A Hard Stop

We had a hard stop for our growing season this year.  The bitter cold that rushed down dropped us to 9ºF with a few more nights in the teens. 

The day before the front arrived I ran around covering tender plants with tarps, blankets, leaves, and leaf cages. A week later they seem to have made it through just fine, but plants I didn’t cover were not so fortunate. The landscape looks bleached. The vegetable patch is done, save for the carrots, but they now need to be dug before the delicious sugars start being redirected into regenerating top growth.  I picked what I could of the cabbage, broccoli, and kale before the cold arrived.  They are all now turning to mush. 

I suppose that the story the landscape is telling this year decided it was time for a chapter break instead of a comma. I do love to extend the season and keep it going, but it does feel refreshing to have a bare slate garden for the new year.  

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I’m reflecting back on 2022, a year that has been good to us.  We have lived here in our log cabin for five years now, and I now know this place better than I ever have. I can predict how the light will move and irradiate a certain group of plants through a gap in the trees. I see how the water runs and where currents can be an issue.  I remember where the first frost will settle and the first spring beauty will bloom. And, I have built a hefty list of plants that do well in our little valley. There is a peace that comes from knowing a spot of earth and guiding it towards a better future.

And, now looking forward to 2023, I’m planning what comes next.  I see many peers in the creative community going through their end of the year reviews.  What went well? What didn’t go well and can be made better? We in the green industry can do the same. But, where to start? There have been several moons and many more sleeps since the clock struck midnight 364 days ago.

I have tried to get better at capturing ideas this year to remember and reflect. I used to walk around with a Field Notes in my back pocket, jotting down ideas and sketches, but now I find my phone more convenient.  I can take photographs of beds, circle and scribble notes on them using the edit function, and save them in an album for later. 

I use the iPhone’s Reminders to track what needs to be done in the garden.  I will either walk around with it open and type as needed or tell Siri to create a reminder for my garden list, and then dictate whatever needs to be done.  Once inside I can filter through them and move those with more importance to the top.  And, I can set deadlines or due dates so that when I need to pull those seeds out of the fridge from stratifying in 1 month and 11 days it pops up on my phone when needed. 

For capturing ideas that I see online I have a few options.  Day One journal app is great for not only documenting what happened in the garden that day but also screenshotting ideas that I find like a surprising plant combination or adding plants to a wish list. I think it is now a monthly subscription as I subscribed early on and got grandfathered in. Other options include the free apps Evernote, Trello, Google Docs, and Notion for capture. Each can be used in endless ways from tracking seeds and cultivars to storing notes and research about plants.  Notion is my current favorite for its quick sync across multiple devices and its customizability.

Of course, it can be overwhelming to see so many items on a to do list but remember, small steps. One or two things done a day or a week can move you forward faster than you think on a gardening project or goal. There’s also the grace of the short days of winter.  We are inside more starting the new year and planning what needs to come next.

Sometimes I feel like E.B. White who listed a plethora of tasks in his 1941 essay “Memorandum” with most sentences starting with “Today I should…” or “I ought to finish.…”

I suppose he was employing the Getting Things Done methodology before it was vogue, this idea of emptying your mind of all that has to be done because how can you have ideas when your brain is too busy trying to hold them?  He jumps from task to task to task, each one leading him to another thing he has remembered needs to be completed. Just one example, he must rake the brush that was left in the field, and today would be good to burn it since it rained recently, but before he burns it he needs to research is it better or burn or let rot into compost. I chuckle and think how often my mind goes in these items in a series loops, too.

Of course, it is a bit tongue in cheek because there’s no way he can get all the things done that he needs to today.  But, listing them is a good first step. 

He closes with “I’ve been spending a lot of time here typing, and I see it is four o’clock already and almost dark, so I had better get going.” 

I should, too.

The (Impulsive) Gift of Bulbs

If last week’s post on my forethought of sowing seed made you think that I always have everything planned out, this week’s writing will change your mind. I like to think that I’m not too much of an impulsive gardener, but perhaps I just live in denial.

