The Great Cutback

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

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

Your’s truly with shears

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

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

Jevon is a pro at raking.

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

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

The compost pile with roughage near the outside

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

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

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

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

Reflections from Spring

Grades are entered, and the school year is over for me.  

Whew.  

I’ve been in reflection mode lately as it feels for the first time in 10 months that I’ve had a chance to breathe.

Sure, teaching, running a student botanic garden, giving presentations across the country, hosting a podcast, and then writing a weekly newsletter is a full life, but after throwing a first child into the mix last July, well, suddenly priorities drastically shift.  Being inside listening to baby belly laughs beats pulling weeds.  

But, I’ve barely planted the vegetable garden for the summer, weeds abound, and there are spots I have yet to mow out back.  

It’s not all on me.  The soil has been so wet, wetter than the last few years, that recent time outside is often spent watching the rain.  This spring is one of those similar to when we first moved in where water would run through the property almost to June, and I would discover all the places I could get my mower stuck.  It makes it harder to tend the ground, but I know we’ll be wanting the moisture come August. 

The light beds in their spring glory

However, even though I’m behind on other areas of the garden, the light beds near the house have looked smashing this spring, to the point where I’ve gone from imposter syndrome with this whole naturalistic planting thing to thinking I’m onto something. 

We’ve lived at Ephemera Farm for 7 years, going on 8 in August. And, in this time I’ve watched this space evolve.  The beds, named for the way that light interacts with the plants throughout the day, started as trial spots where I threw plants into the ground after I cleared out the crape myrtles and turf near the garage.  Deer were wary to come this close to the house, and the higher ground didn’t flood and quickly drained after a rainstorm.  I watched what lived and died and replicated what was successful.  

A pathway leads through a verdant planting at Ephemera Farm.

At first these beds were disparate with different species in each one of them so that the plantings in one didn’t feel connected with the other.  Paths that I made felt more like borders separating space instead of a way through the planting.  

So, I started replicating species on both sides of the paths and scattered them throughout the beds to create a sense of community.  To further create harmony, I chose species that offered a cool color scheme featuring pink, blue, and purple with neutral white and pops of red and coral. I then added other beds on the west side of the drive near the orchard to make it have more continuity for the long view.  

Cool colors abound in the light beds in the spring.

Amsonia hubrichtii (Arkansas bluestar) offers a lovely pastel blue color in the garden.

The light beds continue into the orchard to give a greater sense of depth of the landscape.

I look at the light beds and sometimes think that it’s all too much.  I’ve made hard calls to simplify the plantings.  I’ve removed Liatris microcephala (Appalachian blazing star) that seems to struggle in our wet soils and edited out the Liatris pycnostachya (prairie blazing star) that fall over.  And, I dug out the Gladiolus communis ssp. byzantinus (Byzantine gladiolus) that were too much intense color for the area.  I’m left wondering should I remove more?

Is it all too much?

Sometimes editing happens on the fly. A lone Hymenopappus artemisiifolius (old plainsman, left of center) that had seeded itself into these beds didn’t seem right for this planting so out it went.

There, that’s better.

But, I have to remember my garden is also a repository.  There are plants like Penstemon murrayanus (scarlet penstemon). The original population of plants is gone, bulldozed two years ago and the site never built upon.  Where my Baptisia alba (white wild indigo) originated there’s now two driveways through that spot.

I mean, who could bulldoze this incredible native, Penstemon murrayanus?!?

Penstemon murranyanus in the orchard

Baptisia alba is an incredible primary plant to have bloom in the spring.

There are still things I need to fix.  Phlox pilosa (downy phlox) is beginning to get away from me some, but reducing its sprawl is an autumn and winter task I can tackle later.  In the orchard last year, I planted a mix of Penstemon laxiflorus (nodding penstemon) and Oenothera (Gaura) lindheimeri ‘Sparkle White’ (gaura).  I anticipated the gaura flowering later, but they flowered at the same time, and it was too much and too blended together.  I’ve made notes to separate them next year, and space them out more.  

Maybe there’s too much phlox?

