Oenothera heterophylla | sandhill evening primrose

We have been blessed with rain of late, three inches the past few weeks. You never know with the first full week of summer. Some years it starts dry and parched, but this year the garden looks full and lush with the rain. We celebrate every little bit, as we know from years past that soon the spigot in the sky will slow.

The plants in our garden relish the rain, too. The annuals and ruderals respond even more vigorously with the ample moisture. Take Oenothera heterophylla (sandhill evening primrose) for example. They normally are shorter, but with the precipitation and fertility they are fuller in our garden than what I see in the wild.

The sweet flowers of Oenothera heterophylla (sandhill evening primrose)

This species is a new one for me to grow over the past couple of years. I have long loved evening primroses for their crepuscular habits and wanted to find one that would work for me here in east Texas. Growing up in Tennessee, I grew Oenothera biennis (common evening primrose) and would marvel at the flowers opening in the gloaming; however, this species hasn’t done as well here for me in Texas.

But, driving in the mornings, my watchful eye saw some type of evening primrose dotting the back roads and fence rows with their bright flowers, and I figured they would be a good option for trying in my garden. Finally, I found a spot where the mowers missed the plants, and I revisited it come autumn for seed. They germinated well, and I planted them in multiple spots like I often do new-to-me species to see where they would like best.

It seems they in the classic ruderal sense prefer open exposed soil because that’s where they have returned this year. I also discovered that while I thought I had found Oenothera rhombipetala (four-point evening primrose), it was a different species. Now that I’ve had the chance to grow them on, I’ve realized they key out to Oenothera heterophylla.

During the heat of the day, they don’t look like much in the garden. And, let’s be honest, I don’t either. But in the evenings and mornings is when they shine. I can see them just start to open from the kitchen window in the coming twilight as I’m finishing the dishes, and after the final walk of the night it really is something to see them with the light of the waxing moon. The next morning, I enjoy the same flowers as their pale yellow petals reflect the radiance of the sun just clearing the horizon.

I’ve timed that their flowers start opening around 8:40 PM. The little satellite dishes unfurl and start scanning for whatever terrestrial life might find the flowers during the night. Evening primroses tend to be pollinated by moths, and it seems like if that’s not effective enough then the bees can pick up the shift once the sun rises. But they have to be quick since the flowers are normally closed and wilted by noon.

I enjoy seeing Oenothera heterophylla in the morning as the open flowers stretch over our vegetable patch fence.

Many Oenothera species have viscin threads, an interesting pollination syndrome where pollen is housed on thin threads that can adhere to pollinators. They are also host plants to moth species. This spring, I found a chunky white-lined sphinx moth that wriggled as I weeded the vegetation underneath, and I put it back to let it continue developing.

The sandhill evening primroses will bloom for the next several weeks now as we head into the dog days of summer. And after, I’ll leave the seedheads to persist into the winter. Their dark capsules contrast with our lighter tan colors. The great thing is you never know where they might end up.

I also had one pop up near our vegetable garden beds, and of course I couldn’t bring myself to pull it. It’s now blooming right next to sunflowers and pumpkins.

You’ll see the viscin threads if you look closely at the stamens emerging from the petals of Oenothera heterophylla. They look like little cobwebs dotted with yellow pearls.

I paused to appreciate the flowers early the other morning of this vagabond, and as I was taking a photograph, a brown-winged striped sweat bee hovered over a flower and landed to enjoy the pollen.

And, I think that’s the joy of having these self-sowing natives in our gardens. If we plant them, the insects will come. Often to our delight and joy, unexpectedly bringing a smile to our face.

Brown-winged striped sweat bee climbs to enjoy the pollen on Oenothera heterophylla.

A Few Favorite Pollinator Plants

With pollinator week upon us, I wanted to share some of my favorite plants in my garden that I have for the creatures that share our garden. If you’re looking for some options to create a more welcoming space, these plants are a great start.

Glandularia canadensis (rose vervain)

This native ground cover is one of the first flowers to bloom in our garden. Some years, it starts as early as February, and it usually finishes in early April. The rest of the year, the local selections tend to not bloom much. Out of bloom they weave themselves along the ground in our plantings, and I don’t see them until I do our cutback in midwinter. It’s always a delight to see where this ground cover has moved next.

I’m keen on the selection ‘Kathy’s Kandy’ from Tennessee. The brighter pink flowers appear around 10–11 months in our garden, which is quite a feat!

Glandularia canadensis (rose vervain)

Vaccinium virgatum (rabbiteye blueberry)

We love blueberries for eating, but they are great native shrubs to plant. I adore their dainty light pink flowers in the spring and their fiery autumn foliage later in the season. Why more gardeners don’t plant them for their beauty and bounty I don’t know.

They also support early native bees. But, there’s a trick! The bees must sonicate to access the pollen from the plants.

After learning about the southeastern miner bee’s preferences from this UGA guide, I’m going to plant Lupinus subcarnosus (sandyland bluebonnet) next to them next year. They also loved our Streptanthus maculatus (clasping jewelflower), so I’ll plant that nearby, too.

Vaccinium virgatum (rabbiteye blueberry) with Southeastern Blueberry Bee

Phlox pilosa (prairie phlox)

Phlox pilosa starts flowering for us in early March and goes through early May. It seeds around and spreads via rhizomes, so it’s always fun to see where it will appear next.

‘Bonnie’s Pink’ is a wonderfully floriferous selection that the swallowtails seem to enjoy a bit more just from observations I’ve made. As a plant it seems to be more dense and a little more upright over the wild types.

Phlox pilosa ‘Bonnie’s Pink’ (prairie phlox)

Baptisia alba (white wild indigo)

Baptisia is one of my favorite genera, hands down. I adore the fabulously fabaceous flowers that come in blue, purple, yellow, white, and more now with the hybrids.

As the season progresses, the seeds will turn black and be held above the foliage. And, then they go dormant for us in August. I cut some back, but I leave them where we want to enjoy the pods during the winter.

The foliage serves as a host plant for a number of butterflies. And, there’s this really cool pollination syndrome that occurs between Baptisia and bees. Baptisia flowers are perfect, meaning they have both male and female parts. The flowers when they first open are male, and the stamens are loaded with pollen. As the flowers age the female pistil becomes active and they have more nectar.

Flowers open from the bottom to the top on an inflorescence. Bees will start with the lower female, nectar-rich flowers and as they move up to the younger flowers they have more pollen. They get covered with fresh pollen and then they move to the lower flowers on the next inflorescence on the same plant or a different one. The pollen can then be deposited on the pistil and pollination occurs. How cool.

Baptisia alba (wild white indigo) with an American Bumble Bee

Asclepias viridis (green milkweed)

Our most plentiful milkweed locally is Asclepias viridis. Every year when the Monarchs come through they find these shoots emerging and lay little white eggs on the foliage.

It seeds around decently as well. And, I’ve noticed over the years after the roadside mowers come through in the summer and cut them back, these plants will actually bounce back well in July and August after we have a good rain.

Asclepias viridis (green milkweed)

Penstemon digitalis (foxglove beardtongue)

We see a number of bees and hummingbirds flock to our Penstemon digitalis in the spring as they bloom right as the Baptisia are finishing up. There are a number of cultivar selections, but I’m happy with my locally sourced white-flowered form.

