An Iowa Garden

Internet Picture Borrowing

2012-01-26T17:30:00.001-08:00

With surprising (to me) frequency I get requests to use pictures from this old blog. It is even more of a surprise to me how these various requesters figure out exactly who I am and how to get in touch with me; I assume for each person that reaches me to ask permission, there must be several who fail. Therefore I would like to make it easier and issue a blanket allowance: any of the pictures on this blog may be used freely for all legitimate (and some illegitimate) purposes.

Don, waiting for spring in Iowa City...

The Arrival Of Thanksgiving

2010-11-14T20:48:00.000-08:00

Early winter, and the Holiday Season have arrived in the midst of our little valley like some unbidden and not totally welcome presence. The days pass in a blur with all the energy and exuberance of a new puppy. I note that this Iowa Garden still gets a surprising number of visits every day, considering that the blog is frozen in time; rather like passing folks peeking over the fence at a gardener slumbering next to his hollyhock patch, I guess... not much going on, but worth a quick peek.
Unfortunately, among the visitors there seems to be quite a band of folks from China and other exotic ports of call, that wish everyone to know that they would be pleased to have you send envelopes of cash to purchase fake Viagra. While I have comment moderation, taking the time to occasionally delete these posts is a minor irritant, so that I am reluctantly turning off commenting. If you need to get in touch, you'll just have to stop by (it will be worth it, as you'll go home with an armload of plants).

A Good End

2009-06-05T18:31:00.000-07:00

Every story has a beginning; in the case of this modest garden blog it was in February of 2005, with the bloom of the first snowdrop of the new garden year. Every story must also have an ending, and for An Iowa Garden, that day has arrived; it is a happy ending, though... I am not stopping because of ill health or a lack of stories or new plants to write about (I would say in the four years I've been writing this blog I've probably shown about a fourth of the plants in our garden). Rather, it is because of a lack of time; there are just not quite enough hours in the day, which I confess seems odd, since I retired from medicine six years ago, wondering how I would ever fill all my unaccustomed spare time.
I've made a lot of new friends through blogging, and have very much enjoyed meandering through other peoples' garden blogs too, and I hope a few folks have enjoyed following me about here in our garden, tucked in a small valley beside a pond, in a woods in eastern Iowa. This week the newest fawn is being paraded about by its proud mom, the young raccoons are discovering the challenge of shinnying up the birdfeeder pole in the dark of night, and the barred owls are hooting up and down the valley in the cool spring evenings. Seasons and years continue to unfold around and before me, and I feel deeply connected to all the wild creatures that share our land; and to the woods and to our garden in that woods. Living with (and in) nature can be occasionally exasperating, it can be funny or it can be very sad; but above all, it is a privilege. I have come to realize that the mark of a person can be measured by how they treat the least and most vulnerable of God's creatures.
Good gardening and Godspeed to all of you...

Don

You Could Do Worse...

2009-06-01T18:34:00.000-07:00

I always wonder about gardeners who completely devote their garden to one type of plant; they have one great fanfare of flowering, then a long, quiet summer; I've always thought that wouldn't be for me, but today I started thinking you could do a lot worse than having a whole garden of Siberian irises. Here is Iris Spinning Song, a striking reddish violet.

Just Puttying Around

2009-05-28T20:52:00.000-07:00

When the puttyroot orchids bloom in the woods, I know it is time to watch for new fawns, and this year has not been a disappointment. A few days ago I was just walking along the garden pathway near the pond, glanced down, and there was the tiniest of new fawns curled up right by the path; I could have picked it up in the palm of my hand. Mom was nearby, lying in the woods. That path has been off limits so as not to frighten them, but I've had some peeks through the binoculars of the doe licking her fawn and nursing it. Now the fawn is walking better, so they've moved over to a hill above the pond where there are some nice breezes and a bit of green grass.
The new fawn has some lineage here, as I'm pretty sure its mother was a new fawn here herself two years ago; I'm not totally certain, as I've not put name badges or different colored caps on all the deer to tell them apart (though I've thought about it). However, the doe is a distinctive bright chestnut, and short in stature.
She was one of two fawns of a most wonderful mother, as we had a tiny, motherless fawn (that I called "Sweetheart") show up at that time and some of the older deer were trying to run it off. Though she already had two, slightly older fawns of her own, that doe took in Sweetheart, and she and the three fawns were a tight family.
So, I would say our new fawn is the offspring of Sweetheart's stepsister... you know, maybe I need to get out more.

Pinellias I Have Loved And Grown

2009-05-25T18:04:00.000-07:00

Pinellias, somewhat horticulturally reclusive cousins to jack in the pulpits, are among my favorites in our garden. This is Pinellia 'Polly Spout'. It is a chance hybrid between P. tripartita Atropurprea (a fairly aggressive seeder) and P. pedatisecta (a truly awesome seeder). Fortunately, Polly Spout is sterile (a triploid, I assume). It does offset into a nice, fairly compact clump (most other pinellias run like bandits, popping up, it would seem by perverse choice, at ridiculous distances from the mother plant). Polly was discovered in the old We-Du nursery, and named after a famous spring that now forms a pond at the nursery, Polly's Spout (We-Du is now Meadowbrook Nursery).
Polly Spout shows a slightly purple spathe (hood), with a very tall, upright spadix (jack), and tall, lush tripartite foliage, looking like a dark green, waxy jack in the pulpit. It stays in bloom essentially all summer and always looks great. As I mentioned, it's sterile, but I still can't fathom why it's fairly expensive, because it is a strong, carefree plant that divides readily and steadily... I figure next year I can start potting some up as giveaways for garden visitors.

Two Good Things

2009-05-24T06:40:00.000-07:00

Every garden is a bit hit or miss; two things that have recently worked out well here are, at top, sinking a plastic tub in the ground to grow primula japonica in, and at bottom, a large oval raised, shaded flower bed with a pathway all around it.

It's Your Call...

2009-05-23T07:56:00.000-07:00

This is a plant you may want to go right out and obtain for your shade garden; or not... it's your call. It's Syneilesis aconitifolia, sometimes called "raggedy umbrella". It arises from the ground quite fuzzy white, then loses the fuzz to become colonies of what look for all the world like mayapples that have had a pair of scissors taken to them. Interesting white flower spikes arise vertically from the leaves in mid-summer. There is a second species, Syneilesis palmatum with less finely dissected leaves that is equally intriguing, and there is a named cultivar of palmatum with creamy yellow leaves, that I am patiently awaiting a cheaper price for.
My colony of aconitifolia has been steadily migrating up a hill; I'm not quite sure what it's looking for, but it will soon be running into the goldfish pond... we'll see where it decides to go then.

In Praise Of Hybrids

2009-05-22T14:01:00.000-07:00

There is a widespread bias amongst experienced gardeners favoring plant species over hybrids. I confess to being an inconstant member of this club. However, when it comes to ladyslipper orchids, there is a powerful argument for growing hybrids; one can be certain that the plant wasn't pilfered from nature. There are a few (emphasis on few) nurseries that one can feel safe in purchasing cypripedium species from, knowing they were grown from seed, but more often, one just doesn't really know. "Nursery grown" may just mean the plant was dug up in the woods, stuck in a pot at the nursery for a few months, then sold.
Here is pictured Cypripedium 'Gisela', a hybrid between parviflorum and macranthos, and a lovely slipper it is... and easy to grow if it is given good drainage, loose soil, its roots are not planted deeply, and it receives afternoon shade and proper moisture... well, let's just say it is growable.

Rusty Jack

2009-05-18T18:43:00.000-07:00

It has been an unusually cool and damp spring here in Iowa, which may be the cause of the rusty jacks. I had never heard of arisaema rust, but today I noticed a large clump of native, black hooded jack in the pulpits whose leaves were crumpling, and looking closer saw numerous brown spots on the underside of the leaves and on the spathes (pulpits); obviously rust. A quick internet search showed that arisaema rust is a severe problem, and the only recommendation was to completely remove the plant; it is extremely contagious. Unfortunately a garden tour showed that about a third of the native jacks were infected, as were two of the Asian jacks, stately ringens and exotic iyoanum. I pulled all of them (flinching when I pulled up iyoanum), bagged and disposed of them... over a hundred plants, with the tubers on some of them being almost as big as a tennis ball.
There doesn't seem to be any reliable treatment, but I am going to look into a couple of specific fungicides; Bayleton and Serenade, and keep my fingers crossed that the rest of the Asian jacks don't develop this... if so, there will be much gloom in the garden here.