When Brent and Becky’s Bulbs announced a 50% off sale on bulk orders last week, I jumped at the chance to view their offerings online. At first, it was casual scrolling, but the adrenaline started pumping as I watched inventory of some bulbs vanish before my eyes. Maybe next time, ‘Gravetye Giant’ Leucojum.

There was no time to let family or Santa Claus know what I wanted. I would splurge on bulbs that I’ve been wanting to get and call it an early Christmas present to myself.

I love seeing the underground structures that produce the flowers we so enjoy above ground. Bulbs clockwise from top, the chunky Ipheion uniflorum ‘Wisley Blue’, the tufted Tulipa clusiana ‘Cynthia’, and the rupturing tunics of Narcissus papyraceus ‘Galilee’.

I was delighted to see Ipheion uniflorum ‘Wisley Blue’. I think some consider these geophytes second rate, but beggars can’t be choosers. In Zone 8b, this bulb is a reliable grower for us. I found some years ago in an abandoned lot here in town, added them to my garden beds where I have a cool-colored planting, and they thrived. In the time since, they have multiplied, their glaucous blades having already emerged this fall. I’ve also noticed how they can be good groundcovers to prevent too much weed growth in the spring.

A close up of Ipheion uniflorum ‘Wisley Blue’

I zipped down the page to see the status of the tulip selection, and sure enough Tulipa clusiana ‘Cynthia’ and ‘Lady Jane’ were available. Lady tulips are known for growing well in the south. You can identify those of this lineage with their candy-like bicolored petals and the little tuft of hairy trichomes at the top that resembles a mouse’s ear. I have been looking for warmer colors to play off the browns in our log cabin, so I only ordered ‘Cynthia’. I already had a handful of them growing well from the Smith County Master Gardeners bulb sale and ‘Lady Jane’ is a bit too pink for where I want it. Even in impulse there is some restraint!

‘Cynthia’ Tulipa clusiana in my home garden

And, then I backtracked to Narcissus where I knew I would spend some time. I’ve been wanting to add some more Narcissus papyraceus to my garden, which are just starting to bloom well here. I settled on ‘Galilee’, a cultivar that was bred for indoor forcing in Israel in the 1970’s but is still a handsome performer for outdoor plantings in the deep south.  Even though paperwhites are already coming into bloom, these will have a late start this year and catch up later.

By chance the other three Narcissus I ordered all have Narcissus cyclamineus in their pedigree.  They typically need growing conditions to be colder and wetter than what we have in the south, but hybrids like the three I purchased—‘Jetfire’, ‘Tête-à-tête’, and ‘February Gold’—should perform well.

I have fond memories of visiting the JC Raulston Arboretum around Valentine’s Day and seeing a large number of ‘February Gold’ in flower. We need more winter interest in front of our house, and I think that these will go well in that spot.

‘February Gold’ at the JC Raulston Arboretum in Raleigh, NC

‘Jetfire’ was one of the first daffodil varieties I ever grew.  My friend Jimmy Williams of Paris, Tennessee introduced me to it.  He had it planted throughout his back woods where the reflexed yellow perianth and orange cups would catch the warming March light and glow.  They should go well with ‘Ceylon’, another orange-cupped selection that does well for me.

‘Jetfire’ Narcissus at Duke Gardens in Durham, North Carolina

I also got ‘Tête-à-tête’, a popular diminutive cultivar that I grew back in Tennessee. ‘Tête-à-tête’, which is French for face-to-face, is a dainty little Narcissus that can sport 2 (or 3) flowers per scape. I knew Michael McDowell of the Instagram account @planoprairiegarden had success with this selection, and I thought I would give it a whirl. Its short stature makes it good for planting in the shade of others.

