Solstice Trees

“Augh, I cannot believe I did that,” I said as my hand rubbed my furrowed brow.  I thought I had done everything perfect. 

I took the two different Magnolia cultivars out of their pots and bashed their rootballs to knock off the excess substrate.  I inspected their roots and untwisted any that were crooked or circling, even in one case teasing the whole root system out from a cylinder shape into a broom-like spray.  I planted their root flares level with the soil, in a circle mind you!  I backfilled the holes with the original soil and double checked their bases were level with the ground.  And, I turned the water on a slow trickle to settle them in. 

And, that night, looking at photos from the day and jotting notes in my gardening journal I realized I never double checked the labels. The Magnolia trees were in the wrong holes.  

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I love celebrating the winter solstice by planting trees; for those of us in the northern hemisphere, it is the best time to get them in the ground. The cooler temperatures are less stressful, and the soil is more saturated with moisture. My goal is to get the majority of the woodies I’ve hoarded from the past year installed before Christmas, and this month, I’ve already made strides toward achieving it. 

I’ve planted Hamamelis vernalis ‘Amethyst’ and Hamamelis × intermedia ‘Diane’ that I received as bare roots back in the spring. They were planted up upon arrival into pots, and this fall, I watched them swell with buds. The former is just beginning to bloom even though we’ve only had around 250 chilling hours. 

I’ve planted Magnolia virginiana var. australis ‘Mattie Mae Smith’ that I got in Tennessee back in May.  I sited it to be able to enjoy the variegated foliage against the darker background of the fence row.  

I’ve planted Osmanthus fragrans f. aurantiacus I bought this summer in North Carolina and hauled back with us 16 hours across the country.  I sited it near my garden patch where I spend much of my time in the fall.  I can’t wait to smell those sweet blossoms. 

And, Friday I planted Magnolia ‘Lois’ and Magnolia ‘Yellow Bird’, two lovely yellow-flowering Magnolia that will compliment the landscape close to our house.  I chose yellow cultivars since they are on the same side of the color wheel as our log cabin.  ‘Yellow Bird’ is the taller of the two, and I had meant to site it away from the house and ‘Lois’ closer.   However, somehow in setting them out, I got them mixed up. It’s a good life lesson—check the labels twice, plant once.

I can’t wait to see the golden glow of Magnolia ‘Lois’ on my tree.

Immediately I knew why. I was in a hurry ahead of the promised rain projected for the next day.  “Blast, I’ll have to do it tomorrow morning before the front hits,” I thought to myself. I checked the forecast, and it showed precipitation before sunrise.  

Then, it hit me.  We have twinkle lights around our house.  AND, there’s a full moon tonight amplified by the sparse cloud cover.  So, I threw on my gardening shoes and sure enough, both provided enough light to swap them with the darkness brightened. 

I headed out with my shovel to fix my mistake with the golden glow of the twinkle lights and a Cold Full Moon (only in name though, it was in the high sixties and quite comfortable in shorts).  I could see just fine, and within 10 minutes they were in their rightful spots.  I sighed relief, knowing that the promised rain coming tomorrow would help settle them in even further.

With planting and watering finished, I laid down on our drive to stare at the sky and watch the clouds race by.  I love nights like these, where there is a breeze and everything is imbued with a shade of silver.  Even without the twinkle lights on, the night was so bright one would never imagine that it was one of the darkest days of the year.  But, it was. 

The winter solstice is Tuesday.  Wednesday we will brighten the day by a mere second of more light, and by the end of the month, we’ll be getting half a minute back a day.  And, then it’s onward to June.  

These little things add up, whether they be seconds of light or trees we plant. I’m excited for the return of light.  And, to see the solstice trees I’m planting now grow in the new year.

Gentians for Advent

Gentiana saponaria have become one of my favorite flowers in late fall. I don’t like calling them soapwort gentians, named so because their leaves resemble Saponaria.  It leaves a bitter taste in the mouth just saying it and sounds like a compound the dermatologist would prescribe.

