The Now of November

It looks like fall, but it doesn’t feel like it. Days in the 80s will do that to you I suppose.

But, minus the hardy crops, the growing season has unofficially ended here at Ephemera Farm. We had our first frost last week. The basil is toast, and the trees are shedding their leaves in earnest. The hardy crops still hang on, though.

I find first frost a demarcation that separates the growing season from the coming pause of winter. The forecast had called for 24°F, and I spent a good chunk of the weekend readying everything for some serious temperatures just in case. Disconnecting hoses, putting row cover up, and bringing tender plants inside are all small tasks but they accumulate to make a busy afternoon. Fortunately, it didn’t get quite that cold, but we had a night just below freezing. 29°F wasn’t enough to fully zap plants, but it is enough to say it’s closing time.

In the midst of scurrying around, I found myself pulled to plants to enjoy the last bits of color of the season in the garden. Out of all the months here that the garden shines, April is first, but November is a close second. Sure, spring has its blooms, but with autumn we have the benefit of fall foliage as the leaves change to sensational colors as they say their last hurrah before falling to the ground.

I love Hamamelis virginiana (American witch hazel) for the winter flowers but also the autumn golden fall foliage.

I was just thinking the other day that I wish I had some Parthenocissus quinquefolia (Virginia creeper) for fall color, and lo and behold I found some on a fence post in the patch.

Amsonia hubrichtii BUTTERSCOTCH (Arkansas bluestar) is finally getting big enough to show some good fall color.

I try to pay attention to the reds, yellows, and oranges in the forests of our borrowed landscape around us and ask how can I bring these colors into our garden. For example, in our orchard, our persimmons have their best crop they’ve ever had on them. They are maturing into nice small trees, and their orange orbs hang like the trees grabbed the sunset sun right out of the sky and held it in their branches.

And, the orange combines nicely with the nearby fall color on Taxodium distichum (bald cypress), Prunus persica ‘Junegold’ (peach), and Andropogon virginicus (broomsedge) that we have. There are late flowers on Oenothera rhombipetala (four-point evening primrose), which I just welcomed to the garden this year. And, with the split seed capsules, it appears I’ll have plenty next year. Even a little Acalypha virginica‍ (copperleaf) weed is growing on me as it too is getting in on the fall color action.

I have other plants in holding that can play off this warm color scheme. I have Cuphea micropetala (candy corn cuphea), Gladiolus × dalenii ‘Halloweenie’ (sword lily, header image), and Solidago stricta (header image). They will be moving to some of the orchard beds next year.

The orange orbs of Diospyros NIKITA’S GIFT begin turning ripe. The leaves have just begun to fall, and with first frost leaves will drop and better reveal the fruit.

A few candy corn flowers hang on Cuphea micropetala (candy corn cuphea).

A few late flowers still remain on Oenothera rhombipetala (four-point evening primrose) amongst their already split capsules.

Over the past few years I noticed this weed Acalypha virginica‍ ‍(Virginia copperleaf) has good fall color in the orchard, and I have to say it’s growing on me.

I was surprised by the fall color in our orchard on Prunus persica ‘Junegold’.

There are other flowers still in bloom around the garden, and the insects have no trouble finding the last flowers of the season. Symphyotrichum lanceolatum (panicled aster) is one of my latest asters to flower, and it is swarmed with pollinators. The Monarchs that have come through the past several weeks flock to its pale pink blooms. And, there are others that are sporting blooms—the last blue spikes on Salvia farinacea ‘Henry Duelberg’ (mealycup sage), a late Echinacea purpurea (purple coneflower), and out of season blooms on a juvenile Silphium perfoliatum (cup plant).

I also enjoy the fruit that are ripening at the close of the season. There’s a haze of seed heads from Clematis virginiana (virgin’s bower) hanging on the fence, and for the first time my Ilex decidua ‘Finch’s Golden’ (possumhaw) has gotten large enough to have a decent crop of fruit. I can’t wait to see it much taller and glowing gold as it ages.

I saved this Symphyotrichum lanceolatum (panicled aster) from the bulldozer down the road, and it has become one of my favorites for November. It blooms for weeks, and is flocked by pollinators.

A Huron Skipper enjoys a late bloom on Echinacea purpurea

A seedling Silphium perfoliatum (cup plant) still blooms, and I’ve watched Gulf Fritillaries work them over the past few days.

The cobalt blue flowers on Salvia farinacea ‘Henry Duelberg’ are brilliantly colored against dying vegetation.

The haze of Clematis virginiana (virgin’s bower) still provides interest at the close of the season.

The fruit on Ilex decidua ‘Finch’s Golden’ is just starting to color up. This yellow-fruited selection is a nice alternative as a possumhaw.

With first frost, I find myself looking back. Behind me was a really decent growing season with regular rain and only a handful of days above 100°F. While there was much to celebrate in the garden with flowers and food, I still had my fair share of plant problems. I haven’t seen so much fungal disease I think ever here. Soil issues maybe have contributed as the results from samples I submitted have shown some low pH in certain areas and very low nutrients in others. So, I’ll have to apply amendments to see if that rectifies issues in the coming season.

With first frost, I’m also looking forward, perhaps even more so than at the start of the new year. I pay attention to what the garden will offer for the next few months. I’ve learned it is well worth assessing plantings at this sweet spot before winter collapses plants to the ground leaving only the most rugged still standing. Am I happy with what I see or not, because it will be the dominant presence in the garden for winter.

The next few months are also ripe for making changes in the garden. I have trees and shrubs I want to plant and a number of fruits on my wish list for next season. I installed new muscadine posts this summer that need to just have the wires and plants added. I’m also looking at pawpaw and mayhaw varieties that would do well here. Oh, and strawberries—I’ll attempt to keep them alive again.

But, with much on the to-do list for winter, I can’t forget the now of November. As I sit here and write, even though the asters have finished, the flowers have collapsed, and the leaves have fallen off the persimmons, there’s still much to enjoy in the garden.

What is Plant Sociability?

Change the way you see plant patterns for better design. My next Botanic Bootcamp session Designing with Sociability on November 10 at 6 pm CST will help you better understand how plants spread, how we can use sociability to create better plantings, and more. Plus, attendees will get a handy-dandy plant sociability list of plant species. Join early for a 20% discount OR become a member and save even more!

