What is Plant Sociability?

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

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

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

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

So, what is plant sociability? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

• 1 singly or in small clusters

• 2 small groups of 3–10 plants

• 3 larger groups of 10–20 plants

• 4 extensive planting in patches

• 5 extensive plantings over large areas

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

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

A SIMPLE ANALOGY FOR PLANT SOCIABILITY

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don’t be confused by the numbers

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

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

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

Sociability HELPS gardeners DESIGN AND PLANT BETTER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PRACTICE SEEING SOCIABILITY

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

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

New and Mature Gravel Gardens by Jeff Epping

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

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

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

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

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Madison Parks Lakeside Offices

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The Entrance Gravel Garden at Olbrich Botanical Gardens

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Good, Bad, and Ugly of Summer

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

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

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

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

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

Baptisia alba

Stokesia laevis ‘Peachie’s Pick’

Phlox ‘Minnie Pearl’

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

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

Monarda stipitatoglandulosa

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

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

Hymenocallis occidentalis var. eulae

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

Boltonia diffusa

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

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

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

Oudolf Garden Detroit

“Oh, no! I forgot my camera!” I said to Karen. She was sitting next to me on the airplane some 30,000 feet in the sky as we were headed to visit her sister in Michigan. Part of the trip was to visit the Oudolf Garden on Belle Isle, but with dad brain and an early departure, putting it in my backpack slipped my mind.

“Can you take pictures with your phone?” she asked, trying to soften the blow. “Yea, I guess,” I replied.

My camera has long been my trusty sidekick visiting gardens around the world. But, leaving it behind would force me to pause and actually appreciate the garden.

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We drove down on Friday, the first day of summer, to see Belle Isle with Karen’s sister’s family. Parts of the park at Belle Isle were originally designed by Frederick Law Olmsted in the late 1800’s, and after a letter from the Garden Club of Michigan, Piet Oudolf was asked to come in and put his signature on a three-acre spot some 150 years later.

We approached the garden from the east side, the side near the conservatory. It was here that we met up with my friend Lindsey Kerr, an extension agent with Michigan State University.

THE GARDEN BEDS

Upon entering the garden, the classic Oudolf style was immediately visible. Even though the garden is still young and will celebrate its 4th anniversary in August, the plantings had largely matured and filled in the space quite effectively. The long vistas provided a wonderful layered effect. From studying the designs in Piet Oudolf at Work and on the Oudolf Garden Detroit website (which I will add is one of the best public garden websites I’ve visited for identifying a garden’s plants based on plant list and interactive map), it became apparent that Piet used a simple approach in designing the space. There would be three primary planting schemes (A, B, and C) across the 15 beds, and each bed with the same letter would mostly repeat the plants. So, perhaps one could consider it to be a modular list of plants that then go into each bed.

Just inside Oudolf Garden Detroit the diversity in the beds becomes apparent.

A view of the beds looking toward the conservatory. From this perspective the turf walkways in between largely fade from view.

Repetition of plants and colors across the site helped to make the garden feel cohesive. Echinacea pallida ‘Hula Dancer’ (pale coneflower) danced across the garden, and in the distance more are visible.

One of the farthest perspectives of the garden from the conservatory.

From this angle looking toward the river you can see the pathways in between the beds where a bench allowed visitors to sit and appreciate the garden. Allium obliquum (twisted-leaf onion) provides a strong presence in this space.

RAIN GARDEN

Lindsey took me to the rain garden on the west end and showed the simple woodland grove that was planted to help filter rainwater off the road. I assumed this side to be the main entrance, and having this more verdant spot reminded me of the pond garden that one sees when entering Oudolf Field at Hauser and Wirth. Right behind the rain garden was the bird border where woody species were planted to help provide food and habitat for birds.

The rain garden looks quite verdant, and in mid-June it is more quiet than the other beds.

Carex bromoides (brome-like sedge) was used as the groundcover layer in this section of the rain garden with Viburnum nudum (possumhaw viburnum) flowering.

MATRIX PLANTING IN THE TRIANGLE BED

We made our way back across the site admiring the plants and combinations as the Red-wing Blackbirds sang their Conk-la-rees and took me back to my childhood days in Tennessee. At the far east edge where we first met up was a matrix planting in a triangle bed that we both admired. It was simple in concept and design and very effective.

The airy flowers of Gillenia trifoliata (bowman’s root) and bold leaves of Darmera peltata (umbrella plant) contrast well with the sedge groundcover.

Further into the bed irises rise out of a sea of Carex.

