Thursday, January 31, 2008
Bluebells... The Sweet Invader
The problem with bluebells in a woodland garden is that when they die down in late spring, their tall, lanky foliage just flops all over everything, and can soon smother out smaller neighbors. The woody roots tangle themselves through and around the other plants, so they are hard to remove; often pieces break off and just regrow. Also the dying foliage itself is hardly the perfect accent to a garden in its prime blooming season.
Bluebells are certainly a wildflower that tugs at my heartstrings; I can remember hillside after hillside of them blooming every spring when I was young, their dainty pastel flowers waving in the warm breezes of April... those hillsides now are covered with houses, the bluebells gone.
Well, not completely gone... they are currently occupied in taking over one of my azalea beds.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Bargain Basement Garden Sophistication
Therefore, meet the three foot tall Pan that greets visitors just as they enter our garden; what you don't see is that he has a small defect behind his left ankle, where, when it was made, a bubble got trapped in the mold. Because of this, the price... ten dollars, bought at the end of the season clearance sale.
The Pan looks just fine to me, as do all the rest of my bargain baby garden ornaments... besides, I happen to know that Vita Sackville-West of Sissinghurst Garden fame, was actually as tight as a drum.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
An Appreciation Of Weigelas
If I had a bigger garden, I'd plant more weigelas; I'd have rows and mounds and groves of them, blooming in white, red, and pink... everywhere you'd turn in May, the cardinal shrubs would be cascading with flowers... if I had a bigger garden.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Roller Coaster Weather
It seems to me that since we have four seasons to the year, each three months long, that there is plenty of time and opportunity for each type of weather to occur in its own proper season; it all doesn't need to try crowding into January.
Thursday it got down to -15 at night; today it is to be in the upper 50's with thunderstorms; by tomorrow night it's going to be back down below zero, with twenty below zero wind chills and snow... that's about 125 degrees of turnaround in five days. I don't think it's asking too much to expect a little order and decorum in our weather... hmmmm?
Talk about frost-heaving in the garden; I think I just saw a primrose sailing over a five foot tall viburnum this morning.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Garden Microclimates... Pluses And Minuses
I hadn't planned on expanding our one acre garden, but I've made an exception for the rhododendrons; last fall I moved the deer fence along the east boundary to allow me to plant rhododendrons on a steep slope protected somewhat from the winter afternoon sun. In addition to being on a slope, there is a four foot tall yew hedge along the lip of the ravine giving this area some extra afternoon shade. I will, of course, also therefore have some winter wind protection, too. The slope is so steep that I'm going to build terraced beds with square-cut timbers.
After this, I'm absolutely done expanding the garden... really.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Overgrown Garden Pathways
While I made some good progress this last year in cleaning up and clearing up some of my overgrown garden paths, there are a number that probably won't be changed... and that's not all bad.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Stumping The Garden Expert...
When taking guests on tours of our garden, there's nothing like a round of "Guess The Genus". I've stumped more than one experienced gardener with this one... if you guessed the genus rheum, a decorative rhubarb, give yourself five points!
In the second picture, it's just unfolding its leaves. It gets to be borderline huge, looking almost like a gunnera.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Planting Shrubs And Trees: Quit While You're Ahead...
You know how it goes; first you plant a couple of Japanese maples next to each other; one a deep red, and the other a bright, almost brick red... very nice. Then in front of those you plant a bright pink azalea... even nicer. Then in the middle you plant a chartreuse arborvitae... eeek!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
What Doesn't Grow In My Garden...
Whatever the reason; whether it's something in the sun, the soil, the water, or the attitude, I've just about given up on aquilegias... and let's not even talk about daisies!
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
The History And Mystery Of Night...
During my life there have been so many little questions about this complicated and mysterious world we live in that have come up and that I've puzzled over; as time goes by, these questions have tended to accumulate, to the point where I go about with a wrinkled brow and a permanently perplexed expression on my face. Therefore it is no small relief to have one of these questions, minor though it may be, answered. Specifically, I've wondered for a long time, why, as the sun goes down, we speak of darkness "falling" over the land, or we speak of "nightfall".
