Genetics

Plants, like people, are strongly influenced by their genes to be what they are programmed to be. Here are three examples of plants in my garden that are determined to grow according to their own mysterious dictates.

The sweet autumn clematis (Clematis terniflora) by the new deck was nipped to the ground by rabbits and I despaired. They chopped off all but one stem. But that one stem is carrying on like a hero, and has climbed all by its lonely self up to the railing.

That one stem has produced enough foliage and buds to decorate the railing all the way up and across. It usually blooms in late August, but I am hoping now that it will open those tight buds in time for the garden club's visit next week.

It's late blooming because it got badly trampled in the construction of the new deck in spring, then totally shaded by the compost tumbler when I placed it over the plant thinking it was lost, and then once it finally got going in summer, the rabbits had their evil way with it.

Despite having been stomped, smothered, shaded and decapitated, its roots stored the urgent genetic imperative to grow. It twines and will flower soon with a heady, spicy scent when the tiny starry flowers open. It's fascinating how this plant can carry on with one, and only one, surviving stem and create a complete vision of what the whole vine would have been.

I have two adult ivy plants that I put in along the front walk this spring, and even though they are tiny little plants they are blooming their heads off. These are Hedera helix 'Arborea'.

Adult ivy, also called Poet's Ivy, is the mature version of the long, vining English ivy. When it matures, it changes genetic form, and becomes a flowery, rounded, medium size shrub. You can read what I wrote about it here. Or here. It's a really interesting botanical anomaly.

I have these little plants sited in too much sun, facing south. Ivy wants some shade. I did keep them well watered in this dry summer. They are young, and I'm looking forward to them becoming big rounded, dark leaved forms anchoring the walkway.

Shrub ivy is such an intriguing plant. It actually changes genetically when it matures. A cutting of mature ivy reproduces the genetic instructions to be a shrub, not a vine, with differently shaped leaves. It's truly a different plant. But seed from mature ivy will produce the immature vining form.

The black gum, Nyssa sylvatica, in the front yard is determined to be what its genes are telling it to be. Despite my efforts to keep a strong upright leader growing, this tree wants to be a weeper. It just does.

This is what I noticed yesterday morning when I looked up. The top branches curve over.

This tree has been pruned professionally by Bartlett Tree Experts and I have had at it too to try to get a good top leader, but it's been a struggle.

At first it looked like an upright, pyramidal tupelo tree when it was planted in 2010. Even by 2012, it was still looking upright, much like normal black gum trees. Fall color is always great.

But now, in 2016, it's true identity is showing. It is drooping over and no matter how we prune it, the leader and all the branches cascade downward.

I have noticed in specialty nurseries and catalogs there are several contorted cultivars of Nyssa sylvatica, so apparently it's a tree that is easily bred for twisted branching habits. This one was sold as a normal species form, but it definitely has the genes for weeping.

That would be fine, except it's paired with another black gum in the front yard. The two trees are supposed to be a symmetrical frame for the front of the house. Alas, one weeps, the other is strongly pyramidal and straight.

It is so fascinating to watch the plants in my garden asserting their individual inborn identities.

Organ Pipe Effect

Despite its name, my smokebush 'Grace' is anything but graceful. Look at this burly shrub with its long upward reaching arms, all gangly and too big for the little wall and tidy space it occupies next to a small paperbark maple.

This is my fault. I have read in several sources that Cotinus coggygria needs two cutbacks -- the first in late winter when it should be cut to the ground, and then after it leafs out in May, it needs a reduction shearing to keep the upward reaching branches vertical and graceful as it grows later in summer.

I know this. But I didn't do it. You see the ungainly results.

By cutting it back in May, you get the smaller, slender upright branching that I have seen in other gardens, notably at Chanticleer, where low, vertically branched smokebushes surround the parking lot like a ring of fire.

Or at Berkshire Botanical Garden, where the deep red stems are small enough to fit in the flower border, making a nice upright accent.

Here's what Louis Raymond (of The Plant Geek) says about smokebush:

Resist the urge to pinch branches if they have become overly-long stems; the resultant high-altitude side-branching will only look clunky. Instead, next year try being proactive.

