UNC Charlotte Botanical Gardens

A few months ago when I was giving a presentation at Longwood Gardens I crossed paths with Claudio Vazquez and Amanda McClean of Izel Plants. In our discussions, they mentioned that co-worker Shannon Currey had heard something about a more heat tolerant Pachysandra procumbens (Allegheny spurge) from Louisiana named ‘Angola’. My ears perked up. I knew this native groundcover from the mountains of Tennessee, but a selection from Louisiana would make it from one of the southwest most populations I knew. Sure enough, BONAP listed a single county in Louisiana.

Finding selections of plants that grow on the margins of their range provide new opportunities to expand their use in gardens. They often have traits that make them more adapted to those extremes, whether the conditions be hotter, colder, drier, wetter, or more. And, a selection of Pachysandra procumbens from Louisiana would likely do better in east Texas than one from Kentucky or Tennessee.

So, I emailed Shannon, who said that it was collected by the late Dr. Larry Mellichamp and Tony Avent on one of their trips through the southeast. She had learned about it from Ed Davis, Assistant Director of the UNC Charlotte Botanical Gardens. She connected us, and Ed offered to share some. He didn’t quite know the entire story but knew it was a great plant. We then put two and two together and realized I would be coming to speak in Charlotte in February. So, we coordinated my visit to the UNC Botanical Gardens.

I had visited in 2011 as part of a conference in Charlotte, but my time was rushed and I only remembered the moon gate. So much had been developed and planted in that time like a brand new natives terrace. Ed was a gracious host, and he made sure to show me a few spots in the garden where ‘Angola’ had spread well.

Pachysandra procumbens ‘Angola’ is a vigorous, more heat tolerant selection of Allegheny spurge from Louisiana.

The emerging flowers of Pachysandra procumbens ‘Angola’

Ed also welcomed me to walk through the rest of the garden. I remembered the moon gate from my previous short visit many years ago, but the place had developed so much. The photos below show how much care the gardens have received since my first visit.

The moon gate frames the entrance to the Asian garden.

I probably saw over ten Edgeworthia chrysantha (paperbush) during my time in Charlotte, and it has been exciting to see the interest in this shrub surge over the past 15 years or so. One of the nicer forms was ‘Gold Rush’ at the gardens.

I love the intricacies of the Edgeworthia chrysantha flower and how they catch drops of rain and fallen petals.

The garden had a massive Hamamelis vernalis ‘Amethyst’ (vernal witchhazel), and with a dark green background the flowers were easily visible.

Hamamelis vernalis ‘Amethyst’ was selected by plantsman Tim Brotzman for the plum-colored petals that appear in February.

The natives terrace featured a variety of textures that were even more apparent in winter.

On the natives terrace Ed said that they grew Eryngium yuccifolium (rattlesnake master) in containers for a novel effect (and to avoid the rabbits!). He commented that they did well as structural elements.

In the Asian garden, I noticed this espaliered Acer palmatum ‘Sango-kaku’ (coral bark Japanese maple) and thought that training it along one plane was a neat effect.

It’s been years since I have seen or even thought about Corylus avelllana 'Contorta' (contorted filbert). It has such good winter interest with the twisted branches and catkins emerging.

Cascading down this rock wall was a gorgeous prostrate Gardenia jasminoides ‘Radicans Variegata’. Even if it didn’t bloom (which it does!), this plant would be a worthwhile addition to brighten a dark spot in the garden.

Acer palmatum ‘Murasaki Kiyohime’ was an interesting study in plant shape and texture. Ed said that they had pruned it back from the path a few times.

A close up of the colorful twigs of Acer palmatum ‘Murasaki Kiyohime’

The Van Landingham Glen featured a mesic hardwood forest that would become carpeted with wildflowers when warmer temperatures arrived. Ed told me that they had encouraged moss to grow by blowing the leaves away from the pathways.

I also spent some time in their greenhouses and headhouse area. These facilities are essential for teaching classes on campus.

On of the neatest pieces of garden art I’ve seen was this metal Dionaea muscipula (Venus flytrap).

Even though it was cool and dreary outside, inside the greenhouses was lush and verdant.

Orchids of all kinds were in bloom inside the greenhouses.

I also loved their bog garden that featured a number of Sarracenia (pitcher plant) species from the southeastern US. The curved structure allowed them to create a gradient in height for water applied by hand to move through the bog.

Here’s another photo of the bog garden showing the curvature and the slope.

And, thanks to Dr. Mellichamp the UNC Botanical Gardens are a wonderful place to learn about the unique flora of the southeast US, as shown on this mural. I can’t wait to visit again!

Longwood and Stoneleigh in November

I’m still processing through photos from my recent trip to Philly to keynote the Ecological Landscape Alliance’s conference Regenerative Solutions for Resilient Landscapes. I’ve already written about my visit to Chanticleer and the things that I learned there. Today, I wanted to share my visit to Longwood Gardens and Stoneleigh with you. I love these two gardens for all that they have to offer horticulturally. My only regret was that I didn’t have more time!

LONGWOOD Gardens

Since the conference was held at Longwood Gardens, I found a few gaps during the day where I could explore. Longwood’s Chrysanthemum Festival was wrapping up, but there was still plenty of beauty to see in the conservatory. This combination of the purple Salvia leucantha (Mexican bush sage) was striking with the white mums.

I finally got to experience the giant Thousand Bloom mum! I’ve had this horticultural marvel on my bucket list for a while, and I was fortunate as this year is the first year it’s back after a two year break. This specimen of ‘Susono-no-Hikari’ has a total of 1,366 blooms, stretches 12 feet, and it took 18 months to grow it from a single cutting!

We have Senna bicapsularis (winter cassia) growing on campus, but this lighter flowered form named ‘Butter Crème’ turned into a standard was striking.

The contrast between the carpet of Chrysanthemum × morifolium ‘Himegokoromo’ (mum) and Sansevieria (mother-in-law’s tongue) was so striking. I thought this could also be easily done with summer annuals like vinca or Profusion zinnia.

Chrysanthemum balls hang above this reflecting pool in the conservatory. Don’t you just love the wall of plant tapestry beyond?

I made my way down to Peirce’s Woods to enjoy some of the fall color of Longwood. This mass of Deschampsia cespitosa (tufted hairgrass) was a nice foil for the colors of Cornus florida (flowering dogwood) and Hydrangea quercifolia (oakleaf hydrangea) to pop against.

The seeds of Halesia diptera (two-winged silverbell) glow like ornaments against a hazy sun.

I always chuckle seeing Eupatorium capillifolium in gardens because it is a weed around my house. But, what a spectacular weed it is! This selection is appropriately named ‘Elegant Feather’.

I swooned over these Sarracenia (pitcher plant) bowls near Pierce’s Woods. They had such a wild yet formal look to them.

STONELEIGH

The next day I made my way to Stoneleigh with Steve Foltz after we visited Chanticleer. Stoneleigh is a young garden that is building quite the reputation for its focus on natives. I’ve covered it in previous posts during visits in June and August, and I interviewed director Ethan Kaufmann on The Plantastic Podcast. But, having never visited it in the fall, I was excited to see what treasures the garden held at the end of the growing season. We were fortunate that Lead Horticulturist Eloise Gayer gave us an engaging tour of the grounds.

Looking up towards the house at Stoneleigh we enjoyed the fall color of Rhus scattered about.

When I visit gardens, I keep my eyes peeled for good color combinations, even if the plants are not close. For example, these fuschia-colored fruit on Symphoricarpos orbiculatus (coralberry) were a glorious color. Then…

…when I got near the house, I noticed these Opuntia humifusa fruit glistening with rain. I didn’t recognize the color echo between the two until I got home and started going through photos. That’s the benefit of taking many and processing them after a trip!

‘Tis the season of the witchhazels, and Hamamelis virginiana ‘Green Thumb’ was in full bloom. I always admire these plants that hug the end of the gardening year. Is it the end of one growing season or the beginning of another?

I have longed to be able to grow some of the heat-sensitive Acer pensylvanicum (striped maple) in the deep south, but I’ll have to settle for seeing them when I travel north. The orange-red stem color of ‘Erythrocladum’ with these bleaching yellow leaves were a nice analogous pairing.

While they can look a little ratty due to the faded pitchers of the growing season, my favorite time to see Sarracenia is in autumn when many species produce fresh fall pitchers. The colors on them seem even more vibrant than when they first emerge in the spring.