Penstemon digitalis (foxglove beardtongue) with Ruby-throated Hummingbird

Pycnanthemum sp. (mountain mint)

Mountain mints are pollinator powerhouses. The name comes from the Greek “pyknos” meaning dense and “anthos” meaning flowers. So, these clustered blooms on flat landing surfaces make it easy for insects to enjoy this plant. It’s like the plant turns an open sign on around 10 am because the bees, wasps, flies, butterflies, and more will flock to the large clumps.

Sadly, I’ve started to have an issue where my Pycnanthemum tenuifolium (narrow-leaf mountain mint) are dying out, due to a combination of voles and root rot. So, I’m turning to the more rugged Pycnanthemum muticum (clustered mountain mint). It’s thriving in our garden soils, and while it can be aggressive, it really deserves wider use. Just this week we’ve been enjoying the haze of pollinators above our clumps.

Pycnanthemum muticum (clustered mountain mint)

Celosia spicata (spiked celosia)

A research report out of UGA showed that Celosia spicata had the highest pollinator visits in their trial of plants for southern pollinators. Sure, as Heather Holm and I discussed on the podcast, they may just be visiting it for nectar, but I value it in our cut flower garden and know that it’s doing some good along the way.

Celosia spicata ‘Ruby Parfait’ (spiked celosia)

Eryngium yuccifolium (rattlesnake master)

Penn State conducted a pollinator trial years ago, and they found that Eryngium yuccifolium (rattlesnake master) was one of the best plants for attracting pollinators. During the growing season, I love the glaucous blue foliage and stems that emerge in midsummer. Once winter comes, I enjoy the dark seedheads that hover above the grays and tans of our garden beds.

Eryngium yuccifolium (rattlesnake master)

Passiflora incarnata (passion flower)

When I see my passion flowers with hardly a leaf left on them, I know they are making some caterpillars very happy. We delight in seeing the brightly colored Gulf Fritillaries in summer and autumn. A few years ago, I stood on our porch and counted 24 of them dancing above the late-season flowers. And, as a bonus the flowers are also great about attracting bees in our garden.

These plants can be aggressive, so I would site them somewhere you’re ok with it spreading. I have the hybrid ‘Incense’ on a back fence.

Passiflora ‘Incense’ (passion flower)

Silphium perfoliatum (cup plant)

My Silphium perfoliatum (cup plant) came from Stoneleigh in Pennsylvania, and it has been dynamite for pollinators flocking to the flowers here in east Texas. Ours bloom for at least two months through June into August. I also love its haunting black stems and leaves in the winter.

Silphium perfoliatum (cup plant)

Physostegia virginiana (obedient plant)

If you’ve grown obedient plant, then you know it’s anything but. Sure, the name comes from the phenomenon where if you move a flower it will stay in that position, but this plant can vigorously spread in a bed if left to its own devices.

However, I love having this plant in my garden because three summers ago when we had 36 days over 100 ºF with a drought, it flowered every day. In the mornings, I would watch jet-black Southern Carpenter Bees work the flowers. Just find somewhere to put it on a back fence or ditch and let it go wild.

Physostegia virginiana (obedient plant)

Helianthus angustifolius (swamp sunflower)

Sunflowers are lovely to enjoy in the latter half of the year, and we grow both annual and perennial types. One that thrives maybe a little too well in our garden is Helianthus angustifolius. The inflorescences can get over my head by the end of the summer, and when they bloom on an October day, they are truly stunning to see.

It will seed around and can be very rhizomatous, so just use caution where you site it. A back corner, edge habitat, or side ditch would be perfect. Besides the flowers, bees also use the stems for rearing young.

Helianthus angustifolius (swamp sunflower)

Symphyotrichum sp. (aster)

Asters as a whole are considered a keystone species that support a number of caterpillars. And, the flowers are also valuable resources for end-of-season pollinators. I often see swarms above mine as the season is wrapping up. Also, the center disk of many asters will change color as the flowers age and lose pollinator power.

One of my top asters is Symphyotrichum lanceolatum (panicled aster). This local find is one of the last species to flower in our garden, and it blooms longer than some other asters I have. The flowers are a light pinkish color, and Monarchs and other insects flock to it in bloom in November as one of the last flowers of the year. Yes, it is a bit rhizomatous, but they are easily pulled up. And, a late spring cut back keeps their height in check.

Symphyotrichum lanceolatum (panicled aster)

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KEEP GROWING

The Trial Beds

It happens to all of us. We plant large areas or pivotal spots with something wonderful and then failure occurs.

I’ve watched whole trays of Sporobolus heterolepis (prairie dropseed), selections of Veronicastrum virginicum (culver’s root), countless asters, and more die in my garden beds after planting. These plants could very well be considered reliable in other locales but not in my garden. Sure, sometimes it’s northern selections that can really struggle here, but even well adapted plants in the southeast in the wrong spot can fail, too.

You also no doubt have faced this challenge of knowing how a plant will grow on a site. If a plant is going to play a big role in your garden or design and it doesn’t perform well, that can create disappointment.

I have learned that having a small area of your own where you can evaluate plants before they are used across a site is very helpful. These trial areas can help you learn about a plant’s performance, growth habits, seasonal interest, and so much more. When a wild aster sends a shoot up 2 feet away you know it’s going to be a spreader, or if the plant just flops over that it may need a cut back prescribed as part of the yearly maintenance.

Many botanic gardens, growers, and horticulture companies have trial gardens to evaluate plants. These trials are large and comprehensive. They may feature many new plants that just came off the market or all plants of a particular genus like Chicago Botanic Garden and Mt. Cuba Center.

I have also heard of designers using trial areas. When I visited Hummelo years ago, Piet Oudolf had a nice section in the back where he had perennials arranged in nice neat rows.

Dan Pearson also wrote on Dig Delve about how when they were planting Hillside, they trialed plants like varieties of asters and Sanguisorba sp. (burnet) to see how they would perform on site before planting the garden. Dan also shared he’s using a similar approach for a new garden in Japan.

So, there’s nothing preventing you from having a small space off to the side to evaluate plants before they make their way into your plantings.

My trial areas came out of necessity for me early on. I got tired of watering rootbound containers on a daily basis. So, I planted an unused part of our fenced in patch area to get roots in the ground to reduce watering. The by product was that I could then learn that these trial beds were great for evaluating plants. I primarily do this with perennials, though I have trialed the odd shrub or two. Trees are too big for such areas, and they are more cumbersome to transplant afterward.

In these trial areas, I space plants 2 to 3 feet apart. If I know that they will grow larger, I might give them some more space and also tuck smaller things underneath. I don’t do any extra pampering like watering and fertilizing that I wouldn’t normally do to my garden beds. I do keep these spaces mulched so that I don’t have to deal with weeds as much. Also, I find that embracing repetition and putting a couple of multiples in the space helps it seem like it’s not just a hodge-podge of miscellaneous plants.

And, then when I’m ready to use the plant in my garden, I wait for it to go dormant, and relocate it to the desired space. Not everything that gets trialed gets used. Plants that die or that don’t rise to the occasion head to the compost pile.

It’s important to keep notes on such spaces. You need to write down identities of what is where because labels will be lost, pulled out by birds (yes, I’ve had this issue happen!), or plants will go dormant. Also, I try to note in these spaces when plants are in bloom. You can start discovering good color combinations from putting a myriad of plants together.