Pink froth in the orchard from Penstemon laxiflorus and Oenothera lindheimeri ‘Sparkle White’. Which is which? Hard to tell but an easy fix this winter.

The one thing I feel like the beds are still lacking is a solid ground cover layer.  Carex texensis (Texas sedge) is doing well, but this time of the year it can start looking gangly with the long scapes after setting seed.  I cut them back to start with a fresh clump.  Muhlenbergia reverchonii (rose muhly) is quickly becoming a favorite.  After a couple of years in the ground it has already become a robust grass in the spring.  The height is not too bad for later in the year.  And, Sporobolus heterolepis (prairie dropseed) is doing well where the clumps have had time to mature.  But, many plants and divisions are still quite young.  I sow seed when I can, but patience must be had with that plant.  

I’ll add that my thoughts on relying solely on plants to cover the ground have also changed.  After a years long battle with trying to get gripeweed (Phyllanthus urinaria) under control, I’m finally having success with bark mulch to prevent germination.  It’s amazing how the little seeds seem to get into everything, even the crowns of plants. So, it’s a bit of a hybrid approach. Cover as much of the ground with plants as possible, but sprinkle in some mulch to cover the bare spots.

A part of the light beds where the groundcover layer has filled in well.

Carex texensis at the front of this image can get a bit wild looking toward the end of April.

I’m not done replicating what works. My next big task is to take divisions of the most impactful and ecologically beneficial plants and incorporate them into the front fences of the patch to have harmony with the current plantings. I’m going for the reclaimed fencerow aesthetic.

The patch fence seen behind the chairs is the next project here at Ephemera Farm. The goal is to use species in the light beds to create cohesion for the areas.

Now that we are in May, I’m not the only one taking a breather. The light beds have slowed down, too.  Most of the photos above are from mid-to-late April. The spring rush of color is over, and in early May there is a break before the riot of Echinacea and Pycnanthemum begin. The garden’s pause is a reminder that balance is essential. Just as the light beds take a break, I, too, find solace in this slower time.

Winter Preparations

The other day I wrote January 17, and I paused. “Is the first month of the new year already half over,” I thought. It was. My how time flies. I had hoped to accomplish so much thus far. But, having a head cold the first half of the month has slowed me down. And, then there’s the outside cold of the past week. We ended up being 8°F here with the slightest dusting of snow, our 8b temporarily becoming 7b for a few hours.

We prepped and covered what we could, and things seem to have made it through fine here. Cold nights before the extreme freeze helped plants acclimate. But, now I turn my gaze to winter preparations for the coming growing season. Author of Good to Great Jim Collins talks about productive paranoia, the approach of doing what one can in the time allotted because uncertainty lies ahead.

How to know where to start? Some tasks I know to do from experience. I know to prep the potato bed for planting soon because I’ve done it so many years in early February. I know to start cutting back the vegetation to make room for the rising blades of bulbs like Leucojum and Narcissus that I noticed breaking ground the other day.

I also use this down side of the calendar to move and divide perennials since we get hot and dry here quick. But, it can be hard to remember what I said needed to be relocated in May or where I said we need more of a plant in July, especially now that plants are dormant. On some their top growth has already collapsed or rolled away like tumbleweed in a stiff wind.

I find it helpful to keep a running list of tasks to remember on my iPhone notes app. Notion and Google Docs are also useful tools. I label the note “Winter 2024”, and I jot down all the ideas I see in the garden that need to wait until winter. Move this here. Thin that there. I be sure to include the date so that I know when I had the thought. Occasionally, past me even included a photo to help future me understand what to do.

Just a snippet of my winter to do list that I accumulate throughout the year in the iPhone notes app.

But, not everything makes it on the list. I find winter a good time to note tasks that have gone unnoticed during the growing season in the haze of hauling hoses and sweeping the soil of weeds. Sections of the fencerow need to be cleared of privet to make room for better natives. And, now that the turf has bleached beige in the yard from frost, I notice all the green tufts of Carex albicans (white-tinged sedge) that I want to move into the beds for a groundcover.