No, I so find the name harvestbells much more delightful. It is as if we are ringing in the end of the growing season as we head into Christmas time.  The egg-shaped flowers of these natives remind me of the chunky holiday lights colored for advent, their cobalt blue petals with hints of purple and pink as the flower fades after being pollinated.

I’ve had one on my small nursery pad now for a few years in a container that I got via a colleague, and it has been fun watching it develop and produce 40+ flowers this fall.  I’m afraid to plant my one little plant out; however, I’ve been germinating seedlings, and with a few back ups, I’m about to become more courageous and try it in the ground.

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The Native Plant Society of Texas planned an outing last Sunday to see them blooming in the wild, and I jumped at the chance to go.  While they occur all the way north to Wisconsin, over to coastal New York and New Jersey, and down into Florida, they are rare in Texas and only occur in two counties. Even Karen was interested in seeing them in the wild.  

We arrived at Six Mile Boat Ramp on Toledo Bend Lake Sunday morning to meet up with the group and drove the short distance to the gentian site.  This site is the same that we visited in January 2020.  After walking down the road a bit, friend Peter Loos who helped lead the group directed us into the woods.  The soil here was wet as we stepped carefully and looked down to start searching for the little blue bottles amongst the brown and silver sweet bay leaves.  

“Found one,” Peter yelled.  

Two harvestbells hug the ground and barely appear above the leaf litter. Can you find them?

And, then another and another as we walked through the muck.  On most plants the hefty flowers hugged the ground on long stems as if tucked in for winter’s rest amongst the leaf litter.  The flowers might be a good 18–24 inches away from the crown of the plant.

A good overview of Gentiana saponaria habitat in east Texas.

We first encountered isolated individuals, but then they started appearing in small groupings of three here or eleven there.

One of the most populous concentrations of Gentiana saponaria we saw. How many do you count in this photo? I see seven clusters of flowers and counted eleven plants at this site.

The larger plant in the image above seemed well placed leaning against this pine.

Rounding the corner in the stream, we found an individual that had a flared open flower where we were able to see inside, which was quite unusual. Harvestbells don’t open and close like other gentians such as Gentiana catesbaei.  Instead, bees have to force the petals open to access the pollen. I noticed on it that the pistil was covered in some type of fungus, and there was a small pool of water in the bottom of the flower.  

A close up of the open flower with fungus on the pistil.

I’ve long wondered about the closed flowers of gentians, thinking that it was coevolution with a pollinator. But, seeing this fungus and the water pooled in the bottom clicked with a previous observation. This fall on my plant at home, I pollinated the flowers by prying the flower petals open with my finger and swirling it around.  Then, I would go to another receptive flower and swirl. And, another and another, any that looked ready to receive pollen.  The next morning when I got ready to do more pollinations, I was surprised to find that the flowers I had slightly forced open the day before now had copious water in their little blue bottles.  That didn’t happen last year because this year I installed automatic irrigation for watering my plants. Last year, I got good seed set, but my gut told me that water sitting in the flower wasn’t good. I turned the plant up to dump out what I could and relocated it where I could hand water it. 

But, now seeing this fungus-ridden pistil, I wonder if the closed flower evolved first not to entice bumble bees to pry their way in but instead as protection from rain.  I can think of a handful of late fall and winter flowering plants like Edgeworthia chrysantha with its downward facing flowers or Claytonia virginica that open when the sun is shining that have adaptations that protect the pollen from rain.  While it’s just a hypothesis, it would be easy to test.  One could have a group of plants where the flowers are forced open and allowed to get wet versus a control that remain closed, and then do seed counts on both groups. But, I digress.  

One flower I found had the top eaten off, so I inspected the flat seed before blowing them to the wind.

We walked further down the stream seeing more and more harvestbells. There were stream-side flowers, nibbled on flowers, backlit flowers, and plants with robust flowers.

Once pollinated, the flowers fade from blue to purple or a pinkish-purple.

We are not the only organisms that like gentians. A few of these flowers have been eaten on.

When the sun perfectly pierced through the pines, the harvestbells would be backlit and glow like Christmas lights.

One of the heaviest flowering Gentiana saponaria individuals that we saw.