Small Is Nice, Too

2009-05-15T07:35:00.000-07:00

I'm usually an advocate for "big is better", but I must say I'm becoming a fan of the small-flowered ladyslipper orchids. Take, for example Cyp. 'Hank Small'; a hybrid between the Chinese species Cyp. henryi (Hank) and our native small (Small) flowered yellow ladyslipper, Cyp. parviflora v. parviflorum. It is just cute as a bug, and makes up for the smallness of its slippers by usually having a pair on each stalk.

The Passalong

2009-05-14T05:31:00.000-07:00

For the last couple of years, I've been giving garden visitors a pot of Arisaema sikokianum; these are all grown from seed from my mother plant, and I've probably given away a hundred plants so far, and they're now scattered over a pretty good chunk of the upper midwest. It's interesting to think about how the progeny from these gift plants will be passed on to other gardeners who will also pass it along.

Very Interesting...

2009-05-13T08:59:00.000-07:00

There are certain plants that when they are shown to garden visitors, they never quite know what to say about it; I imagine parents with homely babies get somewhat the same reaction. Arisaema tashiroi is one of those plants in our garden. Three foot tall and stiff, with a green, straight floral structure on top, its leaves just start opening when it flowers, so it has an odd appearance, like a green stick with a decoration on top. Very interesting...

Winnowing The Primulas

2009-05-12T08:41:00.000-07:00

Perhaps there is no other genus of plants that I have tried to grow here that I've managed to kill off quite as prolifically as primulas; it's like a roll call of the war dead, remembering the lovely alpine species that took one look at their new home here in Iowa, and decided the compost bin was probably more hospitable. This is rather depressing, considering that I didn't even try the dicier species. There are plants that don't care for our hot, muggy Iowa summers; there are plants that don't like our frigid, often dry winters... primulas hate them both. However, I am content; there are half a dozen species that do well here, and I've come to the realization that rather than continuing to try to grow other types, that I should just plant the heck out of those I know I can grow. It would have been nice, of course, if I had figured this all out by judicious and reasoned selection, rather than by planting one of everything and seeing what died; I could have saved a lot of money, which I could have invested in the stock market... well, I guess the financial outcome would have been the same, anyway.
Here is what thrives here: first, Primula sieboldii, a primrose wise enough to go dormant after blooming, so it misses our blazing summer and foul winters; through seed and division, large patches of this "beginner's primrose" are everywhere in our garden. Second, Primula kisoana, which is so tough that it seeds out into the bark chip pathways, where it gets walked on regularly. Third, certain members of the vulgaris-elatior-veris complex; especially those with a fair amount of inheritance from the vulgaris ssp. sibthorpii from the drier, hotter Balkans (I've just picked up a selection of a strain of garden primroses bred for the hot southern U.S., said to contain a lot of sibthorpii blood). Primula elatior does especially well here, and the Sunset strain, with its orange-red flowers, is quite striking. Finally, I must mention Primula japonica; I guess I can't say this is a carefree grower here, because I had to bury plastic tubs in the ground filled with loose compost in order to give them the moisture they crave, but with this innovation they are growing as big as cabbages.
I've not completely given up on growing a few other kinds, but they will need special little spots, and so I will be moving very slowly on this front.
Above, from top: elatior 'Sunset' strain, double yellow vulgaris 'Sunshine', japonica in the tub, deep indigo vulgaris 'Kingston Twilight', kisoana with its fuzzy leaves, and then puple and pink colonies of sieboldii.

The Best...

2009-05-11T20:25:00.000-07:00

If there is a better thing to see in a garden on a bright May afternoon than big clumps of yellow ladyslipper orchids, I don't know what it could be...

They're Everywhere!

2009-05-10T18:53:00.000-07:00

Here are a few random pictures of some of the epimediums blooming now in our garden.

Brightening Up A Dark Spot

2009-05-08T08:55:00.000-07:00

Epimediums do a lot for our garden, but I usually think of them more as a filler or softener, rather than a plant to brighten a dark spot. Epimedium lishihchenii, which was discovered in China only 13 years ago, is an exception. First, this is a BIG epimedium; large leaved and tall. Then the whole plant, flowers and leaves, has an unusual brightness to it; due to a suffusion of bright greenish yellow. The leaves then have a rosy bronze tone on top of the chartreuse base. On top of all these distinctions, the plant is semi-evergreen here (And I'm sure would be totally evergreen where winters aren't as brutal as ours).

Fritillaries

2009-05-05T09:37:00.000-07:00

A highlight of our May garden is seeing the different fritillaries blooming. Here are pictured a few that are currently in flower: F. involucrata from the Alps, seen at top, is described in the reference book on fritillaries in my library as having "quiet charm". It is, in fact, the essence of subtlety. F. pontica, pictured next, is from S.E. Europe (the mountains of Albania to western Turkey), and it might be even a little more "subtle". It is quite a bit more spectacular when seen from below, peering up into the bell, but on an eight inch tall plant taking such a picture requires more effort than I was up to today. F. pallidiflora from central Asia does not require any acrobatics to see up into its pale yellow, squarish bells, for it is a large, stout plant with nice, grey-green foliage. The fourth fritillary pictured probably needs no introduction, as it is the crown imperial, with brick red flowers. My plants grown in a sunny bed are all of four foot tall. F. latakensis, native to Turkey, is a newcomer to our garden; it is quite tall, with petals that alternate in cool green and grayish purple. Finally we have to have a picture of F. meleagris, the snake's head fritillary; I'm pleased to report that it is spreading about our garden moderately, and is welcome wherever it shows up (though it's been popping up in some of the grassy paths, too).

Legacy Of An Old Passion

2009-05-04T09:40:00.000-07:00

When I first started gardening here, our woods was much more open than it is today (sticking in about two hundred shrubs and trees may have played a part in the change). Daffodils were my first passion, and I purchased quite a few from Grant Mitsch Daffodils in Oregon, as pink cupped daffodils were my particular delight. As the garden has gotten shadier and shadier, I no longer buy any daffodils and the ones still here have had to squeeze into the few remaining sunny areas, and they've kind of faded into the background; but for a couple of weeks each spring, they are the queens of the garden... a legacy from a past passion.

Leaves

2009-05-03T09:28:00.000-07:00

I think hepaticas would earn a spot in my garden even if they never bloomed. At top is Hepatica insulare from an island off the tip of South Korea. At bottom is Hepatica nobilis Cremar, a strain of hepatica known for its scalloped, patterned leaves.

Five Little Anemonellas

2009-05-02T10:35:00.000-07:00

Anemonella thalictroides, the native rue anemone, is blooming now in our local woodlands by the thousands; along with spring beauties, the rue anemones cover the woodland ground, their flowers all moving restlessly with the spring breezes. In addition to the wild plant (shown fourth above), our garden is host to several commercial cultivars; Snowball at top is a white double with a hint of pink. Cameo (third) is a dusty faint pink double. Croton Falls (second) is a pink single. Then there's the classic Schoaf's pink, a double, at bottom. I especially like the little leaves of rue anemone, which remind me of tiny mittens or duck feet. Also rue anemone , in spite of its delicate appearance, is one of the longest flowering spring wildflowers... maybe the longest.

Corydalis buschii

2009-05-01T11:21:00.000-07:00

Many of the species of corydalis are, how should I put this... coarse. There is no such problem though, with Corydalis buschii, native to eastern Russia down into North Korea. It is small and delicately ferny; almost frail in appearance, with gorgeous little flowers of crushed cherry and black raspberry. It is a total winner for a shady spot with loose, rich soil; it should be purchased for your shade garden immediately (well, next spring would be o.k. I guess).