One of the challenges that gardeners face when creating naturalistic plantings is how to arrange plants.  Questions arise about what species should be combined together and how we can place them to maximize ecology and aesthetics while also minimizing maintenance.  

If we look to the natural world for inspiration and observe how plants grow in nature, we will see patterns.  One way that horticulturists have figured out how to describe these patterns is with the concept of plant sociability.  

What plant patterns do you see in this plant community? Do you see solo viburnums, waves of red blueberries, patches of grasses, and spears of goldenrods? We can explain these with sociability.

So, what is plant sociability? 

There are a few sources that give us a deeper understanding.

In Planting in a Post-wild World by Thomas Rainer and Claudia West where I first learned of this concept, they stated that plant sociability is “how far plants in the same population grow from each other,” and it “offers a good model for distinguishing which plants should be massed versus which should be placed individually.”  

Brandon George’s incredible capstone project stated that plant sociability is “a measure of the distribution pattern and organization of the [plant] species.”

Nigel Dunnett added in The Dynamic Landscape that sociability helps us understand “the degree of massing that the species shows in the wild.”

And in the original Hansen and Stahl’s Perennials and Their Garden Habits, they dance around a definition saying that “it remains important to group the various species according to their inherent sociability, always taking nature as a guide.”  

What they lack in defining it they make up for by creating a sociability classification system.  Hansen and Stahl gave us five levels along a gradient to classify sociability.  Level 1 is for plants that occur solitary, and Level 5 is for thick stands of a species. From their book they give these categories,

• 1 singly or in small clusters

• 2 small groups of 3–10 plants

• 3 larger groups of 10–20 plants

• 4 extensive planting in patches

• 5 extensive plantings over large areas

There are also a few pages of plant classifications along with how far apart to space plants per meter.    

Outside of these sources, there’s not much available in the research literature on plant sociability, which is a shame.  As one newsletter reader emailed me, everyone seems to talk about this magic approach to grouping plants and yet there is much lacking on the approach.  So, here are a few things I keep in mind.  

A SIMPLE ANALOGY FOR PLANT SOCIABILITY

I like to think about sociability like watching how people sit on an empty plane with no assigned seats.  

Some people come in and space out as they sit solitary.  Others get on and claim rows as small groups, say a family of four with grandparents in tow.  And, then there’s the whole sports team that takes up a third of the plane all sitting together, weaving themselves around the singletons and small groups.

On the plane, people sit in these patterns based on their connection with each other (family, relationships) and the environment (what seats are available when purchasing; the resources needed (aka dolla dolla bill y’all) for a first class versus a middle seat).  

For plants, they grow in patterns because there is an interaction with their connection to each other (in this case plant genetics influencing how they spread and reproduce) and the environment (what spots are available to grow; amounts of resources of light, water, and nutrients; etc.), too.  

Unlike our plane example where the greatest in number would be those flying solo or in small groups, plants with low sociability usually constitute the lower numbers in the community, and plants with higher sociability tend to be more dominant and plentiful.  

Pick your seat. In this space we see Asclepias tuberosa (orange milkweed) spaced out as a low sociability plant.

Don’t be confused by the numbers

I’m not trying to reinvent the wheel here, but I think that numbers Hansen and Stahl use can be lost on some people because they have to memorize what 1 or 5 means.  So I like to add the descriptors to sociability levels—very low (1), low (2), medium (3), high (4), and very high (5).  I think that it helps amateurs better think through whether their plants should be treated as loners, light minglers, or gregarious party animals.

Numbers can also shift slightly based on growing conditions.  Higher levels of sociability are usually associated with richer resources. For example, a wet site might shift a low (2) or medium (3) sociability up to a high level (4). But, the extremes usually don’t move to the other end. A species with very low sociability will likely never reach very high sociability, and it would look a bit odd if it did. And, species that have very high sociability planted as a single plant aren’t living up to their full potential. Give them 40 years and then they’ll be carpeting the ground.

This planting of Yucca (yucca) was done for a modernist effect, but it looks a bit odd because as a low sociability species it should not be planted so close. It would have been more effective to randomly scatter clumps in the Sporobolus (prairie dropseed) matrix.

Sociability HELPS gardeners DESIGN AND PLANT BETTER

I think too often we gardeners are in the habit of creating gardens that are plant collections of single plants or as Tony Avent calls this approach, “drifts of one.”  I know that I have been still am guilty of it. I mean, it wasn’t my fault I had to grow and trial so many different species to see what would die, survive, and thrive here in east Texas.  At least, that’s what I tell myself.

Now that interest is growing in naturalistic planting, we can’t apply that same approach. We can’t plant singletons far apart and then just pour mulch around the plants. There needs to be some level of coherence and legibility. Otherwise, the planting can look chaotic.

When you consider sociability in design, you’re not going to the garden center and buy one each of 40 different species.  Instead, you pick a few plants with very low/low sociability to stand out, a few groups of medium sociability to keep the seasonal interest going through the year, and many plugs of the high/very high sociability patch formers. 

A naturalistic planting at Epic campus in Wisconsin. Note how some species like the Symphyotrichum (aster) are grouped together while others occur singly.

It may be hard to invest money on 30-50% of the plants that are going to just be green groundcovers with high/very high sociability. And, sure you could wait for those plants that typically grow in higher sociability to increase in number, but having one Carex texensis (Texas sedge), Packera aurea (golden groundsel), or Pachysandra procumbens (Allegheny spurge) is just going to look weird.  We are used to seeing them in larger groups instead of isolated.

Sociability also helps us understand and anticipate how a species will spread and perform in the garden. For example, Helianthus angustifolius is a Level 4 (high) sociability plant. I planted two a few years ago in my garden, and they quickly began to spread via rhizomes and seed. Now I have tons of it.

And, something like Yucca rostrata that has lower sociability will look best if it’s more isolated. I shouldn’t anticipate it quickly spreading around.

Helianthus angustifolius (swamp sunflower) blooms in autumn. Even though I planted a couple, this high sociability species has made its presence known in my garden.

PRACTICE SEEING SOCIABILITY

If this concept is new to you, start practicing applying it today.  Walk through a natural area or your garden, and pay attention to which species occur in groups small or big group and which plants stand alone.