If you pinch new smokebush stems in late May -- or whenever they are still less than a foot high), you'll achieve denser and, overall, less floppy and bulky growth.  

And you'd still retain the interesting thrusting verticality of its new stems, which have a casual but organ-pipe-like effect.

I did cut back all the stems in winter, leaving about a two foot stem structure. But then I just let it go, and never did anything else.

By early June it was already too late to make the second cut back.

At a garden tour in Peterborough, New Hampshire in August I talked with Michael Gordon (of The Gardener's Eye), and he said he does the two step cutback with his 'Grace' smokebush, which was small and in fact had the delightfully described organ-pipe effect, tucked into borders in his garden.

He cuts his all the way to the ground, rather than leaving a two foot high trunk structure.

I have read this advice in other places too, and I knew about it before this season, but didn't do anything and the result is an awkward big shrub that is the focal point coming up our driveway.

Rather than the organ pipe effect of small upright branches, what I was really going for with my smokebush was the billowy shape of this one, seen at a neighbor's garden several years ago. You can tell it has not been cut back at all since it's covered in airy flowers, which you would sacrifice if the shrub is cut back to the ground.

But leaving mine unchopped did not result in this pretty form. And cutting it back in winter without a subsequent May reduction hasn't been working either.

So next winter I'll cut this all the way to the ground -- not leaving the two foot high skeleton as I have in the past. And I'll remember to do the second cutback too. Let's see if I get anything close to an organ pipe effect with that approach.

Change of MInd

I changed my mind. Because I can.

Example of 'Valley Valentine' in bloom in early spring

Instead of the rooted anemone cutting in the open space where the baptisia had been, I decided I'd rather substitute an andromeda.

Andromeda, anemone, keep them straight.

I got a nice sized end of season container of Pieris japonica 'Valley Valentine' at Moscarillo's.

This variety of pieris gets 4 feet tall and 4 feet wide, exactly the size of the area where the baptisia had been.

It's an evergreen shrub, and it will take the half-shade, half-sun north side of the house.

Flowers are jewel pink and profuse

The rooted anemone cutting I had just planted there had the advantage of being free -- I dug it up from the pink 'Robustissima' plant already by the patio wall. It would also fill the space, and take the half-shade conditions. The flowers are tall and airy and quite pretty.

But the anemone is a perennial, and is cut to the ground each year, and I already have a pretty specimen by the patio. I really wanted something different, and more substantial and something to look at in winter in this spot.

I had a small 'Valley Valentine' pieris a couple years ago, but it did not do well. I had it on the east side of the house, but it baked there. The east side gets reflection off the house siding and full sun for more than six hours before the house starts to shade the area. I think that was too much bright sun for this plant.

So that little one wound up in the cooler, shadier patio garden at my sister's condo, where it is doing much better, although still quite small.

Now I want to try it again, in what I hope is a more favorable location.

Pieris is a slow grower, but it will eventually fill that open area

The anemone cutting will now go in another spot in the garden where I need to fill an open space and where it will be okay if it is cut to the ground in winter.

I do have a few concerns. Pieris can be subject to mites and phytophthora, although 'Valley Valentine' is supposed to be disease resistant. I've had phytophthora on the other side of the patio (my lovely Japanese maple succumbed), and of course the reason I have an open spot to fill here is that the baptisia got such a case of spider mites.

Leaves are a little yellow from being in a pot all summer,
but they will green up after some time in the soil.

Am I going to have those issues with 'Valley Valentine'? Right now I think that this pieris is the perfect size, structure, flowery interest and evergreen look for the open area I want to fill, but I'll change my mind (again) if mites or other problems show up.

Bye Bye Baptisia

Removing a mature baptisia is difficult. They have deeply entrenched tap roots and it's really hard to dig one up. The effort requires an axe, a sharp spade, a crowbar, a shovel, and a young man.

On a cool breezy August day after a couple inches of needed rain, I removed the 'Twilite Prairieblues' false indigo that I planted in 2008. I managed to do it without the young man, and I used the claw end of a hammer instead of a crowbar. Oof.

'Twilite Prairieblues' in bloom -- for all of three days in May it looks like this.

