An Iowa Garden

The aroid family, is characterized by "flowers" that include a spathe (a protecting leaf structure) surrounding the spadix; the family includes philodendrons, and of garden interest here in Iowa, arisaemas (jack in the pulpits) and their smaller look-alikes, pinellias. This is perhaps the queen of jack in the pulpits, Arisaema candidissimum, the white jack, from the Himalayas. Most are sweet-smelling, but I can't detect any scent in ours; it is still lovely, with a pink-tinged white spathe, and large, rather rounded leaves.

Pinellia is closely related, and similar in flower, to jack in the pulpits. Pinellia tripartita 'Dragon Tails", has a long, erect spadix.

Arisaema costatum, is a Chinese jack in the pulpit which is quite striking, in that its spadix is up to a foot long, and threadlike, reaching clear to the ground, for beetles to climb up. The leaves can be up to three ft. across. 

Pinellia tripartita 'Golden Dragon, has leaves that are bright yellow when they unfold, becoming light green by the time the flower appears. 

Arisaema fargesii is a Chinese jack in the pulpit that is wonderfully tropical, due to its huge (up to 2-3 ft. across) leaves that are shiny, lush green, with the flower arising at the base, being striped and heavily cowled. 

I almost feel like a stranger in my own garden, going for a walk today; between other commitments, and steamy hot 90's temperatures, I've hardly set foot in the place this last week. That's the nice thing about a natural woodland garden; who's to say the weeds and overgrowth aren't supposed to be there? Above are iris, eremurus (desert candles), and mock orange in the back. 

Closer shot of seven foot tall Eremurus robustus. 

Summer lushness is entering the garden. 

Two long rows of red weigelia 'Red Prince', back long perennial beds that were filled with blooming daffodils in the spring, then bloom again in mid-summer, with day lilies and phlox. 

The clematis are also in bloom. 

This pathway leads up to our life-size gargoyle. 

Another pathway, with blooming cardinal shrub. 

Japanese maple and heuchera 'Amethyst Mist'. 

This is a hosta bed just planted last spring, but coming along nicely... wait until next year! 

Heucheras. 

One of the paths in the back of the garden, with a deep ravine on one side, and roses and a mock orange blooming on the other side. 

One of the hosta beds, this one surrounding an Amur maple. 

We have a lot of old fashioned roses in the garden, which are all in full bloom right now, spreading their fragrance throughout the area. 

Old fashioned roses always look cute when you buy them in a one gallon pot; eventually you realize they grow as big as a garage! 

Rhododendron 'Trinidad' grows in a shady nook just across the bridge in the ravine. 

Our garden occupies a rolling piece of woodland, cut by several ravines, and overlooking a four acre pond. The garden pathways wind their way up and down hill, so it makes for an interesting "hidden" garden. At the top of one of these ravines is our goldfish pond, and I've always wanted to have a small artificial stream bubbling down through the bottom of this ravine, pumping water from the four acre pond, about fifteen feet in elevation up to the goldfish pond, then letting it run back downhill. So far, the stream itself basically only burbles in my mind, for I just never seem to get started on it. The lower, shady part of the ravine is however, slowly getting filled in with lots of plants like the yellow ladyslippers and showy orchis seen above by the steps which go down one side of the ravine to a wooden bridge that spans ten feet across to the other side. I think this could be the year that I finally start construction on at least the top part of the long-discussed babbling brook. Or not.

On the first late spring day that gives a hint of summer, with a blue sky and a warm breeze, the garden is also starting to turn over to summer, with bearded iris in bloom, and the lepidote rhododendrons of spring have given over to the lushness of the large-leafed elepidote rhodys. This is 'Peter Behring', with bright pink blooms.

Heuchera 'Starry Night' is aptly named. 

Azalea 'Klondyke' is so widely sold in box stores that it's easy to dismiss it, but it has a lovely fragrance, and a bright presence in the garden. 

Azalea 'Northern Tri-lights': I love its unique, electric pink color. 

Azalea 'Lila'. 

Tricyrtis 'Lemon Twist' has quite amazing, very shiny, thick foliage. The substance and appearance of the individual leaves reminds me of an erythronium.