Near the bogs, these Aronia arbutifolia (red chokeberry) were loaded with fruit. Ethan shared with me that this selection seems to be heavier fruited than others in the trade.

I can now say that I have seen a Baccharis halimifolia (sea myrtle) hedge! The white pappus added a nice effect to the tapered plant. On the right was another native that generated some discussion while I was visiting Philly gardens—Helianthus argophyllus or silver-leaf sunflower. The leaves feature a gorgeous silver pubescence, and then in autumn the plant is loaded with flowers.

We just had to stop and admire the twisting, sinuous bark of this Thuja occidentalis (eastern arborvitae). Eloise told us this specimen was one of her favorite plants at Stoneleigh.

When I visit Stoneleigh I’ve delighted to see cultivars of native plants I never knew existed. This garden was the first place I ever saw the weeping Cladrastis kentukea ‘White Rain’ (yellowwood). The fall color was just starting to show.

My first time experiencing fall color on Franklinia alatamaha (franklinia) was this trip to Philly. I had heard it turned a brilliant red, but I had never experienced it for myself.

And, even after the leaves fall, Franklinia leaves are blood red. The rain helped saturate the color.

At first, I thought this groundcover was native Pachysandra (pachysandra), but upon closer inspection I was delighted to see a thick carpet of Phacelia bipinnatifida (fern-leaf phacelia). In another correspondence, Ethan shared with me that this ruderal makes a great groundcover before flowering in the spring and going to seed.

And one last photo showing the new lovely water feature in Catalpa Court.

Chanticleer in November

I had a wonderful trip to Pennsylvania earlier in the month keynoting the Ecological Landscape Alliance’s conference Regenerative Solutions for Resilient Landscapes. The next day, I garden hopped to see some of the great flora of the region.

I so love traveling north in autumn to experience fall before the color starts to show in east Texas. Some years due to our drought and heat, that’s the only color I see. While the Philly area was just past prime for fall color, there was still plenty of leaves hanging on.

One of the highlights was visiting Chanticleer. While it had closed for the season, Steve Foltz, Director of Horticulture at the Cincinnati Zoo and Botanical Garden, and I got a behind-the-scenes tour of how the garden shuts down for the winter from dear friend and grounds manager at Chanticleer Jeff Lynch. Since Chanticleer was closed for the season, Jeff talked about how the garden deconstruction had begun and apologized saying that things didn’t look as good. Steve and I chuckled, because we knew that on a scale of 1 to 10 this meant things had gone from a 14 down to a 13.9. Tsk tsk. Jokes aside, visiting this magical garden anytime of the year is worthwhile to see the craft that the horticulturists have wrought through the seasons.

Bill Thomas also joined us for part of our visit, and it was good to catch up with him and get his perspectives on how the garden was changing. New paths were being installed for permeable paving, and we talked about how much of the garden equipment had gone to battery powered. I left inspired, and I hope that in the photos that follow you find inspiration and ideas, too.

The best fall color I’ve seen on Frangula (Rhamnus) caroliniana (Carolina buckthorn). The fruit of this native are beloved by birds.

A ‘Candy Roaster’ winter squash hangs in the vegetable garden in a macramé net. I’m always amazed how they make every inch count at Chanticleer, and that includes growing plants vertically.

A myriad of foliage textures and colors including Acorus, Pulmonaria, Brunnera, and Helleborus emerge from freshly fallen leaves. This time of the year is wonderful to inspect the garden for interesting basal foliage.

Jeff Lynch said that Epimedium ‘Domino’ (barrenwort) is one of the best performers for them. Even when not in flower, it forms a wonderful green carpet.

Leaves of all shapes and sizes float in a stream at Chanticleer.

Dan Benarcik grew these seedling Metasequoia and used them as a miniature forest in the tennis court garden step planters. It’s a cute idea to use saplings that pop up in plantings.

The rain picked up for a bit while we were in the tennis court garden. At this time of the year, I could really see the winter bones emerging. For example, the lime green stems of Cornus sericea 'Bud's Yellow' (yellow-twig dogwood) popped against Taxus × media 'Hicksii’ (yew).

Areas of the lawn where bulb displays are planted are not cut in the spring until the bulbs have time to store up energy for next year, and then after their initial cut, they were kept short. But, this summer to be more ecologically friendly and provide habitat for insects, they mowed these areas about once every six weeks. The halo in the image above shows one of these areas that had just been cut.

Massive Strelitzia nicolai (white bird of paradise) made it through two nights of around 25°F Jeff said. He also noted the ingenious idea one of the gardeners had of building a wire cage around plastic pots, filling it with sphagnum, and then planting the quickly spreading Chlorophytum comosum ‘Variegatum’ (spider plant) in the sphagnum to hide the pot.

But, the Aechmea blanchetiana ‘Hawaii’ didn’t fare as well. Even in their demise, the ghostly foliage still look stunning.

The flowery lawn behind the house is always inspiring to me. Using a mix of fescue grasses as a matrix to plant other things into is a brilliant idea. The yellow foliage was from Hemerocallis ‘September Sol’ (daylily).

A bowl of fruit on a table near the house shows the abundance of the season. How many different species can you identify? I see blackened Musa velutina (hardy orange), Magnolia gynoeciums, the orange Rohdea japonica (sacred lily), the yellow Citrus (Poncirus) trifoliata (hardy orange), and green brains of Maclura pomifera (osage orange).

Avid readers know I’m an aster nut, and this Ampelaster caroliniana (climbing aster) on the elevated walkway made my jaw drop. Jeff provided an excellent scale of just how large this climber was. It’s a later flowering plant that can usually skirt around light frosts.

This incredible yet little used climbing aster deserves a close up! Even though the garden was closed, these treasures could still be seen.

I have longed to see a mass planting of Amsonia hubrichtii (Arkansas bluestar) in the autumn, and this display quinched that thirst. Pycnanthemum incanum (hoary mountainmint) seed heads dotted throughout were a nice touch. The foliage has also dropped enough off the Salix alba ‘Britzensis’ behind to see the firey stems smoldering.

Asian woods were all aglow with colors from Acer palmatum (Japanese maples) and Lindera angustifolia (aka Lindera salicifolia, Asian spicebush).

The comment was made, “Look up!” Above us we saw a majestic and enigmatic Emmenopterys henryi (emmenopterys) with its persistent bracts. To see it in flower this summer would have been stunning. The species has only flowered a handful of times in the US, and people are still trying to understand the flowering mechanics.

Up on the rock ledge we were able to appreciate the complexity and coherence of colors and textures around the pond. I love the echo of the white bark of the Plantanus (syacmore) with the white pappus of Baccharis halimifolia (sea myrtle).

The gravel garden was mostly absent of flowers, but the evergreens contrasted nicely with the grasses.

A late Liatris elegans (elegant blazing star) still has colorful, lavender-colored bracts

Steve and Jeff stand next to a beautiful specimen of Hydrangea anomala subsp. petiolaris (climbing hydrangea) that scales the ruin at Chanticleer.

One of my favorite Hydrangea quercifolia (oakleaf hydrangea) cultivars is SNOWFLAKE™ (‘Brido’). I love the double bracts, and in the fall the foliage turns lovely shades of maroon.

Acer palmatum ‘Sango-Kaku’ burns bright in the Sporobolus heterolepis (prairie dropseed) prairie.

Where some gardeners might see disaster, at Chanticleer they see opportunity. This fallen tree uprooted part of the garden in Bell’s Woodland, but after making paths accessible, they allowed the rootball to remain. Now, asters bloom on this green wall, a seedling Cercis (redbud) has sprouted on the top, and other seeds have been sown to take advantage of this windfall. We talked about how the holes they leave behind in the ground are great habitat for salamanders and frogs.

The Plants of Oudolf Field

A couple weeks ago I wrote about our morning visiting to Oudolf Field last summer on our trip to the UK. I felt the content too long to try to cover it all in one piece, so I decided to focus on overall design approaches for the first part and the plants for the second part. To walk through an Oudolf planting is a masterclass in planting design. To see the knowledge and experience that a man has observed and witnessed over a lifetime of working with plants made real in front of you creates for breathtaking scenes and pairing. What delights me is how simple some of them were, even if it was a bright morning with strong light that intensified the colors and made the shadows harsh.