It turns out that in times long past, they thought that darkness at night was caused, not just by the sun going down, but by mists and vapors coalescing out of the sky and falling to the ground... that is, night "fell" to earth. This belief was bolstered by the obvious fogs that can occur in wet places when the air cools after dark, and by observation of the darkening that can occur even during the day by smoke and fog.
So, one more little mystery is solved for me... now if I can just figure out this: if you drilled a hole all the way through the earth, and pumped all the air out of the tunnel to get rid of air resistance... if you then jumped in, would you fall all the way to the other side of the earth, so in the last half of your journey, you'd be "falling" upwards?
Monday, January 21, 2008
A Gift Of The Heart In Our Garden
Quite a number of plants in our garden arrived here as gifts; few of these have the impact of the two long hedges of Weigela Red Prince that run uphill on either side of long perennial borders, leading to the large angel under a red cedar tree.
The shrubs were a gift from my father-in-law, now gone from us, who was a man of great grace and kindness. I think he would like how they look in May...
Sunday, January 20, 2008
And Hostas...
Yet More Hostas...
Even More Hostas...
More Hostas
Too Harsh On Hostas?
Anyway, the hostas can probably stick up for themselves; a couple of them are big enough to be considered somewhat intimidating.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Making And Losing Garden Friends...
Now, I admit I've got an awful lot of different hostas in the garden considering how flippant I seem to be about them, and some of these hostas are really getting nice as they've gotten larger. Yet, there isn't a one of them that I can truly say I'd feel overly bad about if it turned up its toes; I think there are just too many hosta varieties that look too much alike... I'd just plug another hosta in the blank spot and get on with it.
At least I don't discuss politics in this blog.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Back On Course With Daylilies
Gardening is like life: sometimes you can wander off course for no good reason... take daylilies, for example; when I first started my garden, they were one of the stars of the garden... perhaps THE star in late summer. However, with time and a few dozen trips to local plant nurseries to purchase trees and shrubs, the garden started getting shadier, and the daylilies therefore scrawnier. One new plant infatuation after another (azaleas, then Japanese maples, then magnolias, and on down the line) took me deeper and deeper into the shade. The daylilies faded into pitiful excuses for plants; if they ever bloomed, the flower immediately flopped over... whether from too much shade or from a feeling of neglect, I do not know.
This summer I've tried to make amends; I started moving the daylilies out from behind bushes and from underneath trees, and I've been moving them into their own little spot in the center of the garden; I'll not exaggerate and call it a real sunny spot, but at least you can see your shadow there in mid-afternoon. Well, the daylilies have responded; either to the increased sun, the daylily love, or both. Once again, these bright candy flowers are a highlight of July.
Now, this next summer I must go looking for the irises that I know are around here somewhere.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Garden Catalogues... And Dreaming
A new snowstorm is whistling around the corners of the house, and a huge mass of cold air is rumbling towards us all the way from Siberia, with temperatures predicted as low as -15 this weekend. I don't so much mind when Arctic air moves down here from Alaska, but when the whole other side of the world starts sending its cold to Iowa, I start feeling picked on. It's a good time to start thumbing through the spring garden catalogues, and making plans for when the snow finally melts.
One of the things I want to plant (or should I say shoe-horn into) the garden this spring is another late-blooming azalea (by late-blooming I don't mean the fall re-blooming Encore type of azalea that's all the rage now, but rather those azaleas that bloom in mid- or late summer). The summer bloomers tend to need a little bit more sun than a lot of the spring blooming azaleas, so finding the right spot for them in my garden/jungle is tricky... also, many of them get quite large. When I first started growing late summer-blooming azaleas I was quite surprised to find that most of them, in spite of blooming during the hottest part of the summer, seem to stay in bloom far longer than the mid-May Exbury type azaleas. I assume this is because the summer bloomers get their late flowering from more southerly species like cumberlandense and arborescens. Besides the profusion of long-lasting flowers, I also very much like the spicy perfume that some of them bring to the garden, and many of them have very crisp, attractive foliage.
