Balancing Coherence and Complexity

If you want to create better designs with people’s preference in mind, my Botanic Bootcamp The Preference Matrix for Naturalistic Design offers a deep dive into the four key factors coherence, complexity, legibility, and mystery and how they shape our emotional connection to landscapes.

With over 20 practical strategies, you’ll learn to how to better design spaces that are ecologically sustainable, visually engaging, and intuitive to navigate.

Crafting incredible plant combinations is something that every horticulturist desires.  We want our plantings to be engaging and beautiful. But, with so many plants, many gardeners wonder where to start?

We can frame our plant combinations in the mindset of balancing coherence and complexity from Rachel and Stephen Kaplan’s Preference Matrix.  Having both factors in plant pairings can create dynamic combinations that humans prefer when looking at landscapes.

From research, the Kaplans noticed that participants had certain preferences when looking at images of landscapes.  And, when they considered the similar patterns between those images they developed a matrix to explain those preferences.  The matrix has four components based on the combinations of the immediate or inferred human desire to understand and explore.

• Coherence is where humans group things together in our visual field (immediate understanding).

• Complexity is the perception of richness in a scene. Our eyes move around with different stimuli (immediate exploration).

• Legibility is the ability to read the landscape and recognize how to traverse the space (inferred understanding).

• Mystery is where information about the scene is hidden from us and the promise of more exists (inferred exploration).

BALANCING COHERENCE AND COMPLEXITY

When we are thinking about creating powerful plant combinations, coherence and complexity from this model can be great allies.  In garden design we often refer to coherence as repetition, harmony, and rhythm, and complexity is thought of as complementary colors, contrasts, or different shapes or forms.  

Many of my favorite combinations that I have seen over the years exploring the wild and gardens has been a balance between coherence and complexity, where the mind is able to group plants together based on color, texture, or form, and yet there’s a contrasting element to spice things up.  

Let's look at some real-world examples that demonstrate these principles in action. Each shows different ways to achieve coherence while maintaining engaging complexity. You can use these images to practice thinking about coherence and complexity below.

• Before you read the caption pause and ask what makes the plants an effective combination.

• Don’t worry too much on the specific plants and whether you can grow them or if they are native or not. Think how can you use the elements in your own design.

• Also, remember landscape preferences are based on averages. I can’t promise you’ll love every image below, but I guarantee you’ll find inspiration by looking at them.

Hellstrip in Nacogdoches, TX. Coherence: warm colors. Complexity: flower shape.

Lurie Garden, IL. Coherence: the gray color in Eryngium (rattlesnake master) and the buildings behind. Complexity: different shapes from round flowers to flat structures behind.

Great Dixter, United Kingdom. Coherence: repeating white and maroon/pink colors. Complexity: the different textures and forms.

Great Dixter, United Kingdom. Coherence: repeating colors of yellow and purple. Complexity: having different plant texture and forms.

Chanticleer, PA. Coherence: repeating green. Complexity: Contrasting textures.

Chanticleer, PA. Coherence: repeating greens and blondes. Complexity: different plant shapes and architectures.

Rotterdam, Netherlands. Coherence: flower shape and cool color scheme. Complexity: different plant habits.

Oudolf Field, United Kingdom. Coherence: the purple color in all three plants. Complexity: different plant forms and floral architecture.

Oudolf Field, United Kingdom. Coherence: repeating the purple color. Complexity: solid flower spikes and wispy grass texture.

Montrose, NC. Coherence: repeating purple. Complexity: color in flowers and foliage for different textures.

Chanticleer, PA. Coherence: cool color scheme. Complexity: different flower shapes and plant architecture.

Hillside, United Kingdom. Coherence: repeating yellow and warm colors and repetition of the spikes. Complexity: the different plant forms and flower architectures.

PRACTICE CREATING COMBINATIONS

If you’re looking to make better plant combinations, thinking of how to balance coherence and complexity is a great place to start. Here are a few strategies you can use.