I’ll be honest. I have faith in the starflower, lady tulip, and paperwhites. But, I realize the Narcissus hybrids are on more of a trial basis. The challenge with some of these bulbs is knowing if they will get enough winter chilling to bloom reliably. I like to reference Daffodils in Florida by Linda M. Van Beck and Sara L. Van Beck and Scott Ogden’s Garden Bulbs for the South to know which types will likely grow well here and the conditions they need to be successful.

So, I’m going to not put all of my bulbs in one basket. I’m going to scatter them around in a few small groups to see where they are happiest here. I’m also making sure that I lime a bit where they go into the ground as our soil pH tends to be 4.5 or lower.

I suppose if you think about it bulbs are like little Christmas presents, hidden in their wrappers until the joy inside is revealed. My goal for these geophytes to thrive is for them to be the gift that keeps on giving for many years to come, even if it they were just an impulse gift to myself.

Solstice Seedlings

We are a a little over a week away from the winter solstice. The year has wrung about as much light out of the day as it can, and we have mere minutes left to lose until we hit the shortest day of 2022.

It’s in this solstice season that I start planning in earnest for next year. With the semester over, the growing season ended, and the new year on the horizon I have time to consider the goals and projects I want to move forward in the coming year.

The plants in my garden are preparing for next year, especially those whose growth culminates in spring. Even though March is months away, amongst the duff there are hints of the next growing season starting to appear. Every day harnessing the sun counts in the march toward warmer weather for making sugars that will become more blades and blooms.

I’ve spied the lobed foliage of Delphinium carolinianum (prairie larkspur) and Viola pedata (birds-foot violet) in the garden. The maroon leaves of Claytonia virginica (spring beauty) no longer hide amongst the tawny, frosted turf. I even found two with open flowers in our backyard this week. The little toothpick leaves of Phlox pilosa (prairie phlox) are emerging. And, the first of my perennial sowings from this year are germinating.  

Late last spring, I sowed Marshallia caespitosa (Barbara’s buttons) and Callirhoe alcaeoides (white poppy mallow) from seed collected in my garden.  I love both for their white flowers and desired more as they are good fillers for spring color. Callirhoe has this ability to thread itself through the matrix of foliage, and looking down on a Marshallia is like looking up at a galaxy. Both go dormant in my garden soon after they flower and set seed.

I decided instead of letting the progeny sit in storage in the fridge, I would promptly sow them and put them on my small nursery pad where they would receive occasional irrigation over the summer. Often with the first time sowing a batch of seed, I will sprinkle them on potting substrate in a gallon pot, trust mother nature, and watch and learn for next time. Both seem quite happy with this approach thus far.

Marshallia caespitosa

Callirhoe alcaeoides

Marshallia caespitosa seedlings

Callirhoe alcaeoides seedlings

Even though they got water all summer long, their emergence coincided with the return of cooler weather this autumn. Like many native perennial seeds, the delay makes sense to wait and start growth when conditions are more appropriate. The Callirhoe germinated fast while the Marshallia were more staggered.

Towards spring I’ll tease them apart and pot on into trays to allow each plant to have space to grow.  And, then once they’ve bulked up a bit, I’ll welcome these plants into the garden.

I suppose in retrospect my planning for 2023 started earlier in the year than just here at the end. Every seed I sowed in anticipation of having more plants for next year is hope and planning for greater things to come. Their appearance is yet another thing to celebrate in this solstice season.

Thankful for the Return of Snowdrops

“YES!” I exclaimed! “They came back!”  Before me was the cupped blade of a single snowdrop piercing up from the soil.  I scraped some leaves back and found more shoots.  “And, another!  And, another!” I added. 

It was early November, and I was so ecstatic. I have been searching for bulbs to grow in east Texas outside of those that have a reputation for thriving here. Autumn-flowering geophytes that don’t need significant winter chilling to flower I felt held promise as our lack of vernalization is the limiting factor for many species. Galanthus elwesii var. monostictus (one-spotted greater snowdrop) was high on my list to try. 