That mental shift will help you start seeing your plantings as a community, and that’s the first step toward designing with sociability. Once you start seeing those relationships, you’ll never look at your garden or nature the same way again.

An Epic Visit to Epic Campus: Part 1

A few weeks ago, I shared that during my trip to Wisconsin to speak to the Wisconsin Hardy Plant Society I was fortunate enough to have Jeff Epping tour me around for the day.

Of all the places he promised to take me, I was most excited to see the Epic campus where he has been instrumental in developing their plantings. To be honest, the 1,670 acre campus has to be seen to be believed. And, as you’ll see from the photos below, much of it is fantastical. I asked Jeff why all this effort to make Epic HQ look amazing. He said that the founder Judy Faulkner knew she would be competing for talent with big coastal cities, and she wanted to make Epic an epic place to work.

While much of what you’ll see from these photos is really out of this world, there are still ideas and inspiration to be gleaned. And, the biggest inspiration I took away from seeing the plants and building designs was that we can think differently.

I should note for clarity the buildings have unusual names. I’ve capitalized them to help distinguish their identities, so if you see a random word like Creatures, Library, or Guilds, just know that’s the building’s name.

The first campus we visited was designed with a farm theme. That’s not a barn, but it is a building where employees work. Jeff said that this orchard was around six years old.

Jeff said that most buildings have a signature staircase. In this first one, a Farmall tractor had been disassembled and mounted to the wall.

A map provides a sense of scale of the campus.

The next campus we visited was the Prairie Campus that featured a variety of herbaceous and woody plantings. Jeff told me that every building on campus is connected via skywalks or in the ground tunnels. In Wisconsin during the winter they make sense.

On the Prairie Campus, a number of Lespedeza (bush clover) were in full bloom. He said that they didn’t see any seed on them like further south.

In the Indiana Jones tunnel, if you pulled on the figurine, a rolling boulder would sound like it was coming toward you.

I noticed a Monarch on a Heptacodium miconioides (seven son flower) and noted to Jeff how I was surprised. He then told me what a pollinator magnet this small tree is, and he said that the tree is often covered with pollinators.

I loved how there were parts on campus where they let the landscape grow a little wild. Here Solidago (goldenrod) and Symphyotrichum (aster) provide a lovely color pairing for autumn.

Jeff said this area was inspired by the beautiful amphitheater at The Scott Arboretum.

Jeff then took me to see the large gravel garden at Epic. The majority of their parking is underground, and with the seamless landscape you would never know there were hundreds of cars below you. In these areas no trees grew since their weight would be so heavy. Instead of just having an area to mow, they got creative with their plantings.

The biggest benefit with the gravel garden is less maintenance. You can see some of the plant diversity in the gravel garden including Parthenium integrifolium (wild quinine) and Echinacea paradoxa (yellow coneflower).

In another section of the gravel garden Salvia yangii (Russian sage, aka Perovskia atriplicifolia) and Baptisia australis (wild indigo) grew as round-mounds amongst the upright grasses. I commented to Jeff how our Baptisia were already dormant and theirs were still green.

To help separate the gravel garden from grass, they had pavers in place.

Closer to the western area, an Asclepias syriaca (common milkweed) was covered in heavy seed capsules.

Schizachyrium scoparium (little bluestem) catch the light in the western-themed area. Jeff told me that most of these grasses had seeded in, and they left them.

More mature Heptacodium miconioides are in bloom much later in Wisconsin than they do for me in Texas.

Outside Kouhoutek was a more Asian themed planting. Many places and roads were named after celestial objects since Judy has a fascination with space.

We then walked toward Wizard’s Academy that was themed after Harry Potter. It looks like a back alleyway in England!

A beautiful allée in Wizard’s Academy is flanked by colorful containers.

I really admired their color choices in the containers. They are large enough that even the Cotinus (smokebush) has space to grow.

It was at this point that Jeff shared that as they were building campuses, they kept trying to make them from scratch. The suggestion was made to make them modular. Use the same footprint for the buildings so that you automatically know how much supplies you need. And, they can then design them however they want to on the inside or the out.

Fortress was designed to look like some medieval castle.

Guilds was one of the new buildings just constructed. It’s amazing to see the detail on the outside of the building.

The plantings outside Guilds featured a new gravel garden. These have to be watered frequently until the plants establish.

Looking outside you can see the new plantings around Creatures (building to the right). You can see the break between where perennials stop and woody plants start with the break in mulch color and planting density.

The signature staircase in Creatures had to be seen to be believed! A giant dragon was suspended in the stairwell.

Watch out Jeff!

Look at this lovely stained glass window. Except it isn’t! It’s a cloth over a glowing light pillar.

As we headed back toward Wizard’s Academy, Jeff took me into Library to see their signature staircase. It resembled a beautiful library.

At the bottom of the staircase in Library was this beautiful cutouts of letters.

We stopped for lunch in King’s Cross cafeteria. They had such good and fresh food available for their employees.

Intrinsic Perennials Ornamental Grasses Day

One of the highlights of my fall was getting to travel to the Geneva Lake area along the border of Wisconsin and Illinois to attend and speak at Intrinsic Perennials Ornamental Grasses Day. Brent Horvath (header image, center right) and Lisa Hilgenberg were wonderful hosts for all of the approximately 100 people who came. And then we were treated to a tour of the nursery, including Brent’s exotic perennial garden, which was inspired by a blog post I wrote after visiting Great Dixter years ago.

If you don’t know about Intrinsic Perennials, Brent is one of the best breeders of ornamental perennials in horticulture. Brent’s work focuses on selecting plants that can thrive in modern plantings and modern places. Two of his releases have won Perennial Plant of the Year, the disease-resistant Rudbeckia ‘American Gold Rush’ (black-eyed susan) in 2023 and the crimson-colored Andropogon gerardii ‘Blackhawks’ (big bluestem) in 2026.

I think Ornamental Grasses Day is a wonderful model for a nursery or really any group of plant-loving people. In the off season, host an educational day for your customers or community. Magic happens when we bring plant people together.

Brent’s incredible breeding work was on display in the nursery. Even late in the season, many perennials offer flowers for pollinators and fading foliage for autumn color.

I love seeing the minutiae of someone’s craft. Take Brent’s approach to storing collected seeds. This method is way better than all the envelopes I have stashed away!

