strategy for cutting back vegetation is to trim it pretty close to the ground and then move it to a compost pile in the back. I put the coarser, thicker material near the outside of the pile where decomposition is slower due to dryness. Overwintering critters then have time to emerge, and insects still can use it this season for rearing young.

The compost pile with roughage near the outside

Usually it takes me a few weeks to cut everything back. But, with him I cleared the vast majority of around 3,000 square feet in an afternoon. I say vast majority as I left vegetation where I need to relocate something.

I’ve made some decisions to remove plants to help enhance the planting’s coherence and make it feel more connected. Vernonia lettermannii ‘Iron Butterfly’ just wasn’t cutting it. It would flop even with the Chelsea chop and flower sporadically for me over the summer. Pycnathemum tenuifolium has taken its place as there are others in the same bed.

With the vegetation gone, I also look for holes and gaps in the garden. There are Carex and Eragrostis (lovegrass) to divide and continue filling the matrix layer.

At the end of the day, I paused and looked at the garden. It’s mostly empty now, as most herbaceous plantings are, but the green basal rosettes of so many species are visible. I make some notes about where shrubs would help to make things look a little less barren. I prepare to furiously make edits. Spring is coming, and there’s no time to waste.

Legibility in Landscapes: Making Naturalistic Plantings More Readable

One of the core issues people struggle with in naturalistic planting is that the design can feel hard to read and appear chaotic. There are fears about thick, wild vegetation, and many people lack an intuitive understanding of how to navigate these plantings.

However, these gardens don’t have to feel confusing or threatening. With thoughtful design, they can be intuitive and help people know where to go and how to move through the space.

Legibility is our greatest ally in solving these problems and helps us balance ecological richness with human understanding.

What Is Legibility?

I first became aware of legibility in landscapes when I read Planting in a Post-Wild World by Thomas Rainer and Claudia West.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that legibility is part of a broader, research-based framework on how humans perceive landscapes.

One of our core human experiences is gathering information from our surroundings. A glimpse of someone’s face tells us whether he or she is having a bad day. Driving through a new city gives us a gut feeling of safety or unease. And, a few seconds of looking at a landscape gives us clues about how we feel in that space.

Rachel and Stephen Kaplan, environmental psychologists at the University of Michigan, researched how humans experience landscapes as knowledge-gathering organisms. Their work showed that we approach environments in two ways—we seek to understand, and we seek to explore.

Both of these experiences can be either immediate or delayed, forming the foundation of their Landscape Preference Matrix, which identifies four perception factors:

• Coherence – Perceiving order in a space by organizing elements into cohesive units (immediate understanding on the 2d visual plane)

• Complexity – The richness and contrast of the elements within a scene (immediate exploration on the 2d visual plane)

• Legibility – How easy it is to navigate and move through a space (inferred understanding on the 3d ground plane)

• Mystery – The promise of more to discover just beyond view (inferred exploration on the 3d ground plane)

Among these, legibility is unique because it involves exploring the three-dimensional space and perceiving how we traverse the ground plane.

Legibility and Mental Mapping

Legibility allows us to build a mental map of where we are in a landscape. If you’ve ever roamed the woods as a child (or an adult!), you’ve likely encountered a thicket of brambles and shrubs, where the next steps were unclear.

What do you do next? You scan the vegetation looking for openings or gaps that are subtle cues that guide movement. You are forming a mental model of the space, even before stepping forward. That’s legibility in action.

We can take that same mental approach and capitalize on it for garden design. The Kaplans emphasized that legibility doesn’t require returning to a starting point—it simply ensures that we feel safe exploring. And safety is often the biggest concern people have about naturalistic plantings. I’ve watched multiple people express fear of snakes or other critters in naturalized spaces, and I’ve heard negative comments about naturalistic plantings because they look unkempt.

Legibility reassures people, helping them feel secure in how they experience and move through a garden. A well-designed landscape promises more ahead while still ensuring safety.

How to Incorporate Legibility Into Designs

Many formal gardens have great legibility.  Imposing human order onto the landscape was key. But, with more relaxed natural plantings we have to better communicate legibility within a space.  To make naturalistic plantings more readable, we need to consider how humans intuitively navigate space.

Many garden design principles fit into the four Kaplan categories, but legibility is the key to movement and flow. These following strategies are useful if you are trying to make your space more legible.

1. CLEAN EDGES

A mown edge or defined border makes even the wildest naturalistic planting feel intentional and legible. Metal edging or rocks can work well, and in the woods of east Texas I’ve found logs or fallen branches a way of demarcating the edge.

In the Deep South where Bermuda grass is invasive, I keep a dead zone between the border and the surrounding lawn to keep the edge clean and prevent the aggressive grass from growing in.

For wilder plantings in the back forty, mown paths are an easy way to provide visual clarity without severely disrupting the ecology.

A simple mown path through the Sporobolus (prairie dropseed) meadow at Chanticleer.

With clean edges, the taller vegetation doesn’t have to look perfect. We can clearly see the human touch and know where to explore.

Here slit bamboo lengths help convey the clean edge even better.

At Ephemera Farm, logs and fallen branches help highlight the edges of beds.

2. Desire Lines and Paths

One of the earliest forms of legibility is the trodden path (aka desire line) worn into the landscape over time. Humans likely first navigated trails that other animals created before we began forming our own.

Do your plantings accommodate natural movement? Observe where people instinctively walk and consider formalizing those paths. With paths it is also easy to see any issues ahead, and explorers feel a bit safer with a clear way to walk.

On the top of Gregory Bald, this path through the native azaleas has been walked by innumerable people.

A mown path through this prairie helps visitors safely immerse themselves in nature.

The path in the distance at Hillside tells visitors there’s more to explore.

3. Primary and Secondary Axes

A primary axis is a strong, intentional structural line that organizes a space and often acts as a backbone for the layout. They have been used for centuries in garden design to provide structure and order within a landscape. Secondary axes originate off the primary to help people further explore the space.

When I arrived at Ephemera Farm, the first thing I did was establish primary and secondary axes for my garden. I wanted to capture long views that helped the garden feel connected and intimate, and I needed clear driving routes for easy access with my truck. The naturalistic plantings were then planned off of these core lines.

Your garden may already have axes that exist. Is there a sidewalk or driveway? Do you have clear straight views out of the house? These may be areas to use as a backbone for natural plantings.

The gardens of Versailles, the primary axis of all primary axes.

The pathway out of the great hall at Great Dixter is a primary axis through this wildflower meadow.

At the Lurie Garden, there is a primary axis that runs the length of the garden, and multiple pathways branch off of it to allow visitors to explore.

4. Sightlines

Sight lines allow visitors to see different parts of the landscape, which helps create a sense of connection and openness. They differ from axes because they may not be traversable in a straight line.

When I was a guest gardener years ago at Chanticleer, Joe Henderson told me how they had enhanced sight lines to make the garden feel more cohesive.

