Autumn Inspiration from the Dallas Arboretum

Last weekend, I took 23 students to the Dallas Arboretum and Botanical Garden. Each fall, they turn part of the arboretum into a fairy tale village built with pumpkins, and this year they used over 100,000 of them to create such a spectacle. I wanted to share some photos from our trip. Though you may not be able to build a display of thousands of pumpkins, there were other great plants there that can help to enhance your garden for next year. Enjoy the inspiration!

A photo of yours truly (third from right) and other students from SFASU who went on the trip. For some it was their first trip to the Dallas Arboretum.

It is amazing to see how they craft and decorate buildings using pumpkins, squash, and gourds.

A lovely pumpkin mandala pattern surrounds this pumpkin house.

Many areas of the pumpkin village had a theme. Here is a design that features the story of Jack and the beanstalk.

And, here of course is the sword in the stone… err… pumpkin.

I find myself mesmerized by the pumpkin patterns, seeing them all laid out and in such abundance.

A close up of the pumpkin mandala pattern.

These white and gray pumpkins were used to convey a sense of water in one area near a bridge.

Outside the pumpkin village, the arboretum held other beautiful sights. Symphyotrichum oblongifolium (probably ‘Raydon’s Favorite’) bloomed en masse along this curve.

Here’s a useful lesson in photoperiodism. I was wondering why these asters that were right down the path from the ones in the image above weren’t flowering very well. I suspected at first that the shade had something to do with their lack of blooms, but once I looked up, I saw there were lights in the trees. Asters need short days to initiate flowering, and the blooms were interrupted by the lightning. Those along the lower edge are probably shaded enough to flower.

Hamelia patens 'Grelmsiz' LIME SIZZLER (firebush) is a wonderful foliage plant for sunny spots, and the leaves redden with abundant light. Here in the deep south our seasons are long enough to even get some black fruit to form (center right).

Another shot of Hamelia patens 'Grelmsiz' LIME SIZZLER (firebush), only this time the plant was in full shade. Like with the asters above, as a curious plantsman I love seeing plants growing side by side in different environments and how they react accordingly.

From top left to lower right, Canna ‘Cannova Yellow’ (canna), Plectranthus scutellarioides ‘Main Street Beale Street’ (coleus), Alternanthera ‘Little Ruby’ (Joseph’s coat), and Portulaca ‘Colorblast Double Yellow’ (purslane) fill this bed with color. In the Plantery, we’ve had good success with both ‘Main Street Beale Street’ and ‘Little Ruby’ in summer annual plantings.

The Dallas Arboretum plantings capitalize on creating a show. To me it is interesting to see the juxtaposition of the rising tropical Alocasia (likely ‘Portora’ elephant ear) and the fall Chrysanthemum (mums).

I love visiting plant trials at the Dallas Arboretum to learn about what cultivars do well in our area. Here, left to right are Euphorbia hypericifolia DIAMOND SNOW, DIAMOND MOUNTAIN, and ‘Inneuphdia’ DIAMOND FROST. DIAMOND FROST was a good intermediate between the two for growth, not too short and not too lanky.

I was eager to see their Profusion zinnia trial to see which cultivars looked best late in the season. The three I was most impressed with were Zinnia hybrida ‘Profusion Fire’, …

…, Zinnia hybrida ‘Profusion Lemon’, …

… and Zinnia hybrida ‘Profusion Red and Yellow Bicolor’. My colleague Carol Reese turned me on to this cultivar for how the ray florets shift from a rich yellow and red at opening to a faded pink over time.

I’m a sucker for a good celosia, and I was most impressed with Celosia plumosa ‘Flamma Orange’, which was named a 2022 All American Selection winner. I’ll be sure to add this cultivar to next year’s seed wish list.

I was surprised to see an anise hyssop thriving in Dallas. Usually, we are too humid for them, and they melt. But, the peach-colored Agastache MEANT TO BEE ‘Queen Nectarine’ looked fabulous.

I was reminded in seeing their Osteospermum trial that I need to try my hand at more African daisies. My favorite selection was this BRIGHT LIGHTS HORIZON ‘Sunset’with its warm, vibrant pink flowers.

‘Candy Cane Chocolate Cherry’ pepper has variegated leaves and variegated fruit!

Last fall, I was very impressed with Celosia argentea var. plumosa ‘Dragons Breath’ (celosia) that we grew in the Plantery. The foliage turns brilliantly colored red as the days shorten in full sun, and they are topped with fiery panicles of blooms.

We saw a couple of Monarchs working this Salvia ROCKIN’ PLAYIN’ THE BLUES. Even in the fierce winds, they clung to the racemes with all their might. They seemed to really like this cultivar. They would fly off and come right back.

Perennial Plant Association Symposium 2022: Visiting Stoneleigh

The Perennial Plant Association held their annual symposium in Lancaster, PA this past August. It was our first time back together since the beginning of the pandemic, and it was so wonderful seeing many of my horticultural brothers and sisters.

I’m processing through photos and notes from the symposium, and I’ll be doing photo essays on the different places to share what I learned with some great plants along the way. Our first tour day was visiting Stoneleigh, The Scott Arboretum, Terrain, and Longwood Gardens.

Those who follow my work are familiar with Stoneleigh, both from a post on my previous visit in June 2021 and my podcast interview with Ethan Kauffman, the director of Stoneleigh. I’ve realized that this botanic garden has hit a nerve with my audience, and I have gotten a number of positive comments about it from blog readers and podcast listeners. I think it’s partly because of the garden’s newness but perhaps more for their creative use of natives in the landscape.

Sometimes with unfamiliar native plants we need some guidance on how to use them in the landscape, and Stoneleigh provides that. So enjoy these photos from Stoneleigh and consider using a few of these natives in your garden.

Ethan Kauffman (right) gives a tour to Perennial Plant Association attendees. Each staff member showed a small group of 15 visitors around.

Right off the bus in the parking lot I’m inspired by a color echo I haven’t seen before—the purple peduncles of Sambucus nigra (elderberry) and the wine-colored foliage of Physocarpus opulifolius ‘Center Glow’ (ninebark). The peduncle color will hold for a few weeks, too.

On our tour Ethan shared with us a 120 year old Aesculus parviflora (bottlebrush buckeye) that had suckered itself into a large space. It’s a lovely shrub for an edge habitat.

I love Stoneleigh because I learn about natives I never knew existed. Take Silphium glutinosum. It is native to one county (the famed Bibb County) in Alabama, and that’s it. Overall, this aster family member’s habit is great and not too tall.

The spaced out rays add a daintyness to the flowers of Silphium glutinosum. It’s not too harsh of a yellow, either.

Also, check out the steely blue stems of Helianthus eggertii (Eggert’s sunflower)! Even if it didn’t flower, the stems are worth the color. This perennial sunflower was listed as an endangered species in 1997, but conservation efforts allowed it to be delisted in 2005.

One of my favorite parts of Stoneleigh is the bog gardens where Sarracenia and friends thrive. I also like the repetition of erectness with the cylinder pitchers and the hedge of fastigiate Pinus strobus ‘Fastigiata’ (eastern white pine) and Thuja occidentalis ‘Smaragd’ EMERALD GREEN (American arborvitae) in the background.

Here’s a funky native Ethan shared with us in the bog plantings. Macbridea caroliniana (Carolina birds-in-a-nest) is a threatened species. It grows in blackwater swamps and acidic wet spots. The common name comes from the flowers looking as if baby birds are opening their mouths in a nest.

One of the poster childs of plant conservation, Franklinia alatamaha (Franklin tree) blooms its pearly white flowers with golden center stamens. While this native is extinct in the wild, it is safe from loss due to it being well represented in botanic gardens.

I’m an huge HQ fan, and the sharp, heavily dissected foliage of Hydrangea quercifolia ‘Hqopr010’ ICE CRYSTAL (oakleaf hydrangea) provides a great option for garden texture.

A new addition since my last visit in June 2021 was this water feature in Catalpa Court. Native aquatic plants grow in the center, and water spills over the side to create a nice ambience.

If Ethan hadn’t mentioned this one, I would have walked right past Taxodium distichum ‘Little Leaf’ (bald cypress) thinking it was a struggling tree. Ethan said that this miniature-leaf form was at least 6 years old and probably closer to 15 years old.

A close up of the little leaves on Taxodium distichum ‘Little Leaf’. File this selection under funky!

Parthenocissus inserta (thicket creeper) makes a great groundcover. It doesn’t have the adhesive disks that produce calcium carbonate like Parthenocissus quinquefolia (Virginia creeper) does.

The pergola at Stoneleigh is planted with a native border that features a diversity of textures.

I admired this lovely fuchsia pink Hibiscus along the pergola. Ethan commented how this one—Hibiscus laevis ‘Lufkin Red’ (Halberd-leaf rose mallow)—came from near me in Texas. It was selected from a population of seedlings grown from leaf-spot resistant rose mallow collected from east Texas.

Phlox paniculata ‘Jeana’ (phlox) was everywhere during our trip. I have made regular trips to this area since my Scott Arboretum internship in 2008. I don’t remember seeing it very much, and I’m amazed at how its use has spread. It is beloved because the plethora of smaller flowers are a butterfly magnet. There were Tiger Swallowtails working this one, but of course, once I got close, they flew off.

Glandularia canadensis (rose vervain) finishes flowering for us in April in east Texas, but this selection of ‘Anna’s Pink’ from Indiana blooms longer through the season.