For example, this past spring, I replanted a trial area where I had been holding plants for the past several years. As it has filled in over the past few months, I’ve noticed an inadvertent plant palette beginning to appear.

Gladiolus dalenii ‘Boone’ (hardy gladiolus)

Achillea millefolium ‘Terracotta’

The bed has some robust clumps of Gladiolus dalenii ‘Boone’ (hardy gladiolus) that I haven’t found a good area for yet, and I noticed that the nearby Achillea millefolium ‘Terracotta’ has the same color as the flowers. I have an old-timey daylily that I believe to be ‘Hyperion’ that is an incredible flowering specimen. They are very near my collection of Rudbeckia alismifolia (rough coneflower). I also have had decent success so far with Dahlia ‘Cornel Bronze’ (dahlia) I bought at a garden show in South Carolina back this February.

Dahlia ‘Cornel Bronze’ (dahlia)

To continue the peach-orange-yellow colored theme, I have around 50 seedlings of local germplasm of Asclepias tuberosa (orange milkweed) waiting for their future spot that have just started to bloom. You see, these spaces can also be holding areas for growing on seedlings or small plants.

I also have Tridens flavus (purpletop tridens) that I started from seed to evaluate how they will do in a planting, and they are acting as a matrix of sorts to tie the whole space together.

I think that’s the beauty of these spaces is that there is so much to learn and discover by throwing some plants together. So, try a trial space in your own garden. Start killing the grass now so that the spot will be ready this fall or next spring. With such areas, you can’t help but win from learning about what plants will grow.

Rudbeckia maxima | giant coneflower

We are in the last weeks of spring, but it feels like summer is already here. The days are creeping into the 90’s, the late light with the moon this weekend means I’m out to 9 pm, Magnolia has us harvesting blackberries and blueberries twice a day, and seeds from the spring wildflowers are ripening and going into bags for drying.

And, the vegetation in our plantings is rising above the fading waves of color from spring. Some plants like Silphium (cup plant), Eutrochium (Joe Pye weed), and Eryngium (rattlesnake master) I don’t disturb as they ascend. Others like Cuphea micropetala (candy corn plant) and the various asters that are trying to flower I set back with a haircut before the days start to shorten here in a few weeks. That should be enough time for them to grow more foliage before autumn.

But, none of the soaring foliage can compare to the rockets of Rudbeckia maxima (giant coneflower) that rise in late spring. They have been soaring above our garden for the past few weeks.

Rudbeckia maxima is one of these rare perennials in the southeast that has a strong four-season presence. We enjoy the basal rosettes of foliage that emerge right after our winter cut back. The foliage is a gorgeous glaucous blue that rivals attractive hostas. Once weather warms, the stems start to elongate and produce the heads with bright yellow rays and chocolate-colored disks. After a few weeks, the flowers fade, and their seedheads can last into fall and winter. They usually drop their seeds, but the gray-stem contrails of their ascent still mark the sky.

In the late evening light the blue color of the leaves of Rudbeckia maxima really stands out.

Rudbeckia maxima serves to pull the eye skyward in our garden.

I don’t know why it took me so long to start using this native more prominently. I originally had them in a spot that got half day sun, and they flopped all over. I’ve moved them to the front of our patch where they can thrive and really help to pull the eye over the top of the plantings near the house. In more sun with drier soil they stay more upright. I would say their average height is around 6 feet tall, but one plant now measures 8 feet tall.

My plants came from just up the hill where they occur plentifully. Growing up we had one in our garden that my mom loved. Sadly, it faded away. I thought that perhaps it was a finicky plant, but after moving to Texas and seeing the fields and roadsides abundant, I’ve changed my mind.

Where they occur, I find them in groups. When Thomas Rainer visited years ago, we pulled off and discussed how we both thought it to be a plant of lower sociability. We both realized how well it worked in these larger groups. That’s the joy of seeing plants in the wild. From my observations over the years, it can have medium-to-high sociability and still look ok. Yes, the leaves can smother vegetation nearby, but I wouldn’t consider it a ground cover like high sociability plants can be. I also have to keep in mind that these fields and roadsides where I see it are modified habitats. There could be conditions in these spaces that allow them to occur more frequently.

Rudbeckia maxima thrives in a pasture. I doubt it is a favorite of the cattle.

Sure, you’ll find solitary plants here and there, but give a plant a few years, and the numbers will grow. I started with half a dozen plants and now I have an ample number to the point I had to start roguing seedlings. It has a unique strategy for dispersal. The tall inflorescence can fall to drop the seeds, and then they are a good distance away from the mother plant. Seedlings readily germinate, and within a year or two they are already sporting flowers. If you don’t want to wait on seed, you could propagate this plant from root cuttings. I’ve dug mature plants before only to discover a few weeks later new shoots arising from the roots.

I do have to deal with them flopping occasionally. The heads can become heavy. Usually there are enough shoots that I can prune out one or two that bend under the weight. However, sometimes I have to stake and tie the stems to keep them upright. Every year I tell myself I need to practice the perfect time to cut them back to keep them a bit shorter. In the wild, most stems have no trouble staying upright, but in my garden they can have a tendency to flop.

Maybe one day I’ll have larger patches of Rudbeckia maxima on the wilder parts of our property like this roadside colony?

I’m already looking to see where I can add more of this plant in my garden, and I hope after learning about the wonder of this plant you are, too. I’m going to plant some on the west side of the garden to balance their occurrence on the east side. And, I need to broadcast them along the wilder edges of our property. Who knows, maybe one day I could have groups just like I see up and down the road.

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KEEP GROWING

A Good Bog Burn

My heart sank when we drove around the corner and saw the rising sun filtering through the haze.  

“Wow, that’s pretty,” Andrew said.  

I said, “Yea, but that’s not fog.  It’s smoke.”

Andrew Bunting, a dear friend who was my boss during my 2008 internship at The Scott Arboretum and now works for the Pennsylvania Horticultural Society, was in town visiting. We had left before daylight had even thought of breaking and drove an hour and a half to see Sarracenia alata (pale pitcher plant) in the wild.  The bog in its spring glory is a horticultural sight to witness.

But, the smoke hovering like a gray blanket above the highway made me have serious doubts we would see any. My concern that this venture was a wasted trip grew when we turned onto the side road.  “Maybe it’s just limited to here,” I thought to myself.  But, the further I drove, I became more convinced they were probably all toast. The only hope would be the bog staying wet enough to stop the fire’s advance.  

We got to the last turn and drove the ash-covered dirt road through the smoldering Pinus palustris (longleaf pine) forest.  It was likely burned just a couple of days before. When we got in sight of the first pitchers, I was relieved.  The bog hadn’t totally burned! My perspective shifted once I realized that we still had some plants alive.  This burn would give me a chance to document disturbance on our southeastern plant communities.  

And, I was being shortsighted and not thinking of the benefits of fire to the plant community as a whole. Many of these southeastern plant communities co-evolved with fire and need to be burned occasionally for maximum health and diversity.

God rays are more prominent with the haze of smoke in this Pinus palustris (longleaf pine) forest.