Lindsey and I parted ways as the rain showers started picking up. I was headed to meet up with Karen and crew, but I decided to huddle under a tree near the matrix planting as radar showed it to be quick to pass.

I noticed a volunteer mowing grass with an electric mower and asked if she knew what the Carex was that made up the matrix. She said no, but one of those green shirt people can help. They were back by the middle of the garden near the Nancy Brown Peace Carillon that towered over the site. They were leading a tour to what appeared to be one of two high school groups. I figured it wouldn’t take long to ask, but I got sucked into their story about the space.

Then, Richard Thomas who is the head horticulturist at Oudolf Garden Detroit walked up with his group. They asked the students what they had learned, and the students commented about the pollinators. Richard then started talking about the history of the site. I remembered that they had a big flood early in the development. He commented that if they had started just a few months earlier that all the plants would have likely been washed away. This flood forced them to move soil up and build up where the plants would be planted.

As I listened I realized that the group of about 20 students would be helping plant Sporobolus heterolepis plugs into the area around the carillon. This area will flood occasionally. They had goats clearing out the middle section around it, but these plants would go in a newly planted area outside. This lower riverside area had issues with invasive species, but their efforts to bring them under control had worked tremendously.

As Richard stepped aside, I caught him to say hi, introduce myself, and inquire about the sedges in the triangle bed. He told me that it was Carex bromoides (brome-like sedge) on the lower end and Carex albicans (white-tinged sedge) on the upper end.

The lower section with more Carex bromoides

The upper section with more Carex albicans

Overall, the sedges were in that post flowering stage where they tend to be more yellow in color.

Bold foliage from Heuchera villosa (hairy alumroot) and the vertical spires of Digitalis parviflora (small-flowered foxglove) contrasts well against the sedge groundcover.

SPOROBOLUS MATRIX

After I got home and started parsing through photos, I remembered that one of the patterns I noticed in the plantings was Sporobolus heterolepis (prairie dropseed) commonly used as the groundcover layer for mini-matrix plantings. It was used very heavily in the B beds, but in the A beds there would be little blocks of it. This grass would serve as the groundcover layer while other species rose out of it.

Allium christophii (star of Persia) and Echinacea foliage rises from the matrix of Sporobolus heterolepis (prairie dropseed).

In another section it was mostly Echinacea rising from the grass matrix.

I really liked this combination of the spears of Ornithogalum ponticum ‘Sochii’ (star of Bethlehem) piercing through the clumps of Sporobolus heterolepis, and it left me wondering how I could replicate this with Liatris or another species.

In this space Sporobolus heterolepis served as a groundcover near these Baptisia × ‘Lunar Eclipse’ (wild indigo). The contrast in textures really helps the Baptisia pop.

THE PLANTS OF OUDOLF GARDEN DETROIT

And, I wanted to share a few favorite plants that I enjoyed during my trip to Oudolf Garden Detroit.

This spot was one of my favorites from the visit. Sure the Asclepias tuberosa (orange milkweed) is lit, but the verticals of Dalea purpurea (purple prairie clover) and Veronica (veronica), the Allium orbs, and the rising perennial towers behind made this area so rich.

Another favorite pairing was this cool-colored section that featured Allium caeruleum (blue globe onion), Salvia sylvestris ‘Rhapsody in Blue’ (wood sage), Eryngium × zabelii ‘Big Blue’, and Geranium ‘Rozanne’ (geranium).

This combination of Achillea x ‘Moonshine’ (yarrow) and Allium christophii (star of Persia) was dynamite due to the contrasting colors and strong differences in textures.

Another pairing that I liked was Asclepias tuberosa (orange milkweed) with Stachys monieri ‘Hummelo’ (betony). But…

…Lindsey and I discussed how this Asclepias might have been a happy accident that seeded in.

Another combination that I liked was Achillea filipendulina ‘Parker’s Variety’ (yarrow) with Ornithogalum ponticum ‘Sochii’ (star of Bethlehem). The upright triangular shapes contrasted nicely with the horizontal corymbs.

This spot was quite beautiful with Echinacea pallida ‘Hula Dancer’, Asclepias purpurascens (purple milkweed), and Salvia yangii ‘Little Spire’ (Russian sage).

Here’s another spot where Asclepias purpurascens stood out. It is such an underused plant.

Blocks of Penstemon digitalis (foxglove beardtongue) punctuated the planting with their pearly white flowers.

I’m posting this photo to educate and mean it in no way to detract from the beauty and hard work of the gardeners. It seems they have the same frustration with Eragrostis spectabilis (purple lovegrass) that I do. A section of it had died out. For me I’ve learned that it’s a ruderal and just doesn’t last that long.

