Monday Morning Garden Report: 11 December 2023
For two years in the 1950s, I delivered the Independence Daily Reporter to subscribers in my hometown in southeast Kansas. When I started the newspaper route in 1957, I had about 35 subscribers and earned 50 cents per month per subscriber. When I completed my last afternoon delivery in August of ‘59, the number of subscribers had increased to over 75, providing me with a tidy income of close to $40/month. That revenue enabled me to accumulate a nice pile of $25 savings bonds, all stored in my parents’ safe deposit box in the town’s First National Bank.
Much to my surprise a newspaper delivery memory was unexpectedly retrieved last Friday evening. While I was planting bulbs in the garden, there was an end-of-fall-term reception in the Alumni House for faculty and staff. As I was returning to the garden shed to locate another sack of snowdrop bulbs, I stopped momentarily to look into the dining room. I was immediately transported to a December day in 1958, standing on the porch of a subscriber’s home, waiting for my monthly payment. It was getting dark, there was snow on the ground, the temperature was probably in the 20s, and my hands were cold. But what has remained so resonant for me is how lovely and warm the interior of their home appeared. A couple of lamps cast their living room in a lovely brown ambiance. The room had large sofa, a book case along one wall, and a dining area framed with dark wooden molding, a design I would later learn to classify as mission style. Their home looked to me so perfect, like a picture from the Saturday Evening Post. I thought how wonderful it would be to live in such a lovely home.
Friday afternoon, looking at the lighted Christmas tree and the warm glow of the candles in the dining room, I was again a teenager viewing a beautiful scene. Fortunately, the weather outdoors was much warmer than in that December 65 years ago, my hands were not cold, and I knew I still had time before it would be too dark to plant a few more bulbs. I suspect no one would have objected if I had entered the Alumni House, picked up a cookie, and joined the festivities. Of course, back in ‘58, stepping inside was not an option. I thanked them for their payment (which I distinctly remember as being two half dollars), got on my Western Auto bike, and pedaled to the next block with my green canvas bag full of newspapers. As for Friday afternoon, I chose to keep walking, pick up a yellow bag full of Galanthus bulbs, and return to the “G” bed, where I planted another 50 snowdrops.
Several weeks ago I received an email from a Coe faculty member who apparently assumed my gardening work was done for the year. While I didn’t attempt to correct that impression, the late fall is often the busiest time of the year in the garden. In addition to cleaning up and composting the year’s expired flowers and foliage, this is an intensive planting season. In the past five weeks we’ve planted over 3,300 spring-flowering bulbs, and I still have a couple hundred more to do. While over 3,000 feels like a huge number, it always surprises me how many bulbs it takes to fill a given area. Here is a quick summary of the bulbs planted since November 1:
• 100 ‘Purple Sensation’ Allium and 100 Allium Sphaerocephalon (Planted in several beds; to complement these same varieties planted in previous years.)
• 60 ‘Rosy Beauty’ Allium Carolinianum (This is a small, late blooming allium new to the garden; most of them planted in the “D” and “I” beds.)
• 5 Allium Universe and 25 Allium Nigrum (Most of these planted in the “D” bed.)
• 100 Brodiaea Laxa Corrina (A California native that over the years has been classified under a variety of scientific names; this is the first time I’ve ordered any of these “fool’s onions”; I ended up planting most of these bulbs along the stepping stone path in the “L” bed.)
• 50 Corydalis solida ‘Beth Evans’ (Planted in several groups in the “A1" bed south of the patio)
• 450 Van Engelen Crocus & 300 Colorblends Hokus Crocus (Planted in the two east lawn sections, where we have planted other varieties of crocus for the past four years; these new varieties are multiple colors: purple, white, yellow, etc.)
• 200 Eranthis cilicica (Winter aconites; 100 were planted in beds near the patio and the other 100 in the two east lawn sections.)
• 10 Fritillaria Imperialis rubra maxima (These went into the “E” and “J” tulip beds.)
• 10 Fritillaria raddeana (A first time for planting these bulbs; they were added to beds around the rain garden in the “G” bed.)
• 300 Fritillaria meleagris (Planted in groups of 10-25 bulbs throughout the garden)
• 300 Galanthus elwesi, 50 Galanthus novalis ‘Flore Pleno’ & 50 Galanthus hyppolyta (These snowdrops added to multiple beds, including 50 along the central walkway between the two east lawn sections.)
• 50 Iris Reticulata alida (A new variety of reticulated iris; added to the front area of several beds.)
• 20 Leucojum Gravetye Giant (These summer snowflakes added to several beds.)
• 100 Ornithogalum balansae (A diminutive Star of Bethlehem introduced in the front of several beds.)
• 50 Narcissus Gigantic Star and 100 Narcissus Avalanche (Most of these daffodils planted in borders around the rain garden.)
• 100 Minnow Daffodils (These were planted among the Purple-Leaf Loosestrife in the area behind the SE park bench.)
• 150 Poeticus recurvus (These Pheasant Eye Daffodils were planted around the peonies in the “M1" bed.)
• 100 Flair, 50 Beauty of Spring, 200 Banja Luka, 100 Tinka, and 50 Queen of Night Tulips (Most of these planted in the “E” & “J” beds.)
• 100 Praestans Shogun (Most of these tulips planted in front of the garden shed.)
• 25 Hyacinth Yellowstone (Most of these planted in the east end of the “I” bed, near the NE park bench; these are the first hyacinths I've planted since 2016.)
For two years in the 1950s, I delivered the Independence Daily Reporter to subscribers in my hometown in southeast Kansas. When I started the newspaper route in 1957, I had about 35 subscribers and earned 50 cents per month per subscriber. When I completed my last afternoon delivery in August of ‘59, the number of subscribers had increased to over 75, providing me with a tidy income of close to $40/month. That revenue enabled me to accumulate a nice pile of $25 savings bonds, all stored in my parents’ safe deposit box in the town’s First National Bank.
Much to my surprise a newspaper delivery memory was unexpectedly retrieved last Friday evening. While I was planting bulbs in the garden, there was an end-of-fall-term reception in the Alumni House for faculty and staff. As I was returning to the garden shed to locate another sack of snowdrop bulbs, I stopped momentarily to look into the dining room. I was immediately transported to a December day in 1958, standing on the porch of a subscriber’s home, waiting for my monthly payment. It was getting dark, there was snow on the ground, the temperature was probably in the 20s, and my hands were cold. But what has remained so resonant for me is how lovely and warm the interior of their home appeared. A couple of lamps cast their living room in a lovely brown ambiance. The room had large sofa, a book case along one wall, and a dining area framed with dark wooden molding, a design I would later learn to classify as mission style. Their home looked to me so perfect, like a picture from the Saturday Evening Post. I thought how wonderful it would be to live in such a lovely home.
Friday afternoon, looking at the lighted Christmas tree and the warm glow of the candles in the dining room, I was again a teenager viewing a beautiful scene. Fortunately, the weather outdoors was much warmer than in that December 65 years ago, my hands were not cold, and I knew I still had time before it would be too dark to plant a few more bulbs. I suspect no one would have objected if I had entered the Alumni House, picked up a cookie, and joined the festivities. Of course, back in ‘58, stepping inside was not an option. I thanked them for their payment (which I distinctly remember as being two half dollars), got on my Western Auto bike, and pedaled to the next block with my green canvas bag full of newspapers. As for Friday afternoon, I chose to keep walking, pick up a yellow bag full of Galanthus bulbs, and return to the “G” bed, where I planted another 50 snowdrops.
Several weeks ago I received an email from a Coe faculty member who apparently assumed my gardening work was done for the year. While I didn’t attempt to correct that impression, the late fall is often the busiest time of the year in the garden. In addition to cleaning up and composting the year’s expired flowers and foliage, this is an intensive planting season. In the past five weeks we’ve planted over 3,300 spring-flowering bulbs, and I still have a couple hundred more to do. While over 3,000 feels like a huge number, it always surprises me how many bulbs it takes to fill a given area. Here is a quick summary of the bulbs planted since November 1:
• 100 ‘Purple Sensation’ Allium and 100 Allium Sphaerocephalon (Planted in several beds; to complement these same varieties planted in previous years.)
• 60 ‘Rosy Beauty’ Allium Carolinianum (This is a small, late blooming allium new to the garden; most of them planted in the “D” and “I” beds.)
• 5 Allium Universe and 25 Allium Nigrum (Most of these planted in the “D” bed.)
• 100 Brodiaea Laxa Corrina (A California native that over the years has been classified under a variety of scientific names; this is the first time I’ve ordered any of these “fool’s onions”; I ended up planting most of these bulbs along the stepping stone path in the “L” bed.)
• 50 Corydalis solida ‘Beth Evans’ (Planted in several groups in the “A1" bed south of the patio)
• 450 Van Engelen Crocus & 300 Colorblends Hokus Crocus (Planted in the two east lawn sections, where we have planted other varieties of crocus for the past four years; these new varieties are multiple colors: purple, white, yellow, etc.)
• 200 Eranthis cilicica (Winter aconites; 100 were planted in beds near the patio and the other 100 in the two east lawn sections.)
• 10 Fritillaria Imperialis rubra maxima (These went into the “E” and “J” tulip beds.)
• 10 Fritillaria raddeana (A first time for planting these bulbs; they were added to beds around the rain garden in the “G” bed.)
• 300 Fritillaria meleagris (Planted in groups of 10-25 bulbs throughout the garden)
• 300 Galanthus elwesi, 50 Galanthus novalis ‘Flore Pleno’ & 50 Galanthus hyppolyta (These snowdrops added to multiple beds, including 50 along the central walkway between the two east lawn sections.)
• 50 Iris Reticulata alida (A new variety of reticulated iris; added to the front area of several beds.)
• 20 Leucojum Gravetye Giant (These summer snowflakes added to several beds.)
• 100 Ornithogalum balansae (A diminutive Star of Bethlehem introduced in the front of several beds.)
• 50 Narcissus Gigantic Star and 100 Narcissus Avalanche (Most of these daffodils planted in borders around the rain garden.)
• 100 Minnow Daffodils (These were planted among the Purple-Leaf Loosestrife in the area behind the SE park bench.)
• 150 Poeticus recurvus (These Pheasant Eye Daffodils were planted around the peonies in the “M1" bed.)
• 100 Flair, 50 Beauty of Spring, 200 Banja Luka, 100 Tinka, and 50 Queen of Night Tulips (Most of these planted in the “E” & “J” beds.)
• 100 Praestans Shogun (Most of these tulips planted in front of the garden shed.)
• 25 Hyacinth Yellowstone (Most of these planted in the east end of the “I” bed, near the NE park bench; these are the first hyacinths I've planted since 2016.)
Monday Morning Garden Report:
4 December 2023
When I arrived at the garden this morning (about 9:15 a.m.), the garden shed thermometer assured me the temperature was just below freezing. But to me, it felt much colder. Although there was not much wind, the air was damp, and the low, gray cloud cover gave no hint we would see the sun anytime soon. My gardening day had begun a couple hours earlier when I finished organizing the files for the 2024 Alumni House Garden Calendar. Last week I looked through over 800 garden photos from the past year, about half of which had been posted to the “Garden Walks” page. From that group, I identified 50 shots that I thought were candidates for the next calendar and posted them to the website’s “Garden Walks” page as a four-season stroll around the garden. My ultimate goal for the calendar was selecting 15 photos–one for each month plus front & back covers and a photo over a personal message page. I was hoping to assemble a group of photos that were in focus, were pleasing to look at, suggested the diversity of plants in the garden, represented the different seasons of the year, and included one or two broader views of the garden. As usual I chose to exclude any photos with people or with animals–despite several interesting portraits of a praying mantis. This morning I made the final choices, saved the files on a flash drive, and delivered the files to the printing company. By Thursday an initial copy should be ready for a final proofreading, and the 75 copies should be ready for distribution by the 18th.
The past week my gardening has focused on two small areas (each about 25 square feet) at the back of the “G” bed above the rain garden. In both areas, the initial emphasis has been on unwanted invaders. The primary challenge is controlling the swamp milkweed (Asclepias incarnata) and the northern sea oats (Chasmanthium latifolium). The milkweed was planted in this area before my arrival in 2014, and I have spent the past nine years trying–without much success–to constrain its exuberant root system. The Asclepias is a 4-5' tall North American native that is supposed to produce pinkish, pale-white blossoms and to attract Monarchs. For whatever reason, the milkweed’s blooming cycle in the Coe garden has been erratic, and I’ve never seen a butterfly caterpillar on any of the plants. I have allowed a few to remain among the viburnum next to the garden’s east-side wall. As I should have expected, their roots have moved under the wood-chip walkway, and the milkweed is now popping up in the rain garden and the perennial flower beds surrounding the rain garden.
Yesterday I worked in the garden for about four hours. I began the afternoon by planting 45 Praestans Shogun tulips next to the NE bench, in front of a few daffodils beginning to emerge in front of the Bacon plexiglass quote. I also planted about a dozen of these mid-season tulips in each of the two planters with the dwarf Joe Pyes in the “J” bed area. Returning to the NE corner, I planted a dozen Yellowstone hyacinths spaced among the rose campion. Once the hyacinths were in the ground, I filled the wheelbarrow with fresh compost. That project started with transferring a top layer of “stuff” from bin #2 to bin #3, giving me access to the compost in the bottom half of the bin. After pumping some air into the wheelbarrow’s tire, I filled the wheelbarrow with compost and spread the compost over several beds recently planted with daffodils and tulips. I then finished the day by returning to a bed along the east side of the rain garden, where I’m trying to remove the swamp milkweed (plus some sedge, hyssop, and river oats). This was my second time digging up the bed, searching for milkweed roots–and having no trouble finding ones I had missed the first time. The bed should now be ready for a mixture of daffodil bulbs that I hope to plant later this week. ~Bob
4 December 2023
When I arrived at the garden this morning (about 9:15 a.m.), the garden shed thermometer assured me the temperature was just below freezing. But to me, it felt much colder. Although there was not much wind, the air was damp, and the low, gray cloud cover gave no hint we would see the sun anytime soon. My gardening day had begun a couple hours earlier when I finished organizing the files for the 2024 Alumni House Garden Calendar. Last week I looked through over 800 garden photos from the past year, about half of which had been posted to the “Garden Walks” page. From that group, I identified 50 shots that I thought were candidates for the next calendar and posted them to the website’s “Garden Walks” page as a four-season stroll around the garden. My ultimate goal for the calendar was selecting 15 photos–one for each month plus front & back covers and a photo over a personal message page. I was hoping to assemble a group of photos that were in focus, were pleasing to look at, suggested the diversity of plants in the garden, represented the different seasons of the year, and included one or two broader views of the garden. As usual I chose to exclude any photos with people or with animals–despite several interesting portraits of a praying mantis. This morning I made the final choices, saved the files on a flash drive, and delivered the files to the printing company. By Thursday an initial copy should be ready for a final proofreading, and the 75 copies should be ready for distribution by the 18th.
The past week my gardening has focused on two small areas (each about 25 square feet) at the back of the “G” bed above the rain garden. In both areas, the initial emphasis has been on unwanted invaders. The primary challenge is controlling the swamp milkweed (Asclepias incarnata) and the northern sea oats (Chasmanthium latifolium). The milkweed was planted in this area before my arrival in 2014, and I have spent the past nine years trying–without much success–to constrain its exuberant root system. The Asclepias is a 4-5' tall North American native that is supposed to produce pinkish, pale-white blossoms and to attract Monarchs. For whatever reason, the milkweed’s blooming cycle in the Coe garden has been erratic, and I’ve never seen a butterfly caterpillar on any of the plants. I have allowed a few to remain among the viburnum next to the garden’s east-side wall. As I should have expected, their roots have moved under the wood-chip walkway, and the milkweed is now popping up in the rain garden and the perennial flower beds surrounding the rain garden.
Yesterday I worked in the garden for about four hours. I began the afternoon by planting 45 Praestans Shogun tulips next to the NE bench, in front of a few daffodils beginning to emerge in front of the Bacon plexiglass quote. I also planted about a dozen of these mid-season tulips in each of the two planters with the dwarf Joe Pyes in the “J” bed area. Returning to the NE corner, I planted a dozen Yellowstone hyacinths spaced among the rose campion. Once the hyacinths were in the ground, I filled the wheelbarrow with fresh compost. That project started with transferring a top layer of “stuff” from bin #2 to bin #3, giving me access to the compost in the bottom half of the bin. After pumping some air into the wheelbarrow’s tire, I filled the wheelbarrow with compost and spread the compost over several beds recently planted with daffodils and tulips. I then finished the day by returning to a bed along the east side of the rain garden, where I’m trying to remove the swamp milkweed (plus some sedge, hyssop, and river oats). This was my second time digging up the bed, searching for milkweed roots–and having no trouble finding ones I had missed the first time. The bed should now be ready for a mixture of daffodil bulbs that I hope to plant later this week. ~Bob
Monday Morning Garden Report: 28 November 2023
This week’s Monday came on a Tuesday. I arrived at the Coe garden at 9:00 a.m. and worked until noon. During those three hours, the temperature rose 15 degrees, from 11F to 26F. With the sun shining directly into the greenhouse, the indoor thermometer rose to over 70F, sufficiently warm that I could turn off the heater. Except for several unplanted bulbs, the only plants in the greenhouse are two rosemary that spend their winters inside. Because of the snow cover over most of the garden, I also spent most of my morning indoors.
My primary task for the day was organizing my records on bulbs that have been planted this fall and collecting into one bucket all the bulbs still to be planted after the snow has melted. Most of tulip, daffodil, fritillary, & summer snowflake bags are empty, but I still have half a bag of crocus and perhaps 200 remaining snowdrops, winter aconites, hyacinths, tulips, and reticulated iris that need a permanent home. It’s likely a few will be potted up for forcing in the early spring. Once the bulbs were gathered into one container, I started cleaning the work bench and re-stacking empty flower pots so they might fit under the bench. While cleaning up several pots, I discovered one full of potting soil that had five healthy-looking corms of peacock orchid (Gladiolus murielae). Fortunately, one of the bins for storing dahlias had a space in a corner for burying in peat these unexpected gifts and preserving them for the spring.
My next task was mixing up in a large plastic tub a new batch of potting soil. I don’t have a precise recipe, but I always start with an even mix of top soil and compost/manure. For seasoning I add bio-char, a fine-grain vermiculite, bonemeal, two organic fertilizers, a container of coco noir (which was previously mixed with a gallon of water and then allowed to dry out), and a cup or two of red wiggler poop. I began the morning by feeding my red wigglers a combination of shredded paper and kitchen food scraps (potato & carrot peelings, tea leaves, and dried beans that had begun to ferment). The red wigglers (Eisenia fetida) are known by a variety of common names, including manure worm, brandling worm, panfish worm, trout worm, and tiger worm. I’ve had these hard-working friends in my vermicomposter in the garden shed for about five years, and they seem contented as long as the temperature in the shed remains comfortably above freezing and they get fed a couple times a month. While I have a small Cuisinart blender for chopping up their meals prior to serving, most of this morning’s fare was already soft and ready for their digestive systems. As for the lovely earthworm poop, it’s moist and sticky when removed from the worm farm, and thus it can be a difficult integrating it with the potting soil’s other components. I had four other containers with food scraps (including a lot of tea leaves and egg shells) that I dumped outside into one of the four cedar composters at the east end of the garden. By next summer it should all be a lovely black humus, the garden’s primary fertilizer.
My two trips to the compost bins provided an excuse for taking a few minutes to observe and think about the current status of the garden. Except for the ever-blooming catmint and a few mums still blooming in the NE corner of the garden, the primary visual attractions would be the various dried seedheads (e.g., hundreds of composites in the aster/sunflower family) and the ornamental grasses: several varieties of miscanthus and switch grass, two large clumps of big bluestem and a clump of Sioux Blue Indian grass (although they are all significantly shorter than in previous years, probably because of the drought), the rambuntious river oats in the “G” bed’s rain garden (unfazed by the drought), a lovely pennisetum at the east end of the “D” bed, some blue fescue, and in the “K” bed two clumps of a short grass whose name I can never remember. I planted all these grasses and they are some of my favorite plants, but this garden’s arrangement is not congenial to highlighting their strengths. Many of them look their best when lit by a late afternoon sun or by a foggy morning when the garden is covered with hoarfrost. It would be rare for any visitors to visit the garden under either condition. It’s rare when I am in the garden with those conditions. I can’t recall a single instance that I’ve ever been in the garden when it was enveloped in fog.
I subscribe to three English garden magazines that frequently showcase gardens photographed with a veneer of frost over much of the garden’s foliage, accompanied by an early morning fog. Alas, no such conditions at Coe this morning. And yet, I try not to be disappointed by the absence of perfection. I’m an imperfect gardener in an imperfect garden, its shortcoming so often a reflection of my own shortcomings. But, still, this morning I could relish the pleasures of walking through a mature fall garden in the glorious morning sunshine. And I alone knew that hidden in the snow, directly in front of the Alumni House terrace, were two Galanthus elwesii, the first blooming snowdrops seen since last April, each less than 2" tall, each with one white bloom and tiny green dots, quietly conveying the message that another spring is on the way. ~Bob
This week’s Monday came on a Tuesday. I arrived at the Coe garden at 9:00 a.m. and worked until noon. During those three hours, the temperature rose 15 degrees, from 11F to 26F. With the sun shining directly into the greenhouse, the indoor thermometer rose to over 70F, sufficiently warm that I could turn off the heater. Except for several unplanted bulbs, the only plants in the greenhouse are two rosemary that spend their winters inside. Because of the snow cover over most of the garden, I also spent most of my morning indoors.
My primary task for the day was organizing my records on bulbs that have been planted this fall and collecting into one bucket all the bulbs still to be planted after the snow has melted. Most of tulip, daffodil, fritillary, & summer snowflake bags are empty, but I still have half a bag of crocus and perhaps 200 remaining snowdrops, winter aconites, hyacinths, tulips, and reticulated iris that need a permanent home. It’s likely a few will be potted up for forcing in the early spring. Once the bulbs were gathered into one container, I started cleaning the work bench and re-stacking empty flower pots so they might fit under the bench. While cleaning up several pots, I discovered one full of potting soil that had five healthy-looking corms of peacock orchid (Gladiolus murielae). Fortunately, one of the bins for storing dahlias had a space in a corner for burying in peat these unexpected gifts and preserving them for the spring.
My next task was mixing up in a large plastic tub a new batch of potting soil. I don’t have a precise recipe, but I always start with an even mix of top soil and compost/manure. For seasoning I add bio-char, a fine-grain vermiculite, bonemeal, two organic fertilizers, a container of coco noir (which was previously mixed with a gallon of water and then allowed to dry out), and a cup or two of red wiggler poop. I began the morning by feeding my red wigglers a combination of shredded paper and kitchen food scraps (potato & carrot peelings, tea leaves, and dried beans that had begun to ferment). The red wigglers (Eisenia fetida) are known by a variety of common names, including manure worm, brandling worm, panfish worm, trout worm, and tiger worm. I’ve had these hard-working friends in my vermicomposter in the garden shed for about five years, and they seem contented as long as the temperature in the shed remains comfortably above freezing and they get fed a couple times a month. While I have a small Cuisinart blender for chopping up their meals prior to serving, most of this morning’s fare was already soft and ready for their digestive systems. As for the lovely earthworm poop, it’s moist and sticky when removed from the worm farm, and thus it can be a difficult integrating it with the potting soil’s other components. I had four other containers with food scraps (including a lot of tea leaves and egg shells) that I dumped outside into one of the four cedar composters at the east end of the garden. By next summer it should all be a lovely black humus, the garden’s primary fertilizer.
My two trips to the compost bins provided an excuse for taking a few minutes to observe and think about the current status of the garden. Except for the ever-blooming catmint and a few mums still blooming in the NE corner of the garden, the primary visual attractions would be the various dried seedheads (e.g., hundreds of composites in the aster/sunflower family) and the ornamental grasses: several varieties of miscanthus and switch grass, two large clumps of big bluestem and a clump of Sioux Blue Indian grass (although they are all significantly shorter than in previous years, probably because of the drought), the rambuntious river oats in the “G” bed’s rain garden (unfazed by the drought), a lovely pennisetum at the east end of the “D” bed, some blue fescue, and in the “K” bed two clumps of a short grass whose name I can never remember. I planted all these grasses and they are some of my favorite plants, but this garden’s arrangement is not congenial to highlighting their strengths. Many of them look their best when lit by a late afternoon sun or by a foggy morning when the garden is covered with hoarfrost. It would be rare for any visitors to visit the garden under either condition. It’s rare when I am in the garden with those conditions. I can’t recall a single instance that I’ve ever been in the garden when it was enveloped in fog.
I subscribe to three English garden magazines that frequently showcase gardens photographed with a veneer of frost over much of the garden’s foliage, accompanied by an early morning fog. Alas, no such conditions at Coe this morning. And yet, I try not to be disappointed by the absence of perfection. I’m an imperfect gardener in an imperfect garden, its shortcoming so often a reflection of my own shortcomings. But, still, this morning I could relish the pleasures of walking through a mature fall garden in the glorious morning sunshine. And I alone knew that hidden in the snow, directly in front of the Alumni House terrace, were two Galanthus elwesii, the first blooming snowdrops seen since last April, each less than 2" tall, each with one white bloom and tiny green dots, quietly conveying the message that another spring is on the way. ~Bob
Monday Morning Garden Report: 20 November 2023
This past week I’ve been obsessed with getting spring-flowering bulbs planted before the ground freezes. On Tuesday of last week, in an effort to prepare the “D” bed for planting a variety of bulbs, I dug up and removed all the Canada goldenrod I could find. This is a tricky endeavor. The goldenrod not only resembles its relatives the coneflowers and phlox but its web of roots extends under many of the plants I want to preserve. While I admire the goldenrod and its many ecological benefits, the garden has far more Solidago than necessary, and it runs roughshod over its smaller, less aggressive associates. Although many goldenrod and their roots (not to mention its thousands of seeds) certainly evaded this purging, I’m pleased to see space for several desirable additions.