Galanthus elwesii var. monostictus has a single upside down heart-shaped spot on the inner tepal tip, while Galanthus elwesii has a second green blotch above the spot at the base.

My introduction to this late autumn flower was from visiting Nancy Godwin at Montrose Gardens in Hillsborough, NC. She turned a handful of bulbs years ago into thousands of plants that now carpet the understory behind her home.  I have multiple memories of visiting Montrose around Thanksgiving for one of her snowdrop walks with friends. And, now mine were blooming right on cue.

I had bought some bulbs from Nancy before and tried them in a container thinking that the soil here might be too dry, but I lost them twice.  I figured third time was the charm, and I acquired more bulbs in the green from Nancy last winter.  I decided to be brave and try them in two in-the-ground locations; both spots I amended with grit and lime to improve the soil conditions.

I planted a few in my fenced in patch where they would be protected from uprooting armadillos and able to get more water during the summer when I irrigated summer cut flowers and veggies.  Years ago, I read in Scott Ogden’s Garden Bulbs for the South that most Galanthus should not dry out during the summer and often like wetter spots. 

However, Nancy told me that where she has these autumn-flowering snowdrops in her woods turns bone dry in the summer. Therefore, site two was higher and drier underneath trees in a new bed that magically appeared after we lost some azaleas in the freeze of February 2021. I didn’t water this site all summer.

This shaded spot is where I have found snowdrops emerging first, and they are further along than those in the patch where a scraping of soil showed the bulbs are still intact but haven’t produced foliage yet. I’m sure autumn rains are a trigger for emergence, but I ponder if they also need to have cooler temperatures to appear, which they are able to get sooner from the waning shade of sweetgum and oak? 

There’s no way that I can grow the multitude of selections my colleagues do further north—well, in absence of a walk-in cooler that is—nor do I wish to become such a collector. But, I’m happy to potentially add yet another geophyte to my garden cast of characters. I may be counting my snowdrops before they have hatched—er, make that returned again next year—but I do believe that seeing them this year in flower is a good sign. I’ll give them my choicest compost with some bone meal, and I’ll hope that next year I can once again be thankful for their return.

The Blessing of Seedheads

Today looks cold enough to snow with the low gray sky. I’m more used to this weather in February than I am November. The forecast said the high won’t break 50ºF today. Alas, the only thing falling from the sky will be rain.

I do a final walk around before the clouds burst. We’ve now had a few frosts, one hard one this past weekend. Looking out over the garden, most of the flowering plants are now done. I’m afraid even my late flowering ‘Halloweenie’ glads (Gladiolus dalenii) that haven’t bloomed yet (and with their tardiness in past years I’ve joked should be named ‘Thanksgivingie’) are going to get hit with more freezing temperatures we have coming this week.

So on this walk I’m thinking of frost-proof winter interest I have for the next few months in the garden. I’m counting my garden blessings if you will to see what at the end of the season I can appreciate.

Seed heads are at the top of the list as they have such a prominent presence in the winter landscape. They are skeletons of the past that, a glimpse of what the garden once was in the height of its empire.

Near the house Helianthus radula (rayless sunflower) still looks spectacular as the black stems pop against the froth of Eragrostis spectablis (purple lovegrass, header image). On the other side of the lovegrass rise the black buttons of Pycnanthemum tenuifolium (narrow-leaf mountain mint). It is one of my favorite perennials for its multi-season interest in the landscape. I make a note to pair more blacks with the winter foliage of the love grass for next year.

There are also some Lilium formosanum (Formosan lily) in the bed that rise up and have started to release seeds from their brown chalices. I just transplanted them to that spot this spring, so their height is much shorter. I quite like their more diminutive nature.

Pycnanthemum tenuifolium

Lilium formosanum

As I walk further along the bed, I see the spherical seedheads of Hyptis alata (clustered bushmint). They will last the rest of winter, though I have to be careful whenever I remove them come spring because they are loaded with seed that I’ll be weeding for months afterwards if they spill.