Exploring Oudolf Field I was armed with a nice guide that I bought in the gift shop that showed a fold out of the design along with plants that were included in each section. I’ve used that to help me key out some of the plants included below. Feel free to let me know if you see any errata.

An analogous color scheme featuring reds, pinks, blues, and purples. A few of the stars include Helenium ‘Moerheim Beauty’ (sneezeweed), Veronicastrum virginicum ‘Erica’ (Culver’s root), Echinops bannaticus (globe thistle), Thalictrum delavayi (Chinese meadow-rue), and Eupatorium maculatum ‘Atropurpureum’ (spotted Joe Pye weed).

Near the entrance to Oudolf field were plants primarily in blocks where they could play off each other. For example, here the soft yellow of Nepeta govaniana (catmint) contrasts well with Echinops bannaticus (globe thistle).

Here you can see the repetition of white spikes of Lysimachia ephemerum (willow-leaved loosestrife) and Veronicastrum virginicum. Such repetition helps make a planting feel more cohesive.

And, just in case you couldn’t see how amazing Culver’s root is from the above image, here’s another featuring ‘Diane’. Wowzers! I don’t think I’ve ever seen Veronicastrum virginicum look this good in the US.

The silvery-blue satellite dishes of Eryngium alpinum (alpine sea holly) really pop against the chartreuse Sesleria autumnalis (autumn moor grass).

Phlomis russeliana (turkish sage) always has such good texture in the garden with the large leaves and butter-colored verticillasters, and its audacity here is softened by the slender Panicum virgatum ‘Shenandoah’ (switchgrass) and Persicaria amplexicaulis ‘Firedance’ (red bistort).

I loved the unruly looking Datisca cannabina (false hemp) next to the neat sombreros of Helenium ‘Moerheim Beauty’.

Piet Oudolf says that brown is a color, too, and that’s certainly true of these brown seedheads from Monarda bradburiana (Bradbury’s beebalm). I’m not sure how I feel about their early demise. It feels too soon with the riot of color around.

And, some of the pairings were so simple and easy. Take how the purple highlights in this clump of Pancium virgatum ‘Shenandoah’ (which I’ll add here looks a bit more purple than the maroon I’m used to) plays off the burgeoning spikes of Liatris spicata (dense blazing star).

In the middle of the field was the Sporobolus heterolepis meadow where many species erupted from the prairie dropseed haze, and with a good breeze it was fun to watch Dianthus carthusianorum (Carthusian pink) and Echinacea pallida (pale coneflower) straight species and ‘Hula Dancer’ dance in the wind.

I liked how the silvery Amorpha canescens (lead plant) amorphously blended into the silvery seedheads of prairie dropseed.

One of my absolute favorite combinations of the day featured the differing textures yet echoed colors of Sedum ‘Matrona’ (stonecrop), Allium christophii (Persian onion), and Sporobolus heterolepis.

Towards the back of the field, the plantings shifted more back into block style planting. From this angle, you can see a wonderful combination of purple plants featuring Symphyotrichum lateriflorum var. horizontale (horizontal calico aster), Stachys officinalis ‘Hummelo’ (betony), and Panicum virgatum ‘Shenandoah’. The glaucous Eryngium yuccifolium (rattlesnake master) punctuates the planting.

In some parts Nassella tenuissima (Mexican feather grass) was woven through the planting, and with the wind it added such movement to the planting.

It amazes me just how black Symphyotrichum lateriflorum var. horizontale gets in the UK, and really it is just that the plant is further north. For us, these asters tend to be green with a smudge of charcoal. And, how good is the aster paired with the dark inflorescences of Molinia caerulea 'Edith Dudszus' (purple moor grass) in the foreground!

Designers talk about transparent perennials, and I so wish that I could add Sanguisorba officinalis ‘Blackthorn’ (burnet) to my planting palette here in the south. It’s like looking at giant pink cupcake sprinkles—I just want to eat it up!

Karen stands for a sense of scale of the billowy Amsonia hubrichtii (Arkansas bluestar). Even in the UK, these bluestars can get huge!

A nice patch of the bronzed Aruncus ‘Horatio’ (hybrid goat’s beard) stands between a mammoth clump of Eupatorium maculatum ‘Atropurpureum’ and an elongating Symphyotrichum novae-angliae ‘Violetta’.

And, we saw many pollinators in the planting. I was delighted to watch this bee dot around on our native friend Asclepias incarnata (swamp milkweed), and when I got the photos on my computer, I was even more thrilled to see that I had captured some orange milkweed pollinia stuck to its feet!

Winter Wonders at the Atlanta Botanical Garden

Last week, I shared some gleaned nuggets of knowledge from the Atlanta Botanical Garden’s day long symposium. This week, I want to share some photos of the garden and plants. Dr. Andy Pulte of the University of Tennessee at Knoxville joined me on a stroll through the gardens. My last visit to the botanical garden was 9 years ago as I was wrapping up graduate school, but this visit was my first one in the winter. It was fun to see the garden at a different time of the year and see what had changed.

We first wondered around the Kendeda Canopy Walk. For a Saturday in January we noticed many people out and about enjoying the gardens. I also love these canopy walks for the shift in perspective they give people of being above the plants.

We admired the textural and color contrast between mondo and monkey grass that created the appearance of a river through this bed near the entrance.

Camellia yuhsienensis (Yuhsienensis fragrant camellia) was in flower and seemed to survive the Christmas eve cold snap they had of 8°F well. The white flowers of this species are sweet and have a light fragrance.

It has been years since I have seen Sycopsis sinensis (Chinese fighazel). At first glance I thought it to be Parrotia since both feature these red staminate flowers, but what little evergreen foliage held on was the giveaway. It is a nice small statured tree for landscapes.

Acer palmatum ‘Bihou’ (Japanese maple) is one of my favorite Japanese maples for the wonderful yellow bark. Even once specimens mature a bit, they still retain that coloration. Selective pruning can be done to get more of the reds and oranges in the new growth.

Edgeworthia chrysantha (paper bush) were in full bloom and perfumed the entire landscape around them. It really is remarkable how far the fragrance travels in the air.

Lonicera × purpusii (hybrid winter honeysuckle) is a fragrant winter flowering shrub. It is a hybrid between Lonicera fragrantissima (winter honeysuckle) and Lonicera standishii (Standish honeysuckle).

A new plant to me was Lindera reflexa (mountain spicebush). Even if the plant didn’t do much during the growing season I would grow it solely for the verdant bark.

A close up of the Sassafras-like buds of Lindera reflexa

We wandered through the Edible Garden where a number of vegetables still looked good for midwinter. I love their faux fruit on the espaliered trees behind, too.

They also had these nifty signs in the Edible Garden for teaching people about plants. Here, the use of sorrel is encouraged.

Throughout the garden were origami sculptures as part of an exhibit. This piece was titled Scents of Gratitude and is a bouquet of a variety of origami flowers.

In the conservatories they were getting their orchid exhibit set up. I love to see the behind the scenes approach to how these displays come to be. Each orchid tray has flagging tape to prevent the orchid spikes from falling or breaking.

One of the neatest orchids we saw was Dendrobium spectabile (grand dendrobium). It has these fascinating curled and twisted petals.

The carnivorous plant bog was designed to be like a bog in nature where water can seep through the bed and not become stagnant. You’ll notice there’s a slight slope from left to right.

I loved these imbricate buds on Rhododendron colemanii (Red Hills azalea).

Another shot of the buds of Rhododendron colemanii to illustrate their diversity. They look like painted Easter eggs.

Welwitschia mirabilis (welwitschia) is one of the most fascinating plants on the planet. It’s has cones like conifers, it only has two leaves that can grow over 10 feet, and it is suspected plants can live for over 1,000 years.

The semi-double flowers of Prunus mume ‘Rosebud’ (flowering apricot) were just starting to pop into flower.

Ilex verticillata ‘Winter Gold’ (winterberry) berries were still showing off even as they begin their decline.

Magnolia stellata ‘Star Dust’ (also banner image) in the glow of another star. (A note on this variety. I can’t seem to find out anything about it, which makes me wonder is it new or a synonym for another cultivar? It is not ‘Pink Stardust’.)

Autumn Inspiration from the Dallas Arboretum

Last weekend, I took 23 students to the Dallas Arboretum and Botanical Garden. Each fall, they turn part of the arboretum into a fairy tale village built with pumpkins, and this year they used over 100,000 of them to create such a spectacle. I wanted to share some photos from our trip. Though you may not be able to build a display of thousands of pumpkins, there were other great plants there that can help to enhance your garden for next year. Enjoy the inspiration!