Blue

2009-04-30T09:46:00.000-07:00

Blue Nose rhododendron is not seen much in commerce, but certainly deserves to be well known. It is rock hardy even here in Iowa, and covered every spring by luminescent violet flowers. I have white daffodils planted in front of it, for a nice contrast.

In The Pink

2009-04-29T09:47:00.000-07:00

Wood anemones are a favorite around here; especially the blues. However, pinks are nice too; this is Wyatt's Pink.

Blanda But Not Bland

2009-04-27T21:18:00.000-07:00

Anemone blanda is such a retiring little plant that it gets lost pretty easily in a crowded garden. However, Anemone blanda 'Ingramii' (shown at top) has no such problem; its blue is the deepest yet brightest of blues. This particular selection of blanda is native to southern Greece; it begins flowering before other blandas, and also stays in bloom the longest; it's been blooming here for almost a month now. For comparison, at bottom is a more ordinary blue Anemone blanda.

Ssssolomon's Seal

2009-04-26T17:41:00.000-07:00

Solomon's seal is another of those plants that I really like best when they are just coming up; patches of them look like twisting snakes rearing out of the ground.

The Gift That Keeps Giving

2009-04-25T16:59:00.000-07:00

Two springs ago I toured the garden of a fellow garden blogger who lives just across town here. His garden, in a corner lot right on a city street, is absolutely jam-packed with an amazing variety of interesting plants, and is much viewed and enjoyed by folks walking by. One of the special delights of his garden is a variety of orchid cacti (epiphyllums) in hanging pots that he places in the trees, with these incredible flowers wafting their sweet perfume through the night-time air. He gave me a pot with some fresh cuttings in it, and it's now blooming in our garden. A nice passalong!

New And Cool

2009-04-24T10:38:00.000-07:00

One of the epimediums planted last year is pictured above (Epimedium sempervirens 'Mars'), with a combination of cherry pink cup and light pink tepals; its flowers looks like brightly colored candy, set off by maroon-edged leaves. It is one of the shorter epimediums (10-12"), early blooming, and covered with flowers.

Bonus Daffodils

2009-04-23T17:46:00.000-07:00

There are so many daffodils blooming in the garden right now, I could fill this blog with enough pictures that it would freeze up the best of computers... here is just a small selection.

More Daffodils

2009-04-23T17:44:00.000-07:00

A few more daffodils blooming today.

The Tipping Point

2009-04-23T09:43:00.000-07:00

There arrives a spring in the life of the garden when perhaps it has tipped over into too much... muchness. Dainty woodland cardamines (top), seemingly so hard to get established in this hot, dry climate, start running through the woodland in waves. Grape hyacinths (middle), march right out of the rock gardens, looking for more room. Primula sieboldii (bottom), mugs the dainty little juliana primula next to it, and heads for the woods.
I'm not sure what the change, or the signal is; but something seems to turn on, and even dainty little plants that normally act like they would rather be someplace else, start popping up everywhere. This morning I almost stepped on a snakeshead fritillary (Fritillaria meleagris) growing in the middle of a path... at least it didn't hiss at me.

Worth Stooping For

2009-04-21T09:49:00.000-07:00

Muddy knees are a small price to pay to get a good view of Erythronium dens canis 'Charmer'.

Fancy Pants Daffodils

2009-04-20T16:29:00.000-07:00

For some reason I'm a little embarrassed to admit that my favorite daffodils are these overblown frilled or double daffodils; Iowans don't normally approve of such highfalutin' ways.

Beat This!

2009-04-19T08:45:00.000-07:00

Beat this, if you can for total oddness; it's Asarum heterotropoides (I believe ssp. mandshuricum) from China. It is a wild ginger; the great majority of the Asian gingers are evergreen (or, make a brave attempt at it here in Iowa) and therefore of borderline hardiness. This ginger however is deciduous and seems totally hardy, with these extremely unusual flowers appearing in profusion every spring, nestled at the base of the plant.

a Yearly Ritual

2009-04-18T09:47:00.000-07:00

Every spring, like the robins, I start chirping; about Primula vulgaris sibthorpii. This lovely primrose is native to the Balkans, and therefore more tolerant of heat and dryness than other primroses, most of which come from misty, cool highlands or northern climes. Without fail, every spring here in Iowa sibthorpii returns and gets better and better, being invariably covered with bright pink flowers. Each spring I break off a little piece and transplant it elsewhere in the garden, so hope someday to have dozens of these plants blooming around every bend in the garden.

A Tough Problem To Have...

2009-04-17T08:48:00.000-07:00

Cypripedium parviflora, the yellow ladyslipper orchid, is one of those plants more talked about than actually seen in gardens, but actually it is fairly easy to grow and multiplies steadily into large patches. I just raised this clump up three years ago, split it up and replanted three or four pips in this spot; I counted thirteen stems poking up today. It probably should be divided again in the next year or so because it's growing right next to a brick edger outlining the garden path, so there's not a lot of room to expand. It's kind of a chore carefully digging them up and splitting them, but maybe it's not such a tough problem to have.

Further Afield

2009-04-16T17:46:00.000-07:00

I've gradually been adding more species of corydalis to our garden. Starting with the commoner, more widely available types, I'm now slowly branching out into some of the lesser known and grown species. To my surprise and delight, I've found many of them hardy and rapid growers; maybe I won't be so happy if some of them turn out like Corydalis lutea, which has designs on taking over the whole garden. This is a more demure species, Corydalis paschei, with pale lilac pink flowers. In nature it apparently is only found in a couple of locations in SW Turkey, but it seems right at home in our garden.

Bee's Work

2009-04-15T17:44:00.000-07:00

Blue scillas and blue chionodoxas have been brightening up our spring garden in a most harmonious way; then there's this little beauty, a natural cross between Chionodoxa forbesii and Scilla bifolia. This is properly called x Chionoscilla allenii, with lovely light blue flowers in a short, erect clump. Kind of an oddity, but definitely a nice addition to the spring blues.
Perhaps the busy little bee will cross my chionoscilla back with one of its blue parent genera growing nearby?

Enter The Dragon

2009-04-14T09:07:00.000-07:00

There are certain plants in our garden which I think I enjoy more when they first arise out of the ground than when they finally bloom; the dragon arum, Dracunculus vulgaris, might be one of those. The floral structures are properly other-worldly, of course, but smell like ten year old gym socks wrapped around a dead mouse, and carrion beetles crawl all over them, smearing themselves with gunk; the foliage then starts flopping over and dying just as the plant blooms. Ah, but the cool, sinister, blotched and spotted plant sheath, rising out of the still-cold ground like some reptilian nightmare; that's worth the price of admission.

Well Named

2009-04-13T08:59:00.000-07:00

I have several flower varieties named "Purple" this or "Purple" that. One of my favorites is Corydalis solida 'Purple Beauty', shown blooming by a meandering back pathway, where it gets morning sun and afternoon shade. It is tucked into a little spot with several varieties of fritillaries, a couple of trilliums, and a half dozen primroses, just to keep it company.

Yes...No...Maybe?

2009-04-12T11:54:00.000-07:00

Anemone nemorosa Dee Day is a striking lavender blue clone of the European wood anemone; in some catalogs it is said to have been collected in France during World War I, by an English soldier. On the other hand, another catalog says Dee Day has been in commerce since 1940 (WW II, I presume). On the third hand, I have another blue wood anemone variety in the garden, Parlez Vous, and that is listed as being found in France by the self same English soldier. Yes...no...maybe?
Dee Day is one of those flowers that looks as if it has been crayoned with its blue color; an effect I particularly like. It is early-blooming, which I also like. It does however have a reputation for being a little sparser blooming than most wood anemones, but makes up for it by the brightness of its flowers. I have it planted underneath an azalea bush, and when Dee Day is blooming, I always stop to peer at these amazing little blue faces.