Gentians weren’t the only notable flora we saw. On our way out, we saw a trio of Liatris with their fluffy seed.  Liatris pycnostachya was so plentiful. There were thousands of stems standing stolidly in the dappled shade. I noted here in the wild they were much less floppy than I am use to seeing in garden culture. While much more muted now in seed, I would have loved to see this sea of purple in bloom this past summer.  

We also saw Liatris tenuis with its more spindly seed heads.  And, to my great delight I saw Liatris squarrosa for the first time.  The feathery pappus made the seedheads almost the size of dandelions puff balls and created a great architectural essence along the trail back to the car.  

The vertical lines of Liatris pycnostachya rise from the forest floor.

My jaw dropped upon seeing the size of these Liatris squarrosa seed heads. They were somewhere between a quarter and half dollar size.

We left having seen so many harvestbells, probably almost 100 at this one site.  I love visiting places like these where they occur because you get such a better feel of what conditions the plant needs to live.  

Back home I discovered that my plant was going to seed. It was an early Christmas present, and once they germinate after three months of chilling will keep giving the gift of delight for many years to come.

Interested in joining the Native Plant Society of Texas?  Click here.  

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.

Fall Color at the Cincinnati Zoo and Botanical Garden

This past week I had the pleasure of giving my first face-to-face plant presentation since February 2019 at the Cincinnati Zoo and Botanical Garden. The Cincinnati Zoo and Botanical Garden was founded in 1873, and the original design called for the intermingling of plants and animals instead of them being cordoned off into different areas. Before we arrived, I had assumed that fall color would be a thing of the past, but I was thrilled to see we were still trees holding onto their leaves. And, the horticulture was excellent with many appropriately planted specimens reaching good size and good labelling. My presentation was on woody trees and shrubs, and I scurried around the garden looking for excellent specimen photos to add to future talks. I wanted to share a few of my favorites with you.

Ginkgo biloba was in its full glory. Throughout Cincinnati, I saw numerous large specimens draped with gold. I admired this subtle contrasting combination between the foreground tree and the closer Hydrangea quercifolia ‘Pee Wee’.

Fallen art from a Ginkgo

Karen enjoys having fun with fallen Ginkgo leaves. This shot is one we recreate frequently when she finds good quality leaves of any tree on the ground.

Fothergilla major ‘Blue Shadow’ colors up quite well in fall.

Seeing Hamamelis virginiana in bloom was an unexpected delight. They’ve just started flowering in Nacogdoches.

In the main part of the garden, trees were still showing spectacular fall color. These Acer rubrum ‘October Glory’ are some of the best I’ve ever seen.

Another tree that was blazed red was Quercus coccinea. It’s a great native oak and one of the best for red fall color.

Viburnum × burkwoodii ‘Mohawk’ was another plant sporting beautiful red foliage. It was released by the US National Arboretum in 1966 and has lovely pink buds that open white in the spring.

This photo is similar to the one above, but here you can see the effect of the leaf above shading the lower leaf from sunlight and mostly preventing the production of anthocyanin, the compound that gives leaves their crimson color. This observation is one of the reasons I believe that the red pigment is produced to aid with managing solar radiation instead of discouraging pests.

Sorbus alnifolia held its beautiful pink fruit amongst fading foliage. While I’ve read where it can grow 50 feet tall, I think I’d rather have the branches closer to the ground to appreciate these peachy pomes.

Diervilla is an underutlized native shrub that grows in a few scattered counties throughout the southern Appalachians. Seeing the fall color on cultivars like Diervilla rivularis 'SMNDRSF' Kodiak® Black is sure to increase its popularity. I also admire the species’s quaint yellow flowers in the summer, and the foliage on this cultivar is darker during the growing season.

Black gums or tupelos produce reliable red fall color. Nyssa sylvatica ‘Wildfire’ was lit with autumnal reds, oranges, and yellows.

Light beams through the stained glass leaves of Parrotia persica. I thought I would see more hints of red in them, but the specimens I saw were a clear yellow.

Magnolia macrophylla gives a whole new definition to the meaning of leaf litter. Some of these leaves are bigger than sheets of paper.