Hyptis alata

Nearing the orchard, I startle some Dark-eyed Juncos. They are the first I’ve seen this year, and I’m delighted the cold fronts have brought them back to the garden. They dart under the glimmering split-beard bluestem (Andropogon ternarius). Even on a sunless day, the plant still shines. The clumps are now in their second year, and I realize the site I put it on is too fertile as some have lodged and thus made an even better hiding place for the juncos and other little brown birds mixed in the flock. Next year, I’ll have to cut them back in mid-summer much like they do when mowing the roadside to help keep it shorter for lasting winter interest.

Andropogon ternarius

There are still a few Baptisia alba (white wild indigo) in the orchard beds. For us they start going dormant in late August or early September. It’s always a hard call for me to ask do these dead twigs stay or do they go. But, I seem to always err on letting them stay. Some have already blown away with their tumbleweed action, and I have found them next to a fence or in the ditch by the road. It’s a creative approach to seed dispersal.

Another Baptisia, yellow wild indigo, is nearby in the front of the patch and has more spherical fruit, hence the epithet sphaerocarpa for the round (sphaero-) fruit (-carpa) it forms.

Baptisia alba

Baptisia sphaerocarpa

Vernonia baldwinii (western ironweed) also looks good in its last moments. I have found they have staying power into the winter with their feather-duster seed heads. The pappus is such a nice light tan and pops against the dark stems.

Vernonia baldwinii

A flock of winter birds is once again startled as I make my way back toward the house. I think how seedheads are not just a blessing for me. I know that the winter birds enjoy them, too. That’s why I admire them while I can before they and the wind spread the seeds. Such thoughts warm my soul, perhaps as much as the corn chowder I’ll have tonight after a cold autumn day.

The Gift of Persimmons

The first NIKITA’S GIFT persimmon I ate was a present. I and a few colleagues were eating dinner with Brie Arthur in Raleigh in 2013. And, after dinner Brie pipped up that she had some NIKITA’S GIFT persimmons to share. We were to take a few and let them sit on the counter for a week or so to ripen and become soft.

I followed her advice, and sure enough about 10 days later, the fruit gave with a gentle squeeze. After one bite, I can still remember nine years later the sweet and tropical flavor—almost mango like—at the advent of winter. And, there was little astringency.

I had to have more.

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Once we moved into our current home, one of my first tasks was planting an orchard for I knew it would take time for fruit trees to grow. NIKITA’S GIFT was at the top of my wishlist of trees. It’s not your normal persimmon. No, it was bred in Ukraine at Nikita Botanic Garden by crossing our native Diospyros virginiana with Diospyros kaki. It has the flavor of American persimmon but more vigor and larger fruit and leaf size like Japanese persimmon. Officially, the cultivar name is ‘Nikitskaya Bordovaya’, but Northwoods Nursery trademarked the name NIKITA’S GIFT; therefore, I’m following the practice of capitalizing the name to indicate name protection since the Americanized name is not a cultivar.

I ordered three one-gallon plants online in autumn of 2018, and after they arrived, I took great care getting them established.  I picked out a perfect spot for them in the orchard-to-be where they would be visible from the house and where the morning sun would would irradiate their future orange orbs on the trees.  The rootballs had J roots, a condition where the root grew down to the bottom of the pot, turned, and then grew back up.  After some teasing, I had the problem mostly fixed and the plants firmly set in the soil. I caged the trees to protect from deer, a wise decision seeing the other trees they’ve destroyed on the property. I mulched them, provided fresh leaf mold for their bases each year, and watered when needed.  Then, I waited.

I was delighted in 2020 to see them bloom. Their blooms were large, larger than I remember them being on a native persimmon. However, no fruits followed. They bloomed again in 2021. This time, fruit followed, but they fell off. I became concerned that even though we have persimmons around in the forests, the trees weren’t getting pollinated enough. I thought I would give them another year or two, but I had begun to consider grafting a wild male American persimmon bud onto the tree to ensure pollen was available.