A photo of yours truly (third from right) and other students from SFASU who went on the trip. For some it was their first trip to the Dallas Arboretum.

It is amazing to see how they craft and decorate buildings using pumpkins, squash, and gourds.

A lovely pumpkin mandala pattern surrounds this pumpkin house.

Many areas of the pumpkin village had a theme. Here is a design that features the story of Jack and the beanstalk.

And, here of course is the sword in the stone… err… pumpkin.

I find myself mesmerized by the pumpkin patterns, seeing them all laid out and in such abundance.

A close up of the pumpkin mandala pattern.

These white and gray pumpkins were used to convey a sense of water in one area near a bridge.

Outside the pumpkin village, the arboretum held other beautiful sights. Symphyotrichum oblongifolium (probably ‘Raydon’s Favorite’) bloomed en masse along this curve.

Here’s a useful lesson in photoperiodism. I was wondering why these asters that were right down the path from the ones in the image above weren’t flowering very well. I suspected at first that the shade had something to do with their lack of blooms, but once I looked up, I saw there were lights in the trees. Asters need short days to initiate flowering, and the blooms were interrupted by the lightning. Those along the lower edge are probably shaded enough to flower.

Hamelia patens 'Grelmsiz' LIME SIZZLER (firebush) is a wonderful foliage plant for sunny spots, and the leaves redden with abundant light. Here in the deep south our seasons are long enough to even get some black fruit to form (center right).

Another shot of Hamelia patens 'Grelmsiz' LIME SIZZLER (firebush), only this time the plant was in full shade. Like with the asters above, as a curious plantsman I love seeing plants growing side by side in different environments and how they react accordingly.

From top left to lower right, Canna ‘Cannova Yellow’ (canna), Plectranthus scutellarioides ‘Main Street Beale Street’ (coleus), Alternanthera ‘Little Ruby’ (Joseph’s coat), and Portulaca ‘Colorblast Double Yellow’ (purslane) fill this bed with color. In the Plantery, we’ve had good success with both ‘Main Street Beale Street’ and ‘Little Ruby’ in summer annual plantings.

The Dallas Arboretum plantings capitalize on creating a show. To me it is interesting to see the juxtaposition of the rising tropical Alocasia (likely ‘Portora’ elephant ear) and the fall Chrysanthemum (mums).

I love visiting plant trials at the Dallas Arboretum to learn about what cultivars do well in our area. Here, left to right are Euphorbia hypericifolia DIAMOND SNOW, DIAMOND MOUNTAIN, and ‘Inneuphdia’ DIAMOND FROST. DIAMOND FROST was a good intermediate between the two for growth, not too short and not too lanky.

I was eager to see their Profusion zinnia trial to see which cultivars looked best late in the season. The three I was most impressed with were Zinnia hybrida ‘Profusion Fire’, …

…, Zinnia hybrida ‘Profusion Lemon’, …

… and Zinnia hybrida ‘Profusion Red and Yellow Bicolor’. My colleague Carol Reese turned me on to this cultivar for how the ray florets shift from a rich yellow and red at opening to a faded pink over time.

I’m a sucker for a good celosia, and I was most impressed with Celosia plumosa ‘Flamma Orange’, which was named a 2022 All American Selection winner. I’ll be sure to add this cultivar to next year’s seed wish list.

I was surprised to see an anise hyssop thriving in Dallas. Usually, we are too humid for them, and they melt. But, the peach-colored Agastache MEANT TO BEE ‘Queen Nectarine’ looked fabulous.

I was reminded in seeing their Osteospermum trial that I need to try my hand at more African daisies. My favorite selection was this BRIGHT LIGHTS HORIZON ‘Sunset’with its warm, vibrant pink flowers.

‘Candy Cane Chocolate Cherry’ pepper has variegated leaves and variegated fruit!

Last fall, I was very impressed with Celosia argentea var. plumosa ‘Dragons Breath’ (celosia) that we grew in the Plantery. The foliage turns brilliantly colored red as the days shorten in full sun, and they are topped with fiery panicles of blooms.

We saw a couple of Monarchs working this Salvia ROCKIN’ PLAYIN’ THE BLUES. Even in the fierce winds, they clung to the racemes with all their might. They seemed to really like this cultivar. They would fly off and come right back.

Perennial Plant Association Symposium 2022: Visiting Stoneleigh

The Perennial Plant Association held their annual symposium in Lancaster, PA this past August. It was our first time back together since the beginning of the pandemic, and it was so wonderful seeing many of my horticultural brothers and sisters.

I’m processing through photos and notes from the symposium, and I’ll be doing photo essays on the different places to share what I learned with some great plants along the way. Our first tour day was visiting Stoneleigh, The Scott Arboretum, Terrain, and Longwood Gardens.

Those who follow my work are familiar with Stoneleigh, both from a post on my previous visit in June 2021 and my podcast interview with Ethan Kauffman, the director of Stoneleigh. I’ve realized that this botanic garden has hit a nerve with my audience, and I have gotten a number of positive comments about it from blog readers and podcast listeners. I think it’s partly because of the garden’s newness but perhaps more for their creative use of natives in the landscape.

Sometimes with unfamiliar native plants we need some guidance on how to use them in the landscape, and Stoneleigh provides that. So enjoy these photos from Stoneleigh and consider using a few of these natives in your garden.

Ethan Kauffman (right) gives a tour to Perennial Plant Association attendees. Each staff member showed a small group of 15 visitors around.

Right off the bus in the parking lot I’m inspired by a color echo I haven’t seen before—the purple peduncles of Sambucus nigra (elderberry) and the wine-colored foliage of Physocarpus opulifolius ‘Center Glow’ (ninebark). The peduncle color will hold for a few weeks, too.

On our tour Ethan shared with us a 120 year old Aesculus parviflora (bottlebrush buckeye) that had suckered itself into a large space. It’s a lovely shrub for an edge habitat.

I love Stoneleigh because I learn about natives I never knew existed. Take Silphium glutinosum. It is native to one county (the famed Bibb County) in Alabama, and that’s it. Overall, this aster family member’s habit is great and not too tall.

The spaced out rays add a daintyness to the flowers of Silphium glutinosum. It’s not too harsh of a yellow, either.

Also, check out the steely blue stems of Helianthus eggertii (Eggert’s sunflower)! Even if it didn’t flower, the stems are worth the color. This perennial sunflower was listed as an endangered species in 1997, but conservation efforts allowed it to be delisted in 2005.

One of my favorite parts of Stoneleigh is the bog gardens where Sarracenia and friends thrive. I also like the repetition of erectness with the cylinder pitchers and the hedge of fastigiate Pinus strobus ‘Fastigiata’ (eastern white pine) and Thuja occidentalis ‘Smaragd’ EMERALD GREEN (American arborvitae) in the background.

Here’s a funky native Ethan shared with us in the bog plantings. Macbridea caroliniana (Carolina birds-in-a-nest) is a threatened species. It grows in blackwater swamps and acidic wet spots. The common name comes from the flowers looking as if baby birds are opening their mouths in a nest.

One of the poster childs of plant conservation, Franklinia alatamaha (Franklin tree) blooms its pearly white flowers with golden center stamens. While this native is extinct in the wild, it is safe from loss due to it being well represented in botanic gardens.

I’m an huge HQ fan, and the sharp, heavily dissected foliage of Hydrangea quercifolia ‘Hqopr010’ ICE CRYSTAL (oakleaf hydrangea) provides a great option for garden texture.

A new addition since my last visit in June 2021 was this water feature in Catalpa Court. Native aquatic plants grow in the center, and water spills over the side to create a nice ambience.

If Ethan hadn’t mentioned this one, I would have walked right past Taxodium distichum ‘Little Leaf’ (bald cypress) thinking it was a struggling tree. Ethan said that this miniature-leaf form was at least 6 years old and probably closer to 15 years old.

A close up of the little leaves on Taxodium distichum ‘Little Leaf’. File this selection under funky!

Parthenocissus inserta (thicket creeper) makes a great groundcover. It doesn’t have the adhesive disks that produce calcium carbonate like Parthenocissus quinquefolia (Virginia creeper) does.

The pergola at Stoneleigh is planted with a native border that features a diversity of textures.