Two years in a row this large baptisia has become very badly infested with spider mites and the foliage is simply stripped. Partially bare stems and stippled gray leaves are all that remain in summer, with a pool of dropped dry leaves at its feet.

It can be treated with horticultural oil, but you need to get it early and often, and this baptisia does not have enough redeeming features for me to fuss with it.

Baptisias are supposed to be totally trouble free and easy, and they are long lived in the garden. You can read the results of the trials of baptisias that Mt. Cuba Center did here:

pdf file

It's an extensive review, and beautifully illustrated with great photographs of many varieties, so check out the pdf file. They have some clear top performers, and they do mention the 'Twilite' baptisias as being good ones, although slightly lower rated.

But nowhere do they mention infestations of spider mites as a problem. My plant has become so troublesome. On top of that, I never really did warm to the flower display on this variety.

Foliage is normally quite clean and bright looking.

The blooms are very brief in May and oddly colored. For years I've complained that they are rust-gray, if such a color can be imagined. In the right light and close up (or in a vase indoors) they are a very pretty purple, but from a distance -- even just sitting a few feet away on the patio -- they look a grim industrial rust color.

So I didn't grow this for its flowers. I keep it for its foliage and to anchor the open spot in this garden by the house.

Now not only do the flowers disappoint, but the foliage disappoints when it gets so diseased looking in summer from the spider mites. Baptisia leaves are normally a nice medium green and after the brief flowering is done, the plant is a good bushy filler all season.

Foliage looks good until the spider mites invade.

I couldn't stand to look at my diseased baptisia any more this summer. I cut it to the ground and then I dug up what I could.

After I got the incredibly tough stone solid rootball mostly hacked up and chopped out, I put in a small rooted cutting of an existing 'Robustissima' fall anemone that anchors one end of the patio wall.

If you have an empty spot in the garden put a bunch of pots in it.

It sends out runners everywhere and needs a lot of attention to keep it from overtaking the lawn and everything nearby. But the good news is that I easily dug up one of the rooted runners, and planted it where the baptisia had been, and it will fill the area and echo the other anemone with pretty pink flowers in late summer.

The existing Anemone tomentosa 'Robustissima' by the patio wall.

As lovely as baptisias can be, mine was not. So bye bye!

I just wish I'd had a crowbar and a young man to get the cussed thing out. What a job it was.

Water Falling Out of the Sky

It rained 2.25 inches overnight. A soft, soaking, gentle rain, followed by a cool, sparkly morning. Everything is wet. Rain clings to the screens on the porch as the sun comes up.

I could not keep up with watering everything this summer and so my garden suffered. Badly. But there were some areas I did faithfully water and yet those well watered plants struggled, diminished, limped along and looked awful even though the soil was plenty damp.

And now, with the magic of a soaking overnight rain and cool temperatures, those strugglers look refreshed. 

I've often marveled that hand watering the gardens repeatedly with a hose never produces the effect that water falling out of the sky does. 

Feeling Better

Well, this is how I feel right now -- oddly unkempt, brightly hopeful, a little derelict and surprisingly upright.

Lobelia cardinalis - cardinal flower

I'm better now than I was in the last post. The oppressive humidity has dropped, and the days are summery and nicer. A day trip to the shore yesterday with my garden group was delightful, a real restorative.

I love that one cardinal flower trying to escape his companions

I'm still discovering trees I have lost this summer. The large pagoda dogwood that I carefully planted in shade near the woods is completely gone now. Like the blue beeches and the hemlock and blueberries, it dropped all its leaves and has either gone into total dormancy or is dead.

But I'm better. We're watering a lot more now and parts of the lawn are quite green, although they are mostly clover. A little bit of the stressed 'Dimity' Himalayan fleeceflower is blooming now where the sprinklers consistently hit it.

The lawn is mostly clover now. The rabbits approve of that.

I had started dahlias from seed in pots earlier in the summer, and I planted those out in some of the open bare spots of the garden where I had to take out things. A rabbit ate three of them to the ground, but the others are okay. I'm not even sure what color or kind of dahlia blooms they'll be, but when they flower there will be some color.