Slowing Down To Hurry Up

2009-04-11T11:48:00.000-07:00

Every spring is hectic around here, but this spring I've not just been burning the candle at both ends; I've thrown the whole candle in the fire and tossed on some gasoline. Therefore I've had to slow down posting on this blog in order to hurry up everything else. However, one set of flowers I had to take the time to show: these are two of the large-flowered blue chionodoxas (glories of the snow): at top, C. forbesii 'Blue Giant', and at bottom C. lochiae. The latter is a new species for me, and a surprising success, for it is a rarity found only in the mountains of Cyprus (thus often called Cyprian glory of the snow; also called Loch's or greater glory of the snow). Its flowers are said to be the largest of the eight species of chionodoxa, and are a lovely shade of lavender blue.

Scilla

2009-04-09T13:32:00.000-07:00

Scilla siberica 'Vaclav' is a clone of the common little Siberian blue squill. Vaclav was selected for being amazingly floriferous; my single little bulb is just a baby, but when grown up, I'm told it may have four or five flower stalks with up to twenty flowers on a stalk. For now I'm content with the lovely soft blue of its flowers.

Spring Orange

2009-04-08T14:34:00.000-07:00

Crocus angustifolius, from the Crimea, loves cold winters and warm summers, so Iowa is to its liking. It is one of those crocuses that seem lit from within, giving it an orange glow. It is a beauty!

Front & Back

2009-04-07T16:31:00.000-07:00

There are a number of small early spring bulbs whose flowers are ravishing both from the front and the back, but I doubt any of them can top Scilla rosenii, which looks like a little, sky blue erythronium, with a white throat. It is a snow melt alpine, so I'm trying to grow it in a spot with shade and moisture (it would probably like a few ice cubes in July).

The Black Champ

2009-04-06T06:08:00.000-07:00

Lots of plants are said to have "black" leaves. Ranunculus ficaria 'Brambling' comes about as close to the true thing as you could hope for, with its small leaves a tortiseshell mixture of black, maroon, green, and silver. Every catalog describes the colors of 'Brambling's' leaves differently (which I always think means you have a special plant on your hands)... and then it blooms with sunshine bright yellow flowers.

Small Iris In Springtime

2009-04-05T11:10:00.000-07:00

Iris reticulata (top) is one of the little charmers of our early spring garden. I've now added Iris Katherine Hodgkin (bottom), which is a cross of Iris histroides x winogradowii; the former species is light blue and the latter yellow, and Katherine Hodgkin's flowers are a marriage of both its parents, being uniquely gray-blue with yellow blotching.
It is a little sturdier flower than Iris reticulata and is said to therefore stay in flower longer. With 4 inches of snow forecast for tonight, we shall see.

Scilla Caucasica

2009-04-03T17:09:00.000-07:00

Scilla caucasica hails from... well, the mountains of the Caucasus. It's basically a larger, darker blue Scilla sibirica (some in fact classify it as Scilla sibirica ssp. caucasica). The blue color of caucasica is an unearthly blue; rich and with lavender and pink undertones. It is just a ravishing little bulb, and I look forward to its blooming each April.

Erythronium Purple King

2009-04-02T18:07:00.000-07:00

I've never been very good at describing flower colors; the Brits are champs at this. I've seen them walking about in Kew Gardens with their color wheels (excuse me, "colour" wheels), trying to thrash out whether the third order colour of the tessalated lousewort blooming in the conservatory is gooey persimmon or spilled molasses.
I was thinking I could use one of those color wheels to describe the colors of 'Purple King' Erythronium dens-canis, which is shyly holding its little flowers up in the cold rain today. I see where a flower catalog describes it as "cyclamen purple", but that doesn't resonate with me; the best I can do is "soft violet". Even tougher to label is the center; I see it described as brown or deep red, but it's much more subtle. I'd call it brownish apricot... or maybe cinnamon infused with egg yolk?

Take Your Pick

2009-04-01T07:50:00.000-07:00

I've always had a soft spot for Puschkinia scilloides, the striped squill. This little cutie followed me to my present garden by piggybacking on a hosta or something that I moved from my first garden, and it has made itself at home by spreading everywhere; I don't mind as it is so lovely and so unobtrusive.
I also grow Aragats Pick, a superior form of Puschkinia collected on Mount Aragats, the highest mountain in Armenia at over 13,000 feet. An ancient volcano, Mount Aragats is rather dry and windblown, but covered with lovely alpines. Aragats Pick is basically a larger, sturdier plant, with more flowers that are, as they say, more elegantly spaced along the stem. I can vouch that it is very vigorous; my single bulb, planted in the fall of 2007 is now five. I like both my little vagabond puschkinias, and Aragats Pick equally well; in the pictures above Aragats Pick is at top, and the common Puschkinia scilloides is at bottom... you can choose.

Need More Corydalis

2009-03-31T17:36:00.000-07:00

Corydalis solida 'Dieter Schacht' (named after the former curator of the Munich Botanical Garden), is always about the first corydalis to bloom in our garden, which is reason enough to grow it; the very bright, clear pink flowers are another reason. I have been adding corydalis varieties to the garden for the last two years, but need more.

A Fine Spring Day In Iowa

2009-03-29T09:55:00.000-07:00

What a difference a day makes!

Goodbye To Spring

2009-03-28T09:25:00.000-07:00

With predictions of 4-8 inches of snow and 25 mph winds tonight, spring (and probably a lot of the spring flowers) are exiting the stage. At least this storm isn't ushering in the terrible Arctic cold blast that seems to descend on us every spring lately, killing or maiming much of the garden; the low temperature will be in the twenties this time. Now I wonder what I did with the snow shovels?

Soldier Of Spring

2009-03-27T07:12:00.000-07:00

With snow predicted for tomorrow, the garden trembles; yet one plant carries on as if nothing is amiss, blooming through rain and snow... it is hepatica nobilis, the liverwort. Pictured above is the variety japonica, but our native varieties acutiloba and obtusa are also troopers; true soldiers of spring.

Springtime Gold

2009-03-26T19:37:00.000-07:00

Eranthis hyemalis and cilicica (the two species of winter aconite) have been charming little residents of our early spring garden for many years. This year they were joined by Eranthis x tubergenii 'Guinea Gold', a hybrid between the two species just listed, which has larger, deeper gold flowers. Apparently there are impostors that are sold that are hybrids as noted, but not the specfic selected clone of that cross that is truthfully called 'Guinea Gold'. I'm a little suspicious of my purchase, as the true 'Guinea Gold' should have bronzish foliage; I think mine did at first, but has now faded to light green. My bulb does show astonishing vigor, and very large flowers (well, large in this case is relative; the flowers are the size of a quarter). So, it may be the real thing; time will tell, as the true 'Guinea Gold' is a sterile hybrid.
I'm now envisioning a raised, rocky spot covered with these bright little sunbeams, interlaced with an early, deep purple crocus... oh, yeah!

Go Figure...

2009-03-25T19:21:00.000-07:00

One of the more interesting questions in horticulture is why certain plants grow great in one garden, and disappear in another. For example, crown imperials (Fritillaria imperialis) have a reputation for being very finicky but they grow like weeds here, and I have no idea why. Both of these clusters were planted as single small offset bulbs two years ago; now each is a clump of five. It must be something in the water...

Erythroniums

2009-03-24T09:22:00.000-07:00

Erythronium dens-canis 'Pink Perfection' is the first dog tooth violet to bloom in our garden this spring. Dens-canis is the European dog tooth violet, native to the mountainous areas of southern Europe. All the Erythronium species are native to North America except for the dens-canis complex, which is comprised of four species or sub-species; the southern European dens-canis, then as you travel progressively east, E. caucasicum, E. sibericum, and E. japonicum. Some lump them all under dens-canis, but the plants are distinct enough to assign each its own species.
'Pink Perfection' is a beautiful named selection of dens-canis with its flowers an indescribably lovely shade of soft pink.

Galanthus fosteri

2009-03-23T07:23:00.000-07:00

This is a species of snowdrop that I think probably shouldn't grow here, as it is native from the Eastern Mediterranean (what used to be called the Levant), up into Turkey. I grow it in kind of a dry, shady spot, and it seems happy enough. It has two green spots on each inner petal, the lower of which has been described as horseshoe-shaped; it is a very distinctive little snowie.