My next big task was removing three false indigo (Baptisia australis) that have popped up in front of the dwarf lilac bush. My respect for the native Baptisia is similar to how I feel about the goldenrod: wonderful plants but not right for this space. So I dug up the three Baptisia and transported them to Buffalo United Methodist, where they were promptly planted along a fence line that prior to the derecho had been occupied by several hackberry trees. Once the Baptisia were transplanted, I dug up a large tansy and re-positioned it three feet closer to the rear of the bed, directly in front of the evergreen yews. This small adjustment expands the area for new flowers. I also increased the available space by pruning the lower and internal branches of the lilac. While this trimming will reduce next spring’s blossom count, the bed now looks less cluttered, and it’s nice to see the lilac less oppressed by its neighbors.
Once the mid-section of the “D” bed was cleaned up, I planted 45 Purple Sensation Allium in three groups: one large colony where the tansy had previously been located and two smaller groups in front of the lilac and at the east end of the bed. I also planted five Purple Sensations in the south end of the “C” bed, hoping to establish a stronger visual link between the two beds. My next step was planting five Allium Universe in the “D” bed. According to the catalog, these late bloomers should produce volley-ball size flower globes. The bulbs are big and expensive, over $6/bulb. Two of them went in front of the lilac and three were assigned to an area 15' to the east in front of a swath of Joe Pye weeds. Much to my regret, in this latter location my bulb planter cut through several daffodil bulbs in hiding. I replanted the daffodils, hoping they might recover–but no guarantees.To conclude my “D” planting for the fall, I used my dibber to plant about 40 Tinka tulips in several groups along the front of the bed. These small Tulipa clusiana hybrids have small yellow and red blooms that only last a few days, but they are so delightful and if the conditions are to their liking, they might even expand their numbers and naturalize.
On Thursday I began my afternoon at Coe by mowing the four lawn quadrants, the last time we’ll need the lawn mower until the spring. I attached the grass catcher for the two west-side sections so I could remove the crab tree leaves that had fallen on the lawn. I also mowed the purple-leaf loosestrife behind the SE bench. That cleared the area for planting 50 of Van Engelen’s Giant Star daffodil bulbs. They should provide large-cupped yellow blooms in mid to late spring. The bulbs were quite hefty and most had one or two attached offspring so I had to use the big bulb planter and make double holes. Fortunately the soil was pliable and In only a couple instances did my bulb planter engage with any large crab tree roots.
By Friday morning the cold front had arrived, so I started the day working in the garden shed, editing and posting to the garden website a slideshow that featured garden photos from June and July. I then moved into the greenhouse and began storing dahlia tubers I had dug up two weeks ago. Once the outdoor temperature reached the low 40s (about 11:00 a.m.), I moved outside with a bucket of crocus for planting in the NE lawn quadrant. These bulbs were too large for planting with the dibber so I used the electric drill with the soil auger. While I prefer planting bulbs with the dibber, the electric drill does make the process go much faster–plus the auger pulls up soil that can be used for covering a bulb after it’s been inserted into the hole. On Saturday I continued planting crocus in the lawn. Despite the summer’s drought and a vigorous crop of crabgrass, the lawn looks surprisingly fresh and healthy, and it’s hard to find any bare spots for planting more crocus. Since the old crocus bulbs are well-hidden, there’s always the prospect of accidentally tearing up a crocus bulb planted in previous years. This is the 4th year we’ve been planting crocus in the two east-side lawn sections. For the first two years we planted about 400 Tommies each year, and it was evident this past spring that many of those species crocus have not survived–and some that did survive did not bloom. In the fall of 2022 we planted a hybrid mix with larger purple or golden-yellow blooms, and a decent percentage emerged and bloomed last spring, but I have no idea how many of that cohort will re-appear this coming spring. This year we’re trying a third variety. The bulbs look healthy, and perhaps this coming spring we will finally have enough crocus in bloom to create a significant visual impact. And there’s always a chance they will begin to naturalize and eventually create an expansive carpet of crocus blooms. ~Bob
This past week I’ve been obsessed with getting spring-flowering bulbs planted before the ground freezes. On Tuesday of last week, in an effort to prepare the “D” bed for planting a variety of bulbs, I dug up and removed all the Canada goldenrod I could find. This is a tricky endeavor. The goldenrod not only resembles its relatives the coneflowers and phlox but its web of roots extends under many of the plants I want to preserve. While I admire the goldenrod and its many ecological benefits, the garden has far more Solidago than necessary, and it runs roughshod over its smaller, less aggressive associates. Although many goldenrod and their roots (not to mention its thousands of seeds) certainly evaded this purging, I’m pleased to see space for several desirable additions.
My next big task was removing three false indigo (Baptisia australis) that have popped up in front of the dwarf lilac bush. My respect for the native Baptisia is similar to how I feel about the goldenrod: wonderful plants but not right for this space. So I dug up the three Baptisia and transported them to Buffalo United Methodist, where they were promptly planted along a fence line that prior to the derecho had been occupied by several hackberry trees. Once the Baptisia were transplanted, I dug up a large tansy and re-positioned it three feet closer to the rear of the bed, directly in front of the evergreen yews. This small adjustment expands the area for new flowers. I also increased the available space by pruning the lower and internal branches of the lilac. While this trimming will reduce next spring’s blossom count, the bed now looks less cluttered, and it’s nice to see the lilac less oppressed by its neighbors.
Once the mid-section of the “D” bed was cleaned up, I planted 45 Purple Sensation Allium in three groups: one large colony where the tansy had previously been located and two smaller groups in front of the lilac and at the east end of the bed. I also planted five Purple Sensations in the south end of the “C” bed, hoping to establish a stronger visual link between the two beds. My next step was planting five Allium Universe in the “D” bed. According to the catalog, these late bloomers should produce volley-ball size flower globes. The bulbs are big and expensive, over $6/bulb. Two of them went in front of the lilac and three were assigned to an area 15' to the east in front of a swath of Joe Pye weeds. Much to my regret, in this latter location my bulb planter cut through several daffodil bulbs in hiding. I replanted the daffodils, hoping they might recover–but no guarantees.To conclude my “D” planting for the fall, I used my dibber to plant about 40 Tinka tulips in several groups along the front of the bed. These small Tulipa clusiana hybrids have small yellow and red blooms that only last a few days, but they are so delightful and if the conditions are to their liking, they might even expand their numbers and naturalize.
On Thursday I began my afternoon at Coe by mowing the four lawn quadrants, the last time we’ll need the lawn mower until the spring. I attached the grass catcher for the two west-side sections so I could remove the crab tree leaves that had fallen on the lawn. I also mowed the purple-leaf loosestrife behind the SE bench. That cleared the area for planting 50 of Van Engelen’s Giant Star daffodil bulbs. They should provide large-cupped yellow blooms in mid to late spring. The bulbs were quite hefty and most had one or two attached offspring so I had to use the big bulb planter and make double holes. Fortunately the soil was pliable and In only a couple instances did my bulb planter engage with any large crab tree roots.
By Friday morning the cold front had arrived, so I started the day working in the garden shed, editing and posting to the garden website a slideshow that featured garden photos from June and July. I then moved into the greenhouse and began storing dahlia tubers I had dug up two weeks ago. Once the outdoor temperature reached the low 40s (about 11:00 a.m.), I moved outside with a bucket of crocus for planting in the NE lawn quadrant. These bulbs were too large for planting with the dibber so I used the electric drill with the soil auger. While I prefer planting bulbs with the dibber, the electric drill does make the process go much faster–plus the auger pulls up soil that can be used for covering a bulb after it’s been inserted into the hole. On Saturday I continued planting crocus in the lawn. Despite the summer’s drought and a vigorous crop of crabgrass, the lawn looks surprisingly fresh and healthy, and it’s hard to find any bare spots for planting more crocus. Since the old crocus bulbs are well-hidden, there’s always the prospect of accidentally tearing up a crocus bulb planted in previous years. This is the 4th year we’ve been planting crocus in the two east-side lawn sections. For the first two years we planted about 400 Tommies each year, and it was evident this past spring that many of those species crocus have not survived–and some that did survive did not bloom. In the fall of 2022 we planted a hybrid mix with larger purple or golden-yellow blooms, and a decent percentage emerged and bloomed last spring, but I have no idea how many of that cohort will re-appear this coming spring. This year we’re trying a third variety. The bulbs look healthy, and perhaps this coming spring we will finally have enough crocus in bloom to create a significant visual impact. And there’s always a chance they will begin to naturalize and eventually create an expansive carpet of crocus blooms. ~Bob
Monday Morning Garden Report:
13 November 2023
Another gorgeous mid-November day with sunshine and a mid-afternoon temp reaching 65F, 15 degrees above the average “normal” for this time of the year. Fortunately some students were aware of the weather, and the garden had a steady stream of visitors through the afternoon: several studying, a couple intent on communicating via their cell phones, two eating late lunches. Meanwhile, the gardener was focused on hiding more bulbs in the ground. Last week, a student assistant cut back the old peony foliage in the “M1" bed by the NW garden gate. On Saturday and Sunday I planted 150 daffodils randomly distributed around those peony roots. I chose to go with Narcissus poeticus var. recurvus (common name, pheasant’s eye), a variety which produces fragrant, solitary 1-2" wide flowers with white petals and small, shallow, yellow red-rimmed centers. They are relatively late to flower, but the blooms can last for 2-3 weeks, even when confronting unseasonably warm temperatures. If they are happy with this location, they should naturalize.
As for Monday’s gardening, I began by planting 100 bulbs of Fritillaria meleagris-- known by such common names as checkered lily, snake’s-head fritillary, and guinea-hen flower. I prefer the guinea-hen moniker because we grew guinea birds on the family farm in Kansas, and the gray-purple checkered pattern really does resemble the patterns on the birds’ feathers. Several years ago I planted two dozen F. meleagris near the rain garden in the “G” bed. They initially did fine but the area is now over-run with gooseneck loosestrife (Lysimachia clethroides), a relentless invader that once established is very difficult to control or eradicate. Last spring one guinea fowl bloom appeared before disappearing into the loosestrife jungle. Although these fritillary probably prefer an area with some afternoon shade, I chose to plant these small bulbs in five beds where they will have to endure some intense summer heat–but at least they will not need to compete with any loosestrife:
• A large group near the viburnum at the NE corner of the “C” bed; in this location their competition will be with a perennial artemisia that can be as difficult to control as the loosestrife.
• A small group of fritillary on the south edge of the “L” bed, across the gravel walkway from the “C” colony.
• Two small groups planted under the yews next to the walkway east of the patio; along with these fritillary I planted several groups of Galanthus elwesii (snowdrops).
• One group in a corner of the “Cyclone” Kennedy Memorial Butterfly Garden.
• Two groups by a patch of lady’s mantle in the “M1" bed.
The fritillary bulbs are quite small and easy to plant with a dibber. After planting my 100 bulbs, I pulled out my Gerard Herbal to be reminded what this eminent 16th century herbalist wrote about these flowers. Here is his introductory paragraph on the “Turkie or Ginny-hen Floure”:
The Checquered Daffodill, or Ginny-hen Floure, hath small narrow grassie leaves; among which there riseth up a stalke three hands high, having at the top one or two floures, and sometimes three, which consisteth of six small leaves checquered most strangely: where Nature, or rather the Creator of all things, hath kept a very wonderfull order, surpassing (as in all other things) the curiousest painting that Art can set downe. One square is of a greenish yellow colour, the other purple, keeping the same order as well on the backside of the floure as on the inside, although they are blackish in one square, and of a Violet colour in an other; insomuch that every leafe seemeth to be the feather of a Ginny hen, where it tooke his name. The root is small, white, and of the bigness of halfe a garden beane.
Such a delightful description, particularly the comparison of the root to the “bigness of halfe a garden beane.”
I concluded my day of gardening by planting 25 Allium Nigrum. These are mid-sized ornamental onion bulbs that should produce white flower balls late in the spring. The majority went into the NE corner of the “C” bed, not far from the “Ginny-hen Floure” bulbs. Although the “C” bed has a group of ornamental onions mixed in with the daylilies running through the middle of the bed, the NE quarter does not have any allium –an oversight now remedied. I had already cleaned up most of the “C” bed, so this planting went quickly. Since we had several inches of rain in October, followed by two weeks of dry weather, the soil is ideal for planting. The only hitch was that in using my bulb planter to make a hole for an allium bulb, I dug up a clutch of daffodil bulbs in a location where I did not recall any daffodils were planted. The large “mother bulb” was badly damaged, but the attached offspring appeared unharmed so I re-buried the family in their original location.
Once I was finished planting the allium in the “C” bed, I had seven bulbs for planting under the SW flowering crab, the tree that provides shade for the garden’s new picnic table. Since this area had not been recently cleaned up, I spent an hour cutting back a couple dozen crab tree suckers and pulling up several night shade and another weed whose name I do not know–though I do know it produces little brown furry burs that eagerly attach to clothing or exposed skin. In raking up the leaves I discovered the tips of Leucojum aestivum foliage just beginning to poke through the soil. It was surprising how difficult it was to locate where the hostas are planted. The area under the flowering crab tree is covered with hostas, but this summer they produced very little foliage and almost no flowers. Their restrained public display was probably caused by the severe drought and my decision not to water them, assuming these well-shaded hostas could survive a summer without much moisture. Fortunately, I managed to plant the remaining seven allium without disturbing any hostas or summer snowflakes (in Iowa the L. aestivum bloom in May, not in the summer). ~Bob
13 November 2023
Another gorgeous mid-November day with sunshine and a mid-afternoon temp reaching 65F, 15 degrees above the average “normal” for this time of the year. Fortunately some students were aware of the weather, and the garden had a steady stream of visitors through the afternoon: several studying, a couple intent on communicating via their cell phones, two eating late lunches. Meanwhile, the gardener was focused on hiding more bulbs in the ground. Last week, a student assistant cut back the old peony foliage in the “M1" bed by the NW garden gate. On Saturday and Sunday I planted 150 daffodils randomly distributed around those peony roots. I chose to go with Narcissus poeticus var. recurvus (common name, pheasant’s eye), a variety which produces fragrant, solitary 1-2" wide flowers with white petals and small, shallow, yellow red-rimmed centers. They are relatively late to flower, but the blooms can last for 2-3 weeks, even when confronting unseasonably warm temperatures. If they are happy with this location, they should naturalize.
As for Monday’s gardening, I began by planting 100 bulbs of Fritillaria meleagris-- known by such common names as checkered lily, snake’s-head fritillary, and guinea-hen flower. I prefer the guinea-hen moniker because we grew guinea birds on the family farm in Kansas, and the gray-purple checkered pattern really does resemble the patterns on the birds’ feathers. Several years ago I planted two dozen F. meleagris near the rain garden in the “G” bed. They initially did fine but the area is now over-run with gooseneck loosestrife (Lysimachia clethroides), a relentless invader that once established is very difficult to control or eradicate. Last spring one guinea fowl bloom appeared before disappearing into the loosestrife jungle. Although these fritillary probably prefer an area with some afternoon shade, I chose to plant these small bulbs in five beds where they will have to endure some intense summer heat–but at least they will not need to compete with any loosestrife:
• A large group near the viburnum at the NE corner of the “C” bed; in this location their competition will be with a perennial artemisia that can be as difficult to control as the loosestrife.
• A small group of fritillary on the south edge of the “L” bed, across the gravel walkway from the “C” colony.
• Two small groups planted under the yews next to the walkway east of the patio; along with these fritillary I planted several groups of Galanthus elwesii (snowdrops).
• One group in a corner of the “Cyclone” Kennedy Memorial Butterfly Garden.
• Two groups by a patch of lady’s mantle in the “M1" bed.
The fritillary bulbs are quite small and easy to plant with a dibber. After planting my 100 bulbs, I pulled out my Gerard Herbal to be reminded what this eminent 16th century herbalist wrote about these flowers. Here is his introductory paragraph on the “Turkie or Ginny-hen Floure”:
The Checquered Daffodill, or Ginny-hen Floure, hath small narrow grassie leaves; among which there riseth up a stalke three hands high, having at the top one or two floures, and sometimes three, which consisteth of six small leaves checquered most strangely: where Nature, or rather the Creator of all things, hath kept a very wonderfull order, surpassing (as in all other things) the curiousest painting that Art can set downe. One square is of a greenish yellow colour, the other purple, keeping the same order as well on the backside of the floure as on the inside, although they are blackish in one square, and of a Violet colour in an other; insomuch that every leafe seemeth to be the feather of a Ginny hen, where it tooke his name. The root is small, white, and of the bigness of halfe a garden beane.
Such a delightful description, particularly the comparison of the root to the “bigness of halfe a garden beane.”
I concluded my day of gardening by planting 25 Allium Nigrum. These are mid-sized ornamental onion bulbs that should produce white flower balls late in the spring. The majority went into the NE corner of the “C” bed, not far from the “Ginny-hen Floure” bulbs. Although the “C” bed has a group of ornamental onions mixed in with the daylilies running through the middle of the bed, the NE quarter does not have any allium –an oversight now remedied. I had already cleaned up most of the “C” bed, so this planting went quickly. Since we had several inches of rain in October, followed by two weeks of dry weather, the soil is ideal for planting. The only hitch was that in using my bulb planter to make a hole for an allium bulb, I dug up a clutch of daffodil bulbs in a location where I did not recall any daffodils were planted. The large “mother bulb” was badly damaged, but the attached offspring appeared unharmed so I re-buried the family in their original location.
Once I was finished planting the allium in the “C” bed, I had seven bulbs for planting under the SW flowering crab, the tree that provides shade for the garden’s new picnic table. Since this area had not been recently cleaned up, I spent an hour cutting back a couple dozen crab tree suckers and pulling up several night shade and another weed whose name I do not know–though I do know it produces little brown furry burs that eagerly attach to clothing or exposed skin. In raking up the leaves I discovered the tips of Leucojum aestivum foliage just beginning to poke through the soil. It was surprising how difficult it was to locate where the hostas are planted. The area under the flowering crab tree is covered with hostas, but this summer they produced very little foliage and almost no flowers. Their restrained public display was probably caused by the severe drought and my decision not to water them, assuming these well-shaded hostas could survive a summer without much moisture. Fortunately, I managed to plant the remaining seven allium without disturbing any hostas or summer snowflakes (in Iowa the L. aestivum bloom in May, not in the summer). ~Bob
Monday Morning Garden Report:
26 October 2023
This week’s Monday came on a Thursday, 26 October, over two weeks since my last time working in the garden. For the past fifteen days, my wife and I have been traveling in Great Britain, renewing contacts with old friends and visiting over a dozen gardens in Wales and London. As I unlocked the Alumni House Garden’s east gate, I felt like I was still in my “garden visitor mode,” arriving for a stroll around an unfamiliar garden–similar to the day I visited the Aberglasney garden in southern Wales. I was not thinking about unfinished tasks or future plant orders. I was just a guy enjoying a few minutes in someone else’s garden space. The illusion was assisted by Thursday’s weather, reminiscent of October in Great Britain: cool, overcast, occasional mist and light rain, perfect for encountering an English-style garden in the autumn.
My initial impression was of a garden in its peak fall colors with an informal blending of oranges and russets and browns and yellow foliage framed by the tall, dark green yews along the outer walls. Of course, none of these appealing juxtapositions in color and texture reflect any planning on my part. While I occasionally attempt to balance and blend summer season flowers, I leave it to Mother Nature to do whatever seems best in the spring and fall. My inclinations lean toward the laissez-faire, and I usually feel nature does a darn good job without any interference from me. The early arrivals In April and the late departures in October are all most welcome. Also most welcome was to discover the garden’s rain gauge had accumulated over 3 ½" of rain while we were abroad–more rain than we had enjoyed in the previous two months.
As we enter the final months of the year, the ornamental grasses are now enjoying their prime season in Coe’s walled garden. Although the shadows of the Alumni House interfere with the late afternoon sunlight illuminating the taller grass seedheads, it was a delight even on this gray afternoon to see so many of the perennial grasses in full display. I was particularly pleased with the tall variegated miscanthus in the “L” bed. Three years ago that miscanthus was planted in hopes it might complement the older striped miscanthus in the “C” bed. The youngster, however, has different genes and has grown double the height of its elder. Fortunately, the newer miscanthus has remained erect and relatively restrained within its steel plant support. Due to my lax pruning schedule, the matching standard viburnums in the corners of each bed have expand their profile, helping the new miscanthus merge more effectively into its neighborhood.
During my 15-minute walk, I reflected on how my perceptions of the garden in late October resemble my responses in the early weeks of spring. In both time zones, there are few masses of blooming flowers. In March we may have clumps of blooming reticulated iris in the crevice garden or an exuberant colony of crocus, but in most instances what catches my attention will be individual blooms–perhaps a single snowdrop or a random sprinkling of winter aconites popping up in last fall’s mulch. I had a similar sensation today. There were a few small areas with a significant gathering of blooms: the clusters of fall mums in the “I” bed and the two dahlia beds facing each other in the middle of the garden. There were also the reliable tall verbena (Verbena bonariensis) evident in many beds and the dozen or more toad lilies (Tricyrtis hirta) toward the back of the “G” bed, close to the wind chimes. The toad lily plants produce tall stalks with clusters of small, orchid-like white flowers sprinkled with tiny purple spots. I find them extraordinarily attractive.
But what proved most satisfying in today’s visit were the encounters with single blooms in unexpected locations. Here is a quick list of surprises:
• The tiny pale pink blooms on a Tall Thai Tower basil in the herb garden, a confirmation that the garden had not yet experienced temperatures dipping below the freezing mark. Also in the herb garden were fresh blooms on a rosemary (which will soon be moved into the greenhouse) and the small lavender at the back of the bed.
• On opposite sides of the garden, two lone zinnia plants, each with a single bloom.
• Two anemones, south of the patio, one plant with several soft magenta petals, he other with small white petals.
• Several plains coreopsis at the edge of a dahlia bed, their yellow and dark burgundy blossoms neatly complementing the nearby Bishop of Llandaff dahlia foliage.
• A few New England asters with a few blossoms, weeks after their peak displays in September.
• Two platycodon, an unexpected pink balloon flower in front of the Alumni House patio and a large blue flower under the pergola; nearby was a late-blooming spiderwort with a beautiful blue blossom, which will be gone tomorrow.
• Several azure salvia in the middle of the “I” bed.
• A single purple coneflower in the newly reconstructed Kennedy Memorial rock garden. The coneflower was only planted a month ago. There was also a group of pink coneflowers just outside the NW gate.
• West of the rock garden is the monster honeysuckle vine, which has continued to produce a blossoms throughout the summer. I did spend a minute holding the blossoms close to my nose, enjoying that exquisite honeysuckle fragrance. There is also a nearby red rose, but alas it’s a modern rose and is just a pretty face, designed for the eye and not the nose.
• A lone yellow daylily, probably a stella d’oro; this daylily plant was cut to the ground after completing its summer bloom cycle but has generated a new crop of fresh green foliage and a flower stalk with several buds.
• Several pink turtlehead blooms in the rain garden; both of the Chelone varieties were set back by the dry summer, but these dudes are super tough and their blooms look much healthier than they did in September.
• A cluster of yellow button-like blooms on one of the garden’s two tansy plants. There’s also a lovely small fleabane and the year’s last white cosmos blooming among the dahlias in the “J” bed. Most unexpected are two delicate-looking, pink and white dianthus blooms in the raised east “J” bed.
• Two small foxglove were blooming in the “A1" bed south of the patio, plants started from seed earlier this spring in the greenhouse. I did not expect them to produce any flowers this year, but both plants have short flower stalks with several lovely white blossoms and more on the way. Nearby is one of the miniature tobacco plants with a couple of small yellow blooms.
While it was a most enjoyable visit, I could feel my inner gardener awakening, beginning to think about the tasks needing my attention. Over 3,000 bulbs have been ordered, ones that must be planted before the ground freezes. And there will be plenty of thinning and pruning and composting and mulching before the snow arrives. No more casual strolling in the next few weeks. ~Bob
26 October 2023
This week’s Monday came on a Thursday, 26 October, over two weeks since my last time working in the garden. For the past fifteen days, my wife and I have been traveling in Great Britain, renewing contacts with old friends and visiting over a dozen gardens in Wales and London. As I unlocked the Alumni House Garden’s east gate, I felt like I was still in my “garden visitor mode,” arriving for a stroll around an unfamiliar garden–similar to the day I visited the Aberglasney garden in southern Wales. I was not thinking about unfinished tasks or future plant orders. I was just a guy enjoying a few minutes in someone else’s garden space. The illusion was assisted by Thursday’s weather, reminiscent of October in Great Britain: cool, overcast, occasional mist and light rain, perfect for encountering an English-style garden in the autumn.
My initial impression was of a garden in its peak fall colors with an informal blending of oranges and russets and browns and yellow foliage framed by the tall, dark green yews along the outer walls. Of course, none of these appealing juxtapositions in color and texture reflect any planning on my part. While I occasionally attempt to balance and blend summer season flowers, I leave it to Mother Nature to do whatever seems best in the spring and fall. My inclinations lean toward the laissez-faire, and I usually feel nature does a darn good job without any interference from me. The early arrivals In April and the late departures in October are all most welcome. Also most welcome was to discover the garden’s rain gauge had accumulated over 3 ½" of rain while we were abroad–more rain than we had enjoyed in the previous two months.
As we enter the final months of the year, the ornamental grasses are now enjoying their prime season in Coe’s walled garden. Although the shadows of the Alumni House interfere with the late afternoon sunlight illuminating the taller grass seedheads, it was a delight even on this gray afternoon to see so many of the perennial grasses in full display. I was particularly pleased with the tall variegated miscanthus in the “L” bed. Three years ago that miscanthus was planted in hopes it might complement the older striped miscanthus in the “C” bed. The youngster, however, has different genes and has grown double the height of its elder. Fortunately, the newer miscanthus has remained erect and relatively restrained within its steel plant support. Due to my lax pruning schedule, the matching standard viburnums in the corners of each bed have expand their profile, helping the new miscanthus merge more effectively into its neighborhood.
