Gardens by Kelly Productions

Over the last few years of this blog’s existence, I’ve spent some time on a number of November occasions (in 2007, 2009, 2010) extolling my surprise, if not bragging at little, at the beauty my Zone 5 Iowa garden boasts in the penultimate month of the year, while also reporting such joy from the road (again in 2009, 2010).  The point is all the same–even for cold-climate gardeners, the opportunities to enjoy the garden well past the first few frosts are abundant.  As I wrote on Facebook earlier this evening, I’m always amazed at the beauty that persists into November. The roses, heirloom chrysanthemums, gentians, and so much more seem to saturate the garden with their farewell drips of color, stains against the fading of the fall.  It’s these persistent reminders of warmer days and fonder toils that make the end, the finale bearable.

Extending the seasons is one of the biggest things I teach people in my lectures on garden design.  Take cues from plants, their sundry characteristics, the little things so easily overlooked.  As with asters and so many composites–their seeds.  As with dying perennials, their flaming foliage.  The little things easily lost to pumpkin carving, raking leaves, and football games extend the joy of gardening well into the early holiday season.  I’ve taken a colorful tour of the garden for the last four years on Thanksgiving, and I hope I’m so fortunate again this year.

Here are three images from the garden today–undownable perennials still blooming with conviction despite nightly flirtations with the upper 20s.

Chrysanthemum x rubellum ‘Will’s Wonderful’–Let it be known:  I’m a mum hater.  There I said it.  I know, you probably buy two or twenty every year at the grocery store, bed them out with your scarecrows, and crow about them with pride at neighborhood fall socials.  Bah.  I want a mum that’s everything but mum.  I want a hardy, hot, garden heavyweight that earns its keep season after season.  That’s how ‘Will’s Wonderful’ was billed to me when my Twitter friend, (the inimitable) Margaret Roach tweeted about it a few falls back.  It’s a surefire winner for those long depressed by the bushy, boxy things in plastic pots masquerading as “mums”.  Plus, it’s just starting to bloom NOW.  Absolutely the last plant in this 7-acre garden to bloom, not including aberrant reblooming irises.

Gaillardia x grandiflora Commotion® ‘Moxie’–A hybrid gaillardia that’s earned my respect.  (As an aside, I’m also on the record for hating many gaillardias, though I found redemption in the hills of South Dakota this summer, which I still owe you a story or five about).  Blowsy, semi-double, flaring, and loud-mouthed, this yellow yowler does everything right to earn the name moxie.

Kniphofia ‘Mango Popsicle’–I’m betting I’ll mourn its passing come spring, but until that dark day, I’m enjoying the fact that this new hot poker has bloomed twice this season.  What color!  I’d say it’s good enough to eat, but I wouldn’t advise licking it.  Your health aside, the neighbors might wonder.

Since starting my M.S. degree in horticulture at Iowa State last fall, I’ve wanted to write on numerous occasions about my research, but just haven’t found the time.

Though I moonlight in my professional life as a plant breeder, by day I’m a plant ecophysiologist, someone who studies and describes physiological mechanisms underlying ecological observations and questions (i.e. why do plants respond to their environment the way they do).  Specifically, I study the effects of provenance (the biogeographical origins of plants) and the implications those effects have on the performance of plants in the landscape.  Provenance is a big deal, though sadly often taken for granted by professionals and novices alike.  Particularly for plant species with broad distributions, provenance plays a huge role in how germplasm collected in the wild ultimately performs horticulturally.  Many plant species in horticultural commerce today stem from a single or just a few collections of that species in the wild.  The genetic diversity (and thus capacity for those species to exhibit a multitude of traits and responses to environmental factors) is often greatly diminished in landscapes.  I’m often humored when I read treatises on various genera at how matter-of-fact authors are in their appraisals of species, as if to suggest that the few horticultural forms of a given taxa represents the majority.  In fact often quite the opposite is true.  As horticulturists, we have no doubt dismissed more than one new species collected from near or afar, simply because we brought into commerce a lackluster form.