It was a treat seeing Monarch butterflies on Liatris ligulistylis (meadow blazing star) before they migrate south. See you in a few weeks when you come through Texas!

Even the edges of the nursery supported life. Here we see a healthy crop of Asclepias syriaca (common milkweed) seed.

This trial garden area showcased some of Brent’s selections. This beast of an aster was Symphyotrichum × ‘Thunderdome’ (hybrid aster). As an asterphile, I can’t wait to try this one.

Another aster selection of Brent’s that I really liked was Symphyotrichum oblongifolium ‘Chiacgo’ (aromatic aster). It was a little shorter than ‘Thunderdome’.

I haven’t seen a good blooming sedum in years, but at the nursery I enjoyed this good patch of Hylotelephium 'Beka' AUTUMN DELIGHT.

Many Amsonia (bluestars) have hints of yellow in their foliage, but I was intrigued by the plum-colored foliage Amsonia × ‘Big League’.

As plugs these Andropogon gerardii ‘Blackhawks’ (big bluestem) glowed in the late light and were in their fall glory. They are ready for their 2026 Perennial Plant of the Year debut.

THE EXOTIC GARDEN

Years ago after we got back from England, I shared pictures of Great Dixter and the exotic garden on this blog. I wrote, “We found ourselves immersed in the foliage of a secret garden hidden by a hedge. It was not a claustrophobic feeling but instead an embrace by the plants around us.  It felt like a jungle.”

Brent read that and saw the pictures, and he wrote me saying that he wanted to create his own exotic garden with a prairie flair. He framed his garden not with a hedge but instead the old frame of a Quonset hut, and the space was packed with plants. Inside you felt lost in a prairie even though a whole nursery surrounded you.

I was excited to see it in person at the zenith of its growth, and Lisa and Brent were kind enough to mention at Ornamental Grasses Day that my post about Great Dixter was the inspiration. I don’t really pause and consider the impact that the blog has on others, but it was touching to see that something I shared had inspired a planting. It is a reminder for all of us to share what we see and experience with others because we never know how we can inspire others.

Brent achieved the feeling of being immersed in vegetation with tall Helianthus salicifolius (willow-leaf sunflower) at the entrance to the exotic garden.

Further back, tall Agastache nepetoides (yellow giant hyssop) made you feel enclosed. I’m hoping I can find some seed from a southern provenance of this species. I think this visit was the first time I’ve seen Aconitum carmichaelii (Chinese monkshood) bloom. They were about eye level with me.

The seedheads on Agastache nepetoides can persist through winter and offer a stark contrast with their height.

With this side shot, you can see just how tall the sunflowers could get.

The view from the back of the exotic garden offered a real textural treat.

As I walked through the space, I brushed past plants like Sanguisorba canadensis ‘Candlelight’ (American burnet).

I love squatting down around tall perennials and looking up. It makes you feel like a kid again with such tall vegetation around you.

One last shot from visiting Intrinsic Perennials. I loved how nature had reclaimed some of the Quonset huts at the back of the property. Sure, they could be mowed, but these asters and various other wildflowers help to support life at the nursery.

New and Mature Gravel Gardens by Jeff Epping

A few weeks ago I had the privilege of traveling to Madison, Wisconsin to speak to the Wisconsin Hardy Plant Society. My friend Jeff Epping offered to show me around the day of the presentation. If you don't know Jeff, he is the retired director of Horticulture from Olbrich Botanical Gardens. He has risen to prominence for his design work with gravel gardens, and really he is one of the foremost experts on this approach to planting in the US.

Gravel gardening has gained interest in recent years due to the desire to have a beautiful naturalistic garden with limited maintenance due to reduced weed pressure. The upfront costs are more expensive, but corporations, cities, and campuses can actually save money in the long run with these planting approaches.

Ultimately a layer of gravel—preferably an angular gravel—is put on top of the soil, and then plants are planted into that. Because the gravel layer introduces stress against competitors, more species are usually able to be planted in a gravel garden and survive over time. I should also clarify that gravel gardens are not the same as the rock mulch you see in gas stations and fast food restaurants.

Jeff took me to see a newly planted gravel garden at the Madison Parks Lakeside Offices that was just installed in the summer of 2024, and one at Olbrich Botanical Gardens that was planted in 2014. I think it’s helpful to see photos of a fresh planting and one that has had time to mature, so enjoy the comparison photos below.

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Madison Parks Lakeside Offices

Jeff noted that while space between the grit was visible now, it would fill in.

Eryngium yuccifolium (rattlesnake master) and Liatris ligulistylis (northern blazingstar) are a good emergent layer for the gravel garden.

Even this little strip next to the parking lot featured a gravel garden planting.

Dalea purpurea (purple prairie clover) was in bloom in the garden.

A dried Allium (wild onion) umbel offers late season interest.

I noted how richly colored the Bouteloua curtipendula (side-oats grama) were in the gravel garden. I love their safety cone orange-colored stamens.

A close-up of the grit that Jeff uses. It's a quartzite material and doesn't decompose and has limited fines to reduce weed growth.

Jeff commented how they didn't want the whole area to be a gravel garden. So, they did a Sporobolus heterolepis (prairie dropseed) meadow.

Sporobolus catches the early light. I noted how much taller and lusher prairie dropseed is in Wisconsin than in Texas.

Sporobolus heterolepis (prairie dropseed) glimmers in the morning light.

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The Entrance Gravel Garden at Olbrich Botanical Gardens

This gravel garden is over ten years old and features a healthy mix of herbaceous plants. Silphium terebinthinaceum (prairie dock) was such a prominent species in the gravel garden with its bold foliage and tall inflorescences.

Liatris ligulistylis (northern blazingstar) blooms among other gravel garden companions.

A painted sign shares how wonderful Silphium terebinthinaceum (prairie dock) is as a plant.

Euphorbia corollata (flowering spurge) is a dynamic filler for late summer and early fall color.

A bee hotel provides nesting habitat and an educational opportunity for visitors.

Liatris ligulistylis (northern blazingstar) pops out of the gravel garden.

The effervescence of Calamintha (calamint) is a foil for the seedheads of Echinacea (purple coneflower).

A distance shot of the gravel garden gives an overview of the growth habit of many perennials.