Above are pictured three that we already grow:
July Jewel- a delightful, very long-blooming shrub. It's only negative is that it's a selection of Azalea cumberlandense, which has no perfume.
Azalea Weston's Popsicle, in the middle picture, is dark pink with an orange-yellow flare, and is modestly fragrant.
Weston's Lollipop is very light pink and wonderfully fragrant.
Better Late Than Never...
I knew better; before ever I started my present garden, wandering around in the brushy woods, dreaming about the garden that was to be, I knew that the pathways should be, as the British garden books always tell us, "wide enough for two people to walk comfortably side-by-side". I intended therefore to have a garden with broad and inviting paths. Well, good intentions don't always lead to good conclusions. What the garden books don't tell you (I guess they figure on a little higher level of garden savvy amongst their readers than they found at this address), is that constructing a suitably wide garden path doesn't do much good if the gardener then proceeds to plant carloads full of shrubs and trees and giant hostas right next to the path. Many of the paths in our garden have become something akin to a deer trail; tenuous in appearance and treacherous to those tall or unwary.
I will say that my garden visitors do get a superior view of the flower beds at least on one side when going on garden walks... slowly shuffling sideways down the paths does that for you. I have, however finally tried to reform, and have been slowly reclaiming (as best I can at this late stage), many of my paths... above are shown one of the old pathways at top, and below two of the paths that I revised this last summer.
So far, so good, but I know my weaknesses all too well, and the spring flower catalogues have just begun to arrive.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Pinellia Peltata... Just Downright Odd
The pinellias all are at least on the unusual side of beautiful, but Pinellia peltata from eastern China is just downright odd. Peltate refers to leaves that are "plate-like"; roundish and held up flat by a stem that attaches more in the middle of the leaf than at the edge (may-apple leaves would be a good example). Pinellia peltata is rarely offered in the catalogues; I've never seen it in another garden, and I've stumped some pretty sophisticated gardeners with it when I've shown it to them here. It has extremely unusual little jack in the pulpit-like reproductive structures whose color sort of reminds me of squash blossoms. The jacks arise close to the ground on separate, short stems, and the long, curled spadix reaches the ground; I've assumed it must be fertilized by little beetles or such that use the long spadix to climb up into the spathe. Here in Iowa peltata tends to go dormant in the summer heat, so its spot needs to be marked. It does have another quirk in that it develops very long stolons (underground stems), and offset plants can pop up from these, quite a distance from the mother plant. I've therefore made a little barrier around one of my two plants to keep it from popping up in some primroses. The second plant is in a spot where it's welcome to ramble; this second plant was just a bare root piece of the original plant that I just heeled in, and it took right off, so this seems to be a pretty tough little Pinellia.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Pinellia Cordata... The Miniature Dragon
The words Pinellia and prolific seem to go together; the two pinellias I've recently shown (tripartita and petatisecta) are quite frisky to near invasive respectively, and P. ternata is recommended only if you have a gravel driveway you want converted to foliage. However, then there is the other side of the coin; Pinellia cordata, which is sometimes called "miniature dragon". It is demure to the point of delicacy, being considered borderline hardy in zone 5, and borderline difficult everywhere.
It is a small little rambler, but apparently rambles off into oblivion as often as not, from what I read about other gardeners' experiences. My little plant pictured above has hung around for six or seven years, never getting much bigger, though I do now have a second plant that I grew from planting one of the leaf bulbils (you can see a leaf bulbil just forming at the base of the leaf in the top picture). Cordata is only about six inches tall, but its leaves are the cream of the Pinellia world; they have silver patterning on the green upper surface, and the backs of the leaves are purple; when the leaves are first unfurling, these purple backs are held up to view and are quite striking. The little "jack" like reproductive structures have extraordinarily long "tails", and they have a faint, fruity smell. I've seen it described as ripe bananas, bubble gum, pineapple and lemon; I'd describe it as Juicy Fruit gum.
