Gardens by Kelly Productions

It goes without saying that I’m a wanderer of wild lands, though I’m often asked why.  Wild lands are the frontiers for garden plants, whether in Iowa or the Ozarks.  Frontiers are full of wonder, bewilderment, and the ripe occasion of failure.  Not everything found will suit American gardens.  Nobody will find everything they’re looking for either.  But the pursuit itself is a worthwhile occupation of time.  This afternoon I stole away for a few hours to find my way through a very familiar prairie–one I grew up on.

This prairie holds special meaning to me.  It’s the first virgin tallgrass prairie that I ever set foot on and it’s where I learned one plant at a time how to botanize, to watch and listen for the cues plants dropped.  Botanizing, as aloof an activity as it may seem, really just taps into any individual’s native tendency to observe, organize, and categorize.  And I can’t believe that anyone gardens without observing.  That’s partly the point after all, right?  The first daylily.  The last tomato.  This innate phenology joyfully haunts our spirits and minds.

While this prairie holds great memories for me personally, it also holds a population of the federally threatened western prairie fringed orchid.  A superbly beautiful plant, it’s garden suitability ranks nil.  It requires exacting conditions, symbiotic associations with mychorrizal fungi, and has an inconceivable relationship with its immediate environment that results in an abberant, Circadian rhythm of sorts throughout its lifetime.  Digging them from the wild will get you sent to the farthest depths of hell, not just for removing it illegally from the wild but for ultimately failing miserably at cultivating it.  Warnings aside, the intricate beauty of this plant captured me when I first saw it.  Here’s an image of one I found today in peak bloom.

Western prairie fringed orchid (Platanthera praeclara)

Every June I get a less-than-welcome seasonal reminder  from my small but feisty feline tribe about which plants in the garden best suit their playful needs and yearnings.  The plus side in all of this I suppose is the marketing spin I’m about to put on an otherwise frustrating and wholly miserable situation (I’m trying to employ the same amount of drama here as the cats feel necessary to use on me).

Organic cat toys.  What a thought?  With such focus and attention on sustainability and the timeless and enduring legacy of Bob Barker, organic meets the pet population, in this case the feline aspect.  And in an otherwise dim economy, why spend so much on overpriced, plastic pet toys when you could just grow your own?  No, no.  Catmint (or catnip depending your regionalism) isn’t on the menu at this house.  My felines deserve the best and demand the choicest esoterica I have to offer.

For casual lying about why not plant a handsome, all-natural, and green faux shag carpet?  Carex appalachica fits the role nicely, forming comely tussocks of soft green grass-like blades.  It really is a great sedge, adaptable to sun, part sun, and shade.  It thrives regardless of the setting (and the lay-down aggressor), seeding politely between other rock garden plants.

If you’re in the market for some kind of attention-getting stick, why not the pliable and readily acquired larkspur (Delphinium grandiflorum ‘Blue Butterfly’)?  With minimal investment you can plant a small stand capable of withstanding feline aggression and onslaught that still manages to bloom!

For the high-rollers in the crowd, maybe you’re looking for something a little more refined–a truly unique cat toy.  I suggest Callicarpa americana (American beautyberry).  This Zone 5 dieback shrub sprouts new, flexuous green growth late in the spring, blooms in mid-July, and bears some of the most gorgeous fruit imaginable on a shrub.  Despite my desire to enjoy this choice accession amid various variegated perennials, a new crop of kittens recently demonstrated the versatility of the central leader as a teaser toy.  Who’d of known?

It turns out that my physical presence with a camera is enough to strike fear into the eyes of my privacy seeking cats, otherwise aware that their actions, however cute and photogenic, are unwelcome.  Photos of these fine products are presently unavailable.

Thanks to Angel, Spidget, Gidget, Annabelle, RD, Tar Baby, Tiger, and Duncan for their assistance with product development.

Finally got the video compiled from our trip to the Ozarks!  Thanks to Elizabeth C. for her awesomelatudinous videographer skills!  Enjoy a little nerdy fun with plants, an overzealous plant-a-holic, and a video camera!

I’m in love with Veronica, the spike speedwells that make such terrific perennials in my USDA Zone 5 garden.  I probably grow more than a dozen cultivars, but I’ve sort of lost track.  Every time I see one, I grab it.  Plant collecting…what can I say?

This installment will be the first of several throughout the season.  The earlier-blooming cultivars (those that bloom here in late May and early June) have hit their stride.  I’ll showcase later-blooming favorites sometime in July.  So from my garden to yours, here are a few dashing selections that you should rush out and find.  I’ve cited sources at the end of each entry.