I’ve visited gardens where tall plants blocked views, making me feel claustrophobic. Simply clearing sightlines can help visitors orient themselves and feel more at ease. Invasive plants like privet can also cause wildscapes to feel enclosed and unreadable. Cutting them out can help to reduce the clutter.

With this sightline at Chanticleer, one can see the plantings on the rock ledge over 400 feet away. Such views help the garden feel more connected and encourage exploration.

5. Focal Points

A focal point—whether a bold plant, sculpture, or seating area—acts as a destination that draws the eye. And, as we are traversing the landscape these icons become wayfinders. A well-designed garden provides a clear, legible pathway toward focal points and invites visitors to explore.

At Northwind Perennial Farm, this boulder pyramid helps orient visitors in the space.

Smiljan Radic's fibreglass pavilion acts as a focal point at the end of Oudolf Field and signals there is more to explore.

6. Entrances

Entrances signal transition—they communicate that there’s more to explore. In traditional gardens, hedges, arbors, and gates create clear demarcations between spaces.

In naturalistic plantings, entrances are often used to buffer urban chaos, creating a soft threshold between built environments and wilder plantings. Even a simple fence can help to increase legibility for the planting.

At Le Jardin Plume (the Feather Garden), the entrance to the garden helps us know where to explore.

Here a gate and fence provides a clear delineation between planting and mown turf.

7. Seeing Over Plantings

Legibility increases when we can see over or through a space. For example, in Piet Oudolf’s gardens, taller plants are placed along the edges, while shorter plants fill the middle—ensuring depth and visibility.

The key is understanding how tall plants will grow and how dense the vegetation will become over time.

At Oudolf Field the taller perennials are on the edges of the plantings while shorter, airy perennials are in the middle and can be easily seen over.

At Ephemera Farm, I like using plants like Arnoglossum plantagineum (Indian plantain) that aren’t too dense to provide views over the plantings.

Legibility and Human Experience

By understanding how humans perceive spaces, we can design naturalistic plantings that feel immersive yet readable. Legibility is a key player in making naturalistic plantings feel welcoming and intuitive, but it doesn’t exist in isolation. Coherence, complexity, legibility, and mystery all work together to shape how we perceive and experience these spaces. Whether you’re a designer, horticulturist, or dedicated gardener, applying these concepts will help you create landscapes that are both ecologically vibrant and inviting to people.

In my Botanic Bootcamp The Preference Matrix for Naturalistic Design I provide a deep dive into coherence, complexity, legibility, and mystery and detail over 20 ways we can design with human preferences in mind. We explore practical strategies to make plantings both ecologically rich and intuitive for visitors.

It’s on sale through Monday February 24!

Lessons from the High Line in Winter

In this cold season, I find myself reflecting on garden winterscapes. There’s a quiet beauty and a different kind of inspiration that comes from seeing plants outside of their peak season. Dormancy reveals structure, resilience, and the way time shapes a landscape.

A few winters ago, I was invited to provide the keynote for Plant-O-Rama at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden in late January. While in New York, I took the opportunity to visit a few horticultural highlights including the High Line. My good friend Charles Yurgalevitch coordinated the schedule and had arranged for us to meet with Richard Hayden, the Senior Director of Horticulture, along with gardeners John Gunderson and Scout Kerensky-Coodley.

This time was my second visiting the elevated park, now one of New York City’s most visited attractions. My first visit had been in the lush summer of 2015; therefore, seeing it in winter offered a stark contrast—and a new perspective.

But, the space itself had changed as well. New sections had been added since my last visit, and like a dynamic plant community, the High Line had undergone a kind of succession. Instead of young trees rising in a grassland, new buildings had emerged around it, altering the light, the views, and even the visitor experience. In some areas, safety scaffolding framed the path, a reminder that the city itself is always in flux.

As we walked, we talked about how the pandemic had temporarily closed the High Line, leaving the garden untended for months. In the absence of gardeners, nature took over—vines wove themselves over benches with effortless grace, and self-seeded plants found their way into the cracks. It was a reminder that even in the most curated spaces, life persists on its own terms.

The High Line remains a powerful model for how we can emulate nature in even the most urban environments. Revisiting it through these images, I hope you’ll find as much value in its beautiful winterscape as I did.

THE STORY OF THE HIGH LINE

I love how the High Line tells a story as you traverse its path. A woodland gradually transitions into a grassland, then a few short trees appear before you approach a wetland. Elsewhere, a long prairie unfolds before you rise among trees in the flyover. This design approach mirrors what we see in nature. Wherever the environment changes, the plant community shifts in response.

It made me wonder why don’t we embrace this strategy more as gardeners and professionals? Yes, we often work with smaller spaces, but it’s not difficult to take advantage of the edges that define our surroundings. Instead of following prescriptive formulas—trees here, shrubs there, perennials and annuals in neat arrangements—what if we started by asking what kind of plant community does this space most resemble, and how can I plant in harmony with that?

At the southern terminus of the High Line, visitors first experience the Gansevoort Woodland, and the pewter bark of Betula populifolia (gray birch) shines absent leaves.

From the Gansevoort Woodland, one enters the Washington Grasslands. While dominant with herbaceous perennials, a few Cotinus coggygria ‘Grace’ rise out of the fray of stems to help transition visitors out of the woodland.

The grasslands transition to an area with more prominent winter structure from Rhus typhina (staghorn sumac). Here, every nook, cranny, and gnarled stem can be seen on the small trees.

The wetland plantings near the sundeck feature mature Rhus glabra (smooth sumac) on the left and a mixture of hydric perennials on the right.

With the flyover, one feels like you are walking some backwoods trail in the mountains as your slight gain in elevation helps you see the forest from a different perspective. And, it is truly amazing to see trees growing on the High Line in mere feet of substrate. In the flyover a mixture of magnolias including Magnolia virginiana (sweetbay) and Magnolia macrophylla (big-leaf magnolia) have found purchase in the shallow soil.

There is a warmth with Cornus sanguinea ‘Midwinter Fire’ used en masse in this shrubland.

Many sections of the High Line feature dominantly herbaceous plantings that resemble a prairie or meadow. The mixture of species is still effective in the depths of winter with different stem colors.

THE STEMS THAT REMAIN

It frustrates me that there’s not an English term for the standing stems that herbaceous plants leave at the end of the growing season that are so apparent in many parts of the High Line and in our plantings. For as we go about educating people of their importance, we need a name to celebrate their function of housing insects and their offering of winter interest.

The closest I can come is farm words like stubble, shock, stover, and sheaf. Maybe you have some ideas?

Even in winter perennials are beautiful with their different shades of brown.

An Amsonia (bluestar) stands proud on the High Line in winter (center right). The gardeners had commented that bluestars do good, almost too good, in this environment.

The seedheads of Coreopsis tripteris (tall coreopsis) provide blips of black in the winter.

Scout noted how the tall coreopsis had been pruned back higher up to keep their growth in check and prevent them from flopping over.

Asclepias (milkweed) follicles are so ornamental in winter.