During my 15-minute walk, I reflected on how my perceptions of the garden in late October resemble my responses in the early weeks of spring. In both time zones, there are few masses of blooming flowers. In March we may have clumps of blooming reticulated iris in the crevice garden or an exuberant colony of crocus, but in most instances what catches my attention will be individual blooms–perhaps a single snowdrop or a random sprinkling of winter aconites popping up in last fall’s mulch. I had a similar sensation today. There were a few small areas with a significant gathering of blooms: the clusters of fall mums in the “I” bed and the two dahlia beds facing each other in the middle of the garden. There were also the reliable tall verbena (Verbena bonariensis) evident in many beds and the dozen or more toad lilies (Tricyrtis hirta) toward the back of the “G” bed, close to the wind chimes. The toad lily plants produce tall stalks with clusters of small, orchid-like white flowers sprinkled with tiny purple spots. I find them extraordinarily attractive.
But what proved most satisfying in today’s visit were the encounters with single blooms in unexpected locations. Here is a quick list of surprises:
• The tiny pale pink blooms on a Tall Thai Tower basil in the herb garden, a confirmation that the garden had not yet experienced temperatures dipping below the freezing mark. Also in the herb garden were fresh blooms on a rosemary (which will soon be moved into the greenhouse) and the small lavender at the back of the bed.
• On opposite sides of the garden, two lone zinnia plants, each with a single bloom.
• Two anemones, south of the patio, one plant with several soft magenta petals, he other with small white petals.
• Several plains coreopsis at the edge of a dahlia bed, their yellow and dark burgundy blossoms neatly complementing the nearby Bishop of Llandaff dahlia foliage.
• A few New England asters with a few blossoms, weeks after their peak displays in September.
• Two platycodon, an unexpected pink balloon flower in front of the Alumni House patio and a large blue flower under the pergola; nearby was a late-blooming spiderwort with a beautiful blue blossom, which will be gone tomorrow.
• Several azure salvia in the middle of the “I” bed.
• A single purple coneflower in the newly reconstructed Kennedy Memorial rock garden. The coneflower was only planted a month ago. There was also a group of pink coneflowers just outside the NW gate.
• West of the rock garden is the monster honeysuckle vine, which has continued to produce a blossoms throughout the summer. I did spend a minute holding the blossoms close to my nose, enjoying that exquisite honeysuckle fragrance. There is also a nearby red rose, but alas it’s a modern rose and is just a pretty face, designed for the eye and not the nose.
• A lone yellow daylily, probably a stella d’oro; this daylily plant was cut to the ground after completing its summer bloom cycle but has generated a new crop of fresh green foliage and a flower stalk with several buds.
• Several pink turtlehead blooms in the rain garden; both of the Chelone varieties were set back by the dry summer, but these dudes are super tough and their blooms look much healthier than they did in September.
• A cluster of yellow button-like blooms on one of the garden’s two tansy plants. There’s also a lovely small fleabane and the year’s last white cosmos blooming among the dahlias in the “J” bed. Most unexpected are two delicate-looking, pink and white dianthus blooms in the raised east “J” bed.
• Two small foxglove were blooming in the “A1" bed south of the patio, plants started from seed earlier this spring in the greenhouse. I did not expect them to produce any flowers this year, but both plants have short flower stalks with several lovely white blossoms and more on the way. Nearby is one of the miniature tobacco plants with a couple of small yellow blooms.
While it was a most enjoyable visit, I could feel my inner gardener awakening, beginning to think about the tasks needing my attention. Over 3,000 bulbs have been ordered, ones that must be planted before the ground freezes. And there will be plenty of thinning and pruning and composting and mulching before the snow arrives. No more casual strolling in the next few weeks. ~Bob
Monday Morning Garden Report:
4 September 2023
After two hours gardening, I decided to take a break, sitting on the SE bench in the shade of a crab apple. According to the garden shed thermometer, the temp is 80F & 60% humidity. As I scan the sky for clouds, I see a pale, white, waning gibbous moon on its westward journey. On the lawn, a squirrel with a small nut in its mouth is digging up the soil and mulch under the Sisyphus sculpture. After burying the nut, the squirrel scampers across the lawn, stopping several times to create several small holes in the lawn. Perhaps he’s looking for crocus bulbs.
As I scan the garden’s flower beds, I would say the garden has entered a period of summer exhaustion. We have had no rain for three weeks. Many of the plants look fatigued and limp, drained of much vitality or color. Many of the greens have a dusty, grayish-brown tone. The black-eyed Susans, responsible for so much of the garden’s August visual energy, now look dull and not likely to attract any pollinators. The same is true for the purple coneflowers and the Joe Pye Weeds.
Despite the overall impression of summer doldrums, there are many individual plants just entering their peak bloom season. New flowering plans include the blue lobelia and ironweed in the rock garden (plus an unexpected volunteer ironweed in the gravel walkway west of the pergola), the tall stonecrop in several locations, the multiple varieties of dahlias in the “E” and “J” beds, the ‘Sweet Autumn’ Clematis periculata at the front of the pergola, the New England asters located throughout the garden, and the tall perennial sunflowers in the “A2" and “M2" beds. Although all the old, full-sized Joe Pye weeds are no longer producing new flowers, two exceptions are the dwarf Joe Pye weeds in separate planters in the “J” bed area. I recently noticed that these 2-3' tall Eutrochium were beginning to develop a second set of flower buds on most of the stems. I cut off the old flower heads, and they are clearly progressing into a second bloom cycle, an unexpected bonanza for visitors to the garden, including the butterflies that love to visit “sweet-scented joe pye.”
Most populous among the September bloomers are the goldenrods, particularly the Canada goldenrod (Solidago canadensis), a ubiquitous self-seeder with tough and aggressive rhizomes. It rampantly produces offspring by seeds and roots while being impervious to temperature and moisture extremes. An impressive species. It is indefatigable in its efforts to transform the garden into a goldenrod monoculture. Although it’s a Midwest native that contributes innumerable benefits to the local insect population, each year I toss onto a compost bed over 90% of the garden’s Canada goldenrod, and it is still present in all of the garden’s perennial flower beds. There are several other goldenrod cultivars in the garden, but they are all more meek and mild-mannered.
Another flower entering its prime bloom period is the obedient plant (Physostegia virginiana) colonies in the “D” and “M1" beds. Members of the mint family, these Midwest natives also have the reputation of being aggressive spreaders via their rhizomes, but at least in the Coe garden they have so far not proven difficult to deal with, perhaps because of the well-established and taller plants that border each of the colonies. The soft lavender-colored blooms on the plant spikes begin to open in August, blooming in four vertical rows from the bottom of the flower stalk upward, and they will likely continue flowering into October. The bees love them. Similar to the goldenrod, the obedient plants require no fertilizing or special care and are super tough in handling cold winters and hot, dry summers. ~Bob
4 September 2023
After two hours gardening, I decided to take a break, sitting on the SE bench in the shade of a crab apple. According to the garden shed thermometer, the temp is 80F & 60% humidity. As I scan the sky for clouds, I see a pale, white, waning gibbous moon on its westward journey. On the lawn, a squirrel with a small nut in its mouth is digging up the soil and mulch under the Sisyphus sculpture. After burying the nut, the squirrel scampers across the lawn, stopping several times to create several small holes in the lawn. Perhaps he’s looking for crocus bulbs.
As I scan the garden’s flower beds, I would say the garden has entered a period of summer exhaustion. We have had no rain for three weeks. Many of the plants look fatigued and limp, drained of much vitality or color. Many of the greens have a dusty, grayish-brown tone. The black-eyed Susans, responsible for so much of the garden’s August visual energy, now look dull and not likely to attract any pollinators. The same is true for the purple coneflowers and the Joe Pye Weeds.
Despite the overall impression of summer doldrums, there are many individual plants just entering their peak bloom season. New flowering plans include the blue lobelia and ironweed in the rock garden (plus an unexpected volunteer ironweed in the gravel walkway west of the pergola), the tall stonecrop in several locations, the multiple varieties of dahlias in the “E” and “J” beds, the ‘Sweet Autumn’ Clematis periculata at the front of the pergola, the New England asters located throughout the garden, and the tall perennial sunflowers in the “A2" and “M2" beds. Although all the old, full-sized Joe Pye weeds are no longer producing new flowers, two exceptions are the dwarf Joe Pye weeds in separate planters in the “J” bed area. I recently noticed that these 2-3' tall Eutrochium were beginning to develop a second set of flower buds on most of the stems. I cut off the old flower heads, and they are clearly progressing into a second bloom cycle, an unexpected bonanza for visitors to the garden, including the butterflies that love to visit “sweet-scented joe pye.”
Most populous among the September bloomers are the goldenrods, particularly the Canada goldenrod (Solidago canadensis), a ubiquitous self-seeder with tough and aggressive rhizomes. It rampantly produces offspring by seeds and roots while being impervious to temperature and moisture extremes. An impressive species. It is indefatigable in its efforts to transform the garden into a goldenrod monoculture. Although it’s a Midwest native that contributes innumerable benefits to the local insect population, each year I toss onto a compost bed over 90% of the garden’s Canada goldenrod, and it is still present in all of the garden’s perennial flower beds. There are several other goldenrod cultivars in the garden, but they are all more meek and mild-mannered.
Another flower entering its prime bloom period is the obedient plant (Physostegia virginiana) colonies in the “D” and “M1" beds. Members of the mint family, these Midwest natives also have the reputation of being aggressive spreaders via their rhizomes, but at least in the Coe garden they have so far not proven difficult to deal with, perhaps because of the well-established and taller plants that border each of the colonies. The soft lavender-colored blooms on the plant spikes begin to open in August, blooming in four vertical rows from the bottom of the flower stalk upward, and they will likely continue flowering into October. The bees love them. Similar to the goldenrod, the obedient plants require no fertilizing or special care and are super tough in handling cold winters and hot, dry summers. ~Bob
Monday Morning Garden Report: 21 August 2023
I’m sitting on the SE park bench, jotting down these notes a few minutes after 11:00 a.m. on a warm Monday morning. The temperature is 88F, 58% humidity. The sky is cloudless, except for a few faint cirrus wisps in the west. I’ve just finished mowing the lawn and am taking a short break before turning my attention to the rain garden and the small berm south of the rain garden.
I spent my first hour of the morning walking around the garden with a garden hose, helping prepare a few plants for the intense heat forecast for the remainder of this week. I began by watering a group of recent transplants in the “L” bed in front of the terrace: Kansas gayfeathers, several small yarrows, and three clumps of ornamental onions. The small gayfeathers were born in this bed, but they had the misfortune of emerging with patches of bloody cranesbill, patches that last week I dug up and removed from the garden. While I like the cranesbill, their aggressive skill in over-running their neighbors has required the removal of many of their progeny from the “C” and “L” beds (and also the crevice garden near the NW gate). Once established, these guys are difficult to remove because their thick web of muscular roots can run quite deep. A small root remnant can produce a new plant–similar to the old rose bushes that continue to reappear in these beds seven years after I tried to remove them. It would not surprise me that later this fall or in the spring, a few cranesbill will manage a successful resurrection and require further excavations. But in a temporary moment of optimism, I’ve decided to fill in spaces left by the departed geraniums with a dozen or so yarrow and three ornamental onions (all dug up from my garden at home). The yarrow derive from several yarrow first planted in the summer of 2021. Those fertile parents have produced a multitude of baby yarrows. I’m hoping a few will decide to thrive in these new digs.
After watering the “L” bed transplants, I turned my attention to the “E” and “J” beds where I watered the dahlias (plus their cosmos and cleome partners), the white gomphrena and the yellow mums in the “E” bed planters, the various herbs in the raised “E” beds (primarily the basil, rosemary, and lavender), the lavender and Verbena bonariensis in the “J” bed planters, and in the raised “J” beds the snow-in-summer, coneflowers, scabiosa, dianthus, columbine, and celosia. A few of the dahlias have been more interested in producing foliage than blooms, but overall it’s been a good summer for these Mexican natives. I’m particularly pleased with the Bishop of Llandaff and Kelvin Floodlight dahlias. As the summer progresses, the Kelvin blooms become smaller, but they are still a marvelous flower, easily spotted from the other side of the garden.
One of the summer’s unexpected surprises has been the globe amaranth (Gomphrena globosa). While I had a passing familiarity with gomphrena, I had never tried growing them until this spring when in the greenhouse I sowed in cow pots some gomphrena seeds from Select Seeds. A high percentage of the seeds germinated and all summer the plants have been covered with balls of tiny, durable white blossoms. They have requested watering a couple times but otherwise have demanded no attention. The gomphrena plants have all retained a tight structural sphere and have not shown any problems with disease or insects. I’ve read the flowers should attract diverse pollinators, but to date I don’ recall seeing any butterflies or other visiting pollinators. As a member of the Amaranthaceae family, the plant should be edible, and one resides in a pot among the “E” bed herbs, but I’ve not yet nibbled on any leaves or flowers. This Central American native will certainly have a more prominent role in next year’s garden.
One unexpected failure has been a small planter in the “J” bed area where I mixed together several Hidcote lavender (started from seed in the greenhouse last winter) with a half-dozen Verbena bonariensis (dug up from the gravel walkway). I was hoping the pair would complement each other--the verbena’s pale purple blooms suspended above the lavender’s gray foliage. As it has turned out, both the verbena and the lavender have struggled with each other and with the drought, demanding frequent watering. In contrast, the verbena left to fare for themselves in the gravel nursery have never been watered and they look quite robust and healthy, content to seek their moisture and nutrients from the hard clay “soil” under the gravel. I also have a nearby pot solely for the lavender, and they have thrived as well. But for whatever reason, both plant species found it difficult when wedded together in the same pot.
Another failure is the entire “I” flower bed. At the moment it does have an assembly of diverse plants in bloom: the 6' tall Autumn Minaret daylilies (the last daylilies to bloom), the Russian sage (a large mass of blue flowers and gray foliage leaning over the gravel path), rose campion (in their 4th month of producing their lovely white blooms), Route 66 coreopsis (yellow petals with dark brownish-red centers), two lanky hollyhocks with pink blossoms, a topheavy compass plant with large sunflower blooms, the morning glory (its dark blue flowers closed during the day), several small clumps of black-eyed Susan, the tall hyssop with the solitary bees’ favorite flowers, and the azure salvia with the lovely light blue blossoms. The problem is that the bed looks like a random collection of plants and blooms without any evidence of design. Although each of these individual plants is reasonably attractive, there are significant desolate spaces with plants that look old and worn out--such as the row of daylilies stretching across the front of the bed. One solution is to remove half of the plants (including all of the daylilies) and simplify the bed with fewer species. And we need front-of-border plants that provide a stronger continuity across all the seasons. It will mean removing individual plants that I really like (such as a small variegated sunflower, some of the rose campion, all of the early blooming daylilies), but effective gardening always depends on the gardener’s willingness to kill some favorites.
As I was finishing my note taking, the morning took an unexpected turn. Entering the garden through the NW gate was a group of students, accompanied by their FYS instructor, one of my old friends. After brief introductions, I gave the students a quick overview of the garden, which included a few minutes with the seasonal sundial in the “J” bed area and the floral sundial in front of the gazebo. I never have much faith my garden introductions will be of any value to anyone, but I carry on with the charade, hoping my invitation to take advantage of this space might mean something to someone. When I was a college “freshman,” a rose garden provided me with a space where I could experience a few moments of private peace. In beginning my college career, I initially felt overwhelmed, surrounded by crowds of people. A few minutes in a secluded garden was like being by myself on the farm. Perhaps someone in this FYS class will need a similar space for their own well-being.
I’m sitting on the SE park bench, jotting down these notes a few minutes after 11:00 a.m. on a warm Monday morning. The temperature is 88F, 58% humidity. The sky is cloudless, except for a few faint cirrus wisps in the west. I’ve just finished mowing the lawn and am taking a short break before turning my attention to the rain garden and the small berm south of the rain garden.
I spent my first hour of the morning walking around the garden with a garden hose, helping prepare a few plants for the intense heat forecast for the remainder of this week. I began by watering a group of recent transplants in the “L” bed in front of the terrace: Kansas gayfeathers, several small yarrows, and three clumps of ornamental onions. The small gayfeathers were born in this bed, but they had the misfortune of emerging with patches of bloody cranesbill, patches that last week I dug up and removed from the garden. While I like the cranesbill, their aggressive skill in over-running their neighbors has required the removal of many of their progeny from the “C” and “L” beds (and also the crevice garden near the NW gate). Once established, these guys are difficult to remove because their thick web of muscular roots can run quite deep. A small root remnant can produce a new plant–similar to the old rose bushes that continue to reappear in these beds seven years after I tried to remove them. It would not surprise me that later this fall or in the spring, a few cranesbill will manage a successful resurrection and require further excavations. But in a temporary moment of optimism, I’ve decided to fill in spaces left by the departed geraniums with a dozen or so yarrow and three ornamental onions (all dug up from my garden at home). The yarrow derive from several yarrow first planted in the summer of 2021. Those fertile parents have produced a multitude of baby yarrows. I’m hoping a few will decide to thrive in these new digs.
After watering the “L” bed transplants, I turned my attention to the “E” and “J” beds where I watered the dahlias (plus their cosmos and cleome partners), the white gomphrena and the yellow mums in the “E” bed planters, the various herbs in the raised “E” beds (primarily the basil, rosemary, and lavender), the lavender and Verbena bonariensis in the “J” bed planters, and in the raised “J” beds the snow-in-summer, coneflowers, scabiosa, dianthus, columbine, and celosia. A few of the dahlias have been more interested in producing foliage than blooms, but overall it’s been a good summer for these Mexican natives. I’m particularly pleased with the Bishop of Llandaff and Kelvin Floodlight dahlias. As the summer progresses, the Kelvin blooms become smaller, but they are still a marvelous flower, easily spotted from the other side of the garden.
One of the summer’s unexpected surprises has been the globe amaranth (Gomphrena globosa). While I had a passing familiarity with gomphrena, I had never tried growing them until this spring when in the greenhouse I sowed in cow pots some gomphrena seeds from Select Seeds. A high percentage of the seeds germinated and all summer the plants have been covered with balls of tiny, durable white blossoms. They have requested watering a couple times but otherwise have demanded no attention. The gomphrena plants have all retained a tight structural sphere and have not shown any problems with disease or insects. I’ve read the flowers should attract diverse pollinators, but to date I don’ recall seeing any butterflies or other visiting pollinators. As a member of the Amaranthaceae family, the plant should be edible, and one resides in a pot among the “E” bed herbs, but I’ve not yet nibbled on any leaves or flowers. This Central American native will certainly have a more prominent role in next year’s garden.
One unexpected failure has been a small planter in the “J” bed area where I mixed together several Hidcote lavender (started from seed in the greenhouse last winter) with a half-dozen Verbena bonariensis (dug up from the gravel walkway). I was hoping the pair would complement each other--the verbena’s pale purple blooms suspended above the lavender’s gray foliage. As it has turned out, both the verbena and the lavender have struggled with each other and with the drought, demanding frequent watering. In contrast, the verbena left to fare for themselves in the gravel nursery have never been watered and they look quite robust and healthy, content to seek their moisture and nutrients from the hard clay “soil” under the gravel. I also have a nearby pot solely for the lavender, and they have thrived as well. But for whatever reason, both plant species found it difficult when wedded together in the same pot.
Another failure is the entire “I” flower bed. At the moment it does have an assembly of diverse plants in bloom: the 6' tall Autumn Minaret daylilies (the last daylilies to bloom), the Russian sage (a large mass of blue flowers and gray foliage leaning over the gravel path), rose campion (in their 4th month of producing their lovely white blooms), Route 66 coreopsis (yellow petals with dark brownish-red centers), two lanky hollyhocks with pink blossoms, a topheavy compass plant with large sunflower blooms, the morning glory (its dark blue flowers closed during the day), several small clumps of black-eyed Susan, the tall hyssop with the solitary bees’ favorite flowers, and the azure salvia with the lovely light blue blossoms. The problem is that the bed looks like a random collection of plants and blooms without any evidence of design. Although each of these individual plants is reasonably attractive, there are significant desolate spaces with plants that look old and worn out--such as the row of daylilies stretching across the front of the bed. One solution is to remove half of the plants (including all of the daylilies) and simplify the bed with fewer species. And we need front-of-border plants that provide a stronger continuity across all the seasons. It will mean removing individual plants that I really like (such as a small variegated sunflower, some of the rose campion, all of the early blooming daylilies), but effective gardening always depends on the gardener’s willingness to kill some favorites.
As I was finishing my note taking, the morning took an unexpected turn. Entering the garden through the NW gate was a group of students, accompanied by their FYS instructor, one of my old friends. After brief introductions, I gave the students a quick overview of the garden, which included a few minutes with the seasonal sundial in the “J” bed area and the floral sundial in front of the gazebo. I never have much faith my garden introductions will be of any value to anyone, but I carry on with the charade, hoping my invitation to take advantage of this space might mean something to someone. When I was a college “freshman,” a rose garden provided me with a space where I could experience a few moments of private peace. In beginning my college career, I initially felt overwhelmed, surrounded by crowds of people. A few minutes in a secluded garden was like being by myself on the farm. Perhaps someone in this FYS class will need a similar space for their own well-being.
Monday Morning Garden Report: 31 July 2023
Driving to the garden this morning, I was surprised how much wind damage had occurred from the Friday evening thunderstorm. The roof of a house across the street from Mount Mercy University had experienced serious damage, and near Coe’s football field a large tree was stretched across the street, its trunk having crushed the roof of a car parked by the curb. At the garden, the young elderberry by the SW gate was badly torn up. Someone had piled its broken limbs in front of the steps to the Alumni House terrace. In the remainder of the garden, the only injuries I spotted were several dahlias in the “E” and “J” beds leaning against the temporary fencing placed around each bed. The large blooms on the lone Cambridge dahlia were on the ground and looked rather bedraggled, but five Kelvin Floodlight blooms were erect and in good shape. I can’t recall we’ve ever had five Kelvins in full bloom at the same time. They are a stunning flower, among the most eye-catching blooms in the garden. While I would never admit to having a favorite flower in the garden, I do find the Kelvins irresistible.
Although I should have focused my morning working on the rain garden in the SE corner of the garden, I instead spent most of the a.m. hours hoeing and raking the gravel walkways and cleaning up the brick borders around the walkways. The latter effort also involves removing crabgrass and other grasses, legumes, salvias, violets, and diverse weeds perched at the lawn’s boundary with the bricks. I cleaned up these stretches of the walkways earlier this month, but the purslane–the primary “enemy” in this rocky terrain–is relentless. I keep hoping my repeated efforts will eventually reduce their numbers, but so far there are few signs of victory in this war.
As the morning wore on and the sun/heat/humidity became more intense, I moved to an area in the “G” bed under the shade of the pergola’s wisteria and began removing ox-eye daisies, hyssop, swamp milkweed, river oats, crown vetch, gooseneck, Equisetum, sedge, and several other weeds and grasses from the flower bed under the pergola. I didn’t try to save anything other than some daisies, several clumps of daylilies (which need to be dug up, separated, and replanted), a few spiderworts, and every columbine I uncovered. I also removed a couple dozen runners from two of the wisteria. I still have a lot to clean up in the area in and around the faux whiskey barrel. One issue is that it’s not clear to me what are my best options for new plants in this area once the daffodils are finished with their bloom cycle. I do have plenty of bloody cranesbill that needs to be dug up and removed from the “L” bed in front of the terrace. While the wisteria’s shade limits the bloom production, once established the perennial geranium functions as a well-formed foliage plant and it has no problem handling long, dry spells. I could also introduce into the area some Husker Red penstemon or ornamental onions, volunteers from my garden at home.
I’ll finish this report with observations on two flowers that visitors can find in the NE corner of the garden. First, ‘Joey’ Lamb’s Tail (Ptilotus exaltatus). This is an Australian native, reputed to be heat and drought tolerant once established. In comparison to my other seed expenditures, the seeds for this annual are quite expensive: five seeds for $4.50. In 2022, I had zero seeds germinate, but I like this flower so much I decided to try again, and in April of this year every seed germinated. Three of the plants were transplanted to the flower sundial bed in front of the gazebo. One was apparently chomped on by an animal and never recovered, but two are alive and blooming–although they give no evidence they intend to reach their advertised height of16-18 inches. (See photo)
Next to the Ptilotus are several ‘Black Knight’ scabiosa, an annual also known as “Blackmoor’s Beauty” and “Mournful Widow.” I first raised these flowers in the greenhouse from seed 6-7 years ago. Several went into the crevice garden and others were in the raised “J” beds. They performed beautifully, producing stunning balls of dark red, almost black, flowers with white stigmas. It’s easy to see why they have been popular in English gardens since the 17th century. In recent years I’ve had difficulties repeating that first-year success. Last year I planted several in the “J” beds, but they were dug up–probably by a squirrel–and were drief toast before I discovered their problem. This year I decided to try them in the flower sundial bed as companions with the Ptilotus and Celosia ‘Asian Garden’ (Celosia argentea), a variety of Celosia I’ve never previously planted. I suspect the scabiosa would prefer more hours of sunshine, but they have produced more than a dozen of their unique, beautiful blooms–and the development of new buds would indicate that more are on the way.