If you want to learn more about gravel gardens, my next post in two weeks will feature another planting Jeff installed at Epic Campus. Stay tuned!

Holes in Plantings

Layered plantings aren't magic. They're a system. In my next Botanic Bootcamp session on September 29 at 6pm CDT, I'll show you exactly how to stack plants like nature does. Register here for $10 off!

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Every gardener dreads seeing them—those gaping bare patches where thriving plants once grew. Sure, gaps can be problems in block style planting where many plants are planted together. While I thought my matrix-style planting approach would protect me from this common problem, I'm now staring at my first significant hole. It’s about 5 feet by 5 feet (header image).

What used to be here? As I mentioned a few weeks ago, I’ve lost Pycnathemum tenuifolium (narrow-leaf mountain mint) in the beds near the house.  I’ve gone from it being a very dominant plant in the seasonal layer just a few years ago to it being virtually absent.  

The clumps used to be so thick they’d appear as dense sheets of rhizomes in winter. But, I’ve been pulling stems out by the handful this summer. Pycnanthemum is not typically a species that has a groundcover layer underneath, so when it’s gone, bare soil is left behind.  

A photo from 6 years ago showing how dense the Pycnanthemum tenuifolium (narrow-leaf mountain mint) was in the garden.

I’ve been pondering why I’ve lost them in the hopes I can replace this species one day.

• Has the soil acidity started to shift back to more acidic?  I’m going to do a soil test on this area to see.  

• Have things started to dry out too much for it?  Nah, we’ve had one of the wettest years I can remember.  Plus, I know Pycnanthemum can grow in gravel gardens and green roofs.  

• Are voles to blame?  Why eat mountain mint, something that anecdotally they tend to avoid and not the Echinacea mere feet away?  

• Has disease wiped it out?  Perhaps, but small rhizomes that I found and potted up have good new life.  

These why questions are one thing, but more important is if a species doesn’t work anymore, what do we do?

We need to identify suitable replacements.  The desire to try something new after a gap appears in the garden is always a strong urge for a gardener, but in this style of planting, too much diversity can make things look disjointed.

I’m looking at the rest of the garden for inspiration and thinking of something that will offer long season interest. If there are plants already thriving in this space, that means they will likely help patch this hole.

The autumn flowers of Boltonia diffusa (southern doll’s daisy)

I added Boltonia diffusa (southern doll’s daisy) to these beds last year, and they have looked stellar this fall. They have fine foliage in the spring, and they turn into a haze of white flowers come late summer and autumn. This plant would be a great contender for the hole as I’ve already been asking how can I have more of this species. For the spring, Phlox pilosa ‘Bonnie’s Pink’ provides good color. I can interplant the Phlox and Boltonia together, and the Phlox will go dormant in the summer before the Boltonia comes into flower.

Conoclinium coelestinum (mist flower) has also provided good color this fall.

Fortunately, the disappearance of the mountain mint in the other beds is less evident.  Rhizomatous Conoclinium coelestinum (mist flower) that I initially regretted planting for its aggressiveness has filled the spaces where the Pycnanthemum originally was.  That ultimately is one of the goals of this style of planting, to heal gaps as they occur. And, my mindset on mist flower has changed. One lesson I’ve learned in Texas is that sometimes you have to celebrate the plants that can live here no matter what.  

If you’re dealing with similar issues, remember those gaping bare patches don't have to be garden failures. They can be great opportunities for the garden to evolve.

Conoclinium coelestinum and Boltonia diffusa (back) provide color in the garden in autumn.

Martha Stewart's Skylands

If you’re a southerner, there’s no better place to be in July than in Maine. And, if you’re standing in a magical moss-filled forest with a castle of a house nearby a few hundred feet off the coast it’s even better.

That’s where I found myself about a month ago at Skylands, the summer home of Martha Stewart. My family and I had just pulled in to meet my friend Pat Cullina; Martha’s Skylands assistant Emilee; and Martha’s head gardener Mike Harding. Pat told me how amazing the horticulture and house were at Skylands and suggested that while I was speaking for the Beatrix Farrand Society in Maine I should see if I could visit. Of course I could have never dreamed just how wonderful this place could be.

If you’re unfamiliar with Skylands, the house was built by Ford Motor Company president Edsel Ford and his wife Eleanor. They had architect Duncan Candler design the 12-room house, and Mike told us that it just celebrated its 100th anniversary.

The forest floor was carpeted with moss.

We started by walking a quiet path through the woods to a small lost pool. Mike shared that Jens Jensen had designed the landscape around the house and had installed two lost pools, this being one of them. Mike talked about getting it ready to fill before Martha’s arrival in August.

A lost pool that Jens Jensen designed just waiting to be filled

As we walked further, Mike discussed the work that goes into keeping the moss in good shape by clearing the leaves, the efforts to keep the roads clean, and how the gravel has to be freshened every year because of the snow loads and plowing. We walked over to check out a new pool being built on the footprint of an old house. With the view in the distance, it’s going to be spectacular once complete. And, along the path we admired beautiful Kalmia latifolia (mountain laurel) that graced us with their blooms and the fallen art of petals underneath.

Kalmia latifolia (mountain laurel) in full bloom

I just love the fallen art these Kalmia latifolia create, and the thin rill is a nice touch.

A few mountain laurel flowers caught on fern fronds.

The view of Seal Harbor from an open spot at Skylands

We then walked down to the carriage house to see the cut flower garden. Raspberries grew near the building, and nearby was a greenhouse and an incredible stone outdoor lobster cooker. Mike paused just outside the cut flower garden to show us the moss he had collected. He uses pieces of nature he finds on the property to arrange ornate displays for the house whenever visitors come by.

My first outdoor lobster cooker I’ve seen. I don’t think I’ll ever see a better one!

The raspberry trellis near the stables was a clever idea for growing fruit for easy access.

Mike’s collection of moss and lichen for indoor creations

Mike opened the gate, and we found the cut flower garden in full production, with glorious Delphinium (delphinium), Zinnia (zinnia), Digitalis (foxglove), Dianthus (pinks), and other flowers coming into bloom. I also noted the beautiful trellising of cucumbers on the side of the house. He briefly took us into the stables, where horses were once kept, along with some of Martha’s carriages and other collections—all protected under white-draped sheets.