To study provenance, I spend my days investigating the world of the genus Dirca.  The genus is manageably small, with only three species in wide acceptance.

• Dirca palustris (eastern leatherwood) occurs in highly localized populations across the eastern one-third of the United States from Maine and Ontario, west to North Dakota, south to Oklahoma and Louisiana, and east to northern Florida.
• Dirca mexicana (Mexican leatherwood) is known from a single reported population in Tamaulipas, Mexico, and has not been introduced to horticultural commerce.
• Dirca occidentalis (western leatherwood) occurs in six counties near the San Francisco Bay in California.

All three sport dangling yellow flowers in early spring, with D. occidentalis having the largest flowers of the genus.

A fourth species recently described as Dirca decipiens (decipiens translates from Latin to mean deceiving) is known from a few disjunct locations in northwestern Arkansas and one populous outcropping within the confines of the Overland Park Arboretum outside of Overland Park, Kansas.  Little is known about this new species, though it is morphologically intermediate between D. palustris and D. mexicana.  Details of the discussion about “the deceiver” would seem a little out of place here, more the substance of conversation between a geeky graduate student and his colleagues than a plantsman and his friends.  Horticulturally speaking there isn’t much if any debate–it’s virtually unanimous that the genus remains woefully underappreciated.

The genus lends itself to inquiries of provenance, chiefly for two reasons.  First, the most widespread species, Dirca palustris, occurs in highly localized populations across a vast geographic area (see range above).  Across that range, a number of horticulturally characterizable provenances exist–the comparison and study of which constitute the majority of my research.  Second, the other congeners (members of the genus) exist in highly localized, endemic populations, limited to geography on a much finer scale.  This ability to compare between two different kinds of ranges facilitates a variety of questions into how we might grow these species horticulturally.  Other colleagues of mine study the evolutionary history of the genus and its family members, a completely fascinating arena that generates about as many questions as it answers (perfect!)

In summary, Dirca are fascinating plants, if not a little nerdy.  Hailing from the daphne family (Thymelaeaceae), leatherwoods thrive in shade, often growing near moving water though rarely if ever in it.  As arborescent (tree-like) shrubs, they harbinger the earliest signs of spring, blooming before most trees and shrubs, and epitomizing those famous words by Gertrude Wister– “The flowers of late winter and early spring occupy places in our hearts well out of proportion to their size.”

Last June, I wrote about my Veronica collection in a post entitled “The Veronica Parade”.  I have a habit of interjecting the phrase “oh I collect those” in conversations between plant nerds, prompting many of my close friends to mockingly reply “Kelly, what don’t you collect?”

Today I thought I might take you on a little parade through the sedum collection.  I have no idea how many different taxa I grow–surely dozens upon dozens.  Many of us no doubt appreciate the ‘Autumn Joy’ “types” that start to bloom now and continue through fall.  I’ll do a round with those later.  Today I focused the camera on groundcover sedums.

Sedum album ‘Murale’ –This chocolately, sedum family wunderkind is one of my newfound favorites.  In just a couple seasons, this little white-flowered sedum has taken off with vigor and apparent glee, cozying up to nearby rock cress (Arabis) and shining in the garden through four season thanks to its evergreen nature.  A must have.

Sedum ewersii var. homophyllum –Here’s one ultra-hardy sedum, reported by some to thrive winters as far north as USDA Zone 2.  Bright pink flowers occasionally complement marine, blue-green foliage, but I can’t recall seeing them more than a couple of times in the last few years.  It’s really all about that cool kid foliage.  I always expect it to be cooler to the touch for some reason–it’s just looks “cold”.  Terrific.