Tricyrtis 'Lunar Landing also has very interesting foliage, with large spots. 

The deciduous azaleas are in full bloom now; everytime you round a bend your eyes and your nose are awakened by a rainbow of colors and a heavenly scent. I just wander about in the clear sunlight, marvelling at the beauty.

Azalea Hotspur Red. 

Azalea Salmon Delight.

Azalea Mt. St. Helens 

Azalea Arnesons Ruby. 

 

 

 

It is High May; perhaps the best time in our garden... at least it is the most prolific. I went out for a short walk with the digital camera, and came back with 117 pictures. It is also a wonderful time of the year to see a variety of unusual birds, who show themselves to best advantage now; while the female is sitting on the eggs, the male sings enthusiastically from the nearest tall tree. In a week or two the male songbirds will be too busy feeding their young to warble all day. In the last few days, in addition to the usual birds, I've seen: indigo buntings, orchard oriole, yellow throated vireo, magnolia warblers, rose breasted grosbeaks, a scarlet tanager, and a wood thrush. Not a bad week! Now for a garden walk; above is Arisaema consanguineum.

Heuchera Creme Brulee'. 

Lots of Japanese maples are in full spring finery. 

Japanese maple 'Emperor I'.

This tree peony, I call 'K Mart End Of Season Sale.' 

The herbaceous peonies are starting to bloom. 

The snowball hydrangeas hang heavy. 

The pink cardinal shrubs, which bloom a week earlier than the reds, are now in full bloom. 

This is rhododendron 'Helsinki University', one of the Finnish rhodys, and thus extremely hardy; after a winter that somewhat trashed the leaves and flower buds on many of our rhododendrons, this one came through with flying colors. 

Heuchera 'Dayglow Pink.' 

Japanese maple 'Fireglow'. 

I've had a redvein enkianthus growing right by one of the main pathways in the garden for quite a few years. It was so unmemorable that it escaped being whacked down only by virtue of its invisiblity. It's now about eight foot tall, and this spring I was trimming a rose bush next to it, and suddenly, finally, really looked at it, in full bloom covered with its pink bells, and it's really quite lovely... it's sort of like one of those corny Hollywood movies where the librarian takes off her glasses and lets her hair down, and you realize she in fact is a real beauty. Well, this isn't Hollywood, so in this case the enkianthus is just safe from getting loppered for now.

You say you like red azaleas? Here are three currently blooming in our garden; this is azalea "Ilam Red Frills", which is aptly named.

Azalea Mollis 

Azalea "Prominent". 

Fritillary pontica is another one of those fritillaries that is subtle to the point of invisibility; the flowers are pale green with maroon edging, overall becoming slightly pinker as the flowers age. The foliage is a typical elegant lanceolate gray-green. It likes early moisture, then drier in dormancy, with very light shade; I have it planted in front of some deciduous azaleas. It is native from Turkey through the Balkans. The Pontic Mountains are just south of the Black Sea, and the ancient Greek kingdom of Pontos encompassed this area of western Turkey. Fritillaria pontica again is one of the easier fritillaries; not quite uva-vulpis easy, but it will persist and multiply slowly if happy.

Fritillaria camschatcensis is the black fritillary; sometimes called black Sarana, chocolate lily, or northern rice root (its bulbs look like clusters of little rice grains). It is native to the northern Pacific Ocean coast (PNW to Alaska, Siberia to Japan). It therefore likes a moister spot in the garden than most fritillaries; most of the garden fritillaries are native to drier climates (meleagris is another moisture-loving exception). The chocolate lily is slowly multiplying in our garden, though our seemingly perennial drought of the last ten years leaves it with but one or two flowers per stem, rather than a full cluster; it is still a very interesting plant for us, and never fails to elicit a fuss from garden visitors. There is a yellow version (aurea) now available at a dear price, but I've been scratching my head over why you'd want to pay much more for a form of this fritillary that substitutes pale yellow flowers for the rich maroon-purple of the regular plant.

