Monday, December 22, 2014
|Pseudofumaria alba on 11 September 2013|
|Pseudofumaria alba seedlings from the above plant on 2 May 2014|
I am fascinated by my two growing seasons experience with Corydalis ochroleuca, or apparently more correctly Pseudofumaria alba, or I could improvise a common name like White Rock Fumewort. Anyway, as my common name suggests, they are known for growing on cliffs and rock outcroppings, but now are also known in Europe as an escapee of cultivation on walls. I am advised by the literature to regularly deadhead my plants in order to extend the bloom time through the spring and into the summer. They are said to be hardy to -13 degrees Fahrenheit.
None of that corresponds with my experience. I bought the three plants in the spring of 2013 from Digging Dog Nursery and planted them in a slightly raised bed near but not in a rockery. They grew well and bloomed abundantly from late July through September and probably until they were frozen in October. In the spring of 2014 following a winter with minimum temperatures that may have approached -13 degrees Fahrenheit, the three original plants were dead. As the spring progressed I noticed seedlings that looked like they were from my Fumewort, so I moved some around and protected the others. By the end of the summer they were gorgeous full-grown plants. As I write this on 22 October they are still in full bloom, and they have been blooming since about the end of August, as I vaguely recall. I didn't get around to photographing them until 10 September.
Now I have three locations, all close-by each other where I am growing the plant. One of the spots is a heavy clay overlain with an inch or so of rotted organic matter. The other two are in rich, fairly well drained garden soil. None has found its way to the rockery all around them.
So I await the results of their second winter and spring. Perhaps these will perform every year as non-hardy self sowing perennials. If so, that is fine with me because they quickly grow from seed into wonderful garden plants in one summer. When I have a successful experience with a plant that is so contrary to what I am led to expect from my readings I am always fascinated, and when the results are so gratifying I am especially so.
Friday, November 7, 2014
Sunday, August 24, 2014
I had the opportunity to see several private gardens in various tours of this year's Perennial Plant Association annual meeting. There was plenty of beauty and livable garden space to go around, but one struck me for making so much from such a conventional setting. Louis and Betsy Hillenmeyer live in a typical, albeit up-scale, subdivision. Modest lots of, I would guess about a quarter of an acre looked to be standard. The Hillenmeyers made the most of theirs. Arriving at the house one was taken with the elegant walls, full but uncluttered front garden and the manicured Boston ivy enveloping the house.
A beautifully constructed stone wall with clean and simple ground cover and a row of small trees gave the yard a gardened look without being busy or difficult to maintain.
The carefully crafted Boston ivy looks nice but the owner admitted to biweekly pruning. Unless that pruning gives him pleasure, I think that's too much of a commitment to repetitive handiwork.
Walking around the back yard one discovers a far greater investment in elegance, comfort, livability, and artistic flare than expected. The space between the lot line and the side of the house was small enough that the neighbor's front porch was cheek and jowl with the Hillenmeyer's side yard. To both neighbor's credit each of their side yards complemented the other making a lovely enclosure, especially for the deep low front porch of the neighbor.
The Hillenmeyers, however were far from lacking in elegant outdoor living space.
Off the back porch of the house a nice sense of enclosure was created by the walled-in garage and driveway areas while open views of the garden-encircled back yard also offered a nice sense of openness.
A private and intimate enclosure around an outdoor fireplace offered amazing privacy for the relative density of the housing development.
And this little courtyard by the fireplace is divided to offer almost a forecourt for the trip into the sanctuary. The garden was full of what I would call condensed journeys.
Sunday, July 13, 2014
Over the last several years I have delved into rock gardens of various sorts, gravel gardens, trough garden, meadow gardens and my latest, a "well-drained" garden. They have all been and continue to be great learning opportunities. I am introduced to new challenges of all sorts and get to grow plants that I had previously killed, just admired from afar, or had never even heard of. Below is a sample.
On the other hand my well drained garden prompted me to experiment with previously unfamiliar Silene laciniata, Dianthus amurensis, Muhlenbergia reverchonii, and Stachys lavandula all with gratifying success. Pictured above is the rather insubstantial but engaging Silene laciniata.
Above is the Phemeranthus calycinus (aka Talinum calycinum) as it makes an interesting wash over the garden with its easily edited and unobtrusive seedlings.
Monday, June 23, 2014
Abelia mosanensis (Fragrant Abelia) is an underused must-have for fragrance.
Close-up of Abelia mosanensis
Nothing compares with the a well fragranced rose such as Rosa 'Gertrude Jekyll'
Fragrance in plants is a multi-faceted story. I never fail to stop to smell the 'Gertrude Jekyll' roses when I walk by their flowers while at work. And I still mourn failing to move some peonies with me that were so fragrant their cut flowers could perfume a large room. In retrospect I never appreciated how rare that intense fragrance is in peonies. On the other hand I am repeatedly irritated by claims of lovely fragrance that in-truth require deep inhalation with nose squarely imbedded into the flower. And, of course, there is the long established kvetch about breeders neglecting the fragrance trait in otherwise fragrant plants like roses (and peonies, I suppose).
The sense of smell powerfully influences our memories and can bring back long forgotten experiences. The smell of petunias, which is more distinctive than fragrant, immediately brings me back to my early childhood.