 But, then this year came, and the trees were loaded with fruit. One tree had easily 50 fruit on it.  But, in midsummer, they began to fall off again.  I decided to take an extreme approach and prune most of the fruit off until there was only 10 fruit left on each tree.  My suspicion was the fruit were dropping because so many had been pollinated, but the tree could only support so many. 

The fruit ripening is like watching a slow, long burning sunset. The orbs started changing color in September as the green fruit shifted to a bright golden yellow and then made their way through hues of orange in October until they display that last fiery red now that November has arrived.

The reddening NIKITA’S GIFT persimmon is almost ripe!

Of course, I tried to cheat and take a persimmon early, but you can’t rush ripening on a persimmon. Even the fruit sitting on the kitchen window for two weeks isn’t enough. One bite and my mouth turned dry.  I gargled water at the spout on the kitchen sink trying to cure my dry mouth.  Dad always said fruit needed a frost before the wild ones were ready to eat. Same for NIKITA’S GIFT, too, I suppose.

Finally, the other afternoon my patience paid off.  Three weeks after a light frost, I picked my first ripe persimmon off the tree under the late cloudy skies of an autumn afternoon. The fruit gave a bit when squeezed in.

The taste was heavenly.  It had taken me four years to grow it, and it was the same taste I remember from trying my first NIKITA’S GIFT in graduate school so many years ago. It was like eating an even sweeter American persimmon with hints of the tropics but without the seeds.  I’m still surprised how red NIKITA’S GIFT is when ready to eat. The fruit appears more like a small tomato than a persimmon.

I’ve got around 30 fruit total between the three trees.  And, the are continuing to ripen as their yellowing leaves fall to reveal spheres that have been hidden in the foliage all season.  The trees are still young, and I can’t wait to see them in future years even more laden with fruit for autumn, glowing orange-red against the browns and tans of a frosted landscape.  Perhaps one day I’ll have so many I’ll have no choice but to gift NIKITA’S GIFT to others. Something so good must be shared.

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.

An Autumn Entrance

The past several weeks have been brutal with the lack of rain. I feel all I’ve been doing with my gardening time is hauling hoses. Every day I find something else wilting from the lack of any water.

And, then I found where an armadillo dug up some plants, and a buck decided to obliterate the bark on my prized Prunus mume ‘Dawn’ (flowering apricot).

These valleys in the gardening experience are so frustrating.

However, one thing I have taken delight in is Karen’s growing interest in gardening. From cut flowers to growing milkweed for Monarchs, she has really blossomed as a gardener. She has been so proud of her design of the side entrance to the house, and it has looked great under her stewardship this fall.

We made a stop at Blue Moon Gardens a month ago and loaded up on some autumn color after picking up pumpkins at Trader Joe’s. The pumpkins and two mums provide seasonal color, but there are other plant gems tucked in here.

Most plants offer colorful foliage. We have a few houseplants in the mix like the variegated Dracaena trifasciata ‘Laurentii’ (snake plant) and a gold splashed Codiaeum variegatum var. pictum ‘Petra’ (croton). Even I integrated my three year old silvery Cissus discolor (rex begonia vine) into the display by allowing it to clamber over the railing. And, then of course we have her mixed batches of succulents, many propagated from our wedding favors from 2016.

The black pearl peppers pop against the foliage of Capsicum annuum ‘Onyx Red’ (ornamental pepper). A few volunteer seedlings of Celosia argentea var. plumosa ‘Dragon’s Breath’ (celosia) returned from last year. It colors up a brilliant red in full sun, but with some shade it has more green in the foliage.

A few planters that offer fall color by our side door entrance featuring Capsicum annuum ‘Onyx Red’, Celosia argentea var. plumosa ‘Dragon’s Breath’, and Euphorbia × martinii ‘Ascot Rainbow’

We moved a few celosia into a larger pot, and in the back we stuck a plant of Euphorbia × martinii ‘Ascot Rainbow’ (Martin’s spurge). ‘Ascot Rainbow’ was discovered as a branch sport by David Glenn of Ascot, Victoria in 2005 and has since spread around the world as a variegated Euphorbia with incredible color that intensifies as winter progresses and then blooms.