The showy orchis is not the only native orchid blooming right now; the large flowered yellow ladyslipper, Cypripedium parviflorum v. pubescens, is in full bloom right now. Its pouch is bright yellow with interior brown spots, and the lateral sepals are yellowish brown, and often twisted (the sepals are shown better in the picture below). It is one of the easiest, and perhaps the most vigorous, of the ladyslipper orchids. It just about doubles every year, and I've gradually over the years, divided it into about fifteen colonies, but it is difficult to divide, as its roots are very fragile, and spread out in an extensive network just under the surface, so it is easy to damage the roots when transplanting, and this may kill the orchid. I finally hit on the idea of lifting up the whole area with a flat shovel, then gently washing away the dirt with a hose, but I only divide it when I have to. If I was a brighter, more disciplined gardener, I'd give each ladyslipper a lot more room to expand, so it didn't need to be divided for many years. I've never been an elitist type of gardener, and have given away tons of plants over the years, but if you want to hear me snort, just suggest to me (which a number of people have), that I pot up half a dozen or so of the ladyslippers and bring them to this or that plant exchange, to trade for some beebalm or what have you. The next time I will be dividing a yellow ladyslipper will be in 2010!

 

Epimediums are subtle plants, but closely observed, the flowers possess a grace that is sublime. The variety available to gardeners has absolutely exploded in the last ten years. This is Epimedium membranaceum, for example, a happy addition to the garden in it's shady nook.

Epimedium davidii has electric yellow, dainty flowers.

Epimedium Black Sea, with its butterscotch flowers.

Many of the epimedium leaves have a red tinge, or even rusty red spotting.

Orchis (now Galearis) spectabilis, the showy orchis, is a lovely woodland orchid, native to much of the eastern U.S., but threatened everywhere. It has two waxy green leaves, and a short stem with half a dozen or so lovely flowers, which smell of violets. The flowers have a pink hood, with a white lip. In our woods, it was rapidly disappearing, due to the combined pressure from deer and garlic mustard. One acre of the woods has been fenced off for our garden, and I've cleared this part of the woods of tens of thousands of garlic mustard plants. Now the showy orchis is popping up everywhere... back from the brink!

Also back from the brink, is Podophyllum veitchii (also called delavayi), a mayapple native to the forests of western China; a couple of weeks ago I told of the disappearance of my treasured bulb of this species down a mole hole, assumedly never to be seen again. Today I ran across this little plant of P. veitchii some distance from where the original plant was... either these are seedlings, or the bulb that disappeared down the mole hole was dragged a distance down the tunnel, and popped up here. Either way, it is a striking plant; the leaves arise out of the ground almost entirely rufous, with spots, then become blotched red and green, finally fading to slightly blotchy green.

This shows the unusual waxy, red flowers of Podophyllum veitchii.

It all begins on a warm day in mid-April, when you open the garden gate, and your instantly bathed in a sweet fragrance that fills the whole garden; Viburnum x juddii has opened its blooms, wafting its heavy perfume in every little zephyr... perfume so delightful that you close your eyes to inhale it. Juddii's cohorts, burkwoodii and carlesii soon join in. From this point, there follows a full month of fragrance; no sooner do the viburnums fade, than the whole woods turns sweet from acres of Japanese honeysuckle; an invasive scoundrel with one week of redemption, when it blooms with as fine a bouquet as there is anywhere; we sit, on May evenings in the screen porch, listening to the June bugs batting against the screens, with flickers of lightning on the western horizon, and the warm breeze coming across the ridge brings waves of honeysuckle sweetness. In the garden itself, clouds of crabapple blooms, and grape-heavy clusters of lilacs add to the sensory delight (lilac "Sensation" is pictured above). I am in olfactory heaven. As the garden year progresses, I could tell you the week by sniffing, for mid-May brings the deciduous azaleas, then come the roses and the trumpet lilies, then the Orienpets, and finally, in sultry late summer, the glory of the giant Oriental lilies; their musky perfume flows downhill in the still air, and lies in sweet blankets in the low spots in the garden.

O.K., I was just kidding about all those other flowers that I claimed were my favorites; the deciduous azaleas are just starting to bloom in a rainbow of candy colors, and THESE are definitely my favorites! This is Azalea High Sierras.