I’ll admit I still have some tasks that are stragglers on the to do list from 2023. And, 2022, and probably earlier than that if I’m being honest. I still have some daffodil bulbs to get in the ground that I got last fall. I’ve been waiting for top growth to perish in a spot where I want them to go, and now that the ground has been laid bare, they shall find their home. They should still bloom, albeit a bit later, but their cycle should be more normal next year.

I’m also firming up my final seed orders, too. Just this week someone in town told me how wonderful ‘North Georgia Candy Roaster’ winter squash had done for him. It had evaded squash vine borers and thrived in our Texas heat. And, then I get sucked into looking at seeds and remembering that I need to check my “Plant Wish List“ note and order Lablab purpurascens (purple hyacinth bean) and ‘Seminole’ pumpkin.

And, in that time, the sun has sunk lower, and the to do list hasn’t shrunk. Oh well. Trying that winter squash is now one less item I have to put on my 2025 list.

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Native Wildflower Seedlings of January

It’s a new year, and even though we are mere weeks into winter, I can already see new life has begun to stir in the garden amidst the detritus of the previous season. And, even though much of the garden has gone brownscale, there are sparks of green appearing at the ground level. The verdant threads of Muscari and Ipheion foliage are weaving themselves through the grays, browns, and tans of last year. And, Achillea millefolium (yarrow) clumps are so robust they are throwing up flowers.

I haven’t quite figured out how to reconcile the green with the brown. In some areas, they seem a bit at odds as if the seasons are competing against each other. It is as if spring has sprung, and I haven’t cut things back yet. I debate should I remove or reduce the green in certain areas.

But, greenery I will never remove are my native wildflower seedlings. They tend to be less conspicuous, and I love seeing these little seedlings tucked under, around, and even in other plants. Their time to shine will come later when I need ruderal color for creating layers in the garden while other plants are just getting going.

And, more so this year than any previously I am ecstatic to see the number of seedlings of native annuals that have established themselves in my beds. It seems that encouraging them has payed off.

Lupinus subcarnosus seedlings

Lupinus subcarnosus in bloom

Last year was the first year I had a decent stand of our more wet tolerant Lupinus subcarnosus (sandy-land bluebonnet). I collected what pods I could from the plants in my garden and stored them in a galvanized bucket in the garage. I was surprised one sweltering afternoon months later when the sunlight hit the bucket just right, and I heard a pop, much like a kernel of popcorn popping on the stove. I figured that drying would have already released all the seed by now, but could heat be an additional requirement? I sat the bucket on the pavement and moments later I heard pop, pop, pop! Seemed so.

Later in autumn a few hours before a good rainstorm, I separated the chaff and scattered it around wilder parts of the patch I don’t get to weed much in case there were some seed I missed. The seed left in the bucket I scarified by pouring boiling water over them. Once the water cooled, I scattered the the swollen brown specks around the garden right before the rain began to fall. I saw nothing at first, but as autumn deepened I started noticing their characteristic cotyledons appearing in the open spots.

I wasn’t able to get my hands on all the pods. A number of them went rogue and sowed themselves into driveway cracks and mulched pathways near the garden. I can’t do much with those in the drive, but those in the path I have been slowly relocating with a sharp garden knife so I don’t disturb the taproot too much.

Steptanthus maculatus seedling

Steptanthus maculatus in flower

I did something similar with Steptanthus maculatus (clasping jewelweed). I collected what seed I could in a box, and then I went around beating the leftover stalks around the blackberries trellises to release what seed I missed. I probably looked like I was doing some ancient seance to any passers by, but nope, I was just sowing seed. And, now their jagged plum rosettes have germinated and gotten quite large this winter. They seem to like germinating in organic matter since they abhor our acidic soils.

Nemophila phacelioides seedlings

Nemophila phacelioides in flower

But, then there were other wildflowers I didn’t even know were increasing in number. I was stunned to pull back a curtain of Muhlenbergia capillaris (pink muhly grass) foliage to find a clump of around 40 seedlings in a bed clustered together that I didn’t quite recognize at first. Then, when I looked at the lobed foliage I knew they were Nemophila phacelioides, and their proximity to the original clump helped me id them. I now had many to transplant around the garden to encourage their spread. I moved a good number of them in December during a good warm wet stretch, and they have settled in well, their tentacle-like leaves stretching out to capture the warming sun.

