Diminutive Spring Flowers



A selection of English Daisy (Bellis perennis 'Rominette Red') with vivid red flowers




Asian twinleaf (Jeffersonia dubia) in a superior flower form from the specimen pictured below



This is my newest addition of Asian twinleaf and its sort-of blowzy flowers are far inferior to those I purchased several years ago, one of which is pictured above.





This tiny fritillaria (Fritillaria armena) is so diminutive and ephemeral I am amazed each season to see it return.




As spring is bursting upon us I am excitedly snapping pictures of the plants (new and old) that, for whatever reason, seem to stir me. The first is a selection of the often maligned and often weedy English daisy called Bellis perennis 'Rominette Red'. I bought this at Mulberry Creek Herb Farm in Huron, Ohio where one of their specialties is miniature plants. This brilliant red English daisy works wonderfully with my rock garden, but I could see lots of applications for it. It also has some sentimental value in that one of my mother's favorite illustrated books includes this plant with fairies or some other such creatures dancing beneath its flowers.

I bought an additional Asian twinleaf (Jeffersonia dubia) two years ago to supplements the plants I already have. Interestingly the new plant is not nearly as attractive in flower as the old ones. I don't doubt they are taxonomically the same, but there is an obvious horticultural difference. My older ones are, to me, an aesthetic marvel while the new one looks like a lavender form of our native twinleaf.

Another very diminutive plant that made a return engagement is my Fritillaria armena. Between being so tiny and going dormant a few weeks after blooming I was surprised to see it return after what was its third winter with me.

These are not tiny enough, perhaps, to qualify for what in school we used to call "belly plants" (because you have to get on your belly to see them), but they are definitely plants that need to be sought out to be noticed. I like a garden that has multiple levels of appeal depending upon the degree of scrutiny, especially when it rewards very careful and detailed observation.

Food, Learning How Much to Grow

Today I am venting about my ongoing difficulties with growing appropriate amounts of fruits, vegetables and nuts.  When I bought my property it already had a little orchard which I maintain by pruning. I don't spray, so my apples are less than perfect but very abundant; the cherry trees are either dead or the fruit is eaten by the birds; but the pears are usually unblemished and abundant. I get far more apples and pears than I could ever eat or preserve. I don't enjoy spending a lot of time preserving fruit, and no one else in my family is even as interested as I am, so in the fall the ground is covered with apples and pears.

As can be seen in the accompanying photograph I grew winter squash last year and two seed packets produced a wagon load. I have probably eaten ten or fifteen, but I harvested hundreds that are probably destined for the compost pile. Summer squash, green beans, and carrots are the same story. I keep up with asparagus for about three weeks before I have to give up and let it grow. I used perhaps a tenth of the hazelnuts I harvested. I hate the waste, but I just love growing things.

I have had some success with proportioning things. I seem to have just the right amount of blueberries, raspberries, concord grapes, and tomatoes. I dry the tomatoes, I begrudgingly share the blueberries with the birds who leave me enough for my cereal in the morning and the raspberries and grapes are like candy for me to pick four or five times a week for a few weeks. The potatoes store for a long time, so I get good use out of them as well. I have tried to grow produce such as lettuce with members of the household in mind, but their wants never seem to synchronize with harvest time, so I have largely given up on that.

I need to learn how to avoid over planting and how to select vegetables that are going to be broadly desirable. I don't have to put much work into my orchard, so as much as I hate to see the fruit not used I guess it really doesn't hurt anything. My fruiting shrubs (and vines) are doing well, but I continue to experiment with additional fruits that will complement what I already have. For example, I have seedless grapes, sweet-fruited blue honeysuckles, and ground-cover raspberries growing but not yet fruiting. Just for my amusement I also have paw paws, and persimons. One cooking experiment with each was enough to decide not to bother harvesting them any more.

The gardening lifestyle I am creating for myself calls for a wide range of appropriate quantities of food to enjoy in a relaxed manner throughout the growing season. I am still learning.

The Long Wait

Corydalis 'Blackberry Wine' has disappeared from my garden in the past, so I was pleasantly surprised last spring to find this surviving bit of a larger clump from the year before.  

It is particularly problematic to have to wait to see if something has successfully seeded itself into your garden. All too often plants that self seed become pests. The nursery said this Papaver miyabeanum is short lived but would seed itself around. This planting represents my second try. We will see in the spring. 

Primula polyneura is one of the primroses I am hoping to convince to take up residence in my garden. This one looks a bit chlorotic and not very vigorous, so I wonder if it is happy enough to come back next year. 

Winter is the time for planning next year's garden, but as I plan I am anxious about what I can expect to see in the spring that survived the winter. For example, over the last few years I have been experimenting with primroses, and I want to continue to try more, but what will the fate be of the ones I planted last spring or even the spring before that? Many seem so vulnerable to any interruption in their ideal growing conditions that I always fear they will give up on me. If they go dormant in the late summer, as several do, I wonder, will they be back?