A closeup of the variegation on Euphorbia × martinii ‘Ascot Rainbow’

I grew ‘Ascot Rainbow’ in my 100+ container collection back in grad school for reliable winter color. It really does go through a myriad of hues, intensifying as the weather gets cooler and what little winter sun we have shines bright.

A photo from a January day 10 years ago shows the rich color that Euphorbia × martinii ‘Ascot Rainbow’ can turn in winter.

It’s amazing how a cultivar returning under my care brings back so many memories. The smell of winter in Raleigh. The constant noises of apartment living. Piling snow around the pots during a freak snow event to protect them from freezing temperatures that night. Somehow I lost it in the move, but now the memories come flooding back.

Karen asked why I don’t do more pots. She thought that maybe they were a bad practice or out of vogue. I was just burned out on container gardening. Having lived in an apartment for six years in grad school and a rental house three years here in Nacogdoches, I was mostly done with containers and ready for some in the ground growing. And, really, I was mostly done with watering (though I chuckle writing that with all the hose dragging I’ve had to do lately).

In grad school I didn’t have a hose, so I had to craft some tubing with fittings that would hook up to my shower head to fill two trash cans outside. And, then I would dunk watering cans to water pots every other day during the growing season unless it rained. Every pot had a saucer to help hold the precious water. And, for many years that was my life.

Once we bought our house, almost everything went into the ground as I and my plants said goodbye to nomad living. My houseplant collection dwindled as I only kept the plants that were precious and would need to be moved back and forth inside or that wouldn’t do well in the ground here in Texas. And, honestly, I haven’t thought much about containers since.

But, I have forgotten how good these pop up gardens are for the creativity they can cultivate. The thing I loved about containers were they were a miniature lab, an experimental place to see how things do. They had a modularity about them where if something looked bad, it could be swapped out or moved around.

And now that I have someone to help water and care for them, there are even more opportunities to create magic.

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The rains have returned, the mums are petering out, and we are about to move the houseplants inside. We got our first frost of 28°F this week, four weeks early. Karen has already started talking about what we should do for the coming holidays in this space.

I can’t wait to see what she creates next.

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.

Copper Plant

While the calendar said that fall arrived this week, the thermometer wasn’t so sure. It’s been a scorcher, one of the hottest last few days of September that I remember. Every day is clear, and the sun bakes us by mid-day. But, it’s different from July. There is at least a relief in the mornings that wasn’t there a few months ago.

There are other differences from the summer. As autumn arrives, I love seeing copper leaf colors intensifying as the days get shorter. A few months ago, they were a paler pink, but now the leaves are reddening as the season comes to a close.

I can’t think of another plant that pairs well with so many different colors. I planted them to play off our dark brown log cabin, thinking their warm tones would pair well. A dusting of Gomphrena globosa ‘Ping Pong White’ beneath them plays off the older, off-white leaves. Now that we’ve put pumpkins on the porch, I’ve realized copper leaf has even hints of orange. And, at the Plantery, students sited them next to pink as a color echo.

A close up of Acalypha wilkesiana ‘Tricolor’

Who says you can’t pair orange and pink? I feel like you can with Acalypha wilkesiana ‘Tricolor’. We let the Senna alata sow themselves around last year near the house, and I left them for texture and for their late season yellow blooms that will be appearing soon.

In the Plantery, the students paired Acalypha wilkesiana ‘Tricolor’ with Vinca ‘Cora Pink’ for a nice pink color echo.

It’s interesting to me how the leaves play off different colors. As I told my Landscape Plants class, flowers are for a day but foliage is forever. At least until we have the first good frost. Until then, I’ll be enjoying all the warm colors in copper leaf until the forests around us can take over the autumnal show.