1. Observe plants in the wild. You may notice combinations around you that are really captivating. Mirror them in your garden.

2. Consider scale. Across a large site, coherence might be more important to help the plantings feel unified, but closer up there may be opportunities to play off more contrast.

3. An easy framework. As you saw above a quick way to have an engaging combination is repeat a color in 2 or 3 plants and then vary the form, texture, or architecture. Just remember that on some plants, color may not last long, and you need that complexity to keep it engaging.

4. Keep things simple. Too many different plants can quickly become quite chaotic. Don’t overdo it with too many plants.

5. Screenshot ideas on your phone. I find myself capturing images that I see online. I file them into albums for ideas later and review them when making plant choices or buying seed and plants for the year.

6. Test combinations at the small scale. Plants in pots are movable and offer you the chance to move things around before fully committing in the garden. You can find fun pairings this way.

7. Create floral arrangements. Arrangements offer the chance to see what two plants would look like in close proximity. If nothing else, float flowers and leaves in a bowl of water or gather clippings and lay them out on the ground. Bringing plants together sparks ideas.

8. Get comfortable with experimenting and failure. I planted Oenothera lindheimeri ‘Sparkle White’ (gaura) and Penstemon laxiflorus (nodding penstemon) together and thought they would work. It looked like the garden vomited pink cotton candy. It was too much. I removed the gaura so that the penstemon could really shine.

9. Borrow ideas. I can’t tell you the number of horticulturists I’ve heard say they love to steal ideas from others. Read books, visit gardens, and study the work of others.

As you train your eye, you’ll start noticing coherence and complexity more in the wild and in gardens. Your garden is ultimately a reflection of your creativity and vision. Let coherence and complexity (and legibility and mystery) be tools in your design toolkit that help you create plantings that are both visually harmonious and full of discovery.

After all, the best gardens don't just follow principles. They tell stories. The question is what story will your garden tell?

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KEEP GROWING

The Great Cutback

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

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

Your’s truly with shears

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

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

Jevon is a pro at raking.

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

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

The compost pile with roughage near the outside

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

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

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

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

Legibility in Landscapes: Making Naturalistic Plantings More Readable

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

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

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

What Is Legibility?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Legibility and Mental Mapping

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

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

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

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

How to Incorporate Legibility Into Designs

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

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

1. CLEAN EDGES

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2. Desire Lines and Paths

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

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

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

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

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

3. Primary and Secondary Axes

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

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

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

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

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

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

4. Sightlines

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

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

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

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

5. Focal Points

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

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

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

6. Entrances

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

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

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

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

7. Seeing Over Plantings

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

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

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

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

Legibility and Human Experience

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

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

It’s on sale through Monday February 24!

Lessons from the High Line in Winter

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE STORY OF THE HIGH LINE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE STEMS THAT REMAIN

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

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

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

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

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

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

Asclepias (milkweed) follicles are so ornamental in winter.

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

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

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

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

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

THE GROUND LAYER

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE FIRST FLOWERS OF SPRING

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#keepgrowing

Creating a Bloom Calendar for Better Planting Design

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

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

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

WHAT IS PHENOLOGY?

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

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

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

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

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

CAPTURING OBSERVATIONS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CREATING THE CALENDAR

A screenshot of my Ephemera Farm Phenology Calendar

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ASSESS AND REVIEW THE CALENDAR

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

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

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

THE POWER OF THE CALENDAR

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

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

WANT MY CALENDAR?

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

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

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

The Contrast of Fog

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

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

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

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

Lilium formosanum (Formosan lily)

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

Helianthus radula (rayless sunflower)

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

Eutrochium fistulosum (hollow joe pye weed)

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

Helianthus argophyllus (silver-leaf sunflower)

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

Helianthus angustifolius (swamp sunflower)

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

Hyptis alata (clustered bushmint)

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

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

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KEEP GROWING

Applying Grime's Triangle to my Garden

One of the problems horticulturists have is the struggle of knowing how to appropriately site and manage plants in naturalistic plantings.