There is a named cultivar available commercially, labeled Yamazaki; it has somewhat larger and well-patterned leaves, but I get the impression it may be slightly less hardy. I wouldn't be surprised though, if some of the cordatas that are lost are due to the fact that it is quite late to emerge every spring. I know in my garden, every spring I think, "Well, the cordata must finally be a goner" when it fails to appear in spring (I have it planted next to a clump of yellow ladyslippers and a cyclamen hederifolium). Then a few weeks later, I happen by, and there it is, creeping about the other plants in a very shy manner; in late spring then, it's tiny little floral structures arise.
I would think zone 5 (I'm 5a) is about as far north as I'd try this one, and it really needs a nice little shady spot, with loose rich soil all to itself, with special attention to not accidentally digging it up when it doesn't appear right away in the spring. It's certainly not a landscape plant, but it registers a bonafide 10 on the cute-o-meter.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Disappearing Gardens
An article I read online notes that gardens are disappearing at an alarming rate in Great Britain, victims of real estate development. Apparently the Labor government snuck through a ruling that classifies gardens in the same category as "brownfield" sites, therefore freely open to development with no green space protection. According to the study I read, in some parts of Britain, a third of the new housing is being built on the site of former gardens. Sometimes older houses with large gardens are purchased by developers, the house is torn down, and large apartment houses or multiple single family houses are built (certainly also a common occurrence in the U.S. in areas with high land prices).
We always think of Great Britain as the Eden of gardening, and look to them as a model of green space and trail preservation; but apparently the apple is getting wormy. I see a lot of articles wondering where all the young gardeners have gone to... probably their garden has been buried under concrete.
The picture above was taken last summer in the Royal Botanical Gardens, west of Toronto.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Pinellia Pedatisecta... The Unbidden Dragon
Pinellia pedatisecta just showed up in our garden, unbidden... at first I thought it was a patch of seedlings from one of the Asian jack in the pulpits that we grow; perhaps Arisaema consanguineum (the foliage was reminiscent). Then one day these odd inflorescences arose... certainly "jack" like but not like any jack in the pulpit I knew. A hunch led me to a description and picture of Pinellia pedatisecta; also a native of Asia, but not a true jack in the pulpit (Pinellias are sometimes called "green dragons", not to be confused with Arisaema dracontium, one of our two native jacks that is commonly called THE green dragon). P. pedatisecta is in the same family (Araceae) as the Arisaemas, and the foliage is a dead ringer for some of the Asian jacks. The "flowers" are jack-like, consisting of a greenish, modified leaf (the spathe) that curls around a very long, yellowish "jack" (spadix). I have no idea if it is, in fact, from an evolutionary standpoint considered an early or primitive form of arum, but structurally it certainly appears so; one can see in its floral structure how the more elaborate jack in the pulpits came to be; with a simple leaf wrapping around the spadix, enclosing and protecting the reproductive structures.
I'm not sure how this pinellia arrived in a garden in Iowa; I suppose it snuck in with a nursery-bought plant. I would not have purchased it, as there are two Pinellia species that are definitely invasive. Ternata is the worst (sometimes called the dragon from hell), and I would never have that in my garden at all, but pedatisecta has a mixed reputation, so I've left it growing, but in one summer I already see it popping up where it has no business being. I'll give it one more probation year with very careful attention to removing its seedheads. It is an interesting plant, with tropical-looking foliage (it is the tallest Pinellia at 18 inches), and it has a very long blooming season, basically late spring through the entire summer. I would be pleased to have it continue to have a spot in the garden... however there are some rules that it will need to follow.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Pinellia Tripartita... In Light And Dark
The Asian genus Pinellia (pie-nel'-ee-ah), and in particular the species P. tripartita (native to southern Japan) are to me inexplicably ignored by gardeners and garden catalogues. Admittedly a couple of the Pinellias are downright invasive, especially P. ternata, and even tripartita is a bit frisky in seeding about, but potting up or moving these new little cuties is easy, and they fill odd shady spots in the garden with plants that are modest in size and bloom for a very long time in late spring to early summer (up to two months). Pinellias are in the arum family (araceae), and close cousins to jack in the pulpits. Pinellia tripartita in particular has "flowers" that look very similar to some of the Asian jack in the pulpits we grow in the garden, with its leaves with their three leaflets being indistinguishable from jacks. Tripartita is available in plain green, but also in varieties with yellow foliage (var. Golden Dragon shown at top), purple spathes (ssp. atropurpurea shown in second picture), and variegated foliage (Silver Dragon, with silver variegation on the leaves, and Dragon Tails, with yellow splashing of the leaves, both grown in our garden but not shown). I am particularly taken with a patch of atropurpurea that we have planted on a sharp slope in a shaded ravine right by some wooden steps, so that you get can look straight at the purple "dragons" as you climb the stairs, and the clump is planted next to variegated hostas and above purple-hooded Arisaema sikokianum, the Japanese jack in the pulpit.