Azalea Pink Sunset 

Azalea Rosy Lights 

Azalea Yellow Beauty 

Spring in the garden often brings with it a stiff neck; stiff from constantly turning this way and that to look at yet another woodland plant turned out in full flowering finery. However, even with all the peacocks like daffodils and rhododendrons blooming, the spring plants that I love best are the modest little primroses; plants often so small that they would fit in a teacup with room to spare. Here in Iowa, it is either too hot, too cold, or both, for most kinds of primroses, but visitors to our garden often express surprise at the variety that we do grow. When I first started growing primroses, learning the right cultural techniques was certainly a challenge, but a bigger challenge was figuring out which primroses stood a fighting chance of ever surviving here... going by the listed zone hardiness is pretty useless, as zone 5 Maine is a far cry from the zone 5 prairies of Iowa, with our winters that are sometimes relatively snowless, so that temperatures can vary by sixty degrees over a few days, with freeze-thaw cycles that would pop a bowling ball out of the ground. Our summers can be so hot and muggy, that the very air seems to throb from all the air conditioners whining away on July nights. Well, if you can't go by the listed zone hardiness then, the question became how to find primroses I could grow, without just buying one of everything and seeing what survived (a technique I have used somewhat in the past). There is a large group of hardy to semi-hardy primroses that are often called garden primroses, and this group is where I've had my best success. This however, brought me face to face with the most convoluted, sometimes misleading naming system I've ever seen. I've gradually caught on to some of it, and this is what I've learned (if any of this is wrong, correct me; if it's confusing, join the club):
Garden primroses primarily are from the section vernales of the genus Primula. This section includes the three common primroses of the English countryside: Primula elatior (the oxlip), veris (the cowslip), and vulgaris (the common primrose). Also in this section is P. juliae, native from northern Italy to the Caucasus, not introduced to the horticulture trade until 1900, but which rapidly became very important in hybridizing with the other members of vernales. Certainly other species and hybrids of primroses are grown in our garden, like sieboldii, cortusoides, and kisoana, but the section vernales has given us what most people think of when they think of primroses for the garden: some of these garden primroses are species, but most are hybrids between the different members of vernales (sometimes very complex hybrids), and here's where the confusing part begins... for some odd reason, some of these hybrids are labelled with the name of a species, even though they are hybrids, some are labelled with a name that would seem to be that of a species, but it isn't, and some are labelled as if they were a specific hybrid , when they are instead only a similar cross (sometimes faintly similar at that). Most of the hybrids are between one or more of the English species and P. juliae. The latter is a very early flowering, small plant, with flowers in the purple range. It grows in drier, less temperate areas than England, so is more tolerant of temperature extremes and drought. Juliae brings these qualities to its crosses in some measure, depending on how much juliae blood there is in these sometimes very complex hybrids, which may be crossed back and forth many times. So juliae gives hardiness, early flowering, drought tolerance, and the purple spectrum to flowers. Its hardiness may be partly on the basis of its small, very thick, crinkled leaves, which contrast to the thinner, lettuce-like leaves of the English vernales, which flop about in our summer heat, and shrivel in the afternoon sun. Vulgaris, elatior, and veris are all yellow-flowered (sometimes white). The purple of juliae is dominant to the yellow of vulgaris, so these crosses tend towards pink-purple. The yellow of elatior is dominant to juliae's purple, so these crosses tend towards yellow-pink; then many hybrids are recrossed, giving all the colors of the rainbow. Primula vulgaris is a species, but hybrids, often complex hybrids, that resemble it are often called P. vulgaris, rather than (properly) Primula x vulgaris. In addition, P. vulgaris and juliae have their flowers on short individual stalks; this is called acaulis or acauloid. Sometimes therefore hybrid primroses that show this flower form are called Primula acaulis, as if they were a species. Elatior and veris have their flowers in umbels (clumps of flowers on longer stalks); this is called polyanthus and hybrids with this same flower form are therefore sometimes labelled Primula polyanthus, again seeming to be a species, but just in fact a description of flower form. To further confuse you, the Brits often just divide their garden primroses into primroses and polyanthus; the former being any acaulis hybrid, and the latter of course being any with the polyanthus form. Hybrids of juliae with the other vernales members are very popular because of the good traits that I mentioned which are given to these crosses, but it all depends on how much juliae ends up being in some of these complex crosses. You will frequently see hybrids that have a fair amount of juliae in them, and thus resemble the species to some extent (small plants, smaller crinkled leaves) labelled as Primula juliae or Primula juliana, rather than more properly Primula x juliae or Primula x juliana, or just julianas. Wanda was one of the first crosses made in England between vulgaris and juliae; it is a small plant with dark magenta flowers, so has a lot of juliae in it. However, there is also the Wanda strain; other hybrids from these same early crosses, some of which also have a lot of juliae and are very hardy, but some of which may be more complex, less hardy crosses, but which are all too often also called Wanda, rather than Wanda strain. In addition, over the years the original plants have been further crossed, with less and less juliae in them, the plants getting larger and larger, and less and less hardy, yet they are still called Wandas, or even worse, Wanda. People complain about Wanda not being hardy, but what Wanda are they talking about? The original Wanda is very hardy; I grew it for years in a zone north of here with no protection, then dug it up and moved it here, so have grown the same plant for twenty years. These Wanda stepchildren would be better called julianas; at least they resemble juliae... the juliana nameplate however has been very stretched. A Japanese firm took over the breeding of the Pacific Giant strain of hybrid primroses, that resemble some type of large cabbage, and their hybrids are very popular flowering pot plants in spring in Japan, and this type is often called Julian there. The main trait it still has from juliae is early flowering. The original Wandas started out being very hardy plants; crosses basically between vulgaris and juliae, thus relatively small plants, tight growing, with dark flowers. They often show a very attractive red tinge to their tightly crinkled foliage. Finally, there are the pruhonicas, which were also early juliae x vulgaris hybrids, bred in Pruhonica, Germany, so called pruhonicas, or unfortunately often Primula pruhonica, rather than Primula x pruhonica or better yet, just pruhonica. These are little jewels, which seem to have retained more of the juliae; very small plants, with purplish flowers, tight leaves, and very hardy.
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This is a polyanthus, with a lot of veris blood, as its bright yellow flowers all grow on one side of the stem.