Hibiscus seed heads still remain on solid stems in the winter.

The button seedheads of Monarda bradburiana (eastern beebalm) add a whimsical touch.

I’ve long admired the rusted candelabras of Veronicastrum virginicum (culver’s root) for their strong contrast against the more bleached brown colors we see in winter.

Besides leaving stems, the High Line staff also put up educational signage about pollinators and pollinator boxes.

And, besides winter stems, it was also good to see persistent fruit like these rose hips on Rosa glauca (red-leaf rose).

THE GROUND LAYER

As I walked the High Line, I forced myself to stop and pay attention to the ground layer. In the southeast, our growing season never stops, especially in winter when many plants have basal growth and any open gap can have winter weeds. I assumed the same was not true further north due to the extreme cold, but I was delighted to see hints of green in the under layer.

It is worth investigating the ground layer in winter to see where gaps may exist that weeds could occur, and I found myself exercising this practice on the High Line. Here, Carex laxiculmis ‘Hobb’ BLUE BUNNY (spreading sedge), a Monarda, and various grasses provide good ground cover.

While Carex laxiculmis ‘Hobb’ BLUE BUNNY (seen here) is native to parts of the US further north, I prefer to use our local Carex flaccosperma (blue wood sedge) further south.

In the flyover the native Pachysandra procumbens (Allegheny spurge) provides a carpet of green in this shady section.

Thin, wispy blades of bulb foliage emerge under the stems of herbaceous perennials.

There was a sign posted in this area discussing how they had sown 34 native wildflowers in this area to provide habitat for insects. They had a note that mowing would occur several times the first year to keep weeds in check while providing time for the wildflowers to take root.

THE FIRST FLOWERS OF SPRING

I saved the best for last—the flowers that enchant us in winter. It’s truly remarkable to walk the High Line with snow and freezing temperatures in the forecast and still find blooms defying the cold. In the muted palette of winter, they feel like quiet celebrations of the lengthening days.

Most gardens lack winter bloom, but these plants remind us that beauty isn’t confined to a single season. They prove that even in the coldest months, there’s still life, color, and wonder waiting to be noticed. If you're looking to bring a bit of this magic to your own space, you can’t go wrong with these choices.

Galanthus nivalis (common snowdrop) are dependable for being one of the first herbaceous plants to bloom in the new year. And, bulb foliage under trees can help to cover the ground while waiting on other perennials to emerge.

I love how Hamamelis × intermedia ‘Jelena’ was planted to appear emerging from the railroad tracks.

Hamamelis × intermedia ‘Jelena’ brings warmth to a cold day with its petals of citrus zest.

The buds scales of Salix chaenomeloides (Japanese pussy willow) pop to reveal silvery flowers underneath. This selection is one I’ve had luck with in east Texas.

I admired this pale cream-colored Hamamelis. Sadly, I don’t know the variety. They said it was a new addition to the garden.

It had been years since I had seen Viburnum × bodnantense ‘Dawn’ in bloom since they often don’t fare as well in the deep south. They are quite fragrant in the winter time.

I couldn’t resist sharing this final image from the High Line—more abstract art than anything else. A vine, perhaps Virginia creeper, is steadily colonizing a brick wall. It feels like the perfect note to end on. It’s a quiet reminder that no matter how much we build and shape the world around us, nature always finds a way to take root and grow.

#keepgrowing

Cornus amomum 'Cayenne' | silky dogwood

Our first good cold snap comes this week. I was worried yet again that it was going to be a warm winter, but I forgot January has a way of quashing my fears over a lack of chilling hours for spring bloom.

A few green leaves hang on here and there with the light freezes we’ve had. But, after multiple nights in the 20’s, brown, beige, and black will be the dominant colors visible at eye level. In this drab landscape, I have planned for spots of color that that winter freezes reveal on the stems of deciduous woodies. Like elongated coloring pencils, they are so vibrant and rich.

Growing up I learned that under utility lines the cut red maples sprout crimson stems, and the fresh growth of hacked-back sassafras is a rich green. I wondered if I could do something similar in the garden and emulated what I saw in nature by planting a Cornus sanguinea ‘Midwinter Fire’ (blood-twig dogwood) outside my childhood bedroom window. I knew that most colorful-stemmed dogwoods had a short life span in the south due to canker. After leaving for grad school, I gave my parents instructions to cut it back late in winter even though I didn’t expect it to live long. But, it still lives to this day some 15 years later and every holiday season when we travel home to visit I’m greeted by the bonfire-colored stems outside my window.

Cornus amomum ‘Cayenne’

East Texas hasn’t been as friendly to the two ‘Midwinter Fire’ I’ve killed, and I have searched for another form that would work well. I figured that most red-twigged dogwoods wouldn’t do well with their more northern provenance.

A few years ago, Jason Reeves of UT Gardens Jackson told me about Cornus amomum ‘Cayenne’, a selection of our native silky dogwood that ranges from Maine to Florida. Jason shared that Michael Dirr noticed the incredible red stems on this plant in a swamp outside Charlottesville, Virginia. I had low hopes for it, but perhaps it would surprise me like ‘Midwinter Fire’ did in Tennessee. I gave it a try, and I was delighted when it filled out the first year well.

Now, after having it in the ground for three years I can say it is a keeper for my garden. I have it in a winter wet but dry summer spot in the garden. My fear was the heat would do it in, but it made it through 36 days of +100°F in 2023, perhaps aided by the slow trickling hose I occasionally threw down at the base.

I wasn’t quite happy where I originally sited it, and this past spring I cut it back hard and moved it to where the lower winter sun would better shine on the rich red. It didn’t bat an eye and was over five feet tall once again by the end of summer.

While I can’t promise that ‘Cayenne’ is the strongest colored red I’ve ever seen, beggars can’t be choosers, and the crimson is good enough for me in my southern garden. The hue really becomes noticeable after the first frost with the sun lowering in the sky and first of the leaves start to fall. The side facing the sun is always the richest color. Some deciduous woodies produce excess anthocyanins to act as a natural sunscreen on the sunny side of the stem. I notice that some years I have to go through after a light frost and remove the remaining leaves off the plant. But, a strong freeze will fully undress the foliage.

Like most other colorful stemmed woodies, if not cut back the stem color will mellow to a gray-brown. I coppice it to the ground every year or two to keep the ember-colored stems burning bright. While I harvest a few sprigs for holiday decor, the final cut comes in late winter before the plant begins leafing out (header image). The small stems I collect and bring inside. The larger pieces I stick as hardwood cuttings to make more silky dogwoods.

Cornus amomum ‘Cayenne’ cut into sections for propagation and indoor decor

Hardwood cuttings of Cornus amomum ‘Cayenne’

I jam 12 inch lengths of stem into substrate-filled gallon pots. I don’t cover them or treat with hormone, and I can get around 40–50% to root well. I just keep the substrate moist. Patience is required for roots to form. The twigs will usually leaf out before they put down good roots, and the new leaves no doubt help synthesize more auxin for root formation. Later in early summer, I can usually tell which ones have rooted in well, and I separate the cuttings into new pots. I prefer one cutting per pot, though some who like fuller plants may wish for more.