Finally, a few words on the Queen Anne’s lace (Daucus carota). When I first started working in the Alumni House Garden in 2014, there were dozens of these flowers at the east end of the garden. Nine years later, they are still there. Every year I pull up dozens of these biennials, but I always allow a few to go to seed, and they have no problem producing new progeny. It’s easy to see why they are labeled an invasive weed. I must say that this year, the population has grown larger than I would like, and I’ve become more relentless in pulling up all of them, except for a few at the back of the garden. I do love their blooms, particularly the ones with the spot of burgundy “blood” at their center. I’ve read this dot of color does help to attract pollinators. ~Bob
Driving to the garden this morning, I was surprised how much wind damage had occurred from the Friday evening thunderstorm. The roof of a house across the street from Mount Mercy University had experienced serious damage, and near Coe’s football field a large tree was stretched across the street, its trunk having crushed the roof of a car parked by the curb. At the garden, the young elderberry by the SW gate was badly torn up. Someone had piled its broken limbs in front of the steps to the Alumni House terrace. In the remainder of the garden, the only injuries I spotted were several dahlias in the “E” and “J” beds leaning against the temporary fencing placed around each bed. The large blooms on the lone Cambridge dahlia were on the ground and looked rather bedraggled, but five Kelvin Floodlight blooms were erect and in good shape. I can’t recall we’ve ever had five Kelvins in full bloom at the same time. They are a stunning flower, among the most eye-catching blooms in the garden. While I would never admit to having a favorite flower in the garden, I do find the Kelvins irresistible.
Although I should have focused my morning working on the rain garden in the SE corner of the garden, I instead spent most of the a.m. hours hoeing and raking the gravel walkways and cleaning up the brick borders around the walkways. The latter effort also involves removing crabgrass and other grasses, legumes, salvias, violets, and diverse weeds perched at the lawn’s boundary with the bricks. I cleaned up these stretches of the walkways earlier this month, but the purslane–the primary “enemy” in this rocky terrain–is relentless. I keep hoping my repeated efforts will eventually reduce their numbers, but so far there are few signs of victory in this war.
As the morning wore on and the sun/heat/humidity became more intense, I moved to an area in the “G” bed under the shade of the pergola’s wisteria and began removing ox-eye daisies, hyssop, swamp milkweed, river oats, crown vetch, gooseneck, Equisetum, sedge, and several other weeds and grasses from the flower bed under the pergola. I didn’t try to save anything other than some daisies, several clumps of daylilies (which need to be dug up, separated, and replanted), a few spiderworts, and every columbine I uncovered. I also removed a couple dozen runners from two of the wisteria. I still have a lot to clean up in the area in and around the faux whiskey barrel. One issue is that it’s not clear to me what are my best options for new plants in this area once the daffodils are finished with their bloom cycle. I do have plenty of bloody cranesbill that needs to be dug up and removed from the “L” bed in front of the terrace. While the wisteria’s shade limits the bloom production, once established the perennial geranium functions as a well-formed foliage plant and it has no problem handling long, dry spells. I could also introduce into the area some Husker Red penstemon or ornamental onions, volunteers from my garden at home.
I’ll finish this report with observations on two flowers that visitors can find in the NE corner of the garden. First, ‘Joey’ Lamb’s Tail (Ptilotus exaltatus). This is an Australian native, reputed to be heat and drought tolerant once established. In comparison to my other seed expenditures, the seeds for this annual are quite expensive: five seeds for $4.50. In 2022, I had zero seeds germinate, but I like this flower so much I decided to try again, and in April of this year every seed germinated. Three of the plants were transplanted to the flower sundial bed in front of the gazebo. One was apparently chomped on by an animal and never recovered, but two are alive and blooming–although they give no evidence they intend to reach their advertised height of16-18 inches. (See photo)
Next to the Ptilotus are several ‘Black Knight’ scabiosa, an annual also known as “Blackmoor’s Beauty” and “Mournful Widow.” I first raised these flowers in the greenhouse from seed 6-7 years ago. Several went into the crevice garden and others were in the raised “J” beds. They performed beautifully, producing stunning balls of dark red, almost black, flowers with white stigmas. It’s easy to see why they have been popular in English gardens since the 17th century. In recent years I’ve had difficulties repeating that first-year success. Last year I planted several in the “J” beds, but they were dug up–probably by a squirrel–and were drief toast before I discovered their problem. This year I decided to try them in the flower sundial bed as companions with the Ptilotus and Celosia ‘Asian Garden’ (Celosia argentea), a variety of Celosia I’ve never previously planted. I suspect the scabiosa would prefer more hours of sunshine, but they have produced more than a dozen of their unique, beautiful blooms–and the development of new buds would indicate that more are on the way.
Finally, a few words on the Queen Anne’s lace (Daucus carota). When I first started working in the Alumni House Garden in 2014, there were dozens of these flowers at the east end of the garden. Nine years later, they are still there. Every year I pull up dozens of these biennials, but I always allow a few to go to seed, and they have no problem producing new progeny. It’s easy to see why they are labeled an invasive weed. I must say that this year, the population has grown larger than I would like, and I’ve become more relentless in pulling up all of them, except for a few at the back of the garden. I do love their blooms, particularly the ones with the spot of burgundy “blood” at their center. I’ve read this dot of color does help to attract pollinators. ~Bob
Monday Morning Garden Report: 17 July 2023
It’s thirty minutes past the noon hour. According to the garden shed thermometer, it’s 81F, 53% humidity. I’m sitting at the new picnic table, under the shade of the flowering crab tree, and it feels quite comfortable. In some years the crab apple trees have lost most of their leaves by the middle of July because of a fungus, but this year the trees are still fully clothed, one benefit of this long dry spell.
As I survey the garden’s perennial flower beds, I feel like I could be looking at an English garden. On many mornings I don’t feel I’m entering a coherent garden. Instead I encounter a place with a collection of assorted plants surrounded by silent dead spots without much visual appeal. But in the month of July, when most of the perennial flower beds around the lawn are at their peak, the space feels like a real, “honest-to-goodness” garden. In every direction I see complex collages of flower shapes and colors, often set against the dark green of the yews in the background. The garden has more than 300 different flowers and shrubs, each with its own inner DNA programming, each following a seasonal clock, each independently responding to shifts in temperature and moisture and sunlight and soil and visiting fauna and the behaviors of their closest neighbors–all operating without much regard for my occasional contributions and interferences. And on occasion, a decent number of the biological clocks appear to be synchronized, resonating at a similar timbre and pitch. This morning was one of those mornings.
It’s inevitable that a garden’s blooming flowers receive the most attention from humans, but also from the hundreds of pollinators active from early spring to late fall. And now is the time of the year when the combinations of form and color and texture are at their most complex and inviting. In the early spring the masses of single species flowers dominate discreet scenes–whether the daffodils in April or the flowering crab trees in early May or the peonies at the end of May. But today, everywhere I look, the garden has become an international community, with dozens of flowers from all over the world jostling against each other, clamoring for attention. It’s a little too wild and chaotic to consider it comparable to a Mozart or Beethoven symphony. I decide my previous image of everyone on the same musical page is a bit misleading. It’s more like a swarm of instruments simultaneously audiencing for a Charles Ives orchestra.
In each bed, of course, it’s inevitable that a few flowers have established a temporary dominance. In the “C” and “L” beds in front of the patio, the daylilies are now playing the loudest instruments, accompanied in the “L” bed by a swath of purple coneflowers that have immigrated into this bed in the last two years. To the north side of the garden, my eye is immediately attracted to the blue flowers of the Platycodon in the middle of the “K” bed. In the “D” bed on the south side, blue and white blooms of the phlox and dame’s rocket initially catch my attention, but I soon shift my gaze to the yellow tansy blooms and the round, purple flower heads of the tall Joy Pye weed. Several clumps of Joe Pye also capture my attention in the southern borders, and most notably the garden’s large mass of Joe Pye next to the SE bench. East of those Joe Pye is a glorious row of tall Rudbeckia (which I have often labeled as “perennial sunflowers”). They now offer a wide and tall screen of yellow and dark brown blooms, flanked on the east side by a patch of red bee balm flowers and on the west by the bluish-green foliage of a large Baptisia and a ball of white Shasta daisy flowers.
On the north and south sides of the garden are the two dahlia beds. So far the only dahlia blooms are from the Bishop’s Children dahlias that I positioned at each end of the two beds. These dahlias were started from seed in February. Their dark burgundy foliage is intended as a frame for the other dahlias with their lighter green foliage. When the 45 dahlias were transferred in late May from their pots to the two garden beds, I thought I would have some extra plants, but it turned out the number was almost perfect for filling the two beds. When the dahlias were planted, I trimmed most of them, hoping to stimulate more lateral growth--and the plants have effectively filled in the open spaces. A large number of emerging buds suggests we will have a good year for dahlia blooms. In the back of the dahlia beds I transplanted several white cosmos and cleomes started from seeds in the greenhouse; they will be accompanied by the Verbena bonariensis and the prairie coreopsis that vigorously self-seed in both beds. The coreopsis will be finished blooming by the end of this month, but I remain optimistic we will see an interesting mix of dahlia-cosmos-cleome-verbena blooms through August and September.
Finally, a few observations on the “C” bed next to the picnic table. The bed has a good variety of blooms, including the steady yellow yarrow, the flower spikes of the blazing stars, and several varieties of daylilies. The early season daylilies, such as golden-yellow Stella d’oro, are finished for the year, but two daylilies are at their peak: the Strutters Ball and the Franz Hal. Since being planted in 2016, the Strutters Ball has been a reliable mid-season tetraploid, producing 6-7" wide purple blooms with lovely lemon-green throats on stalks 2-3' tall. The Frans Hals has been an even more exuberant mid-summer bloomer with a flowering cycle stretching into August. The flowers are smaller than the Strutters Ball, but they are a dynamic combination of three lemon petals with three cinnamon petals streaked with a lemon line down the middle–what one catalog describes as a “pinwheel.” Perhaps because of the dry weather, it would appear their blooms will be less prolific this year. There is a large clump of daylilies in the middle of the bed that apparently will not be producing any flowers this summer. I need to dig them up this fall and replant in a fresh soil mixture with a new layer of mulch, In fact, the entire bed would benefit from a fresh application of mulch. ~Bob
It’s thirty minutes past the noon hour. According to the garden shed thermometer, it’s 81F, 53% humidity. I’m sitting at the new picnic table, under the shade of the flowering crab tree, and it feels quite comfortable. In some years the crab apple trees have lost most of their leaves by the middle of July because of a fungus, but this year the trees are still fully clothed, one benefit of this long dry spell.
As I survey the garden’s perennial flower beds, I feel like I could be looking at an English garden. On many mornings I don’t feel I’m entering a coherent garden. Instead I encounter a place with a collection of assorted plants surrounded by silent dead spots without much visual appeal. But in the month of July, when most of the perennial flower beds around the lawn are at their peak, the space feels like a real, “honest-to-goodness” garden. In every direction I see complex collages of flower shapes and colors, often set against the dark green of the yews in the background. The garden has more than 300 different flowers and shrubs, each with its own inner DNA programming, each following a seasonal clock, each independently responding to shifts in temperature and moisture and sunlight and soil and visiting fauna and the behaviors of their closest neighbors–all operating without much regard for my occasional contributions and interferences. And on occasion, a decent number of the biological clocks appear to be synchronized, resonating at a similar timbre and pitch. This morning was one of those mornings.
It’s inevitable that a garden’s blooming flowers receive the most attention from humans, but also from the hundreds of pollinators active from early spring to late fall. And now is the time of the year when the combinations of form and color and texture are at their most complex and inviting. In the early spring the masses of single species flowers dominate discreet scenes–whether the daffodils in April or the flowering crab trees in early May or the peonies at the end of May. But today, everywhere I look, the garden has become an international community, with dozens of flowers from all over the world jostling against each other, clamoring for attention. It’s a little too wild and chaotic to consider it comparable to a Mozart or Beethoven symphony. I decide my previous image of everyone on the same musical page is a bit misleading. It’s more like a swarm of instruments simultaneously audiencing for a Charles Ives orchestra.
In each bed, of course, it’s inevitable that a few flowers have established a temporary dominance. In the “C” and “L” beds in front of the patio, the daylilies are now playing the loudest instruments, accompanied in the “L” bed by a swath of purple coneflowers that have immigrated into this bed in the last two years. To the north side of the garden, my eye is immediately attracted to the blue flowers of the Platycodon in the middle of the “K” bed. In the “D” bed on the south side, blue and white blooms of the phlox and dame’s rocket initially catch my attention, but I soon shift my gaze to the yellow tansy blooms and the round, purple flower heads of the tall Joy Pye weed. Several clumps of Joe Pye also capture my attention in the southern borders, and most notably the garden’s large mass of Joe Pye next to the SE bench. East of those Joe Pye is a glorious row of tall Rudbeckia (which I have often labeled as “perennial sunflowers”). They now offer a wide and tall screen of yellow and dark brown blooms, flanked on the east side by a patch of red bee balm flowers and on the west by the bluish-green foliage of a large Baptisia and a ball of white Shasta daisy flowers.
On the north and south sides of the garden are the two dahlia beds. So far the only dahlia blooms are from the Bishop’s Children dahlias that I positioned at each end of the two beds. These dahlias were started from seed in February. Their dark burgundy foliage is intended as a frame for the other dahlias with their lighter green foliage. When the 45 dahlias were transferred in late May from their pots to the two garden beds, I thought I would have some extra plants, but it turned out the number was almost perfect for filling the two beds. When the dahlias were planted, I trimmed most of them, hoping to stimulate more lateral growth--and the plants have effectively filled in the open spaces. A large number of emerging buds suggests we will have a good year for dahlia blooms. In the back of the dahlia beds I transplanted several white cosmos and cleomes started from seeds in the greenhouse; they will be accompanied by the Verbena bonariensis and the prairie coreopsis that vigorously self-seed in both beds. The coreopsis will be finished blooming by the end of this month, but I remain optimistic we will see an interesting mix of dahlia-cosmos-cleome-verbena blooms through August and September.
Finally, a few observations on the “C” bed next to the picnic table. The bed has a good variety of blooms, including the steady yellow yarrow, the flower spikes of the blazing stars, and several varieties of daylilies. The early season daylilies, such as golden-yellow Stella d’oro, are finished for the year, but two daylilies are at their peak: the Strutters Ball and the Franz Hal. Since being planted in 2016, the Strutters Ball has been a reliable mid-season tetraploid, producing 6-7" wide purple blooms with lovely lemon-green throats on stalks 2-3' tall. The Frans Hals has been an even more exuberant mid-summer bloomer with a flowering cycle stretching into August. The flowers are smaller than the Strutters Ball, but they are a dynamic combination of three lemon petals with three cinnamon petals streaked with a lemon line down the middle–what one catalog describes as a “pinwheel.” Perhaps because of the dry weather, it would appear their blooms will be less prolific this year. There is a large clump of daylilies in the middle of the bed that apparently will not be producing any flowers this summer. I need to dig them up this fall and replant in a fresh soil mixture with a new layer of mulch, In fact, the entire bed would benefit from a fresh application of mulch. ~Bob
Monday Morning Garden Report: 26 June 2023
Last Wednesday (21 June) was the Summer Solstice Party/Picnic, which went well. We had ideal weather--full sunshine but moderate temperature and humidity. No precise head count, but between 12:00 noon and 2:00 p.m., we probably had 35-40 folks come by. Visitors showed a lot of interest in the seasonal sundial, and a sizable group huddled around the sundial as the “real” noon hour approached (1:00 p.m. DST). The solstice was right on schedule. People were particularly intrigued by how the sundial’s three metal arcs registered the two solstices and the equinoxes. The sundial eloquently demonstrates that the sun’s route across the sky in June is quite different from the path in December.
Sodexho’s make-your-own-sandwich buffet (including baked beans, chips, veggies, fresh fruit, cookies, drinks) was well beyond our expectations. We had enough food for triple the number of eaters. As one might expect, the event attracted several retired faculty and spouses, and it was wonderful to see many old faces. Although the “garden plant give-away” was not well organized and most plants not labeled, over 100 plants were picked–just about everything except for a few scrawny tomato plants. As a special treat, one of the garden’s visitors was the young author Eleanor Farrell, who contributed a poem for a 2022 issue of The Garden Quarto.
The day turned out to be a beneficial opportunity for me to learn the names of several plants residing in the garden. One long-time friend of the garden asked me the name of a pink flower in the “L” bed. This was for me an embarrassing request because earlier this spring, while straightening up that bed, I had done a little research on the same plant. It was one of the first flowers I planted in the garden, probably in the spring of 2015. Of course, when I was asked last Wednesday to deliver a name, I drew a complete blank, and had to wait until later in the evening when I pulled up my Alumni House Garden directory of plants and immediately found the name I was seeking: Wood Betony or Bishop’s Wort (Stachys officialis). It’ a member of the mint family and a cousin to Wooly Betony or Lamb’s Ears (Stachys byzantina), including the Helene von Stein Lamb’s Ears that play a significant front-of-border role in two nearby beds. I suspect my problem remembering the S. officialis derives from the fact that this flower, which can be found in three of the garden’s perennial flower beds, requires so little attention. These worts never need watering or pruning and they have had no problems with Iowa winters or foraging rabbits. They quietly produce their blooms in early June, blooms that last into the middle of July. What’s not to admire? But they modest plants, short in stature, and easily forgotten while one attends to more demanding residents.
The second plant identification occurred when a garden guest asked me about Yellow Goatsbeard, and I admitted I was not sure what plant she was referring to. We walked to the NE corner of the garden where several are growing in the “I” bed. I had forgotten these members of the aster family were called Yellow Goatsbeards: they are also known as Salsify or Wild Oysterplant (Tragopogon porrifolius). A native of southern Europe, it has become a naturalized weed in the Midwest. I think they first appeared in the Coe garden in the spring of 2021, an arrival perhaps caused by the August 2020 derecho. They have a distinctive and quite attractive yellow flower, and the seedheads resemble ornamental allium, but the salsify seedheads soon begin to shed seeds that can produce progeny as quickly as their cousin dandelions. Similar to Queen Anne’s Lace, they are biennials with straight taproots, and they are relatively easy to pull up. They were originally imported into America because of their edible taproot,which is reputed to taste like an oyster. Thomas Jefferson may have grown them in his Monticello garden as a food source. I have grown Black Salsify (Scorzonera) a couple of times in my vegetable garden, but I eventually decided they weren’t worth the effort, deciding to focus my root-crop efforts on carrots, onions, garlic, shallots, beets, turnips, and parsnips. It is likely I will eventually regret my decision, but for the time being I’m allowing the Yellow Goatsbeard to continue enjoying a minor role in the northeast corner of the garden, thinking they can be restrained from taking over the garden.
The day’s third mystery plant has a quite different history. It was given to me several years ago by a friend, who admitted that she did not know what it was. The plant she gave me was quite small, perhaps 2-3" tall, and I stuck it in the corner of the “K” bed, surrounded by a group of much larger perennials (Joe Pye Weed, New England Asters, etc). I soon forgot about the gifted plant, but then two years ago, while removing excess vegetation from the bed, I found this friend’s gift had somehow survived. It was a slender plant, perhaps 10" tall, with narrow leaves and a few blue snapdragon-like blooms with single spurs. I cleared some space for it, and last year it reappeared, a few inches taller and a few more tiny blooms. On Wednesday, I showed the flower to my friend–who could recall giving me some lovely flag iris but had no recollection of this precious gift. After the party I took a photo of the plant and its blooms (see photo accompanying this report), entered the photo into my Google image search, and within seconds had a match: purple toadflax (Linaria purpurea). According to the Missouri Botanical Garden website (my favorite on-line resource for information on Midwest flowers), the toadflax prefers full sun (which it does not receive in its current location) and can become weedy. Because it was a friend’s gift and has some endearing qualities, I want to keep the plant alive, but given its slender profile it will only work well in the garden if it can become paper of a small colony of toadflax, acquiring a more substantial mass of foliage and blooms. In that respect it’s similar in shape and function to the Arkansas Blue Star (Amsonia hubrichti) located a few feet away in the same flower bed. I have four of these thread-leaf blue stars growing together, and they still may need several more years before they become an aggregate substantial enough to make a notable contribution to the garden. ~Bob
Last Wednesday (21 June) was the Summer Solstice Party/Picnic, which went well. We had ideal weather--full sunshine but moderate temperature and humidity. No precise head count, but between 12:00 noon and 2:00 p.m., we probably had 35-40 folks come by. Visitors showed a lot of interest in the seasonal sundial, and a sizable group huddled around the sundial as the “real” noon hour approached (1:00 p.m. DST). The solstice was right on schedule. People were particularly intrigued by how the sundial’s three metal arcs registered the two solstices and the equinoxes. The sundial eloquently demonstrates that the sun’s route across the sky in June is quite different from the path in December.
Sodexho’s make-your-own-sandwich buffet (including baked beans, chips, veggies, fresh fruit, cookies, drinks) was well beyond our expectations. We had enough food for triple the number of eaters. As one might expect, the event attracted several retired faculty and spouses, and it was wonderful to see many old faces. Although the “garden plant give-away” was not well organized and most plants not labeled, over 100 plants were picked–just about everything except for a few scrawny tomato plants. As a special treat, one of the garden’s visitors was the young author Eleanor Farrell, who contributed a poem for a 2022 issue of The Garden Quarto.
The day turned out to be a beneficial opportunity for me to learn the names of several plants residing in the garden. One long-time friend of the garden asked me the name of a pink flower in the “L” bed. This was for me an embarrassing request because earlier this spring, while straightening up that bed, I had done a little research on the same plant. It was one of the first flowers I planted in the garden, probably in the spring of 2015. Of course, when I was asked last Wednesday to deliver a name, I drew a complete blank, and had to wait until later in the evening when I pulled up my Alumni House Garden directory of plants and immediately found the name I was seeking: Wood Betony or Bishop’s Wort (Stachys officialis). It’ a member of the mint family and a cousin to Wooly Betony or Lamb’s Ears (Stachys byzantina), including the Helene von Stein Lamb’s Ears that play a significant front-of-border role in two nearby beds. I suspect my problem remembering the S. officialis derives from the fact that this flower, which can be found in three of the garden’s perennial flower beds, requires so little attention. These worts never need watering or pruning and they have had no problems with Iowa winters or foraging rabbits. They quietly produce their blooms in early June, blooms that last into the middle of July. What’s not to admire? But they modest plants, short in stature, and easily forgotten while one attends to more demanding residents.
The second plant identification occurred when a garden guest asked me about Yellow Goatsbeard, and I admitted I was not sure what plant she was referring to. We walked to the NE corner of the garden where several are growing in the “I” bed. I had forgotten these members of the aster family were called Yellow Goatsbeards: they are also known as Salsify or Wild Oysterplant (Tragopogon porrifolius). A native of southern Europe, it has become a naturalized weed in the Midwest. I think they first appeared in the Coe garden in the spring of 2021, an arrival perhaps caused by the August 2020 derecho. They have a distinctive and quite attractive yellow flower, and the seedheads resemble ornamental allium, but the salsify seedheads soon begin to shed seeds that can produce progeny as quickly as their cousin dandelions. Similar to Queen Anne’s Lace, they are biennials with straight taproots, and they are relatively easy to pull up. They were originally imported into America because of their edible taproot,which is reputed to taste like an oyster. Thomas Jefferson may have grown them in his Monticello garden as a food source. I have grown Black Salsify (Scorzonera) a couple of times in my vegetable garden, but I eventually decided they weren’t worth the effort, deciding to focus my root-crop efforts on carrots, onions, garlic, shallots, beets, turnips, and parsnips. It is likely I will eventually regret my decision, but for the time being I’m allowing the Yellow Goatsbeard to continue enjoying a minor role in the northeast corner of the garden, thinking they can be restrained from taking over the garden.
The day’s third mystery plant has a quite different history. It was given to me several years ago by a friend, who admitted that she did not know what it was. The plant she gave me was quite small, perhaps 2-3" tall, and I stuck it in the corner of the “K” bed, surrounded by a group of much larger perennials (Joe Pye Weed, New England Asters, etc). I soon forgot about the gifted plant, but then two years ago, while removing excess vegetation from the bed, I found this friend’s gift had somehow survived. It was a slender plant, perhaps 10" tall, with narrow leaves and a few blue snapdragon-like blooms with single spurs. I cleared some space for it, and last year it reappeared, a few inches taller and a few more tiny blooms. On Wednesday, I showed the flower to my friend–who could recall giving me some lovely flag iris but had no recollection of this precious gift. After the party I took a photo of the plant and its blooms (see photo accompanying this report), entered the photo into my Google image search, and within seconds had a match: purple toadflax (Linaria purpurea). According to the Missouri Botanical Garden website (my favorite on-line resource for information on Midwest flowers), the toadflax prefers full sun (which it does not receive in its current location) and can become weedy. Because it was a friend’s gift and has some endearing qualities, I want to keep the plant alive, but given its slender profile it will only work well in the garden if it can become paper of a small colony of toadflax, acquiring a more substantial mass of foliage and blooms. In that respect it’s similar in shape and function to the Arkansas Blue Star (Amsonia hubrichti) located a few feet away in the same flower bed. I have four of these thread-leaf blue stars growing together, and they still may need several more years before they become an aggregate substantial enough to make a notable contribution to the garden. ~Bob
Monday Morning Garden Report: 19 June 2023 (Juneteenth)
We have a summer solstice party/picnic planned for Wednesday, so my recent gardening efforts have concentrated on dressing up perennial flower beds, removing weeds and grass from gravel walkways, and trying to make the place look reasonably tidy. I began the morning by installing the 20V battery on the hedge trimmer and pruning three standards in the “H” bed: the dwarf lilac, a hawthorn, and the two red leaf flowering crabtrees. The dwarf lilac is the easiest because it’s the shortest and I don’t need the ladder to reach the top branches. The hawthorn does require a ladder, but there is plenty of space for placing the ladder on different sides of the tree, and it’s a fairly quick job. The apple trees require the most time because of their height and the vegetation around them makes it difficult to reach all the sides.
My next major task was mowing the lawn, which had grown more than I expected because of the recent rain (1.4" over the weekend), the lawn’s early morning irrigation system, and the fertilizing. Despite the long stretch of dry weather, the lawn is in decent shape. For the first time since I assumed responsibility for maintaining the lawn seven years ago, I used a pre-emergent herbicide/fertilizer mix to control the crabgrass. Although it’s still too early for a final assessment, my current impression is that the crabgrass has experienced a serious setback. It’s also evident that the fertilizer in this herbicide mix is stronger than the Milorganite fertilizer I typically use. I did not use the pre-emergent on the areas where the crocus are planted, fearful the herbicide might damage the crocus. Those areas where I eventually applied the old standby fertilizer are not as dark green as the areas with the herbicide mix.