Senna marilandica (Maryland senna) is a handsome addition to the garden with its dissected foliage and yellow flowers, and it acts as a host plant for various sulphur butterflies.

Diospyros virginiana 'JN5' MAGIC FOUNTAIN (American persimmon) is a lovely weeping cultivar. It is a female and will produce fruit, but a few people commented the plant is brittle, and branches break easily.

This majestic frame of a dead Taxus baccata (English yew) was left for the architecture it provides.

In my last post on Stoneleigh, I shared their practice of espaliering Hamamelis up the side of the house, and Hamamelis virginiana ‘Lemon Lime’ (American witch hazel) has made it further up the wall since my last visit.

Lonicera reticulata 'P015S' KINTZLEY’S GHOST (grape honeysuckle) scrambles up a light pole. The silvery perfoliate bracts beam in the bright sun.

Liatris pycnostachya ‘Eureka’ (prairie blazing star) makes a nice pairing with Panicum amarum ‘Dewey Blue’ (bitter switchgrass) and Rudbeckia fulgida ‘Little Goldstar’ (black-eyed susan). This blazing star was a 1975 cultivar release from the USDA Natural Resources Conservation Service.

An interesting addition for a magnoliaphile’s collection is Magnolia acuminata ‘Ellen’, a selection of cucumber magnolia that has variegated leaves.

The columnar Juniperus virginiana ‘Taylor’ (eastern red cedar) give the plantings around the house a formality, much like Italian cypress.

Though not native, it was neat to see a Cercidiphyllum japonicum (katsura tree) had found purchase in the massive Plantanus in front of the house.

I’m always on the look out for new native bulbs, and seeing Allium stellatum (autumn onion) flowering in August makes me want to try this in Texas.

I tried Eriogonum allenii ‘Little Rascal’ (shale barren buckwheat) a few years ago, and killed it, but seeing these in full bloom make me want to try this selection again. It’s native to a narrow section of the West Virginia-Virginia mountains, and from photos I’ve seen, it grows great right out of the rocky sides of mountains.

Eragrostis elliottii ‘Wind Dancer’ (Elliott’s love grass) creates a faded haze as it enters full bloom. We’ve had success with this native grass in Texas and found it to be tolerant of dry conditions.

Acer rubrum ‘Snow Fire’ (red maple) looked spectacular the last time I saw it here at Stoneleigh with the red blushed tips of new foliage. However, later in the summer, the red is gone, but the variegation is still present on upper leaves.

Superbloom

I love wildflower eruptions. I’ve witnessed these floral spectacles a few times in my life. An Appalachian forest floor covered in Phacelia, the roadsides here in the lone star state littered with Lupinus and Castilleja, and a bottomland hardwood forest so thick with Packera I could barely walk are a few that come to mind.

And, this summer, what were the odds? We booked a trip to England the same year that a superbloom was going to be planted in the moat surrounding the tower of London. Of course, superblooms are more intense than just a showy patch of wildflowers. They are a product of nature, the perfect environmental conditions causing all seeds of handful of denizens to erupt into bloom, usually carpeting the barren desert. Some superblooms are even visible from space.

However, this Superbloom was one made by man, a flora synthesized from species around the world to create a spectacle celebrating the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee. Nigel Dunnett designed the planting to make the Superbloom in the moat surrounding the Tower of London happen this summer. Over 20 million seed were planted and nurtured to be enjoyed by countless visitors.

While visiting London in July, we made a point to visit the Tower of London Superbloom. It was a wonderful case study in seeing the end result of synthesizing a naturalistic planting from seed. While I had seen naturalistic plantings developed from plugs and gallons, I had yet to really see a seed-based system. Such systems are more open to randomness and plants appearing where environmental conditions suit them. Thus, I tried to pay attention to the little details throughout the planting.

I have to had it to Nigel and his team. The bloom was probably at the closest to peak as we could have experienced it. And, bringing a superbloom into the heart of London I hope only inspired and educated people about the power of plants.

ENTERING THE SUPERBLOOM

We arrived right after they opened and thus beat the crowds. I was aware of the calm colors used at the entrance—whites, soft yellows, greens, browns, and blues with a few other pastels mixed in.

The view walking into the superbloom. Notice how the colors started soft and mellow. A pathway allows exploration, and a kettle hides a grate.

Here we see pops of color, but overall the planting isn’t too intense.

Woven willow added legibility between path and flowers. The introduction of oranges from Calendula, Dimorphotheca, and Eschscholzia add some pop to the planting.

SUPERBLOOM SLIDE

I mean, if you’re going to have a superbloom, you might as well have a superslide, right? Near the entrance was a fun way to get kids more engaged with the space.

The planting around this structure was my favorite of the experience, I think because of the layering, texture, and color. Verbena bonariensis and Oenothera (Gaura) lindheimeri both provided this moving, emergent layer above the umbels and asters below. In this section it was clear that plugs had been introduced as we saw Kniphofia, Sedum, Stachys, Agastache, and other plants that had significant biomass that would have unlikely been achieved in one growing season from seed.

Wildflower plantings around the superslide.

I was quite fond of Verbena bonariensis and Oenothera lindheimeri early on in the display. Here it was evident they had used plugs to bolster the underplanting.

I also admired the verticality of the Agastache inflorescences.

Here you can also see the diversity in this initial section.

The Verbena bonariensis faded away as we approached the mass planting on the western side of the Tower of London.

THE WEST SIDE

Past the superslide was a large open area where the flowers formed a living tapestry. Blues of Echium vulgare and Centaurea cyanus softened our approach to the more vibrant oranges and yellows . It was shocking seeing so much color after the cooler colors of the Verbena and Gaura section.

You can see the shift in color and planting here as the blues and purples gave way to the yellows and oranges.

Atriplex hortensis ‘Rubra’ emerged from the golden haze of wildflowers below.

The eyespots of Coreopsis tinctoria were a nice color echo with the Atriplex hortensis ‘Rubra’.

Further from the Atriplex hortensis ‘Rubra’, sunflowers were used to provide the emergent layer.

As we walked on, other colors were mixed back in to give the eyes a break from the yellows and oranges.

This photo is one of my favorite shots of the superbloom for the diversity of colors and species.

It truly is amazing thinking that most of this developed from the planting of 20 million seed.

One of the few sections of the superbloom that we saw where things were beginning to be past prime for color. The seedheads were noted to be important for birds.

In this western section, it became clear that the superbloom was designed to be an immersive experience. While the path was off to one side, there were these small circular viewing areas that allowed visitors to step into the space.

You can see there are a few of these compartments for a visitor’s viewing pleasure.

A photo from the walkway above before we entered really gives a perspective of these puzzle piece edges. I liked how on this western side that the foot traffic was confined to one side so that it really allowed us to appreciate the scale of the wildflower planting.

A close up of one of viewing areas

Karen paused in one of the circular areas for a photo with the wildflower backdrop.

THE NORTH SIDE

As we approached the north side, one of the pleasant surprises we experienced was natural music being played. Erland Cooper who creates natural synth music composed Music for Growing Flowers specifically for the superbloom. It was a twenty-minute looped piece, and you can listen to it here. It was a delight to hear the music over the bustle of the city, and it made me ponder why we don’t use music more in gardens?

On a sign he said, “I plough themes of the natural world for inspiration and wanted the ambient score to feel conducive to a growing environment. As music is just vibrations of sound, I’d like to think that it is encouraging the flowers to grow in their life cycle over the summer, boosting biodiversity and helping on this rewilding journey.” A lovely thought indeed.

I really admired the efforts to educate the public with the signage provided. Below is just one example of many that communicated the dynamics of the superbloom site.

While I took photographs of many of the signs, I chose to share this sign specifically because it alludes to the changing conditions for establishing seedlings on the site.

I noticed that in one area, the seeds seemed to have a hard time getting established. I asked a volunteer about it, and he said that heavy rains in March had washed some of the soil away.

While I was standing looking at this space, I saw a demarcation line between a big expanse of yarrow and the seed-sown wildflowers. It hit me that I was looking at wildflower sod.

As the sign alluded to above, there were establishment issues in the spring, and so I assume that wildflower sod was brought in to fix that issue. I think the first person I heard using wildflower sod was Carrie Preston at the 2017 Philadelphia Flower Show. This section of the Superbloom was the first time I had seen it used in person, and I thought it a brilliant backup plan because I’ve had issues with getting seed to establish via direct sowing, too.

Here you can really see the sod line on the yarrow and the lack of establishment from the seed.

This photo is a shot right behind the one above where you can see the sod line. Isn’t this mass of Achillea lovely? My guess is that at least part of this was established using wildflower sod.

I was also very curious about these patches that were devoid of any flowers that I saw at the Superbloom. They were mainly on this northern side of the Tower of London. I noticed them before we entered from the walk way above. At first, I thought that they had cut the wildflowers back for regeneration, but once on the ground I realized I was wrong.

I don’t think that the bare spots detracted. They served as breaks in the superbloom, areas where just like in nature the wildflowers aren’t as abundant.

Instead, what I was seeing was fresh wildflower sod that had been laid. In some areas it was more established than others. My guess is that as sections have petered out or had poor establishment, the sod is an opportunity to replace those areas. I had wondered how one could keep such a spectacle going, and so these observations helped make more sense, though I’m not suggesting they used the sod over the entire area. I really think they had crafted a mix for long season interest. But, if the seedlings don’t take, this technique is an option for a bandaid for these styles of plantings.