Veronica longifolia 'Eveline'

Flying in at number one is the exquisite diva ‘Eveline’.  Born of two unidentified parents, this orphan has grown into one of the best speedwells on the market, in my never too humble opinion.  Showy and elegant, long spires of amethyst purple rise above clean, glossy foliage in early June.  Cut it back after the first round and you’ll get rebloom in another month!  ‘Eveline’ grows admirably from Houston to St. Paul and pairs happily with roses (I’ve got it next to a Flower Carpet®) and Helen’s flowers (Helenium).  Garden Crossings carries this all-round winner, as does your local garden center I’m sure.  If it doesn’t, do some prodding.

Veronica gentianoides 'Variegata'

Number two on the list is a new addition to the garden and a new species to the growing cadre of speedwells in my head.  Veronica gentianoides ‘Variegata’ blooms first in the veronica parade; it goes great with standard dwarf bearded irises in mid-May.  Up-close it definitely looks like a speedwell but from a distance it solicits such eloquent remarks as “what’s that variegated thingy with the blue wands?”  or the stodgier “what IS this?”  The variegation, primarily confined to the leaf margins, so far seems consistent and clean on this tidy, ground-hugging speedwell.  Commonly called gentian speedwell, it doesn’t appear to have gotten much traction in this country yet–a pitiful fate indeed.  I snatched it up last summer on my visit to Wisconsin-based plant-grail The Flower Factory.

Veronica spicata 'Baby Doll'

Number three is also a recent addition, a dwarf selection of the naturally short Veronica spicata called ‘Baby Doll’.  Introduced for its floriferousness, ‘Baby Doll’ was bred and selected by Dutch plant breeder Jan Verschoor.  At only 10-12″ tall, ‘Baby Doll’ prefers front and center attention in the border making friends with Fragaria vesca ‘Lipstick’ (pink strawberry) and Callirhoe involucrata var. involucrata (poppy mallow) in our garden.

This is a view from the driveway yesterday.  Even though I’m hopelessly in love with the road, the new car air freshener dangling from my rear view mirror, and my odometer locked in around 65 mph, I like the slow lane leading up to my garden and the quiet joy that emanates from a respite of my creation.

But I’m also rest-averse when it comes to spending time in the garden.  I feel like I have to be doing something.  Sitting and enjoying is nice, sure, but doing, gardening, and milling about seems more my style.  Yesterday’s chore was to hem back my billowy specimen of Solidago drummondii (syn. S. rugosa ssp. aspera), which happily flopped over everything nearby.  Sedums, dianthus, small peonies, and centaureas, this thing takes no prisoners when it getsa’ growin’.

So it’s time for a haircut.  Don’t ever feel bad about taking early fall blooming perennials back by a third or half sometime in mid-summer.  You’ll get a denser, lusher flush of foliage and likely a better crop of blooms.  It’s hardly a chore either.  Grab a sharp pair of hedge trimmers or hefty pruning shears and you’ll whip up a new do in less than five.

Here’s a before shot:

Now grab the shears and go!

Here’s an after shot:

You can’t even tell it was there!  It’s so manicured looking now and I can see behind it!  I’ll post an update later in the season when it fills back in and another when it starts to bloom in September.  If you don’t have this goldenrod, you must track it down.  It’s simply exceptional.

Elizabeth catches me looking my worst!

Today concluded my plant-driven outing to the Ozarks with plant pals Josh and Elizabeth.  Part 4 proved to be the most fun and most exciting of the trip, thanks in large part to the invaluable assistance of Susan Farrington and Dan Drees, local botanists and wildlife experts who own several hundred acres of prime Ozarks habitat.  We spent the morning and early afternoon at the “Farrington/Drees Research Station” and began our trek back to Iowa around 2:00 PM.  I write from my office in Bedford tonight a little tired but ready to find some local prairies to trek through tomorrow.  I’m a sucker for the quest.

After scanning through a floristic inventory of the property that Susan kindly provided me, my eyes instantly caught sight of Nemastylis geminiflora, a native Irid (Iris family member) known commonly as prairie celestial.  I suppose it basically looks like a blue-eyed grass on steroids with giant, starry blue flowers held above grass foliage.  Susan led us to one of several populations where we collected seed.  Prairie celestial is another species I came to know thanks to Claude Barr’s out-of-print tome Jewels of the Prairie, which happily extolled its many ornamental virtues.  Though the flowers last only one day (and the longest of any Nemastylis mind you), the two to three weeks each clump remains in bloom satisfies want and yearn for blue in the spring garden.  Who says all plants must bloom on and on for eternity?  Why not appreciate the emblems of the season and the joy of the moment?  While I love the idea of my favorite plants (irises!) staying in bloom for longer than they do, it would be akin to Christmas every day.  And mom always said that would never be much fun.

