Thursday, November 30, 2006
Disporopsis arisanensis
Disporopsis arisanensis is one of the members of a small genus of evergreen Solomon's seals. In the spring it has cream and green bells hanging underneath, and its foliage is, indeed, evergreen; it stays crisp and fresh looking until it gets really cold, then I cover it with some bark mulch... today is that day, as it dropped from 66 degrees Monday, to 14 degrees currently. It is, amazingly, a native of Taiwan and rated as hardy only to zone 7. I don't know which is more surprising: that it survives here, or that I planted it in the first place. I'd think in a more proper zone 6 that it would survive uncovered, and be a dynamite winter foliage plant: a good companion say, for hellebores. 
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
The Party's Over
Our mild late fall is about to come to a crashing end. Yesterday it was a record high of 66 degrees here; by Friday night it will be 12 above, with snow showers and sleet. Today, I'm bringing in the statuary, and throwing bark mulch on a few tender things. The sky is dull gray, the north wind is just starting to kick up the dead leaves. The garden is a solemn place today, with the goldfish pond empty and dark. It's a good day to get out the Christmas lights.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Dark Window
Viburnums are under-appreciated (i.e. ignored), as fall foliage shrubs. They are more subtle and moody than flashy... they remind me of a darkened, stained glass window in an ancient cathedral; not noticed until the sun hits it just right, then it lights up with rich, deep colors. Monday, November 27, 2006
If I Could Grow Ipheions...
Ipheions, or starflowers, are native to South America, yet fairly (meaning south of the Mason-Dixon line) hardy, but if you read the popular bulb catalogues, you can just pop them in the ground wherever you live, and stand back. I can't read any description of a blue flower without wanting it (yes, I tried a meconopsis once), so reading about the sky blue flowers of Ipheion Rolf Fiedler was too much for me, and two years ago I sprang for a half dozen bulbs. Well, I'm still waiting for the Wedgewood blue stars to grace my spring garden. I just went out and checked, and there were one or two little clumps of foliage (like many other hardy bulbs, it puts up its foliage in the fall), but I suspect Rolf Fiedler will continue to fade away. Well, now I was just scanning through a bulb forum, and someone in Ithaca, New York, which would be like Iowa with more snow, says that the Ipheions all do fine in their garden, except for Rolf Fiedler, which disappears without a trace. Specifically, they mention that another cultivar named Wisley Blue, has done well. It's too late this year (our temperature is to go from 66 degrees today with thunderstorms, to 13 degrees with snow in a couple of days), but I know what bulb I will be buying next fall. I would love to be able to write a really informative book on hardy bulbs in the upper midwest (of course, I'd also like to be six feet tall, but that's not going to happen, either).
At least this winter, while the snow blows down from the Yukon, I'll dream about someday having little sky blue stars gracing my garden... the cold winter gardener is ever optimistic.
At least this winter, while the snow blows down from the Yukon, I'll dream about someday having little sky blue stars gracing my garden... the cold winter gardener is ever optimistic.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
More Evergreen Epimediums
The evergreen epimediums in our garden continue to shine, with their varied and interesting foliage. Above is Epimedium latisepalum, one of the best epimediums, with very leathery, shiny fall foliage, with prickled edges. The flowers in spring are large and white. Below is Epimedium lishihchenii, which was only discovered in China a little over ten years ago. It is very hardy, with large white flowers in the spring. 
Saturday, November 25, 2006
The Survivors
Friday, November 24, 2006
An Early Christmas
In keeping with the holiday spirit, here are pictures of two different plants of Cyclamen coum that show the so-called "Christmas tree" pattern to their leaves, the green central patterning looking like a fir tree. This might be my favorite leaf pattern for hardy cyclamens, as it is so striking. In other gardens I have seen them with silver edging around the green center, and Ooh-la-la! Cyclamen lust is a dangerous condition. 
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Thanksgiving
The birds grow quiet, as if to admire,the sun sinking slowly, into a sea of fire.
A Warm Thanksgiving To all.