This is a juliana; a small plant, but the original cross was probably recrossed to vulgaris (note the more vulgaris-like foliage).

Some might call this a juliana, but it is halfway between an acaulis and a polyanthus; its flowers are polyanthoid, but on very short stalks (this is the hybrid "Allure'). It therefore has veris or elatior in it.

This was labelled "Wanda", but it's not; I don't even think it's a Wanda type. The flowers are too pink for Wanda, and the foliage is too lettuce green to even make me think it's a Wanda type.

This is a nice little juliana: bluish flowers on a tiny plant, and probably is a Wanda type, with its reddish-tinged foliage.

This I would call a Wanda type; note the crinkled, red-tinged foliage.

This was labelled "Wanda" also... what can I say? It's pretty, though.

Now this is a pruhonica; tiny foliage covered with flowers large for the plant.

Another pruhonica, closely resembling juliae.

Invasive Snail found in Minnesota. Walk for your lives!

The cobras are blooming; the early Asian jack in the pulpits (Arisaemas) have rapidly raised up from the ground, displaying their rather ominous flowers, like so many dark-hued snakes. Here is Arisaema urashima, a hardy Japanese species (rated as hardy as Z4), whose foliage can reach several feet tall, with somber flowers on short stalks, with a strikingly long proboscis (rat tail). This jack is also desirable because it offsets easily (note the small plantlet).

For my money, if you're looking for a hardy Asian jack in the pulpit that truly looks like a cobra, you can't do better than Arisaema serratum from Japan; four foot tall, and ramrod straight. It comes in a green flowered form and a dark brown flowered form. This is a special selection of the dark flowered type with coal black flower, and even the leaves look like they've been dipped in ink!

Although it was the first Asian jack to become widely available to gardeners in this country, Arisaema sikokianum is still probably the most beautiful jack, with its snow white spadix in its white bowl, looking like a mortar and pestle. The patterned leaf form is especially striking. I've collected seed from this plant, and now have lots of babies that are almost as nice.

Seedling sikokianums.