We got out of my Tacoma with the shafts of light filtering through the pines, and Andrew pulled out his phone to check bird songs with Merlin. We heard a Hooded Warbler, and then my ear heard something I hadn’t heard in years—a Northern Bobwhite. I had been to the bog a half dozen times, and I never paused to pay attention to our feathered friends.

We made our way into the clearing by the powerline to see the first big community of pitchers and saw the edge of where fire burned (header image). Some pitchers were still verdant and green, but others were bleached by the fire.

A healthy unburned stand of Sarracenia alata. The flowers had just finished blooming.

But, nearby we also saw scorched earth. While it looks bad, I’m sure these plants are already rebounding.

Will a fly still enter a dead trap?!

From here we made our way into the larger woodland area of the bog where we saw patches of burned grass and pitchers again. Our shoes would become covered with soot and then cleaned a bit with the next unburned patch of grass.

In the wettest spot was a dense wooded area where we saw Magnolia virginiana (sweetbay magnolia), Viburnum nudum (smooth witherod), Rudbeckia scabrifolia (rough-leaf coneflower), and Toxicodendron vernix (poison sumac). My guess is that this section is so thick because the fires can’t pass the wetter conditions.

Andrew standing on the edge of the burn line. He also loved seeing the juxtaposition between the burned and unburned pitchers.

The hoods of Sarracenia alata glow like little candle flames against the rising sun.

The ghost of a Sarracenia alata (pale pitcher plant). I thought these dead pitchers were a bit haunting.

A flower unfurls on an unscathed Magnolia virginiana (sweetbay magnolia)

In the center of the bog is an area that stays wet. One cool native plant that occurs here is Rudbeckia scabrifolia (rough-leaf coneflower), an endemic in Texas and Louisiana.

We saw some nice tall plants of Viburnum nudum (smooth witherod) in the wetter part of the bog. They were just coming into bloom.

One species that benefits from burns is Pinus palustris (longleaf pine).

As I alluded to earlier, fire was a critical part of some southeastern ecosystems. In teaching about Grime’s Triangle, I share how disturbance is one of the two factors (the other being stress) that plants have had to evolve strategies for survival. Disturbance is where all of the biomass of a species is removed above and/or below ground. Research has shown that Sarracenia seed germination responds positively from fires. Fire also can help to sustain open conditions for Sarracenia to thrive in helping to reduce woody plant conditions. As a fire burns through an area, it often kills woody plants. Grasses and forbs replace the woody species, which can then create conditions for another fire. These grass-fire cycles can then continue to occur over time.

However, in many areas of the southeast, we have repressed fire. We can attempt to recreate disturbance in our gardens by cutting, mowing, and disturbing the soil, but sometimes it just isn’t the same as a good ol’ fire.

As we left the bog, I really appreciated what I first thought was going to be a horrible visit. I haven’t had the chance to appreciate a good burn ever that I can recall, and I thought you readers would enjoy seeing it, too.

After we left the bog, the drive home had even more rewards as we saw great native plants in their natural habitats in east Texas. I’ll share a few photos of some options you should consider for your garden.

Tephrosia virginica (goat’s rue) has lovely pubescent compound leaves, and in the spring it’s adorned with yellow and pink blossoms.

I had to turn the truck around to go back and see this wonderful specimen of Asclepias amplexicaulis (clasping milkweed). The bees loved it, too!

Andrew spotted the brilliant red flowers of Erythrina herbacea (coral bean). This understory native provides such striking colors in mid-spring.

We pulled off to see a great patch of our native Echinacea sanguinea (sanguine coneflower). They have these soft pink rays that darken near the base.

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Keep Growing

How Nature Places Woodies and What It Teaches Us About Design

My bootcamp session Woodies in Naturalistic Design on May 18 at 6 pm CDT is great for learning how to use trees and shrubs in naturalistic plantings. This session gives you a practical framework for reading your site for trees and shrubs, understanding woody plant behavior, and placing shrubs and trees so your garden builds structure, shines through seasons, and works ecologically from the ground up.

Think for a moment about the last tree or shrub you planted. How did you pick it? Where did you decide to site it? Did you consider how to plant it to seamlessly integrate it into your garden? Or, does it feel like it’s sticking out like a sore thumb?

Placing woodies in plantings can be a source of frustration for designers. Many of us choose plants based on visiting garden centers, inspiration we saw online, or from looking through plant lists. These unfocused decisions can lead to a garden that feels more like a plant collection than something that appeared to happen naturally. And, when we work with woodies that may be around for decades or even centuries to come, thoughtful decisions matter.

To assist us, we can turn to nature for inspiration. We can think about designing with woodies in naturalistic plantings from the perspective of how nature places plants both in the wild and human-altered landscapes.

PLANT COMMUNITY ARCHETYPES

When we look at nature, woody plants arrange themselves into typical patterns based on a variety of factors like water availability, light levels, soil, and competition.

In Planting in a Post-wild World, Thomas Rainer and Claudia West talked about simplifying landscape design by discussing plant community archetypes. They stated, “Focusing on each [plant community] individually could take a lifetime, and more important, distract rather than clarify our task. After all, a montane oak-hickory forest of Virginia may be meaningless to someone in southern England, but a forest is a concept that both will understand. In order to create plantings with emotional resonance, we must first start with a point of reference that has broad appeal.”

They distilled plantings down into a few simple categories. They listed forest, woodland/shrubland, grassland, and edge, and below I’ve teased those out a bit. I also added hedgerows and fencerows as they are prevalent plant communities that exist due to human disturbance.

FOREST

Forests are where woodies grow to the max. Dense foliage cover from the layers of trees above prevent much from growing underneath save for patchy shrubs, ephemeral forbs, and shade-tolerant perennials. Shade levels vary based on the species present and influence what can grow below. For example, deciduous trees will provide light to hit the floor during the winter and early spring for ephemerals; however, evergreens rarely allow light to penetrate, thus limiting what can grow below.

Naturalistic plantings in dense forests often focus on enhancing the plantings at ground plane with stress-tolerant perennials and self sowers. Shrubs can grow in this space, but they may struggle from the lack of light. Also, visual sight lines are important in such a space as having too many shrubs or other plants break the view and can make one feel claustrophobic.

At Porter’s Creek Trail, notice how the ground cover layer is Phacelia fimbriata (fringed phacelia). You can see into the distance without shrubs or other vegetation blocking your view.

At Skylands, moss, ferns, and lichen dominate the layer under the forest.

WOODLANDS

Woodlands tend to be more open where trees are sparsely arranged. The open space is enough for allowing other grasses and shrubs to get established. I have visited glades and pine barrens from North Carolina to Tennessee and admired the diversity of plant species in these varied landscapes.

With a woodland approach, there are opportunities for the woody plants to shine as anchor species. Shrubs and larger perennials can be in orbit around them and grade to shorter grassland habitat.

A barren in east Texas offers a glimpse at a woodland in the wild.

The dark plate in the Lurie Garden features increasing numbers of trees to create the appearance of a woodland.

SHRUBLANDS

Shrublands are where we see shrubs dominate. These spaces may be in transition toward a woodland or forest, or they could also be stable successional states where management strategies or their density means trees cannot gain a foothold in the space.

We can use shrubs dominantly in a space, or they can be more sparse and mixed with herbaceous plants. In the southeast, I’ve seen shrublands in the mountains, at the beach, and in environments where trees struggle to grow or where they have been removed.