With this approach I can have plants that are about a foot high and ready to go in the ground the following winter. For on the coldest days when I walk outside and see even more of those glowing stems catching the low sun, I’m reminded that there’s beauty to be found even in the stark quiet of winter. These stems like living embers keep a fire burning in the heart of the garden, warming not just the landscape but the soul as well.

CULTIVATE YOUR PLANT PROPAGATION SKILLS

If you enjoyed learning about hardwood cuttings and want to improve your plant propagation skills, check out my class Success with Seed Sowing. We go in depth on the science and practice of seed propagation.

KEEP GROWING

Phoradendron leucarpum | American mistletoe

“What in the tarnation,” I muttered under my breath. Walking in the backyard picking up fallen sticks I noticed in the distance a branch that was quite different. Instead of a drab detritus, there was life in its verdant green.

Phoradendron leucarpum

It was mistletoe, and the strong winds had blown it down and far out of the drip line of the giant water oak in our backyard.

What timing! A week before the holidays and here mistletoe had fallen in our backyard.  I delighted seeing it laden with white berries and tried to recall if I had ever seen fruit on a specimen.

Thomas Nuttall named the genus Phoradendron. This name translates as thief (phor-) wood (-dendron), an appropriate allusion to their parasitic habit that robs the tree of water, nutrients, and sugars. The particular one in my water oak is the native Phoradendron leucarpum (American mistletoe). And, leucarpum translates as white fruit, a nod to the sparkling berries.

The white berries of mistletoe

The common name refers to its dispersal mechanism. Mistle is an Old English word for dung, and tan, which became -toe, means twig. Though dung might seem repulsive, in olden days people were amazed to see a plant spread by bird poop that had no roots. They revered a plant that could grow out of another tree and be emerald green in the depths of winter.

And over the years it has been known as an emblem of peace, for protecting homes and babies from evil spirits, and as a symbol for resurrection. I chuckle when people talk about kissing others under the mistletoe for the holidays. Nothing says I love you like smooching underneath a parasite that is spread by bird droppings.  Well, a hemiparasite that is.  Mistletoe is able to both photosynthesize its sugars as well as rob from the plant to which it is attached.

It can get to the point where it is too abundant on branches and starts leaching the tree’s life away.  Growing up I don’t recall a plethora of mistletoe in Tennessee.  But, after moving to Raleigh, NC it seemed like it was everywhere.  I even saw a thornless Gleditsia triacanthos (honey locust) once that was so loaded with mistletoe the plant looked chlorotic.

The leftmost Gleditsia triacanthos is so loaded with mistletoe that it is showing signs of nitrogen deficiency.

But, my water oak only has a few sprigs of mistletoe that are nice visual diversity amongst the tree’s bare silhouette in the winter time. The spheres of green hide amongst the fog of foliage during the growing season, but once frost burns the leaves off, their bushy silhouettes are seen against the sky. And, the birds that I’ve watched dancing in the winter trees the past few weeks also enjoy the fruit and help to spread it. American mistletoe is also the only host plant for the Great Purple Hairstreak, a beautiful butterfly which I first saw at Ephemera Farm in October of 2022.

A tattered Great Purple Hairstreak finds respite on my finger. This beautiful butterfly relies on our native American mistletoe as a host plant.

We humans can enjoy mistletoe, too. Harvesting mistletoe can be tricky. I mainly rely on what blows out of trees.  Some places it grows low enough to collect, but others shoot the sprigs out of trees with shotguns and rifles.

I realize that this species is not one that we might use typically in horticulture, but some people grow and propagate it for use around the holidays. The RHS provides details on how to grow your own.  Just know that the host plants for our native American mistletoe maybe a bit different. With having a plant that’s broken off and laden with berries, I’m looking to find a few good trees on the fencerow to use as a host and have more plants (and hopefully hairstreaks) in about five years. It can grow on 60 different species of trees including ashes, elms, maples, oaks, poplars, tupelos, walnuts, and willows. The inside of the fruit is sticky and viscus, too, hence the family’s name Viscaceae. Thus, some people just stick the berries on tree bark.

That way I won’t have to rely on wind for mistletoe in future years to hang in the house and entice my sweetie for a kiss.

Just don’t mention the parasitic bird poop part to Karen.

---

KEEP GROWING

Creating a Bloom Calendar for Better Planting Design

One of the challenging parts of naturalistic planting is deciding what plants to combine together (header image).  Blending species requires an understanding of what grows well in an area along with when plants emerge, burgeon into leaf and fade, start and stop flowering, and yield fruit and seed.

A bloom calendar that captures the minutiae of plants through the seasons is immensely useful for beginners and experts alike.

With January only a few weeks away, now is time to prepare for creating your own bloom calendar for next season that will serve you for years to come.

WHAT IS PHENOLOGY?

Often this tool is called a bloom calendar.  But, for design it’s helpful to think bigger picture than just flowers.  When do certain plants emerge, have good fall color, or fade into dormancy?

The study of how organisms respond to yearly cyclical phenomena like climate and seasonal shifts is called phenology.  

There is power in understanding how plants respond to the progression of the seasons.  For example, the citizen science National Phenology Network allows users to track the progress of spring and emergence of pests.  

But, these regional or national maps are nothing compared to knowing what is happening in your own backyard.  I’m sure you too have chuckled at the references that state this plant blooms from June–October when you know you only get two weeks of color out of it in September.  Creating a calendar that captures bloom and other plant growth stages allows for greater accuracy. 

Learning the phenology of your site also helps you recognize patterns.  It forces you to stop and pay attention to what is actually occurring around you. One of the most beautiful examples of a phenological calendar is the 72 seasons that is observed in Japan, which I learned about from Midori Shintani of Tokachi Millennium Forest.  Such trivial events like first peach blossoms, rotten grass becomes butterflies, and wild geese return are celebrated and enjoyed as part of this calendar. 

CAPTURING OBSERVATIONS

Do you remember exactly when that plant bloomed this year?  Yea, me neither.  Capturing observations helps you remember for later.

You should decide how to capture phenology before making your calendar.  Consistency helps to be sure that your observations are all in one place.  

Writing is a simple approach to note the start, peak, and stop of bloom and other growth stages.  Just grab a notebook and use a pencil in case it gets wet outside.  I like how James Hitchmough detailed in his notebook not only bloom but emergence.  You could also use an actual calendar or day planner to jot down details. 

Another approach I use is to take photos on a phone and digital camera.  Usually the date is included in the image metadata.  You might consider putting them in a specific album so that they are all in one place.  

You can also capture gardening tasks in the calendar.  Note when you cut the asters back and when they correspondingly flower the following autumn.  Jot down when seed are ripe and need to be collected from certain plants.  