A close up section of wildflower sod that looks recently laid down. I can make out what looks like the silver-leaves of Lychnis and the emerging feathery foliage of Achillea.

A patch of wildflower sod from a broader perspective. Notice the overall brown coloration, and compare with the photo below.

Here is another section of sod that is more established. Notice how much more verdant this space is.

I share all this not to detract from the Superbloom or to degrade it but to share the nuts and bolts of how it is managed. As I said earlier, seeing it in bloom is a wonderful case study for learning, and I am fascinated by such minutiae. I admire the creativity to have options to keep the space looking fresh and alive.

THE EAST SIDE

As we walked eastward, we began encountering small hillsides of wildflowers. Yet another way to make the site more engaging was to create changes in elevation for the wildflowers, which was achieved by bringing in soil and sowing seed on these raised areas.

Here you can really see the elevation change on this hillside. You can barely see the people on the other side who are standing on the pathway.

What I liked about the elevation change is that it brought many of the wildflowers up to face level, so that instead of looking down one looked toward them.

On the far northeast side was a beautiful willow sculpture called Nest by Spencer Jenkins. Having structure in the Superbloom gave it a sense of permanence, even if it was made from natural materials.

I’m a sucker for woven willow, and Nest by Spencer Jenkins was a lovely homage to the animals that share the space with wildflowers.

This vantage shows how the curves of Nest blend well with the sways in the planting beyond.

The last section had a vegetable garden feel. There were enclosed spaces with winding pathways. The incorporation of dill and sunflowers added to the allotment feeling. It was as if the design communicated, “I’ve taken you through what it might look like in the wild, and now let’s consider how we could incorporate these ruderals into our gardens, big and small.” In this space there was a nice pollinator display with woven branches and metal sculpted pollinators above.

This space looked like a summer vegetable garden erupting with growth.

More willow structures added to the organic feel of the site.

Papaver, Anethum, Centaurea, and Echium were the last big dominant species in this space.

Another shot of the wildflowers at the end of the Superbloom.

Artist Mehrdad Tafreshi made these cool brass and copper pollinators that hovered over this last section.

SUPERBLOOM AT NIGHT

We had a glimpse of the Superbloom the night before we walked through it. My colleague Andrew Bunting of the Pennsylvania Horticultural Society had visited only a week earlier. I saw his incredible twilight photograph on Instagram, and I knew we had to visit in the evening. I snapped a few photos just before sunset. It was really something else to see lit up at night.

An almost duplicate of the image I saw Andrew post a week prior to our visit. Seeing the Superbloom early before it got crowded was on my itinerary, but after seeing his photo, I knew we had to visit at twilight, too.

It was amazing to see how the wildflowers at night glowed when shined with colored lights.

A photo of the eastern side of the Superbloom glowed under purple lights.

One of the things about wildflowers is they not only catch sunlight but they also are great at refracting light at night.

The July 2022 super moon shined over the glowing Superbloom.

After the experience, I thought it funny. I’ve never been out west to see the famous California superblooms, and here I have traveled a quarter the way around the world to see one. And, just like many of the superblooms here, this display was ephemeral. It won’t last much longer with the close of summer upon us.

But, the memory of such sights lasts. I hope that with this photo journey you feel inspired at such a massive display of wildflowers, too. It makes me think about how I can incorporate more ruderal plants into my garden to make a mini-superbloom of my own.

An Evening Stroll at Great Dixter

“A sensible notebook is essential.  I keep two of them going concurrently.  One is for ongoing notes with names of plants seen or acquired. ... The other notebook is for when I’m away from home for two or more days.  It spends most of its time at my bedside and is a diary of events which I write up in bed, early the following morning, while all is still fresh in my mind.  In future years, it is an invaluable source of reference. ... Make yourself more observant.  You miss so much that you shouldn’t.  So much around you is interesting and deserves a mental image.  Note it down there and then, and make a good description that will mean something to you when you next look it up.”

From “New Years Resolutions” in Cuttings: A Year in the Garden with Christopher Lloyd by Christopher Lloyd

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There was the view of the rolling hillsides that I remember from my last visit some 12 years ago to Great Dixter. “This has to be one of the best parking lot views of any botanic garden in the world,” I said to Karen as we climbed out of the car.  I made sure I had my camera ready and pocket Field Notes that I carry with me when visiting gardens for taking notes. Christopher Lloyd had written that advice years ago in his book Cuttings, and these pocket notebooks have served me well to remember what I saw.

The sun was sinking in the afternoon sky riddled with clouds as we walked toward the great hall. I saw a lady in the white barn, and I said, “We are looking for Fergus.”

“Oh are you?” she stated back as if it was a question she had been asked a thousand times.

“Yes, I’ve never met him, but we’ve been in touch, and he said to meet him this evening at 5:30.”

“Well, he’s one of the kindest people you’ll ever meet.  They are wrapping up the symposium now.  He should be near the house.”

We walked toward the great hall and paused in front of its rustic majesty.   I closed my eyes to bolster my ears, and the hunt for voices in the garden began.  “This way,” I said to Karen as I heard some noise around back.  Behind the house we started encountering some attendees from the symposium that Fergus has been hosting, and I started asking the question, “Have you seen Fergus?” 

“Not recently,” one person answered.

“Hmm, I just saw him, but I’m not sure,” piped another one. We saw more people in the distance and went to ask them.

“Perhaps he’s in the house,” this group answered.

“Could you please show us?” I asked. “We’re not from around here.”

“Oh, I could have never guessed that,” one of them joked back.

She took us through the house. We emerged through the front door, and in an inverted host-and-visitor greeting found Fergus standing outside with the biggest smile and a hearty welcome.

With pleasantries aside, we introduced ourselves.  We talked about our trip highlights so far, saying we were balancing gardens for myself with Downton Abbey’s Highclere Castle and bookstores for Karen. Fergus asked Karen if she liked plants, to which she replied she did and liked to draw them.

Two symposium attendees sauntered up, and I recognized an accent I really hadn’t heard in a few days. They were from the states, one from Ohio and one from just outside Philly.  They had come to learn more about the horticulture techniques used at Great Dixter.  I was amazed that people travelled that far to come to this symposium. They were discussing the day’s content. Meadows and encouraging biodiversity had been the topics for the day, and both ladies were amazed at how a small planting with the right species could welcome all kinds of the creatures to their gardens.

“Let’s find somewhere to chat. Come in the great hall,” Fergus said as he took us back in the house. Not rushing this time, we were able to appreciate the ancient architecture, the massive wooden beams, and the off-white walls.

He offered us tea and biscuits in true English fashion, and we gladly accepted as he gave us a quick tour of the house that Christopher Lloyd had lived in.  “Let me take you upstairs,” Fergus said. We entered a door off the back side of the room.

As we climbed the stairs, I said, “I told Karen this house dates back to the 1400’s.” “Yes,” Fergus stated.  “About 1450 to be more exact.” We entered to find a large collection of library books.

“There is much history in this room.  It’s special.  I thought you would would like this, Karen, since you like Downton.”

Karen smiled and nodded in appreciation. We headed back downstairs and out of the house.

“Wow, that planting looks great,” I said in reference to the silvery theme they had in the solar garden in front of the house, an area that changes out a few times a year with different annual displays. The grays of Plectranthus and Helichrysum glistened amongst Canna and other annuals.

“Yea, we just planted it two weeks ago.” He showed me a photo on his phone of the display only a month ago that was ripe with reds and oranges. “We left a bit of the annuals in for seed here at the left. The planting before had turned brown as it ended its seasonal display.”

“How do you keep things from falling over with freshly planted material?” I asked as I find new plants can be floppy.

“We make sure that they are heavily watered before planting,” Fergus replied.

We walked north of the house toward a patio where a container display of mostly conifers sat in the corner, resting on a patio of stones cobbled in the pattern of two dogs. I knew from reading books that these dogs were Christopher’s two dachshunds, Canna and Dahlia.

We then turned and walked down beside the house where a Magnolia grandiflora shaded plants in pots.  Fergus said that these plants and containers were for the attendees of the symposium for the morning.  The student interns would make the arrangements and then the attendees would appraise them from what they had learned in the symposium.

Around the back of the house on the terrace, Fergus sat for a moment with the topiary lawn in the background, the manicured shrubs and billowy Cotinus erupting from a sea of grass. A cat hopped up on the ledge. “Why, hello there. What’s the cat’s name?” I said.

“Neil,” Fergus said as he smiled. “This cat is from Afghanistan”, Fergus revealed as he petted him.  At first I thought it’s origin odd and far off, but then I realized we were only a channel away from being on the European continent with a direct beeline to Afghanistan. Neil would join us for the rest of our tour, following in Fergus’s footsteps. I didn’t realize until after we left that Neil is famous. He has a book written all about him.

I took the pause in our exploring to ask Fergus how he taught his audience, whether they be symposium attendees or interns.

“It depends on the person you are educating.” He paused as he petted Neil. “I bring them along on a journey. I weigh their capabilities and gauge what they are able to do. You have to tailor your lessons to the person, to their abilities.”

He paused again as Neil nuzzled up to Karen. “Let’s go to the exotic garden.” I began to realize this was a pattern, Fergus using the imperative to encourage our exploring and always suggesting what was to come next.

As we approached a hole in the yews, he quipped, “Go in there,” and we did.  We found ourselves immersed in the foliage of a secret garden hidden by a hedge. It was not a claustrophobic feeling but instead an embrace by the plants around us.  It felt like a jungle.