As noted in last week’s report, I used an electric edger to trim the lawn turf next to the gravel walkways’ brick borders. Since that initial turf trimming, I’ve been going around the border of each lawn quadrant, removing the shaved-off turf (which often is still attached via their root connections) and digging out the weeds and grass growing between the bricks. It is impressive how little soil or space these “weeds” need for survival. The thin blade of my Garrett Wade root knife is still my best tool for digging out the more resistant plants--the perennial grasses and the purslane. The SE corner of the SE quadrant is the one lawn area that I’ve not yet finished. Despite the time-consuming work involved in this turf trimming, I like the results: it adds a sharper contrast between the restrained order of the lawn area and the wilder appearance of the perennial flower beds. In some areas the beds are too wild for my taste, but they seem to have their own ideas for how they want to arrange themselves.
During one tour around the garden, I did some random thinning and weed removal. I pulled up most of the swamp milkweed that had appeared through the purple-leaf loosestrife in the shaded area behind the SE park bench. While I want the “G” bed to have several clumps of swamp milkweed for visiting Monarchs, it is an aggressive spreader and very difficult to remove once it invades an area. We’ve always had a few of these milkweed popping up in the loosestrife bed, but this year we witnessed a dramatic increase. I was surprised by how much the loosestrife was set back by this spring’s dry weather. They were really drooping when I finally watered them earlier this month. I made no attempt to dig up the roots of the milkweed (which means they will reappear later this summer), but I pulled up as best I could all but a few at the edge of the loosestrife patch, next to the path. I also pulled up all the milkweed that popped up in the berm south of the rain garden channel. The milkweed grow too tall in contrast to the other perennials residing on the berm. ~Bob
We have a summer solstice party/picnic planned for Wednesday, so my recent gardening efforts have concentrated on dressing up perennial flower beds, removing weeds and grass from gravel walkways, and trying to make the place look reasonably tidy. I began the morning by installing the 20V battery on the hedge trimmer and pruning three standards in the “H” bed: the dwarf lilac, a hawthorn, and the two red leaf flowering crabtrees. The dwarf lilac is the easiest because it’s the shortest and I don’t need the ladder to reach the top branches. The hawthorn does require a ladder, but there is plenty of space for placing the ladder on different sides of the tree, and it’s a fairly quick job. The apple trees require the most time because of their height and the vegetation around them makes it difficult to reach all the sides.
My next major task was mowing the lawn, which had grown more than I expected because of the recent rain (1.4" over the weekend), the lawn’s early morning irrigation system, and the fertilizing. Despite the long stretch of dry weather, the lawn is in decent shape. For the first time since I assumed responsibility for maintaining the lawn seven years ago, I used a pre-emergent herbicide/fertilizer mix to control the crabgrass. Although it’s still too early for a final assessment, my current impression is that the crabgrass has experienced a serious setback. It’s also evident that the fertilizer in this herbicide mix is stronger than the Milorganite fertilizer I typically use. I did not use the pre-emergent on the areas where the crocus are planted, fearful the herbicide might damage the crocus. Those areas where I eventually applied the old standby fertilizer are not as dark green as the areas with the herbicide mix.
As noted in last week’s report, I used an electric edger to trim the lawn turf next to the gravel walkways’ brick borders. Since that initial turf trimming, I’ve been going around the border of each lawn quadrant, removing the shaved-off turf (which often is still attached via their root connections) and digging out the weeds and grass growing between the bricks. It is impressive how little soil or space these “weeds” need for survival. The thin blade of my Garrett Wade root knife is still my best tool for digging out the more resistant plants--the perennial grasses and the purslane. The SE corner of the SE quadrant is the one lawn area that I’ve not yet finished. Despite the time-consuming work involved in this turf trimming, I like the results: it adds a sharper contrast between the restrained order of the lawn area and the wilder appearance of the perennial flower beds. In some areas the beds are too wild for my taste, but they seem to have their own ideas for how they want to arrange themselves.
During one tour around the garden, I did some random thinning and weed removal. I pulled up most of the swamp milkweed that had appeared through the purple-leaf loosestrife in the shaded area behind the SE park bench. While I want the “G” bed to have several clumps of swamp milkweed for visiting Monarchs, it is an aggressive spreader and very difficult to remove once it invades an area. We’ve always had a few of these milkweed popping up in the loosestrife bed, but this year we witnessed a dramatic increase. I was surprised by how much the loosestrife was set back by this spring’s dry weather. They were really drooping when I finally watered them earlier this month. I made no attempt to dig up the roots of the milkweed (which means they will reappear later this summer), but I pulled up as best I could all but a few at the edge of the loosestrife patch, next to the path. I also pulled up all the milkweed that popped up in the berm south of the rain garden channel. The milkweed grow too tall in contrast to the other perennials residing on the berm. ~Bob
Monday Morning Garden Report: 12 June 2023
The unrelenting dry spell continues. This afternoon, while working in my vegetable garden southwest of Toddville, I watched two separate rain cells bypass my garden–the first veering off to the west and the second quietly disintegrating in the northeast. For awhile the latter gave the impression it was coming my way, convincing me to move my tools into my Chevy S-10 pickup, but such a precautionary effort proved unnecessary.
While at the Alumni House Garden this morning, I returned to my project of removing weeds and grass from the walkways (including the brick borders) and creating a more distinct separation between the turf and the brick/gravel walkways. Last week I obtained a “new” electric edger (an unexpected gift from someone cleaning out a garage) that neatly cuts through the lawn’s turf. Today I continued removing turf fragments and digging out unwanted grass, purslane, spurge, and other weeds growing in the cracks between the bricks. It’s slow work, using three hand tools (a Japanese hand hoe, a small root knife, and a turf knife) while working on my hands and knees. Midway through the morning, I brought out my mulching lawnmower and mowed all the lawn, using the grass catcher for areas where the grass had grown extra long. I also wanted the two east-side quadrants clear of extra grass because I planned to apply a crabgrass treatment in areas where crabgrass has been a problem the last two years. This is the first time I have used any kind of weed/grass killer on the lawn. I hate to rely on such chemical solutions, but it was evident last summer that the crabgrass invasion had advanced well beyond my ability to control it without additional weapons.
During another break from my lawn care projects, I took a few minutes to walk around the garden, shoot a few photographs, and jot down notes on the current status of the garden. Here is review of my Monday morning observations.
• Over 150 plants started from seed in the greenhouse this spring are still waiting to be planted: six balsam (with beautiful white, pink, and magenta blooms), four pots of Nicotiana (started in the spring of ‘22, they’ve been cut back multiple times and keep rebounding), six Joey Lamb’s Tail (these Ptilotus intended for the gazebo’s sundial, where they thrived three years ago); columbine, several varieties of foxglove (some already blooming), snapdragons (all too tall and lanky, needing to be cut back), over two dozen small lavenders, four Jacob’s ladders, cosmos, cleomes, sweet peas, morning glories, and calendulas. Many of these plants are intended for the “A1" bed that runs along the south side of the patio, but the plants can’t go in the ground until the bed is cleaned up.
• There are two small astrantia in the “M1" bed: neither are thriving, though one has produced two small blooms. Of the three planted in the spring of ‘22, one died during last summer’s heat wave. The two survivors need to be transplanted, but I’m undecided where they should go.
• The yellow-blooming yarrow in the “C” bed has never looked better, covered with dozens of new flowers, an attractive bright spot in the garden. The corresponding red-blooming yarrow in the “L” bed is struggling, unable to compete with the bloody cranesbill that keeps re-establishing itself in that corner of the bed. That area needs to be dug up so I try to remove all the cranesbill roots. I could then provide the yarrow a revitalized soil with more compost.
• The Stella d’oro are beginning to bloom in multiple beds; they are, as always, the first daylilies to start the six-week daylily bloom cycle.
• There has been a dramatic increase in the population of the native milkweed in the “M1" bed; they are just beginning to bloom, the flowers attracting large, solitary black and yellow bees. While I want these milkweed to remain a presence in the garden because of their attractiveness to Monarchs, we have too many popping up in the peonies and false indigo. Once they are finished blooming, I’ll try to remove about half of the population–though their extensive root systems will insure many will bounce back.
• Although the Hall’s honeysuckle by the SW gate are concluding their bloom cycle, they are still fragrant. The honeysuckle in the “H” bed continues to generate fresh, fragrant blooms–by far its most prolific bloom production since it was planted about eight years ago.
• The two Rugosa roses in the “G” and “H” beds are coming to the end of their initial bloom cycle, both with hundreds of small, red blossoms.
• The bloody cranesbill are beginning to fade, particularly the ones in front of the Alumni House patio that have not received much water in the last month. In contrast, the Johnson’s Blue cranesbill in the “D” bed are entering their peak with lovely blue flowers.
• Several dianthus are blooming in the “C” and “J” beds. Earlier this spring I thought the “J” bed dianthus was dead, but after a major pruning of old stems, it has re-emerged. Unfortunately, the snow-in-summer (Cerastium tomentosum) that surrounds it has been severely damaged by the long dry spell and has a lot of brown stems and foliage that needs to be removed.
• One of the garden’s most notable surprises this spring is the emergence of the rose campion in the “I” bed. These campion have dramatically expanded their terrain and have become the dominant plants in the west end of the “K” bed, surrounding the perennial sunflowers--which are still present but less prominent. The plants have produced hundreds of white blooms with soft pink streaks in each flower.
• In the “F” bed, the sunflowers with the dark burgundy stems have their first open blooms. The perennial sunflowers in the “M1" bed probably won’t start blooming for another month.
• The rue in the raised “E” herb bed have really expanded their presence this year: much larger plants and a more vigorous bloom cycle. They appear to be unfazed by several weeks without appreciable rain. They are a good example of a plant gaining presence and power once they reach a certain mass. Even though we no longer use rue as a medicinal resource, it would not seem right to have an English-style herb garden without any rue.
• We have two pots of African daisies beside the two raised “J” beds. One has over a dozen blooms: typical daisy structure with gorgeous dark blue centers that show up well from a distance. The daisies in the second pot were dug up by squirrels shortly after they were transplanted from the greenhouse. Although two plants did survive, they have not yet produced any flowers. The blooms only last a few days, and I suspect they will benefit from regular deadheading. Throughout the garden, several perennials need deadheading, including the peonies, the Siberian iris, the wisteria, and the ox-eye daisies. The standard trees and shrubs in the “H” bed and the espalier apple tree in the “M2" bed are also in need of serious pruning.
• The elderberries by the SW gate are beginning to flower; the younger elderberry continues to grow and will have a full display of white flowers by the end of the week.
• It has been a great spring for the Husker Red and Dark Tower penstemon. The bloom cycle for the penstemon in the “C” and “L” beds is finished, but the penstemon in the shaded areas in the “F,” “G”, and “H” beds are still in their prime. As I was walking by one of the “F” bed penstemon, I had the good fortune to observe a large swallowtail (with a gorgeous dark blue and gold pattern on its wings) visiting the penstemon’s blossoms–a glorious conclusion to my morning walk.
The unrelenting dry spell continues. This afternoon, while working in my vegetable garden southwest of Toddville, I watched two separate rain cells bypass my garden–the first veering off to the west and the second quietly disintegrating in the northeast. For awhile the latter gave the impression it was coming my way, convincing me to move my tools into my Chevy S-10 pickup, but such a precautionary effort proved unnecessary.
While at the Alumni House Garden this morning, I returned to my project of removing weeds and grass from the walkways (including the brick borders) and creating a more distinct separation between the turf and the brick/gravel walkways. Last week I obtained a “new” electric edger (an unexpected gift from someone cleaning out a garage) that neatly cuts through the lawn’s turf. Today I continued removing turf fragments and digging out unwanted grass, purslane, spurge, and other weeds growing in the cracks between the bricks. It’s slow work, using three hand tools (a Japanese hand hoe, a small root knife, and a turf knife) while working on my hands and knees. Midway through the morning, I brought out my mulching lawnmower and mowed all the lawn, using the grass catcher for areas where the grass had grown extra long. I also wanted the two east-side quadrants clear of extra grass because I planned to apply a crabgrass treatment in areas where crabgrass has been a problem the last two years. This is the first time I have used any kind of weed/grass killer on the lawn. I hate to rely on such chemical solutions, but it was evident last summer that the crabgrass invasion had advanced well beyond my ability to control it without additional weapons.
During another break from my lawn care projects, I took a few minutes to walk around the garden, shoot a few photographs, and jot down notes on the current status of the garden. Here is review of my Monday morning observations.
• Over 150 plants started from seed in the greenhouse this spring are still waiting to be planted: six balsam (with beautiful white, pink, and magenta blooms), four pots of Nicotiana (started in the spring of ‘22, they’ve been cut back multiple times and keep rebounding), six Joey Lamb’s Tail (these Ptilotus intended for the gazebo’s sundial, where they thrived three years ago); columbine, several varieties of foxglove (some already blooming), snapdragons (all too tall and lanky, needing to be cut back), over two dozen small lavenders, four Jacob’s ladders, cosmos, cleomes, sweet peas, morning glories, and calendulas. Many of these plants are intended for the “A1" bed that runs along the south side of the patio, but the plants can’t go in the ground until the bed is cleaned up.
• There are two small astrantia in the “M1" bed: neither are thriving, though one has produced two small blooms. Of the three planted in the spring of ‘22, one died during last summer’s heat wave. The two survivors need to be transplanted, but I’m undecided where they should go.
• The yellow-blooming yarrow in the “C” bed has never looked better, covered with dozens of new flowers, an attractive bright spot in the garden. The corresponding red-blooming yarrow in the “L” bed is struggling, unable to compete with the bloody cranesbill that keeps re-establishing itself in that corner of the bed. That area needs to be dug up so I try to remove all the cranesbill roots. I could then provide the yarrow a revitalized soil with more compost.
• The Stella d’oro are beginning to bloom in multiple beds; they are, as always, the first daylilies to start the six-week daylily bloom cycle.
• There has been a dramatic increase in the population of the native milkweed in the “M1" bed; they are just beginning to bloom, the flowers attracting large, solitary black and yellow bees. While I want these milkweed to remain a presence in the garden because of their attractiveness to Monarchs, we have too many popping up in the peonies and false indigo. Once they are finished blooming, I’ll try to remove about half of the population–though their extensive root systems will insure many will bounce back.
• Although the Hall’s honeysuckle by the SW gate are concluding their bloom cycle, they are still fragrant. The honeysuckle in the “H” bed continues to generate fresh, fragrant blooms–by far its most prolific bloom production since it was planted about eight years ago.
• The two Rugosa roses in the “G” and “H” beds are coming to the end of their initial bloom cycle, both with hundreds of small, red blossoms.
• The bloody cranesbill are beginning to fade, particularly the ones in front of the Alumni House patio that have not received much water in the last month. In contrast, the Johnson’s Blue cranesbill in the “D” bed are entering their peak with lovely blue flowers.
• Several dianthus are blooming in the “C” and “J” beds. Earlier this spring I thought the “J” bed dianthus was dead, but after a major pruning of old stems, it has re-emerged. Unfortunately, the snow-in-summer (Cerastium tomentosum) that surrounds it has been severely damaged by the long dry spell and has a lot of brown stems and foliage that needs to be removed.
• One of the garden’s most notable surprises this spring is the emergence of the rose campion in the “I” bed. These campion have dramatically expanded their terrain and have become the dominant plants in the west end of the “K” bed, surrounding the perennial sunflowers--which are still present but less prominent. The plants have produced hundreds of white blooms with soft pink streaks in each flower.
• In the “F” bed, the sunflowers with the dark burgundy stems have their first open blooms. The perennial sunflowers in the “M1" bed probably won’t start blooming for another month.
• The rue in the raised “E” herb bed have really expanded their presence this year: much larger plants and a more vigorous bloom cycle. They appear to be unfazed by several weeks without appreciable rain. They are a good example of a plant gaining presence and power once they reach a certain mass. Even though we no longer use rue as a medicinal resource, it would not seem right to have an English-style herb garden without any rue.
• We have two pots of African daisies beside the two raised “J” beds. One has over a dozen blooms: typical daisy structure with gorgeous dark blue centers that show up well from a distance. The daisies in the second pot were dug up by squirrels shortly after they were transplanted from the greenhouse. Although two plants did survive, they have not yet produced any flowers. The blooms only last a few days, and I suspect they will benefit from regular deadheading. Throughout the garden, several perennials need deadheading, including the peonies, the Siberian iris, the wisteria, and the ox-eye daisies. The standard trees and shrubs in the “H” bed and the espalier apple tree in the “M2" bed are also in need of serious pruning.
• The elderberries by the SW gate are beginning to flower; the younger elderberry continues to grow and will have a full display of white flowers by the end of the week.
• It has been a great spring for the Husker Red and Dark Tower penstemon. The bloom cycle for the penstemon in the “C” and “L” beds is finished, but the penstemon in the shaded areas in the “F,” “G”, and “H” beds are still in their prime. As I was walking by one of the “F” bed penstemon, I had the good fortune to observe a large swallowtail (with a gorgeous dark blue and gold pattern on its wings) visiting the penstemon’s blossoms–a glorious conclusion to my morning walk.
Monday Morning Garden Report: May Day, 2023
These are my observations on the garden for May 1 & 2, based on notes scribbled on the back of a USPS postal receipt. As it turned out, both days were virtually identical, conditions dominated by a relentless wind. Fortunately the garden walls and fences provide some protection, the sun was shining full force, and they were both good days for gardening. We need rain, but nearly all the plants in the garden are perennials, and their established root systems ensure they will do okay for the present.
On Tuesday (May 2), the fountain was turned on, a definitive sign that graduation is just around the corner. If the pattern of previous years holds true, we will have a few graduating seniors and their friends/family visiting the garden for photos, often posing with the fountain in the background. This year’s weekend ceremonies should be in sync with the garden’s flowering crab apple trees. Last year’s white flower display was delayed by the long stretch of April’s chilly weather, but this year–despite the two days of intense wind gusts–the flowering crab are entering their prime right on schedule. If you are attracted to flower power, the first and second weeks in May with the flowering crabs in full force are the garden at its visual best, assisted by the apple blossom’s gentle fragrance. While the May garden is energized by the multiple shades of fresh green foliage and dotted with a welcome variety of blooms (moss phlox, tulips, daffodils, Leucojum, cushion spurge, viburnum), the huge masses of white apple blossoms are impossible to ignore. Although these old crab apples have their share of problems (most notably their susceptibility to the scab and loss of leaves through the summer), they are a glorious gift when in full bloom.
Fortunately the crab apples need little attention at this time of the year, and I can concentrate on other chores. One significant task on Monday was the year’s first lawn mowing. I filled the gas mower with fresh petrol, confirmed the oil level was okay, and in the warm weather the lawn mower started right up. While I occasionally use a rotary push mower, I did not hesitate in opting for gas power for the year’s first cutting. The mowing did not take long because I only did the two west-side quadrants. The two east-side sections have hundreds of crocus that will not be mowed until they begin to die back, having finished their above-ground preparation for their ‘24 bloom cycle.
The big job for this week will be cleaning up the rain garden. I keep putting off this task because there is an enormous amount of work that needs to be done. One major issue is pulling back the expansion of the river oats. While I find this grass very attractive (particularly the seedheads that last through the winter), it is an aggressive self-seeder, and the last two years it has established many clumps beyond its assigned space in the rain garden. Once its roots sink into the soil, they can be very difficult to remove. My goal for this week is to remove last year’s foliage, not only of the river oats but other plants in the area, including the ironweed and giant hyssop. I also need to cut back the sedge growing on the east bank of the rain garden and to replant the remaining flag iris that have been over-run by the sedge and hyssop. In the midst of this area, under the pergola, is a dead arbor vita that needs to be removed. Last week I purchased a boxwood to replace it, but the first task is clearing that area and revitalizing the soil with compost and biochar. I also must remember to water the boxwood through the summer, a failure that is likely the reason for the arbor vita’s demise.
Another area that has received minimal attention this spring is the “F” bed. This bed has become a mishmash of plants without much organization. The bed has an attractive variety of plants: many ‘Jacob Cline’ bee balm, the garden’s largest colony of Joe Pye Weed (which always emerges several weeks after the garden’s other Joe Pye have revealed their new foliage), a vigorous false indigo (a Baptisia australis that corresponds with a similar-sized and placed Baptisia in the facing “I” bed), a large mass of tansy (that corresponds with a similar sized and placed tansy in the “D” bed), several clusters of perennial sunflowers with burgundy-tinged foliage, a nice clump of fernleaf coreopsis, another clump of Roseanne cranesbill, the garden’s only Sioux Blue Indian Grass, and several pincushions (Scabiosa) that produce blooms from early summer into November. Working their way through these diverse plants are random Canada Goldenrods that I’m constantly pulling up–and they are just as adamantly sending up fresh replacements. Since I remain unsure how to rehabilitate this bed, I tend to ignore it. Not a wise decision. For this coming year, I intend to clear out several spaces and introduce a few mid-size annuals and biannuals that I’ve started in the greenhouse, including nicotiana, balsam, cosmos, and foxglove. These may not be permanent solutions, but perhaps they will clarify how the bed should be evolving. ~Bob
These are my observations on the garden for May 1 & 2, based on notes scribbled on the back of a USPS postal receipt. As it turned out, both days were virtually identical, conditions dominated by a relentless wind. Fortunately the garden walls and fences provide some protection, the sun was shining full force, and they were both good days for gardening. We need rain, but nearly all the plants in the garden are perennials, and their established root systems ensure they will do okay for the present.
On Tuesday (May 2), the fountain was turned on, a definitive sign that graduation is just around the corner. If the pattern of previous years holds true, we will have a few graduating seniors and their friends/family visiting the garden for photos, often posing with the fountain in the background. This year’s weekend ceremonies should be in sync with the garden’s flowering crab apple trees. Last year’s white flower display was delayed by the long stretch of April’s chilly weather, but this year–despite the two days of intense wind gusts–the flowering crab are entering their prime right on schedule. If you are attracted to flower power, the first and second weeks in May with the flowering crabs in full force are the garden at its visual best, assisted by the apple blossom’s gentle fragrance. While the May garden is energized by the multiple shades of fresh green foliage and dotted with a welcome variety of blooms (moss phlox, tulips, daffodils, Leucojum, cushion spurge, viburnum), the huge masses of white apple blossoms are impossible to ignore. Although these old crab apples have their share of problems (most notably their susceptibility to the scab and loss of leaves through the summer), they are a glorious gift when in full bloom.
Fortunately the crab apples need little attention at this time of the year, and I can concentrate on other chores. One significant task on Monday was the year’s first lawn mowing. I filled the gas mower with fresh petrol, confirmed the oil level was okay, and in the warm weather the lawn mower started right up. While I occasionally use a rotary push mower, I did not hesitate in opting for gas power for the year’s first cutting. The mowing did not take long because I only did the two west-side quadrants. The two east-side sections have hundreds of crocus that will not be mowed until they begin to die back, having finished their above-ground preparation for their ‘24 bloom cycle.
The big job for this week will be cleaning up the rain garden. I keep putting off this task because there is an enormous amount of work that needs to be done. One major issue is pulling back the expansion of the river oats. While I find this grass very attractive (particularly the seedheads that last through the winter), it is an aggressive self-seeder, and the last two years it has established many clumps beyond its assigned space in the rain garden. Once its roots sink into the soil, they can be very difficult to remove. My goal for this week is to remove last year’s foliage, not only of the river oats but other plants in the area, including the ironweed and giant hyssop. I also need to cut back the sedge growing on the east bank of the rain garden and to replant the remaining flag iris that have been over-run by the sedge and hyssop. In the midst of this area, under the pergola, is a dead arbor vita that needs to be removed. Last week I purchased a boxwood to replace it, but the first task is clearing that area and revitalizing the soil with compost and biochar. I also must remember to water the boxwood through the summer, a failure that is likely the reason for the arbor vita’s demise.
Another area that has received minimal attention this spring is the “F” bed. This bed has become a mishmash of plants without much organization. The bed has an attractive variety of plants: many ‘Jacob Cline’ bee balm, the garden’s largest colony of Joe Pye Weed (which always emerges several weeks after the garden’s other Joe Pye have revealed their new foliage), a vigorous false indigo (a Baptisia australis that corresponds with a similar-sized and placed Baptisia in the facing “I” bed), a large mass of tansy (that corresponds with a similar sized and placed tansy in the “D” bed), several clusters of perennial sunflowers with burgundy-tinged foliage, a nice clump of fernleaf coreopsis, another clump of Roseanne cranesbill, the garden’s only Sioux Blue Indian Grass, and several pincushions (Scabiosa) that produce blooms from early summer into November. Working their way through these diverse plants are random Canada Goldenrods that I’m constantly pulling up–and they are just as adamantly sending up fresh replacements. Since I remain unsure how to rehabilitate this bed, I tend to ignore it. Not a wise decision. For this coming year, I intend to clear out several spaces and introduce a few mid-size annuals and biannuals that I’ve started in the greenhouse, including nicotiana, balsam, cosmos, and foxglove. These may not be permanent solutions, but perhaps they will clarify how the bed should be evolving. ~Bob
Monday Morning Garden Report: 24 April 2023
When I arrived at the garden this morning, I discovered several piles of gravel that had been moved from the gravel walkways to the lawn. One pile was quite large, and I spent about 45 minutes trying to extricate the gravel from the grass, a more difficult enterprise than it would first appear. Last night there was a garden party/meal with families present, and several young children were playing in the garden while the parents were on the patio socializing. Although the garden has posted guidelines with a request that children under twelve not play in the garden without supervision, I know that neither children nor parents would bother to read such a sign nor feel restrained by its recommendations. It’s inevitable that visitors will see the garden not as a garden but as a park, a playground surrounded by a fence to ensure everyone’s safety. Although the space is not intended as a park for unsupervised play, I suspect it never crossed anyone’s mind there was any problem allowing children to run free rein within the garden’s confines. Fortunately, there was no permanent damage. It just meant that I started my day moving tiny pieces of rock from one location to another. There are worse tasks.