I admired this lovely fuchsia pink Hibiscus along the pergola. Ethan commented how this one—Hibiscus laevis ‘Lufkin Red’ (Halberd-leaf rose mallow)—came from near me in Texas. It was selected from a population of seedlings grown from leaf-spot resistant rose mallow collected from east Texas.

Phlox paniculata ‘Jeana’ (phlox) was everywhere during our trip. I have made regular trips to this area since my Scott Arboretum internship in 2008. I don’t remember seeing it very much, and I’m amazed at how its use has spread. It is beloved because the plethora of smaller flowers are a butterfly magnet. There were Tiger Swallowtails working this one, but of course, once I got close, they flew off.

Glandularia canadensis (rose vervain) finishes flowering for us in April in east Texas, but this selection of ‘Anna’s Pink’ from Indiana blooms longer through the season.

Senna marilandica (Maryland senna) is a handsome addition to the garden with its dissected foliage and yellow flowers, and it acts as a host plant for various sulphur butterflies.

Diospyros virginiana 'JN5' MAGIC FOUNTAIN (American persimmon) is a lovely weeping cultivar. It is a female and will produce fruit, but a few people commented the plant is brittle, and branches break easily.

This majestic frame of a dead Taxus baccata (English yew) was left for the architecture it provides.

In my last post on Stoneleigh, I shared their practice of espaliering Hamamelis up the side of the house, and Hamamelis virginiana ‘Lemon Lime’ (American witch hazel) has made it further up the wall since my last visit.

Lonicera reticulata 'P015S' KINTZLEY’S GHOST (grape honeysuckle) scrambles up a light pole. The silvery perfoliate bracts beam in the bright sun.

Liatris pycnostachya ‘Eureka’ (prairie blazing star) makes a nice pairing with Panicum amarum ‘Dewey Blue’ (bitter switchgrass) and Rudbeckia fulgida ‘Little Goldstar’ (black-eyed susan). This blazing star was a 1975 cultivar release from the USDA Natural Resources Conservation Service.

An interesting addition for a magnoliaphile’s collection is Magnolia acuminata ‘Ellen’, a selection of cucumber magnolia that has variegated leaves.

The columnar Juniperus virginiana ‘Taylor’ (eastern red cedar) give the plantings around the house a formality, much like Italian cypress.

Though not native, it was neat to see a Cercidiphyllum japonicum (katsura tree) had found purchase in the massive Plantanus in front of the house.

I’m always on the look out for new native bulbs, and seeing Allium stellatum (autumn onion) flowering in August makes me want to try this in Texas.

I tried Eriogonum allenii ‘Little Rascal’ (shale barren buckwheat) a few years ago, and killed it, but seeing these in full bloom make me want to try this selection again. It’s native to a narrow section of the West Virginia-Virginia mountains, and from photos I’ve seen, it grows great right out of the rocky sides of mountains.

Eragrostis elliottii ‘Wind Dancer’ (Elliott’s love grass) creates a faded haze as it enters full bloom. We’ve had success with this native grass in Texas and found it to be tolerant of dry conditions.

Acer rubrum ‘Snow Fire’ (red maple) looked spectacular the last time I saw it here at Stoneleigh with the red blushed tips of new foliage. However, later in the summer, the red is gone, but the variegation is still present on upper leaves.

Superbloom

I love wildflower eruptions. I’ve witnessed these floral spectacles a few times in my life. An Appalachian forest floor covered in Phacelia, the roadsides here in the lone star state littered with Lupinus and Castilleja, and a bottomland hardwood forest so thick with Packera I could barely walk are a few that come to mind.

And, this summer, what were the odds? We booked a trip to England the same year that a superbloom was going to be planted in the moat surrounding the tower of London. Of course, superblooms are more intense than just a showy patch of wildflowers. They are a product of nature, the perfect environmental conditions causing all seeds of handful of denizens to erupt into bloom, usually carpeting the barren desert. Some superblooms are even visible from space.

However, this Superbloom was one made by man, a flora synthesized from species around the world to create a spectacle celebrating the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee. Nigel Dunnett designed the planting to make the Superbloom in the moat surrounding the Tower of London happen this summer. Over 20 million seed were planted and nurtured to be enjoyed by countless visitors.

While visiting London in July, we made a point to visit the Tower of London Superbloom. It was a wonderful case study in seeing the end result of synthesizing a naturalistic planting from seed. While I had seen naturalistic plantings developed from plugs and gallons, I had yet to really see a seed-based system. Such systems are more open to randomness and plants appearing where environmental conditions suit them. Thus, I tried to pay attention to the little details throughout the planting.

I have to had it to Nigel and his team. The bloom was probably at the closest to peak as we could have experienced it. And, bringing a superbloom into the heart of London I hope only inspired and educated people about the power of plants.

ENTERING THE SUPERBLOOM

We arrived right after they opened and thus beat the crowds. I was aware of the calm colors used at the entrance—whites, soft yellows, greens, browns, and blues with a few other pastels mixed in.

The view walking into the superbloom. Notice how the colors started soft and mellow. A pathway allows exploration, and a kettle hides a grate.

Here we see pops of color, but overall the planting isn’t too intense.

Woven willow added legibility between path and flowers. The introduction of oranges from Calendula, Dimorphotheca, and Eschscholzia add some pop to the planting.

SUPERBLOOM SLIDE

I mean, if you’re going to have a superbloom, you might as well have a superslide, right? Near the entrance was a fun way to get kids more engaged with the space.

The planting around this structure was my favorite of the experience, I think because of the layering, texture, and color. Verbena bonariensis and Oenothera (Gaura) lindheimeri both provided this moving, emergent layer above the umbels and asters below. In this section it was clear that plugs had been introduced as we saw Kniphofia, Sedum, Stachys, Agastache, and other plants that had significant biomass that would have unlikely been achieved in one growing season from seed.

Wildflower plantings around the superslide.

I was quite fond of Verbena bonariensis and Oenothera lindheimeri early on in the display. Here it was evident they had used plugs to bolster the underplanting.

I also admired the verticality of the Agastache inflorescences.

Here you can also see the diversity in this initial section.

The Verbena bonariensis faded away as we approached the mass planting on the western side of the Tower of London.

THE WEST SIDE

Past the superslide was a large open area where the flowers formed a living tapestry. Blues of Echium vulgare and Centaurea cyanus softened our approach to the more vibrant oranges and yellows . It was shocking seeing so much color after the cooler colors of the Verbena and Gaura section.

You can see the shift in color and planting here as the blues and purples gave way to the yellows and oranges.

Atriplex hortensis ‘Rubra’ emerged from the golden haze of wildflowers below.

The eyespots of Coreopsis tinctoria were a nice color echo with the Atriplex hortensis ‘Rubra’.

Further from the Atriplex hortensis ‘Rubra’, sunflowers were used to provide the emergent layer.

As we walked on, other colors were mixed back in to give the eyes a break from the yellows and oranges.

This photo is one of my favorite shots of the superbloom for the diversity of colors and species.

It truly is amazing thinking that most of this developed from the planting of 20 million seed.

One of the few sections of the superbloom that we saw where things were beginning to be past prime for color. The seedheads were noted to be important for birds.

In this western section, it became clear that the superbloom was designed to be an immersive experience. While the path was off to one side, there were these small circular viewing areas that allowed visitors to step into the space.

You can see there are a few of these compartments for a visitor’s viewing pleasure.

A photo from the walkway above before we entered really gives a perspective of these puzzle piece edges. I liked how on this western side that the foot traffic was confined to one side so that it really allowed us to appreciate the scale of the wildflower planting.

A close up of one of viewing areas

Karen paused in one of the circular areas for a photo with the wildflower backdrop.

THE NORTH SIDE

As we approached the north side, one of the pleasant surprises we experienced was natural music being played. Erland Cooper who creates natural synth music composed Music for Growing Flowers specifically for the superbloom. It was a twenty-minute looped piece, and you can listen to it here. It was a delight to hear the music over the bustle of the city, and it made me ponder why we don’t use music more in gardens?

On a sign he said, “I plough themes of the natural world for inspiration and wanted the ambient score to feel conducive to a growing environment. As music is just vibrations of sound, I’d like to think that it is encouraging the flowers to grow in their life cycle over the summer, boosting biodiversity and helping on this rewilding journey.” A lovely thought indeed.

I really admired the efforts to educate the public with the signage provided. Below is just one example of many that communicated the dynamics of the superbloom site.

