Category Archives: Gardening

My friend JoAnn/Josie/JoJo-Dancer instructed me on how to pick bittersweet – that ubiquitous fall favorite that is actually becoming a noxious invasive in many parts of the country. Despite that, it brings a fall beauty to doorways and tabletops and mantles, if picked correctly. The time to cut them is when the “berries” turn yellow, but before they burst open to reveal their inner orange. Most of us (myself included) waited until they were in full color to clip, but if you wait that long they fall apart. If picked when intact and unpopped, they will open on their own accord and hold their color – and this beauty – for much longer.

At a time of the year when most things are beginning the brown and gray march toward a certain winter, these color bursts are a welcome bit of cheer, but their name is redolent of what’s really going on, so I’m going to include the musical clip below of Me-Shell NdegeOcello’s ‘Bitter.’ Many years ago it got me through a cheerless winter in Chicago, because sometimes you have to go through the pain to get out of it.

Until the winter arrives, however, I’m taking the bitter with the sweet, and keeping the color on the vine. There is more of fall to come.

These easy-to-care-for annuals provide this fancy foliage until the frost will strike them down. Near the end of the season, I allow them to flower (something I prevent from happening earlier by pinching off the buds. This allows for bushier plants and a longer look for freshness. While flowering is pretty, it zaps a great deal of energy from the plant. A number of plants expire after flowering and going to seed. It takes that much energy.) By September, there’s no point in prolonging the inevitable, and so I let them develop their buds and flower.

In the case of this coleus, the blooms will be insubstantial, but interesting. They come in a blue-purple hue that contrasts dramatically with its foliage. Salvia-like and spiky, they are better viewed up-close. If these manage to make it out before the frost, I’ll try to capture the final show.

Behold, the Stargazer Lily (or at least a very similar cultivar ~ I’ve lost track over the years.) A staple of the higher-end bouquet you find in markets and florists, this powerhouse-flower comes with a rich fragrance, and some dangerous pollen if you don’t catch it in time (many cheeks and shirts have been stained in instances where unsuspecting sniffers have leaned in a bit too close.) This beauty was an unexpected surprise. It is the one remaining lily plant that the critters haven’t yet devoured. It’s at the base of a hydrangea that never blooms, so I always forget about it until it’s sometimes passed its peak. On this day, following a rainstorm, I was making the garden rounds when I caught it out of the corner of my eye. The bright pink colors were crying out for attention, while the perfume lassoed my nose.

These are relatively easy to grow (I honestly don’t do anything for this one, as I didn’t like where it was and didn’t care to invest any extra effort.) Because of their ubiquity, and their flashy and overpowering presence both in look and scent, they always seem a little out of place in our more subdued garden. Yet it makes a fine accent plant, and a great cut flower, so I may be putting a few more in. There’s always an extra jolt of gardening enthusiasm in the weeks before we put the garden to sleep for the season, and planting bulbs (particularly when I will most likely forget about them) always provides for pleasant surprises when the summer comes again.

This neon pink beacon brings all the butterflies to the yard, and they’re like, it’s better than yours. It belongs to the aptly-monikered butterfly bush, around which the fluttering creatures congregate, unfurling their tongues into the deep-throated blossom bases. Attracting yellow swallowtails and magnificent monarchs, along with the elusive Karner Blue butterfly in the sky, it is a favorite among such flying brethren.

While it’s almost outgrown its position by the pool, I’m hesitant to move it as it continually puts on a decent show every year. That sort of performance and perseverance does not go unnoticed. I may try to establish a new one in a better spot, as they make wonderful magnets for wildlife, including the bewitching hummingbird moth.

Most of the hostas have finished their blooming and are well into filling out their seed pods with plump futures. This variety, deliciously named ‘Guacamole,’ is a later-blooming variety, coming at a time of the year when most flowers are running out of steam. It’s a welcome sight, adding a bit of refreshment to a fatigued garden. Located in a quieter portion of the side yard, it inspires contemplation and reflection. It’s beneath the umbrage of a seven-sons-flower tree, which is fully in bud and about to intoxicate the bees with its own fragrance. Taken together, they are a reinvigorating reminder that the summer has not yet begun to leave.