One last shot of the beautiful Echinacea pallida ‘Hula Dancer’.

What to Notice About a New Native Plant

“I want to look at a plant coming up here in a second,” I said to Karen as she drove down the road.

“Ok,” she replied.

20 seconds later I said, “Ok, here it is. Pull over at this road.”

“What!?!” She replied going 70 mph. “This soon?” Of course, she missed the turn because of my poor communication, and we had to go down and come back to find the plant.

And, then she safely pulled off onto a side road as she probably wondered why she couldn’t have married an accountant instead.

Such are the adventures of living life with a horticulturist.

There in the right of way was a large clump of a plant I had never seen before. A year ago as we were driving to Tennessee in late May with Karen at the wheel again, I noticed this large clump of white flowers on the side of the road. With the quick glance at 70 mph, I noted it looked like a Penstemon digitalis (foxglove beardtongue), but since mine had finished blooming, it had to be something else since this plant was in full bloom. I recalled colleagues sharing photos on Instagram of a white blooming Physostegia around this time of the year. A quick glance at iNaturalist showed a species nearby, Physostegia angustifolia. But, I would have to get out and investigate further to confirm. By this point we were too far down the road. I grabbed a quick screenshot on my Compass app to note the location. I figured we would be back this way again sometime in late May.

A year later, I could confirm it was indeed Physostegia angustifolia, also known as narrow-leaf obedient plant, or to a certain playful spouse as the marital strife plant for reasons you can surmise from above.

One of my favorite aspects of native plants is that we can actually go nearby in the wilds to see where they grow. And, even more fun is discovering new ones. Normally, I like to grow plants for a bit before I feature them on the blog, but I realized that this encounter would be the perfect time to share a simple approach that I use when I meet a new plant in the wild.

We use a scale to measure mass in science, and I use the acronym SCALE—site, character, association, lens, and envision—to assess a plant’s essence in the wild. It’s a field-based acronym I use for learning about a plant in its native habitat.

• SITE: Where does it grow? Make observations about the soil, light, moisture, slope, and surrounding area. Here it was in a mesic flat spot in full sun. I would have to take a soil test to learn more about the nutritional status, but from looking around other plants were growing well.

• CHARACTER: What does it look like? Note the form, texture, bloom, and structure. Also consider what else do you know about the genus or family that helps you understand the character. Physostegia are in the mint family, thus explaining the large group and the square stems with opposite leaves. I noted the narrow leaves, hence the epithet angustifolia, which means narrow-leaved. They had an upright, fine-textured form that blended in well with the grass. And, the flowers were lovely. In the grassy right of way, their white blooms nodded and looked like little wedding dresses as they waved in the breeze. I didn’t notice much of a fragrance. My guess was the plant has spread via rhizomes, and it was likely all one clone.

• ASSOCIATIONS: What role does it play in its environment? What other plants are nearby? And, does it have any connections with other species? I noticed that nearby were other east Texas species like pines, poison ivy, and sweetgum. I also saw bees were visiting the flowers. These observations can start to give you a sense of the ecological role it might serve.

• LENS: What lens or models like Grime’s Triangle, sociability, and plant layers help you visualize how it grows? The clump was quite large, maybe 15 × 15 ft wide, so clearly it had some competitive tendencies which led to a high sociability value. And, it would likely be a seasonal filler in its role.

• ENVISION: Last, ask how you can envision it in plantings. Is it worth trialing to further observe how it performs before using it large scale? Do you need to understand the phenology and seasonal behavior? I felt this Physostegia is another wonderful option as I look for candidates to help fill this gap that we encounter in late may and early June as we lose the spring flush and summer plantings start to take hold.  My guess is since it is blooming so early, it would likely be dormant by later in the year. And, since the thin leaves hide in grass, using it in a grassy area would help to fill the gap it might leave. And, it would likely need some disturbance to help keep the rhizomes under control.

I feel like some caveats need to be mentioned for stopping alongside a road. Make sure you’re safely off the road. My preference is to find a safe pull off or side road where parking is an option. Be conscientious you are not damaging plant populations, and be aware of any laws regarding plant collecting or trespassing.

I left confident that I had found a new-to-me species to use in naturalistic plantings here in the southeast. SCALE helped me quickly make sense of its identity and its potential.

And, I left promising to buy Karen some coffee to patch things up. The wild has so much to teach us if we have a little curiosity and a patient co-pilot.