“Yes, that’s what it’s supposed to feel like,” Fergus replied to my comment.

“Wow, in only a few square feet there’s a Ginkgo, a Taxodium ascendens, and a weeping Cedrus,” I said astonished.

Then, Fergus said the words that any young plantsperson loves to hear from an elder.  “You know your plants.”

I grinned a bit, and then said, “But, I don’t know that.”

“That’s Iochroma australis (Eriolarynx australis).” Of course, the flowers resembled Iochroma cyanea that I knew from southern gardeners.

“Let me go turn the water on while you explore.”  We wedged our way under the foliage of bananas, past Persicaria and Boehmeria, and rounded the dissected foliage of Rhus not able to see around the next curve.

Suddenly, Fergus reappeared dragging a yellow hose. As we exited for him to turn on the water, the bright-eyed Inula magnifica greeted us on the other side of the exotic garden against a background of Gunnera tinctoria.  Karen went for a photo, and I commented on how she loves the aster family.

I noticed that a single leaf of the Gunnera had dry down damage, but didn’t say anything. “It’s so dry.” It was like Fergus read my mind. This was his first lamentation of many about the dryness.

“Is it always like this?” I inquired.

“No, this is abnormal,” he responded.

As we walked back toward the house, I piped up, “The exotic garden was great. I remember reading about it from Christopher’s book and how it used to be a rose garden? Oh! I should ask did you call him Christo?” I asked stressing the i into an e. “Am I saying that right?”

“Chris-TOH,” Fergus corrected me. “Yes, the exotic garden has changed since Christo’s time but the meadows are the same. I’ve tried to make the exotic garden more wild.”

Back near the house, we saw Erigeron karvinskianus, Centranthus ruber, and succulent plantings growing in stone circles near a 100 year old mulberry. “Edwin Lutyens designed these steps and circles, am I correct?” I asked as I butchered the name.

“Yes,” Fergus said, pronouncing Lutyens as Lutchens.

“Forgive me; I’ve learned by reading,” I replied. Fergus smiled.

“Let’s look at the long border” Fergus said as we walked under the mulberry’s crown.

The long border was spectacular, better than I remembered. Overall, the planting was heavier on the yellows at this time of the year, mostly because of the gold foliage of several species and the butter-yellow panicles of Verbascum olympicum rising above the splattering of colors below.

We walked and Karen began snapping photos of plants to draw.  I asked about a dahlia that Karen eyed asking what was the cultivar.  It didn’t matter since we can’t really grow them well, but I though it nice to know the name. Fergus bent down to find the label, and he read off 'Kenora Wow’.

I noticed as Fergus pulled the foliage back that near the base of a plant was sheep wool.  “What’s that for?”

“Slugs,” Fergus responded. It was interesting to see such an ingenious solution to keep the pest at bay.

We walked the long border’s length, pausing to take photos with the fragrance of Phlox paniculata wafting in the air. Fergus lamented again it was dry.  I said, “Yes, but so is Texas, and this looks nothing like Texas.  But, it’s cooler here.”

Fergus, chuckled, “Yes, it is cooler here.” I couldn’t see the stress on the plants, but Fergus could. He talked about if rain didn’t come that plants would soon start to crisp.

Reaching its end Fergus invited, ‘Let’s sit here and talk.” He revealed to us that this was one of Christo’s favorite places to sit at the end of the day, and he and Christo would often sit and chat about the garden.

We talked about many things, how Fergus went to college at Wye where Christo and Nigel Dunnett went. “The real learning happens on the ground,” Fergus shared about the benefits of hands-on learning. He revealed that he had been here for 30 years, and was married in 1994.

“What is your favorite food?” Fergus asked us. We said that we really liked pub places in Texas, and there was an Asian fusion place where you can get tacos and fried rice in town.

“Tacos… tacos and Mexican seem to be the number one thing people miss from the states. I ask people this question who have been here a while, and that’s the one thing that seems to always come up.” Karen and I realized that we really hadn’t seen that cuisine here.

I asked him what was Christo like?

“Eccentric,” was the first word that Fergus used. “If you worked hard, he would give you anything you wanted. Christo valued work ethic and would work hard, partly because he was so focused.  But, he was kind,”

I said, “You’ve probably been around the world. Where’s your favorite place you’ve been to?” he replied, “New Zealand was special,” which was followed by Japan.

I asked about the people visiting from the states, amazed that they travelled so far.  “Oh, yes.  We get visitors from all over for our weeklong symposium. We host four a year.”

He got up and said, “Let’s go up here,” while snapping a photo of the border for an Instagram post.

As we walked through the border up toward the orchard stock beds, he said, “We’ve been doing a biodiversity assessment here.”

I said, “Yes, Thomas Rainer shared that with me, some story about a spider.”

“Yes, the endangered Meioneta mollis was found here.” Gardens often get a bad rap for being deserts of biodiversity, but the surveys that Fergus is having conducted really give him concrete evidence to show that Great Dixter is a special place for many organisms.

“Have a look in there while I go check on water.”  

We walked a few steps down a narrow passage to find the most spectacular pairing of plants while Fergus disappeared through a hole in the hedge. Verbascum, Lythrum, Inula, Oenothera, Erigeron, Dipsacus, and more were backlit by a lowering sun.  It was one of the best contrasting color combinations I had ever seen. I had heard before from others that if you want reliable color drama to pair yellows and purples together, but this mixture blew it out of the water.

Behind us, more Verbascum olympicum rose with Cynara cardunculus and a lovely yellow Alcea. With just the two of us Karen asked, “Why didn’t you talk this place up more?! This is one of the best gardens I’ve ever been, too.” Ah, yet another person enraptured by the spell of Great Dixter. I suppose I left out that we were visiting Christopher Lloyd’s home, a man who many consider to be the greatest garden writer of the 20th century. Sadly, he passed away in 2006, but it was quite evident that Fergus was doing a smashing job of keeping his spirit alive at Great Dixter.

Just when the sun disappeared behind a cloud and the light became right, we heard a familiar voice. “That’s nice isn’t it.” Fergus came back to say he was checking on sprinklers, and I said no worries. 

“So, with this planting and the color combination, do you do designs the previous year?” I asked

“No, it sometimes just comes together from what we grow,” Fergus replied.

“So, what do you call this garden?” I inquired.

“This is the orchard stock beds.” Fergus stated.

“Really?” I exclaimed. I had never seen propagation beds look so good. 

“Yes, we will dig most of this out to propagate for the nursery,” he replied. Ingenious, if you ask me.

“Let’s go up here.”  We walked through the hole where Fergus had disappeared and found yet another beautiful planted area.  Erigeron dotted the dark foliage of a low hedge of Symphyotrichum lateriflorus ‘Horizontalis’. In the background fading giant fennel and flowering hollyhocks rose for height.

I had never seen Ferula communis in seed, and was amazed.  “Wow that’s so big!” I said in reference to the giant fennel. Then, I noticed the color echo. “Ok, did you plan that?” I asked pointing to the fennel stem and the hollyhock having the same pink color. Fergus smiled, “I have to be honest and say no.”

We made our way up to the high garden where the vegetable garden and compost area were.

“I always love to see vegetable gardens as that’s where I got my start,” I commented.

He said, “Have you ever seen that?” pointing to the compost pile. Pumpkins draped themselves down either side of the behemoth mound. 

“We planted about 10 different varieties on top.” I reached down and grabbed a handful of the black gold. Strands of grasses were still visible.

He dug around in the pile for a bit, the pitchfork hitting dry layers. “We cut the grasses in the meadows and then everything from the garden goes in these piles.” I thought of all the things I’ve seen so far here, I think I’m most envious of this compost pile.

We retraced our steps back toward the house and arrived where we had first begun. Neil made a point to assess the display containers in front of the house that are regularly changed out to keep up appearances.

Fergus then took us to the barn garden.  Edwin Lutchens had designed this area to be flat but there was now a sunken pond in the middle.  We walked around admiring the plants, and the diversity in this small space seemed the richest we had seen thus far. Everywhere we looked were plants thriving. There was a lovely pink Abelia with more Phlox paniculata that perfumed the air, a haze of Salvia sclarea against the electric Euphorbia donii ‘Amjilasa’, an espaliered fig on the wall whose girth was too wide to photograph up close, flaming Cuphea cyanea in the pots, the puffball of Santolina neapolitana, and the neon pink Salvia microphylla ‘Cerro Potosi’ with Verbascum chaixii ‘Album’.

And, Karen was quite keen on the hydrangeas. I noticed ‘Ayesha’, one of my favorite varieties for its cupped sepals.

As we exited the barn garden, I asked him about a comment from Thomas Rainer about woodland management. “Thomas said you had some type of system to manage your woodlands.”

“Yes, here, I’ll draw it for you.” Fergus took my Field Notes and began to sketch it out. “It’s a coppice with standards system. You have the oaks as your standards for building and are grown for 50–100 years. You coppice the ash and hornbeam for firewood; let’s say 20–40 years for them. Last you have your chestnut for poles, 15 years of growth.

He turned the page and said, “Let’s say this is your woods.” Then, he divided it up into segments drawing oaks, then ash and hornbeam on the left and chestnut on the right. “So, you cut progressively overtime so that you have this dynamic forest with changing light levels over a 25 year period. It’s an ancient way of managing woodlands through coppicing.”

I was amazed. Even the woodlands that surrounded Great Dixter were managed with care and thought, just like the gardens.