A collection of flowers just outside the cut flower garden

I loved the color echo between the Borago officinalis (borage) and Papaver (poppy).

Delphinium and Digitalis were in full bloom in the cut flower garden.

A row of Dianthus (pinks) with lilies in bud behind.

I loved seeing this neat and ordered cut flower patch with Rudbeckia (black-eyed susan) and Zinnia (zinnia) just coming into bloom.

Cucumbers find their way upward on this rustic wooden trellis.

From there, we made our way toward the house along a path freshly covered in pine needles. Along the way, we noticed a miniature grove of Amanita mushrooms. Mike paused to show us the playhouse, complete with a pool table, squash court, and more. From there, we walked up toward the main house and saw the guest house and surrounding grounds. A little trail of lights led to the guest house, which must look wonderful at dusk.

Mike Harding pauses to inspect the fresh layer of clean pine needles being put on a path.

A little forest of warm-colored and potentially toxic Amanita mushrooms grow out of moss

Near the house, ferns and other wildflowers grow in abundance.

Mike and Pat both were commenting that the stonework at Skylands is some of the best you’ll see in Maine.

A view from the backside of Skylands where the house is just coming into view.

What a quaint path with little lights to guide walkers in the dark to the guest house.

Mike then showed us through a deer gate to a set of stairs that let us onto a lower platform where Rodgersia (rodgersia) and ferns lined the edges. He commented that deer had figured out how to climb the stairs! So the gate was a necessity.

Climbing the stairs with Rodgersia (rodgersia) and fern foliage provides perspective of the lower path below

We emerged onto a platform with plentiful foliage plants like Hosta (plantain lily), Actaea (baneberry), Rodgersia, and ferns. In the center was the beautiful statue La Riviere by Aristide Maillol, and the nearby Vaccinium (blueberries) shrubs echoed the statue’s color with their pewter blue foliage. It was here that I really started getting a sense of the color palette around the house at Skylands—a myriad of greens with blue, purple, maroons, grays, and pops of yellow mixed in.

La Riviere by Aristide Maillol rests amongst a host of colorful interesting foliage plants

Looking down on the beautiful foliage.

Mike then led us down a stone path where a collection of various conifers were planted. Mike explained how they’ve worked to balance the perfect amount of blue and green foliage in the planting. With the stonework and the ground layer vegetation, this garden looked like it had been plucked out of the Maine woods and plopped down right next to the house.

The conifer garden just off the terrace provides good texture.

From here, Mike took us to the front of the house at Skylands. He pointed out an area that had been planted with moss that was collected in the forest nearby. It had this interesting tapestry appearance as it began to grow and weave together.

Mike commented on how he planted this moss to help cover a bare spot.

At the front of the house was a circular drive where a variety of shrubs were planted. What struck me most about Skylands was how nature comes right up to the house. I mentioned this to Mike, and he said that’s exactly what they want visitors to feel—that there’s no disconnect between the house and nature.

Kalmia, Cotinus (smoke bush), and other plants add character to the rock cliffs near the welcome circular drive planting of the appropriately named Picea orientalis ‘Skylands’ and Dennstaedtia punctilobula (hay-scented fern).

I admired how nature came right up to the house at Skylands.

Verdant foliage on the west terrace gave a tropical feel to the Maine woods.

Mike then took us through the west terrace where tropicals in containers made us feel we were somewhere more tropical than the rugged coast of Maine. We then walked onto the back patio of Skylands where the color palette of a strong blend of neutrals using a myriad of greens with blues, grays, purples, and splashes of yellow added in here and there continued.

The back terrace was gorgeous. There was the perfect amount of plantings while also having plenty of space to entertain. Pat commented how Martha also really liked to collect concrete planters.

Another glimpse showing the plantings around the house and the intricacy of the windows.

The back planters had reached their summer crescendo and filled in nicely.

Mike then walked us behind the house to show us another one of Jens Jensen’s lost pools. It was here that I found myself once again admiring how nature had been allowed to creep right up to the house. From there, we said our goodbyes and thanked Mike for his time.

After I returned home, I would read what journalist Karl Schriftgiesser wrote about Skylands in 1926. “The purpose was not to make a prepossessing place . . . belittling its neighbors in its grandeur. … The purpose was to blend the house with the hill, to make the two as much the part of each other as it is possible to combine a man-made affair with nature.” I thought that quote nicely summed up my experience to Skylands, and I’m so happy to see that Martha and her team continue that tradition to this day.

If we could all take that inspiration to make our homes and gardens appear like “a man-made affair with nature,” wouldn’t the world be a much better place?

One final view back at Skylands. Don’t you love how it feels like nature embraces the house?

Inspiration and Lessons from Skylands

Skylands is a big place. But, there’s still some inspiration we can apply at home. Here are a few ideas I took away from Skylands.

1. Let nature come up to your house. It’s okay to have trees, shrubs, wildflowers, and grasses close by. It doesn’t all need to be perfectly formal with meatballed shrubs. A bit of wildness adds beauty.

2. Look to nature for design inspiration. Whether it’s sticks, grasses, moss, or pinecones, you can bring the outdoors in. I’m already thinking of what can I use nearby to make arrangements more engaging in our home.

3. Always have something blooming in the cut-flower garden. I was inspired to grow more cut flowers after seeing Martha’s cut flower garden. It takes planning to make sure that something is always in bloom.

4. Enhance the nature around you. At Skylands, they clear leaves and pine needles to encourage moss. I’ve done something similar at home by making sure our moss patch out back isn’t smothered by autumn leaves. What can you do to the natural areas around you or in your yard that will help enhance an already beautiful nature? Maybe it’s ripping out invasives, sowing more wildflower seed, or clearing views?

5. Be generous. I never imagined I’d visit Martha Stewart’s summer home, but because of her and her staff’s generosity, I was able to. It reminds me that in our own gardens, we can share plants, share knowledge, and help each other grow. So, thank you, Martha, Mike, and all those who tend this magical place.

The Good, Bad, and Ugly of Summer

This summer hasn’t been too bad weather-wise here at Ephemera Farm.  I actually had to look at our weather station to see how many days we’ve broken 100°F.  Even this morning was 68°F.  

Normally, there comes a point where the spigot from the sky turns off, but this year that hasn’t happened.  We’ve had a regular amount of rain, minus a dry spell here and there. We have no drought, but there’s been an outbreak of fungal issues and weeds.  