At work (Kingwood Center) I planted a hundred or so bare root Dicentra spectabilis (Bleeding Heart). I finally got around to planting them long after I wanted to because it was such a wet spring. In the end I practically pushed the bare roots into the mud. Amazingly they grew, but will they be back again this year?

Perhaps the biggest mystery is with my rock garden. Many of the plants I try among the rocks are said to be intolerant of winter-wet. Short of putting a roof over them in the winter (which is apparently often done by some very serious rock gardeners), I can only hope I have selected a sufficiently well drained site for my winter-wet sensitive plants.

Typically in gardening there are annual windows of opportunity (sometimes semiannual), and if the window is missed a year is lost. I often tell myself in August that I am going to reorganize a particular garden in the spring. Spring comes and goes, and I gnash my teeth the next year looking at the same problems I meant to fix. This problem is exacerbated when it is not certain even what plants to expect to be extant. Do I order plants for areas that may already be fully planted?

Part of the answer is to be a bit reckless. Cautious gardening doesn't work well on many levels and waiting to be sure will lead to overly modest or no action.

So as I sit hear thinking and writing I am convincing myself to charge ahead. Order more primroses; buy more plants for the rock garden; expect the bleeding heart to thrive. Time is more valuable than the cost of a few redundant plants.

Does it Make You Happy?

I was recently awed by the Garden Conservancy's description of one of their new associate personal gardens which integrates art and garden. I was feeling rather inadequate as I thought of how this person managed to incorporate works of accomplished artists, architects and garden designers into his abode and even, as Claire Sawyer describes, his lifestyle. Then I was reminded of my sister's work with garden sculpture. She scavenges junk yards for things she can weld together to make garden sculpture, and she is good at it. She is no Isamu Noguchi, but neither are about seven billion other people. In this era of easy (at least visual) access to the works of the very best, it is easy to forget the joy and satisfaction of the vernacular, especially the vernacular with which you can enjoy a personal connection. I am pleased that the Garden Conservancy is helping to preserve the home of this literati who has apparently managed to lead a rarefied life and direct the creation of an inspiring garden, but the lesson of the garden should not be that this accomplishment is beyond you and me. It should be that the creative process is a source of joy and gratification not measured by fame and fortune but by your own sense of satisfaction with the effort. Now, as I think about it, my regret is that I haven't yet acquired one of my sister's pieces for my own garden.

Julie Platt in Grand Valley, Pennsylvania created the sculptures you see below. While sunflowers are a popular theme with her she has done a number of other plants and creatures that I failed to photograph. And if you are a fan of "Big Bugs" she has her own version shown at the bottom created as a special commission.

Grudging Respect

Three toothed cinquefoil with its white flowers and sometimes straggly growth

Three toothed cinquefoil the following year showing a nicer form and an attractive fall color (click on the picture for a better view)


I often advise gardeners to be ruthless with unsatisfactory plants in the garden. This fall I am following my own advice by ripping out big swaths of plants in one of my gardens that was just not achieving the affect I wanted. I am looking forward to the opportunity to create a new look in the area. Sometimes, for some reason, plants find a way into my garden for which I have preconceived disdain. Three toothed cinquefoil (Potentialla tridentata, and now maybe Sibbaldiopsis tridentata) is a current example. I had often observed it growing in other gardens and noticed it was usually chlorotic, at least in part. I put it in my rock garden where it is relatively aggressive. I have had to pull it away from neighboring plants on several occasions. I got the plant as a table favor which was a bad sign. I planted it thinking that as the garden filled I would remove it for something more desirable. But now as I look at it with its red fall color I see it has formed a nice mound of foliage that looks pretty good. It is like one of my favorite movie lines, "Good night Westley. Good work, Sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning." (Princess Bride)

Venerable Plants

My approximately 130 year old farm house includes a Norway spruce that must be close to one hundred. Many old farm houses throughout rural Ohio and Indiana sport venerable old Scots pine, Austrian pine or Norway spruce.

Among the many emotions that we have for our gardens, one that is often present but rarely consciously developed is veneration. We don't usually think about making a plant venerable (bonsai being a conspicuous exception), although there are actually many opportunities. Certainly we can't make a tree ancient, although if we are lucky enough to have old trees we can make their survival a priority. We can also recognize that some plants have growth habits the predispose them for precocious venerability. I recently visited the Morton Arboretum in Chicago and photographed a sixty year old hawthorn. Sixty does not seem like a venerable age for a tree, but hawthorns reach maturity faster than others. Neglected hawthorns can look unsightly. It would be tempting when moving onto a neglected property to remove the overgrown hawthorns, but they may be worth the effort to save and prune for future veneration that may only take ten or twenty additional years. That is a fast track for a venerable tree. 

This sixty year old cockspur hawthorn (Crategus crusgalli inermis) has precocious venerability.

An even faster track can be had with other plants. I once grew an amaryllis for a decade or so. It methodically filled the pot and provided a grove of flower stalks in the spring. Its maturity and relative longevity gave me great satisfaction. It was venerable. Far more impressive examples of venerable potted plants other than bonsai can be seen at the Philadelphia flower show. The display of potted plants is my favorite part of the show. 