One of the most powerful tools I use to help with these issues is Grime’s Triangle or the CSR theory—a framework that categorizes plants based on their competitive (C), stress-tolerant (S), or ruderal (R) strategies.

Imagine being able to look at a plant, notice a few characteristics, and immediately know how to use it. That’s the power of understanding plant strategies. For me, these strategies are more useful than simply labeling plants as annual, perennial, or biennial because they reveal more about how the plant behaves in various conditions.`

But, theory only takes you so far. So, I wanted to share with you readers five ways I apply the CSR theory at Ephemera Farm.

1. Covering the Ground with Ruderals

Ruderals are fast-growing plants that thrive in disturbed areas. I use species like Lupinus subcarnosus (sandyland bluebonnets), Nemophila phacelioides (baby blue eyes), and Streptanthus maculatus (clasping jewelflower) to cover open gaps in my garden beds in spring while I wait for plants to emerge. Later in the summer, I count on Gomphrena globosa (globe amaranth), Celosia spicata (celosia), Bidens aristosa (tickseed sunflower), and annual sunflowers to provide summer interest and occupy unplanted spaces.

Ruderals in the form of cover crops can also improve the soil and prevent weeds, especially in areas where I grow edibles and cut flowers. In late summer I will sow crimson clover and mustard greens under my blackberries. These helps to prevent weed growth overwinter.

Lupinus subcarnosus (sandyland bluebonnet) fills in gaps in the garden through winter and early spring while other plants are just starting to grow.

Later in the summer, I use ruderals to cover spots I haven’t planted yet. The plus is that many of them also serve as cut flowers.

2. Choking Out Weeds with Competitors

In the more productive parts of my property where water, light, and nutrients are abundant, weeds can take over if the ground isn’t covered. In these areas I use competitors to help reduce weed growth. I interplant Carex cherokeensis with Symphyotrichum praealtum (willow aster) and Helianthus angustifolius (swamp sunflower). Carex covers the ground early in the spring, while the aggressive growth of the aster and sunflower chokes out weeds later in the season. This dynamic pairing ensures the area needs minimal attention during the year.

The dense growth of Helianthus angustifolius (swamp sunflower) limits the growth of weeds and unwanted species in the more fertile parts of our property.

3. Stress-tolerators add diversity to lawns

Stress-tolerators are plants that survive in tough conditions. Some of them go dormant for parts of the growing season, and we can use them to add diversity to our gardens and lawns.

Many people plant Narcissus (daffodils) for bright spring color. However, the downside is the abundant foliage that remains for months after flowering, which is necessary for next year’s blooms. The bulb foliage is also an issue in lawns.

I prefer stress-tolerators in turf that sync up with the mowing season like Claytonia virginica (spring beauty). This charming little plant blooms from December to March before going dormant. Later in the fall, Lycoris radiata (red spider lily), Rhodophiala bifida (oxblood lily), Habranthus tubispathus var. texensis (copper lily), and Zephyranthes chlorosolen (evening rain lily) bloom with their foliage emerging later and remaining up after frost. The last two have the added benefit of going to seed within a few weeks in case you need to do a few last cuts to the yard.

Zephyranthes chlorosolen (evening rain lily) blooms after a good rain. I’ll wait to mow over them until they set seed about three weeks later.

4. Disturbance for Managing Unwanted Plants

Disturbance is key to controlling unwanted plants and keeping competitors in check. In my garden, I use flame weeding and shallow cultivation to manage areas where weeds can take over. I’ve also invested in a Dutch hoe praised by Roy Diblik, which allows for easy push-pull weeding in tight planting spaces.

Tools like the wire weeder help me keep the soil disturbed to reduce weed growth.

5. Cutting Back Competitors

Many people have heard of the Chelsea Chop that helps to reduce upright growth. It is a form of disturbance that keeps competitive plants in check. It reduces their height, delays flowering, and makes blooms smaller but increases their number. While it is typically done in late May further north, I may cut plants back once or twice throughout the growing season.