As a naturalist I was so touched and saddened seeing the memorial to Martha, the last Passenger Pigeon that died at the Cincinnati Zoo and Botanical Garden in 1914. I remember reading in Aldo Leopold’s A Sand County Almanac, “Men still live who, in their youth, remember pigeons; trees still live that, in their youth, were shaken by a living wind. But a few decades hence only the oldest oaks will remember, and at long last only the hills will know.”

I’m a sucker for crabapples since we really can’t grow them well in the south. Here the fruit of ‘Bob White’ Malus brightens a dingy sky.

One of the best and largest Cotinus obovatus I’ve ever seen was at the front entrance to the garden. It was absolutely glowing on this cloudy afternoon.

Before we left I had to see the massive solar panel array in the parking lot. What a clever idea to make more use of pavement! The 6400 panels provide around 20% of the park’s energy.

One final shot of Carol Reese, an early mentor of mine who also gave talks Friday, yours truly, and Karen standing in the Under the Sea section of their Christmas light festival. Don’t you just love the jellyfish?

Come One, Come All to a Plant Fair!

On November 4, our students hosted a fall plant fair in the Plantery. This event is our seasonal open house to showcase both the great plants they’ve grown and the projects they’ve developed. We’ve now had four of these in autumn, and each one keeps getting better and better. Read along to see some of the highlights from the evening.

The glasshouse was rife with people looking for winter annuals, succulents, fresh produce, and cut flowers.

I am so delighted each week with the cut flower jars that our students create. They are each a microcosm of the Plantery gardens and a great way to find inspiration about how to combine plants together.

A selection of our winter annuals. One student had the idea to start getting larger pots to create combinations so that guests could see how they can combine plants together at their home.

Outside the glasshouse we had fun pumpkin bowling. Caleb is letting it fly!

Folk music performed by my graduate student Tori and her brother created a wonderful atmosphere for the evening.

The Horticulture Club sponsored hot chocolate, s’mores, and live music for the event.

We also welcomed other agriculture clubs to the Plant Fair. Here ag development students are teaching visitors about the life cycle of a pumpkin.

Our polyhouse was also active with visitors. In this growing area students cultivate tropicals and succulents.

The Sprout garden looked the best it has looked since we broke ground on this site in 2015. And, the gravel garden that frames the entrance to Sprout was full and lush after just being planted back in April.

In the Sprout garden, Gillian demonstrated how to use tools for small scale production like the broadfork immediately behind her.

One project we were excited for people to see was our new espalier fence on the south side of the Sprout garden. In the coming years, we will trellis fruit trees onto this fence to create interesting growth patterns. The fence will also help keep armadillos and deer out.

A glimpse through the new fence of the festivities

I got my drone into the air to snap some photos of the evening. The Sprout garden looked amazing from above.

Hanna, Simone, and Sarah were having fun helping people at the plant fair.

As daylight waned, our twinkle lights brightened twilight.

The luminaries finally started showing their glow once the event was almost over.

A final shot of our plant fair showing the twinkle lights, luminaries, and bonfires.

The students and I had good reflections on what went well from the night and what we can improve for next time. We can’t wait to host an even better plant fair in the spring!

Memories from Cades Cove

Cades Cove holds a special place in my heart.  Its one of my favorite places in the world.  I’ve camped there, walked its streams, road through it probably around a dozen times, and I’ve stood on top of Gregory Bald and looked down into this valley. I know its curves and loops by heart.

If you haven’t heard of Cades Cove, it is an 11-mile loop in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Early pioneers lived here before the park was established, and there are still historical buildings on site.

My favorite time to see this valley is autumn at the end of the growing season when many of the plants are blazed with their fall glory. I have a plethora of photos I’ve taken there over the years.

There’s a lone tree I’ve always enjoyed seeing out in Cades Cove. It’s so stately.

Sourwood (Oxydendrum arboreum) is one of my favorite native trees, mainly for its wonderful red fall foliage color.

Chelone glabra (white turtlehead) grows in wet sites along streams in Cades Cove.

A sea of sea oats in a forest in Cades Cove. Chasmanthium latifolium is a wonderful native grass for shady sites, and it can sport good fall color.