Sedum sieboldii –There are more Siebold stonecrops floating around gardens and nurseries than any one of us needs.  It self-seeds freely, but not enough to make a nuisance of itself.  I’ve saved some fun seedlings over the years with different leaf margins, etc., but nothing to get all worked up about.  The cultivar ‘Mediovariegatum’ is one of my favorites.  Commonly known as October daphne, it throws up hot pink flowers very late in the fall and spells dynamo when paired with those sharply variegated, coin-shaped leaves.

Sedum spurium ‘John Creech’ –This sedum tops my “desert island” list (a list of my 25 must-have plants should I ever be shipwrecked on a lonely island with the option of a having a lovely garden).  Nothing fancy about the foliage.  But it’s reliably tough, blooms well, seeds around a bit (that’s a plus for me–a sign of happiness), and forms the perfect ground-hugging mat.

Sedum tetractinum –This may also be a candidate for the “desert island” list.  This stonecrop has the weirdest-colored foliage ever.  Bronze, green, and yellow blend together to create a pseudo-metallic color that catches my eye every time I’m in the garden.  It’s hardy, shows off yellow flowers in late spring, and laughs at our Midwestern winters and summers.  It’s also seeding a bit in its immediate vicinity.  Kind of reminds me of carpet colors from the 1960s, only with far more class and style!

Sources for sedums:

SMG Succulents (formerly Squaw Mountain Gardens)

Joy Creek Nursery

Plant Delights Nursery

{Terribly important side note:  You may have already noticed that I’m not following my usual etiquette of capitalizing and italicizing the word sedum.  That’s because the genus Sedum as we know it has been broken into a number of other nomenclatural monikers.  The genus Sedum does still exist in this new state of taxonomic fun, but for now they’re still sedums in my garden, vernacularly and botanically.}

Greetings from frigid Iowa!

My heartfelt thanks to the 100 plus attendees of my lecture “ZoneWorthy: Underused Plants for Zones 4 & 5″ at the Des Moines Botanical Center this morning.  It’s always great to start a new year of lecturing activities with an energized, inquisitive local crowd.  To check out the slate of upcoming lectures, click over to my calendar.  If I’m in your neighborhood, give me a shout!  I’ve got a few engagements to add to that calendar, but it’s up-to-date for the most part.

For more information about my Zoneworthy concept checkout www.zoneworthy.com, a redirect to plant profiles from this blog.  In 2010, I plan to launch a standalone website that will serve as a conduit of information for people intrigued and engaged by the Zoneworthy concept.  Look for updates and changes!  Also feel free to download copies of my handouts and view my Powerpoint lecture on the Handouts and Downloads page.

Each year I reflect on the season past, usually for most of the winter.  (That’s a period of cold, gray, dismal nothingness for you southerly sorts.)  When I think about the season, I think about my plants.  My favorites.  The stars and divas.  The sulkers and misbehavers.  For ridiculous fun, I’ve decided to reduce my 1,000 + taxa plant collection to my top 15 plants for 2009.  This class of plants is mostly certainly a thriving crowd of plants–hardworking perennials and shrubs that don’t give in to the whims of Mother Nature.  (This is not a ranked listing, simply a sorted alphabetical list.)

1. Aconitum umbrosum
This recent acquisition from my friends Steve and Caroline Bertrand at The Perennial Flower Farm really took me for a spin.  I’m an Aconitum fan, albeit a casual one.  But this green and cream-flowered species from northeastern China and the Korean peninsula (unfortunately quite rare in commerce) really has me raving.  Maybe the coolest feature is the emerging foliage in spring–dark jade speckled with silvery spots, much like a Pulmonaria.  Choice and all too unavailable.