I cut back a number of species here at Ephemera Farm to prevent them from flopping over—Eutrochium fistulosum (hollow joe pye weed), Vernonia baldwinii (western ironweed), Symphyotrichum (asters), Panicum virgatum (), Helianthus angustifolius (), and other giants. Most cut backs happen

Many of our the aster species I use from more northern haunts also have the issue that they emerge early enough in the spring that flowering is triggered under the short days. Cutting them back resets their flowering.

Cutting back competitors also helps reduce the ‘naked knees’ effect, where the lower foliage withers away and leaves bare stems.. A late spring or early summer cut back helps make clumps look tidier throughout the whole plant.

Symphyotrichum drummondii (Drummond’s aster) stems are already elongating in early April, and left unchecked will result in wiry stems come September.

Cutting Symphyotrichum drummondii to the ground helps reset the plant growth and results in a more densely flowering perennial.

The off white flowers of Symphyotrichum drummondii appear in a mound from a plant cut back the previous spring.

By applying Grime’s Triangle to my plantings, I create dynamic, resilient garden spaces that evolve with the seasons and thrive in various conditions. Understanding plant strategies helps me place the right plants in the right spots, which ultimately leads to healthier, more sustainable plantings.

Now, it’s your turn. Whether you’re filling gaps in your garden with fast-growing ruderals, using competitors to outcompete weeds, or diversifying your plantings with stress-tolerators, the principles behind Grime’s Triangle can guide you to make smarter planting choices. By observing your plants’ behaviors and using their strategies to your advantage, you can create a garden that not only looks beautiful but thrives with less maintenance and more resilience. Start small, test a few strategies, and watch how your garden transforms with the power of plant strategies in action.

Want to learn more? My presentation The Plant Strategies Playbook (⬆️) delves further into Grime's Triangle—an approach combining site, species, and management into one powerful framework. If you're eager to make smarter planting choices, fill gaps in your garden, and predict how plants will grow, this session is for you. Save time, resources, and become the eco-friendly gardener you aspire to be!

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.

The Plants of Oudolf Field

A couple weeks ago I wrote about our morning visiting to Oudolf Field last summer on our trip to the UK. I felt the content too long to try to cover it all in one piece, so I decided to focus on overall design approaches for the first part and the plants for the second part. To walk through an Oudolf planting is a masterclass in planting design. To see the knowledge and experience that a man has observed and witnessed over a lifetime of working with plants made real in front of you creates for breathtaking scenes and pairing. What delights me is how simple some of them were, even if it was a bright morning with strong light that intensified the colors and made the shadows harsh.

Exploring Oudolf Field I was armed with a nice guide that I bought in the gift shop that showed a fold out of the design along with plants that were included in each section. I’ve used that to help me key out some of the plants included below. Feel free to let me know if you see any errata.

An analogous color scheme featuring reds, pinks, blues, and purples. A few of the stars include Helenium ‘Moerheim Beauty’ (sneezeweed), Veronicastrum virginicum ‘Erica’ (Culver’s root), Echinops bannaticus (globe thistle), Thalictrum delavayi (Chinese meadow-rue), and Eupatorium maculatum ‘Atropurpureum’ (spotted Joe Pye weed).

Near the entrance to Oudolf field were plants primarily in blocks where they could play off each other. For example, here the soft yellow of Nepeta govaniana (catmint) contrasts well with Echinops bannaticus (globe thistle).

Here you can see the repetition of white spikes of Lysimachia ephemerum (willow-leaved loosestrife) and Veronicastrum virginicum. Such repetition helps make a planting feel more cohesive.

And, just in case you couldn’t see how amazing Culver’s root is from the above image, here’s another featuring ‘Diane’. Wowzers! I don’t think I’ve ever seen Veronicastrum virginicum look this good in the US.

The silvery-blue satellite dishes of Eryngium alpinum (alpine sea holly) really pop against the chartreuse Sesleria autumnalis (autumn moor grass).