But, I shall wait to move any more seedlings until after next week’s cold snap. I like to see at least two weeks of not too harsh weather when moving little seedlings in the winter time. That way I give them the best chance at success so that in Januarys to come I’ll continue to see the beds littered with seedlings once more.

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Late April at Ephemera Farm

The spring plantings here at Ephemera Farm are the best they’ve ever looked. The perennials have matured, and the matrix species have knitted together. Even though the Baptisia alba took a hit from the freeze we had, their lack of floral dominance has allowed other species to shine.

I call this first area I’ve developed the light beds for the way that the sunlight interacts with it throughout the day. There’s so many opportunities to see magic from the dew glistening from sunrise to the warmth of the last rays as the sun sets below the tree line.

There are three beds near the house totaling approximately 1,300 square feet with two mulched pathways leading through them away from the house. Where two beds are now turf grass and an old satellite pole occupied the spot when we moved in. I treated the beds as independent at first and a holding ground for species that I had been carrying around in pots for a while. But, they felt too disjunct. Therefore, I killed the grass pathways in between, made them more narrow, and mulched them with hardwood bark to make them feel more cohesive.

And, I unified them with color. I was inspired by the native wildflower color palette I’ve seen on our roadsides, and used species that feature pink, purple, blue, red, and white, and variations on those hues. I decided for these beds to primarily keep the yellows and oranges out. I would say that 90% of the species in the beds are natives.

I’ve used mulch to make things tidier. I realized that mulch is a bit like Powerpoint or a hammer, a tool that if overused can make things look terrible, but when used with good technique could be an ally. A thin layer and the matrix species like Carex and Sporobolus knitting together has helped keep the weed pressure at bay.

Enjoy these photos from the light beds in late April.

I love pausing at these photos and thinking about where does the eye go? This photo was taken on April 23, and the Penstemon digitalis (foxglove beardtongue) had just started blooming.

But, six days later on April 29, Penstemon digitalis was in full bloom creating a frothy effect in the planting.

A little further into the beds gives a different perspective. The matured Magnolia laevifolia on the right helps to hide the air conditioner.

The light beds, looking toward the house. I use fallen branches found on the property to line the bed edges.

I primarily grow Rudbeckia maxima (giant coneflower) in the back of this bed for the glaucous foliage.

Looking west the beds continue to effervesce with Penstemon digitalis.

I love how the purple Streptanthus maculatus (clasping jewelflower) rises out of the bed in the background.

Emergents like Arnoglossum plantagineum (prairie Indian plantain) and Penstemon murrayanus (scarlet beardtongue) add another dimension to the planting by occupying the upper layer.

Penstemon murrayanus is one of my favorite spring wildflowers. I don’t know of another plant that embues the green, blue, purple, and red side of the color wheel so well.

Ruby-throated Hummingbirds love Penstemon murrayanus as much as I do!

Phlox pilosa ‘Bonnie’s Pink’ (downy phlox) is a great seasonal filler for spring. It is an aggressive spreader, which means that it can quickly fill a spot where it is planted. And, the swallowtails seem to love it more than my wild Phlox pilosa selections.

We found some purple-foliage Tradescantia gigantea (giant spiderwort) in Central Texas a few years ago, and it has grown well in east Texas, usually fading out as summer approaches.

The flowers of Tradescantia gigantea (giant spiderwort) are wide open in the morning and on cloudy days. The darker foliage pops against the green.

Not everything is beloved for the blooms. Here Rhus aromatica (fragrant sumac) provides a verdant splash with a matrix of Carex texensis underneath.

I love the subtle color echoes of the rusted stems of Pycnanthemum tenuifolium (narrow-leaf mountain mint) and Arnoglossum plantagineum.

Penstemon laxiflorus (nodding penstemon) is a reliable source for spring color. I have to give them a haircut before they flower to keep them from lodging. It’s hard to do with flower buds already on the plant, but a late March chop results in later blooms and more compact plants.

Ruby-throated Hummingbirds also love Penstemon digitalis. I enjoy watching them flit around the blooms.

One final sunrise shot as we head into May.