sprig to twig

I love the way Lonicera nitida ‘Lemon Beauty’ sets off other plants. I bought one from Cistus in ‘05 and stuck it in this berm. It flourished, with many branches bending low to the ground (an open invitation to take a stab at layering). Here’s how it works. Take one of those low-growing branches, and make a small nick on the underside where it will touch the ground. Make sure there is a good bit of branch beyond the cut.

I happen to have these U-pins left over from some long forgotten floral project, but you could as easily craft some from wire coat hangers. Use them to secure the branch to the ground where the nick is. Pile some soil over that spot. I did this with the Lonicera in ‘07. By ‘09, I had a crop of new shrubs. All that’s required is to sever the branch where it leads from the mother plant to the newly rooted babe, dig up the newbies and use them as you will.

Transplant to new quarters and gloat over saving as much as $20 per new plant. The latest issue of BBC Gardens Illustrated showed a clipped hedge of these plants in a formal garden. It was a striking counterpoint to the darker boxwood hedges. I happen to prefer letting things sprawl as they like. Either way, it is good to have a lot of them to play with. Other plants I have had success with using layering are heaths and heathers, hydrangeas and barberries. Any woody shrub would seem to be a good candidate.

When the plant tag described Oxydendrum arboreum as slow-growing, they weren’t kidding. See that little spot of red in the distance, toward the studio? That’s it after nine years. To be fair, we moved it from our former garden in ‘06, which would have set it back some, but still…

When it bloomed for the first time in late August, its other nickname, ‘lily of the valley tree’ made perfect sense.

The flowers are long lasting, so they are still in evidence as the leaves turn. It puts on a long show, with the foliage looking ever more aflame as the days go by. Hard rains cut the performance short this year. At the current rate, we will never see it reach its ultimate height of 30 feet. OK by me. I am content to watch the slo-mo progression of this very special tree.

Whenever we go by Reed College, we admire the giant sequoias scattered around the campus. One of the nice things about having a good sized hunk of land is that we can indulge these fantasies with impunity. When we saw an ad in the paper (this was in ‘06) offering 100 giant sequoia seedlings for $60.00 it was irresistible. We drove out to the nursery and picked up a big bag of little twigs, of which we were advised at least half would fail. OK…fifty would more than do. We dug a couple of long trenches and heeled them in. A year later, probably about 70 of them had survived and were ready to be potted up in 1 gal pots. In ‘08 they moved into even roomier quarters and still our fail-rate was ahead of the curve.

In the spring of ‘09, Richard planted most of them in the ground. We gave a few away to friends and still have five or six in pots. They grow 2-3′ a year, so we will probably live to see them reach the size of the teenagers seen in the first photo…but not the mature height of 325′ with up to 30′ trunk diameter. In a couple more years they should begin to assume their fluffy blue-green coloration and perfectly conical shape.

R splurged on a Sequoiadendron giganteum ‘Pendulum’ this summer. You can see how parts of it are beginning to droop. It must be staked early on to maintain a generally erect habit. The quest for one of these began with a visit to the Oregon Garden, where the evergreen section features a circle of huge stones and weeping cedars. The overall effect is of a confab of druids. We’ll be looking for some of those cedars next.

The Dawn Redwood Metasequoia glyptostroboides is deciduous, and another fast grower. Yep, them’s blackberries in the background. After doing battle with them for several years, our latest scheme is to crowd them out.

A close-up gives you some idea about the silky, fresh look of the needles, which will soon bronze up and then fall.

I have always had a soft spot for dragons. Years ago, I made a 10′ corduroy dragon with an 11′ wing span. My son was small at the time, so crawled down into the body cavity to stuff the tail. When someone offered to buy it, the outcry from my two children would rend the hardest heart. Where do you store a dragon? We packed it around through many moves. Sometimes there was a place to display it, sometimes not. It now resides in my son’s basement, the nearest thing to a dank cavern. I doubt it sits atop a treasure of gold and jewels.

Pinus densiflora ‘Oculus Draconis’ or ‘Dragon’s Eye’, appealed to me because of the bands of pale green on its darker green needles. It is a slow grower with a lanky profile, but I have high hopes for its golden-eyed future.

This fern, Athyrium filix-femina ‘Dre’s Dragon’ sports frayed tips on a typical frond. Nearest I can tell, the name comes from the forked tongue of the mythical character.