Silene regia

Topping our list of must-finds today were the two red catchflies, Silene virginica and S. regia.  The latter, commonly dubbed royal catchfly is just beginning to open now in the Ozarks.  The former, called fire pink bloomed three to four weeks ago and had already set seed.  Many gardeners already grow both of these striking beauties, but with a little selection work these natives can become even better.  I think fire pink especially will prove promising for those seeking dianthus-like plants in better colors with better heat tolerance and garden carrying capacity.  Why grow sad, meltable Dianthus when you could grown a rough, tough, and red Silene?

Trekking through Susan and Dan’s glade was alone worth the trip, even if we didn’t add tons of new species to our “found” list.  Their glade seemingly spans on and on and flourishes at the hands of such able managers keen on preserving and conserving this fragile ecosystem.  We tossed back and forth ideas about horticulturally worthy plants (both have horticultural backgrounds/experience and even propagate native plants for local plant sales) found in glades and across the Ozarks.  We agreed most of the time! 

Closeup of flowers of Asclepias variegata

One plant we both agree warrants additional attention is the seductively beautiful Asclepias variegata, the redring milkweed.  The native milkweeds (with the exception of A. syriaca, the common milkweed) make such great garden plants!  They thrive, if sited well, without much care and continue to reward the gardener for a lifetime.  We’ve been on the lookout for four or five this week and have happily tagged populations of most for seed collection.  The redring milkweed especially calls a siren song to me and macro lens (note the burgundy ring subtending the showier, coronate petals).  Red stems, red rings, white flowers for contrast.  Say no more!

Asclepias variegata

The last plant that I’ll mention before tucking in tonight is the grass pink, one of my favorite orchids and a “weed” as far as native orchids go.  Calopogon tuberosus puts out showy pink flowers on grassy stems only when happily oriented in a bog setting, just like we found in Dan and Susan’s garden (99% natives) behind the house.  I squealed with delight.  This dapper pinkling could easily have a home in a homemade bog like this one or a flooded container garden (bog ala miniature).  Though not readily available, more gardeners should seek out this relatively easy orchid.

Calopogon tuberosus

This isn’t one of my better worded posts, and it lacks my usual fluency.  Mea culpa!  The comforts of home and bed tempt me now at this point more than my keyboard!  I’ll post more tomorrow from my local hikes and a recap video as soon as our team produces it in the next week or so.

The phrase “cardio workout” took on new meaning for me today.  We hiked Porphyry Mountain north of Eminence today, a 1,000 foot peak  (it’s an Ozark mountain) with steep trails and weather-beaten woods.  An “inland hurricane” as locals call it, ripped through the area about a month ago sending trees and power lines down throughout the county.  Workers have made some progress clearing the trails but lots of old growth forest and the trails through them remain in tatters–kind of like my heart and lungs after today’s trek.

An Ozarks glade

Admittedly today was a slower day for “new discoveries” since we covered a lot of ground yesterday.  But we hiked through some tremendous examples of glade communities (and even shot some video in one of them…stay tuned for post-trip video compilation!)  Glades are outcroppings of limestone on sunny slopes.  These communities serve as home for a finite number of narrowly zoned plants that thrive in minimal soil profiles with basic pH.  Plants from these settings would site well in rock gardens, in particular, but in many cases have some range of adaptability for other stressed garden conditions (like hot barren spots where nothing will grow).  Plants from the Ozarks are tough.  Period.  More Ozark natives (like my favorite violet, Viola pedata) have been killed in cultivation with kindness than from poor suitability to the garden setting.

Delphinium carolinianum

So what did we find new today?  The day started off blue, literally in fact.  Alongside a dusty county road we came upon a small stand of Delphinium carolinianum.  I think these brilliant blue flowers would look smashing in the rock garden, but the perennial larkspurs have always had a somewhat lackluster reputation as garden plants.  They don’t have much of a presence and last for such a small amount of time.  Nerd plants?  Yes, probably.  But how can you beat that blue color?

We turned up LOTS of Echinacea simulata today, the kissing cousin to the pale purple coneflower (E. pallida) of prairies here and farther north.  Personally I think E. simulata has showier flowers with richer coloration, but other than a minute difference in pollen color (E. pallida is white, E. simulata is yellow) they look virtually identical.  E. simulata probably has some breeding potential for variation in flower form and intense coloration.  I don’t know if its genes have contributed to recent advances in the genus.  Anyone?  We tagged several populations with GPS for future seed collection.