Phlomis russeliana (turkish sage) always has such good texture in the garden with the large leaves and butter-colored verticillasters, and its audacity here is softened by the slender Panicum virgatum ‘Shenandoah’ (switchgrass) and Persicaria amplexicaulis ‘Firedance’ (red bistort).

I loved the unruly looking Datisca cannabina (false hemp) next to the neat sombreros of Helenium ‘Moerheim Beauty’.

Piet Oudolf says that brown is a color, too, and that’s certainly true of these brown seedheads from Monarda bradburiana (Bradbury’s beebalm). I’m not sure how I feel about their early demise. It feels too soon with the riot of color around.

And, some of the pairings were so simple and easy. Take how the purple highlights in this clump of Pancium virgatum ‘Shenandoah’ (which I’ll add here looks a bit more purple than the maroon I’m used to) plays off the burgeoning spikes of Liatris spicata (dense blazing star).

In the middle of the field was the Sporobolus heterolepis meadow where many species erupted from the prairie dropseed haze, and with a good breeze it was fun to watch Dianthus carthusianorum (Carthusian pink) and Echinacea pallida (pale coneflower) straight species and ‘Hula Dancer’ dance in the wind.

I liked how the silvery Amorpha canescens (lead plant) amorphously blended into the silvery seedheads of prairie dropseed.

One of my absolute favorite combinations of the day featured the differing textures yet echoed colors of Sedum ‘Matrona’ (stonecrop), Allium christophii (Persian onion), and Sporobolus heterolepis.

Towards the back of the field, the plantings shifted more back into block style planting. From this angle, you can see a wonderful combination of purple plants featuring Symphyotrichum lateriflorum var. horizontale (horizontal calico aster), Stachys officinalis ‘Hummelo’ (betony), and Panicum virgatum ‘Shenandoah’. The glaucous Eryngium yuccifolium (rattlesnake master) punctuates the planting.

In some parts Nassella tenuissima (Mexican feather grass) was woven through the planting, and with the wind it added such movement to the planting.

It amazes me just how black Symphyotrichum lateriflorum var. horizontale gets in the UK, and really it is just that the plant is further north. For us, these asters tend to be green with a smudge of charcoal. And, how good is the aster paired with the dark inflorescences of Molinia caerulea 'Edith Dudszus' (purple moor grass) in the foreground!

Designers talk about transparent perennials, and I so wish that I could add Sanguisorba officinalis ‘Blackthorn’ (burnet) to my planting palette here in the south. It’s like looking at giant pink cupcake sprinkles—I just want to eat it up!

Karen stands for a sense of scale of the billowy Amsonia hubrichtii (Arkansas bluestar). Even in the UK, these bluestars can get huge!

A nice patch of the bronzed Aruncus ‘Horatio’ (hybrid goat’s beard) stands between a mammoth clump of Eupatorium maculatum ‘Atropurpureum’ and an elongating Symphyotrichum novae-angliae ‘Violetta’.

And, we saw many pollinators in the planting. I was delighted to watch this bee dot around on our native friend Asclepias incarnata (swamp milkweed), and when I got the photos on my computer, I was even more thrilled to see that I had captured some orange milkweed pollinia stuck to its feet!

Phlox drummondii and a Texas (Mini) Superbloom

I love ruderals for their flashy essence. They are the YOLO of the plant world. Live it up because life is short.

And, in the youth of a planting, ruderals are wonderful for quickly filling the gaps, providing color, and helping support ecology. Often, perennials need a few years to get established before they can have a presence, but ruderals hit the ground running, often blooming within months of their seeding while covering the ground to reduce weed growth.

I have been noting good choices for east Texas and the deep south. A new one I can add to my growing list is Phlox drummondii (annual phlox). I’ve seen it scattered pretty sparsely on roadsides, but thanks to a planting project just north of Nacogdoches, TX where it is intensely planted, I have a new appreciation for this native (header image). Over the past month I’ve watched this roadside planting explode with a multitude of tints and shades of red as I drive into town.