The name of this tree peony is ‘Chinese Dragon’. I don’t know…red color maybe?

It’s pretty clear where Poncirus trifoliata ‘Flying Dragon’ came by its moniker. If you look closely, you may be able to see the long curved thorns. This one is still a baby. When it matures, those thorns will be a full two inches long…equipping it to go up against most challengers.

None of these plants were chosen for the allusion to dragons. I simply seem to be drawn to them. It may have something to do with the fact that I was born in the year of the dragon…something I learned only recently. If you know of other “dragon” plants I have missed, please let me know. I probably must have them.

Gardening in miniature can be pretty cool. Being unable to pass by a display of succulents, be it Trader Joe’s or a high end plant boutique, I have quite a few dish gardens in the making, and a handful that have reached a point where they are worthy of sharing. Just like in the garden at large, a composition may limp along for months or even years, then suddenly come together.

I showed you this one in my last post, but it is also a good example of a planter that has finally found its plants. A friend gave it to me with a resident miniature rose…kind of like housing a diva in a yurt. A number of transients passed through, but finally these three compatible roomies settled in and took root. Sorry…I can’t tell you the names of any but the Kalanchoe. They got together before I started to be more conscientious about keeping records, as is the case for most things in this post.

I love the way these fleshy little rosettes cozy up to the rough looking character at the lower edge of the pot and then spill over the edges. When this one comes in for the winter, some judicious pruning will result in a whole new crop of starts.

The fine textured filler here is Dasyphyllum a volunteer that pops up everywhere. Everything else is from cuttings. The variegated rosettes started out with a rosy blush that I liked, but doesn’t seem to hold.

This one is just beginning to look interesting. It is also a good example of the sassy ways of plants. One of the most vigorous of these came from Home Depot, and replaced a sickly brother from a high end shop that shall remain nameless because they sell lots of really good stuff too. We live dangerously situated between Joy Creek and Cistus nurseries. Both of these have well-earned reputations for high standards, knowledgeable staff and unique plant material. If I am looking for a standout specimen and the information base to care for it, one of these places is it. Closer by is a mass-market type nursery, much maligned by horthead friends, where real bargains can be had. We have found 10′ trees for $10, priced to move and make way for new merchandise. Nobody on the staff, as far as I can tell, knows diddly-squat about plants, but their stock is the nuts and bolts; the supporting cast in the garden that hardly requires arcane knowledge.

But I digress. Let’s take a look at an “over-the-hill” example.

For about five years,I moved this garden outside for the summer, inside each autumn, and it grew in loveliness with each passing season. This summer it began to shed along the lip of the dish, and two of the companion plants all but died. Time to suck it up and perform major surgery. Whatever will I do with all that plant material for repurposing? Can’t bear to throw it away, and the winter invasion of our living space is getting out of hand.

There is a wonderful little shop called Life + Limb that specializes in these kinds of plants. They also carry appropriate planter, mediums, etc., and will pot things up on the spot. I indulged in just such treatment for this Euphorbia tirucalla. Love the way it becomes ever more Medusa-like. PS: Loree @ Danger Garden just informed me that Life + Limb has shuttered. Sure enough, when I clicked on their link, I got closing sale information. So sad. Do you suppose they were too specialized, or just a victim of today’s economy?

Do you suppose this is all just an overblown case of California Envy? Possibly brought on by a visit to The Germinatrix for the first time this morning? And yes, that is indeed a huge plant snapped in the garden of a Southern California friend…Thanks, Loree, for making me aware that I was unclear on that count.

Before enlightenment (which is an ongoing, painfully slow, process) the only Kalanchoe in my world was the grocery store foil-wrapped pot of lurid hot pink or orange blossoms presented by Auntie Gertie when she popped in for tea. They were nursed along just long enough not to appear ungrateful before being put to their ultimate best use as compost.

When this gorgeous hunk entered my life, I could hardly believe it: Kalanchoe orgyatum is his name. The leaves are fleshy, with that lovely, soft fuzz found on some Rhododendrons, and whose proper terminology I can never remember. The sage green takes on a bronze blush when the plant is left out in the sun for the summer. The plant pictured above is third generation. Cuttings root without any special treatment…man, do I need a greenhouse.

Thus began an “orgy” of Kalanchoe acquisition. Above, left, is E beharensis ‘Elephant Ears’, sharing a pot with one of its kindred identified only as “species”. Surely it deserves a name of its own.