Minding the Garden Gap

It’s been a bit of a weird year flower-wise at Ephemera Farm.  Overall, plants bloomed later. Our first Baptisia alba (white wild indigo) flowers that emerged were partially aborted.  They then responded by sending up a second flush, which made them bloom a bit later.  One of my Amsonia hubrichtii (thread-leaf bluestar) waited until late April to emerge.  It’s currently in full flower in mid-May instead of mid-April.  And, my beloved Penstemon murrayanus (coral penstemon) were also much weaker in habit.  

I attribute these observations to a moody February.  We had half a week of temperatures above 80°F (one day was 88°F!), followed by a drop to 17°F on February 19th.  My guess is the warmth began coaxing the plants out of dormancy, and they were stunted with the cold snap.  

Don’t get me wrong. We still had an incredible April as seen in the header image above. It just felt different than previous years. And, I probably still have some lingering anxiety about the aborted Baptisia flowers from a late freeze we had that wiped the plants out a few years ago. It is a dominant anchor during our floral peak, and the round mounds with seed pods above helped carry us through the May gap. Its absence was especially noticeable that year.

However, I realized that even if the Baptisia were gone this year, I’ve really plugged the May gap by filling the garden with plants like Echinacea purpurea (purple coneflower), Hydrangea quercifolia (oakleaf hydrangea), Monarda stipitatoglandulosa (Ouachita beebalm), Rudbeckia maxima (giant coneflower), and Salvia farinacea ‘Henry Duelberg’ (mealy-cup sage) that help carry us through post-peak bloom. By filling the May gap I’ve lessened the effect that the climate can have on one particular wave of bloom, and these plants also help maximize seasonal interest later.

Gaps are periods in the garden where not much captures the eye, nourishes wildlife, or invites engagement. They have often been discussed from the perspective of annual displays. In Succession Gardening for Adventurous Gardeners, Christopher Lloyd wrote about the June gap in English gardens that occur after the winter and spring bedding fades and discussed approaches to mind the gap.  

Gaps also exist in naturalistic plantings.  And, coming at it from the ecological side of things, a lack of flowers can mean less nectar or pollen for insects and animals in the garden.  They can occur in early spring, post-peak bloom, the height of summer when it is hot and dry, or even into autumn and winter. Gaps tend to be an issue especially later in the year because we gardeners either front load the garden with too much for spring and summer or we forget to think forward to autumn and winter, times when the garden needs strong elements to carry us through the last days of the growing season.

I filled our May gap by really paying attention in the garden. I asked the question, “What do I want to see that isn’t here?” I paid attention to views and spaces where we spent our time. Then, I set about identifying and propagating species that could help me fix what was missing.

It takes planning and time to reconcile the gaps we encounter in gardens. We often have to think months ahead because it takes time for plants to grow and develop. Sure, I could go to the garden center and buy plants, but questions arise about cost, availability, and numbers needed. To achieve the effects we want in naturalistic plantings, we typically need large numbers. Plus, it takes time for perennials and woodies to establish to give the garden that feeling of permanence.

There are decisions that I make at this time of the year to maximize seasonal interest for later. Mid-May is a key time for me to complete tasks in my garden to minimize potential gaps in the future.

• I cut back our asters and other fall-flowering perennials like Helianthus sp. (sunflower), Coreopsis tripteris (tall coreopsis), and Hyptis alata (clustered bush mint). Some asters are actually blooming now due to enough vegetative material being up during short days earlier this year.

• Most of our winter annual self sowers and ephemerals are now finished with bloom and are going to seed.  I collect what seed I can that I want to propagate for later, and I remove their tattered stems to freshen the beds.

• I cut back our Carex texensis (Texas sedge).  This species serves as the matrix, and because the culms are very long, they can make the planting look like a bad hair day.  After the May cut back they will reflush within a few weeks to make a nice groundcover of green for the rest of the growing season.

• Finally, I’m taking notes now of changes I want to make next year. I find taking pictures on my phone, circling the changes I want, and saving them in a note labeled 2026 helps to organize my thoughts.

As you come out of this spring’s floral peak, ask yourself does your garden carry your attention through the entire year or just in the spring or summer? Are there gaps that frustrate you, or maybe you haven’t even noticed them yet?

That’s what my new course, The Seasonal Maximizer for Naturalistic Plantings, is all about. It’s on sale through Monday, May 19.

It’s packed with practical strategies and plant pairings that help you identify seasonal blind spots, plug floral gaps, and build a garden that performs ecologically and visually no matter the month.

If you want your plantings to look better, carry their magic through every season, and support more life year-round, this course is for you.

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