2. xAlcalthaea ‘Park Allee’
You may know this plant by the incorrect genus name Malva.  Around since the early 70s, this hollyhock-look-alike actually arose from crosses of Alcea (hollyhock) and Althaea (mallow) in a Hungarian garden.  Four cultivars were introduced, of which two remain relatively extant.  I was turned on to these bigeneric hybrids several years ago when doing research for my own Alcea breeding program.  Though sterile, ‘Park Allee’ is everything a gardener wants in a hollyhock.  It’s resistant (or highly tolerant) of hollyhock rust, suffers no herbivory from beetles or other insects that keenly nibble away at the foliage of neighboring hollyhocks, and blooms virtually non-stop from the end of June through and after frost.  I KNOW!?  The swarm of plants in our west perennial border was the subject of many conversations with visiting gardens, usually in disbelief at its utterly brilliant performance.

3. Clematis heracleifolia
I was so enchanted with this species this year that I wrote an entire post about them.

4. Gentiana septemfida var. lagodechiana
I promised my mom that I’d include this plant this year, and for good reason.  Gentians are one of those “blue” flowered plants that make you reeavaluate your definition of blue.  They really know how to pull it off!  This ground-hugging, sprite, and perky rock garden doyenne thrives with good drainage and scoffs in the face of Midwestern humidity.

5. Helianthus maximiliani
I’ve loved this native for years.  I shared a brief profile with y’all back in 2007.  It’s grown up even more and has earned a midsummer haircut next season to keep it manageable and enjoyable.

6. Heucherella ‘Sweet Tea’
I’m so getting brownie points for plugging this.  Dan Heims gave this to me back in April.  Now typically I don’t rush my evaluations of first year plants because it’s just not good science or logic.  But ‘Sweet Tea’ is an exception.  From a 72-cell plug (SMALL), this sumptuously colored, bigeneric hybrid between Heuchera (coral bells) and Tiarella (foamy bells) grew vigorously all summer long.  Since I’m also practically an adopted child of the south, I couldn’t pass up mentioning one of my favorite southernisms….sweet tea!  ‘Sweet Tea’ should be widely available in 2010.  Look for it!

7. Iris ‘Gene’s Lora Lavelle’
Here’s some shameless self promotion for quite possibly the worst named plant ever….and it’s mine!  Regardless of its lack of nomenclatural catchiness, my 2009 introduction deserves a spot in your garden.  Visitors love it.  We love it.  Just forget to tag it, for its sake.

8. Iris x norrisii
Though I like to take credit for the specific epithet, this newly reclassified irid was named for Sam Norris (maybe a relative?) who developed this horticultural species from repeated crosses of (then) Pardanthopsis dichotoma (now Iris dichotoma) and Belamcanda chinensis (now Iris domestica).  These so-called candy lilies (or xPardancanda, if you’re stuck in your ways) razzle dazzle the garden at a time when few other perennials (let alone irises) look their grandest.  A focus of our breeding and development work, we can’t wait to share the fruits of our labors with you in a few years (hopefully).  Take a look at some of this year’s seedlings derived from Harlan Hamernick’s Dazzler series and seed-grown I. domestica ‘Hello Yellow’ (sometimes erroneously named Belamcanda flava).  Oh and did I mention they are drought-tolerant, heat-loving, and capable of growing in clay?

9. Kolkwitzia amabilis ‘Maradco’ Dream Catcher™
I know I’ve babbled about this thing all summer too.  But really, it looked stunning all summer.  The stuff of my dreams…

10. Lespedeza thunbergii ‘Samindare’
I can’t wait for the day I can build a seven or eight foot tall wall and have it planted with Lespedeza cascading over the edge.  Correction…that’s the stuff of my dreams!  But in the meantime I’m more than satisfied with ‘Samindare’, the posh-looking, free-wheeling babe of the pea family that delightfully graces the east border of my family’s home.  Bloom time- SEPTEMBER.  Mark it down, mark it down…

11. Penstemon richardsonii var. richardsonii
I couldn’t compile a list without a Penstemon.  Such would be an act of heresy!  I once had a shirt that said “Penstomaniac” but I don’t think it fits anymore (I think the American Penstemon Society still sells them).  I picked up this pent on one of my trips to Portland.  Native to colder valleys in the Cascade Mountain range of Oregon and Washington, Richardson’s penstemon has no trouble surviving the brutality of Midwestern winters.  Given good drainage it seems thoroughly content.  The flowers are almost indescribable and difficult to photograph since they glow in neon blue tones.  If you think ‘Husker Red’ when you hear Penstemon, displace that idea for a minute.  This mountain girl rambles at ground level, a subshrub of sorts that meanders in and between its associates.  Not widely available or even grown much outside of its native range.  I found plants for sale recently at Laporte Avenue Nursery, a fine rock garden plant specialist.