On The Edge
There is a lot of variation in the leaves of hardy cyclamens; no two are exactly alike, and some of them are really out there on the edge in that they hardly even look like cyclamens. Above is one of the silver leafed hederifoliums, which look like they are little clouds floating above the dead leaves of autumn. Below is a Cyclamen coum that looks like... well, I don't know exactly what it looks like; perhaps seedlings of some type of melon? Last is a hederifolium with lanceolate leaves, looking rather more like a hardy ginger than a cyclamen. 
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Beni Goromo
The evergreen epimediums, two of which were shown yesterday, are mainstays of our garden in late fall-early winter, with their deep green leaves sometimes taking on haunting burgundy tones. However, some of the deciduous epimediums are also still worth a look, with much brighter, harlequin colors: this is Beni Goromo, a Japanese hybrid, which has deep pink flowers in the spring. Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Epimediums: Two Easy "P's"
Evergreen epimediums in our garden in the late fall and even, with luck, in the early winter, are still quite attractive, with their shiny, waxy leaves which often become infused with mahogany tones. In milder winters, even as our valley becomes dark and empty on the cusp of Christmas, the evergreen epimediums are still carrying on. Here are two hardy, easy plants: Epimedium pubigerum, above, has leathery foliage with somewhat rounded leaves, and in the spring has creamy white flowers. Epimedium perralchicum, below, has bright yellow flowers in the spring. 
Monday, November 20, 2006
Strange Bedfellows
Our garden is rather a jumble of plants from all over the temperate world. Now that it's too late to do anything about it, I've had thoughts that I should have made at least an attempt to achieve some sense of botanical geography; it would have been nice to wander around the world so to speak, through the different sections of the garden. Alas, it's not to be, so sometimes odd combinations do occur; here's our native puttyroot orchid (Aplectrum hyemale), growing happily next to Cyclamen coum, from the Elburz Mountains of Iran. Sunday, November 19, 2006
Cyclamen Hederifolium "Bowles' Apollo" Group
It would be an unusual garden to have a cyclamen as its show piece, especially when not in bloom; they are one of the most subtle plants in our garden. However, when I first saw the foliage of this particular cyclamen, I did go "wow"... not "Wow!", mind you, but at least "wow". This particular cyclamen was first discovered in the famous bulb garden of E.A. Bowles in England, and was said to be the showiest foliaged hederifolium in his extensive garden... he had collected bulbs and tubers from all over, and cyclamens were one of his passions. The plants available now are variable seedlings of this original plant, so are called "Bowles' Apollo" Group. My plant actually is a poor example of the group in terms of patterning and color (most are silver-leafed), but it still is striking in terms of the size and thickness of its leaves. It should be quite impressive when settled in. However, now I know I must seek out a silver Apollo.Saturday, November 18, 2006
NOW What?
Gardening is always a crap shoot in Iowa, but when your given a little garden treasure from somebody else, it's doubly so. Brigitta of Arrowhead Alpines, sent me a gift of Narcissus fernandesii, a small species daffodil. Native to Spain and Portugal, it's a darling little yellow daffy with a strong scent. I planted it in a raised rock garden, where it would get good drainage, so after it died back in the summer I had high hopes it would return for me, which its done... but in November?? It's obviously multiplied nicely, looking like a little patch of long grass. Now, it's not unusual for daffodils to stick their green noses up above ground before spring, and usually no harm is done, but this daffodil is fully sprouted, with delicate-looking foliage. Do I dig it up and pot it for the greenhouse, or leave it be and hope for the best? Thursday, November 16, 2006
Patience Rewarded: The Ghost Emerges
Patience is definitely an asset when it comes to planting ornamental trees in the garden. Some magnolias are glacially slow to flower, and Japanese maples can try the most patient gardener. I can also tell you that waiting for a birch tree to develop its white bark, when you start with a tiny sapling, is rather like going to a snail convention. Betula utilis jacquemontii, the Himalayan white birch, is a tree that makes garden writers get all mushy-prosed, rhapsodizing about this queen of birches, said to have the whitest bark of all. Greyswood Ghost is a particularly nice example of the Himalayan birch, and I obtained a small (small, as in "little brown stick-small") specimen of this birch a number of years ago, and planted it in a prominent spot by a garden path, and prepared to be dazzled by this snow-white beauty. However, after a couple of years it was still as brown as a June bug's back, and the tree got moved to a less prominent spot to await further developments. The bark, after quite a few years, did become rather attractive, if you like brown birch trees... it is shown above in January of this year. Then this fall, as if a stage curtain was being lifted, the brown bark peeled off and the tree stepped out in its new, pristine white finery. It was worth the wait: 
Epimedium Yubae
Epimedium grandiflorum 'Yubae' (which is also sold as 'Rose Queen'), though only 18" high, is one of those plants that seems to strive to be noticed: in spring (shown below) the foliage looks like it has been dipped in raspberry juice, with flowers of bright mauve purple. The plant fades to a pleasant green in summer, but even then its upright structure, and crisp foliage are attractive. Then in fall the foliage (shown above) takes on autumn colors of pink, yellow, and apple green. I have Yubae planted in a hosta bed, right by a path, and have light blue muscari planted in front of it; it gets a lot of comments for such a small plant. 