An under appreciated native is Euonymus americanus. I’ve seen it grow well in Cades Cove and here in Texas. Hearts-a-bustin’ or strawberry bush has these lovely capsules in the fall, and the foliage often turns a bleached white.

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Our fifth anniversary was last weekend. Karen and I spent part of our honeymoon in the Smokies, and during our stay, I wanted to go see the fall color in Cades Cove.  It’s about an hour drive from Gatlinburg through the dark winding roads with the light slowly crescendoing towards dawn. I love getting to this place in the early morning when people are few and far between before the sun peaks over the mountain tops.

Skeletons of the past season stand in Cades Cove.

Fog shrouds Hyatt Lane that connects the loop through Cades Cove.

The lone tree yet again. The prior photo from above was taken 8 years before this image, and I can see some changes in its architecture. Some limbs lost and others gained.

The color was a bit past, but that’s alright.  There was enough still holding on for us two leaf peepers.  

A golden glow envelopes the broomsedge (Andropogon virginicus) in Cades Cove. This photo was one of my favorites from the trip.

This Acer is holding on to its last leaves.

Some snags rise out of grass and fog as beams of sunlight penetrate Cades Cove.

The shadows of Tridens flavus rise out of the grassland.

Seeing these short Liquidambar emerging out of this field made me appreciate the potential of coppicing sweet gum in a garden. Each tree has such variable color.

A pair of late milkweed follicles haven’t shed their seeds and coma yet.

I always love finding milkweed seed caught in their dispersion.

On the southern loop headed back to the entrance I spied this large Rhus colony against a backdrop of fading fall color on the mountainsides.

Sometimes when I can’t sleep at night, my mind will drift to Cades Cove.  I’ll imagine myself walking through the grass under a starry, moonlit sky where I can barely see firmament torn by the mountain tops.  And, there I will find rest.  

October at the JC Raulston Arboretum

This post is 10 of 12 of a series I’m doing this year reflecting back on some of my favorite plants from visiting the JC Raulston Arboretum while attending graduate school at NC State in Raleigh, NC.

October was one of my favorite months to visit the JC Raulston Arboretum. The warmth and light of summer that had spurred growth was now waning, and we saw the last flowers of the year emerge before first frost. The cooler weather and shortening days also meant that the first fall colors began to manifest on trees and shrubs. Such a time was ripe to walk through the gardens and enjoy a harvest of color. I hope these favorite plants from the arboretum inspire you to try a few new ones in your garden.

Lespedeza thunbergii subsp. thunbergii ‘Little Volcano’ is such a focal point in fall with its blue-green foliage that is soon covered with magenta flowers. The flowers are so plentiful they weight the stems down for a few weeks while the plant is in bloom.

I loved this combination of Salvia mexicana ‘Limelight’, Ipomoea batatas ‘Sweet Caroline Sweetheart Purple’, and Euphorbia tirucalli ‘Rosea’ at the arboretum. It is a play off the classic yellow/purple contrasting color scheme with a hint of orange/blue contrast, too.

A close-up of the acid green sepals and indigo flowers on Salvia mexicana ‘Limelight’.

I always liked the height of Aster tartaricus. Many asters tend to hug the ground or be in little balls, but this one can rise in a garden bed.

It isn’t fall without mums! Chrysanthemum ‘Gethsemane Moonlight’ is a very vigorous grower and features soft lemon-colored ray petals.

You probably won’t find Pityopsis graminifolia in many gardens, but it is a cool native. Evergreen silvery foliage that looks more like grass leaves (hence the graminifolia which means leaves resembling grass) than something in the aster family puts forth yellow blooms in autumn.

I always enjoyed seeing these Cosmos sulphureus erupt out of the perennial border at the arboretum in fall. Most years, I wouldn’t even see seedlings until well into summer.

Don’t you love how the ray color of Dahlia ‘Forncett Furnace’ echoes the stems on Hibiscus ‘Holly Springs’ in the foreground?

Students are always amazed in the fall to see yellow aster-like flowers emerge from these funky kidney-shaped leaves. Here a mass of Farfugium japonicum ‘Aureomaculatum’ flanks the side of the new lath house.