I cut down the big diseased baptisia under the bedroom window, leaving a large open spot that I filled by plunking a container of cosmos over the cut stumps. I trimmed all the frazzled epimedium foliage to the ground. It looks bare but spare under the maple now.

I've been cutting off dead branches (a huge section of the star magnolia had to come off) and all this cleaning up of dead stuff has made me feel better.

The Birch Garden has gone into its summer mode, where purple reigns.

Garden phlox 'Nicky' is an ungodly shade of purple,
but it's tall, it's colorful, and it's what is there.

In close up the garden looks fine, surrounded by its frame of green lawn. But if I step back, the lawn looks pretty bad.  So I don't look, I just squint to keep the garden in my frame of vision and not the lawn.

Ugh

You know what looks good despite the dry summer? The panicle hydrangea is blooming its head off.

'Tardiva' hydrangea paniculata.

It is bungee-corded all through the interior to keep the floppy branches from arching out and splaying open, and so far that is working to keep this hydrangea a nice shape.

Another surprise is that the delicate little flowers of the hardy geraniums have finally come out -- they are quite late this year, but pretty and profuse. The plants themselves are looking thin especially beyond this one patch, but they are flowering nicely.

Geranium wlassovianum

I thought I had killed the woody caryopteris 'Sonw Fairy' when I dug it up this spring. It really was about as gone as could be after I found I could not dig it up whole or move it. It got separated into brittle chunks of woody root and was gone.

Here it is now, looking good despite having been hacked to pieces and despite the harsh dry summer.

Caryopteris divaricata 'Snow Fairy'

The walkway at the side of the house looks surprisingly refreshing. The Japanese forest grasses look like golden waterfalls. I can almost hear water burbling as I walk by.

Hakonechloa grasses, the 'Snow Fairy' caryopteris, and a blue leaved
St. Johnswort look lush despite the dry summer

My mood is better. There are lovely things to see in the garden as long as I don't look at the trees I've lost, the empty spots where perennials were cut down, or areas of the lawn that browned out.

There are refreshing spots to walk through, and some color in places. The Rose of Sharon by the dining room window is thin looking and a little stressed, but its big white flowers make me smile each time I see them framed in the window.

Rose of Sharon 'White Chiffon' outside the dining room window.

So, I'm not as despairing as my last post. Still unnerved by an awful summer and too many losses, but better. Still looking at property out west, but that's a decision long in the making involving grown children, possible grandchildren and lifestyle changes for the future. That's another post.

Right now, I'm good.

The Color Brown

We've been getting brief thunderstorms that drop a quarter inch of rain now and again, but it's too little too late after a completely rainless summer. And now August temperatures are scorching.

We've spent a fortune watering all summer, and that extravagance combined with the brief storms has left some tufts of lurid green holding on around the dry spots, but it mostly looks ratty.

In addition to losing all six of the transplanted blueberries, and the young blue beeches in the meadow, which are dead leafless sticks now, I have lost the pretty hemlock I planted in 2008.

The birds nest spruces that had been transplanted on the berm last year are now gone. Both have to be taken out.

A rabbit cut the stems of the sweet autumn clematis by the new deck. The vines were not eaten or stripped, just cut at ground level and left there dangling. I removed the severed parts, leaving the two skimpy remaining vine stems. Last night the second stem was cut and now only one remains.

That's a loss. The roots are probably okay, but after nurturing this vine through the deck construction damage this spring and watering it faithfully all summer, it's discouraging to lose its sweetly scented flowers this fall.

Things that are supposed to handle dry conditions well, like epimediums and comptonia, now look brown and crispy. I'll cut off the dried foliage of these Epimedium rubrum plants, and they'll probably come back next spring.

Along with all the astilbes, the dwarf goatsbeard has dried up and left some brown debris in its place. Are the roots of this pretty foliage plant still alive? Will they resprout next spring?

The local garden club is supposed to come after Labor Day to tour my garden, but I have nothing to show. What isn't dead is scorched  -- ravaged bottlebrush buckeye foliage, curled brown leaves on the yellowroot, shriveled viburnums, droopy dogwood leaves, a dead hemlock and other expired things. I have little blooming besides black eyed susans.