Fragrance can transform an evening. For example the smell of the flowers of Brugmansia (Angel's Trumpet) brings back an early evening walk in Balboa Park in San Diego. As I was walking along I was suddenly aware of a most wonderful fragrance which I was able to trace back to a Brugmansia tree. The flowers that emit their strongest fragrance in the evening bring a special delight to what is probably the most emotion laden time for visiting a garden. Nicotiana sylvstris, flowering tobacco, is another memorable plant that contributes to the pleasures of an early evening in the garden, and night-blooming cereus is worthy of a special evening pilgrimage to an enlightened greenhouse.
Another sort of fragrance experience is provided by the likes of Abelia mosanensis (Fragrant Abelia) and Viburnum carlesii (Koreanspice Viburnum). These two shrub's fragrance can transform an entire backyard. Curiously around my part of the country the Abelia most often seen is Abelia x grandiflora, a half hardy shrub with forgettable fragrance. (I really can't recall.) On the other hand Abelia mosanensis is fully hardy and made our deck a sensory delight for about two weeks this spring.
Thursday, May 29, 2014
Symphytum azureum is not your grandmother's comfrey. Here it is in bloom on May 9th.
The mass of blue at the top of the picture is Symphytum azureum on May 4th demonstrating its ability to function as a groundcover and suggesting its potential to spread.
This October 24th picture demonstrates the ability of Symphytum azureum to grow through thick mulch and for its leaves to persist well into the fall.
Symphytum azureum (The common name (comfrey) is very misleading. This is NOT the comfrey that most people know.) It is one of those plants that is both exceptionally useful and a nuisance to get rid of. I am just coming off about a ten year honeymoon with the plant where everything it did pleased me, so I am surprised at how little is seems to be known and offered. Curiously, a Google search brings up mostly sites outside of the U.S. An issue over its proper name may be one reason.
It spreads slowly. It isn't what you would call invasive. Inexorable would be a better description for its slow but relentless spread throughout a suitable growing site. So now after a decade it has reached the boundaries of where I want it to be, but I find it does not come with an off switch. It would not be very compatible with mixed perennial plantings. I fear it would insinuate itself into most anything herbaceous, although I imagine larger plants could readily grow through it. By the way the web site for the German nursery Lorenz von Ehren says that prompt deadheading will slow its spread.
What has been exciting to me is that it is both attractive and very successful at developing a dense stand under the heavy shade of a sugar maple and a massive Norway spruce. For the very patient or the free spender it makes a great groundcover for the shade. The catch is that it must be contained (or perhaps diligently deadheaded).
On the whole it is a very useful plant that would bring considerable joy to gardeners, especially where an attractive solid stand of a highly shade tolerant groundcover is wanted.
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Sometimes plants just knock your socks off when you first have success growing them. Jeffersonia dubia certainly had that affect on me as did Gentiana scabra. Now another Gentian has bowled me over, Gentiana verna. I am growing it in a trough garden with excellent drainage, and it is blooming after its first winter. I read that it is short lived, and I see no mention of self seeding so I guess I had better enjoy it while I can. What an amazing blue!
Monday, February 17, 2014
Cyclamen hederifolia flowers emerging through Carex platyphylla foliage in September
Cyclamen hederifolia in full leaf in mid January, finding plenty of growing room, growing with the dormant Carex platyphylla seen in the previous image
Arum italicum fruiting in August with conspicuously dormant leaves.
Dentaria (Cardamine) diphylla still looking fresh in March after being around all winter and before going dormant in the summer
Sternbergia lutea blooming in the fall as its leaves emerge from dormancy
I grow at least four perennials that emerge in the late summer or fall, remain green all winter and then go dormant as summer approaches (Dentaria (Cardamine) diphylla, Arum italicum, Sternbergia lutea, and Cyclamen hederifolium). Weird. I suppose that makes sense in a Mediterranian climate where the winters are mild and moist and the summers are hot and dry, and that is exactly where three of these four are native. But somehow they survive in climates with cold winters and relatively moist hot summers. Dentaria diphylla, on the other hand, is native to the eastern U.S. So where did it acquire this inverted growing season behavior? I bring this up not for botanical reasons but rather horticultural. How do you take advantage of this habit to enhance your garden? I mean, what a gift to have plants that grow when others aren't. They need to be paired up with compatible companions, but there's the rub.
I pride myself in my efforts to orchestrate the sequence of emergence and decline of perennials in my garden and have several combinations that I shamelessly tout as exemplary. But, alas, this growth habit I am calling "inverted" is challenging. I think I found a nice combination for the Cyclamen. I combined it with Carex platyphylla (Silver Sedge). The sedge is low growing enough that when the otherwise dormant Cyclamen sends up its flowers in mid summer they poke through the sedge and make a nice display. As the Cyclamen leaves are emerging late in the growing season the sedge leaves make room for them as they go dormant. It is all very tidy, but I haven't been able to do anything comparable with Arum italicum or especially Dentaria diphylla. (For hardiness reasons I grow Sternbergia in a pot.) Arum italicum produces stalks with bright red fruit in August when the leaves are gone. It makes an interesting affect on bare ground, so there is a reward for not finding a sort of mirror image growing companion, but I would be more satisfied if I could. I have been growing Dentaria diphylla for six or seven years and only recently realized why it was so unsatisfactory in the summer. I just have to apply myself to this challenge. That (and so much more) is what I love about gardening.