You can’t make out much variegation on this Callicarpa americana ‘Berries and Cream’, but the berries certainly do shine.

Aster ageratoides ‘Ezo Murasaki’ was a new aster to me. While it has lovely blooms in fall, it can be a bit aggressive.

I love seeing the bracts on hydrangeas fade. You never know what colors are going to manifest like the soft red on Hydrangea macrophylla ‘REI 05’ Forever & Ever Together.

I had seen the Ozark native Amsonia hubrichtii many times in the green, but this plant at the arboretum was my first encounter with its buttery yellow fall color.

The first time Tilia cordata ‘Winter Orange’ caught my eye was seeing the vibrant orange stems on a chilly day. The second time it caught my eye was at the end of October when the leaves turned a lovely yellow.

Brie Arthur stands in front of Parrotia subaequalis for scale. This more recent Parrotia introduction is beloved for its spectacular fall color.

A close-up of the flaming Parrotia subaequalis foliage.

The lobed leaves of Acer saccharum ‘Flax Mill Majesty’ (or it appears to go by just ‘Majesty’ now) are burning bright against a gray sky.

The Asian persimmons often offer good fall color as seen here with the brilliant red foliage on Diospyros kaki.

And, last on the list is Hamamelis mollis ‘Wisley Supreme’. Its fading leaves are a final call for the end of the season, but tucked just behind are the swelling buds that will soon open and warm winter days.

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A Favorite Aster

I’ve been waiting for this moment since we planted the gravel garden back in April. Symphyotrichum oblongifolium ‘Raydon’s Favorite’ has come into bloom, and it is spectacular. This aromatic aster glows amongst the haze of Muhlenbergia reverchonii and the white dust of Calamintha nepeta subsp. nepeta to beckon the end of the year.

A bit of repetition with Symphyotrichum oblongifolium ‘Raydon’s Favorite’ and Calamintha nepeta subsp. nepeta.

Its hard to convey to students what this plant will do in autumn no matter how animated you get in saying, “IT WILL BE COVERED IN PURPLE BLOOMS,” in front of some non-descript foliage. And, spelling the name Symphyotrichum oblongifolium ‘Raydon’s Favorite’ on a plant id exam can be a bit of a turn off I guess. But, after it puts on a show, ‘Raydon’s Favorite’ consistently becomes one of their favorites, too. Perhaps because witnessing the transformation is amazing. One week its another green mound in the landscape, and then the next its smothered in blooms.

For us in east Texas, bloom time lasts around 6 weeks, which is enough time to help cement the name into their heads. This year the asters were a bit later. I’ve depended on them to start flowering toward the end of September, but they all seemed sluggish to get going.

A spray of Muhlenbergia reverchonii erupts from the purple rays and yellow disks of Symphyotrichum oblongifolium ‘Raydon’s Favorite’.

I began wondering from where my original plant came. If I remember correctly, I picked up my first ‘Raydon’s Favorite’ attending the 2007 Tennessee Master Gardener Conference in Kingsport, TN. Some speaker highly recommended it, and once I had it in the ground I could see why. Each fall, it was covered with hundreds of purple rays and yellow disks. This aster spread in my parent’s garden, so much so that I was able to get starts to bring to Texas a few years ago. I do wish that I could say mine at home look as good as these in the gravel garden at school, but I have the voles to blame for their haggard appearance.

The gravel garden planting is a wonderful entrance for the Sprout garden. Even more so now that ‘Raydon’s Favorite’ is in flower.

I also began to wonder where this wonderful cultivar originated. I reached out to Allen Bush. I happened to see online this week he put the name ‘Raydon’s Favorite’ on this selection. I met Allen in 2007 at the Perennial Plant Association in Columbus, Ohio, probably around the same time that my ‘Raydon’s Favorite’ was just getting rooted in well, and he has been a good friend to this day. A phone call later we were swapping aster stories.