We apply this planting style often to cover a large space with the desire to have minimal management like an island bed of Itea virginica (Virginia sweetspire) or Ilex vomitoria ‘Nana’ (yaupon) in a parking lot. Shrublands are often most effective if we can see over the tops of them. And, we can be creative in integrating perennials into the space to maximize four-season interest.

On Gregory Bald Rhododendron cumberlandense (Cumberland azalea) and Vaccinium sp. (blueberry) form an almost impenetrable layer for walking through save for this trail.

The gravel garden at Chanticleer features a dominant shrub layer mixed with grasses and other forbs.

EDGES

Edges (also called ecotones) are where plant communities shift in response to changing conditions (wet to dry, light to dark, fertile to less fertile). Even disturbance and differences in mowing schedules can create this varied habitat as you traverse a landscape.

Edges are often what we encounter most in a homeowner’s property. The changing light levels as one moves from the house wall outward, the treeline on the fencerow that grades from shade to light, and gradient from the pond to the drier hill all create shifting conditions that can result in different species growing. We can use or enhance edges to tell a story with our plantings. When you walk across a landscape, overt repetitiveness can become boring. Changes in the landscape can keep things varied.

The vegetation in the Green Swamp abruptly shifts from grasses and Liatris pilosa (blazing star) to shrubs and then taller trees.

In Peirce’s Woods at Longwood Gardens, the plants shift from grasses to shrubs to taller trees along this edge gradient.

HEDGEROWS AND FENCEROWS

Hedgerows and fencerows are in a way man-made plant communities. The former was named for the living hedges that separate fields, and the latter from vegetation that arose from not maintaining these barriers. I don’t feel they neatly fall into any of the above categories. They are almost like someone cut a transect, a long brownie bite of a forest or shrubland. They also feel too narrow to be an edge. But, the next time you drive, pay attention to their prevalence. They are everywhere, and these linear plant assemblages are in some cases the greatest opportunities for biodiversity in fractured environments. I like to think of fencerows as nature seeping back into the landscape cracks after the clearing effects of man.

In some cases these are purposefully planted to create habitat. With these spaces you may be unable to turn them into a forest or a woodland, but you can augment what you have. You can add diversity to the periphery of the hedgerow or fence row. And, they can be worthwhile for us to use in gardens as well.

Fencerows and hedgerows criss cross our country, and in some areas may be the last foothold for diversity.

We can bring the concept of hedgerows into the garden, too. At Stoneleigh the wildlife hedge on the right offers a separator between spaces while also providing habitat for creatures in the garden.

WHICH DO YOU CHOOSE?

Here are some considerations on how to place woodies on your own site.

Which do you already have? It’s worth asking what woody plant arrangement do you already have on site and if you can enhance the essence of that woody planting because it’s better to work with the site instead of against it. For example, if you have a small forest filled with invasive species behind your house consider slowly clearing the intruders. When we purchased our property, we had a few trees scattered here and there. Our closest archetype was a woodland with open grassland spaces. So, I’ve set about enhancing that. I planted orchard trees to reinforce that character. And, on our fencerows I’ve started adding woodies to that space like Asimina triloba (pawpaw), Viburnum dentatum (arrowwood viburnum), and Cercis canadensis (eastern redbud) in the hopes to enhance the diversity after clearing out Ligustrum sinensis (Chinese privet).

How much space do you have available? When planting woodies, always keep their final size in mind in relation to the space you have. It may be hard to create a forest in a small backyard with an oak, but we can be strategic and choose trees that will mature at smaller sizes.

Is water available? One of the governing factors for woodies and especially trees is the presence of moisture. In the US, the 100th meridian has long been considered where the US gets too dry going west to be able to support trees. So, when siting woodies it’s important to remember that they will need regular watering during establishment. Before you plant, consider how you will deliver water to the trees and shrubs. Planting in the winter helps to alleviate that strain, but trees may still need water as they establish over the coming years.

Consider repetition to create coherence. In the wild you often don’t just see one tree by itself unless it’s the last tree settlers left centuries ago when cutting the forest in a field. Often we see woodies repeat to create the sense of a forest, woodland, or grassland. Consider when you plant trees to make small groves. Consider planting trees at different sizes. Maybe plant three large Magnolia virginiana (sweetbay magnolia) surrounded by a half dozen gallon plants. It makes it appear as if the grove is growing and spreading naturally.

If you need more ideas, consider joining us for the Botanic Bootcamp session Woodies in Naturalistic Design on May 18!

What Spring Reveals

Spring is always crazy, but this year it has been on steroids. As we reach the end of the semester, I’m taking a moment to reflect on the garden at the end of April (header image). After the haze of the spring semester, it makes me happy to see the plantings around the house reaching peak with a lighter touch this year. I believe getting to this point with a planting is what gardeners desire.

The beds in early April. Streptanthus maculatus (clasping jewelflower) rises above the beds, and Phlox pilosa provides groups of color.

I’m trying to think of what attention we’ve given the beds this spring. There was the February cut back. We’ve made a couple good passes through dealing with cool-season weeds; however, it feels like there are fewer weeds this year, which shows that my attention to covering the ground and weeding over the past few years is paying off. Geranium carolinianum (Carolina geranium) and Vicia sativa (common vetch) tend to be the worst ones. And, I moved a couple of plants around—added two Amsonia tabernamontana ‘Storm Cloud’ (blue star), divided some Penstemon murrayanus (coral penstemon), and moved Fothergilla milleri ‘Redneck Nation’ (Miller’s fothergilla) to a spot I think they will be happier.

Early April at Ephemera Farm. Streptanthus maculatus (clasping jewelflower) rise above the other plants in the bed.

One other change that I made this year was applying minerals to my garden beds. I figure increasing the other nutrients but keeping nitrogen low to limit growth can help optimize plant health. I applied langbeinite, a mineral that contains potassium, magnesium, and sulfur to the bed since soil tests showed that my garden was still low in these nutrients. I’ve noticed fewer instances of mid-day wilting, which is a symptom of potassium deficiency. I also added some rock phosphate, a slow release form of phosphorus to help aid in blooms. Plants appear to be more robust this spring, but that’s just from anecdotal observations I’ve made.

Other than that the plantings have mostly taken care of themselves. But, let me be clear. The garden isn’t perfect. There have been some issues mostly out of my control. About a month ago, we had a hard freeze of 24.6 °F. It slowed down the perennials, but the biennials made it through fine. I saw no damage on Streptanthus maculatus (clasping jewelflower), Nemophila phacelioides (Texas baby-blue-eyes), and Lupinus subcarnosus (sandy-land bluebonnet). My main concern was the impact on our Baptisia alba (white wild indigo). I only ended up having a few Baptisia flowers abort on uncovered plants, and the majority bloomed just fine. I suppose they can survive one night ok, but from our lesson in 2023, two nights is too much.

Nemophila phacelioides (Texas baby-blue-eyes) has started self sowing around in our garden. It makes an early great annual ground cover, but it doesn’t last long in our heat.

My clumps of Arnoglossum plantagineum (prairie Indian plantain) are a bit weaker. They have dense foliage but they aren’t flowering. I haven’t quite figured out why yet. Only three out of my ten or so bloomed, but that could be because the freeze weakened them. I’d hate to lose them, so I’ll be sowing some from seed this year.