After tiring of raking and picking up gravel, I switched my attention to the dandelions. At this time of year, most of my mornings in the Coe garden begin with digging out dandelions in the lawn, initially concentrating on the Taraxacum officinale in bloom. The majority of the bloomers reside at the edge of the lawn, nestled next to the brick pavers. I suspect the bricks generate some heat, energizing the nearby dandelions to begin blooming a few days earlier than their brothers and sisters distributed throughout the rest of the lawn. My primary tool for attacking the dandelions is an 18" long dandelion trowel I purchased from the Garrett-Wade catalog a couple of years ago. It’s not perfect, but it provides sufficient depth and leverage so I can extract a dandelion with its roots, particularly when the soil is reasonably moist and pliant. This morning I allotted myself 30 minutes for dandelion removal. I don’t keep a precise tabulation, but I estimate I average two dandelions per minute, thus 50-60 dandelions this morning. I play this game 3-4 times a week in April and May, thus 200-250 dandelions with some attached soil end up each month in one of the four compost bins. A more satisfying task than picking gravel out of the lawn.
I concluded my garden work this morning by walking around the “C” bed (located directly in front of the patio), observing what was growing and blooming, and trying to decide where to move some plants that need to be relocated. At the moment, the “C” bed is the most diversely populated bed in the garden. It is one of the garden’s largest and deepest beds and has a more varied assortment of flowers than in any of the other beds. Currently the tulips are entering their prime season, with an informally arranged swath of white, red, and pink blooms stretching from the grape hyacinths in the SE corner to the yarrow in the NW corner. Also in bloom are the white and blue Anemone blanda running along the east border and several clumps of the myrtle spurge. In addition to the bloomers, multiple plants are notable for their fresh spring foliage, including the yarrow, several domes of catmint (what one garden writer has aptly labeled “poor man’s lavender”), the fernleaf coreopsis, several patches of meadowsweet, a sprinkling of various allium (some with flower buds already shooting up), the emerging daylilies, and the dozen or more clumps of Husker Red penstemon with their dark burgundy foliage.
My immediate concern this morning is the south end of the “C” bed, the area between the yews and the SW park bench. The woodworker in Iowa City who designed and constructed the garden’s message board and the Little Free Library next to the gazebo is constructing a round pine-wood picnic table (large enough to seat eight people on four attached seats) to be permanently installed in this area. The goal is to provide a secluded but easily accessible picnic table that is in the shade (unlike the patio) and has some protection from the wind (provided by the nearby yews). We don’t yet have a date for the table’s installation but probably in the first two weeks of May. The immediate issue is that a small community of plants will need to be moved, including a dozen or more hostas, many Leucojum (that are currently blooming), a colony of Camassia, several meadowsweet, a few random columbine, and a couple of black-eyed Susans. Most of these plants will be moved to the “M1" bed, which lies along the north side of the patio. That bed has very few no spring-flowering bulbs, and in early spring the bed looks rather barren–though the emerging peonies and false indigo make it clear that this bare garden area will soon be covered with foliage and flowers. The Leucojum and Camassia should be able to tolerate the competition, and I can find other open niches for the meadowsweet, the columbine, and the Susans. Most problematic is finding a new home for the hostas. These are rather generic-looking hostas, and it may be the case they will end up with the dandelions in a compost bin. ~Bob
When I arrived at the garden this morning, I discovered several piles of gravel that had been moved from the gravel walkways to the lawn. One pile was quite large, and I spent about 45 minutes trying to extricate the gravel from the grass, a more difficult enterprise than it would first appear. Last night there was a garden party/meal with families present, and several young children were playing in the garden while the parents were on the patio socializing. Although the garden has posted guidelines with a request that children under twelve not play in the garden without supervision, I know that neither children nor parents would bother to read such a sign nor feel restrained by its recommendations. It’s inevitable that visitors will see the garden not as a garden but as a park, a playground surrounded by a fence to ensure everyone’s safety. Although the space is not intended as a park for unsupervised play, I suspect it never crossed anyone’s mind there was any problem allowing children to run free rein within the garden’s confines. Fortunately, there was no permanent damage. It just meant that I started my day moving tiny pieces of rock from one location to another. There are worse tasks.
After tiring of raking and picking up gravel, I switched my attention to the dandelions. At this time of year, most of my mornings in the Coe garden begin with digging out dandelions in the lawn, initially concentrating on the Taraxacum officinale in bloom. The majority of the bloomers reside at the edge of the lawn, nestled next to the brick pavers. I suspect the bricks generate some heat, energizing the nearby dandelions to begin blooming a few days earlier than their brothers and sisters distributed throughout the rest of the lawn. My primary tool for attacking the dandelions is an 18" long dandelion trowel I purchased from the Garrett-Wade catalog a couple of years ago. It’s not perfect, but it provides sufficient depth and leverage so I can extract a dandelion with its roots, particularly when the soil is reasonably moist and pliant. This morning I allotted myself 30 minutes for dandelion removal. I don’t keep a precise tabulation, but I estimate I average two dandelions per minute, thus 50-60 dandelions this morning. I play this game 3-4 times a week in April and May, thus 200-250 dandelions with some attached soil end up each month in one of the four compost bins. A more satisfying task than picking gravel out of the lawn.
I concluded my garden work this morning by walking around the “C” bed (located directly in front of the patio), observing what was growing and blooming, and trying to decide where to move some plants that need to be relocated. At the moment, the “C” bed is the most diversely populated bed in the garden. It is one of the garden’s largest and deepest beds and has a more varied assortment of flowers than in any of the other beds. Currently the tulips are entering their prime season, with an informally arranged swath of white, red, and pink blooms stretching from the grape hyacinths in the SE corner to the yarrow in the NW corner. Also in bloom are the white and blue Anemone blanda running along the east border and several clumps of the myrtle spurge. In addition to the bloomers, multiple plants are notable for their fresh spring foliage, including the yarrow, several domes of catmint (what one garden writer has aptly labeled “poor man’s lavender”), the fernleaf coreopsis, several patches of meadowsweet, a sprinkling of various allium (some with flower buds already shooting up), the emerging daylilies, and the dozen or more clumps of Husker Red penstemon with their dark burgundy foliage.
My immediate concern this morning is the south end of the “C” bed, the area between the yews and the SW park bench. The woodworker in Iowa City who designed and constructed the garden’s message board and the Little Free Library next to the gazebo is constructing a round pine-wood picnic table (large enough to seat eight people on four attached seats) to be permanently installed in this area. The goal is to provide a secluded but easily accessible picnic table that is in the shade (unlike the patio) and has some protection from the wind (provided by the nearby yews). We don’t yet have a date for the table’s installation but probably in the first two weeks of May. The immediate issue is that a small community of plants will need to be moved, including a dozen or more hostas, many Leucojum (that are currently blooming), a colony of Camassia, several meadowsweet, a few random columbine, and a couple of black-eyed Susans. Most of these plants will be moved to the “M1" bed, which lies along the north side of the patio. That bed has very few no spring-flowering bulbs, and in early spring the bed looks rather barren–though the emerging peonies and false indigo make it clear that this bare garden area will soon be covered with foliage and flowers. The Leucojum and Camassia should be able to tolerate the competition, and I can find other open niches for the meadowsweet, the columbine, and the Susans. Most problematic is finding a new home for the hostas. These are rather generic-looking hostas, and it may be the case they will end up with the dandelions in a compost bin. ~Bob
Monday Morning Garden Report:
17 April 2023
Woke up this morning to discover a light dusting of snow, but the temp was above freezing, and the snow did not last long. When I left the Coe garden at noon, it was in the low 40s, but a stiff NW wind ensured the wind chill would remain in the 20s. I began the day by driving to Ever-Green Nursery, where I purchased two buckets of their biochar (a product I first used two years ago) and a third container with a biochar/nutrient/ microorganism mix the Ever-Green gang is convinced can distinctively improve soil vitality. According to the package, this powdery biochar is inoculated with a blend of micro-nutrients, root-enhancing fungi, and other “healthy organisms.” I left Ever-Green with a five-pound bag, thinking I could experiment with this soil additive in several flower beds, such as the middle of the “A2" bed. I had a wonderful colony of Japanese anemone that did not survive the 1921-22 winter. I suspect the anemone were killed by wet winter soil, and I’m hoping that integrating the biochar into a new raised bed will improve the drainage and help eliminate the “wet winter soil” problem.
After watering the plants in the garden’s greenhouse, I focused the remainder of the morning on the area around the gazebo. I raked up the miscanthus that I cut down several days ago and removed a couple dozen suckers arising from the flowering crab tree roots. I cleaned up the west side of the gazebo’s large flowerbed sundial. Inside the gazebo, I checked out the two birds’ nests nestled under two corners of the roof. I’m not crazy about the bird poop on the gazebo’s walls, but I’m pleased some birds–I assume sparrows– have found safe and protected locations for their nests. Here are a few other Monday morning observations.
• The garden’s two large forsythia in the “G” and “H” beds were both abject failures this year, only producing a few yellow blooms. This is the third consecutive year when their bloom coverage has been disappointing. I had left both shrubs unpruned this past year, hoping that would inspire them to express their appreciation with a hearty bloom cycle, but that did not materialize.
• I trimmed the dead seed stalks of the Verbena bonariensis in the sundial flower bed. Occasionally a few will survive an Iowa winter, and one verbena I pulled up did have fresh growth at the bottom of the stalk, suggesting that some will have survived the ‘22-‘23 winter.
• The daffodils at the back of the “K” bed are not going to bloom. I replanted this gang several years ago and since then they have done quite well, but this year only one flower bud has emerged. Later this spring I will dig them up, replant half of them in this bed, and move the others to the “M1" bed (north of the patio) where we currently have no daffodils, nor any other spring-flowering bulbs except for a few white tulips.
• I was shocked to discover the big yellow daffodils in the “A1" bed were reduced to dry, shriveled blooms. Last year they had a long bloom season, but this year they were devastated by last week’s sequence of hot days. The little “tete-a-tete” daffodils planted throughout the garden were also ravaged by the early April heat wave.
• The tulips in the “E” and “J” have fully formed flowers, but they were not open this morning. It appears we will have a nice blend of oranges and reds (intended to evoke Coe’s “crimson and gold”). The white tulips in the “C” and “L” beds in front of the patio should also be open once the weather is sunnier and less threatening, but the red tulips under the espalier flowering crab are already in full bloom. The crab tree is covered with buds that are perhaps a week away from opening up. The tulips’ red petal color is not a good complement for the crab tree’s dark burgundy flowers, but the tulips’ bloom cycle is usually finished before the tree’s blossoms are fully open.
• Both varieties of moss phlox in the Rock Garden are beginning to bloom; some of the flowers look rather beat up, perhaps victims of the sleet and hail this past weekend, but many have emerging buds and I’m reasonably confident we will soon have a full carpet of pink and light blue blooms.
• The grape hyacinths in both the “C” and “L” beds are blooming. Usually the “L” Muscari start blooming about one week before their brothers and sisters in the “C” bed, but this year–perhaps because of the warm days earlier this month–both colonies began blooming simultaneously.
• Two bleeding hearts behind the NE bench have several blooms but they look damaged and bedraggled–perhaps from the sleet and cold temperatures. A third bleeding heart in this same area is just beginning to emerge, as are the two Dicentra spectabilis next to the Leopold panel in the “M1" bed.
• I was pleased to see the two Midwest native compass plants (Silphium laciniatum) have returned. I planted them in 2015, and they initially had some difficulties (eaten to the ground one year, probably by a groundhog), but last year they bloomed for the first time, producing a series of large sunflower-like yellow and brown blooms. They are known to be self-seeders, and I’m curious to see if their seeds produce any progeny.
• The Leucojum behind the NW bench are already blooming, notably ahead of their usual schedule. Last year their white bell-shaped flowers--with the distinctive green dot on the tip of each tepal--did not appear until the middle of May. This year they have arrived almost one month earlier, I suppose in response to our relatively warm spring.
• Last but not least, the glory of the snow (Chionodoxa) have appeared, primarily in the “C” and “L” beds. These are glorious little ground-hugging wind flowers, and I’m thrilled to see that several groups have expanded their numbers. They appear after many of the other small spring-flowering bulbs are finished--such as the crocus and wolf bane. (See photo.)
17 April 2023
Woke up this morning to discover a light dusting of snow, but the temp was above freezing, and the snow did not last long. When I left the Coe garden at noon, it was in the low 40s, but a stiff NW wind ensured the wind chill would remain in the 20s. I began the day by driving to Ever-Green Nursery, where I purchased two buckets of their biochar (a product I first used two years ago) and a third container with a biochar/nutrient/ microorganism mix the Ever-Green gang is convinced can distinctively improve soil vitality. According to the package, this powdery biochar is inoculated with a blend of micro-nutrients, root-enhancing fungi, and other “healthy organisms.” I left Ever-Green with a five-pound bag, thinking I could experiment with this soil additive in several flower beds, such as the middle of the “A2" bed. I had a wonderful colony of Japanese anemone that did not survive the 1921-22 winter. I suspect the anemone were killed by wet winter soil, and I’m hoping that integrating the biochar into a new raised bed will improve the drainage and help eliminate the “wet winter soil” problem.
After watering the plants in the garden’s greenhouse, I focused the remainder of the morning on the area around the gazebo. I raked up the miscanthus that I cut down several days ago and removed a couple dozen suckers arising from the flowering crab tree roots. I cleaned up the west side of the gazebo’s large flowerbed sundial. Inside the gazebo, I checked out the two birds’ nests nestled under two corners of the roof. I’m not crazy about the bird poop on the gazebo’s walls, but I’m pleased some birds–I assume sparrows– have found safe and protected locations for their nests. Here are a few other Monday morning observations.
• The garden’s two large forsythia in the “G” and “H” beds were both abject failures this year, only producing a few yellow blooms. This is the third consecutive year when their bloom coverage has been disappointing. I had left both shrubs unpruned this past year, hoping that would inspire them to express their appreciation with a hearty bloom cycle, but that did not materialize.
• I trimmed the dead seed stalks of the Verbena bonariensis in the sundial flower bed. Occasionally a few will survive an Iowa winter, and one verbena I pulled up did have fresh growth at the bottom of the stalk, suggesting that some will have survived the ‘22-‘23 winter.
• The daffodils at the back of the “K” bed are not going to bloom. I replanted this gang several years ago and since then they have done quite well, but this year only one flower bud has emerged. Later this spring I will dig them up, replant half of them in this bed, and move the others to the “M1" bed (north of the patio) where we currently have no daffodils, nor any other spring-flowering bulbs except for a few white tulips.
• I was shocked to discover the big yellow daffodils in the “A1" bed were reduced to dry, shriveled blooms. Last year they had a long bloom season, but this year they were devastated by last week’s sequence of hot days. The little “tete-a-tete” daffodils planted throughout the garden were also ravaged by the early April heat wave.
• The tulips in the “E” and “J” have fully formed flowers, but they were not open this morning. It appears we will have a nice blend of oranges and reds (intended to evoke Coe’s “crimson and gold”). The white tulips in the “C” and “L” beds in front of the patio should also be open once the weather is sunnier and less threatening, but the red tulips under the espalier flowering crab are already in full bloom. The crab tree is covered with buds that are perhaps a week away from opening up. The tulips’ red petal color is not a good complement for the crab tree’s dark burgundy flowers, but the tulips’ bloom cycle is usually finished before the tree’s blossoms are fully open.
• Both varieties of moss phlox in the Rock Garden are beginning to bloom; some of the flowers look rather beat up, perhaps victims of the sleet and hail this past weekend, but many have emerging buds and I’m reasonably confident we will soon have a full carpet of pink and light blue blooms.
• The grape hyacinths in both the “C” and “L” beds are blooming. Usually the “L” Muscari start blooming about one week before their brothers and sisters in the “C” bed, but this year–perhaps because of the warm days earlier this month–both colonies began blooming simultaneously.
• Two bleeding hearts behind the NE bench have several blooms but they look damaged and bedraggled–perhaps from the sleet and cold temperatures. A third bleeding heart in this same area is just beginning to emerge, as are the two Dicentra spectabilis next to the Leopold panel in the “M1" bed.
• I was pleased to see the two Midwest native compass plants (Silphium laciniatum) have returned. I planted them in 2015, and they initially had some difficulties (eaten to the ground one year, probably by a groundhog), but last year they bloomed for the first time, producing a series of large sunflower-like yellow and brown blooms. They are known to be self-seeders, and I’m curious to see if their seeds produce any progeny.
• The Leucojum behind the NW bench are already blooming, notably ahead of their usual schedule. Last year their white bell-shaped flowers--with the distinctive green dot on the tip of each tepal--did not appear until the middle of May. This year they have arrived almost one month earlier, I suppose in response to our relatively warm spring.
• Last but not least, the glory of the snow (Chionodoxa) have appeared, primarily in the “C” and “L” beds. These are glorious little ground-hugging wind flowers, and I’m thrilled to see that several groups have expanded their numbers. They appear after many of the other small spring-flowering bulbs are finished--such as the crocus and wolf bane. (See photo.)
Monday Morning Garden Report:
3 April 2023
In his Gardener’s Bed-Book (first published in 1929), Richardson Wright accurately describes my typical gardening pattern: [A garden’s] distractions are tempting and persistent, and only by stern exercise of will do I ever finish one job without being lured off to another. I am setting annuals into the empty spaces of a border, for example. Midway between cold frame and border an unweeded Iris bed catches my eye. Down goes the flat of seedlings and, before I’m aware of it, I’m engrossed in the weed-choked Iris. That unpredictable lurching from task to task certainly described this morning’s gardening practice. I walked into the garden intending to “clean up” the Rain Garden at the east end of the garden. After three hours working in the garden, I still had not reached the Rain Garden.
My first distraction was the “A2" bed southeast of the patio. Last week I had cut down the perennial sunflowers, but I never raked the area nor transferred the old foliage and flower stalks to the compost pile outside the greenhouse. Once I began raking, I encountered more plants that needed pruning–such as the hyssops along the fence, several volunteer rue, a large lemon balm, a patch of oregano at the front of the bed, and strands of last year’s daylily foliage. Once that area was a bit spiffier, I turned my attention to the east end of the “A1" bed. I removed the dead stalks and seedheads from the three Millennium allium at the southeast corner of that bed. Fresh green foliage is already shoving its way through last year’s blanket of old gray leaves. I recall the first time I saw these ornamental onions in the Botanical Garden in Chicago. After witnessing their effectiveness as front-of-border plants, I ordered a half dozen for the Coe garden, ones that now serve at several points along the pathway surrounding the patio. Their admirable qualities include being unfazed by hot or cold temperatures and impervious to long stretches of dry weather; lovely green foliage from early spring into winter (unlike most alliums, which disappear in the summer); long-lasting purple blooms attractive to many pollinators, including Monarchs and Painted Ladies; beautiful seedheads that hold up through the winter; sterile seeds so the allium don’t spread where you don’t want them. A darn near perfect plant for a Midwest perennial flower garden.
Once I finished trimming the allium, I gathered my tools and headed for the Rain Garden. But after a few steps, I stopped at the “D” bed and decided to take care of some other unfinished business. I initially concentrated on cutting back the stalks and seedheads from a row of “tall” stonecrop in the middle of the “D” bed. I place quotation marks around the “tall,” because these stonecrop are significantly shorter than those in the “C” and “L” beds in front of the patio. I planted these “D” sedums several years ago, but unfortunately I have lost track of their specific name. As with the Millennium alliums, these stonecrop are tough perennials that provide year-around appeal. Even after an Iowa winter, their reddish-brown seedheads are full and erect. Their only weakness is that each year I need to remove the obedient plants and black-eyed Susans that penetrate through the stonecrop’s roots. In front of the stonecrops is another attractive perennial--several clumps of blue-eyed grass (Sisyrinchium grammoides). This is the smallest ornamental grass in the garden, the narrow lance-shaped leaves only 6-8" tall. In late spring/early summer they produce small star-shaped dark blue flowers with yellow centers, reminiscent of a forget-me-not. The blooms are quite small, and even though this grass is at the front of the border, I suspect most visitors walk by and never notice them.
Another dependable front-of-the-border perennial is the Lamb’s Ear (Stachys byzantia), also known as Wooly Betony. The cultivar in the Coe garden (located in both the “D” and “K” beds facing each other) is the ‘Countess Helene von Stein’ with its large greenish-white, felt-like leaves. This is another perennial that only requires attention early in the spring when I cut away last year’s weathered foliage and some of the older stems (a pruning project somewhat similar to a spring clean up of a strawberry bed). This S. byzantia does not usually bloom, but the last two summers one of the three Countesses in the “K” bed has produced a single flower stalk studded with small magenta blooms. In his Perennial Garden Plants, Graham Thomas states that this Stachys species originated in the Caucasus and first appeared in European gardens at the end of the 18th century. Thomas quotes the 19th-century gardener Mrs. C. W. Earle declaring that “not the smallest and driest garden should be without Stachys lanata” (botanists have since changed the “lanata” to “byzantia”).
Two other notable perennials that were in the “D” bed when I arrived on the scene in 2014 are the tansy (Tanacetum vulgare) and the dwarf lilac (a Syringa something). Both have no problem taking care of themselves. Via rhizomes, the tansy does expand each year, and each spring I dig out the emerging plants so this clump of tansy remains within a 18" wide circle. Since many of the tansy stalks will grow over 6' tall, the dense clump has a circular steel support to keep the plant from flopping over. There is also a large tansy in the “F” bed and both produce dozens of bright yellow, button-shaped blooms, but I’m not aware their seeds have ever produced new plants. Although the tansy does not have an appealing fragrance, I find the fern-like foliage quite attractive. According to Liberty Hyde Bailey’s Cyclopedia of Horticulture, the leaves were at one time frequently used as culinary seasoning and the plant played an important role in treating medical disorders, ranging from the stomach ache to hysteria. As for the anonymous dwarf lilac, the only attention it receives will occur in the early summer when its limbs are pruned after its bloom cycle. At least, that is what is supposed to happen. Last year it slipped through the year unpruned, and this year it’s notably taller and wider than in previous springs. I’m curious to see how the absence of pruning affects its blooming. One small task I performed this morning was removing an old bird’s nest, still held together by a long strip of plastic. As I was extricating the nest from the lilac’s branches, I discovered that the nest included several small segments of paper originally intended for covering drinking straws (see photo). ~Bob
3 April 2023
In his Gardener’s Bed-Book (first published in 1929), Richardson Wright accurately describes my typical gardening pattern: [A garden’s] distractions are tempting and persistent, and only by stern exercise of will do I ever finish one job without being lured off to another. I am setting annuals into the empty spaces of a border, for example. Midway between cold frame and border an unweeded Iris bed catches my eye. Down goes the flat of seedlings and, before I’m aware of it, I’m engrossed in the weed-choked Iris. That unpredictable lurching from task to task certainly described this morning’s gardening practice. I walked into the garden intending to “clean up” the Rain Garden at the east end of the garden. After three hours working in the garden, I still had not reached the Rain Garden.
My first distraction was the “A2" bed southeast of the patio. Last week I had cut down the perennial sunflowers, but I never raked the area nor transferred the old foliage and flower stalks to the compost pile outside the greenhouse. Once I began raking, I encountered more plants that needed pruning–such as the hyssops along the fence, several volunteer rue, a large lemon balm, a patch of oregano at the front of the bed, and strands of last year’s daylily foliage. Once that area was a bit spiffier, I turned my attention to the east end of the “A1" bed. I removed the dead stalks and seedheads from the three Millennium allium at the southeast corner of that bed. Fresh green foliage is already shoving its way through last year’s blanket of old gray leaves. I recall the first time I saw these ornamental onions in the Botanical Garden in Chicago. After witnessing their effectiveness as front-of-border plants, I ordered a half dozen for the Coe garden, ones that now serve at several points along the pathway surrounding the patio. Their admirable qualities include being unfazed by hot or cold temperatures and impervious to long stretches of dry weather; lovely green foliage from early spring into winter (unlike most alliums, which disappear in the summer); long-lasting purple blooms attractive to many pollinators, including Monarchs and Painted Ladies; beautiful seedheads that hold up through the winter; sterile seeds so the allium don’t spread where you don’t want them. A darn near perfect plant for a Midwest perennial flower garden.
Once I finished trimming the allium, I gathered my tools and headed for the Rain Garden. But after a few steps, I stopped at the “D” bed and decided to take care of some other unfinished business. I initially concentrated on cutting back the stalks and seedheads from a row of “tall” stonecrop in the middle of the “D” bed. I place quotation marks around the “tall,” because these stonecrop are significantly shorter than those in the “C” and “L” beds in front of the patio. I planted these “D” sedums several years ago, but unfortunately I have lost track of their specific name. As with the Millennium alliums, these stonecrop are tough perennials that provide year-around appeal. Even after an Iowa winter, their reddish-brown seedheads are full and erect. Their only weakness is that each year I need to remove the obedient plants and black-eyed Susans that penetrate through the stonecrop’s roots. In front of the stonecrops is another attractive perennial--several clumps of blue-eyed grass (Sisyrinchium grammoides). This is the smallest ornamental grass in the garden, the narrow lance-shaped leaves only 6-8" tall. In late spring/early summer they produce small star-shaped dark blue flowers with yellow centers, reminiscent of a forget-me-not. The blooms are quite small, and even though this grass is at the front of the border, I suspect most visitors walk by and never notice them.
Another dependable front-of-the-border perennial is the Lamb’s Ear (Stachys byzantia), also known as Wooly Betony. The cultivar in the Coe garden (located in both the “D” and “K” beds facing each other) is the ‘Countess Helene von Stein’ with its large greenish-white, felt-like leaves. This is another perennial that only requires attention early in the spring when I cut away last year’s weathered foliage and some of the older stems (a pruning project somewhat similar to a spring clean up of a strawberry bed). This S. byzantia does not usually bloom, but the last two summers one of the three Countesses in the “K” bed has produced a single flower stalk studded with small magenta blooms. In his Perennial Garden Plants, Graham Thomas states that this Stachys species originated in the Caucasus and first appeared in European gardens at the end of the 18th century. Thomas quotes the 19th-century gardener Mrs. C. W. Earle declaring that “not the smallest and driest garden should be without Stachys lanata” (botanists have since changed the “lanata” to “byzantia”).