Echinacea simulata

Our visit to the first glade added Cheilanthes lanosa, the hairy lipfern, to our list.  As I alluded to yesterday, I’m in love with ferns, and after seeing this soft-textured gem pop from crevices all day, I can’t imagine gardening without it.  It grew next to another plant that I love (and profiled on this blog last summer)–the prickly pear cactus (Opuntia humifusa).  These prickly pears appeared stress and weren’t in bloom yet either.  The pads were smallish and suffered from winter dieback (harsh cold winter winds easily desiccate hardy cacti).  I recently read (yes I read papers on the systematics of Opuntia in my spare time) that specimens of O. humifusa with orange centers are tetraploid and those with clear yellow flowers are diploid.  Funky? 

Scutellaria bushii

Perhaps the highlight of the day was finding another Ozark endemic, Bush’s skullcap (Scutellaria bushii).  I’ve pondered the ornamental features of this plant from time to time since so many of its cousins (like the sprawling S. resinosa and the shade-brightening S. incana) shape up into fine garden plants.  We tagged two occurrences, both with a limited number of individuals for future visits.  Though small, they easily attract attention from a distance.  I don’t think anyone should rush to the garden centers or feverishly flip through catalogs looking for them, but they may catch some attention in the future with serious collectors looking for subtle impact in the rock garden or other settings.

In the woody realm, we came across some smashing forms of Hydrangea arborescens today.  I know, I know it’s altogether bland and ordinary as far as hydrangeas go.  But this tough ol’ bird spans the gamut of flower forms and overall plant habits.  The choicest form occurred mid-way through the steep hike mentioned earlier.  In spite of my shaking hands and racing heart, I stopped to snap a photo of this overwhelming beauty.  Dark foliage.  Crisp white flowers.  Contrast is good, right?

Hydrangea arborescens

Tomorrow we’ll join local botanical experts Susan Farrington and Dan Drees on their private property for our last day of adventuring.  Now I’m going to sit back and enjoy the charm and hospitality of our hostess at Wild Horse Inn.  Catbirds are calling in the mimosa tree (Albizia spp.), robins are singing their nighttime adieus, and I’m sipping lemonade watching lightning bugs fly by.

To the readers who’ve sent emails and well-wishes…thank you in return!  Your encouragement powers us on!  Some of you have asked why I chose the Ozarks as the debut trip for my Plant Driven escapades.  The Ozarks are home to a number of plants that also call Iowa and the rest of the tallgrass biome home.  Though you could argue that forms from southern latitudes would be less hardy farther north, this rule doesn’t always hold fast.  In fact for species like Asclepias purpurascens (purple milkweed), the issue for upper Midwestern gardeners isn’t so much cold hardiness but genetic diversity.  Up north this species grows more sporadically than it does down here.  I wouldn’t hesistate to call it abundant here in southern Missouri, and in just a few miles of driving we probably spotted five or six color variants.  Larger assemblages (ie-areas with a greater abundance of plants) generally harbor more genetic diversity, which means a greater range of morphological expression (colors, leaf shapes, plant habits, etc.) and potentially genetically healthier populations.  ‘Nuff said about science at this late hour!

Asclepias purpurascens

So what cool plants popped up on our plant exploring radars today?  Well first off, two of the coolest vines the American native plant catalog has to offer.  Both, though, are sadly underappreciated.  Matelea decipiens, the climbing milkweed, boasts gorgeous clusters of chocolate-colored flowers with a satin finish.  Imagine a trellis or arbor wrought with their silken blooms!  The only downside I can see  (smell) with this plant is its fried-food odor.  The first thing my compadre Elizabeth said when she sniffed was “fry daddy!”

Matelea decipiens

The second emits virtually no perfume but would look classy tangling and rambling amid roses.  Clematis pitcheri, the leatherflower, sports smallish but cute-as-a-button flowers in various two-tone combos.  We found about three different forms today all happily vining up viburnums, hydrangeas, or hops trees (Ptelea trifoliata).  About the size of the quarter, the flowers would look charming cut in a nosegay with antique roses, the perfect combination of texture, color, and geometry.  Don’t doubt the power of small and simple!  Speak softly and all that, after all.