“Well, I must go.  I have another day of symposium tomorrow to prepare for.” He and I both agreed about garden talks that the slides were easy and fun.  The plant list was the hard part, getting the names right and proofing them. We thanked him for his generosity and time, we said our goodbyes, and we left, the same way we came, down the long path through the meadows toward the parking lot.

The sheep were gone but the sky riddled with clouds remained, as do our memories of this special evening strolling through the gardens of Great Dixter with Fergus. I can’t wait to visit this place again and spend some time with our new friends Fergus and Neil.

Lessons from Leuvehoofd

It was cool gray June day when I hopped off the train in Rotterdam. I was in the Netherlands for a soilless substrate conference in Leiden, almost ten years ago now. While there, I took the time to explore local gardens. Of interest to me were plantings that Piet Oudolf had designed in the city along the waterfront. One was found at Leuvehoofd, a park right on the Nieuwe Maas or New Meuse River.

Planting: A New Perspective by Piet Oudolf and Noel Kingsbury had just come out, and I snagged a copy before heading across the ocean, reading it furiously on the flight and during down time in the hotel. It was so interesting to have a guide to the planting right in my hands as I was visiting the site.

I approached the park from the south, where a long bed dominated by mixed grasses, Iris, and fading Allium came into view against a monument for those lost at sea in World War II. I would learn it was named De Boeg, which translates to The Bow in English. The memorial stands 150 feet tall with a pair of iron wings at the base that appear to be breaking water.

Iris sibirica ‘Perry’s Blue’ pops against the green foliage of grasses as the Allium above fade.

Turning a photo black and white so helps me appreciate the textures of the site. De Boeg was a war memorial to those lost at sea in World War II, and here it appears to be breaking through a colony of floating jellyfish

Here you can see how the naturalistic planting softens the starkness of the memorial.

From there four angular beds rippled out from the monument like waves getting larger until they hit the river’s edge. I quickly noticed that the planting this time of year had an overall cool color scheme of blues and purples. For a bit of brightness, down the center of the planting ran a river of Deschampsia cespitosa ‘Goldschleier’. Walking around the garden was interesting because viewing it from different points allowed me to see different perspectives and plant combinations.

Years ago, I downloaded several images from Piet Oudolf’s website to be able to study the designs. The one above is of an early rendition of Leuvehoofd that I cropped to show the four primary beds of the planting.

A perspective showing the essence of the planting at Luevehoofd Park. It is mostly a sea of green dotted with blue Amsonia, purple Allium, and the strip of Deschampsia.

One of my favorite photos from this experience was this view of the planting right next to the water with the Erasmusbrug or Erasmus bridge in the distance.

From this angle you can better see the mass of Deschampsia cespitosa ‘Goldschleier’ that runs through the center of the planting. You may notice on the drawing above that Sporobolus was recommended, but in the book Planting: A New Perspective, Deschampsia was mentioned instead. It was a nice glimpse at the iterative nature of developing a planting.

An unknown light blue Iris softens the sea of green. The design had called for Iris siberica ‘Perry’s Blue’, but it seemed that a few different blue variants were mixed in to play off the analogous color scheme.

A long view of the largest bed along the river front. The scattering of the Allium is quite apparent here. From this view I also really began to appreciate the presence of the matrix or groundcover level out of which other perennials arise.

Calamintha served as a skirt around Amsonia.

I also admired Piet’s ability to create combinations between plants to elevate the planting. This topic was one that Thomas Rainer and I discussed on the recent podcast, these small decisions about color, texture, and/or plant form made when pairing plants that really show the artist’s touch.

Here the colors of rosy purple Salvia nemorosa ‘Amethyst’ echo the umbels of Allium christophii.

Spires of Salvia nemorosa ‘Amethyst’ rise from a block within the planting.

Another example of color echo was between Allium christophii and Sedum ‘Matrona’. Both have hints of that smoky purple hue.

I also admired the repetition of starry shapes in parts of the planting. For example, here the stellate flowers of Amsonia are similar to the stellate flowers of the Allium. Perhaps they seem minuscule, but I believe such small choices are instrumental in elevating a design.

One final shot showing the blending line between the mass of Deschampsia cespitosa ‘Goldschleier’ and the mixed planting.

Overall, it was a good first introduction to a Piet Oudolf design. Leuvehoofd was moderately sized yet digestable. In the coming weeks, I’ll post a second planting I saw right down the river at Westerkade along with the lessons I learned there.

Stoneleigh

Last summer, we visited Philadelphia for the flower show. We had a very short trip arranged, which I had packed full to see gardens and other sites of interest that Karen was keen on. But, once there I was highly encouraged to make some time to go see Stoneleigh. It’s a newish botanic garden in Villanova that was given to Natural Lands in 2016. I was promised it would be worth our time stopping for a visit.

So, we carved out 45 minutes after lunch to see the grounds. And, I am so glad we did. They are doing amazing things with native plants.  As the website says, Stoneleigh focuses on native plants but with a twist.  Walking through had a different feel than most gardens that focus on endemics. It was natives, elevated, with unique selections of great plants around every corner.

I also count myself fortunate to be able to visit. This conservation easement was once at risk of being gobbled up by a school to make new ballfields and new buildings. However, the community rallied together with a vigorous campaign, and with help from the state legislature, Stoneleigh was saved.

I kept my eye out for the unusual and I was rewarded during our short visit. In this post, I wanted to share some of the incredible plants I encountered, many of them variants on the natives we know and love. A huge thanks to Ethan Kauffman for helping me identify the plants I couldn’t in the following photos. And, the next time you visit the Philly area, be sure to visit; this gem is a garden is going to make this brimming heart of horticulture even better.

The parking lot at Stoneleigh evoked this wildness. In the middle was a bioswale where natives like Packera aurea were planted, and on the end cap, two yellow foliage Gleditsia triacanthos var. inermis ‘Sunburst’ provided a bright spot of color.

Across from the parking lot was the largest planting of Penstemon digitalis I had ever seen. Their white flowers created a pointillistic froth.

Near the garden entrance, it was apparent that natives would be at the forefront of our visit. Here Baptisia ‘Solar Flare’ brightens this edge planting.

I got weak in the knees seeing this magnificent cut-back Acer rubrum ‘Snow Fire’ on the way into the garden. Ethan commented that they prune it like a shrub to keep it short. My mind pondered how could I have this in Texas without it frying.

This mix of Carex socialis, Carex plantaginea, and Carex laxiculmis provided an excellent example of their functionality as a green groundcover.

The matrix of Carex was a great living groundcover for trees and shrubs like this variegated Hamamelis virginiana ‘Green Thumb’.

As we ventured toward the house, we walked along a long winding pathway past a meadow and giant trees.  Poa pratensis had been left unmown along either side

Scattered around the edge of the great lawn were towering trees like this Magnolia acuminata. This giant is the 6th largest cucumber magnolia in Pennsylvania.

Tucked into the grass were woody trees like Corylus americana SUNDROPS.

As we approached the house, Eragrostis elliottii ‘Wind Dancer’ served as a matrix for emerging Echinacea pallida and Gaura lindheimeri.

Near the house was a pool that had been filled in to make a patio. The purple Penstemon smallii had sown itself around in the beds for a pop of color.

The pool had been replaced with a flagstone patio that featured circular shaped bog gardens. These gardens contained carnivorous plants like Sarracenia and a plethora of other funky native endemics.

I thought these Helenium brevifolium were cute popping out of the bog plantings.

The main house partially hidden by a giant Platanus featured foundation plantings of natives.

A perspective of the main house from the south side. Columnar Juniperus virginiana ‘Taylor’ and even the spherical Catalpa bignonioides ‘Aurea’ provide a formality to the plantings.

The plantings around the house were rich with diversity in native plants. The front steps were flanked on either side with Styrax americanus in full bloom. It is a wonderful and underused native large shrub to small tree.

A close up of the delicate Styrax americanus flowers

Near the house I began to better understand Stoneleigh’s concept of natives with a twist. We kept seeing these variants of natives I had never encountered like Heliopsis helianthoides var. scabra ‘Sunburst’. Ethan shared with me that the variegation comes true from seed on this cultivar.

Here’s another variegated plant I had never seen before—Physostegia virginiana ‘Variegata’. The leaves have the thinnest sliver of white on the margin.

The house served as a trellis for espaliering Cercis canadensis BLACK PEARL. Also, don’t miss the gray-purple foliage of the Populus deltoides ‘Purple Tower’. It almost blends in with the stone.

Here the house is once again used as a surface for espaliering Hamamelis virginiana ‘Lemon Lime’, a nice speckled leaf form of our native witchhazel.

In a world of exotic roses, I always keep my eye out for native species. This Rosa virginiana near the house was quite floriferous.

Behind the house was a mixed planting of natives featuring Coreopsis, Itea, Eutrochium (Eupatorium), and more.

A little further down the bed Panicum amarum ‘Dewey Blue’ and Lonicera reticulata ‘Kintzley’s Ghost’ echoed each other’s glaucous blue.

I have long admired Artemisia ludoviciana ‘Valerie Finnis’ for its narrow, silvery foliage. It pops when surrounded by green.

If seeing one variegated Acer rubrum made me weak in the knees, guess how surprised I was to learn there are two variegated cultivars! This one is ‘Vanity’. And, in case you are curious, the wine-colored foliage plant on the right is Calycanthus floridus var. purpureus 'Burgundy Spice'.

A close up of Acer rubrum ‘Vanity’. Don’t you love that splashed foliage and red tips?