It’s worthwhile noting when certain plants go dormant as well.  That allows you to know when bulbs will be absent and gaps need to be filled.  

You don’t have to get everything this year.  Capture as much as you can.  If you’re like me in the past, you’ll do good up until about March or April, and then it becomes sensory overload trying to capture everything during the grand emergence.  Focus on what’s most important.  Maybe this year capture perennials and next focus on trees and shrubs.  Or, keep it simple and jot down three or five observations each week to slowly build your list.  

CREATING THE CALENDAR

A screenshot of my Ephemera Farm Phenology Calendar

While you can add things to your calendar throughout the growing season, I find winter a nice time to go through observations and make one because of the slower pace in the garden.  I bet even if you go through pictures from this previous year you would have the beginnings of one!  

You can make a calendar on paper, but I prefer to use Excel (or Numbers or Google Sheets).  

You can create the calendar based on days or weeks.  But, there are some issues with that approach.  Some years plants may bloom early or late, so the start date will shift.  And, for those of us who work and have busy lives, we might miss the day the first daffodil, lily, or aster blooms.  

I prefer the strategy of thinking of a month as three parts: early (1–10), middle (11–20), and late (21–28+).  I don’t have to stop and think about what Julian week it is or if it is the first day something has flowered.  Swings in bloom are now less of an issue. 

This approach also helps me deal with the issue of days moving and unclean breaks in the week.  For example, week 1 of 2025 has 3 days in December and 4 in January.  It also saves space.  Instead of having 365 or 52 columns, I now have 36 uniform columns.  I type the species in the first column, and then I will fill in with a color close to the foliage, flower, fruit, or whatever I see that I want to document.  

In a spreadsheet, you can highlight cells and fill them with colors.  I have a Mac so yours may look different.

One option I like in Excel is the eyedropper in the fill options. The eyedropper is just above Cancel to the left in the box in the center of the image above.

With the eyedropper you can go to a plant photo and choose its color so that you have an accurate color fill in the calendar.  The eyedropper zooms in so that you can choose certain color pixels.  

I then fill cells to show the early, middle, or late period that a species started flowering and when it stopped. For some plants I will also note emergence, when to cut back, when it goes to seed, or persistence with winter interest.  

ASSESS AND REVIEW THE CALENDAR

Once you have a bloom calendar, it helps to pause and look at it.   Are there plants you can pair for better color or texture combinations because they have similar timings of bloom or other growth stages?  Are there gaps where you miss flowers?  For example, I noticed in August this year few things were in bloom.  

Your calendar is not static.  You can make changes and update it over the seasons.  Print it off and walk through the garden with it in hand once a week. Ask yourself what did you miss last year?  What is on track?  What is early or late?  

If you capture phenology over a couple of seasons, you’ll begin to notice patterns of when plants bloom.  For example, I can reliably count on Symphyotrichum oblongifolium ‘Raydon’s Favorite’ to bloom right after the autumn equinox.  These reliable plants become bellwethers for practices and predictions in the garden.  

THE POWER OF THE CALENDAR

Creating a bloom calendar is how I have been successful crafting plant communities at Ephemera Farm.  I study when plants emerge, bloom, and perform in the garden.  Then I pair them based on my observations. And, this practice has also allowed me to become more intimate with the land around me.

So, get ready to start your calendar with the new year. I’m sure it’ll help you enjoy your garden even more.

WANT MY CALENDAR?

The Ephemera Farm Phenology Calendar features over 130 plants that I grow in east Texas (zone 8b) broken down by early, middle, and late flowering time of each month.  It is a great reference for those who are gardening and designing for the Deep South.  Plus, as an Excel file you can edit and update it to your site.  

You get it free with purchasing my bootcamp The Naturalistic Planting Primer for $49.  

Or, you can buy the calendar by itself as a $10 digital download with the button below.  

The Contrast of Fog

Part of the joy of waking early is seeing the garden through unusual atmospheric phenomena. Beaming from a warm golden sunrise.  Covered in powder from hoar frost.  Or, heavy dew that embelishes every panicle and spiderweb with diamonds.

Foggy mornings are also special.  I have sat and watched fog move like a ship slowly across the sea as it drapes everything in a shroud of gray.  Even sometimes when caught by wind it performs acrobatics swirling as it comes out of the forests beyond our garden to envelope the space.

From the perspective of design, fog also shows plantings in a new light.  Now those emergents that have pierced through the layer of foliage below are brought into even stronger relief against the borrowed landscape beyond as it blurs from view.

And, a foggy November morning is an excellent time to study textures and form in the garden. What remains of the plants’ work is on full display with their black and brown weathered creations against the gray shroud behind.  A trick I learned years ago to determine if a planting had good structure and texture was to make color images black and white. And with the fog enhancing the contrast, I did just that with these images.

Lilium formosanum (Formosan lily)

As my eyes scan the beds, I see the dark stems of Lilium formosanum (Formosan lily), whose flowers bloomed in the height of summer.  Now, their seedheads are suspended above the fray. For the rest of winter the will stand stolid as narrow skyscrapers above the slumbering plant community below.

Helianthus radula (rayless sunflower)

I squat down to see the effect through Helianthus radula (rayless sunflower), a quirky native that produces button flowers in fall that become seedheads.  I make a note that once they dry I need to collect seed for next year as this species is on my list of wanting more.  The birds will make quick work of them if I don’t.

Eutrochium fistulosum (hollow joe pye weed)

In the distance I see the rising spires of Eutrochium fistulosum (hollow joe pye weed).  The leaves are now dark brown with fluffy seedheads above. I saved this plant years ago after it was bulldozed in a power line clearing, and from that clump it has produced many progeny.  I notice that I missed a late morning glory that squirmed its way up the plant to set seed, and I’ll undoubtedly have to wrestle the stems free of its vines yet again next year.  

Helianthus argophyllus (silver-leaf sunflower)

I turn to look at the patch and see the silhouettes of Helianthus argophyllus (silver-leaf sunflower) against the sky. I celebrated this ruderal in an earlier post this year, and it has now finished flowering.  Karen has even collected some of the seedheads as they are quite ornamental after flowering.  

Helianthus angustifolius (swamp sunflower)

Helianthus angustifolius (swamp sunflower) also rises high against the gray.  It has grown too thick in this spot, and I will be lifting it and relocating it to our swale in the backyard soon.  

Hyptis alata (clustered bushmint)

One of my favorite perennials for winter interest is Hyptis alata (clustered bushmint). It flowers in September, and after bloom the seedheads last all the way into spring. Spiderwebs are draped like high wires between the plants.

Yes, there is much to appreciate on foggy mornings while you can.  By now, the fog is lifting, and so has my spirit of seeing the garden in a different way.

---

KEEP GROWING

Layer by Layer: Simplifying Naturalistic Planting Design

NEED HELP WITH YOUR NATURALISTIC PLANTING?

My 2+ hour Botanic Bootcamp session The Naturalistic Planting Primer covers reading your site, crafting the flora, how to group plants into layers​, creating the design with design principles, site preparations, planting, post-planting management, and more!