While I took photographs of many of the signs, I chose to share this sign specifically because it alludes to the changing conditions for establishing seedlings on the site.

I noticed that in one area, the seeds seemed to have a hard time getting established. I asked a volunteer about it, and he said that heavy rains in March had washed some of the soil away.

While I was standing looking at this space, I saw a demarcation line between a big expanse of yarrow and the seed-sown wildflowers. It hit me that I was looking at wildflower sod.

As the sign alluded to above, there were establishment issues in the spring, and so I assume that wildflower sod was brought in to fix that issue. I think the first person I heard using wildflower sod was Carrie Preston at the 2017 Philadelphia Flower Show. This section of the Superbloom was the first time I had seen it used in person, and I thought it a brilliant backup plan because I’ve had issues with getting seed to establish via direct sowing, too.

Here you can really see the sod line on the yarrow and the lack of establishment from the seed.

This photo is a shot right behind the one above where you can see the sod line. Isn’t this mass of Achillea lovely? My guess is that at least part of this was established using wildflower sod.

I was also very curious about these patches that were devoid of any flowers that I saw at the Superbloom. They were mainly on this northern side of the Tower of London. I noticed them before we entered from the walk way above. At first, I thought that they had cut the wildflowers back for regeneration, but once on the ground I realized I was wrong.

I don’t think that the bare spots detracted. They served as breaks in the superbloom, areas where just like in nature the wildflowers aren’t as abundant.

Instead, what I was seeing was fresh wildflower sod that had been laid. In some areas it was more established than others. My guess is that as sections have petered out or had poor establishment, the sod is an opportunity to replace those areas. I had wondered how one could keep such a spectacle going, and so these observations helped make more sense, though I’m not suggesting they used the sod over the entire area. I really think they had crafted a mix for long season interest. But, if the seedlings don’t take, this technique is an option for a bandaid for these styles of plantings.

A close up section of wildflower sod that looks recently laid down. I can make out what looks like the silver-leaves of Lychnis and the emerging feathery foliage of Achillea.

A patch of wildflower sod from a broader perspective. Notice the overall brown coloration, and compare with the photo below.

Here is another section of sod that is more established. Notice how much more verdant this space is.

I share all this not to detract from the Superbloom or to degrade it but to share the nuts and bolts of how it is managed. As I said earlier, seeing it in bloom is a wonderful case study for learning, and I am fascinated by such minutiae. I admire the creativity to have options to keep the space looking fresh and alive.

THE EAST SIDE

As we walked eastward, we began encountering small hillsides of wildflowers. Yet another way to make the site more engaging was to create changes in elevation for the wildflowers, which was achieved by bringing in soil and sowing seed on these raised areas.

Here you can really see the elevation change on this hillside. You can barely see the people on the other side who are standing on the pathway.

What I liked about the elevation change is that it brought many of the wildflowers up to face level, so that instead of looking down one looked toward them.

On the far northeast side was a beautiful willow sculpture called Nest by Spencer Jenkins. Having structure in the Superbloom gave it a sense of permanence, even if it was made from natural materials.

I’m a sucker for woven willow, and Nest by Spencer Jenkins was a lovely homage to the animals that share the space with wildflowers.

This vantage shows how the curves of Nest blend well with the sways in the planting beyond.

The last section had a vegetable garden feel. There were enclosed spaces with winding pathways. The incorporation of dill and sunflowers added to the allotment feeling. It was as if the design communicated, “I’ve taken you through what it might look like in the wild, and now let’s consider how we could incorporate these ruderals into our gardens, big and small.” In this space there was a nice pollinator display with woven branches and metal sculpted pollinators above.

This space looked like a summer vegetable garden erupting with growth.

More willow structures added to the organic feel of the site.

Papaver, Anethum, Centaurea, and Echium were the last big dominant species in this space.

Another shot of the wildflowers at the end of the Superbloom.

Artist Mehrdad Tafreshi made these cool brass and copper pollinators that hovered over this last section.

SUPERBLOOM AT NIGHT

We had a glimpse of the Superbloom the night before we walked through it. My colleague Andrew Bunting of the Pennsylvania Horticultural Society had visited only a week earlier. I saw his incredible twilight photograph on Instagram, and I knew we had to visit in the evening. I snapped a few photos just before sunset. It was really something else to see lit up at night.

An almost duplicate of the image I saw Andrew post a week prior to our visit. Seeing the Superbloom early before it got crowded was on my itinerary, but after seeing his photo, I knew we had to visit at twilight, too.

It was amazing to see how the wildflowers at night glowed when shined with colored lights.

A photo of the eastern side of the Superbloom glowed under purple lights.

One of the things about wildflowers is they not only catch sunlight but they also are great at refracting light at night.

The July 2022 super moon shined over the glowing Superbloom.

After the experience, I thought it funny. I’ve never been out west to see the famous California superblooms, and here I have traveled a quarter the way around the world to see one. And, just like many of the superblooms here, this display was ephemeral. It won’t last much longer with the close of summer upon us.

But, the memory of such sights lasts. I hope that with this photo journey you feel inspired at such a massive display of wildflowers, too. It makes me think about how I can incorporate more ruderal plants into my garden to make a mini-superbloom of my own.

An Evening Stroll at Great Dixter

“A sensible notebook is essential.  I keep two of them going concurrently.  One is for ongoing notes with names of plants seen or acquired. ... The other notebook is for when I’m away from home for two or more days.  It spends most of its time at my bedside and is a diary of events which I write up in bed, early the following morning, while all is still fresh in my mind.  In future years, it is an invaluable source of reference. ... Make yourself more observant.  You miss so much that you shouldn’t.  So much around you is interesting and deserves a mental image.  Note it down there and then, and make a good description that will mean something to you when you next look it up.”

From “New Years Resolutions” in Cuttings: A Year in the Garden with Christopher Lloyd by Christopher Lloyd

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There was the view of the rolling hillsides that I remember from my last visit some 12 years ago to Great Dixter. “This has to be one of the best parking lot views of any botanic garden in the world,” I said to Karen as we climbed out of the car.  I made sure I had my camera ready and pocket Field Notes that I carry with me when visiting gardens for taking notes. Christopher Lloyd had written that advice years ago in his book Cuttings, and these pocket notebooks have served me well to remember what I saw.

The sun was sinking in the afternoon sky riddled with clouds as we walked toward the great hall. I saw a lady in the white barn, and I said, “We are looking for Fergus.”

“Oh are you?” she stated back as if it was a question she had been asked a thousand times.

“Yes, I’ve never met him, but we’ve been in touch, and he said to meet him this evening at 5:30.”

“Well, he’s one of the kindest people you’ll ever meet.  They are wrapping up the symposium now.  He should be near the house.”

We walked toward the great hall and paused in front of its rustic majesty.   I closed my eyes to bolster my ears, and the hunt for voices in the garden began.  “This way,” I said to Karen as I heard some noise around back.  Behind the house we started encountering some attendees from the symposium that Fergus has been hosting, and I started asking the question, “Have you seen Fergus?” 

“Not recently,” one person answered.

“Hmm, I just saw him, but I’m not sure,” piped another one. We saw more people in the distance and went to ask them.

“Perhaps he’s in the house,” this group answered.

“Could you please show us?” I asked. “We’re not from around here.”

“Oh, I could have never guessed that,” one of them joked back.

She took us through the house. We emerged through the front door, and in an inverted host-and-visitor greeting found Fergus standing outside with the biggest smile and a hearty welcome.

With pleasantries aside, we introduced ourselves.  We talked about our trip highlights so far, saying we were balancing gardens for myself with Downton Abbey’s Highclere Castle and bookstores for Karen. Fergus asked Karen if she liked plants, to which she replied she did and liked to draw them.

Two symposium attendees sauntered up, and I recognized an accent I really hadn’t heard in a few days. They were from the states, one from Ohio and one from just outside Philly.  They had come to learn more about the horticulture techniques used at Great Dixter.  I was amazed that people travelled that far to come to this symposium. They were discussing the day’s content. Meadows and encouraging biodiversity had been the topics for the day, and both ladies were amazed at how a small planting with the right species could welcome all kinds of the creatures to their gardens.

“Let’s find somewhere to chat. Come in the great hall,” Fergus said as he took us back in the house. Not rushing this time, we were able to appreciate the ancient architecture, the massive wooden beams, and the off-white walls.