Good years are just as helpful to evaluate the garden and see what thrives as bad years.  What can stand up with abundant rain and wet soil?  What flops?  What has clean foliage?  And, what looks like trash? I’ve learned every summer there inevitably will be the good, the bad, and the ugly. Some year, the categories plants fall into changes. Other years, it’s pretty consistent being good, bad, or ugly after July and August.

There are some plants I’ve learned go dormant regardless of the moisture level.  Early on as I was learning what would grow well in Texas, I assumed that plants prematurely halted growth with the summer dryness, but seeing decline followed by dormancy in wet years has changed my thinking.  

Take Baptisia for example.  Every year no matter how much rain we get, Baptisia alba (white wild indigo), Baptisia sphaerocarpa (yellow wild indigo), and Baptisia australis var. minor (dwarf wild indigo) usually go dormant in early August.  Phlox ‘Minnie Pearl’ (phlox), Stokesia laevis ‘Peachie’s Pick’ (Stokes’s aster), and Clematis reticulata (netleaf leather flower, header image) show a similar pattern. 

Baptisia alba

Stokesia laevis ‘Peachie’s Pick’

Phlox ‘Minnie Pearl’

While I know Piet Oudolf says brown is a color, too, this early in the season to have blacks and browns amongst so much green isn’t welcome.  We still have 90 days until frost and our show of asters, sunflowers, and salvia to come.  So, where the necrosis detracts, I prune it out to freshen the garden.  

Some plants fade okay like Monarda stipitatoglandulosa (Ouachita bee balm) and Eryngium yuccifolium (rattlesnake master).  For the former, the brown seed heads are supported on mostly still green plants, and for the latter, there is still a good amount of green in the leaves and inflorescences.  

Monarda stipitatoglandulosa

And, then others like Symphyotrichum oblongifolium ‘Raydon’s Favorite’ (aromatic aster) look rough in these wet years.  The tips are green, but there’s a good amount of foliar dieback inside the plant.  I’m considering applying an organic fungicide next year to see if that would help.  

I have also focused on planting the good—more visually appealing plants at this time of the year to fill the gap.  We have height from the verdent seed capsules of Lilium formosanum (Formosan lily) that finished blooming just a few weeks ago, and the rains have spurred on a second flush of Hymenocallis occidentalis var. eulae (summer spider lily) blooms.  

Hymenocallis occidentalis var. eulae

Silphium perfoliatum (cup plant), Physostegia virginiana (obedient plant), and Boltonia diffusa (doll’s daisy) all look stellar with no issues with foliage.  Silphium has bloomed all summer, Physostegia got started flowering in mid-July and still goes, and Boltonia foliage haze is just starting to show some of its darling flowers.  

Boltonia diffusa

But, there are still gaps. The spring is so verdent with good ground coverage.  I keep thinking that I’ve done a good job closing the gap, but then August comes and I’m wondering why is everything bare under this Baptisia?

Part of the gap could be I’m losing plants.  My dense clumps of Pycnanthemum tenuifolium (narrow-leaf mountain mint) have slowly been disappearing, and I’ve lost two Stokesia.  My suspicion is voles, which is odd for them to go after mints.  But, I also ponder if I have a root fungal disease that is becoming problematic.  I go to pull on the Stokesia, roots are still in the ground, but it looks like they’ve just rotted.

If you have any ideas of the cause, please pass them along.  For now, I’m planning on what to plant in these spots when cooler weather arrives. It won’t be long now.

Inspiration from Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens

One of the highlights of summer was spending a few days in Maine away from the sweltering heat of the southeast. If you go to Maine, you have to go visit Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens. Many horticulturists will tell you this garden is one of their favorites on the east coast and it doesn’t take long to see why.

There are 300 acres located along the rugged coast of Maine, and 17 acres feature more developed gardens and plantings. It had been 13 years since I last visited, and much had changed since my visit. Karen, Magnolia, and my parents joined me, and it was fun to see the garden through their eyes, too. I took plenty of photos during our visit to share with you for inspiration. Enjoy this vicarious trip to see the garden!

LERNER GARDEN OF THE FIVE SENSES

We were fortunate to have Andy Brand, director of horticulture, show us around for a bit and provide more context for things we saw in the garden. For example, he told us that the entrance to the garden and parking lot was totally different than when I first visited in 2012!

The Lerner Garden of Five Senses is designed to provide experiences for the five senses. This pavilion offered opportunities with therapeutic horticulture. There was this wonderfully arranged ergonomic tool shelf inside.

I loved these vertical gardens made from lobster traps. They allow people of diverse learning styles to understand how to grow plants.

The area focused on sight featured beautiful layered plantings and interesting textures and colors.

A close up of some of the interesting colors and textures in the five senses garden.

Further in the garden, water heightened the experience in the area for hearing.

In the area for touch was this wonderful tactile labyrinth. Notice how the stones are larger on the outside, and as you approach the center, they become smaller. Andy said people take their shoes off and walk it to feel the stone size change.

CHILDREN’S GARDEN

The children’s garden at Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens is one of the best I’ve visited. The plantings are incredible, and there’s whimsy everywhere.

In the cottage garden, they made the fence fun by cutting out cat faces for the tops.

Another shot of the cat face fence. I just love the cottage garden feels.

I thought these little concrete pillars were cute in the children’s garden. The color echo with the Astilbe (false goat’s beard) and Hosta (hosta) flowers was a nice touch.

The maze lawn in the children’s garden allows for a usual patch of turf to have more whimsy.

Don’t you love the green roof on this shed in the children’s garden?

Scattered around the garden were these incredible wooden trolls. The chair gives a sense of how large Roskva is.

Lilja was another troll that we found in the woods. Free hugs from a ~15 foot tall wooden troll!

OTHER SIGHTS AROUND THE GARDEN

Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens has made an effort to engage with indigenous artists. The Native Guide Project: CMBG, an art installation by Anna Tsouhlarakis, from one angle featured raised grassy knolls…

…but on the other side you could see these were middens made of oyster shells and rocks with words carved in them. I loved this quote, “I love how you listen when the land speaks.”