The shoots from a single Arnoglossum plantagineum (prairie Indian plantain) rise above our garden.

They could also be weakening from voles. I have determined that voles are likely the core reason I’ve had gaps appear in the garden over the past year. When a dying Penstemon digitalis (foxglove beardtongue) has a hole at the base or a Carex texensis (Texas sedge) can be pulled half out of the soil because there are no roots left, I think it’s pretty obvious. I’ve been reading up on trap options. (And, fair warning. Ugly garden picture ahead!)

Ugly garden picture! Gaps in the garden likely due to vole damage will be filled with plants that have thrived.

But, I am amazed at what they really don’t eat, too. I’m not sure if they just haven’t gotten to them yet or if the plants are resistant to their herbivory, but it seems that some things should have died by now. The gaps have increased but I’m plugging them with plants that seem to be somewhat resistant to voles (as of this writing) like Parthenium integrifolium (wild quinine), Monarda stipitatoglandulosa (Ouachita beebalm), and Boltonia diffusa (doll’s daisy).

Parthenium integrifolium (wild quinine) is a new addition to the garden. It has bold foliage amongst the finer textured plants. Further north, I see these bloom into the summer, but for us they are usually finished flowering by the end of May.

April is now over, and the spring show is starting to conclude. I have made the spring display better over the years by taking notes of changes that I want to make for next year in the winter. Some notes include move crowding plants, thin what is getting too congested, and get more ground cover species so that when the spring cast of characters go dormant there’s less of a gap.

But, for now I’ll enjoy the show. Enjoy a few more photos of the garden below.

And if you want to learn more about designing these type of plantings, check out my class The Naturalistic Planting Primer.

Penstemon arkansanus (Arkansas penstemon) blooms with dainty flowers early in spring.

Phlox pilosa ‘Bonnie’s Pink’ (downy phlox) is a favorite of butterflies like this tiger swallowtail.

Callirhoe alceaoides (white poppy mallow) has a knack for weaving itself through perennials.

Penstemon murrayanus (coral penstemon) is one of my favorite perennials. It has such a brilliant color and such interesting foliage.

I love the glaucous blue leaves that wrap around the stem of Penstemon murrayanus. We call that character perfoliate.

And, when they bloom they have racemes loaded with coral funnels.

These purple form Tradescantia gigantea (giant spiderwort) are always a strong color contrast in the garden.

I’ve enjoyed over the years watching the Penstemon digitalis (foxglove beardtongue) increase in number.

Baptisia alba (white wild indigo) is a primary plant in our garden in the spring. The spires rise above the plantings.

Every evening we enjoy watching American bumble bees visit the flowers of Baptisia alba (white wild indigo).

A glimpse of our garden looking toward the house.

Tephrosia virginiana (goat’s rue) is a wonderful underutilized native with lovely yellow and pink flowers.

Asclepias viridis (green milkweed) is our most populous local milkweed species.

Phlox ‘Minnie Pearl’ (phlox) is a wonderful seasonal filler amongst Osmundastrum cinnamomeum (cinnamon fern) and the foliage of Parthenium integrifolium (wild quinine).

The garden looks good still as we leave April behind and welcome May.

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KEEP GROWING

Inspiration from the Miller Botanical Garden

One of the highlights of my spring break was traveling to Seattle to speak at the Northwest Horticultural Society’s 60th Anniversary Symposium. The trip included tours of incredible gardens thanks to our wonderful hostess Nita-Jo Roundtree, and as a southerner who hadn’t seen any horticultural highlights in the Seattle area, this trip was an opportunity to learn about Pacific Northwest gardening.

The first garden that we visited was the Elisabeth Miller Botanical Garden. Before we walked the garden in the mixture of rain and snow, executive director Richie Steffen gave us some context about the space. The main part of the garden is 2.5 acres and sits between the house and Puget Sound. The garden is part of the Highlands, an Olmsted-designed community. And, because it is part of a neighborhood, the garden is limited to 500 visitors a year. Tickets are sold online, and they sell out in minutes!

Richie said that Betty was not a gardener when she moved in, but that she fell in love with plants. Noted local horticulturist Karl English started making the garden. Betty’s early focus was on western North America flora and Japan. After our introduction to the garden, we walked around in the wintry precipitation to enjoy the plantings. Enjoy these inspirational photos from my visit.

An old panorama of the house and property before it became the garden that it is today.

The back terrace was planted with a plethora of interesting species in pots. I quickly noticed that the Miller Botanical Garden featured a wide offering of plants in containers, and the next several images showcase the gardeners’ creativity.

Carnivorous plants always catch my eye. One container had a few colorful Sarracenia (pitcher plants) in it.

And, check out these cool metal tags that each container had. I loved the attention to detail.

The patio behind the house used to be covered with an arbor, but deterioration forced them to remove it, which opened up more light. A few containers here and there give a nice pop of green. I loved the wooden planters they constructed.

What a nice color echo between Enkianthus serrulatus (white-bell enkianthus) and Narcissus ‘Ice Baby’.

Look at these frilly pansies! Richie was really excited to have these and commented how unique they were. Viola ‘Elegance Twilight Collection’ (pansy) was bred by Isao Sato of Japan, and there’s more colors available.

A colorful collection of containers featuring Cordyline australis 'Torbay Dazzler' (cordyline), Helleborus (hellebore), Euphorbia (spurge), and more. I loved the color echo where it seemed each plant had a hint of that russet red from the containers. The gardeners said they had just finished planting these containers a few days ago, and of course it was now snowing.

One of the things I enjoyed seeing in Seattle gardens were these tabletop gardens. I think this design would be possible back in the southeast, but you’d probably need to water once a day.

Here’s another collection of containers to showcase bulbs for spring color. The logs were a nice touch and provided protection from vehicles for the pots. And to the left of this image was …

… two more table top gardens!

A few troughs and containers are perched around this sitting area. Walking sticks to the center right provide an option for support for walking through the garden.

At the bottom of the garden there was an overlook of Puget Sound with a few scattered containers.

Besides interesting containers, the garden also featured amazing plants. We were able to enjoy a Polyspora longicarpa (long-fruited polyspora) in flower. I love the fried-egg appearance of these flowers in the wintertime.

The stairs lead from up near the house to a lower level of the garden.

The flowers of Epimedium ‘Black Sea’ had just emerged for us to enjoy.

I saw silvery camellia-like foliage and asked if that was what it was. Sure enough, Richie said this was Camellia sasanqua ‘Silverado’ (sasanqua camellia). He said it can be difficult to root.

I love seeing wood in the garden. Here they used fallen logs to build up beds.

My first time seeing the ornamental seed pods of Cardiocrinum giganteum (giant lily). They provide such good winter interest.

Richie talked about how Cardamine quinquifolia (five-leaf black sea toothwort) spreads in gardens. Here it makes a nice groundcover.

I haven’t seen Parrotiopsis jacquemontiana (flowering ironwood) since graduate school at NC State. This member of the witch hazel family has pearly white bracts below the yellow flowers.

The rain and snow made the bark of this Arctostaphylos manzanita × densiflora ‘Monica’ glisten a brilliant crimson.

As we were about to leave, my eye caught a glimpse of trillium in a bed. These Trillium kurabayashii (giant purple wake-robin) were just coming into full bloom.