He offered us tea and biscuits in true English fashion, and we gladly accepted as he gave us a quick tour of the house that Christopher Lloyd had lived in.  “Let me take you upstairs,” Fergus said. We entered a door off the back side of the room.

As we climbed the stairs, I said, “I told Karen this house dates back to the 1400’s.” “Yes,” Fergus stated.  “About 1450 to be more exact.” We entered to find a large collection of library books.

“There is much history in this room.  It’s special.  I thought you would would like this, Karen, since you like Downton.”

Karen smiled and nodded in appreciation. We headed back downstairs and out of the house.

“Wow, that planting looks great,” I said in reference to the silvery theme they had in the solar garden in front of the house, an area that changes out a few times a year with different annual displays. The grays of Plectranthus and Helichrysum glistened amongst Canna and other annuals.

“Yea, we just planted it two weeks ago.” He showed me a photo on his phone of the display only a month ago that was ripe with reds and oranges. “We left a bit of the annuals in for seed here at the left. The planting before had turned brown as it ended its seasonal display.”

“How do you keep things from falling over with freshly planted material?” I asked as I find new plants can be floppy.

“We make sure that they are heavily watered before planting,” Fergus replied.

We walked north of the house toward a patio where a container display of mostly conifers sat in the corner, resting on a patio of stones cobbled in the pattern of two dogs. I knew from reading books that these dogs were Christopher’s two dachshunds, Canna and Dahlia.

We then turned and walked down beside the house where a Magnolia grandiflora shaded plants in pots.  Fergus said that these plants and containers were for the attendees of the symposium for the morning.  The student interns would make the arrangements and then the attendees would appraise them from what they had learned in the symposium.

Around the back of the house on the terrace, Fergus sat for a moment with the topiary lawn in the background, the manicured shrubs and billowy Cotinus erupting from a sea of grass. A cat hopped up on the ledge. “Why, hello there. What’s the cat’s name?” I said.

“Neil,” Fergus said as he smiled. “This cat is from Afghanistan”, Fergus revealed as he petted him.  At first I thought it’s origin odd and far off, but then I realized we were only a channel away from being on the European continent with a direct beeline to Afghanistan. Neil would join us for the rest of our tour, following in Fergus’s footsteps. I didn’t realize until after we left that Neil is famous. He has a book written all about him.

I took the pause in our exploring to ask Fergus how he taught his audience, whether they be symposium attendees or interns.

“It depends on the person you are educating.” He paused as he petted Neil. “I bring them along on a journey. I weigh their capabilities and gauge what they are able to do. You have to tailor your lessons to the person, to their abilities.”

He paused again as Neil nuzzled up to Karen. “Let’s go to the exotic garden.” I began to realize this was a pattern, Fergus using the imperative to encourage our exploring and always suggesting what was to come next.

As we approached a hole in the yews, he quipped, “Go in there,” and we did.  We found ourselves immersed in the foliage of a secret garden hidden by a hedge. It was not a claustrophobic feeling but instead an embrace by the plants around us.  It felt like a jungle.

“Yes, that’s what it’s supposed to feel like,” Fergus replied to my comment.

“Wow, in only a few square feet there’s a Ginkgo, a Taxodium ascendens, and a weeping Cedrus,” I said astonished.

Then, Fergus said the words that any young plantsperson loves to hear from an elder.  “You know your plants.”

I grinned a bit, and then said, “But, I don’t know that.”

“That’s Iochroma australis (Eriolarynx australis).” Of course, the flowers resembled Iochroma cyanea that I knew from southern gardeners.

“Let me go turn the water on while you explore.”  We wedged our way under the foliage of bananas, past Persicaria and Boehmeria, and rounded the dissected foliage of Rhus not able to see around the next curve.

Suddenly, Fergus reappeared dragging a yellow hose. As we exited for him to turn on the water, the bright-eyed Inula magnifica greeted us on the other side of the exotic garden against a background of Gunnera tinctoria.  Karen went for a photo, and I commented on how she loves the aster family.

I noticed that a single leaf of the Gunnera had dry down damage, but didn’t say anything. “It’s so dry.” It was like Fergus read my mind. This was his first lamentation of many about the dryness.

“Is it always like this?” I inquired.

“No, this is abnormal,” he responded.

As we walked back toward the house, I piped up, “The exotic garden was great. I remember reading about it from Christopher’s book and how it used to be a rose garden? Oh! I should ask did you call him Christo?” I asked stressing the i into an e. “Am I saying that right?”

“Chris-TOH,” Fergus corrected me. “Yes, the exotic garden has changed since Christo’s time but the meadows are the same. I’ve tried to make the exotic garden more wild.”

Back near the house, we saw Erigeron karvinskianus, Centranthus ruber, and succulent plantings growing in stone circles near a 100 year old mulberry. “Edwin Lutyens designed these steps and circles, am I correct?” I asked as I butchered the name.

“Yes,” Fergus said, pronouncing Lutyens as Lutchens.

“Forgive me; I’ve learned by reading,” I replied. Fergus smiled.

“Let’s look at the long border” Fergus said as we walked under the mulberry’s crown.

The long border was spectacular, better than I remembered. Overall, the planting was heavier on the yellows at this time of the year, mostly because of the gold foliage of several species and the butter-yellow panicles of Verbascum olympicum rising above the splattering of colors below.

We walked and Karen began snapping photos of plants to draw.  I asked about a dahlia that Karen eyed asking what was the cultivar.  It didn’t matter since we can’t really grow them well, but I though it nice to know the name. Fergus bent down to find the label, and he read off 'Kenora Wow’.

I noticed as Fergus pulled the foliage back that near the base of a plant was sheep wool.  “What’s that for?”

“Slugs,” Fergus responded. It was interesting to see such an ingenious solution to keep the pest at bay.

We walked the long border’s length, pausing to take photos with the fragrance of Phlox paniculata wafting in the air. Fergus lamented again it was dry.  I said, “Yes, but so is Texas, and this looks nothing like Texas.  But, it’s cooler here.”

Fergus, chuckled, “Yes, it is cooler here.” I couldn’t see the stress on the plants, but Fergus could. He talked about if rain didn’t come that plants would soon start to crisp.

Reaching its end Fergus invited, ‘Let’s sit here and talk.” He revealed to us that this was one of Christo’s favorite places to sit at the end of the day, and he and Christo would often sit and chat about the garden.

We talked about many things, how Fergus went to college at Wye where Christo and Nigel Dunnett went. “The real learning happens on the ground,” Fergus shared about the benefits of hands-on learning. He revealed that he had been here for 30 years, and was married in 1994.

“What is your favorite food?” Fergus asked us. We said that we really liked pub places in Texas, and there was an Asian fusion place where you can get tacos and fried rice in town.

“Tacos… tacos and Mexican seem to be the number one thing people miss from the states. I ask people this question who have been here a while, and that’s the one thing that seems to always come up.” Karen and I realized that we really hadn’t seen that cuisine here.

I asked him what was Christo like?

“Eccentric,” was the first word that Fergus used. “If you worked hard, he would give you anything you wanted. Christo valued work ethic and would work hard, partly because he was so focused.  But, he was kind,”

I said, “You’ve probably been around the world. Where’s your favorite place you’ve been to?” he replied, “New Zealand was special,” which was followed by Japan.

I asked about the people visiting from the states, amazed that they travelled so far.  “Oh, yes.  We get visitors from all over for our weeklong symposium. We host four a year.”

He got up and said, “Let’s go up here,” while snapping a photo of the border for an Instagram post.

As we walked through the border up toward the orchard stock beds, he said, “We’ve been doing a biodiversity assessment here.”

I said, “Yes, Thomas Rainer shared that with me, some story about a spider.”

“Yes, the endangered Meioneta mollis was found here.” Gardens often get a bad rap for being deserts of biodiversity, but the surveys that Fergus is having conducted really give him concrete evidence to show that Great Dixter is a special place for many organisms.

“Have a look in there while I go check on water.”  

We walked a few steps down a narrow passage to find the most spectacular pairing of plants while Fergus disappeared through a hole in the hedge. Verbascum, Lythrum, Inula, Oenothera, Erigeron, Dipsacus, and more were backlit by a lowering sun.  It was one of the best contrasting color combinations I had ever seen. I had heard before from others that if you want reliable color drama to pair yellows and purples together, but this mixture blew it out of the water.