What a wonderful explosion of color! I don’t know if I’ve ever seen so much color diversity in species mix as I did with these Phlox drummondii.

If you’re unfamiliar with Phlox drummondii, annual phlox is a short lived native wildflower with sticky leaves. It is native to Texas and Oklahoma, though in some states it is introduced. It was so beloved by Europeans that after Thomas Drummond—this phlox’s namesake—sent seeds back in 1835, they were able to select up to 200 different color strains. And, now Rudbeckia hirta (black-eyed Susan) is starting to pop in this planting.

It’s amazing to see all this incredible color right next to the road.

One of my favorite color morphs of Phlox drummondii was this pink with watermelon-colored eye.

My friend Dawn Stover helped create this beautiful tapestry, and besides the usual Texas bluebonnets, it is one of the best wildflower plantings I’ve seen in east Texas. The first time I passed by I was stunned by how good the flowering was on these median patches.

Dawn works at the USDA–NRCS East Texas Plant Materials Center (ETPMC). She shared that the City of Nacogdoches approached the ETPMC in 2021 about doing a wildflower planting in median areas that were difficult to mow along the four lane leading north out of the city. She worked with the Texas Natives Seeds Project to create a blend of species that would work well in this area. Here’s a full list of the species included in the mix.

ANNUALS AND COVER CROPS

• Gaillardia pulchella (Indian blanket)

• Rudbeckia hirta (black-eyed Susan)

• Monarda punctata (spotted beebalm)

• Phlox drummondii (annual phlox)

• Hordeum pusillum (little barley)

PERENNIALS

• Asclepias tuberosa (butterfly milkweed)

• Coreopsis lanceolata (lance-leaved coreopsis)

• Penstemon digitalis (smooth beardtongue)

• Pycnanthemum tenuifolium (narrow-leaf mountain mint)

• Rhexia mariana (Maryland meadow beauty)

• Eryngium yuccifolium (rattlesnake master)

• Solidago rugosa (rough goldenrod)

• Symphyotrichum laeve (smooth aster)

• Mimosa strigillosa (herbaceous mimosa)

NATIVE GRASSES

• Schizachyrium scoparium (little bluestem)

• Andropogon gerardii (splitbeard bluestem)

• Bothriochloa laguroides (silver bluestem)

• Bouteloua hirsuta (hairy grama)

• Eragrostis secundiflora 'El Reno' (red lovegrass)

• Bouteloua curtipendula (sideoats grama)

• Eragrostis trichodes (sand lovegrass)

• Sporobolus cryptandrus (sand dropseed)

• Elymus virginicus (Virginia wildrye)

They prepped the site in the summer of 2022, and seed were sown this previous February. In naturalistic design, we call this approach a randomized mix where seed are broadcasted over an area, and plants establish where conditions are favorable. Changes across a site like a slight wet spot here or a subtle change in pH there can cause a shift in what species thrive. And, a plant’s presence or absence can be further shifted by varying the seed mix concentration across the site.

Of course, the ruderals are quite happy, and under their cover are the other species bulking up. Dawn shared that the biggest challenge has been people trying to pick the flowers, which is not good as the plants need to be able to go to seed for next year. The area will be mowed after the spring flush has been allowed to go to seed. And, eventually as the other perennials and grasses begin to dominate and leave less room for the ruderals, this wildflower planting will be more subtle.

As conditions change across the site, species shift. Notice how there’s less Phlox drummondii running through the middle of the planting.

This planting reminds me of the Tower of London Superbloom that we saw last year while in England that was designed by Nigel Dunnett. While that planting was ephemeral as part of a celebration of the queen’s platinum jubilee, this installation is more permanent.

England Superbloom

Texas (mini) Superbloom

And, I think that seeing this mini-superbloom in east Texas is a reminder that ruderal mixes are possible in a variety of different habitats. I have the hope that one day our roadsides will be viewed as not a place that needs to be constantly mowed but a space where we can have ecology and beauty for creatures big and small. And, I believe that plantings like these are just the start of better things to come.