Allen said he named this aster after Raydon Alexander of San Antonio, TX. Raydon had seen this aster around the south as a passalong plant, and he shared it with Allen to evaluate and grow. Raydon said he thought that it was a form of Aster × frikartii, but the morphology wasn’t right.  Once in Allen’s hands, he had an aster expert key it to a form of Symphyotrichum oblongifolium. However, this selection was more compact than the typical species, which warranted its horticultural use. With Allen’s help it got around, so much so that the Garden Club of America named it Plant of the Year in 2016.  Allen added that while sometimes you’ll see the variety name angustatus on it, he doesn’t think that it holds much nomenclatural merit.

We talked about how well our plants were performing in the gravel garden. Allen said he thinks that the grit is closer to the actual habitat than just regular garden soil. He is used to seeing aromatic aster in Kentucky thriving in limestone road cuts and xeric outcrops.  He cuts his back in mid-June to help prevent flopping.

Before saying goodbye, we both chatted about how we needed to try ‘October Skies’, an even tighter aster and two weeks earlier flowering than ‘Raydon’s Favorite’.

Don’t you just love how tight these purple mounds are?

But, no matter what new asters come out, ‘Raydon’s Favorite’ is still one of Jared’s favorites, and I can’t imagine a world without it. So, thanks Allen and Raydon for sharing this wonderful plant with all of us.

Fall at the Dallas Arboretum

When I moved to Texas in 2014, one of the first places I wanted to visit was the The Dallas Arboretum & Botanic Garden in October. I had seen mesmerizing images of pumpkins used to create spectacular villages online from friends who had gone. During my first summer in Texas, I met SFA alumna Jenny Wegley who is the vice president of horticulture operations at the arboretum. I told Jenny that I was interested in coming to visit later that fall and wanted to bring students along. She said we were welcome to come and to give her a heads up when we made our way to Dallas.

A few months later, a handful of students and I left Nacogdoches around 6 am to get to Dallas as early as possible. We first headed to the Pecan Grove to meet up with Jenny before the big crowds of people arrived. Pecan Grove, where the core of the autumn display is housed each year, was covered with pumpkin pointillism. Jenny told us that some years 90,000 pumpkins are used to decorate the arboretum, and each year different designs are used to enchant both new and returning visitors.

The pumpkin display is concentrated in Pecan Grove, an open area that allows the gardeners to install whatever suits their artistic pallet.

What a foundation planting for this pumpkin house!

A close up of the wall of squash reveals the delightful diversity of textures and colors from the cucurbit family.

Our crop of students standing amongst a crop of pumpkins. Even Jenny Wegley (third from right) was an SFA grad from back in the day.

The staff at the Dallas Arboretum were hard at work making sure that the displays were “stuffed” with enough pumpkins.

I found these pumpkin garlands adorable! They were made using wire and had ornamental corn hung from them, too.

A river of steel blue pumpkins meanders through a tapestry of orange.

Piles of cucurbits surrounded by vining ornamental sweet potatoes created the illusion of a pumpkin patch.

After we left Pecan Grove, we walked to see other parts of the arboretum. Along the way we saw other places where the gardeners had integrated pumpkins into the landscape displays.

Pumpkins were used as edging along side these beds of Pachystachys lutea and Strobilanthes dyerianus.

Pumpkin edging fades into pumpkin piles here in front of Hamelia patens and Manihot esculenta ‘Variegata’.

These pumpkin cairns add a pop to this bed of Tagetes.

I liked how the white pumpkins picked up the hints of white in the fading Begonia petals.

And, then other parts of the arboretum were planted for fall color.

This alley of juvenile trees was planted with Tagetes and Ipomoea for fall color.

This bed featured quite a contrast between the yellow Chrysanthemum and Acalypha wilkesiana ‘Kona Gold’ and the purple Torenia.

We saw Lespedeza thunbergii subsp. thunbergii 'Little Volcano' at the arboretum. I love this fall flowering shrub; for weeks the branches are covered in lovely magenta flowers that are held amongst glaucous blue leaves.

My first trip taking students to the Dallas Arboretum was a wonderful time. And, while most of us can’t have 90,000 pumpkins at our homes, I hope that some of these photos have helped to inspire you to be a bit creative with how you create your autumnal displays!