Kiss Of Spring

2009-03-21T18:12:00.000-07:00

This is Crocus korolkowii 'Kiss Of Spring'; a selection of an early-flowering buttercup yellow crocus with deep maroon feathering on the outside. It is native to the dry mountains of Central Asia in the "stan" countries: Pakistan, Afghanistan, Tajikistan, and Uzbekistan; "stan" means "the country or place where one dwells". Thus Afghanistan is "the place where the Afghans dwell". Crocus korolkowii, coming from dryish, very well-draining alpine conditions, is prone to rot, so I have it planted on the upper side of a small ravine with early spring exposure to the sun. It seems content, and favors our garden with little cups of sunshine in earliest spring.

Galanthus Bitton

2009-03-20T08:44:00.000-07:00

Galanthus 'Bitton' is just a very lovely little selection of G. nivalis, supposedly originally found many years ago growing under a hedge by the famous flower bulb gardener and writer, E. A. Bowles. I can see what caught his eye; it is absolute perfection in its symmetry, proportions, and bearing.

Galanthus Merlin

2009-03-19T13:40:00.000-07:00

Merlin is thought to be a hybrid between Galanthus elwesii and plicatus. Merlin is one of the most widely available and popular of the snowies with all-green inner petals. It is also known for carrying its flower at a slight angle, due to a short pedicel. Its plicatus sire gives the plant nice, waxy green foliage, and it is a strong grower in our garden.

Galanthus Scharlockii

2009-03-18T13:42:00.000-07:00

Galanthus Scharlockii has been grown in gardens for many, many years. It is easily identified by its long, split spathe, which is said to resemble "donkey's ears"(a spathe being, of course a leaf or leaf-like structure that grows around or over the inflorescence to protect it from the elements; an elaborate version would be the "pulpit" that surrounds the "jack" in jack in the pulpits). Scharlockii's flower is noteworthy for the small green spots on the outer petals as well as having the usual green marks (looking like little upside-down hearts) on the inner petals. The whole plant has somewhat of a wiry, fly-away look, but it is a cool little snowdrop (and is still around after almost two hundred years in gardens).

Galanthus Lady Elphinstone

2009-03-17T13:35:00.000-07:00

One of the true treasures of the genus Galanthus is Lady Elphinstone, discovered way back in 1890 in Chesire; it is a double flowering nivalis, with buttery yellow inner petals. It seems to be a pretty good multiplier; my one bulb has turned into four in two years. It is said to need acid soil to develop the yellow color; here it is planted in an azalea bed with peaty, loose soil.

Dull Snowdrop Scissors?

2009-03-16T07:40:00.000-07:00

I obtained this snowdrop as Galanthus 'Scissors'. Now there are several selected clones of Galanthus that carry the sobriquet 'Scissors', (named such because the green spots on the inner petals supposedly look like tailor's shears). Two others that I could find pictures of are both elwesii selections; G. elwesii 'Daphne's Scissors' and G. elwesii 'Raphane's Scissors'. The latter is particularly fine, with very clear 'scissors', while Daphne's pick shows quite a bit of blurring of the upper 'blades'. My snowie is instead a Galanthus plicatus selection, with just a big blob where the blades should be. Pretty dull scissors, if you ask me. Hopefully it will sharpen up next year.

The Real Deal

2009-03-15T17:02:00.000-07:00

Every gardener, I suppose, has their own harbinger of spring; for me it's the blooming of Adonis amurensis. Sure, occasionally these bright golden flowers get buried by a few inches of snow, but nothing's perfect. I know that when Adonis opens its flowers, that the rest of the garden is awake and soon there will be hundreds of other plants shoving up through the icy earth. Besides, who could resist these little cups of sunshine in mid-March?

Out The Other End

2009-03-14T17:24:00.000-07:00

After a long, dreary, cold winter, I think today we've come out the other end, into spring. Shibateranthis pinnatifida, a tiny Japanese alpine seems improbably frail to be blooming when the ground is still largely frozen. Its flowers appear just a little shabby if you look too close; kind of an off-white and wrinkled. I've always figured that's just what you'd expect in such a fragile flower which starts to bloom while still under the receding snow; then I saw some pictures of this plant flowering in an alpine house in great Britain, and the flowers looked just the same as mine. It kind of looks like it shops for clothes at a thrift shop.

The Big Chill

2009-03-11T17:08:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, it was warm and foggy with water gurgling down the ravines and male yellow shafted flickers were fanning their wings and playing peek-a-boo with the female flickers, high in the treetops. The temperature has now dropped forty degrees overnight; the creeks and ground have re-frozen, and all is quiet and cold. The snowdrops have wrapped their petals so tightly, I fear they will break, and have laid the flowers almost on the ground, each pointing south, like little wind vanes as the arctic high pressure blows clouds, leaves, and little snowdrop flowers before it.
But soon the wind will shift around to the south, and with the sun high in the sky, spring will return... not soon enough, but soon.

Do As The Brits Do

2009-03-09T07:25:00.000-07:00

When it comes to finding out how to grow hardy cyclamens, British gardeners would seem to be the ones to consult, as they are quite passionate about the cyclamens in their gardens. Unfortunately, Iowa is a long ways from misty, cool England and so it is rare that their horticultural advice transfers well.
However, after a number of years spent growing these plants, rather to my amazement I can heartily recommend the Brits' advice: grow your cyclamens under trees. I figured that in summer here in Iowa, these areas would get too dry, but in fact the cyclamens I've planted right near the trunks of various trees and shrubs have thrived and multiplied, while those planted in what would seem to be prime plant real estate, have usually sulked and eventually disappeared. I'd opine on issues of drainage, competition, summer dormancy, etc.; instead I'll just say... go figure!

Number Two?

2009-03-08T14:20:00.000-07:00

It's going to be a toss-up for the second flower to bloom in our still-wintery garden (snow flurries are predicted for this evening): Cyclamen coum is just getting ready to open a few flowers, and Shibateranthis pinnatifida, with its tiny flowers looking at this stage about as attractive as an old coat in the back closet, is trying gamely to pretend that the weather is no problem.

Bridging The Gap

2009-03-07T10:38:00.000-08:00

As one gets older, time certainly does seem to pass more quickly, except for a couple of weeks each early spring; the time between the blooming of the early snowdrops (Galanthus elwesii) and the awakening of the rest of the garden. The ground is still mostly frozen, and it just seems to take forever for the second type of bulb to cast its fate to the winds and to open its little flowers to the vagaries of March in Iowa. It's as if all the other little bulbs are sitting around waiting for somebody else to take the plunge. Galanthus nivalis Viridapice (at top) is showing its hallmark green spot on the outer petals, and should be open in a few days, but I really need something to bridge this gap; the few crocuses I have are starting to show their buds (below). This fall I aim to plant a variety of crocuses in spots in the garden that get early spring sun... this early spring gap in the garden is too hard on the knees.

Sleepy Garden (er)

2009-03-05T13:14:00.000-08:00

This spring the garden (and this gardener) are having trouble shaking off the torpor of a long winter. Today was the first really warm day (shirt-sleeved 68), yet the ground is basically still frozen solid to the point that a sharp knife will not penetrate it (I tried). The only things blooming are a few patches of Galanthus elwesii, the early snowdrop. In wandering about the somnolent garden this morning, it suddenly struck me: even the birds were just sitting around; not a chirp, not a tweet, not a single song. What gives?
In looking back, I see that this is the latest spring ever in the garden for bloom times; by now the early snowdrops have usually come and gone. This year half of them haven't even opened. I haven't gardened, I haven't blogged about the garden, I've hardly set foot in the garden.
Yet, by this afternoon, with the warm sun bearing down, I could count a dozen other types of snowdrops at least peeking up, and the Carolina wren and the titmouse finally shook their feathers and started calling.
It's a start...

Applause, Applause

2009-03-02T06:48:00.000-08:00

Every spring I just have to show the foliage of Asarum minor Dixie Darling, still dressed with its winter purple and cranberry undertones. This is the single best woodland plant in our garden in terms of year-around foliage.