12. Phlox paniculata ‘Peppermint Twist’
I know, I need an intervention with this plant.  But how can you not fall in love with this dwarf, everblooming, and disease-tolerant cultivar?  A diva of necessitous consequence.

13. Rudbeckia subtomentosa ‘Henry Eilers’
If Henry Eilers ran for office, I’d donate to his campaign fund.  I can’t think of a more sensational perennial black-eyed susan on the market.  Here’s a shout-out to Dan H. for bringing it to the wholesale market.  If you don’t own it, buy it.  Sales pitch:  Long-blooming, durable, rugged, and non-flopping black-eyed susan that’ll have you swooning and singing Sinatra.  I’ve got about 600 photos of the same plant in my garden from the last several years.  I can’t get enough.

14. Silene ‘Rockin’ Robin’
Another Dan Heims introduction of considerable worth that failed to hit it big.  Sometimes the market doesn’t always know best!  Such is the case with this phenomenal catchfly bred by Thurman Maness.  Sporting all the standard markers of hybrid vigor (vigorous, larger flowers, etc.), ‘Rockin’ Robin’ politely screams at garden visitors in the most audacious visual flavor of salmon pink humanly imaginable.  And it doesn’t stop!  After nearly a month of bloom in early summer, I hedge back the sticky remnants and watch it slowly tank up for a repeat show in late summer and early fall.  Wouldn’t garden without it.  Still available from the niche suppliers who recognize good plants.

15. Symphytum x uplandicum ‘Axminster Gold’
Sexy?  Comfrey?  Same sentence?  YES!  These plants of rhyme and lore typically don’t call up images of vixens.  Yet take a look below at this well-regarded variegated cultivar called ‘Axminster Gold’.  Bawdy, right?  When planted in the middle of groundcovers or in the depths of shade, it’s like a light bulb in a dark closet.  Suddenly color floods in and that once dreary corner of the garden changes forever.  I deliberately planted it with this very purpose in mind and it has grown into the job perfectly.  Can’t wait for it to just keep getting bigger (and now I just have to have more).  Please note other species and variegated cultivars do exist.  I think I’ll buy them all.

Now…what were some of YOUR favorite plants for 2009?  Rules:  you have to grow them yourself (ie-can’t be something you saw somewhere and loved…that’s another list!)

Though I’m betting ol’ Frank never laid eyes on Clematis heracleifolia, I’m still going to make reference to that classic cocktail standard like he had.  I suppose I could beg the question “what else”, sounding a little cliche at the incinuation that the only August-blooming plants worth raising a glass to are, of course, the bush or tube clematis.  But frankly, that’s even a little overboard for me.  With over 250,000 flowering plant species on this globe, I’m sure I’ve missed gardening with one or two (only) that could excite me so on the ides of August.  For now, though, I’m content with my clematis.

With purple cloying my fingertips tonight, I can’t help but extol a few of the many virtues of these fall-blooming, non-vining clematis.  Inevitably, if I say “clematis”, most would think ‘Jackmannii’, the enduring purple rambler that’s climbed up everything from barns and doors to mugo pines and even the occasional ,well-tended trellis.  So for many, adding the adjectival phrase “non-vining” before the word “clematis” looks like an oxymoron, seemingly impossible when considering the countless queens of vertical spaces that have for so long comprised our public knowledge of the genus.  In fact some of the best clematis, in my less than humble opinion, laugh in the face of trellises and much prefer to scramble about their neighbors or flow tidily just above ground from bunchy, stemmy clumps. 