Two other notable perennials that were in the “D” bed when I arrived on the scene in 2014 are the tansy (Tanacetum vulgare) and the dwarf lilac (a Syringa something). Both have no problem taking care of themselves. Via rhizomes, the tansy does expand each year, and each spring I dig out the emerging plants so this clump of tansy remains within a 18" wide circle. Since many of the tansy stalks will grow over 6' tall, the dense clump has a circular steel support to keep the plant from flopping over. There is also a large tansy in the “F” bed and both produce dozens of bright yellow, button-shaped blooms, but I’m not aware their seeds have ever produced new plants. Although the tansy does not have an appealing fragrance, I find the fern-like foliage quite attractive. According to Liberty Hyde Bailey’s Cyclopedia of Horticulture, the leaves were at one time frequently used as culinary seasoning and the plant played an important role in treating medical disorders, ranging from the stomach ache to hysteria. As for the anonymous dwarf lilac, the only attention it receives will occur in the early summer when its limbs are pruned after its bloom cycle. At least, that is what is supposed to happen. Last year it slipped through the year unpruned, and this year it’s notably taller and wider than in previous springs. I’m curious to see how the absence of pruning affects its blooming. One small task I performed this morning was removing an old bird’s nest, still held together by a long strip of plastic. As I was extricating the nest from the lilac’s branches, I discovered that the nest included several small segments of paper originally intended for covering drinking straws (see photo). ~Bob
Monday Morning Garden Report: 27 March 2023
A Five-Minute Walk. Today was a perfect early spring day for Alumni House garden work, but my mind was focused on finishing a task I had started last week at my vegetable garden: cleaning up the raspberry and blackberry beds. The red raspberries were infiltrated last year by a cohort of crown vetch that had migrated from a nearby ditch. I will eventually dig up a large stretch of the raspberry bed, try to discard the vetch roots, and rebuild the bed. Today my goal was simply to remove as much of the vetch as I can find, hoping to reduce its numbers and exert a modest element of control. A pocket of crown vetch also exists in a corner of Alumni House Garden’s “G” bed. Two years ago I thought it was defeated, but last year it exuberantly re-emerged when my back was turned, and we’ve now returned to where we were ten years ago. During my vetch confrontations, I often recall my Dad planting vetch along a badly eroded hillside on our farm in southern Kansas. Nothing grew on that barren hillside until the vetch arrived. Within a year this legume had covered the area with its dense foliage and beautiful pink blossoms. Sixty years ago I was impressed with its toughness, and I’m still impressed. I would prefer, however, it move to a less hospitable terrain than my two favorite gardens.
My morning walk around the garden would have been much shorter if I had not seen my first butterfly of the spring, visiting the blooms of the reticulated iris and winter aconites in the crevice garden. In most years the first and last butterfly of the year will be a Cabbage White gaily bouncing around the garden, often in pairs. But today’s butterfly had orange wings covered with a complex display of black and dark brown spots, the 2" wide wings spread to absorb the noon-time sunshine. Alas, my Lepidopterist ID skills are limited, but I feel reasonably sure this was a punctuation butterfly, either a Comma or a Question Mark, both year-around Iowa natives. Unfortunately I could not recall how to distinguish one from the other, and I didn’t have my camera to take a photo. A couple of years ago I determined a visitor was a Question Mark, and I would guess this guy/gal was of the same species, but that’s just a guess. Whatever the identity, we spent a couple of minutes together, the attention of this small butterfly absorbed with these gorgeous flowers.
As I entered the garden’s lawn quad area, I was struck that for the first time since I began working in this garden, we were starting to have enough early flowering yellow bulbs to reach a critical mass. One sign of progress was the arrival of yellow crocus and winter aconite blooms around the perimeter of the lower “J” bed on the north side of the garden. That bed receives early morning sunshine and its soil warms up more quickly than most of the perennial flower beds. The biggest change from previous years, however, is the appearance of yellow crocus in the two lawn quadrants on the east side of the garden. Since 2019, we have planted over 2,000 Tommy crocus in those two lawn sections, hoping they would naturalize across those grassy areas. While the Tommies have not been a complete failure, they have not spread as vigorously as I had hoped, and their bloom period is often quite short. Since crocus blooms are only open when the sun is shining, we were not getting the bloom intensity I was seeking. So last fall we planted in the lawn 800 Crocreation crocus, promising a mixture of purple and golden yellow blooms. This weekend the yellows made their first appearance. Despite their relatively small numbers (it requires a lot of crocus blooms to fill a lawn), they are making an impact. Their blooms are larger and more vibrant than the Tommies, and it appears they may be more tenacious and longer-lasting. Time will tell on that issue. While on the subject of early blooms, I should mention that the snowdrops are still in full bloom. This year’s cool spring weather has been perfect for their bloom cycle.
As usual on a Monday walk around the garden, there was trash to pick up. My garden assistant reported that last week she found a used hypodermic needle in the gazebo. Although I found nothing of that nature, I did pick up an unopened can of apple cider (5% alcohol content) in the middle of the peony bed next to patio. And as always, there were the plastic bags and a few candy bar wrappers that had blown in. I also met a student who who was heading for one of the Adirondack chairs. After exchanging “hellos,” he told me the garden was a “great place to study.” I expressed my agreement and mentioned that when I was an undergraduate I would study in a rose garden on campus. I thought it was an ideal space for reading, and I don’t recall ever encountering another student in that rose garden. Perhaps if I ever revisit my alma mater, I’ll try to find the garden and see if sixty years later it’s still there. And now I’m wondering if any crown vetch is still growing on the hillside in southern Kansas.
A Five-Minute Walk. Today was a perfect early spring day for Alumni House garden work, but my mind was focused on finishing a task I had started last week at my vegetable garden: cleaning up the raspberry and blackberry beds. The red raspberries were infiltrated last year by a cohort of crown vetch that had migrated from a nearby ditch. I will eventually dig up a large stretch of the raspberry bed, try to discard the vetch roots, and rebuild the bed. Today my goal was simply to remove as much of the vetch as I can find, hoping to reduce its numbers and exert a modest element of control. A pocket of crown vetch also exists in a corner of Alumni House Garden’s “G” bed. Two years ago I thought it was defeated, but last year it exuberantly re-emerged when my back was turned, and we’ve now returned to where we were ten years ago. During my vetch confrontations, I often recall my Dad planting vetch along a badly eroded hillside on our farm in southern Kansas. Nothing grew on that barren hillside until the vetch arrived. Within a year this legume had covered the area with its dense foliage and beautiful pink blossoms. Sixty years ago I was impressed with its toughness, and I’m still impressed. I would prefer, however, it move to a less hospitable terrain than my two favorite gardens.
My morning walk around the garden would have been much shorter if I had not seen my first butterfly of the spring, visiting the blooms of the reticulated iris and winter aconites in the crevice garden. In most years the first and last butterfly of the year will be a Cabbage White gaily bouncing around the garden, often in pairs. But today’s butterfly had orange wings covered with a complex display of black and dark brown spots, the 2" wide wings spread to absorb the noon-time sunshine. Alas, my Lepidopterist ID skills are limited, but I feel reasonably sure this was a punctuation butterfly, either a Comma or a Question Mark, both year-around Iowa natives. Unfortunately I could not recall how to distinguish one from the other, and I didn’t have my camera to take a photo. A couple of years ago I determined a visitor was a Question Mark, and I would guess this guy/gal was of the same species, but that’s just a guess. Whatever the identity, we spent a couple of minutes together, the attention of this small butterfly absorbed with these gorgeous flowers.
As I entered the garden’s lawn quad area, I was struck that for the first time since I began working in this garden, we were starting to have enough early flowering yellow bulbs to reach a critical mass. One sign of progress was the arrival of yellow crocus and winter aconite blooms around the perimeter of the lower “J” bed on the north side of the garden. That bed receives early morning sunshine and its soil warms up more quickly than most of the perennial flower beds. The biggest change from previous years, however, is the appearance of yellow crocus in the two lawn quadrants on the east side of the garden. Since 2019, we have planted over 2,000 Tommy crocus in those two lawn sections, hoping they would naturalize across those grassy areas. While the Tommies have not been a complete failure, they have not spread as vigorously as I had hoped, and their bloom period is often quite short. Since crocus blooms are only open when the sun is shining, we were not getting the bloom intensity I was seeking. So last fall we planted in the lawn 800 Crocreation crocus, promising a mixture of purple and golden yellow blooms. This weekend the yellows made their first appearance. Despite their relatively small numbers (it requires a lot of crocus blooms to fill a lawn), they are making an impact. Their blooms are larger and more vibrant than the Tommies, and it appears they may be more tenacious and longer-lasting. Time will tell on that issue. While on the subject of early blooms, I should mention that the snowdrops are still in full bloom. This year’s cool spring weather has been perfect for their bloom cycle.
As usual on a Monday walk around the garden, there was trash to pick up. My garden assistant reported that last week she found a used hypodermic needle in the gazebo. Although I found nothing of that nature, I did pick up an unopened can of apple cider (5% alcohol content) in the middle of the peony bed next to patio. And as always, there were the plastic bags and a few candy bar wrappers that had blown in. I also met a student who who was heading for one of the Adirondack chairs. After exchanging “hellos,” he told me the garden was a “great place to study.” I expressed my agreement and mentioned that when I was an undergraduate I would study in a rose garden on campus. I thought it was an ideal space for reading, and I don’t recall ever encountering another student in that rose garden. Perhaps if I ever revisit my alma mater, I’ll try to find the garden and see if sixty years later it’s still there. And now I’m wondering if any crown vetch is still growing on the hillside in southern Kansas.
Monday Morning Garden Report: 20 March 2023
Accompanying this report are two photos of the garden’s seasonal sundial that were taken today, March 20, at 12:00 noon (true noon, not the Daylight Savings Time version). The shadows across the sundial’s steel plate confirm that today is the spring equinox. The sundial was designed and constructed by Cara Briggs Farmer, the sculptor responsible for over two dozen steel structures in the garden: the sundial in front of the gazebo, the two steel spheres in the lawn, the two steel arches in the “G” bed, the “Rising Sun” sculpture facing the patio, the “glass” flowers in a small bed north of the fountain, the two panels next to the two west-side gates, and over a dozen plant supports located throughout the garden. For the seasonal sundial, Cara obtained measurements for its structure from a mathematician in Vermont, who sent her the precise angles necessary to ensure the accuracy of each arch’s shadows for the placement of the sundial in Cedar Rapids. Travel north or south of our location, and the sundial loses its accuracy. It’s always a special day when the sun is shining at noon on a seasonal solstice or equinox, a reassuring confirmation that despite all the problems of the world, the solar system is still operating.
One function of a garden is to serve as a seasonal clock, recording the arrival and departure of the seasons. This week’s clock registered the arrival of several spring flowers. The full sun stimulated the crocus and the winter aconites to be fully open. The spears of crocus in the garden’s lawn are just beginning to send up their flower buds, but the crocus in the perennial flower beds are now fully activated by the warmer soil in those beds. Last fall we planted 100 Eranthis hyemalis (winter aconite, also known as winter wolf bane) in the lower “J” bed north of the fountain. In my previous efforts to sow these tiny corms in front of the patio, the percentage of successful germinations has been inconsistent, but it appears last fall’s planting was quite successful. The front of the border has an impressive band of bright yellow blooms, the Eranthis accompanying the yellow crocus planted two years ago. This weekend I read a passage from William Robinson’s The English Flower Garden (originally published in 1883) stating that winter aconites are best seen “in a half-wild state under trees or on banks in woody places,” but he acknowledged that in some gardens they can be “occasionally worthy of a place among the earliest border flowers.” This year’s winter aconites have demonstrated their worthiness in this prominent flower bed.
The other notable arrival on this Monday is the first blooms of the reticulated iris (Iris histrioides) in the crevice garden, located near the NW gate. As I have observed in previous garden reports, there is no more beautiful flower to be found in the garden at any time of the year. This ‘Katharine Hodgkin’ variety has orchid-like flowers with blue veins. Native to Anatolia, this species appreciates the dry, well-drained, rocky soil of the crevice garden. They require no care, they are slowly naturalizing, and by early summer the plants will have completely disappeared. A hybrid created in the 1950s. the 'Katharine Hodgkin' is reputed to have a “sweet violet-like fragrance”--a quality I've never been able to detect.
Since all the spring-flowering bulbs are quite capable of taking care of themselves, my garden work is currently focused on the two “A” flower beds south of the patio, beginning with the removal of the stalks of last year’s perennial sunflowers, Helianthus microcephalus (common name is small-headed sunflower or woodland sunflower). This member of the aster family is native to dry woodland areas throughout the eastern U.S. from Canada to Florida. While they migrated west of the Mississippi into Missouri, they never moved north into Iowa. They are, however, a hardy Zone 4 member of the aster family and have no problems with Iowa winters. The variety planted in the Coe garden has thrived in two locations in beds facing the SE and NE corners of the patio. Both colonies are producing individual plants over 8' tall. They have a long bloom season from the middle of the summer until the first hard freeze. The yellow, daisy-like flowers are small, perhaps 1 ½” wide (thus the name “microcephalus”– which translates “small head”), much smaller than the typical sunflower. But the plants produce dozens of blooms that show up quite well from a distance. Many pollinators are attracted to the blooms, and the tan seedheads appear to be a favorite of the winter bird population. Several times this past winter when entering the garden in the morning, I saw flocks of sparrows or finches feeding on the seeds. I’ve read that this variety of sunflower can serve as a host plant for the American Painted Lady, Painted Lady, Silvery Checkerspot, and Spring Azure butterflies. H. microcephalus is a prolific seed producer, but I suspect the two colonies in the Coe garden are expanding via rhizomes. The plants are very hardy, have never required any watering during the summer, and have not given any signs of problems with insects or disease. And I love the beautiful seedheads, neat and trim, unfazed by the winter. I hate to cut them down, but it’s time to open up the space for this year’s new growth. ~Bob
Accompanying this report are two photos of the garden’s seasonal sundial that were taken today, March 20, at 12:00 noon (true noon, not the Daylight Savings Time version). The shadows across the sundial’s steel plate confirm that today is the spring equinox. The sundial was designed and constructed by Cara Briggs Farmer, the sculptor responsible for over two dozen steel structures in the garden: the sundial in front of the gazebo, the two steel spheres in the lawn, the two steel arches in the “G” bed, the “Rising Sun” sculpture facing the patio, the “glass” flowers in a small bed north of the fountain, the two panels next to the two west-side gates, and over a dozen plant supports located throughout the garden. For the seasonal sundial, Cara obtained measurements for its structure from a mathematician in Vermont, who sent her the precise angles necessary to ensure the accuracy of each arch’s shadows for the placement of the sundial in Cedar Rapids. Travel north or south of our location, and the sundial loses its accuracy. It’s always a special day when the sun is shining at noon on a seasonal solstice or equinox, a reassuring confirmation that despite all the problems of the world, the solar system is still operating.
One function of a garden is to serve as a seasonal clock, recording the arrival and departure of the seasons. This week’s clock registered the arrival of several spring flowers. The full sun stimulated the crocus and the winter aconites to be fully open. The spears of crocus in the garden’s lawn are just beginning to send up their flower buds, but the crocus in the perennial flower beds are now fully activated by the warmer soil in those beds. Last fall we planted 100 Eranthis hyemalis (winter aconite, also known as winter wolf bane) in the lower “J” bed north of the fountain. In my previous efforts to sow these tiny corms in front of the patio, the percentage of successful germinations has been inconsistent, but it appears last fall’s planting was quite successful. The front of the border has an impressive band of bright yellow blooms, the Eranthis accompanying the yellow crocus planted two years ago. This weekend I read a passage from William Robinson’s The English Flower Garden (originally published in 1883) stating that winter aconites are best seen “in a half-wild state under trees or on banks in woody places,” but he acknowledged that in some gardens they can be “occasionally worthy of a place among the earliest border flowers.” This year’s winter aconites have demonstrated their worthiness in this prominent flower bed.
The other notable arrival on this Monday is the first blooms of the reticulated iris (Iris histrioides) in the crevice garden, located near the NW gate. As I have observed in previous garden reports, there is no more beautiful flower to be found in the garden at any time of the year. This ‘Katharine Hodgkin’ variety has orchid-like flowers with blue veins. Native to Anatolia, this species appreciates the dry, well-drained, rocky soil of the crevice garden. They require no care, they are slowly naturalizing, and by early summer the plants will have completely disappeared. A hybrid created in the 1950s. the 'Katharine Hodgkin' is reputed to have a “sweet violet-like fragrance”--a quality I've never been able to detect.
Since all the spring-flowering bulbs are quite capable of taking care of themselves, my garden work is currently focused on the two “A” flower beds south of the patio, beginning with the removal of the stalks of last year’s perennial sunflowers, Helianthus microcephalus (common name is small-headed sunflower or woodland sunflower). This member of the aster family is native to dry woodland areas throughout the eastern U.S. from Canada to Florida. While they migrated west of the Mississippi into Missouri, they never moved north into Iowa. They are, however, a hardy Zone 4 member of the aster family and have no problems with Iowa winters. The variety planted in the Coe garden has thrived in two locations in beds facing the SE and NE corners of the patio. Both colonies are producing individual plants over 8' tall. They have a long bloom season from the middle of the summer until the first hard freeze. The yellow, daisy-like flowers are small, perhaps 1 ½” wide (thus the name “microcephalus”– which translates “small head”), much smaller than the typical sunflower. But the plants produce dozens of blooms that show up quite well from a distance. Many pollinators are attracted to the blooms, and the tan seedheads appear to be a favorite of the winter bird population. Several times this past winter when entering the garden in the morning, I saw flocks of sparrows or finches feeding on the seeds. I’ve read that this variety of sunflower can serve as a host plant for the American Painted Lady, Painted Lady, Silvery Checkerspot, and Spring Azure butterflies. H. microcephalus is a prolific seed producer, but I suspect the two colonies in the Coe garden are expanding via rhizomes. The plants are very hardy, have never required any watering during the summer, and have not given any signs of problems with insects or disease. And I love the beautiful seedheads, neat and trim, unfazed by the winter. I hate to cut them down, but it’s time to open up the space for this year’s new growth. ~Bob
Monday Morning Garden Report: 6 March 2023
For the past three days most of my gardening efforts have focused on the “G” bed, located in the SE corner of the garden. Since I began my tenure as the caretaker for the Alumni House Garden, this area has experienced some profound changes. The reconstruction has included the removal of a flowering crab tree, the installation of a new pergola over the adjoining walkway, the construction of a rain garden with two drainage channels, the removal of several plants that had dominated this area (Canada goldenrod, Queen Anne’s lace, swamp milkweed, horsetail), and the introduction of many new plants: hundreds of daffodils, tulips, snowdrops, hyacinths, hellebores, river oats, blue lobelia, cardinal flowers, astilbe, columbine, giant hyssop, a bed of sedge and flag iris, bugleweed, new varieties of hostas, a large hibiscus, cornflower, ironweed, Siberian bugloss, peonies, daylilies, wisteria, clematis, Joe Pye weed, guinea fowl fritillary, balloon flowers, Dark Tower penstemon, turtlehead, toad lily, variegated Solomon’s Seal, several varieties of ferns, and I suspect others I’m forgetting at the moment. Despite all these changes, the fundamental structure of this bed has remained quite stable. The structural plants on the perimeter are the same that were here ten years ago: two mature flowering crab trees, a row of yews on the south side (backed by a cedar fence), and to the east a row of viburnum (backed by an ivy-covered brick wall). There is a Viburnum burkwoodii mixed in with the viburnum at the back of the “H” bed, but all the viburnum in the “G” bed are probably Arrowwood Viburnum (Viburnum dentatum), a North American native that can grow quite tall (over 10') and produces blue-black fruit attractive to visiting birds. Other surviving keystone plants would include:
• A Forsythia. This is a large, unruly character, crammed into a space between the yews and a flowering crab tree. There is a second forsythia planted behind a flowering crab on the north side of the garden. For 51 weeks of the year, they are not particularly attractive shrubs, and their survival is a consequence of their inhabiting spaces where they rarely receive much attention. Most years they have one week of glory, covered with hundreds of gorgeous, short-lived yellow blooms in late March, a week when they are the stars of the garden before their retreat into anonymity. For a variety of reasons their bloom cycle is not always dependable. For example, they don’t like to be pruned, and even modest pruning can reduce the number of blooms the following year. But last spring, they had not been pruned and still produced relatively few blossoms.
• An Hydrangea. As with the forsythia, the “G” & “H” beds each have a Big-Leaf Hydrangea (Hydrangea macrophylla) that was well-established when I arrived on the scene. The white blooms with pink shading begin to appear in midsummer, and the attractive seedheads endure through the winter. Those seedheads are also ideal candidates for dry flower bouquets. The “H” bed hydrangea is perfectly located in the center of the bed, partnered with a smaller dwarf lilac, but the hydrangea in the “G” bed is unfortunately located next to a wood chip path that I introduced into the bed in the summer of 2015. My pruning has resulted in a shrub that is unbalanced and quite ugly. In the next few weeks I intend to move it about 3' west of its current location. I’ve never transplanted an H. macrophylla, and I’m hoping it does not interpret the move as a death sentence.
• A Shrub Rose. This is another example of a long-enduring symmetry. As with the forsythia and the hydrangea, this rose has a partner in the “H” bed, and each is located near the center of their respective beds. When I arrived on the scene, these rose bushes were already quite mature, and perhaps have been around since the garden was first planted thirty years ago. Since I had never raised roses and these bushes had no label, I was unsure what was their name or history. Based upon their overall appearance and size (rather tall plants, straight and erect stems, very thorny, small blooms in bunches, a few suckers, rugose leaves) I suspected they were rugosa roses. But there was a problem: the blooms had multiple layers of petals, producing carnation-like blossoms. Photos of rugosa roses consistently showed a single ring of slightly overlapping petals.
This weekend I decided to engage in further research and see if I could come closer in determining the identity of these shrub roses. Using a photo of blooms and leaves from last summer (see photo at the beginning of this report), I initiated a Google Lens image search. Within seconds the Google plant identification algorithm informed me I had a photo of a rugosa rose. As had been true in the past, the Alumni House Garden blooms did not initially resemble those in Google’s photos, but while scrolling through additional images, I came upon the perfect match showing the carnation-like blooms I was seeking. The caption informed me I was looking at an R. J. Grootendorst rose, most likely an accidental sport of a rugosa-multifloral hybrid first bred by De Goey in the Netherlands in 1918 and first sold by the R. J. Grootendorst & Sons nursery in 1919. I eventually discovered there are several varieties of roses classified as Grootendorsts. They have the reputation to be very hardy, amenable to a variety of soils and weather conditions (including salty seashores), and rarely bothered by the diseases that afflict many roses. Those qualities fit perfectly with Coe’s two Grootendorsts. The only problem I’ve had with these roses is how much Japanese beetles love them–though for whatever reason, the Japanese beetles were not a problem last year.
• Two Red Twig Dogwoods. In 2014 the “G” and “H” beds each had a row of 4-5 red twig dogwoods. They probably had not been pruned for several years, and they contained a lot of unattractive gray wood. That first fall, I did some major pruning, removing the old wood and cutting the newer stems to half their length. The dogwood did improve their appearance, but neither colony developed sufficient red bark to create a strong visual presence during the winter months. No matter how carefully I pruned them each year, they always looked rather scraggly and unkempt. Two years ago, I removed the dogwood in the “H” bed and replaced them with a row of Northwind switch grass, a change that has demonstrably improved the structure of that bed. This spring I plan to remove the two dogwoods in the “G” bed–though I’m still undecided what should replace them. That area is in the shade, and we need plants that do not require much direct sun. The year after we constructed the rain garden, I planted several Persicaria ‘Firetail’ (Polygonaceae amplesicaulis) next to the dogwood, and they did quite well for two years before failing to survive their third winter. Although I suspect they were hoping for a sunnier location, I’m tempted to try them again. ~Bob
For the past three days most of my gardening efforts have focused on the “G” bed, located in the SE corner of the garden. Since I began my tenure as the caretaker for the Alumni House Garden, this area has experienced some profound changes. The reconstruction has included the removal of a flowering crab tree, the installation of a new pergola over the adjoining walkway, the construction of a rain garden with two drainage channels, the removal of several plants that had dominated this area (Canada goldenrod, Queen Anne’s lace, swamp milkweed, horsetail), and the introduction of many new plants: hundreds of daffodils, tulips, snowdrops, hyacinths, hellebores, river oats, blue lobelia, cardinal flowers, astilbe, columbine, giant hyssop, a bed of sedge and flag iris, bugleweed, new varieties of hostas, a large hibiscus, cornflower, ironweed, Siberian bugloss, peonies, daylilies, wisteria, clematis, Joe Pye weed, guinea fowl fritillary, balloon flowers, Dark Tower penstemon, turtlehead, toad lily, variegated Solomon’s Seal, several varieties of ferns, and I suspect others I’m forgetting at the moment. Despite all these changes, the fundamental structure of this bed has remained quite stable. The structural plants on the perimeter are the same that were here ten years ago: two mature flowering crab trees, a row of yews on the south side (backed by a cedar fence), and to the east a row of viburnum (backed by an ivy-covered brick wall). There is a Viburnum burkwoodii mixed in with the viburnum at the back of the “H” bed, but all the viburnum in the “G” bed are probably Arrowwood Viburnum (Viburnum dentatum), a North American native that can grow quite tall (over 10') and produces blue-black fruit attractive to visiting birds. Other surviving keystone plants would include:
• A Forsythia. This is a large, unruly character, crammed into a space between the yews and a flowering crab tree. There is a second forsythia planted behind a flowering crab on the north side of the garden. For 51 weeks of the year, they are not particularly attractive shrubs, and their survival is a consequence of their inhabiting spaces where they rarely receive much attention. Most years they have one week of glory, covered with hundreds of gorgeous, short-lived yellow blooms in late March, a week when they are the stars of the garden before their retreat into anonymity. For a variety of reasons their bloom cycle is not always dependable. For example, they don’t like to be pruned, and even modest pruning can reduce the number of blooms the following year. But last spring, they had not been pruned and still produced relatively few blossoms.