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Epimedium Cherry Tart
Epimedium x versicolor 'Cherry Tart' has leaves, that in the fall have accents that are... well, cherry red; they glow when the sun backlights them. The foliage has more of a reddish purple overlay in the spring, and as if that isn't enough red goodness, the flowers are a delicate pink with red spurs. The leaves stay on quite late in the fall, so this plant approaches that elusive four season plant even for us. Tuesday, November 14, 2006
The Winter Chasm
This time of year, between late fall and early winter (fwinter?), it's easy to get deluded into thinking that winter will be a snap in the garden, with spring just around the corner... lots of small plants like primroses are putting out new foliage under their protective blanket of fallen leaves, and the wet, black soil seems ready to explode, with thousands of small bulbs starting to push up into the sunlight. The early snowdrops (Galanthus elwesii), in particular, are well out of the ground, showing their diamond-hard white tips in row after row. The snowdrops will be blooming in February, and after all that's only three months from now; on occasion we even have them blooming in January. Yet it's an illusion... a delusion; for winter here is like a deep, cold chasm. You're walking towards it, whistling a happy tune, then you fall into this abyss of ice and gloom, which seems neverending. How three months can expand into this seemingly endless period of time is astonishing... had Einstein lived in Iowa, he would have, at a very young age, had no doubt that time is elastic, and can expand at will. Sleep tight, little snowdrops, and I'll see you in the spring. Monday, November 13, 2006
Bergenia Magic Giant
When the sun goes south for the winter, its pale light slants across our garden, throwing shadows where none were before. This is when the bergenias seem to reappear in the garden, their leaves looking like some inky stormcloud, all deep blackish-purple, but with stirrings of other moody colors in their depths. This is Bergenia 'Magic Giant', a huge plant, looking like a large crucifer gone over to the darkside, it's leaves shiny, thick, and heavy. I must plant more bergenias. Sunday, November 12, 2006
Fall Weeding
I've always been irked by garden writers who mention that this or that cool plant has become a pest by seeding all over their garden. I was just thinking about that today out in the garden, when I was thinning out a lot of the little hellebore seedlings that are popping up this fall. Friday, November 10, 2006
Good Morning, Garden. Good Morning.... Deer??