A potted plant like this amaryllis can be venerated, in this case after about ten years of cultivation during which it spread to fill a series of ever larger pots.

Perhaps the fastest avenue to a venerable status is had by monocarpic plants. I have written about my Cardiocrinum cordatum at least a couple of times. Perhaps I am trying to discover just why I find it so interesting. Since it has to grow for several years before it flowers and dies (leaving offshoots behind), I think of a flowering Cardiocrinum cordatum to be quite venerable when it manages to finally build up the energy to flower. 

A plant that has to accumulate energy over several years in order to finally flower and die induces a sort of veneration when it finally puts up that flower stalk, especially if a gardener has been growing the plant all those years waiting for the big moment. 

There are many ways in which to imbue a plant with venerability, but I will give only one more example. When my mother died I assumed responsibility for her rather substantial Clivia. I have shifted it up a couple of times but really should divide it. I resist the temptation. Somehow as long as it is growing altogether in the same pot it has the venerability of an inherited plant, passed down from one generation to the next. If it was divided it would lose some of its special association as my mother's plant, although I often hear of people who are very proud of plants they propagated from their parents or grandparents gardens. A similar example involves plants with historic associations.  I recently saw a little sapling that seemed to be highly venerated because it was somehow genetically connected with an alleged original Johnny Appleseed tree. As you might guess I didn't share the feeling of veneration in this case, but far be it from me to diminish their pleasure in the association of their tree with the history of Johnny Appleseed. 

An inherited plant like this Clivia comes with a special emotional status. 

Incorporating gardening into my lifestyle gives me a multitude of pleasures. Consciously thinking about aspects of the garden that please me helps to reinforce and focus my satisfaction. Certainly holding something of mine up for veneration is a source of pleasure, and if I can help to develop that object's venerability, all the better. 

Chanticleer

In July I had the opportunity to visit once again the renowned public garden in Philadelphia called Chanticleer. The temperatures were in the 100's, but the gardens still managed to wow me. Here are a few pictures and why they are of gardens that impressed me. 

The above picture is of the ever changing garden in the old tennis court. I am particularly impressed by the composition of this very informal planting. It is easy to execute a formal design by laying things out in their rigid geometric configurations. A design such as the one above takes an entirely different talent. Not only is it a challenge to conceive but also to install, maintain and sustain season long interest.

 While not a design or gardening feat this little setting speaks to Chanticleer's awareness of the spaces in their garden that are most comfortable for visitors to linger. This bamboo grove is shady and enveloping, just the place to linger. The chairs are perfect and the addition of the planter wonderfully reinforces the sense that this is living space.

Artificial waterfalls are a dime a dozen. I get tired of seeing them, but seldom do I get to see this careful composition not so much of the falls as of the water line and the pond edge beyond.

I was walking along the path next to the creek and noticed this pleasant albeit unremarkable vegetation. As I looked carefully I realized that what I mistook for a mix of natural growth and a few introduced species in this out-of-the-way spot was actually a complete construct. This attention to details amazed me. While the planting was not particularly glorious right now, I am sure throughout the season it has its high points. I was amazed at how naturally the composition went together, how much attention was paid to this otherwise innocuous location, and how successfully the diversity of cultivated plants were merged into a successful community of horticulturally interesting plants.

Chanticleer has a lot of money, and this image demonstrates that fact, in part. They tore a house down, for example, to construct the ruins garden featured in this photograph. Unlike other wealthy gardens, however, Chanticleer is more about gardening than conspicuous consumption. Sure the pool must have been hugely expensive but isn't it glorious, and the pool isn't (to my mind) the feature of this photograph. It is the wall hanging of succulents, and that is gardening skill, not a display of money.

Excitement

I am marveling at my winter squash:  C. pepo 'Sweet Dumpling' and C. maxima 'Uchiki Kuri'

I always get excited when plants in my garden do something dramatic, and right now my winter squash are growing wildly large. I marvel every day at their growth. They remind me of the enormous perennial, Giant Japanese Butterbur (Petasites japonicus 'Giganteus', although they aren't quite that huge.

I read an article about summer squash in my favorite garden magazine (Gardens Illustrated) and had to have some. In large part it was the images of the various colors and forms of the winter squash that made them so interesting, but now that I am actually growing them the vitality and sheer size of the plants are giving me a thrill. The fruits are going to be a bonus. The gardener featured in the article echoed my feelings when she said, "...it continues to amaze me how something so beautiful and bountiful can emerge from a single little seed."

These are not your typical Acorn and Butternut varieties. I was lucky to have found several of the more unusual selections mentioned in the article in the seed catalog Seeds of Change. It was already June, but I figured I still had the requisite ninety to one hundred growing days to get them to maturity. I bought two varieties, Uchiki Kuri and Sweet Dumpling. I noticed last night (4 August) fruits were already forming on Sweet Dumpling.

An important part of the joy of gardening is the excitement over the new and unexpected. To get that excitement I usually have to take some risks by delving into the unpredictable and unfamiliar. I may not always have the tidiest home garden, but I don't lack for joy.