Yet another eclectic mix of natives on the north side of the house. Acer negundo ‘Kelly’s Gold’ is espaliered against the wall while the the bold golden foliage of Silphium perfoliatum ‘The Holy Grail’ pops against the small starry blue flowers of Amsonia ludoviciana on the right of the image.

One of the most impressive trees I saw at Stoneleigh was this fabulous specimen of Nyssa sylvatica ‘Sheri’s Cloud’. The foliage was so clean with the slightest hints of amber on the tips.

I love Kentucky yellowwood, and I was delighted to discover this weeping form Cladrastis kentukea ‘White Rain’. It has to be spectacular in full bloom.

I love the color echoes here. The chairs on the main deck matched the Callirhoe involucrata blooming behind in a mix of Opuntia, and the golden flowers of Oenothera fruticosa complimented the Ptelea trifoliata ‘Aurea’ in the distance.

Rhododendron vaseyi at Southern Highlands Reserve

May brings to mind the flowers of pinkshell azaleas for this time of year is when they reach peak bloom in the mountains of North Carolina. Rhododendron vaseyi is one of our beautiful yet lesser known native Rhododendron. This species was first found by George Vasey in 1878 and is native to only a handful of counties in western North Carolina, perhaps owing its success to slight disturbances from time to time. While not extremely rare, it is considered threatened due to climate change and loss of habitat from development. The good news is even with its limited range, it grows great in gardens where the environment suits it well. And, while I do want to give it a go in Texas one day, I do believe it is better suited to climes further north.

Years ago in grad school before I moved to Texas, I learned of this species, and wanted to see it in the wild. While there are scattered plants along the Blue Ridge Parkway, I had heard that a botanic garden in the southern Appalachians named Southern Highlands Reserve housed one of the largest populations in the world. If you’ve never heard of Southern Highlands Reserve, this garden is a biological ark whose mission is to preserve, educate people about, and propagate the incredible diversity of the southern Appalachians. For on these eroded pinnacles grow species unique to the southeast—some rare, some only occurring in a few counties, and some relics of the last ice age. These mountain tops have been called islands in the sky since they house species that can’t go any lower or higher to avoid a warming climate that is creeping up the slopes.

I arrived after driving a winding road through a private development to find the gardens imbued with spring freshness under a clear, bluebird sky. The tour started in the modern meets rustic Chestnut Lodge where we learned that the 120 acre garden was once slated to become 22 lots for development until Robert and Betty Balentine, who live right across the road, stepped in and decided that they would rather preserve nature than see it destroyed. 

Even though this botanic garden is relatively young having opened in 2006, the unique mission and climate of the gardens has already reached international renown.  And, once outside we saw that even though the landscape had been molded by the hands of man, it looked mature for its age since many large trees remained. On the tour early spring flowering plants like Phlox stolonifera (creeping phlox), Trillium catesbaei (Catesby’s trillium), Podophyllum peltatum (mayapple), and Iris cristata (dwarf crested iris) had begun their spring displays, and perennials in the labyrinth were just starting to emerge.

Phlox stolonifera carpets the ground.

Phlox stolonifera softens the edges of this staircase.

A vibrant pink Trillium catesbaei sports wavy leaves and petals.

Podophyllum peltatum umbrellas rise from the forest floor.

Iris cristata provides a nice footing for emerging Osmundastrum cinnamomeum (cinnamon fern) fiddleheads.

Though only a few years old, the hardscape at Southern Highlands Reserve were already imbued with age.

I loved this carpet of moss with various forbs emerging from it.

The wildflower labyrinth is easy to navigate now before it erupts into an herbaceous maze later in the summer.

It is no surprise that the flora grows well here. This site receives around 90 inches of rain a year, which classifies it as a temperate rainforest! I first learned about this ecosystem in the southeast when I visited Highlands, NC several years ago. There's something about hearing the word rainforest that enchants the mind and conveys something other worldly.

We walked down the Vaseyi trail toward Vaseyi pond where as the website says “the largest known natural stand of Rhododendron vaseyi in the world“ is known to occur, and the pinkshells were just popping into bloom. This part of the preserve was designed by renowned garden designer W. Gary Smith, who has a hand for crafting incredible natural areas. The tour guides noted that specimens in the landscape and around the pond were in peak blossom, but under the deciduous forest canopy, buds had barely begun to pop open, a difference which illustrated something the gardeners monitor. Southern Highlands Reserve compares the phenology in wild and cultivated areas to see if any differences are observed, knowledge which is internal to The Biodiversity Project at the garden. It serves as a catalog to document climate change as well as a comparison for areas that are managed versus allowed to remain natural.

Closeup of the pinkshell rhododendron flowers. Note the id characteristics; most blooms have 5 (to 7) anthers and spots on the upper part of the throat.

A much lighter form of Rhododendron vaseyi…

…and a darker pink Rhododendron vaseyi.

Rhododendron vaseyi on the edge of Vaseyi Pond shimmer in the reflection.

Doing an about face from the pond photo above yields this view. Named the Viewsite, this spot provides a spectacular view of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Fothergilla (witch-alder) bloom with their bottlebrush inflorescences near the Viewsite.

We then walked up to their propagation area. This neat staircase was modeled to look like a snake.

Of course, studying the gardens is not the only way they conduct research about the Appalachians. The gardens also propagate species like Picea rubens (red spruce) as part of Southern Appalachian Spruce Restoration Initiative. This conifer is so threatened in the southern part of its range that spruce-fir forests are the second most endangered ecosystem in the US. The population has suffered from logging, fires that decimated plants 100 years ago, air pollution, and a warming, drying climate. Restoration is compounded by the fact that growth is slower at high elevations. These trees serve as a valuable niche for Carolina northern flying squirrels, a federally endangered species that in this part of the world is a relic of the last ice age. These mammals eat truffles that grow at the base of the trees, and eating male red spruce cones provides the squirrels with an oil that suppresses a parasite they catch from their southern flying squirrel counterparts. The garden reported that they are the only facility in the southeast growing these trees for reintroduction. The tour guides shared that the staff is excited to help plant seedlings into damaged ecosystems.

Picea rubens being grown for reintroduction into the surrounding forests.

Thus, preservation of the land at Southern Highlands Reserve has lead to efforts to save species throughout the Appalachians, and the garden's mission becomes a holistic cycle of protecting things that are beautifully and uniquely southern. May we all share this same spirit of saving what we can while we can.

December at the JC Raulston Arboretum

This post is the final post of a series I’m doing this year reflecting back on some of my favorite plants from visiting the JC Raulston Arboretum.

This past year, I’ve had fun reflecting back on my time in grad school visiting the JC Raulston Arboretum. I decided for my last post of this year-long series to actually visit when we saw family in Raleigh instead of recapping plants from grad school. 

I visited on the last day of 2021, and much like the rest of the country, the weather was unseasonably warm.  The warmth had spurred the winter bloomers, and I have to say that the arboretum looked the best I’ve seen it this time of the year.  Most winters plants will bloom in spurts between cold spells. They have have good days in lively color and bad days in brown and black from a sudden freeze.  But, La Niña has been present this fall keeping our weather warmer and drier across the south.  I’m sure climate change isn’t helping things either.

However, the absence of hard freezes was a benefit for this photographer. Get ready for a photo overload because there was a ton of winter interest.  And, I wish I could share the fragrance with you. I had forgotten with all the winter flowering plants just how good the arboretum smelled at this time of the year.

One final request from this series.  Arboreta and botanical gardens are places of inspiration, solace, conservation, and beauty. While we benefit from their plantings, they benefit from our support. Consider becoming a member of one near you!

WINTER FLOWERS

Ah, the Prunus mume!  I think this visit was the most spectacular show of flowering apricot that I’ve ever seen in all my years of visiting the arboretum.  Usually they are pummeled by the winter cold, which interrupts their bloom period.  Above white-flowering ‘Tojibai’ blooms against the pink ‘Bonita’ in the background.

Prunus mume ‘Bonita’ has lovely bowl-shaped semi-double pink flowers. They are incredibly fragrant, too. The smell reminds me of those Valentine’s Day conversation hearts.

‘Big Joe’ Prunus mume was a white behemoth of blooms visible from the road before I ever walked in the gate. The fallen petals made the ground underneath appear to be covered in snow.

‘Rose Bud’ is another semi-double Prunus mume type where the petals fade from pink outside to whiter ones in the center.

Another Prunus I like for winter display is Prunus incisa. This lovely short-statured shrub offers dainty flowers.  Even the sepals are attractive after the petals fall.  

Camellias are staples of the winter garden in the south, and the arboretum has a plethora of them.  I loved this white flowering, semi-double Camellia × vernalis ‘Ginryû’.

Camellia ‘Yume’ reminded me of peppermints with these lovely two-toned pink and white flowers.

Some Camellia have attractive buds even before they flower like this Camellia tsaii ‘Erina’.

Camellia × hiemalis ‘Green's Blues’ turns this interesting mauve-pink as the blooms fade and will eventually turn more purple.  

Three of the early-flowering magnolias were in full splendor.  Magnolia platypetala near the visitor center...

…Magnolia cavaleriei near the lath house... 

… and Magnolia maudiae near the winter garden.  All three can be hit or miss based on cold snaps.  But, during good years, they are spectacular.  

Mahonia were outstanding in flower at the arboretum this visit.  Mahonia × lindsayae ‘Cantab’ has long be a favorite of mine.  The long, sinuous inflorescences smell spectacular on a winter day and were attracting a plethora of bees.  