In fact some might say that a few of these non-viners verge on shrub-like, an assertion I’d agree with in the case of the easy-to-grow Clematis heracleifolia.  The largest form I grow is just over four feet tall, rigid, and stout.  A gale force wind assailed my garden over the weekend, laying flat almost everything or at the very least giving all my flora an eastward slant.  But not so with the bush clematis.  Tonight their many-flowered stalks held tall those perky, dangling blue blossoms for the camera, the stuff of dreams for plant-sick nerds like yours truly.  The two forms pictured below came from my dear friends Steve and Caroline Bertrand at The Perennial Flower Farm.  The light blue form boasts a rich, citrus and gardenia blended fragrance that flirts with adjectives like intoxicating and sumptuous.  Remember, I have a poor sense of smell too!  My mother just rolls her eyes and smiles at each sniff.  Truly delicious!  I don’t know that it has a formal cultivar name, but ‘Citrus Caroline’ seems altogether perfect.  I’ll suggest that on my next visit.  The other form has cobalt blue flowers that contrast the golden, shimmerous foliage of my beauty bush in fine style.  The flowers look bigger, have longer pedicels (that’s the little “stalk” that attaches flowers to the flower stalk, in laymen’s terms), and dangle, dangle in a different way than the former too.

What do you need to know about growing them?  They’re easy, real easy.  Spot them a home in part shade, give them good drainage, and plant them nearby plenty of pretty perennials and you’ve got a classic vignette that’ll have everyone envious of your outlandish creative abilities.  These plants are real doers!  Go for it!

(And in all honesty I must admit–I do get a kick from champagne.)

I have no idea what eryngo means, beyond just a vernacular permutation of the botanical Eryngium.  But I do know what they are–fantastic garden plants.

Who can’t help but love eryngos?  They boast bristly, pokey texture like nothing else can.  Despite the fact that in Zone 5 I’m on the short-end of the evolutionary stick (there are nearly 300 species in the genus with a diversity center in Central and South America), I keep trying, experimenting, and enjoying the survivors.

Today I wanted to share with you my feelings about a recent addition to the garden, Eryngium planum ‘Blue Hobbit’.  Smart-looking and adorably dwarf, this eryngo sends up 10″ bloom stalks from a basal rosette of blue-tinted, lettuce-like leaves.  Petaloid bracts subtend a conical cluster of many ranked, stemless flowers which last for several days to a week.  The staying power of all the eryngos comes from those colored bracts, which last for many weeks thanks to their leaf-like cellular structure (kind of like hellebores).  I’m in love with the plant’s overall steely blue cast and the exceptionally coarse texture it contributes to the vignette.  I’ve got them paired with several sedums (including the blue-gray Sedum telephium ssp. ruprechtii ‘Hab Gray’) and underplanted with a mat of Thymus serpyllum ‘Magic Carpet’. 

You can purchase ‘Blue Hobbit’ from Garden Crossings or ForestFarm.

Every garden grows a few divas, plant world-rocking earth mamas that know how to put on a show. Maybe it’s a pass-around plant that’s gotten out of control running everything else over in colonizing fashion.  But it could as well be a highly sought after accession worthy of all the glitz and glam it can garner bloom after bloom. Either way, I’ve got several fab flowering friends that you should hear about.