One last photo. I was stunned to see this massive foliage on Trillium chloropetalum × kurabayashii. You really can’t appreciate the scale here, but it was massive!

#keepgrowing

Protecting the Garden from a Freeze

My heart sank when I saw it. The forecast two Tuesdays ago showed 35 °F seven days out.

The day before, Magnolia and I had planted beans and squash because when I looked at the two week forecast, there was nothing below freezing. But models update overnight, and my worries that the early spring we'd been experiencing would be nipped before the last frost date appeared to be coming true.

Throughout the week I continued to monitor the temperature, and after a couple of days, Time and Date was saying that we were going to have a low of around 21°F Tuesday morning. Talk about gut wrenching. Other weather apps and websites weren't claiming that yet, but their forecasts would drop over the coming days until we received an official freeze warning.

I had felt this pain already a few years ago in 2023 when Pam Penick was coming to shoot our garden for her book Gardens of Texas. We had two days of 26 °F after several weeks of warm weather. The Baptisia (wild indigo) had already emerged, the persimmons had flushed out, and my azaleas were in full bloom. All of them and more got burned. The Baptisia failed to flower correctly that year, and I even lost most of my blueberries. I can weather these events if they happen once every 10 years, but after having this just happen three years ago, I was ready to take matters more into my own hands instead of waiting and seeing.

Protecting plants isn’t new to me. Season extension has been an interest of mine since my teenage years. As a gardener in Tennessee where the season was shorter, I played around with covers, double covers, and other strategies to protect plants. I was mainly focused on trying to extend the end of the season into the winter (one year I got spinach to survive 9 °F!), but we can also extend the season by protecting plants in the spring. And, it’s not just limited to the vegetable garden or seedlings. There are other methods we can use to protect plants from cold weather.

So after catching the red eye back from speaking in Seattle and getting home around 8:00 AM last Sunday morning, I went outside to set about protecting what I could after a short nap. I got everything in place so that I’d be ready Monday night. Three forecasts I looked at Monday evening showed 29 °F, 27°F, and 21°F. My guess was we would be 24 °F.

I awoke Tuesday morning to find that we were 24.6 °F. Boom! While it felt great to know our area well enough that I could guess the temperature, I dreaded what I might find outside.

However, I was delighted that my season extension efforts mostly paid off. Here’s the different approaches I used this week along with if I would repeat them.

Covering vegetables with frost cloth and Christmas lights (absolutely yes!). It’s funny. In a bit of fleeting optimism, I had put my floating row cover up just before I saw the first hint of a coming cold front. I dragged it back out, and put the frost cloth back up over my luscious potatoes (seriously, the best crop I’ve ever had!) and the beans and zucchini that we had just planted. But, this time I added five strings of Christmas lights around the tender plants. Years ago when we had a late frost, it was enough to protect my tomatoes, and I figured it would work again. I have to give credit to Lindsay Kerr, who gave me the idea of using the Christmas lights years ago. One of the issues we have in Texas is if we wait until we’re frost free we run the risk that we will have a hot summer that will slow plant growth.

The success of this method with the beans and zucchini also has me rethinking when to plant my warm-season crops during the yearly tug of war between winter and spring. Usually I try to wait to plant warm-season crops until the last absolute frost date, maybe even two weeks past that. It was what I practiced in Tennessee to optimize plant growth based on weather. But in Texas, we are racing to get plants to grow and yield before we get so hot in the summer. I'm now considering jumping the gun and extending the season in the other direction—starting earlier in the spring under cover to help get crops going before the heat arrives.

I might also look at attaching the Christmas lights directly to the hoops to keep them suspended up off the ground. I just have to watch to make sure wherever I put them doesn't risk ripping the fabric.

Potatoes are still alive the morning of the freeze with the floating row cover and Christmas lights.

Zucchini seedlings made it with the Christmas lights.

A few days later, bush beans have emerged well.

A few days after the freeze, the potatoes look healthy. Note a few brown leaves where the foliage touched the frost cloth.

Covering blueberries with blankets and Christmas lights (absolutely yes!). I threw two strands of Christmas lights on two blueberry shrubs, and then covered them with old blankets. The recommendation with blankets or other coverings is that it has to cover the plant all the way to the ground. However, the blankets weren’t that big, which meant they were suspended on the plants with a gap at the base. The Christmas lights were able to produce enough warmth that it protected them! The two blueberries I lit and covered are still in flower now a few days later, and the fruit appear just fine. There’s another blueberry bush that I did not cover as a control a few feet away, and the fruit have turned brown on them.

After removing the blankets, the blueberries looked fine with the Christmas lights.

A few days after the freeze, bees are still working the blueberry flowers.

Running an overnight sprinkler on the persimmons (maybe, but probably yes). Water can be an effective means to prevent plants from freezing. As water goes from a liquid to a solid, it releases latent heat, and that heat is enough to protect plant tissue. It’s not just large scale farmers who use this method. My great-grandfather would go out in the middle of the night and run a sprinkler on his strawberry patch to protect the flower buds from a late freeze. Around 10:00 PM, I saw the temperature had already dropped to 32.4°F, so I went outside and turned the water on. To my dismay, the water in the hose had already frozen. I turned it on and noticed a slow trickle out of the sprinkler. There was enough water moving through the hose that it was able to melt the ice, and after about two minutes or so the sprinkler was running. In the future, I'll probably try to start it a little bit earlier.

The next morning the tree was covered in ice (header image). Would I do this approach again? Most likely. It sure is nice a few days later to see verdant leaves and emerging flower buds on the persimmons. The one issue, though—and it hit me around 2:00 AM lying in bed—is that the weight of the ice on the plants could be catastrophic. I actually lost a couple of small branches on one tree. The loss didn't disfigure it in any meaningful way because I've been pruning them healthily over the years, but it's something to consider. Am I willing to lose a portion of the tree due to ice load just to save a year’s crop?

A few days later, the persimmon trees I sprayed are still green with minimal leaf damage…

…while the one I didn’t spray water on looks rough. It should rebound like they did a few years ago.

A gash on the persimmon tree from the ice load. This damage makes me question if I would spray them with water again.

Protecting Baptisia with autumn leaves (no). Baptisia alba (white wild indigo) is a crucial primary plant in our spring garden. After the 2023 freeze, the blooms failed to form right, and it’s absence in the upper layer in our garden was quite apparent. So, I built chicken-wire cages about 19 inches wide (5 ft round) and filled them with leaves. I was inspired by colleagues further north that encage their bananas and other tropicals with autumn leaves, but I would not do the leaf cylinders again. They were too thin. I don't think there was enough insulation, and some of the Baptisia were already emerged 12-to-18 inches. I'll go back and inspect each Baptisia clump. I'll cut off anything I think was frost damaged, because I already know the inflorescences that had emerged are gone. That will help to encourage the plants to direct their energy into the buds that were more protected down near the base. In some cases, I may actually have to cut the entire plant back and hopefully force some lower dormant flowering buds out.

The Baptisia shoot on the left is damaged and blackened from the freeze while the right one looks ok.