Tropical of form, gigantic of structure, and immense of leaf span, these plants are affectionately known as elephant ears. They provide the perfect backdrop for a pool or water feature, with their waxy and wavy leaves rising high into the sky and dwarfing all else around them. This is the first year I’ve successfully managed to grow them. Last year I tried starting them from a few sad corms that never quite took off, but this time I used plants that had already sprouted. I transplanted them into enormous pots to allow for ample root growth (and there is much; rumors of busted-out clay pots are easily believable). The results are spectacular, even if these photos offer but a glimpse of their glory.

At least three feet in length and width, the leaves are an accurate approximation of their whimsical namesake. Lending the patio a tropical aspect, they also have a personality that changes upon circumstances I have yet to figure out. At times the foliage stands up straight – erect and pointing to the sky – a rigid stance that gives a strong vertical flavor to the proceedings. At other points it relaxes, arching gracefully in soft curves, delicately bobbing in the breeze. I need to make further observation and tests to see if I can figure out what is going on. Both pots are relatively close to other plants, which may explain the phenomenon. Many plants will grow away from other encroaching plants, resulting in the rigid, vertical form I’ve seen this one occasionally take. It may also indicate a watering issue. Aside from the more obvious signs of wilting, some plants will change form when lacking or wanting water. Whatever the case, it’s a beautiful mystery that will play out over the rest of the season. I will keep my eyes on the ears.

Hidden in the less-than-expansive environs of our backyard, beneath a Chinese dogwood, and behind a towering stand of Miscanthus and a rising patch of a recovering cup plant (which just barely escaped ruin by an interrupted groundhog) is the lace-cap hydrangea pictured here. While these photos isolate and feature it in a way that makes it impossible to ignore, in its habitat it is subtle and quiet, and sometimes I even forget about it until something draws me closer, and I find it again with happy wonder, half-buried beneath a stand of ostrich ferns.

The flower takes the same form as the climbing hydrangea, but is imbued with a subtle shade of lavender, veering toward blue if you’re lucky to get the soil pH just right.

The airy effect of the form, both exquisite and enchanting, is the perfect secret of a backyard garden.

Commonly called “Creeping Jenny” this is Lysimachia nummularia. A groundcover or hanging plant often used as a trailing bit of vertical power in mixed pots, it’s also a perennial, which I discovered haphazardly a few years ago. Though this specimen covers the ground beneath a weeping cherry, it originated in one of our potted plantings. It trailed low enough to the ground to take a foot hold and send down roots into the neighboring soil, resulting in an unplanned but not unwelcome patch of chartreuse green. Happy accidents like that are some of the best parts of gardening.

Another unexpected surprise was when it started flowering. Accustomed to its foliage only, I did not expect the sunny yellow blooms that highlighted the bright leaves. I’m guessing that only when left to run freely in soil do the blooms materialize – further proof that when you give plants what they want (freedom and good soil in this instance) they perform far better than when confined to pots or other unnatural conditions.

When you perennially perform well, after a while it gets to be old-hat and expected, and such stalwart show-stoppers, appreciated and fawned upon in their early years don’t often get the recognition after they’ve done it for a while. This is unfortunate, as some stellar plants tend to go unheralded simply for their ease of cultivation. They also tend to get put into impossible situations, where such hardiness is abused in punishing locations.

Case in point is the hosta. Known and celebrated primarily for its foliage, it also offers these lovely lily-like blooms at this time of the year. Some are subtly fragrant, particularly on warm summer nights, adding to the enchantment at work amongst its gorgeous leaves.

When given less-than-ideal places in which to grow, they will usually do all right, but if coddled in their preferred environment, they will be spectacular after a few years. Rich soil, dappled light, and even moisture, coupled with a decent layer of mulch and a vigilant look-out for slugs will result in specimens that are as exotic and elegant as they are hardy. They will also reach their maximum size, which in most cases is much larger than the mass mall-plantings seen in many public spaces. A little pampering almost always works wonders.