A new Mahonia to me was Mahonia ilicina.  The long inflorescences featured sprays of off-white flowers.

I couldn’t write about visiting the arboretum in the winter without mentioning Chimonanthus praecox.  Even though wintersweet is a bit of a one-hit wonder and fades into the landscape the rest of the year, the winter fragrance is well worth planting it.  There were four that I counted in close proximity to the winter garden and perfumed the air with their sweet smell.

Even from a distance, I could make out the brilliant gold flowers of ‘Luteus’, a cultivar of Chimonanthus praecox that has deeper yellow in the petals and lacks the red blotch like seen in the image above.

There are a handful of winter honeysuckles that perfume the air with their lemony scent. Here is a comparison between the flower size of the larger Lonicera fragrantissima (left) and smaller Lonicera × purpusii ‘Winter Beauty’ (right).

I was surprised to see Hamamelis × intermedia ‘Jelena’ beginning to flower with the lack of winter chill from the unseasonably warm winter we’ve had. A lone branch on the back was blooming well while the rest of the plant had swelling buds.

Jasminum nudiflorum has long been a favorite indestructible winter flowering shrub. I often see it planted in urban areas and hell strips.  ‘Aureum’ features golden colored foliage once it leafs out in the spring.

I always kid with students when teaching Parrotia persica that the apetalous blooms are pretty non-descript in the winter, and the flowers shouldn’t be a selling point of this species. But, I could make the dangling stamens out from several feet away on this ‘Pendula’ and found them attractive. Maybe I should rethink my downplaying of the flowers!

STEM COLOR

Acer negundo ‘White Lightning’ shows some yellow stem color on fresh growth from the year.  Many consider box elders a trash tree, but coppicing this cultivar is worth it.

Red-twig dogwoods look so striking in late winter.  Cornus alba 'Minbat' BATON ROUGE shined with the low afternoon light.  

I’m always looking for winter interest from unexpected plants (especially perennials!), and I found the bleached white stems of Hibiscus ‘Cherry Cheesecake’ to be quite striking.  Against a dark background or dark building these would look lovely through winter.  

‘Bihou’ is one of my favorite Acer palmatum cultivars for the vibrant stem color they offer during the winter. The branches exude such a warmth as they transition from red young growth through orange to the older yellow tissue.

A close up of the more mature stem color of a larger ‘Bihou’ at the arboretum.

VIBRANT FOLIAGE

Fall color still holds on to the appropriately named ×Sycoparrotia semidecidua ‘Purple Haze’.

Wowzers. Daphniphyllum teijsmannii ‘Mountain Dove’ looked stunning in the lath house. 

I’ve loved Daphne since I discovered they offer wonderful winter fragrance.  In fact, I even had one in a container on my patio in grad school!  There were two nice variegated forms at the arboretum that were just coming into flower.  Above is the bold yellow margined form of ‘Mae-jima’.

And, here is the more subtle lime green coloring on dark green leaves of Daphne odora ‘Nakafu’.

I have never seen a darker leaf color on a Loropetallum like this Loropetalum chinense var. rubrum ‘Spg-3-017’ GARNET FIRE.  Or, really any other plant for that matter.  They were almost jet black for the winter.

The variegation on this Ilex vomitoria ‘Tricolor’ adds a splash of color to the understory and this love-it or hate-it native shrub.

The Life Herbaceous

I always get giddy seeing the white propellers unfurl on Galanthus elwesii. While snowdrops straddle growing seasons, many consider them one of the first flowers of the new year.

Euphorbia are beloved for their persistent foliage through winter. I appreciated ‘Canyon Gold’ with its burgundy highlights from the winter light.

Narcissus ‘Rijnveld’s Early Sensation’ was often a Christmas flower for me in Tennessee, and here it was at the arboretum blooming right on cue tucked under some shrubs. 

I was pleasantly surprised to see the warmth loving Abutilon ‘Voodoo’ still in flower.

Iris was another unexpected flowering plant at the arboretum. I saw three different cultivars in flower including this purple and white ‘Say Okay’.

Hellebores often face downward, but many of the new hybrids have been bred to have more upright facing petals.  Here Helleborus × ericsmithii ‘Coseh 790’ SHOOTING STAR flowers in a berm.  

Autumn in Spring Grove Cemetery

“Before you leave Cincinnati, we’re going to get you to Spring Grove Cemetery.”  It’s wasn’t a threat, it was an invitation to see one of the nation’s most beautiful cemeteries from Steve Foltz, director of horticulture at Cincinnati Zoo and Botanical Garden. We were talking during a break at their Plant Trials Day Symposium I spoke at in mid-November.

It’s not everyday that I hop in the car with a guy I just met, especially with the invitation to go to a cemetery. But, I could already tell that Steve was a gentle giant and a force of horticulture in Cincinnati. After my presentation, he gave a talk about how he and his team at the botanical garden were transforming less fortunate areas of Cincinnati with gardens and the impact they were having on connecting kids with horticulture. They were sharing the love of plants. These were my people.

And, Spring Grove rang a bell in the deep recesses of my mind. It was a name I had heard over the years in plant circles and read about here and there in Dirr’s Manual of Woody Landscape Plants. I wasn’t sure what the cemetery would offer post-frost, but I jumped at the chance to see more horticulture in the area.

The next morning, I met him downstairs at 7:00 AM.  My friend and colleague Paul Westervelt of Saunders Brothers joined us as we piled into the car in the pre-dawn twilight.  (And, a note that his quotes blow are my paraphrasing of his comments.)

At the cemetery, Steve parked right beyond the entrance at a large grove of Ginkgo and Taxodium just as dawn was breaking.  “This is a female so watch your step,” Steve advised as we tip toed amongst the leaf and seed litter to avoid stinking up the car.  Steve told us that he knew the 750-acre cemetery well and that he taught plant id classes here as an adjunct professor for a local college. He told us that we wouldn’t be able to see it all, but that he would give us a taste of some of the best trees the cemetery had to offer.

A giant Ginkgo biloba greets us near the cemetery entrance.

At this first stop he wanted to show us the amazing pneumatophores on a Taxodium grove near a small pond.  I asked Steve to be a scale for them and he obliged. 

Steve Foltz stands to provide scale of the Taxodium knees. You can’t even tell he’s hiding a breakfast bagel.  

Steve went on to explain that the cemetery dated back to 1845, and that much of the design and beauty of this special place can be traced to Adolph Strauch’s efforts to beautify the cemetery.  Adolph Strauch was a gardener who became superintendent of the cemetery in 1855, and he had European horticulture training. Much of what we saw in the landscape started with his vision to make Spring Grove as beautiful as possible.

From here he took us to see the state champion Taxodium distichum.  Hedera helix had grown up the sides; Steve said about ten years ago they cut the root system on it, but the ivy still lived.  He said that Taxodium weren’t native to Ohio, so this would have been planted here when the cemetery was first established or possibly before that.

The Ohio state champion Taxodium distichum

A close up of the trunk of the state champion Taxodium distichum. You can see the cut ivy stems.

We walked a short distance to see Cercidiphyllum japonicum ‘Amazing Grace’, a lovely form of weeping katsura tree.  Living in the south my encounters with this plant were few. I had only smelled the cotton candy odor the autumn leaves emit once on a perfect day at the JC Raulston Arboretum, and it was faint.  However, here I caught distinct whiffs of cotton candy and burnt sugar coming from the leaves as I paced back and forth on the frosted grass, sniffing the light breeze for the best scent.

“This one is the smaller one.  Let me take you to see the bigger one,” Steve said.

Cercidiphyllum japonicum ‘Amazing Grace’ on the right. The weeping architecture is a great ploy to mimic the flow of water.

So, we got in the car, drove a little bit and hopped out again at stop two. Steve warned us there would be several of these stop-and-gos. “You have to be careful because if you start walking from tree to tree, you’ll quickly get far from your car.” (I’ve numbered the stops to help you follow along, reader.)

We parked near an ancient looking Cercidiphyllum japonicum ‘Amazing Grace’. “I ask students how old do you think this tree is, and they say a few hundred years.  Looking back at records it was either planted in 1976 or 1978.  It’s only a little over 40 years old!”  It was amazing to see such contorted, gnarly growth in such a short time.

Around the corner was a sunset orange Quercus alba.  “Make sure you see the bark in the top of the tree.  It looks like shingles.”  

This Cercidiphyllum japonicum ‘Amazing Grace’ looks over a hundred, but it’s less than half a century old.

A glimpse inside the veil of foliage on Cercidiphyllum japonicum ‘Amazing Grace’ shows the beautiful contorted architecture.

The leaves of Cercidiphyllum japonicum ‘Amazing Grace’ had an interesting patchwork color appearance.

A stately Quercus alba in fall glory

Exfoliating Quercus alba bark

Then, Steve directed us to a tree where he encouraged us to look on the ground.  There we found massive involucres that could only belong to Quercus macrocarpa, the bur oak.  “You have to come early because people will come and collect these right after they fall in early autumn,” Steve said. Most of them had been taken, but we were still able to find a few on the ground.

Quercus macrocarpa involucre looks like a bird’s nest, no?

We piled in the car again, and went to our third stop so that Steve could show us Cornus florida ‘Grovflor’ SPRING GROVE dogwood.  “This cultivar originated here in Spring Grove. It is really interesting because on many branches it has two or three buds on the end of the stem instead of just one.  This trait results in the tree being covered in flowers in the spring.  It also has good fall color.”