You do need to take a firm attitude with Pinellia tripartita (after all, it reproduces by bulb offsets, and little bulbils that form at the base of the leaves, AND seeds). The main thing is to remove the seed pods unless you want lots of babies. If you obtain this plant, invest an extra couple of dollars and get atropurpurea with its purple spathes, or Golden Dragon (the latter needs more afternoon shade and seems a bit smaller and frailer and doesn't seem to spread about quite as readily, which all may be attributes in this plant).
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Disporum Sessile... Fairy Bells For Spring
Disporum sessile (sometimes called Japanese or Chinese fairy bells) is a species that I've just been growing for a couple of years, but it is rapidly becoming a favorite. It is native from mainland east Asia to Japan, and is a rhizomatous spreader. The regular species grows up to two foot tall, but there are numerous named clones selected for their foliage and habit, and most of these clones are smaller in stature, with D. sessile 'Tightwad' at top (a variety from Plant Delights Nursery), being only six inches or so tall. I much prefer these smaller varieties, and there are a number of these types with variegated foliage, like D. sessile 'Sunray' shown below. There are some yellow foliaged forms that I lust over, but in order to obtain one of them for the garden, their price is going to need to decline rather rapidly (or the cats are going to have to start earning their keep). Disporum sessile has creamy, greenish-white, hanging bells for flowers, and one of the reasons I like the shorter clones is that the flowers (being the same size in all the varieties I've seen) are therefore proportionately larger for the plant.
These plants are spreaders, and while said to be refined little plants, some of them are a little... vigorous. 'Tightwad' in particular seems to have ambitions out of proportion to its stature; I think it may be multiplying by seeding as well as by rhizomatous spreading. Fortunately for it, it is just so darn cute that I'm cutting it some slack... but I have my eye on it.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Deer Smooching
Thawing, Then And Now...
After a brief warm spell, winter has indeed showed up again at our doorstep, with freezing rain and colder temperatures. I seem to remember January thaws in my boyhood being rather more remarkable and beneficent events than the wimpy excuse for a thaw we've experienced the last couple of days... but then, I recall myself being a handsome, athletic, and well-behaved lad back then, while reminiscences I hear from my siblings on that topic are a little less spectacular, so perhaps the passing years have magnified and altered my impressions of that time.
At any rate, it has been called to my attention that a true January thaw is an event that rightfully is limited to late January; specifically the five days around January 25th. According to meteorologists, the lowest temperature of the year should, overall at mid-north latitudes, be January 23rd. However, more years than can be accounted for by randomness, see a brief rise in temperatures a little later in the month. Scientists call this a "singularity", meaning apparently that it is an isolated event without explanation, and therefore open to doubt as to its reality and significance. Others feel it is real; certainly the mechanics of the actual thaw are well understood: a brief switch to a flow of warmer air from the west or southwest, temporarily blocking off the polar air flow from the northwest. It may somehow represent some basic switch in air mass circulation from an early to a late winter pattern.