A Small Snowdrop Irritation

2009-03-01T06:46:00.000-08:00

Every early spring it happens; a few little snowdrops have their flowers lopped off, leaving them lying funerally on the ground, as if the Queen of Hearts had paid a brief, and senseless visit. Since the garden is fenced in from rabbits, I'm pretty sure it's the squirrels actually performing this little floral decapitation. I assume they are pretty hungry this time of year, but they must find the snowdrops distasteful, as they just nip off a couple and never eat them. Still, it's pretty irritating when you just have a few snowdrops starting to bloom, to find the tiny little, perfect flowers lying scattered on the cold ground before they have even had a chance to fully open. It's like, on a beautiful spring day, seeing one of those gloomy tombstones with the inscription, "As I am, so shall you be".

Cyclamens... A Modest Improvement

2009-02-28T14:44:00.000-08:00

Hardy cyclamens (well, at least three species of them: purpurascens, coum, and hederifolium) do fairly well in our garden. However, depending on the conditions (snow cover, cold, wind), the leaves often come through the winter looking a little ratty, which somewhat detracts from their value to the garden. This last fall, I decided to cover all of them with a light covering of dry pine needles, and while we had good snow cover, I still think the pine needles were very protective, in that upon uncovering the cyclamens, they looked almost untouched by winter, in spite of reaching fifteen below in January.
While tolerant of most soils as long as they have good drainage, cyclamens do prefer alkaline soil, so I will want to remove the pine needles each year.

It Could Always Be Worse...

2009-02-27T05:55:00.000-08:00

I've been pretty whiny about our long winter this year, but it could always be worse; here's what it looked like a year ago.

Four Questions About Mexico

2009-02-26T12:11:00.000-08:00

Liz says I think too much, and perhaps she's right... but I do have a few questions from our stay in Mexico:
First, who teaches all the maids in Mexico how to do those towel animals?
Second, do iguanas taste bad? If not I'd think they all would have been eaten.
Third, why didn't all the Mayans build their cities on cliffs overlooking the ocean like Tulum, instead of in the middle of the buggy jungle; didn't they know how to swim?
Finally, is there any woman on earth who wears more clothes in a tropical climate than Liz?

Sun To Snow... To Snowdrops

2009-02-25T18:25:00.000-08:00

Well, home at last from Playa del Carmen, Mexico. Apparently it was warm and nice here in Iowa the whole time we were gone, then winter returned right before we came back, so it was zero with four inches of new snow when we piled off the airplane wearing light jackets.
The deer seemed unhappy to see us back, probably thinking we brought the return of winter with us. They have a point; last year we had to dig our car out of a snowbank when we got back from Mexico.
However, by today the sun was out, the snow was melting, the deer were placated and the snowdrops are starting to open, though the ground is still frozen solid. Somehow amongst all the ice and dead leaves, the bees are right on the spot when this first small handful of flowers starts to bloom; rather like shoppers waiting for BestBuy to open for its post-Christmas sale. The bees were so eager for spring, that they were trying to force their way into snowdrops that hadn't yet opened. I know how they feel...

A Slight Interruption...

2009-02-06T10:51:00.000-08:00

Hmmm-mmm-Oh-hmmmm-lalala-mmmm-deedeedee...

(There is nothing wrong with your computer; there will be a temporary interruption in posting on this blog.)

Hmmm-mmm-mmmmm=lalala-Hmmm-mmmm...

The Littlest Snowflake

2009-02-06T06:21:00.000-08:00

A small snowflake correction to my posting of February 2nd (though on a technicality I can say I wasn't really wrong): I stated that the only snowflake (leucojum) that I have previously had growing in my garden is the summer snowflake, Leucojum aestivum (of course, we hope also now to have newly planted Leucojum vernum appearing in a few weeks)... in fact, I also have had the autumn snowflake (autumnale) shown above blooming in the fall.
However, as I stated above, I may have been right on a technicality not to include the autumn snowflake in my previous post, as it is no longer a leucojum; it and six of its cohorts have been moved into a different genus, and this bulb is now Acis autumnale. These plants were split off from leucojum on the basis that they (Acis) have narrow leaves, hollow stems, and unmarked flowers. So, the autumn snowflake is no longer a leucojum; is it still a snowflake... I don't know. I may also be right in having excluded this plant from my post, as I wouldn't bet I still have it growing (we'll see, if the snow ever melts). It should not survive here; it has surprised so far, but I am pretty sure it will eventually catch a cold or something, and leave me with fond memories and a tiny empty spot in the garden. I wouldn't normally have even tried this bulb in the first place in the open garden in Iowa, as it is native to Spain, Portugal, Sardinia, and Sicily, and it puts out its foliage in the fall, which expects to persist over winter; all of which would suggest an outcome here in Iowa that is contained in a three letter word: D-E-D! The only reason I have this bulb is that I thought I was buying Acis nicaeense, a rarity which blooms in the spring, and thus seemed to offer a tiny ray of hope that, if kept dry, it might survive here. Nicaeense has flowers a little more open (bell-like), and looks from pictures like it has slightly coarser, gray-green foliage. My bulb on the other hand blooms in September, with very narrow, grass green foliage, and tiny little funnel shaped flowers, coarsely fringed and with a reddish-purple staining at the base, typical of the commoner autumnale. Even if I had the true nicaeense, it's dubious it would persist here either, as that species is endemic to only a tiny area of southeast France and northwest Italy, right along the Mediterranean; about as far removed in climate from midwest corn country as you could imagine.
So, in conclusion I'm not always very accurate on this blog, but I am a demon correcter!

Out Of The Deep Freeze?

2009-02-05T04:53:00.000-08:00

We're finally to get above freezing today, and the overall trend looks a bit milder from here on out... can spring be far behind?

Delta Airlines... And Other Sore Subjects

2009-02-03T06:36:00.000-08:00

If there is an industry that treats its customers worse than the airlines, I don't know what it would be... so, when I deal with an airline, my expectations are pretty low. Therefore, for me to be furious at my recent experience with Delta Airlines takes some doing.
I'll not bore anyone with the grim details. Let's just say that if I found myself in Hell, and Delta Airlines was the only way out, I'd be signing up for the underworld volleyball league, hoping to get the Devil on my team.

Antsy Gardener

2009-02-02T06:37:00.000-08:00

This is the time of year when I get "bulb antsy"; though snow is still weighing heavily on the garden, I get increasingly anxious to see the first bulb shoots breaking through the cold ground, as the sun's increasing warmth finally starts creating some bare spots here and there. I especially get anxious to see the new bulbs I just planted last fall; since some of these are new species, or even new genera in our garden, there is always some question as to whether they even will appear in the spring.
One of the bulbs I'll be looking for is Leucojum vernum, the spring snowflake. Now, leucojums I have in plenty already, but they are bulbs of the summer snowflake, Leucojum aestivum, shown above last year. Aestivum has been rather too successful here, aggressively spreading in the beds where it's planted, and seeding about with abandon. It has a lot of foliage for its flower size; foliage which flops all over everything, smothering out any other plant unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity.
Leocujum vernum, which I just planted last fall, is a much smaller (six inches tall), more refined plant, with a reputation for being somewhat difficult to grow (in contradistinction to Leocojum aestivum, which is large, rather coarse in foliage, and would probably survive a napalm attack).
The subject of the cultural requirements for success with Leucojum vernum is a little mysterious to me. Some claim that it must be planted in moist spots which never dry out, yet I read in one article that it is more tolerant of dry conditions than is aestivum, and that aestivum is the species which won't tolerate being dry. Well, in our garden aestivum tolerates full-blown drought without missing a beat, so I have no idea where to plant vernum; I've hedged my bet by planting two bulbs in a wet spot, and two in a well-drained spot.
It is always a little worrisome when one plants a bulb that hardly anybody else seems to grow; it may well be that other gardeners just have a blind spot about a very garden-worthy bulb, but there are other, more likely reasons why you never see the spring snowflake growing in other gardens... spring will bring an answer.