---

Planting design can be overwhelming for people. Where do you start? How do you combine plants together?

With naturalistic planting, grouping plants in layers simplifies design. Layers help you think about how plants fill space—not just horizontally, but also vertically. Planting in layers also resembles what we see in wild, healthy ecosystems.

LAYERS IN THE WILD

If you look across a wildscape, you will notice layers of vegetation where there are clear breaks between certain plant types. It may be one, two, three, or more that are visible.

The theory of niche partitioning explains why these layers exist. A niche is the role that an organism has in the environment while considering the resources that an organism uses to survive and its interactions with other creatures. No two organisms can occupy the same niche. For example, low sedges grow along the ground in filtered light while tall perennials soar above.

In plant communities, we see plants have evolved different growth habits to survive in the same space. In Sowing Beauty, James Hitchmough notes two driving factors of why plants grow in layers are their different strategies of light capture and for enhancing the potential for pollination.

The layer of seasonal flowers Castilleja indivisa (Texas Indian paintbrush) and Salvia lyrata (lyre-leaf sage) emerge out of a grassy layer while Baptisia alba (white wild indigo) rises in prominence behind, forming a third layer in this roadside community.  

In this bog habitat, Sarracenia alata (pale pitcher plant) grows out of a grassy matrix. Scattered around are woody shrubs beneath a canopy of pines.

Even in this managed pasture, two layers are visible, the grassy groundcover and the emerging Baptisia sphaerocarpa (yellow wild indigo).

THE PLAYERS IN LAYERS

Layers simplify our design approach by allowing us to break the planting into smaller groups.

We need a system to utilize layers in naturalistic planting design. Different practitioners have approached their use of layers similarly but have given them different names. If we look at three different books, Planting: A New Perspective by Piet Oudolf and Noel Kingsbury, Planting in a Post-wild World by Thomas Rainer and Claudia West, and Naturalistic Planting Design by Nigel Dunnett, we can see a model for four distinct layers in naturalistic planting design. They include

• primary plants / structural layer / anchors

• repeating plants / seasonal theme / satellites

• scatter plants / filler plants / free floaters

• matrix

The top three in the list above primarily function for beauty and ecology while the matrix serves as a groundcover layer to prevent weed growth.

This table provides an overview of the different names of each naturalistic layer from various authors. 

PRIMARY PLANTS / STRUCTURAL LAYER / ANCHORS

This layer provides the dominant presence and aesthetics for most of the growing season in the planting. The plants can be shrubs or small trees, but in naturalistic design big perennials typically fill this role.

The species in this layer are competitors that can achieve size over the growing season and have a presence for several months. Another important aspect is they carry winter interest for the slower part of the gardening season.

Examples include Baptisia alba (wild white indigo), Eutrochium fistulosum (joe pye weed), Eryngium yuccifolium (rattlesnake master), Rudbeckia maxima (giant coneflower), and Panicum virgatum (switchgrass).

Baptisia alba (right) is a wonderful early structural plant at Ephemera Farm.  After it finishes flowering, it produces structural seedheads that can last in the garden into winter.  On the left is Arnoglossum plantagineum (prairie indian plantain), and while it provides good structure in the spring, it will go dormant in early summer as the stem collapses.  

At Chanticleer, Eryngium yuccifolium (rattlesnake master) acts as a structural plant in this planting on the elevated walkway.  It starts flowering in the summer, and the seedheads last into winter.  

SCATTER PLANTS / SEASONAL THEME / SATELLITES

This layer provides our seasonal interest in the planting. The strategy here is to choose 2 or 3 plants that pair well together in different seasons for around 4–6 waves of color to appear throughout the growing season. These waves are when plants come into bloom at similar times to provide color interest.

Here again I like to think of plants that can provide multi-season interest. For example, Pycnanthemum tenuifolium (narrow-leaf mountain mint) is a lower growing species, but by using it we can have interesting columns of foliage in the spring, flowers in the summer, and seedheads for autumn and winter.

I do like the name satellites, this idea of plants revolving around greater beings of mass in the garden that are anchors. Nigel Dunnett notes that he sites these around the anchors and then has them scattered throughout the planting as singles and groups of three. Others approach this layer considering sociability, a plant’s natural approach to arranging themselves in groups in the wild. There may be groups of 3–20 plants based on what naturally occurs in the wild.

Here’s a list of species I’ve used as season interest here at Ephemera Farm.

• March: Narcissus pseudonarcissus (lent lily), Muscari neglectum (grape hyacinth), Ipheion uniflorum (star flower)

• April May: Penstemon digitalis (foxglove beardtongue), Phlox pilosa (prairie phlox), Marshallia caespitosa (clumping Barbara’s buttons)

• June-July: Pycnanthemum tenuifolium (narrow-leaf mountain mint), Stokesia laevis (Stokes’s aster)

• August–September: Gaillardia aestvalis var. winkleri ‘Grape Sensation’ (Winkler’s firewheel), Physostegia virginiana (obedient plant)

• October–November: Muhlenbergia capillaris (pink muhly grass), Symphyotrichum oblonigfolium (aromatic aster), Symphyotrichum lanceolatum (panicled aster)

At Ephemera Farm Phlox pilosa and Penstemon species make a wonderful seasonal filler layer.  

Verbena bonariensis (tall verbena) and Oenothera lindheimeri (white gaura) make a good seasonal theme layer in this planting in the Tower of London Superbloom.  

SELF SOWERS / FILLER PLANTS / FREE FLOATERS

This layer features ruderals that self sow themselves around the garden. These plants don’t last long, and they maybe quite abundant after planting and less years later. But, if bare soil or a disturbance occurs, they will quickly germinate and fill in the gap. You are basically creating your own seed bank in the soil, but instead of it dominantly being weeds it is now attractive plants.

We generally have two periods here at Ephemera Farm where seeds germinate, fall and winter for most cool-season plants and short-lived perennials and spring for most warm season plants.

• Fall: Strepthanthus maculatus (clasping jewelflower), Lupinus subcarnosus (sandyland bluebonnet), Trifolium incarnatum (crimson clover), Gaillardia pulchella (firewheel), Nemophila phacelioides (Texas baby blue eyes)

• Spring: Gomphrena globosa (globe amaranth), Celosia spicata (celosia), Chamaecrista fasciculata and Chamaecrista nictitans (partridge peas), Cosmos sulphureus (sulfur cosmos)

Lupinus subcarnosus (sandy-land bluebonnet) germinates to fill gaps in my plantings at Ephemera Farm.  

Nemophila phacelioides (Texas baby blue eyes) germinates in the fall in disturbed spots and then rewards us with beautiful flowers in early spring.  

THE MATRIX

I’m happy that the authors all chose the same name for the groundcover layer. But, I think that’s because of how this layer is primarily functional in nature. The role is to cover the ground to prevent the growth and emergence of weeds.