The one thing that is indisputable is that these winter thaws are far too brief; the deer today are shuffling around in the freezing rain, looking like they lost the winning lottery ticket, the juncos are sitting on the sidewalk staring grumpily at each other and at the sleet bouncing off the ground, and P.J. the cat just came thumping back inside through the cat door, meowing plaintively as if there was something I should do about the weather.
There is hope, as the long-term weather predictions call for a warmer than normal late winter here... we just have to first endure this little rough spot in the pavement, called January.
Monday, January 07, 2008
January Thaw
We've had an unseasonably warm bit of weather the last couple of days, before a return to reality tomorrow. We had 18 inches of snow on the ground prior to this, so it's been slow going in melting it all. I've been doing my part by going out in the back yard at intervals and yelling, "MELT DAMMIT... WHY DON'T YOU JUST MELT!"
Unfortunately, living in a little valley where the whole bottom is covered by a frozen pond is rather like being in a styrofoam cooler with ice, so while the open country around our cluster of hills is all bare ground, we still have a fair amount of snow here. That hasn't seemed to deter Galanthus reginae-olgae, though. This little fall-blooming snowdrop opened its flower around Thanksgiving, and today the retreating snowbank revealed it still jauntily in bloom, six weeks later. From what I read, in climates even a signifigant bit milder than ours, this snowdrop tends to dwindle away to nothing, but so far (notice I said so far) it seems to get a little better each year in our garden.
There will be more snow and cold to come, and spring may still be little more than a faint hope, but today it was warm, the snowmelt gurgled down the driveway, and the tufted titmouse first sang Peter-Peter-Peter- from the top of the black cherry tree. It was a good day.
Unobtrusive
I've always had a soft spot for rue anemones, perhaps because they are so small, and look so... defenseless. Indeed, they are becoming scarcer with the ravaging of our native woodlands. The deep, damp ravines in the woodland preserve that I have been managing are carpeted in spring by rue anemones, Dutchman's breeches, and bloodroots. I'm slowly beating back the invasive garlic mustard and multiflora rose, so that hopefully these wee anemones will bloom on for many bird song-filled, green springs to come.
Friday, January 04, 2008
More Sakurasohs In April
Primula Sieboldii... The Perfect Primrose?
Primuls sieboldii's native territory tells a lot about this plant; eastern Siberia down through Manchuria and North Korea to Japan... so much for concerns about its winter hardiness. Then it has this additional advantage for us midwesterners; it goes completely dormant in hot weather. There are lots of primroses that can tolerate cold winters (at least if there is good snow cover), but these species mostly melt like the snow when July in Iowa hits, with its hot winds and sauna nights filled with frog song. Sieboldii then, is almost uniquely equipped to handle our climate.
If further convincing is needed, consider: it breaks dormancy, and blooms towards the end of the primrose spring (blooming in late April here), so it tends to miss a lot of the ravages of late freezes. Also, the primroses that don't really go dormant here, in inclement years tend to have foliage that looks like its been beaten up with a stick... not a soothing complement to the delicate flowers. Contrast this to sieboldii, with its crisp-as-a new-dollar-bill foliage that only comes up when spring has come to stay. Add to these attributes, the enormous variety of fairly large, delicate snowflake flowers in a spectrum from white to pink to deep purple, and add in the tendency of sieboldii to steadily spread into large, though loose patches, and you've got yourself a pretty nice primula. It doesn't like being pushed off the porch too much, but it will tolerate growing around the edges of other woodland plants; it kind of weaves its way through and around other plants in the garden. I'm getting some pretty nice colonies under some of the Japanese maples. It is the one and only primrose that I've never lost, and that gets better every year. It may not be the absolute belle of the ball, but it's a primrose to take home to Mom.
Good Morning
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Primulas In Summer
Although there is over a foot of snow on the ground here currently, let us then consider one facet of primrose hardiness: which are the most heat-tolerant here?