I did start some dahlias in pots on the potting bench -- I'll plant those and they might bloom in time for Labor Day. And I'll buy colorful mums and put them about, but I don't think the garden club is coming to see potted mums really.

Out west the treeless brown landscape is spacious and wide and expansive. The dry air and dry land and dry brown colors look natural and right. Refreshing, actually.

Here in my eastern woodland garden the tufty hay colored patches of lawn and dead sticks of plants look so sick. What hasn't up and died looks diminished, even the things I water faithfully. Branches of 'Gro Low' fragrant sumac, which loves dry conditions, are browning one at a time as the plants slowly commit suicide.

I thought I'd come back from Wyoming feeling revitalized, but I'm down. I'm looking at real estate ads for western communities and Jim is researching auction sites to sell his power tools and John Deere lawnmower.

One bad season is only one bad season -- much will recover next year I hope. But there it is.

My Next Home

My next garden is going to be in a dry climate. 

Cold wet winters, damp soggy springs and summers too humid to garden or even sit outside are wearing on me. I will learn xeriscaping and I will have flowers and foliage and color and shade, but I don't want to be confined to such a limited window to enjoy it.

My next house is going to have tile floors and radiant heat in the floors. 

I like winter, I'm not one who has to flee south for the duration. But how cozy would warm floors be?  

My next yard will have much more hardscape and very little lawn.

It's a challenge to keep a decent lawn for all the reasons that the environmentalists charge, and my attempts here at narrow stone paths, skinny walkways and a smallish patio and gravel sitting area have only been stabs at true hardscape. I want a big stone terrace that IS the back yard, large gravel areas, arbors and pergolas and all sorts of boulders and stone walls. Lots of it. No grass except maybe an oval spot somewhere surrounded by stonework.

My next home will not have a cranky dehumidifier that needs emptying every day in summer just to keep mold away.

In a dry climate they use humidifiers to ADD humidity to the house. Go figure. I'm tired of running our dehumidifier and lugging pails of water up the stairs each day.

My next house will have solar panels.

This house has solar panels too, but I just thought I'd specify that. It's something I don't want to give up. 

My next garden is going to be smaller. 

What I have here is too much to take care of. Especially since it is never going to mature. Every winter I lose so much and have to redesign and replant, and now this difficult summer I'm losing more that I have to take out and replant. I'm always starting over. Change and loss is part of gardening, so I will always be replanting, but I want much, much less of it. 

My next house will not have tacky coasters scattered around on every table surface.

I won't need them. Drink glasses don't sweat all over everything making puddles on tabletops in a dry climate.

My next garden borders will have drip irrigation installed.

Maybe even on a timer.

My next house is going to be a condo.

Out west.

New Paver Walkway

When we were gone last week, our contractor came and installed our front walk. He took up the narrow straight concrete walk and installed pavers in a curved shape.

He did all the messy work of tearing out concrete, digging, hauling it away, cutting stone, and laying the pavers while we were gone, so that was a real convenience for us. By the time we got home, it was done.

But I was a little surprised -- the layout was a bit different than what we had talked about before we left. It looks great, though, and I have no complaints.

No complaints. But. . . .

I wanted the apron leading to the driveway to be a little bigger, wider, and more of an invitation to enter.

The space to the right of the entrance under the dogwood was filled with epimediums, which I removed before we left so he could extend the width of the apron to that side, but instead the walk entrance is narrower, and he put in mulch where I had removed the groundcover.

But no issues. It's curvier and narrower than I expected, but the work is great, the pavers are a real upgrade, and it's fine.

I thought the walk would come closer to the light post as it curves toward the front steps, but it makes the turn short of the light post.

That's okay. But now I need to cut the border to meet the curve and add some plantings under the post. I hadn't expected that -- I thought the stonework would curve out and around up to the foot of the post.

So I have some work to do at this curve. Not an issue, though. The walk is a little narrower and smaller than what I thought the result would be, but I'll add some plants. Plants are always the solution.

It's all good. It's a major improvement. I wasn't here, so the decisions on width, curves, and shape were made by the contractor, and he did a good job. Workmanship, clean up and final results are great.

I like it.

Feels Like Home

This is not my garden. Not even close.

But when I come here it always feels like home.