Carex texensis (Texas sedge), Carex flaccosperma (blue wood sedge), Carex cherokeensis (Cherokee sedge), Sporobolus heterolepis (prairie dropseed) and Eragrostis spectabilis (purple love grass) are a few that I use in this role. However, forbs like Glandularia canadensis (rose vervain) and Conoclinium greggii (Gregg’s mist flower) that spread as groundcovers can also function in this role.

Bulb foliage from Narcissus (daffodil) or Lycoris (red spider lily) can also serve this function, shifting from seasonal filler to ground cover layer later.

Carex texensis (Texas sedge) has become my go to matrix species at Ephemera Farm. It’s native on site and is tolerant of sun and shade conditions.

Echinacea pallida ‘Hula Dancer’ (pale coneflower) and Dianthus carthusianorum (Carthusian pink) emerge from the matrix of Sporobolus heterolepis in Oudolf Field.

PUTTING LAYERS INTO PRACTICE

If you’re starting from scratch, here’s the steps I would take to start developing layered naturalistic plantings.

• You first have to know what species will perform well in your area. Visiting arboretea, wild areas, trial gardens, and garden centers is a good start. Many of the plants I now use in my beds were trialed on site for a few years before committing to their use.

• Keep a bloom calendar of when plants emerge and go through stages of growth and flowering. Note in your calendar what does well in your area and as well as others in your general proximity. From here you can start to build the timing between plant foliage, flower, fruit, or form.

• Once you have a species list, grab pictures you’ve taken or found on the internet and build a mood board. It can easily be done in a word document or slide show app. Consider if there are ways that you can play off the layers colors or textures. For example, when my Joe pye weed blooms, it’s a similar color to the Gaillardia ‘Grape Sensation’ flowers.

An example mood board of the species I rely upon for color at Ephemera Farm. Grouping plants in such a visual pattern allows you to start seeing patterns and combinations possible.

• Make sure that plants are compatible with their survival strategy. Competitors can outcompete lower layers.

• Consider height. Is everything the same height or is there variation? You are trying to avoid having everything the exact same height; otherwise you will just have one layer. Use references to determine the height. It helps to sketch out the plant height. Or, put the heights into Excel and make a bar graph. Even if you aren’t very good at drawing, just drawing height bars will help you compare how tall they get.

• Start simple. For small areas, limiting species diversity is important for greater impact. Too many species in one area will look like a mess. Assuming you have 3 structural plants, 5 waves of 3 seasonal plants (3 × 5 =15), and 2 matrix options, that’s 20 (3 + 15 +2) different plants.

• Choose your anchor plants first. Winter interest is one of the most important considerations in design because there will be a few months of the year when these plants are the dominant interest in the garden. And, make sure they can persist even with ice and snow load. While we are mainly focused on perennials, don’t forget that woody trees and shrubs can serve as anchors. Some woody species also can be coppiced to limit their eventual size.

• I would argue the next step is to decide on what you want your groundcover layer to be. Some practitioners will cover the site with the groundcover species first to allow it to establish for a few years. This manages the weed growth, and the stress will keep vigorous plants in check. Matrix species generally look better in bulk instead of having one here, one there. It’s helpful to grade between their blocks to slowly shift from say Carex texensis to Carex flaccosperma so they look blended.

• Next, fill in with the seasonal theme layer. Consider spacing them in so they appear in groups of 3 to 10 with some sole outliers.

• Last, plant or seed in the filler plants so they can fill gaps while the seasonal theme layer is getting established.

After planting evaluation is key. What looks good and what works? You may have to do slight adjustments over the years. But, that’s part of the joy of gardening with layers in naturalistic planting is learning what works together to create a beautiful, ecologically friendly design.

---

KEEP GROWING

Salvia azurea | prairie sage

There’s no better light than October in the garden. The sun has moved south on the horizon and now filters through the thin thicket of trees to the east of the property filling the backyard with a warm glow. The shafts of light come through and illuminate slivers of the garden just long enough that scurrying into the house to grab the camera to capture the perfect scene is a waste. By the time I return, the light has shifted, and I am better to pause and just enjoy the moment. These fleeting moments are what we celebrate at Ephemera Farm.

The clear days that we had all month have brought with them no rain. We are becoming more parched by the day. Our last rain was a third of an inch in late September, and there’s a mere chance in next fortnight.

But, these cloudless days are a blessing for enjoying the bluebird sky that the recent cold fronts have brought. They clear the dust and humidity out of the air revealing the rich blue above.

We are hitting peak autumn bloom here at Ephemera Farm. Many of the plants are riding the wave from all the rain we had in the spring and summer, and so far they seem unfazed by the dry conditions.

Salvia azurea is a drought tolerant native for naturalistic plantings.

Take Salvia azurea (prairie sage), for example. It has been blooming since late September and shows no sign of slowing down. The blue flowers provide a different color against the tawny colors of autumn and match our cobalt blue sky so well.

Plants are tough and persistent. Research conducted after planting a mini-prairies in Nebraska showed that this perennial had one of the highest survival rates (80%) after 10 years. The authors also noted that the plant’s vigor began to choke out some of the Buchloe dactyloides (buffalo grass) and Bouteloua gracilis (blue grama). Its performance makes it worthwhile adding to the southern plantings.

I love looking at Salvia azurea against the bluebird sky where one almost can’t tell where the flower starts and the sky begins.

A Clouded Skipper visits Salvia azurea in the warm light of October.

I also enjoy seeing the pollinators visit this native. It is fun watching the inflorescences bob in the mornings as bees work the flowers. Even butterflies like Gulf Fritillaries and Clouded Skippers find it worthwhile to work the flowers.

If the bigger bees struggle to access the flower from the front, they may bypass pollination in an act called nectar thievery. They cut a hole through the top and access the nectar while never transferring pollen, thus potentially affecting seed set.

But, I’m not worried about the bee’s parasitic behavior as new seedlings readily appear. I even find them coming up in the cracks at the edge of the pavement. My plants came from wild collections in Louisiana and Oklahoma, and while there’s a difference in color from both locations, them mixing adds variety to the bloom display.

Oklahoma collected form of Salvia azurea was a lighter blue…

… but those prairie sage from Louisiana were a darker blue. Even the calyces and stems showed hints of dark blue.

I was greatly rewarded the other morning as I walked past a prairie sage that had dropped its flowers. The corollas from the late evening had fallen on the matrix of Eragrostis spectabilis (purple love grass) below, and the spent petals lay there suspended in time and place.

The heat of the sun would surely bake them later in the day, but for now they could be enjoyed. And, at least this time I had a camera.

Fallen art, the bilabiate flowers of Salvia azurea

---

KEEP GROWING

The Power of Repetition: How Repeating Plants Unifies PLANTINGS

NEED HELP WITH YOUR NATURALISTIC PLANTING?

My 2+ hour Botanic Bootcamp session The Naturalistic Planting Primer covers reading your site, crafting the flora, how to group plants into layers​, creating the design with design principles, site preparations, planting, post-planting management, and more!