Behind us, more Verbascum olympicum rose with Cynara cardunculus and a lovely yellow Alcea. With just the two of us Karen asked, “Why didn’t you talk this place up more?! This is one of the best gardens I’ve ever been, too.” Ah, yet another person enraptured by the spell of Great Dixter. I suppose I left out that we were visiting Christopher Lloyd’s home, a man who many consider to be the greatest garden writer of the 20th century. Sadly, he passed away in 2006, but it was quite evident that Fergus was doing a smashing job of keeping his spirit alive at Great Dixter.

Just when the sun disappeared behind a cloud and the light became right, we heard a familiar voice. “That’s nice isn’t it.” Fergus came back to say he was checking on sprinklers, and I said no worries. 

“So, with this planting and the color combination, do you do designs the previous year?” I asked

“No, it sometimes just comes together from what we grow,” Fergus replied.

“So, what do you call this garden?” I inquired.

“This is the orchard stock beds.” Fergus stated.

“Really?” I exclaimed. I had never seen propagation beds look so good. 

“Yes, we will dig most of this out to propagate for the nursery,” he replied. Ingenious, if you ask me.

“Let’s go up here.”  We walked through the hole where Fergus had disappeared and found yet another beautiful planted area.  Erigeron dotted the dark foliage of a low hedge of Symphyotrichum lateriflorus ‘Horizontalis’. In the background fading giant fennel and flowering hollyhocks rose for height.

I had never seen Ferula communis in seed, and was amazed.  “Wow that’s so big!” I said in reference to the giant fennel. Then, I noticed the color echo. “Ok, did you plan that?” I asked pointing to the fennel stem and the hollyhock having the same pink color. Fergus smiled, “I have to be honest and say no.”

We made our way up to the high garden where the vegetable garden and compost area were.

“I always love to see vegetable gardens as that’s where I got my start,” I commented.

He said, “Have you ever seen that?” pointing to the compost pile. Pumpkins draped themselves down either side of the behemoth mound. 

“We planted about 10 different varieties on top.” I reached down and grabbed a handful of the black gold. Strands of grasses were still visible.

He dug around in the pile for a bit, the pitchfork hitting dry layers. “We cut the grasses in the meadows and then everything from the garden goes in these piles.” I thought of all the things I’ve seen so far here, I think I’m most envious of this compost pile.

We retraced our steps back toward the house and arrived where we had first begun. Neil made a point to assess the display containers in front of the house that are regularly changed out to keep up appearances.

Fergus then took us to the barn garden.  Edwin Lutchens had designed this area to be flat but there was now a sunken pond in the middle.  We walked around admiring the plants, and the diversity in this small space seemed the richest we had seen thus far. Everywhere we looked were plants thriving. There was a lovely pink Abelia with more Phlox paniculata that perfumed the air, a haze of Salvia sclarea against the electric Euphorbia donii ‘Amjilasa’, an espaliered fig on the wall whose girth was too wide to photograph up close, flaming Cuphea cyanea in the pots, the puffball of Santolina neapolitana, and the neon pink Salvia microphylla ‘Cerro Potosi’ with Verbascum chaixii ‘Album’.

And, Karen was quite keen on the hydrangeas. I noticed ‘Ayesha’, one of my favorite varieties for its cupped sepals.

As we exited the barn garden, I asked him about a comment from Thomas Rainer about woodland management. “Thomas said you had some type of system to manage your woodlands.”

“Yes, here, I’ll draw it for you.” Fergus took my Field Notes and began to sketch it out. “It’s a coppice with standards system. You have the oaks as your standards for building and are grown for 50–100 years. You coppice the ash and hornbeam for firewood; let’s say 20–40 years for them. Last you have your chestnut for poles, 15 years of growth.

He turned the page and said, “Let’s say this is your woods.” Then, he divided it up into segments drawing oaks, then ash and hornbeam on the left and chestnut on the right. “So, you cut progressively overtime so that you have this dynamic forest with changing light levels over a 25 year period. It’s an ancient way of managing woodlands through coppicing.”

I was amazed. Even the woodlands that surrounded Great Dixter were managed with care and thought, just like the gardens.

“Well, I must go.  I have another day of symposium tomorrow to prepare for.” He and I both agreed about garden talks that the slides were easy and fun.  The plant list was the hard part, getting the names right and proofing them. We thanked him for his generosity and time, we said our goodbyes, and we left, the same way we came, down the long path through the meadows toward the parking lot.

The sheep were gone but the sky riddled with clouds remained, as do our memories of this special evening strolling through the gardens of Great Dixter with Fergus. I can’t wait to visit this place again and spend some time with our new friends Fergus and Neil.

Lessons from Leuvehoofd

It was cool gray June day when I hopped off the train in Rotterdam. I was in the Netherlands for a soilless substrate conference in Leiden, almost ten years ago now. While there, I took the time to explore local gardens. Of interest to me were plantings that Piet Oudolf had designed in the city along the waterfront. One was found at Leuvehoofd, a park right on the Nieuwe Maas or New Meuse River.

Planting: A New Perspective by Piet Oudolf and Noel Kingsbury had just come out, and I snagged a copy before heading across the ocean, reading it furiously on the flight and during down time in the hotel. It was so interesting to have a guide to the planting right in my hands as I was visiting the site.

I approached the park from the south, where a long bed dominated by mixed grasses, Iris, and fading Allium came into view against a monument for those lost at sea in World War II. I would learn it was named De Boeg, which translates to The Bow in English. The memorial stands 150 feet tall with a pair of iron wings at the base that appear to be breaking water.

Iris sibirica ‘Perry’s Blue’ pops against the green foliage of grasses as the Allium above fade.

Turning a photo black and white so helps me appreciate the textures of the site. De Boeg was a war memorial to those lost at sea in World War II, and here it appears to be breaking through a colony of floating jellyfish

Here you can see how the naturalistic planting softens the starkness of the memorial.

From there four angular beds rippled out from the monument like waves getting larger until they hit the river’s edge. I quickly noticed that the planting this time of year had an overall cool color scheme of blues and purples. For a bit of brightness, down the center of the planting ran a river of Deschampsia cespitosa ‘Goldschleier’. Walking around the garden was interesting because viewing it from different points allowed me to see different perspectives and plant combinations.

Years ago, I downloaded several images from Piet Oudolf’s website to be able to study the designs. The one above is of an early rendition of Leuvehoofd that I cropped to show the four primary beds of the planting.

A perspective showing the essence of the planting at Luevehoofd Park. It is mostly a sea of green dotted with blue Amsonia, purple Allium, and the strip of Deschampsia.

One of my favorite photos from this experience was this view of the planting right next to the water with the Erasmusbrug or Erasmus bridge in the distance.

From this angle you can better see the mass of Deschampsia cespitosa ‘Goldschleier’ that runs through the center of the planting. You may notice on the drawing above that Sporobolus was recommended, but in the book Planting: A New Perspective, Deschampsia was mentioned instead. It was a nice glimpse at the iterative nature of developing a planting.

An unknown light blue Iris softens the sea of green. The design had called for Iris siberica ‘Perry’s Blue’, but it seemed that a few different blue variants were mixed in to play off the analogous color scheme.

A long view of the largest bed along the river front. The scattering of the Allium is quite apparent here. From this view I also really began to appreciate the presence of the matrix or groundcover level out of which other perennials arise.

Calamintha served as a skirt around Amsonia.

I also admired Piet’s ability to create combinations between plants to elevate the planting. This topic was one that Thomas Rainer and I discussed on the recent podcast, these small decisions about color, texture, and/or plant form made when pairing plants that really show the artist’s touch.

Here the colors of rosy purple Salvia nemorosa ‘Amethyst’ echo the umbels of Allium christophii.

Spires of Salvia nemorosa ‘Amethyst’ rise from a block within the planting.

Another example of color echo was between Allium christophii and Sedum ‘Matrona’. Both have hints of that smoky purple hue.

I also admired the repetition of starry shapes in parts of the planting. For example, here the stellate flowers of Amsonia are similar to the stellate flowers of the Allium. Perhaps they seem minuscule, but I believe such small choices are instrumental in elevating a design.

One final shot showing the blending line between the mass of Deschampsia cespitosa ‘Goldschleier’ and the mixed planting.

Overall, it was a good first introduction to a Piet Oudolf design. Leuvehoofd was moderately sized yet digestable. In the coming weeks, I’ll post a second planting I saw right down the river at Westerkade along with the lessons I learned there.