Regular readers will know that I am obsessively smug about my garden critter barriers (six foot tall woven wire deer fence, two foot rabbit fence, one foot buried woven wire ground hog fence, two foot deep buried plastic mole barrier). I was therefore more than a little humbled to stroll into the garden this morning through one of the five large gates, gazing about smugly at my hidden oasis, and found myself staring into two big, brown, innocent eyes... a deer was placidly sunning itself, right by the pathway, smack-dab in the middle of the garden, as relaxed and comfortable as it could be. I opened up the front gate, and about had to shove the deer out of the garden. I haven't a clue how it got in; probably it just jumped the six foot fence, and proceeded to make itself at home. I must find those plans I made for a moat. Thursday, November 09, 2006
Epimedium La Rocaille
The gardening year can seem fleetingly short, especially when Winter is starting to toy with you; that's why I always grimace when, starting in late October, this gardener or that blogs that the garden is done for the year. We don't live in a climate that I've ever heard described as balmy, but our garden is still filled to overflowing with interesting plants to look at; mind you, we're talking plants here, not flowers, but it's a good time to focus in on the charms of foliage, burnished and bronzed by the cold nights and sharply angled sunlight of late fall. This is Epimedium grandiflora ssp. koreana 'La Rocaille'. In spring finery, shown below, it has graceful ivory flowers with purple accents, with a fine tracing of reddish purple on the leaf edges, and rosy stems. In the fall, shown above, the reddish coloration of the foliage deepens, with bright red stems. 
Lost Lamb... Snowdrop In November
Being a pioneer is always risky; in the plant world following your own pathway can be fatal. I was quite surprised, therefore, to find a snowdrop blooming in our Iowa garden today. It obviously is the same snowdrop that I found blooming early this year right after New Year's Day... I guess that wasn't startling enough for this little bulb, so now it's blooming in the fall. At first I thought it might be one of the species of fall blooming snowdrops, but with its blue-green leaves, prominent white stripe on its spathe, and single, upside-down green heart on each white petal, it surely is Galanthus elwesii; an early spring-blooming snowdrop. A slight bit of research amongst the galanthophiles revealed that there is apparently a strain of elwesii that blooms very early, and in falls where there is a cold snap, followed by warm weather, it may bloom in November... Bingo! We had unprecedented cold at the first of the month, then warmed up to the sixties. Unfortunately, this little bulb thinks it's still growing in a protected nook in the mountains of Turkey; I must break it to it gently that it now faces an Iowa winter, coming on like an icy freight train! One good thing... if Kathy, of Cold Climate Gardening, has a first snowdrop contest again, I'm in!Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Tree Hog
On a clear, pleasant morning, as I opened the garden gate, a loud clucking noise overhead startled me; for a second I thought it must be a squirrel, but then a large cloud of dead leaves showered down on me, accompanied by a loud racket, and a wild turkey flew pell-mell out of the tree, across the yard, and into a ravine. On entering the garden, I found that the turkey wasn't the only critter to be up in the trees; there is a thirty foot tall Pink Spires crabapple in the garden, and one of its large, upright limbs was completely snapped off, while side limbs were broken off another of the main trunks. Unfortunately, this has pretty well trashed this large tree, and I know who to blame: racoons climb up to eat the apples, and this particular tree, with its stiffly upright limbs, gets damaged. I'd take it out, but I have a large sweet autumn clematis growing up it, so I'll trim off the dead limbs and hope for the best. I could have taken up stamp collecting instead of gardening, you know.Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Greyling Days
November in Iowa is all about greys: it is the cloudiest month, with day after day of low, grey clouds. The sun is so low in the sky, that colors become muted, as if the clouds have come down to the very ground. Still, the garden carries on cheerfully: here are Japanese maples flanking a magnolia. Monday, November 06, 2006
Garden Tapestry
When I first started gardening, one of the things that I always wanted to have was a mum tapestry garden, with multiple colors of bright chrysanthemums woven together, like a rainbow tapestry. I planted one at our last house (the third of my four gardens), running all along the garage. It would have been spectacular, as I planted perhaps twenty different plants, starting at one end with deep purple, then reds, oranges, yellows, and finally whites. Alas, we moved to our present house just as it was filling in. Our present garden is, of course, a shady garden in the woods, so not conducive to mum borders. There is one small area on a high point in the garden that is perhaps half sunny, and I do have a patch of mums there; it's not very large, and the plants get a little floppy due to lack of full sun... it's more of a mum throw rug, rather than a tapestry, but still awfully nice on late fall days when the afternoon sun lights it up, and every bee in the woods is buzzing around in it. Sunday, November 05, 2006