Snowdrop Musings

2009-02-01T05:26:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about snowdrops; it beats wondering about whether the snow on the roof will ever melt. Specifically, I've been thinking about the relative growability of the only two species commonly available here: elwesii and nivalis. In reading about snowdrops, one immediately comes away with the idea that nivalis is much more growable, and rapidly forms large clumps; elwesii is said to be less growable, and in general is a relative slugabout in the garden. Well, the opposite is true in my little corner of the horticultural world; elwesii grows rapidly and lustily, multiplying and seeding all over the place, while nivalis slowly forms cute little clumps that one could handily cover with a wadded Kleenex, and I never see seedlings.
The problem is that snowdrop knowledge comes from cool, misty Great Britain where Galanthus nivalis is native; elwesii is native to sunny, dry southern Europe down through the Caucasus, and undoubtedly spends most of its time shivering when grown in a Brit garden. The reason I have been thinking about this is there just recently was some discussion in the snowdrop forum of the Scottish Rock Garden Club about Galanthus nivalis; the statement was made that their impression was that in the States, nivalis was the best grower on the east coast, while elwesii grew best in the western part of the country. They also said that there are some clones of nivalis that are better/easier growers/multipliers than the ordinary species, and interestingly they mentioned Galanthus Scharlockii as being a very good grower. This is a cultivar of nivalis that was discovered in Germany in the 19th century, later named after its discoverer by the famous bulbsman E.A. Bowles, who grew Scharlockii in his garden. I added Scharlockii to my snowie collection a couple of years ago, and it is a very vigorous grower here, too; from a single bulb it has already formed a nice little patch, so I also heartily recommend this strain of nivalis, if you can find it; a bonus is that Scharlockii has a lovely, faint brushing of green on each outer petal.
One additional nivalis/elwesii observation from my garden is that the former makes tight clumps that if not divided every few years, start pushing some of the bulbs out of the ground, while elwesii forms looser patches (though it also will sometimes push bulbs out of the ground, and would benefit from occasional splitting (notice I said "would" benefit rather than "does" benefit; maybe this spring I'll finally get around to it).
The pictures from last spring, above from top: typical open patch of elwesii; individual elwesii flower; Scharlockii; tight little nivalis clump.

Doubly Itchy For Spring

2009-01-29T06:25:00.000-08:00

I'm doubly anxious for spring to get here, because I really have two gardens that I want to be working on; our flower garden, and the nature preserve that I am volunteer manager of. My biggest project this year won't be in our garden, but rather in the forty acre preserve: a four acre area in the center of it has been cleared of brush and this year we will start converting it into a beautiful wildflower meadow, which I know will be filled with butterflies and songbirds. All of us gardeners carry about in the back of our minds the knowledge that our gardens will probably eventually disappear; as we move or die off, it's unlikely our gardens will long survive.
That's one of the reasons I so much enjoy working on the nature preserve; I can envision that hundreds of springs from now, the wildflowers will still bloom there, with butterflies fluttering across the meadow in the sunlight, as the songbirds sing in the treetops.

The 6th Of The 6th?

2009-01-28T05:22:00.000-08:00

Well now, if I'm interpreting this right, I've been challenged to one of those me-me sort of things (by a jolly and quite attractive group of Scandanavian garden bloggers) to post the sixth picture from my sixth album, and to comment on it; by sixth I'm guessing is meant the sixth group of pictures from the end of the camera uploads to my computer (if this isn't what I was supposed to do, it's too late now)! Following instructions has never been my strong suit, which explains a lot that has happened to me in my life. I blame it all on a head injury; I was bucked off a horse when I was a boy and was unconscious for quite a while after. I maintain I was a sweet and incisive child prior to that... or maybe my memory is just another victim of the head trauma.
Anyway, this is the 6th of the 6th (or at least I hope that's what we're talking about). It's a simple picture, taken just as dusk was settling into our little valley, with only a trace of pale winter light coming over the ridge to the west. This picture actually was taken right from where I am sitting now, banging on the keyboard. The wood fence is strung with Christmas lights, which Liz never wants me to take down after Christmas; she calls them "party lights" then, though since they are in our back yard in an empty valley, I don't know who is partying, unless it's the deer and other critters that call this valley home. The odd circle right in front of the lights is a brick fire pit, where we have bonfires in the summer, shooting off occasional fireworks to further annoy the neighbors on the far ridge. You can't really tell it very well from the picture, but the bottom of the ravine is actually the upper reaches of a four acre pond that borders our garden. The pond is twenty foot deep, filled with bass and bluegills, and some thirty year old grass carp roughly the size of large logs. We have a small canoe that we can launch on the pond to check out the resident fish and waterbirds. Ducks, geese, egrets, loons, herons, kingfishers, and the occasional eagle are to be found on or around the pond. One of the downsides is when a pair of Canadian geese set up their nest on the edge of the pond right by the garden, and every time they see you they start honking and flapping their wings. I can't really concede the garden to them for the whole spring, so when this happens it's what I guess you would call a wary and uneasy truce, at best.
Our nearest neighbors are at the top of the ridge seen beyond the pond; they have a house that looks rather like a modern art museum (all glass and raised on stilts). I've related before, that I was once talking to the elderly gal that lives there with her retired attorney husband. She was saying that it was so nice that they could look out their windows and see my woods and garden across the pond instead of looking at another monstrous house. I told her she ought to be careful looking over here, because it's a long ways from the garden back to our house, so I have been known to pee against the occasional tree out there. She said, "Well, I guess I need to buy a bigger pair of binoculars!" At the time, I took that as a compliment, then later when I thought about it, I wasn't so sure...

Now, I need to find six "volunteers" to do this same thing (and I know who just quickly logged off this post)!

This Year's Unicorn

2009-01-27T06:02:00.000-08:00

The unicorn is said to be a mythical beast, but its actually just been hanging around our back yard. To tell the truth, when the bucks shed an antler they look kind of silly, but they still prance around as if they have a full rack. I guess maybe they don't realize it; kind of like sticking one of those smart-aleck notes on somebody's back, and they can't figure out why everybody's laughing at them.

Trillium Flexipes

2009-01-26T06:22:00.000-08:00

Trillium flexipes, the white trillium, is a common, but quite striking trillium, found throughout the eastern half of the country, except for parts of the deep south. It is a vigorous clump-former with large green leaves that are broad and thick, and deeply impressed by prominent veins. Our plant was grown from seed, and I am guessing the seed came from a southern plant, because of the erectness of its white flowers (this species is also called "bent trillium", with northern strains especially, having flowers that reflex down, sometimes even hanging below the foliage. Nursery bred stock of this species of trillium also often shows evidence of cross breeding, often with Trillium erectum, so our plant may not be the pure species. Regardless, it's quite lovely, and seems determined to rapidly form a large clump. Second only to T. recurvatum, our native prairie trillium, T. flexipes is the most carefree, vigorous growing trillium in our garden.

Born Ugly

2009-01-25T06:26:00.000-08:00

Disporums (fairy bells) are lovely, stately plants when fully opened, but they are born ugly. The leaves unfold in an awkward and crimped fashion, that to me always makes me think the plant got frozen after a cold spring night, yet they then open up fully, and the whole plant is then quite attractive. It is the ugly duckling of the plant world that does indeed, turn into a swan. This is Disporum uniflorum (syn. flavum, flavens), native to east Asia, just getting its act together last spring.

Cruel Breaks

2009-01-24T06:35:00.000-08:00

This winter has been a cruel one here; and nowhere is it more apparent than with the deer. Two of them have shown up with broken femurs; I suspect from falling on the ice, though one or both could certainly be from getting hit by a car. The deer in the lower picture would seem to have a much better chance of survival, though both are somehow getting around. A big pail of corn and getting called "Sweetheart", brightened up their day considerably.

Epimedium Explosion?

2009-01-23T06:22:00.000-08:00

Epimediums are not particularly showy; and when they are small and newly planted in a crowded, heavily wooded garden they are... invisible. In the back of my mind though, I am uneasy about epimediums, for I have been adding the different species to our garden at a pretty good clip. There always seems to be another little spot where I can plop one in, out of their little four inch pots. So far, as often happens, they've just been kind of sitting there looking innocent and cute, but I'm a little nervous about that old saw about plants creeping, then leaping. If all these little cuties decide to begin seriously leaping, there are some flower beds where it could get ugly; there may be some chlorophyll spattered about as things shake out.