Another indigenous artist installation called Eci-Mahsosiyil/Fiddleheads by Shane Perley-Dutcher featured these interpretations of fiddlehead ferns that appear rising from this naturalistic planting.

Another fun highlight was this native butterfly house. It was a hoophouse covered with netting that had native plants for butterflies and their larvae inside. This structure helped to highlight the plants we can use in our landscapes to provide resources for insects.

I was impressed by the hard work of the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens staff and volunteers. They were out in force when we visited. This gentleman was deadheading Cosmos (cosmos).

Another favorite sculpture was these rebar deer by Wendy Klemperer. Let’s be honest. This type of deer is the only kind we want in our gardens!

And, I loved this creative installation of words made and painted. My guess is they used silicone to write the text and then painted over them.

THE PLANTS AT COASTAL MAINE BOTANICAL GARDENS

And, we saw some wonderful plantings at Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens. Even before we got inside we found this lovely bed of lilies, what I believe to be Lychnis × arkwrightii 'Vesuvius' (catchfly), and Asclepias tuberosa ‘Mellow Yellow’ (butterfly milkweed).

This beautiful planting of Heuchera (coral bells), Astilbe, Baptisia (wild indigo), and more offered a variety of colors and textures.

Cornus kousa ‘Schmred’ HEART THROB (kousa dogwood) were just finishing their bloom and looked riveting with their pink bracts.

I always love seeing interesting cultivars of underused plants. ‘Silberstein’ is a speckled selection of Phytolacca americana or pokeweed!

I loved this sunny mass of Oenothera tetragona (northern sundrops).

The Delphinium (delphinium) were in full bloom during our visit. You won’t see these in Texas!

A smorgasbord of annuals provide great color near the arbor garden.

I really liked this blocked perennial planting of Monarda (bee balm), Penstemon (beardtongue), Allium (onion), and Pycnanthemum (mountain mint) near the great lawn.

The fragrance from Asclepias syriacus (common milkweed) was so good in Maine. We saw Monarchs dancing above the lawn nearby.

Near the children’s garden there was this thick patch of competitive species. It provided a great natural fence between the children’s garden and this gravel path.

THE PARKING LOT

One of my favorite parts of Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens was even before we entered the garden. The plantings in the parking were thickly planted in a naturalistic style.

Even though the plantings were wild, there was still an order and repetition to them, which helped convey legibility.

In this wilder area, patches of color from Asclepias tuberosa ‘Mellow Yellow’ and what I believe to be a silvery species of Pycnanthemum communicated purpose with the planting.

As people leave the garden, how can they not smile from seeing Asclepias tuberosa ‘Mellow Yellow’?

40 Lessons from 40 Years

I turn 40 this coming week, and life so far has been a fun ride. I thought the first 30 years were great, but the past 10 years have been marvelous. We got married, bought a house, and had a kid (let’s be honest, that’s been the best part!). My passion for plants has been recognized with features in The NY Times and Horticulture magazine, and I’ve been asked to give 70+ lectures around the country. And, I have a garden now that I can call my own. Sure, at times it’s a bit weedy or a bit hot and dry as it seems to be each year around my birthday, but it is such a joy to be able to walk outside and see ideas growing into existence.

I saw where thought leader Justin Welsh had shared for his birthday a list of lessons learned over the years. So, here’s 40 ideas that I’ve learned in my 40 years that I use on a regular basis in my planting practice.

1. Pulling soil off the top of the rootball and putting it in the bottom of the planting hole can help to reduce introducing weed seeds to new plantings.

2. On weeds, one year’s seeding means seven years weeding.

3. If your garden has coherence, complexity, legibility, and mystery, you’re off to a great start.

4. Beth Chatto told me about right plant, right place when I visited her in 2010. It was an eye opening way to think about how to plant.

5. Foliage (and sometimes seedheads) lasts longer than flowers.

6. Steven Pressfield’s Resistance finds us in the garden, too. It’s easier to see once it has a name.

7. Every plant has its moment. Learn what that moment is and ask how can you help it shine?

8. Check your biases against a plant (unless it is invasive as all get out). You may be overlooking some great ones.

9. The landscape tells a story. Listen and ask what can you do to tell it better?

10. It's okay to let go of plants that don't thrive.

11. “Stress is an asset.” — Thomas Rainer and Claudia West

12. Be the bison and introduce disturbance to your garden.

13. Maybe we should focus on making plants healthier to resist pests than kill them as messengers (From Eliot Coleman in The New Organic Grower).

14. Flame weeding is very helpful for keeping the kitchen garden clean. Safety first!

15. Keep growing. Even 1% better compounds.

16. Plant in communities and layers, not in isolation.

17. Having your own spot to trial plants before you use them on a larger scale is priceless.

18. Simplify.

19. It’s ok for things to get eaten. Remember you’re supporting biodiversity. Ok, except by deer. Motion sprinkler for the win.

20. Make edges. Where two habitats meet is where magic happens.

21. Automating watering is smart and even better if it is drip.

22. Have a way for capturing ideas and memories in the garden—a notepad, an app, photographs, and/or a recorder. Some of your best ideas come to you when weeding.

23. Visit gardens and make friends with people in other areas. You’ll be surprised what you learn.

24. Stress and disturbance have led plants to evolve three growth strategies—competitors, stress tolerators, and ruderals. Once you learn the traits, you can’t unsee these three strategies.

25. Mother Nature hates bare soil. Cover it yourself, or she’ll cover it for you.

26. Spinach survived 9°F under cover for me. Some cool-season crops are quite hardy and can survive winter cold with season extension.

27. Compost and leaf mold are two of the best free things on the planet.

28. With clean lines you can let things go a little wild.

29. Explore natural areas and look for lessons that you can bring home to your garden and your designs.

30. When all else fails, add more grasses and sedges.

31. Emulate nature.

32. “Brown is also a color.” — Piet Oudolf

33. Collect seed when you have the thought. Don’t say I’ll do that tomorrow. They’ll be gone.

34. Design with winter in mind first.

35. Plants have a natural way they arrange themselves. Try to visualize their arrangement in your head and ask if they look right?

36. Plant native when possible.

37. It’s your garden, and it’s ok to garden differently.

38. Maximize the seasonal interest.

39. If you roll hoses in a figure 8 shape, you can reduce kinks.

40. “Laughing brains are more absorbent.” — Alton Brown