Garden Nag
I admit it; I can be somewhat of a nag, trying to get people to plant things in their garden that I think are neglected. Surely, though, if you live in the northern half of the country, you have a nice spot in your garden for a clump of monkshood; hopefully a spot where the bright blue sky of late fall will light it up like a beacon... if it's near a flaming red Japanese maple, all the better. Friday, November 03, 2006
The Last Toad
The last toad lily to bloom in our garden is a species from China; Tricyrtis macrantha ssp. macranthopsis, with shiny, green leaves, and flowers that are most unusual, even for a toad lily. The blooms are thick, waxy yellow, with maroon red spots; somewhat reminiscent of a foxglove. Many of the toad lilies here flirt with frost, but this species really pushes it; I don't like to cover or coddle plants, but if I want to see this one bloom, I often have no choice. Usually a bushel basket on especially cold nights will suffice, but this year, a snow cone was needed. It is to warm up smartly next week; after that this toady is on its own. It is quite recumbant, so I have mine trailed across a grey rock; I recently saw a picture from a botanical garden, where they had this plant sited on the edge of a sharply raised bed, falling over a large rock, and it was a smashing presentation... I may have to do some more garden construction work! Thursday, November 02, 2006
Autumn Moon
This is a picture of the fall foliage of our Acer shirasawanum Autumn Moon; it is rather faster growing, fortunately, than the golden full moon maple, and should be bigger, at perhaps 15 feet. It's spring foliage, as mentioned in yesterday's post, displays a wash of pink-orange. The full moon maples in general, are quite a bit hardier than the palmatums; I don't think I've had so much as a twig die in winter so far, on my full moon, golden full moon, or Autumn Moon maples. There are limits, though; I read a garden message board posting recently from some poor soul in Minnesota who last fall went to the Minneapolis arboretum plant sale, and paid $125 for a large golden full moon maple, which he planted in his yard, apparently with no special protection. In the spring it was deader than a dodo. Now, Japanese maples are rather shallow rooted, and I don't think I'd plant one even here, in the fall; at least not without wrapping it up like a mummy and burying it in mulch, and watering it until the ground froze solid. I was pleased to see though, that the fellow in Minneapolis was a true, intrepid, upper midwest gardener; he was planning on going to the arboretum's spring sale the next day.Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Maples And Moons
In a shady, isolated corner of the garden, a few years ago I planted an Acer japonicum Aconitifolium; it has been very quiet, to the point of invisiblity, until this fall, when with more maturity, it lit up like a jack o' lantern. There are three species of acer that are thought of as Japanese maples: certainly Acer palmatum is the heavyweight, with hundreds of cultivars, but Acer japonicum and Acer shirasawanum each have a handful of varieties that can be found in commerce. My Acer japonicum Aconitifolium is now about five feet tall, and will reach 8-10 feet tall, and perhaps 8 feet across, when it should become a focal point of the fall garden, with leaves of bright orange-red and yellow. Aconitifolium refers to the fact that its leaves resemble those of the monkshood, aconitus. When I first started trying some Japanese maples in the garden, I was quite flummoxed at the terminology: one would think, since you're buying a Japanese maple, that you're getting a member of the species japonicum, but in fact 95% of the cultivars are of the species Acer palmatum. Then there are the moons: full moon maples, golden full moons, autumn moons. I saw Acer japonicum called full moon maple, but then Acer shirasawanum was also called full moon maple, with also shirasawanum golden full moon maple, and shirasawanum Autumn Moon maple. I finally found out that shirasawanum used to be lumped in with japonicum; when it was split off into a new species, it kept the common name of full moon maple. The golden full moon maple (aureum) is a yellow-foliaged version of shirasawanum, and Autumn Moon is a specific cultivar that has "autumn" colors in both its spring and fall foliage: I guess it could be called Acer shirasawanum Autumn Moon full moon maple. I have both aurem and Autumn Moon in the garden; the aureum is only two feet tall, and if not the slowest growing tree in the entire plant world, it's at least in the running. Let's just say I have no immediate plans to hang a birdfeeder in it.