Smiling About Smilacinas

2009-01-22T06:43:00.000-08:00

Smilacina japonica (well, actually now Maianthemum japonica) is a charming woodland plant native to China, Korea, and Japan, and is often called Japanese false solomon's seal. Two foot tall, with a starry white terminal flower panicle (followed by red berries), it rapidly has formed a nice clump here in a shady ravine. It is very similar to our native false solomon's seal, Smilacina racemosa, and starry false solomon's seal, Smilacina stellatum, (both of which are common in our woods).
In reading Dan Hinkley's magnificent book, The Explorer's Garden , he notes there are two other desirable sub-varieties of Smilacina japonica; one with gold berries (S. japonica var. luteocarpa), and a larger, five foot tall variety (var. robusta). I've not seen either of these varieties offered for sale. There are variegated-leaf forms also, which by their appearance in catalogs don't look worth their lofty prices.
Hinkley mentions at least a half dozen other species of smilacina which sound like they'd be hardy here, and which sound spectacular, including S. oleracea; eight foot tall, with terminal panicles of large, pink flowers, followed by orange fruit. The three smilacinas that we already have give me a great deal of pleasure, and I am on the watch for others; the western version of S. racemosa, our native false solomon's seal should be one I can pick up; it is larger and larger-flowered. I do see that Arrowhead Alpines has S. bicolor and S. henryi offered, but I've already sent my order in for this spring (and already have logged in again once, to add to the original order). Maybe next year...

Trillium Simile... A Real Sweetie

2009-01-21T06:44:00.000-08:00

Trillium simile, seen here last May in our garden, is the jeweled wakerobin, or also called sweet white wakerobin, due to the sweet smell of its flower. In nature, it is found only in the Appalachians in the four state area of the Carolinas, Tennessee, and Georgia. Its white flowers are large, with widely flaring petals. This is a big trillium in all its parts, with large, distinctly veined leaves, and is quite vigorous.
When trilliums are called shade plants, it's not just an idle observation; the variegated-leaf species (especially our midwest endemic prairie trillium, T. recurvatum) seem to tolerate a bit more light, but the solid green-leafed varieties are usually very sun-sensitive. Here in our south-facing valley, with our hot midwest sun, even an hour of full sun will send most green-leafed trilliums to their knees.
More than any other species, I've needed to site trilliums in perfect spots... yet, also more than any other genus, they're worth the bother.

Another Southern Trillium

2009-01-20T06:32:00.000-08:00

Trillium underwoodii, the look-alike to Trillium decipiens, also grows very well in our garden (pictured above last April), despite being found in nature only in the tri-state area of Georgia, Alabama, and Florida. Because of its origin, it comes up astonishingly early here, when the ground is not even completely thawed; this would seem a recipe for disaster, but so far it has thrived. A distinguishing feature of this species is its short stature; the tips of the leaves almost touch the ground. The leaves are remarkably checkered with silver and different tones of green, and it stays attractive all through spring, with deep maroon flowers.

The Deceiving Trillium

2009-01-19T06:07:00.000-08:00

The Chattahoochee River arises from clear springs in the Blue Ridge Mountains in northeast Georgia. It gurgles down from the wooded mountains, running southwest across the hilly Piedmont, passing through northwest Atlanta, then over the fall line onto the coastal plain, turning almost straight south, forming the southern part of the boundary between Alabama and Georgia, then becoming the Apalachicola River, across the panhandle of Florida to the Gulf.
This storied river valley is the prime site where Trillium decipiens (the Chattahoochee wakerobin) grows; it is pictured above in our garden blooming last April. This is a very striking trillium species. It is closely related to, and closely resembles, another trillium species found in this same small area in Georgia, Alabama, and Florida; Trillium underwoodii. In fact, "decipiens" may refer to this close, and therefore deceptive, resemblance of decipiens to underwoodii. However, decipiens is taller than underwoodii, which gives it a certain stateliness. With its variegated leaves, and sharp, erect flowers, it is a gem in our garden.
Every spring, I worry about both of these southern trilliums, because they arise very early from the ground, and often therefore encounter snow. Indeed, it is said that both of these species (decipiens and underwoodii) usually dwindle away in northern gardens, because of cold damage, but I've had both of them for a number of years, and they just seem to get bigger; this may be luck or lucky placement; hopefully it's not misplaced optimism.

Deer Have Such Weak Stomachs...

2009-01-18T06:43:00.000-08:00

Hey, what's that cat doing in there?

Oh man, look at the size of that hairball!!

Attack Cat

2009-01-17T06:22:00.000-08:00

One of the ongoing themes of this blog has been our

attempt to have a harmonious relationship (a truce) with the resident wildlife (referred to in our agreement as "the critters"), and for the most part it has been successful. The only ones who haven't signed on are our two cats; I think P.J., our little white and calico has watched the movie Babe one two many times, as she loves to chase deer and wild turkeys, either one of which could flatten her. I guess I admire her ambition, if not her judgement.

Winter's Hammer

2009-01-16T14:56:00.000-08:00

At dawn today, it was minus 25 degrees here; the resident deer herd looked like they had been sprayed with white flocking. Going outside, the cold actually hurt; within a few minutes, you felt as if somebody had rapped you between the eyes with a small hammer. It warmed up this afternoon to 4 above, which may not sound too promising, but compared to yesterday's high of 8 below, it was positively balmy. It would help if I hadn't heard that it was in the 50's and raining in Alaska.

Identifying The Cobra

2009-01-14T06:55:00.000-08:00

One of the little enduring garden mysteries here has been the identity of this cobra lily (Asian jack in the pulpit), and it finally "might" be solved; I think it is Arisaema ciliata. Admittedly, I will have to wait until next spring to be sure, when I can see if it has the little namesake cilia at the edges of the spathe (jack). This Asian jack is one of the best in the garden, with large, tropical leaves (which are very waxy), and it stays in bloom, I believe, the longest of any of our jacks.
One of the unusual characteristics of A. ciliata is its habit of being stoloniferous, and in fact this spring I noticed two new little plants growing next to this one; I thought these were probably seedlings, and just dug them up and moved them, not suspecting they might have been stolons and that I could have just chopped up a bunch of roots in moving them. Fortunately, as they say, angels protect the innocent and fools, and I come in there somewhere under that blanket of protection, so the mother plant and both the babes did fine, and I will hopefully have three of these plants this next spring. Also, the original plant produced a huge seedhead, which I broke up and planted in my seedling bed, so we'll see what happens there next spring also.

Deer Welcome Wagon

2009-01-13T05:52:00.000-08:00

"Hello, welcome to the neighborhood."

You know, I've always felt it's a good thing to live with nature, but sometimes around here it seems we are living IN nature, if you know what I mean. It's a strange feeling to be sitting in the living room, reading the morning paper, and realize somebody is looking over your shoulder. The deer around here like Dear Abby (they're not good spellers).

Gardening In The Mind

2009-01-12T06:55:00.000-08:00

As Iowa shivers into the coldest week of the winter, I can still garden in my mind, visiting faraway lands; misty mountain ranges in the vast and mysterious corners of the world.
The Carpathian Mountains, seen from space look rather like a giant snake, the head lying at the south border of Poland, the body stretching across Ukraine and Romania, the tail curling down into Serbia. One of the last and best areas of mountain wildness, home to brown bears, wolves and lynx, and the abode of Dracula, the Carpathians are host also to a myriad of beautiful flower bulbs, bulbs being a way of coping with dry, hot summers. It is said that a third of all the plant species in Europe are found in the Carpathians.
Crocuses, scillas, corydalis, and snowdrops all are found in these rugged mountains. The spring snowflake, Leucojum vernum carpathicum, with yellow spots on its petals instead of the common green, is one of the endemic gems.
I have always wanted to visit and hike these mountains of legend, and someday I will... and then the Altai Range, the Caucasus Mountains, the Pamirs and the Julian Alps.
(The images above are from Wikipedia Commons, for which I am grateful.)