Listed in no particular order, I must start with the plant that inspired this whole diatribe.  I think I’ve crowed about Phlox paniculata ‘Peppermint Twist’ before, but it bears mentioning again.  One look and it’ll take your breath away (at least it did mine).  Disease-resistant, long-lasting, fragrant, and vigorous, this recent introduction has gotten quite a lot of press recently and should be readily available.  Pick it up, even if you’ve been burned by phloxes in the past.  But be warned that if you choose to install a small row of these in the front border you’ll need to up your homeowner’s insurance, otherwise you’re going to have an awkward conversation with your insurance agent when that Ford Fusion wrecks in the yard.  But I digress…

Planted right next door is Echinacea Pixie Meadowbrite™, the first true-dwarf coneflower at only 18″ tall.  It’s compact and has bloomed non-stop now for weeks (with no signs of stopping).  The ray florets are richly lacquered in frothy pink and accented by rich raspberry chocolate cones (known botanically as disc florets).  Honestly as in love with both of these as I am, they really have no business growing as next-door neighbors.  It’s frankly overwhelming.  But growing in concert with an early blooming grass like sideoats grama (Bouteloua curtipendula) and old-fashioned perennial flax (Linum perenne), it would surely shine.

Moving to the backyard, I can’t help stop for a stare near the smart-looking Lilium michiganense.  The Michigan lily is a sorely underused native lily (see this earlier blog post for enlightenment).  Lack of humanly praise withstanding, the Michigan lily quite literally glows, almost like those little translucent party lamps from the 70s.  The blossoms dangle in trios from tall stems, and stooping for a peak isn’t unwarranted or inappropriate.

Elephantoid in proportion to its garden mates, Petasites x hybridus no doubt makes some of you cringe.  I know, I know.  It can be a little aggressive in some climates (he laughs mischievously).  Here in Zone 5 I don’t seem to have much trouble with it getting out of hand, probably thanks to our harsher winters.  It marks the epitome of texture in the backyard, classically contrasting with lanceolate-leaved daylilies and heart-shaped hostas.  I love it.  Plus the leaves make my fat head look smaller, at least by comparison.

But perhaps the most electrifying diva in the garden this summer is my Dream Catcher™ beauty bush (Kolkwitzia amabilis ‘Maradco’).  The foliage drips in fluorescent gold and bronze, flowing as beauty bushes do from many stems that burgeon from the crown.  Though only a few years old, this high-impact shrub really brightens up an otherwise uneventful corner of the yard this time of year.  I can’t say enough about this plant (and if I could it would make for a really long post).  Just go buy it and trust me.

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.

Echinacea ‘Sunrise’ is a good plant. Such a blunt and lackluster statement bears further explanation. Much excitement surrounds the genus Echinaceaat the moment and why wouldn’t it with such a tremendous effort in expounding on its natural diversity? However, one need bear in mind a vow of temperance when evaluating the outputs of these breeding programs. The only way we will come to capitalize on the genetic offerings within a genus is to breed throughouly, thoughtfully, and keep in mind that an advancement in one program may be just the beginning in another. Yet we cannot pass judgement on the former for not meeting the goals of the latter. Here sets the stage for discontentment between breeders of coneflowers when evaluating each others work. Some would argue that Echinacea ‘Sunrise’ warrants improvement. Indeed it may but its worthiness of as a garden plant is hardly diminished by the stray petals often seen adorning the flowers. Call it a flaw or call it character.

Echinacea ‘Sunrise’ comes to us from the Saul brother, Richard and Bobby, and their nursery ItSaul Plants. ‘Sunrise’ was the first of many coneflower introductions and the cone craziness of this dynamic, brotherly duo can be witnessed here.

In my southern Iowa garden, Echinacea ‘Sunrise’ is a great performer. It blooms for the better part of five weeks and the color is unbeatable. No matter the weather, a sunny day is always in store when this plant is utilized in the herbaceous border. Paired with Weigela ‘Wine & Roses’ and a colony of ornamental kale it makes a great dinner companion in its sunny home in my garden. Even first year plants perform as if they’ve been established for seasons. My first year plant put up stems to fill a hefty Iowa farmer’s armload and continues to form a hearty clump.

Go out and find an Echinacea ‘Sunrise’ in addition to the many other great coneflowers being produced by American breeders these days. Why not add a little sunshine to your garden?