K fedtschenkoi has lovely scalloped leaves. That was what attracted me to a small specimen, along with the blue-green coloration. It quickly put on a spurt of growth and produced dangling orange sherbet blossoms. I started many new plants with cuttings, and here you see the mother plant again pushing boundaries and waiting for another round of cuttings to whip her into shape.

I have heard them called paddle plants, or pancake plants, but these cuties are technically E thyrsiflora.

I have never considered myself a “collector” of anything…especially in the realm of gardening, but I do seem to be drawn to these particular plants in a way that threatens to drag me into the collectors’ corner. Have you fallen prey to a species that keeps you wanting more?

Yes, it’s a color (and one of my favorites), but also the French word for eggplant.

I find them so beautiful that they are in the entry berm along with the perennials and shrubs. This one is called ‘Dancer’. The blossoms are pale lavender and about 2″ across. The fruit has a pearlescent sheen, and peeks out from amidst the dense foliage in a rather coy manner. When the time comes to harvest the first of them, I think I will try making ratatouille…Julia’s recipe, of course. We have already indulged in a moussaka, using the recipe in Joy of Cooking. It was complicated, but worth it…and with just two of us, it provided three meals. I figure that about equals out to kitchen time for simpler fare, and it’s recreational anyway, no?

I don’t know if the new varieties are improved, but we don’t bother with all the salting and draining before throwing sliced eggplant on the grill, brushed with a little garlic oil. No hint of bitterness, and easy as can be. Another easy approach is to dredge the slices in seasoned flour, dip in beaten eggs, coat in panko crumbs and saute in oil (same treatment works for zucchini).

Bon Apetit!

Just when I think I have something figured out, my plants conspire to prove me wrong. My Acanthus spinosus, the one with the spiky leaves (and the one I was convinced was the more vigorous and hardy) has yet to produce any flowering stalks this year. Pictured is Acanthus mollis in its first year in its new home in the woodland garden. What a grand show it is putting on. It is said to spread rather aggressively, but that will be fine by me, as long as it resists overtaking the ‘Swallowtail’ columbine down in the right corner and the Rhododendron ‘Dazzle’ on the left.

I am saying goodbye to the last of the lilies.

The first Oriental lilies that I planted were ‘Casa Blanca’..three bulbs planted in ‘04.
They grew to about 5′ the first year. This year there there are nine of them, topping out at 7′. They begin blooming around the end of July and hang in there for about 3 weeks (maybe longer, depending on the weather). They generally like to have their feet in the shade and heads in the sun. This location on the south side of the house with dense underplanting seems to suit them.

The scent is at its headiest in the evening. We get waves of it through our bedroom windows, even though the plants are a ways around the corner.

One stalk is enough to create a dramatic bouquet. When you buy them from a florist, the stamens have been amputated. I understand the reasoning, as they are drenched in pollen that can stain anything it touches. I find them much too beautiful a design element to sacrifice to the Gods of Cleanliness.

Working backward through the season, the ‘Stargazers’ bloom a week or two before ‘Casa Blanca’, and overlap slightly in bloom time. I planted 6 bulbs in ‘05. They have proven much less vigorous, rising to only 3′ and decreasing in number (3 this year). I didn’t get photos of them, but we are all familiar with their vivid deep pink, freckled throats.

‘Muscadet’ is the first of the Orientals to bloom. It falls somewhere between the other two in color (pale pink shading to white, with deep pink freckles) and height (5′). 5 bulbs planted in ‘05 have increased to 8.

I am convinced that the time has come to divide the lily bulbs, refurbish beds and spread them around. Will let you know how that goes when it cools down and I can bear to dig.

Way back in June, the lower-growing border lilies put in an appearance. What they lack in fragrance, they make up for in pure, saturated color. A friend brought me these (2, in a florists’ plastic pot) in ‘06.

By this year they had multiplied to the point where they will become part of the big dig of fall ‘09.

I have been spending a lot of time in the woodland garden lately. It stays coolish under the big cedars even in a heat wave. Roscoea beesiana is one of those strange, shy little flowers whose charms are only revealed by close inspection. The foliage is iris-like. The orchid-y flowers emerge one-at-a-time from a sheath where several (3-6) buds wait their turn. The whole edifice will flop over unless surrounded by low growers to prop it up or some discreet staking.