Cornus florida ‘Grovflor’ SPRING GROVE showing its red-orange fall color.

Steve holds a branch of Cornus florida ‘Grovflor’ SPRING GROVE so that we can see the multiple flower buds. While most in this shot only have one bud, you’ll see a few tips with two, and one tip (middle-top of the image) with three buds.

Back in the car again, Steve promised that we would really like the next tree at stop four.  And, oh did we.  My mouth gapped open like I was in the movie Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs at the sight of a 40-foot-tall and at least as wide Magnolia macrophylla.  This Magnoliaphile scurried over to take photographs.  Steve shared, “We call this one the sister tree since it is a sister to another one in the cemetery.  Germination of seeds from it have been around 98% while others in the cemetery are around 40%.”  It was amazing to stand underneath and have this shower of golden light pour over me. And, the leaf litter was insane. It looked like Times Square on New Year’s Eve. At least it’s all compostable.

Paul Westervelt and Steve Foltz provide a scale for the largest Magnolia macrophylla I have ever seen.

While I love these Magnolia macrophylla leaves, I could see this being a maintenance nightmare.

At stop five where we saw another large Magnolia macrophylla, Steve showed us an interesting Acer saccharum cultivar called ‘Sweet Shadow’.  It had more dissected leaves that gave it a coarser texture. 

Good fall color on Acer saccharum ‘Sweet Shadow’

Here you can see the more dissected leaves of Acer saccharum ‘Sweet Shadow’

We travelled from here to another location.  “There’s your Parrotia subaequalis,” Steve said at our sixth stop. I had just mentioned the day before in my talk that this fairly new tree introduction deserves wider use, and Steve was saying that so far it had performed well into autumn.  “It’s looked like that for a month,” Steve said in reference to the brilliant crimson.  

Nearby Steve pointed out a nice mature form of weeping Carpinus betulus called ‘Vienna Weeping.’  

A young Parrotia subaequalis

A close up of the incredible fall color on Parrotia subaequalis

A nice mature form of Carpinus betulus ‘Vienna Weeping’

At stop seven we saw a lovely Magnolia grandiflora.  I wasn’t blown away from seeing a random southern magnolia in Ohio, but I was mildly surprised to see it outside of its native range and away from the coast.  Steve said that this one was particularly nice because it survived the frigid 1976/1978 winters as well as ‘Bracken’s Brown Beauty’ had.  He said it was introduced into the trade as Magnolia grandiflora ‘Spring Grove #16’ since it was located in plot 16 in the cemetery.

Magnolia grandiflora ‘Spring Grove #16’ had a lovely wide growth habit.

We then walked a bit to find one of the largest Zelkova serrata I’ve ever seen in fall glory.  Steve shared more about the cemetery design here. He told us there were no fences in the cemetery, and their absence was inherent from the beginning.  That way trash didn’t blow and collect in parts of the cemetery.  Instead, it was designed to feel like a cohesive whole.

Paul Westervelt provides good scale for this glowing Zelkova serrata.

We then headed to our next location at stop eight to see the state champion Cercidiphyllum japonicum.  Unlike the two ‘Amazing Grace’ we had seen, it was bare of leaves and a giant with multiple stems arising out of base of the tree and long arms reaching out.

The Ohio state champion Cercidiphyllum japonicum.

Back in the car again, we drove to stop nine to see the end of performance from Ginkgo biloba ‘Autumn Gold’.  The tree had dropped nearly all its leaves and created a blanket of gold.  I felt like Scrooge McDuck, wanting to swim in the little golden coins.  I commented on how neat it was that the golden leaves were reflecting the color back onto the trunk of the tree.  Steve pondered, “Yea, but how do you capture that,” as if to say that unless you were here experiencing that wonder, it would be hard to share.  Maybe my photo below will do justice.

Isn’t this just breathtaking?

Other trees in this area also had good fall color. Nearby a few Acer griseum × nikoense ‘Girard’ hybrid maples had great red-colored foliage.  We walked a little further to find an Acer campestre in a shroud of yellow.  And, Taxodium distichum var. imbricarium (aka Taxodium ascendens) had nearly dropped all its leaves to make a carpet of orange.  

The crimson color of Acer griseum × nikoense ‘Girard’

The golden yellow of Acer campestre

While not as spectacular as the above Ginkgo, this blanket of foliage around this Taxodium was still neat to see.

We climbed back in the car, and Steve said we had one more stop until we reached of the most iconic trees in the cemetery.  He pulled over, and we got out to see a grove of Abies cilicica in front of us at stop ten.  For a moment with the topography and the Cilician firs, I felt transported to some far off alpine hillside.  Steve walked to the back of a building and shook a shrub.  “This is bladdernut (Staphylea trifolia), a really interesting native woody that you don’t see often.”  He showed us these cool pods of fruit and how the plant would rattle when shook. Steve added, “If you get them at the right time when they are green, they will pop.”

A grove of Abies cilicica stands in the distance

The fruit of Staphylea trifolia

We hopped back in the car to drive a little further.  And, when we arrived at our last stop number eleven, Steve told us that we were about to see a 400 year old Quercus alba.  It was beautiful, stately, with an air of mystery.  Who knows how many funeral processions the tree has watched over during its life time and how many souls it has comforted with its shade.

A massive 400 year old Quercus alba stands as a sentinel in Spring Grove Cemetery

Steve told us that sisters Lucy Braun and Emma Braun were buried nearby.  Lucy in particular was a keen botanist, and she wrote Woody Plants of Ohio.  

We hopped back into the car one last time as Steve drove us out through a lovely woodland preserve to head back to the zoo.  I’m so thankful to have made a new plant friend who is willing to take a couple of hours out of his morning to show me iconic trees in an iconic cemetery.  And, I can’t wait to return to Spring Grove Cemetery. As long as I stay above ground that is.

November at the JC Raulston Arboretum

Ah, November. The last hoorah of the growing season where so much that has been created and synthesized during the growing season is released. It is the month to enjoy some of the last of the warm season flowers and deciduous foliage before it all collapses with first frost. The JC Raulston Arboretum was ripe with both, and below you’ll find some of my favorite plants I learned about during my visits there for November.

Dahlia imperialis (also seen at the top of the page) was one of my favorite fall flowering perennials from the arboretum. The long cane-like stems would arch high in the sky as the lavender chandelier flowers hung down and attracted a plethora of bees.

Gladiolus dalenii ‘Halloweenie’ should be named ‘Thanksgivingie’ because it always seemed to flower later in the month of November. Mine have just recently started blooming in east Texas.

I was always delighted seeing cyclamen rise from the earth with their leaves that look like elven shields. Their flowers would uncoil and rise like this Cyclamen hederifolium Ashwood Nurseries Silver Leaf Group that is coming into bloom.

Chimonanthus nitens is a unique, evergreen flowering relative to Chimonanthus praecox. The finger-like white petals are translucent and not as fragrant as Chimonanthus praecox.

Orange is a common theme here with Abelia × grandiflora ‘Kaleidoscope’ and Nyssa ‘Dirr Selection’ playing off the flag’s color.

A close up of the persistent sepals on Abelia × grandiflora ‘Kaleidoscope’

I’ve shared my love of Salix ‘Flame’ before. November is the first month it really begins to shine now that the leaves have all dropped.

I so notice bark more in the winter time when the stems and trunks are revealed without their atmosphere of foliage. Stewartias are often known for their beautiful bark, and this Stewartia sinensis var. sinensis is no exception.

I love the clean foliage that emerges on Alstroemeria psittacina ‘Variegata’. Even if it never bloomed it would be worth growing.

Heuchera like this ‘Creme de Menthe’ thrive in the cooler months of the south when the ground is more moist and their foliage receives more sunlight to help intensify color.

Frost needles deposit on the spiny leaf of Solanum quitoense, and end this amazing architectural plant’s growth for the season.

Devoid of foliage, the fruit-filled verticillasters of Callicarpa dichotoma ‘Albifructus’ shine.

In New Trees John Grimshaw and Ross Bayton quote Andrew Bunting as saying that Lindera species provide some of the best fall color of any woody plants in the mid-Atlantic. I believed that to be true in Raleigh as well. The names are still a bit muddled. This one was listed as Lindera salicifolia, which is an invalid name, and I believe it should be Lindera glauca var. salicifolia.

A close up of Lindera glauca var. salicifolia

Lindera umbellata has a richer red and wider leaf.

Lindera angustifolia had this interesting curl to the leaves.

Another group of plants that provides spectacular fall color in the south are Japanese maples. Here Acer palmatum ‘Osakasuki’ creates a crimson carpet under the tree.

The serrated leaves of Acer palmatum ‘Pendulum Julian’ have such a warmth to them in November.

Acer palmatum ‘Linearilobum’ looks a bit psychedelic, no?

The foliage of Hamamelis × intermedia ‘Jelena’ turned a lovely burnt yellow in autumn. Notice all the full buds ready to burst.

Where do the red leaves of Cotinus ‘Grace’ end and the foliage of Lagerstroemia ‘Natchez’ begin?

I love Fothergilla for the kaleidoscope of color the leaves produce. One plant can range through purple, red, orange, yellow, and green like this Fothergilla × intermedia ‘Mount Airy’ here.

And, all this colorful foliage must eventually fall. For some plants like Ginkgo biloba ‘Tschi Tschi’ we enjoy not only color on the tree but also the ground.