---

Gardeners can struggle with making naturalistic gardens feel connected and unified.  

I ran into this issue when I started my plantings at Ephemera Farm.  I had been a horticultural nomad for 8 years living in rental dwellings.  My amassed plants I threw into makeshift trial beds around our house to save me from having to water so much, and their proximity kept deer and other critters at bay.  With an eye towards naturalistic planting, I then added to this space species to evaluate how they grew in east Texas.   

But, once I built the fenced in patch for protecting my trial plants, it came time to start overhauling these trial beds for plantings.  As I took some plants out and left others I wanted to keep, the beds felt disconnected and disparate.  

I realized what was missing was repetition to create a sense of unity. I began to repeat plants in this area to make the beds feel unified.  Using the same plants throughout the space took the plantings from a crazy-looking collection to a garden.

---

WHY REPETITION WORKS

Humans by nature are great at recognizing patterns to help us make sense of a chaotic world. 

In nature repeating plants breeds familiarity, and we realize the plants are connected as part of the whole space.  Because plants are usually growing where conditions are optimal for them and not others, we usually see a few species repeated across a landscape during their season of interest. A mature prairie or forest that has reached equilibrium with a few plants repeating looks much better than the chaos of a weedy field. 

Baptisia australis var. minor (wild indigo) repeats in a prairie near Dallas, TX.

The repeated rising spires of Arnoglossum plantagineum (prairie indian plantain) provide impact in early spring.

We can also find woodies repeated throughout a natural setting. Coppiced bonfires of Liquidambar styraciflua (sweet gum) blaze in this field and connect to those in the forest beyond.

While repeated plants in nature are randomly arranged, we can find inspiration in repetition in the wild and purposefully bring that into designed landscapes.

Repetition in the designed landscape is an application of the gestalt principles of similarity (where we group similar elements in our mind) and continuity (where the mind groups repeated items into something continuous).  Drawing from the research of Kaplan and Kaplan, repetition also builds coherence and legibility in the landscape.  It creates a sense of order and helps us quickly process what we see before us.  

It’s like a song.  The chorus repeats to give us something familiar to return to.

---

REPETITION AT EPHEMERA FARM

Those beds that I told you about earlier have come a long way in seven years. I repeat plants that are seasonal stalwarts throughout the beds for all four seasons.  To help make the garden feel connected.

Repetition of Baptisia alba (wild white indigo), Penstemon digitalis (foxglove beardtongue), and Phlox pilosa (prairie phlox) make my garden feel connected in the spring.

Because so many perennials flower early in our hot climate, midsummer often feels dearth of flowers. Repeating Lilium formosanum (Formosan lily) helps provide interest in the heat.

Repeating Symphyotrichum oblongifolium ‘Raydon’s Favorite’ (aromatic aster) and Symphyotrichum drummondii (Drummond’s aster) helps make the space feel unified.

We cant forget around repeating plants in the matrix layer, a category where repetition is key. In the winter the haze of Eragrostis spectabilis still provides a foil for darker seedheads to pop against.

---

REPETITION IN OTHER GARDENS

I’ve seen repetition used well in other gardens. Here’s some more inspiration to help you see other ways to repeat plants throughout a landscape.

Repetition in the Long Border at Great Dixter

Echinacea purpurea ‘Green Edge’ repeats through the southern portion of the Lurie Garden.

Muhlenbergia capillaris (pink muhly grass) repeated on the elevated walkway. After this grass was used in the elevated walkway plantings at Chanticleer…

…Joe Henderson said he repeated more on the rock ledge that’s some 350 feet away to make the garden feel more connected. So, repeated plants don’t have to be in close proximity.

Besides repeating the same plants, we can also repeat plant forms. At Hillside, the Digitalis ferruginea (rusty foxglove) and Veronicastrum virginicum (Culver’s root) have a similar emergent habit.

Repetition doesn’t have to be too overpowering. At Westerkade in Rotterdam, the neutral white Allium nigrum (black garlic) and rusty Aruncus ‘Horatio’ (goat’s beard) make the spaces feel connected. I like to imagine that a totally different design was in one of the two beds. Would they still feel unified if so? I think not.

---

STRATEGIES FOR REPEATING PLANTS IN YOUR DESIGNS

I’m continuing to explore repetition in my garden to help other areas I’m planting feel more connected to the entire space.  Here are a few of the strategies I’m using that you can apply.

My next step is to compare my plant list of species and look through them to determine which ones have the greatest impact

• Identify key plants: Choose what species you want to repeat. Will they be a presence for multiple seasons or will they be more focused on a single season? Even trees and shrubs are fair game here. And, bonus points if your plants have ecological benefits!

• Make sure they perform well. The last thing you need is a repeated plant through your landscape that looks like trash. It’s ok if it eventually fades. While Baptisia alba is a season-long plant for most people, for us in east Texas they go dormant in early August, about three months before frost. I rely on asters and grasses to fill the gap they leave.

• Repeat with purpose: Repeating plants is a conscious choice that sacrifices variety but increases coherence. If you’re limited on room, you may have to make some hard calls on what to remove to be able to plant more of a particular species. Ask yourself is there anything here that struggles or looks bad? Consider removing that to make room for more repeating plants. Keeping a diary or bloom calendar can help with such decisions.

• Consider sociability. Sociability is the way that plants naturally group themselves in nature. Some have low sociability while others normally occur in large groups. Try to mimic the patterns you see in nature (or the pictures that you look up online through ecosystem sleuthing). But, remember that just because you plant species in groups similar to what you see in nature that they will automatically be in a stable community! That’s not true, and change can occur.

• Seasonal succession. Also consider time across the planting. Can you focus on having plants that appear in the same space at different times of the year? Perhaps have Narcissus (daffodils) emerge early in the spring through asters, and then when the foliage is collapsing, give them both a good cut back in mid-May. The daffodils will be dormant, and the asters will benefit from the reduction to keep them tight as they head into summer.

• Grow your own: Use division or seed propagation to strategically plant multiples across the landscape. Most of my repeated plants come from seed I’ve sown myself or divisions. And, if you want an in depth class on growing your own from seed, check out my Botanic Bootcamp Success with Seed Sowing.

• Cover the ground. Repetition is key in the groundcover layer. Too much diversity here, and the design can be chaotic. Repeat the same species but consider blending as you grade from one species (say Carex, sedge) to the next (Eragrostis, love grass).

• Consider rhythm. There is a duality of repetition. You want familiarity and connectedness, not boredom from everything being the same. If you don’t want to overdo one plant selection much, consider some variety. Mix up and use different colors of the same species. Or, repeat plant form, color, or shape amongst different species. Doing so creates a sense of a repeating theme throughout the landscape.

Repetition may seem simple, but its effects in a garden are profound. And, like I’ve employed at Ephemera Farm, by repeating key plants, you can create spaces that feel cohesive, connected, and in harmony with nature.

---

KEEP GROWING