Clematis pitcheri

Ferns, ferns, ferns.  I can’t get enough of them even though I’m a hopeless novice with their nomenclature and identification.  Forms and variations abound!  Of the dozen or so finer species we observed and photographed today, the finest (in my humble opinion) grows right out of the cliff face.  Cheilanthes feei, the slender rockfern, first made contact with my neurons when I read cover to cover (for the second time) Claude Barr’s Jewels of the Plains.  This wide-ranging species grows throughout middle America always on cliff faces or in rock outcroppings.  Small and fuzzy it is, wimpy and cuddly it is not.  This dandy tuft of fronds has got to be one of the toughest ferns around.  Think about it.  Would you grow in 14 inches of rich, rotting leaf matter or a half an inch of silt with a pebble thrown in for good measure?  The slender rockfern might just well find a home in rock gardens or in nooks and crevices along the retaining wall next to the sidewalk.  Whatta ya say?

Cheilanthes feei

The greatest find of the day came near the end of our travels (it was getting hot, we were getting tired, you get the picture).  I stumbled upon this plant, let out a yelp, and scrambled to find the camera in the menagerie of junk hanging around my neck and off my shoulders.  The false aloe (Manfreda virginica) is one of the only members of the Agave family (Agavaceae) that you’ll find in the Midwest.  But look at the variegation on this one!  Spots and dots speckle many all throughout its range, but I’ve never seen one with such intense red coloration and pronounced splashing.  Shebang!

Manfreda virginica

Wow this got long!  AND more is on the way!  See you tomorrow.

June 10, 2009

Shannon County, MO

Temperature:  84 degrees

Skies:  Cloudy, storms approaching

We arrived in Eminence around 5:00 PM after a short stop north of town to take in the view.  Here on this sheer cliff face grew an assortment of natives we hope to find throughout our trip including Callirhoe involucrata, Penstemon cobaea (a particularly large-flowered, grape-colored form), and Coreopsis lanceolata. 

After checking in to our hotel and a short rest (driving here was exhausting particularly as we got closer and turned and spun around hairpin curves with the ease of a race car), we headed out for some pre-exploration along Highway 106 towards Alley Spring.  After ascending down a rather steep hill with a cement drainage channel on the side, I demanded the car stop.  Josh and Elizabeth dropped me off driving further up the road to find a place to pull over.  Here in just a 30’ x 30’ area grew an assortment of vines and ramblers including Passiflora incarnata, the veritable passionflower, and the diminutive and overlooked Rhynchosia latifolia, the prairie snout bean, a wandering vine with yellow, pea-like blossoms.  It amazes me how an otherwise pampered, cherished plant like passionflower grows in the wild only feet from where speeding cars travel and in red clay seemingly better fit for pottery than as a substrate.  A host of Echinacea pallida grew nearby amid outcroppings of Monarda bradburiana (remember from the pictures in my garden?)  What a great way to start the trip!

I’ve been gone from my garden for nearly a week. But oh what can change in the garden in the span of a week! Since I left, we’ve had over five inches of rain and it shows–a large, unplanned pond floods beds south of the house.

But strife from rain aside, the gardens look fabulous, particularly the rock garden. I pulled up the driveway, flung open my car door, and bounded in two leaps into the garden, exploring and sniffing out the latest bloomers and faders and the taking pleasure in the momentary newness that comes from reuniting with a longtime friend.

That momentary newness, in my garden at least, grows from vignettes or the little windows of plant marrying together to form raucous moments of color and texture.  These vignettes weave and sew themselves together into a tapestry reflective of my personality (zealous and a little crazy); a mirror that brings gladsome joy to my arrival.  Never without the camera, I snapped a few worth sharing.

 
This moment of color was the first to snag my attention as I sped up the driveway to my parking spot under the tree.  Wine-dipped poppy mallows (Callirhoe involucrata) have sprung into bloom in the last seven days and will lilely continue blooming through frost.  I consider them the anchor here.  But about five weeks ago I interplanted them with yellowdicks (Helenium amarum), yellow daisy-like annuals that I hope reseed from one end of the garden to the other.  Who can’t fall in love with a perky yellow daisy springing up here and there?  Blue flax (Linum perenne) flops gracefully into the mix. 

Adjectives that come to mind: Charming, elegant, serendipitous, and joyful

Expanding the field of view, I panned my camera to the left to include the rock outcropping and a quintessential preview of my upcoming Ozarks trip.  The eastern beebalm (Monarda bradburiana), which too few people grow and will thus star in an upcoming plant profile on this blog, has neared its peak performance.  It’s subtly spotted, pink blossoms engulf a dwarf mound of red-tinted foliage.  Fabulous!  At its feet, amid boulders grows a pink Opuntia (probably O. polyacantha though it was given to me as a pink O. humifusa).  2009 marks its inaugural bloom in my garden.  The rich green foliage in the background belongs to the overgrown Solidago drummondii, the wrinkleleaf goldenrod.  It needs cut back and reinvigorated for a showstopping September performance.