Covering Baptisia with a tub and Christmas lights (absolutely yes!). There was one Baptisia plant that was too tall to cover with a cylinder at all. For that one, I got a leaf collection tub, put twinkle lights underneath it, and that plant made it through just fine. So in the future, instead of doing the leaf cylinders, I'm going to get 5 gallon buckets or some type of tarp teepees. I can put stakes in the ground around the Baptisia, drape the covering over them, put Christmas lights underneath, and run extension cords through the garden connecting everything. I know it sounds complex, but it makes buying those 20 strands of Christmas lights on clearance the day after Christmas worth it!

Covering the nursery plants with tarps (absolutely yes!). I do this already, but I wanted to mention it for those of you unaware. Even when we have steep dips in temperature during the winter, I’ll cover my seedlings with a tarp. They made it through just fine.

Bringing tender plants inside (absolutely yes!). I also brought tender plants like tomato and basil seedlings and my Sanseveria inside the garage overnight. No question I would do this again.

If we continue to have warming springs with sudden eruptions of cold further south, season extension will be crucial to protect plants. One night can ruin so much, but it still amazes me that plants can make it through with no damage.

Weeks like this one are a reminder that gardening is always a delicate dance with nature. You can cover, wrap, water, and light your way through a hard freeze, and sometimes it works beautifully. But the plants that worried me least were the ones I'd chosen well in the first place. Take these Lupinus subcarnosus (sandy-land bluebonnets) below. Sure, they looked rough Tuesday morning, but now they look fine.

That's the quiet power of plant selection.

If you want to go deeper on that idea, I'd love for you to join me Monday, March 23 2026 at 6:00 PM Central for my next Botanic Bootcamp session—The Power of Plant Selection. Click below to learn more and to access a discount code.

Lupinus subcarnosus (sandy-land bluebonnet) shrugged the freeze off.

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Keep Growing

Considering Narcissus

There are few things that feel as good in life as that first warm stretch after a cold winter.  

That’s what we enjoyed this past weekend here at Ephemera Farm.  I finished the great cutback, and the garden is cleaned of last year’s growth.  In the areas I cleared a few weeks ago, the early foliage of Arnoglossum plantagineum (prairie Indian plantain) and Rudbeckia maxima (giant coneflower) are already making a strong presence at ground level.

And, the plantings are beaming with Narcissus (daffodil).  They are one of the non-native species I use to fill an empty gap at the beginning of the season.  My naturalistic plantings can look quite devoid of plants until early March when the first wave of color from Phlox (phlox), Glandularia (rose vervain), and Lupinus (bluebonnets) start.  The Narcissus glow on both the bright and solemn days we have in February.  

It’s taken me a few years to figure out which species will grow well here in east Texas where we have less cold than further north.  I now have a handful of varieties that have proven to bloom well.  

Last weekend was a good time to pause and admire their attributes.  I was reminded of how important the process of plant selection is from my friend Molly Hendry when we spoke together a few weekends ago in South Carolina.  She shared while she was at Great Dixter, Fergus Garrett had grown 10 different types of Muscari (grape hyacinths) in pots and then had the interns evaluate which of them were the best.  They were asked to consider flower, form, foliage, how they would fade, and more, and they were then to tell Fergus which were the best.  I admired that great attention to detail. It clicked with me how simple this approach was for us gardeners to examine a plant's attributes, and it's something I've been thinking about as I prepare for the next Botanic Bootcamp on the power of plant selection. So, I walked the garden collecting flowers and foliage to compare.   

Narcissus pseudonarcissus (Lent lily) has been the dominant daffodil I’ve used in my beds.  The light yellow flowers are not too overpowering for the space.  And, after they finish flowering the thin blue leaves echo well with Rudbeckia maxima and Eryngium yuccifolium (rattlesnake master).  I make sure I go through and remove the seed pods so that they don’t seed around and that redirects energy back into the bulb.  

In the core beds near the house, Narcissus pseudonarcissus blooms with a soft yellow.

I have debated over the years if I have one or two different types of Narcissus tazetta (tazettas), but after amassing this collection, I can see the differences.  Both were nameless backroad rescues. One has a darker cup and thinner foliage, which could be ‘Grand Primo’.  The other has a much larger presence in the garden with its flowers and larger leaves. Greg Grant suspects it is an old timey cultivar called ‘Grandiflora’.  On this one, I noticed a bit of damage in the middle of the thick blades where they bend. My guess is that spot is where the sun shines on the freezing mornings, and the tissue burned a bit.  Because the foliage can show winter damage and the volume of blades produced, I’ve decided to not plant them in any beds. They can start looking too flimsy after flowering. Instead I hoard them under my blackberries.  I love using them here to smother the weeds out. 

Narcissus tazetta ‘Grandiflora’ cover the ground under our blackberries with their thick foliage.

Most of the rest of my Narcissus have been in trial beds waiting to see where I can use them most effectively.  ‘February Gold’ is a new one I bought a few years ago, and I am ready to commit to planting them into beds on the western side of the garden where I have more warm colors from Salix ‘Flame’ (willow) and Cornus amomum ‘Cayenne’ (silky dogwood).  Over the period of a few years, I watched as other bulbs planted at the same time like ‘Tête-à-Tête’ and ‘Jetfire’ melted away, but ‘February Gold’ continued to weave more golden flowers.  For us it’s early and started blooming February 5 this year, even beating Narcissus pseudonarcissus that opened on February 9. The green verdant leaves are different than the many others I have with a bluish cast.  For me the leaf color is the driving factor of putting them on that side of the garden.  The green foliage pairs better with the warm colors.

I have bulked up hundreds of Narcissus × odorus (campernelle), and I’m eyeing putting them on a hillside on the eastern part of our property where it stays wetter just down from our ‘Ann’ Magnolia (hybrid magnolia).  The flowers are a strong yellow, and they have these thin green leaves that aren’t as strappy as others.  Perhaps this year I’ll be able to check that off my list.  

Another perspective of the flowers so you can enjoy the insides of the coronas.

I love ‘Carlton’, but the large flowers are a bit overpowering, and they are also an intense yellow.  I haven’t quite decided where I want them to go yet, but I’m leaning toward mixing them in with the campernelles so that they can play a bit off the same color with just different shapes.  

I have two Narcissus that feature a color shift between the petals and the corona.  I love ‘Ceylon’.  The orange cups are so striking on this Narcissus against the yellow petals, and it is one of the only orange cup types I’ve had success with so far.  And I’m delighted that ‘Ice Follies’ is growing well for me.  I have seen it here and there in east Texas and finally decided to give it a try.  It was one that I grew back in Tennessee, and I love how the petals fade from a creamy yellow to almost white while the cup holds a buttery yellow color.  I still haven’t decided where to place then, and that’s ok.  I can enjoy them in the patch for now in their holding beds.  

Foliage and flowers to consider mixing with Narcissus left to right: Rudbeckia maxima, Eryngium yuccifolium, Ipheion uniflorum (starflower), Arnoglossum plantagineum, and Leucojum aestivum ‘Gravetye Giant’ (summer snowflake).

Before I gathered them into a bundle for taking inside, I walked the garden and collected foliage and flowers from other plants that they will share space with in the coming weeks before going dormant.  I focused on plants that have hints of blues and greens to see if there are combinations that I should further consider.

Many solo planted bulbs have bulked up over the years, and I’m keen on dividing some clumps this spring and moving them around. And, after I put them in their new spots, I imagine the joy they will bring in future springs. But for now, I’ll enjoy this one.