Primula sieboldii might be the best, by virtue of the fact that it goes dormant in the heat of July, and stays there until the next spring... a wise plant, indeed. My second place finisher up until recently would have been Primula kisoana; a Japanese species built to take the heat, with thick, very hairy leaves and stems. However, the freakish late freeze last spring killed 90% of the kisoanas in the garden: turned them to mush. I had grown this species for ten years without losing a single plant prior to that, and it was spreading all around. Several friends to whom I had given offsets said they'd lost them altogether. Now I know we are supposed to be considering just heat tolerance, but the plant has to survive until summer to judge that. Another primrose to consider would be Primula veris, the cowslip of Great Britain. There are three common wild primroses of the fields and woods in Great Britain; P. veris (the Cowslip), P. elatior (the oxlip), and P. vulgaris (the common primrose). They also are endemic across temperate continental Europe, with veris extending into western Asia.
Veris is a primrose more of the open fields, with its native range extending down into southern Russia, so it is thought therefore to be fairly heat tolerant, being able to thrive down into the Carolinas here in our country, and so I am in the process of thinking more critically about its potential here in our Iowa garden. This process is complicated somewhat by the fact that veris, elatior, and vulgaris have all been extensively interbred in nurseries, and pure species, at least in this country, are probably not very often sold in mainstream commerce. Oftentimes, therefore, one sees them sold as Primula polyantha (mainly hybrids between veris and vulgaris), and Primula acaulis (which have a lot of vulgaris blood). Veris and elatior have their flowers arising in clusters (umbellate) from taller stems, so their hybrids with this flowering pattern are called polyanthas. Vulgaris has its flowers more or less singly on shorter, multiple stems (which is called 'acauloid'). All three of these species suffer a bit from in the wild basically occurring in... yellow, which for some reason is my least favorite primrose color. Elatior tend to be a creamier, lighter yellow, veris a brighter, deeper yellow, and vulgaris, I think, kind of runs the gamut. Fortunately veris does occasionally occur in red shades, so for example, you can buy P. veris Sunset Shades, a strain selected for its orange-red hues, shown in the top picture. I just obtained my first plant of this a couple of years ago, and haven't fully evaluated it yet for hardiness, but I sure like its looks, though I suspect it is a hybrid of veris and elatior. The second picture shows a primrose with flower color more typical of veris, but is probably also a hybrid, and it is in fact labelled Primula polyanthus. The bottom picture is also a hybrid ('Butterball'); while it is umbellate, it has shorter stems, and probably has vulgaris blood in it, while the pale, creamy yellow looks like elatior.
So, the primulas we buy at the nursery of these species are probably more of a spectrum of hybrids and species, but they are all nice, and I plan on growing and better evaluating more of them, especially the Sunset Shades.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Primula Juliae... Closer To The Mark
As I noted, the little primrose shown below in my note about Primula juliae is surely a hybrid of juliae, probably crossed with vulgaris; the leaves are too large and crinkled and not round enough for pure juliae, among other things. The above picture from our garden is much closer to the mark: a very tiny little creeper, with quite small, roundish leaves, deeply cleft at the petioles... they almost look like little grasshopper-green creeping Charley leaves. Even this plant, with its pale pink flowers, instead of the usual bright red-pink may not be completely true juliae (I'm not sure the leaves are completely right, either)... but it's awfully close.
Juliae hybrids commercially are sold under a number of different appellations: juliae, juliana, Wanda, and Pruhonica... they are all wonderful, but some are more wonderful than others. Unfortunately, as time goes on, with progressive hybridization and unintentional contamination of strains, primroses offered as "juliae" are sometimes getting a long way from home.
Primula Juliae... And Where She Really Came From
I have spent a fair chunk of my life wandering in one or another mountain range, but there are two mountain ranges I still would like to visit someday; the two mentioned here... the Julian Alps and the Caucasus Mountain Range. Apparently the latter is almost off limits due to various and sundry conflicts and free-lance bandits, but the Julian Alps are quite doable. Slovenia looks to be one of Europe's gems, being the most forested country on that continent, and being rather unspoiled and untouched compared with more developed countries. One concern is that the Slovenian language seems to be all consonants and accent marks, so learning how to ask for a bathroom or a beer while there might be a bit of a challenge. But, I can dream...
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