• An Hydrangea. As with the forsythia, the “G” & “H” beds each have a Big-Leaf Hydrangea (Hydrangea macrophylla) that was well-established when I arrived on the scene. The white blooms with pink shading begin to appear in midsummer, and the attractive seedheads endure through the winter. Those seedheads are also ideal candidates for dry flower bouquets. The “H” bed hydrangea is perfectly located in the center of the bed, partnered with a smaller dwarf lilac, but the hydrangea in the “G” bed is unfortunately located next to a wood chip path that I introduced into the bed in the summer of 2015. My pruning has resulted in a shrub that is unbalanced and quite ugly. In the next few weeks I intend to move it about 3' west of its current location. I’ve never transplanted an H. macrophylla, and I’m hoping it does not interpret the move as a death sentence.
• A Shrub Rose. This is another example of a long-enduring symmetry. As with the forsythia and the hydrangea, this rose has a partner in the “H” bed, and each is located near the center of their respective beds. When I arrived on the scene, these rose bushes were already quite mature, and perhaps have been around since the garden was first planted thirty years ago. Since I had never raised roses and these bushes had no label, I was unsure what was their name or history. Based upon their overall appearance and size (rather tall plants, straight and erect stems, very thorny, small blooms in bunches, a few suckers, rugose leaves) I suspected they were rugosa roses. But there was a problem: the blooms had multiple layers of petals, producing carnation-like blossoms. Photos of rugosa roses consistently showed a single ring of slightly overlapping petals.
This weekend I decided to engage in further research and see if I could come closer in determining the identity of these shrub roses. Using a photo of blooms and leaves from last summer (see photo at the beginning of this report), I initiated a Google Lens image search. Within seconds the Google plant identification algorithm informed me I had a photo of a rugosa rose. As had been true in the past, the Alumni House Garden blooms did not initially resemble those in Google’s photos, but while scrolling through additional images, I came upon the perfect match showing the carnation-like blooms I was seeking. The caption informed me I was looking at an R. J. Grootendorst rose, most likely an accidental sport of a rugosa-multifloral hybrid first bred by De Goey in the Netherlands in 1918 and first sold by the R. J. Grootendorst & Sons nursery in 1919. I eventually discovered there are several varieties of roses classified as Grootendorsts. They have the reputation to be very hardy, amenable to a variety of soils and weather conditions (including salty seashores), and rarely bothered by the diseases that afflict many roses. Those qualities fit perfectly with Coe’s two Grootendorsts. The only problem I’ve had with these roses is how much Japanese beetles love them–though for whatever reason, the Japanese beetles were not a problem last year.
• Two Red Twig Dogwoods. In 2014 the “G” and “H” beds each had a row of 4-5 red twig dogwoods. They probably had not been pruned for several years, and they contained a lot of unattractive gray wood. That first fall, I did some major pruning, removing the old wood and cutting the newer stems to half their length. The dogwood did improve their appearance, but neither colony developed sufficient red bark to create a strong visual presence during the winter months. No matter how carefully I pruned them each year, they always looked rather scraggly and unkempt. Two years ago, I removed the dogwood in the “H” bed and replaced them with a row of Northwind switch grass, a change that has demonstrably improved the structure of that bed. This spring I plan to remove the two dogwoods in the “G” bed–though I’m still undecided what should replace them. That area is in the shade, and we need plants that do not require much direct sun. The year after we constructed the rain garden, I planted several Persicaria ‘Firetail’ (Polygonaceae amplesicaulis) next to the dogwood, and they did quite well for two years before failing to survive their third winter. Although I suspect they were hoping for a sunnier location, I’m tempted to try them again. ~Bob
Monday Morning Garden Report: 27 February 2023
Rain arrived after midnight and by 8:00 a.m. we had water in our basement, not an unusual phenomenon when rain falls on frozen ground. According to a TV meteorologist on the noon weather report, C.R. had received over 1" of rain, an all-time record for rainfall on a day in February. Since the temperature this morning reached the mid-forties, it was warm enough for outdoor gardening, but I chose to do all my gardening indoors, working on the webpost blog due tomorrow evening and sowing 200 blocks of onion and shallot seeds in my greenhouse at home. The seed sowing helps convince me that spring is on the horizon.
This past weekend also helped convince me we are leaving winter behind. The lovely warm weather on both Saturday and Sunday allowed me to spend both afternoons in the Coe garden. Two earlier February garden reports had focused on the recent maintenance of the “C” and “L” beds, including my attempt to recall all the plants one would likely encounter in these two beds. Today’s garden report will describe a small area that I “cleaned up” on Saturday, a small area that surrounds the flowering crab behind the NW park bench.
This space is dominated by a large colony of miscanthus. Although I don’t know the variety’s name, I know it was well established in 2014 when I started working in the garden. I distinctly remember one of my tasks the first summer was digging out the roots of the miscanthus which had expanded into the nearby yews. At the time I didn’t know much about the garden’s design, but I knew we did not want miscanthus growing up through the yews. As I soon discovered, extracting the roots was a daunting challenge. Slicing through the root clusters was like cutting through rocks, a task further hindered by the yews’ low-lying branches. Once I had collected several dozen root fragments, I transplanted some into the bed around the flowering crab tree in the NE corner. I have eventually realized the miscanthus grass is not the best option for either of these locations. To appreciate the aesthetic properties of this grass (particularly the seedheads), they need to be in full sun in the morning and late afternoon hours. The grass also becomes too tall under the apple trees, and I’ve discovered that if the grasses are cut back in the summer, there is a notable decline in the number of seedheads. Since I have no desire to spend hours digging them out of these beds, probably my best option is to cover the area with a weed control fabric and a thick layer of mulch–and then wait for a couple years. That tactic might also defeat several thistles that keep popping up. Because of the tree roots, I have not yet managed to extract all their underground root systems. I may eventually resort to a dose of Round-up and see if a little glyphosate will settle the matter. I was able to defeat the large colony of thistles well-established around the flowering crab in the NE corner without using any weed killer, but that effort was notably assisted when we covered much of their preferred growing area with the gazebo.
While the miscanthus has been growing behind the NW bench for many years, perhaps when the garden was created in 1993, the other plants in this vicinity are more recent additions. The hostas, which have not yet begun to emerge, are an assortment of random varieties transplanted from my home and the hosta beds behind the SW and SE park benches. Mixed in with the hostas are perhaps two dozen clumps of Leucojum aestivum, commonly known as Summer Snowflakes. The name is misleading because the species name “aestivum” is the Latin for “summer,” but the plants bloom in the spring, typically May and June. Some are the variety ‘Gravetye Giant’ and grow about two feet tall. In terms of foliage and blooms, these plants look like over-sized snowdrops (Galanthus), which are just entering their primary bloom season. Unlike the snowdrops, which disappear in the summer, the snowflakes retain their green foliage through the summer. Although they are very cold hardy (Zone 4), they are Mediterranean natives and don’t mind hot and dry summers if they have some afternoon shade, which is exactly what they get under this flowering crab.
The third group of plants I’ve introduced into his area are two varieties of Brunnera macrophylla, belonging to the borage family. The Brunnera’s common name is Siberian Bugloss. "Bugloss" comes from the Greek word for an ox's tongue (probably referring to the shape of the leaves) and the "Siberian" would suggest these oxen have no problems with Iowa winters (they are classified as a Zone 3 flower). Their new foliage is just beginning to emerge and remains quite attractive until we reach the coldest temperatures in the winter. Our two varieties (‘Jack Frost’ and another variety whose name escapes me) have silver variegated leaves and produce lovely panicles of tiny blue flowers that resemble forget-me-not blooms (see photo). The plants will self-sow and have produced several progeny growing in the gravel under the wooden bench. I’ve also planted Brunnera in two locations around the rain garden and a couple are planted along the gravel walkway at the east end of the “A1" bed next to the patio. ~Bob
Rain arrived after midnight and by 8:00 a.m. we had water in our basement, not an unusual phenomenon when rain falls on frozen ground. According to a TV meteorologist on the noon weather report, C.R. had received over 1" of rain, an all-time record for rainfall on a day in February. Since the temperature this morning reached the mid-forties, it was warm enough for outdoor gardening, but I chose to do all my gardening indoors, working on the webpost blog due tomorrow evening and sowing 200 blocks of onion and shallot seeds in my greenhouse at home. The seed sowing helps convince me that spring is on the horizon.
This past weekend also helped convince me we are leaving winter behind. The lovely warm weather on both Saturday and Sunday allowed me to spend both afternoons in the Coe garden. Two earlier February garden reports had focused on the recent maintenance of the “C” and “L” beds, including my attempt to recall all the plants one would likely encounter in these two beds. Today’s garden report will describe a small area that I “cleaned up” on Saturday, a small area that surrounds the flowering crab behind the NW park bench.
This space is dominated by a large colony of miscanthus. Although I don’t know the variety’s name, I know it was well established in 2014 when I started working in the garden. I distinctly remember one of my tasks the first summer was digging out the roots of the miscanthus which had expanded into the nearby yews. At the time I didn’t know much about the garden’s design, but I knew we did not want miscanthus growing up through the yews. As I soon discovered, extracting the roots was a daunting challenge. Slicing through the root clusters was like cutting through rocks, a task further hindered by the yews’ low-lying branches. Once I had collected several dozen root fragments, I transplanted some into the bed around the flowering crab tree in the NE corner. I have eventually realized the miscanthus grass is not the best option for either of these locations. To appreciate the aesthetic properties of this grass (particularly the seedheads), they need to be in full sun in the morning and late afternoon hours. The grass also becomes too tall under the apple trees, and I’ve discovered that if the grasses are cut back in the summer, there is a notable decline in the number of seedheads. Since I have no desire to spend hours digging them out of these beds, probably my best option is to cover the area with a weed control fabric and a thick layer of mulch–and then wait for a couple years. That tactic might also defeat several thistles that keep popping up. Because of the tree roots, I have not yet managed to extract all their underground root systems. I may eventually resort to a dose of Round-up and see if a little glyphosate will settle the matter. I was able to defeat the large colony of thistles well-established around the flowering crab in the NE corner without using any weed killer, but that effort was notably assisted when we covered much of their preferred growing area with the gazebo.
While the miscanthus has been growing behind the NW bench for many years, perhaps when the garden was created in 1993, the other plants in this vicinity are more recent additions. The hostas, which have not yet begun to emerge, are an assortment of random varieties transplanted from my home and the hosta beds behind the SW and SE park benches. Mixed in with the hostas are perhaps two dozen clumps of Leucojum aestivum, commonly known as Summer Snowflakes. The name is misleading because the species name “aestivum” is the Latin for “summer,” but the plants bloom in the spring, typically May and June. Some are the variety ‘Gravetye Giant’ and grow about two feet tall. In terms of foliage and blooms, these plants look like over-sized snowdrops (Galanthus), which are just entering their primary bloom season. Unlike the snowdrops, which disappear in the summer, the snowflakes retain their green foliage through the summer. Although they are very cold hardy (Zone 4), they are Mediterranean natives and don’t mind hot and dry summers if they have some afternoon shade, which is exactly what they get under this flowering crab.
The third group of plants I’ve introduced into his area are two varieties of Brunnera macrophylla, belonging to the borage family. The Brunnera’s common name is Siberian Bugloss. "Bugloss" comes from the Greek word for an ox's tongue (probably referring to the shape of the leaves) and the "Siberian" would suggest these oxen have no problems with Iowa winters (they are classified as a Zone 3 flower). Their new foliage is just beginning to emerge and remains quite attractive until we reach the coldest temperatures in the winter. Our two varieties (‘Jack Frost’ and another variety whose name escapes me) have silver variegated leaves and produce lovely panicles of tiny blue flowers that resemble forget-me-not blooms (see photo). The plants will self-sow and have produced several progeny growing in the gravel under the wooden bench. I’ve also planted Brunnera in two locations around the rain garden and a couple are planted along the gravel walkway at the east end of the “A1" bed next to the patio. ~Bob
Monday Morning Garden Report: 13 February 2023
I spent several hours today cutting back and removing last year’s dead foliage from the “L” bed, located in front of the patio. Last week’s garden report focused on plants and their maintenance in the “C” bed, and this week's similar rhythm inspired me to think about the plant varieties in the “L” bed, which are intended to complement their partners on the other side of the gravel walkway. These two beds were in a similar condition when I began taking care of the garden in the summer of 2014. Both had dozens of rose bushes producing a few pink roses that were not very attractive, only looked fresh for a few days, and had no fragrance (in the opinion of my nose, a capital offense for a rose). I suspect the surviving roses were the original root stock on which had been grafted other varieties. Either because of excessive pruning or extreme weather issues, the grafts had disappeared and the hardy root stock was trying to fulfill a decorative role for which it was ill-prepared. To their credit, these roots are hardy and resourceful. Each year I dig up emerging rose bushes and attached root fragments I missed in 2015. In the “L” bed is a rose root vein that has astutely wound its way through a bed of Siberian irises--irises that to date I have remained unwilling to dig up. I’ve decided 2023 will be the year for refreshing this iris colony, and while those plants are out of the ground, I will extract any rose roots I can find.
In 2015 after removing the roses, asters, and goldenrod that were the dominant plants in the “L” bed, I planted about 25 daylilies, hoping to establish a collection of mid-summer flowers that would match with the daylilies in the “C” bed. Each bed has different varieties, allowing for unique combinations of blooms. Here are the daylily varieties planted in the summer of 2015 to go with the Stella D’Oro daylilies already growing in the bed: Daring Dilemma, El Desperado, Happy Returns, Lemon Vista, Lullaby Baby, Pandora’s Box, Pardon Me, Russian Ragtime, Wahoo, Wayside Red Ensign, and Zagora. In later years I’ve added several more varieties to the bed, including Catherine Woodberry, Northfield, Novelty Number, Real Wind, Ring of Kerry, Siloam June, and a couple of unidentified varieties. I’m not sure all the originals have survived, but I do know that several have been prolific bloom producers, including El Desperado, Happy Returns, Pandora’s Box, Pardon Me, Zagora, and Stella D’Oro. I would say the “L” bed has consistently produced a thicker display of mid-summer blooms than the “C” bed daylilies, but I don’t know if that is because of the different varieties or because of differences in soil and/or sunlight. The “L” bed does receive more morning sunlight in the spring and the soil warms up faster than in the “C” bed.
In last week’s report, I listed 30 different flowering plants and grasses in the “C” bed; from that list, the following can also be found in the “L” bed:
• Allium: both beds have at least three different varieties.
• Black-eyed Susans: all the result of self-seeding.
• Blazing star: all the result of self-seeding from plants in the “C” bed.
• Catmint: clumps located in comparable areas in both flower beds.
• Coneflowers: in both beds the coneflowers can be found along the stepping stones that separate each bed from the areas under the flowering crab trees; in the “L” bed there is also a small group of coneflowers next to the viburnum.
• Coreopsis: one “L” bed patch of perennial coreopsis (either Zagreb or Moonbeam variety) is facing the patio and was already well-established in 2014; a smaller patch of Moonbeam coreopsis near the viburnum was added about five years ago.
• Cranesbill: there are two large clumps of bloody cranesbill that surround a mound of catmint along the east border of the “L” bed; several individuals can be found throughout the bed, but each year I remove most of them because of their tendency to over-run their neighbors.
• Cushion Spurge: several clumps but not as prominent as those in the “C” bed.
• Goldenrod: A few remaining goldenrod at the north side of the bed, mixed in with the New England Asters and Coneflowers.
• Grape Hyacinths: planted at the same time as the Muscari in the “C” bed and in a comparable area close to each bed’s park bench.
• Miscanthus: The variegated miscanthus in the “L” bed is much taller than its partner in the “C” bed, probably too tall for its location.
• Penstemon: a few Husker Red beardtongue but not as prominent as in the “C” bed; all the result of self-seeding.
• Switch grass: at the corner of the bed, protected by a Briggs-Farmer steel plant support; it was planted in 2015 at the same time as its partner in the “L” bed.
•Siberian Iris: the colonies of Siberian iris in both beds need to be dug up, re-organized, and replanted.
• Spiderwort: A few spiderwort sprinkled randomly throughout the bed--all the result of self-seeding.
• Tall Stonecrop: these sedums perform a similar role in each bed, producing blooms attractive to butterflies and serving as a primary source of winter interest.
• Tulips: a group of white-blooming tulips planted several years ago on the north side of the bed.
• Viburnum: a sibling of the viburnum in the “C” bed.
• *Yarrow: re-planted two years ago, the “L” bed yarrow have red blooms, intended to complement the yellow blooms of the “C” bed yarrow.
Plants in the “C” bed that are not in the “L” bed would include early flowering spring bulbs (crocus, winter aconites, snowdrops, wind flowers), dianthus (that will be changed this spring when we add several dianthus to the lawn side of the “L” border), goatsbeard, hostas (there are hostas behind the NW park bench but none in the “L” bed), and meadowsweet. Here are the plants in the “L” bed that don’t appear in the “C” bed:
• Betony (Stachys officinalis): two clumps that produce small, pink balls in summer; foliage remains green year around; they seem unfazed by summer drought or winter’s coldest temperatures; these guys require no care, and I occasionally forget they are there; should consider adding more to fill in the front of this border.
• Daffodils: a small clump of daffodils in the NE corner of the bed; next fall I should add more daffodils in the southern half of this bed, replacing the ox-eye daisies.
• Fleabane: an annual native “weed” that pops up throughout the garden; most of them I remove, but I allow a few of these wild flowers to live through the summer because of their lovely, long-lasting, white aster-like flowers (they are members of the aster/sunflower family).
• Hollyhocks: a few hollyhocks have established a foothold in the NE corner of the bed behind the swath of New England Asters.
• Love-in-a-mist: this annual has been a reliable self-seeder in the “L” bed and has been slowly expanding its territory, but so far it has not crossed over the gravel walkway to the “C” bed; wonderful seedheads.
• New England asters: all the New England asters were removed from the “C” bed, but there is still a crew of these asters (mixed in with goldenrod, coneflowers, and fleabane) on the north side of the bed.
• Ox-eye daisies: a prolific self-seeder; several groups have established a homestead along the south edge of the daylilies, but their days may be numbered.
• Platycodon: there are two groups of pink balloon flowers in the “L” bed.
• Toad Lily: I planted several toad lilies along the stepping stone walkway on the north side of the “L” bed, but last year only one (a Tricyrtis hirta) was still alive, producing small but gorgeous white, purple-spotted flowers in August and September.
• Unnamed ornamental grass: a clump with lovely small seedheads; I planted this grass, probably in 2015, but I don’t recall its name and nor do I remember where it came from. ~Bob
I spent several hours today cutting back and removing last year’s dead foliage from the “L” bed, located in front of the patio. Last week’s garden report focused on plants and their maintenance in the “C” bed, and this week's similar rhythm inspired me to think about the plant varieties in the “L” bed, which are intended to complement their partners on the other side of the gravel walkway. These two beds were in a similar condition when I began taking care of the garden in the summer of 2014. Both had dozens of rose bushes producing a few pink roses that were not very attractive, only looked fresh for a few days, and had no fragrance (in the opinion of my nose, a capital offense for a rose). I suspect the surviving roses were the original root stock on which had been grafted other varieties. Either because of excessive pruning or extreme weather issues, the grafts had disappeared and the hardy root stock was trying to fulfill a decorative role for which it was ill-prepared. To their credit, these roots are hardy and resourceful. Each year I dig up emerging rose bushes and attached root fragments I missed in 2015. In the “L” bed is a rose root vein that has astutely wound its way through a bed of Siberian irises--irises that to date I have remained unwilling to dig up. I’ve decided 2023 will be the year for refreshing this iris colony, and while those plants are out of the ground, I will extract any rose roots I can find.
In 2015 after removing the roses, asters, and goldenrod that were the dominant plants in the “L” bed, I planted about 25 daylilies, hoping to establish a collection of mid-summer flowers that would match with the daylilies in the “C” bed. Each bed has different varieties, allowing for unique combinations of blooms. Here are the daylily varieties planted in the summer of 2015 to go with the Stella D’Oro daylilies already growing in the bed: Daring Dilemma, El Desperado, Happy Returns, Lemon Vista, Lullaby Baby, Pandora’s Box, Pardon Me, Russian Ragtime, Wahoo, Wayside Red Ensign, and Zagora. In later years I’ve added several more varieties to the bed, including Catherine Woodberry, Northfield, Novelty Number, Real Wind, Ring of Kerry, Siloam June, and a couple of unidentified varieties. I’m not sure all the originals have survived, but I do know that several have been prolific bloom producers, including El Desperado, Happy Returns, Pandora’s Box, Pardon Me, Zagora, and Stella D’Oro. I would say the “L” bed has consistently produced a thicker display of mid-summer blooms than the “C” bed daylilies, but I don’t know if that is because of the different varieties or because of differences in soil and/or sunlight. The “L” bed does receive more morning sunlight in the spring and the soil warms up faster than in the “C” bed.
In last week’s report, I listed 30 different flowering plants and grasses in the “C” bed; from that list, the following can also be found in the “L” bed:
• Allium: both beds have at least three different varieties.
• Black-eyed Susans: all the result of self-seeding.
• Blazing star: all the result of self-seeding from plants in the “C” bed.
• Catmint: clumps located in comparable areas in both flower beds.
• Coneflowers: in both beds the coneflowers can be found along the stepping stones that separate each bed from the areas under the flowering crab trees; in the “L” bed there is also a small group of coneflowers next to the viburnum.
• Coreopsis: one “L” bed patch of perennial coreopsis (either Zagreb or Moonbeam variety) is facing the patio and was already well-established in 2014; a smaller patch of Moonbeam coreopsis near the viburnum was added about five years ago.
• Cranesbill: there are two large clumps of bloody cranesbill that surround a mound of catmint along the east border of the “L” bed; several individuals can be found throughout the bed, but each year I remove most of them because of their tendency to over-run their neighbors.
• Cushion Spurge: several clumps but not as prominent as those in the “C” bed.
• Goldenrod: A few remaining goldenrod at the north side of the bed, mixed in with the New England Asters and Coneflowers.
• Grape Hyacinths: planted at the same time as the Muscari in the “C” bed and in a comparable area close to each bed’s park bench.
• Miscanthus: The variegated miscanthus in the “L” bed is much taller than its partner in the “C” bed, probably too tall for its location.
• Penstemon: a few Husker Red beardtongue but not as prominent as in the “C” bed; all the result of self-seeding.
• Switch grass: at the corner of the bed, protected by a Briggs-Farmer steel plant support; it was planted in 2015 at the same time as its partner in the “L” bed.
•Siberian Iris: the colonies of Siberian iris in both beds need to be dug up, re-organized, and replanted.
• Spiderwort: A few spiderwort sprinkled randomly throughout the bed--all the result of self-seeding.
• Tall Stonecrop: these sedums perform a similar role in each bed, producing blooms attractive to butterflies and serving as a primary source of winter interest.
• Tulips: a group of white-blooming tulips planted several years ago on the north side of the bed.
• Viburnum: a sibling of the viburnum in the “C” bed.
• *Yarrow: re-planted two years ago, the “L” bed yarrow have red blooms, intended to complement the yellow blooms of the “C” bed yarrow.
Plants in the “C” bed that are not in the “L” bed would include early flowering spring bulbs (crocus, winter aconites, snowdrops, wind flowers), dianthus (that will be changed this spring when we add several dianthus to the lawn side of the “L” border), goatsbeard, hostas (there are hostas behind the NW park bench but none in the “L” bed), and meadowsweet. Here are the plants in the “L” bed that don’t appear in the “C” bed:
• Betony (Stachys officinalis): two clumps that produce small, pink balls in summer; foliage remains green year around; they seem unfazed by summer drought or winter’s coldest temperatures; these guys require no care, and I occasionally forget they are there; should consider adding more to fill in the front of this border.
• Daffodils: a small clump of daffodils in the NE corner of the bed; next fall I should add more daffodils in the southern half of this bed, replacing the ox-eye daisies.
• Fleabane: an annual native “weed” that pops up throughout the garden; most of them I remove, but I allow a few of these wild flowers to live through the summer because of their lovely, long-lasting, white aster-like flowers (they are members of the aster/sunflower family).
• Hollyhocks: a few hollyhocks have established a foothold in the NE corner of the bed behind the swath of New England Asters.
• Love-in-a-mist: this annual has been a reliable self-seeder in the “L” bed and has been slowly expanding its territory, but so far it has not crossed over the gravel walkway to the “C” bed; wonderful seedheads.
• New England asters: all the New England asters were removed from the “C” bed, but there is still a crew of these asters (mixed in with goldenrod, coneflowers, and fleabane) on the north side of the bed.
• Ox-eye daisies: a prolific self-seeder; several groups have established a homestead along the south edge of the daylilies, but their days may be numbered.
• Platycodon: there are two groups of pink balloon flowers in the “L” bed.
• Toad Lily: I planted several toad lilies along the stepping stone walkway on the north side of the “L” bed, but last year only one (a Tricyrtis hirta) was still alive, producing small but gorgeous white, purple-spotted flowers in August and September.
• Unnamed ornamental grass: a clump with lovely small seedheads; I planted this grass, probably in 2015, but I don’t recall its name and nor do I remember where it came from. ~Bob
Monday Morning Garden Report: 6 February 2023
I was at the Alumni House Garden on Monday, the 6th, but all my time was in the greenhouse, watering plants and preparing materials and equipment for sowing seeds later this month. On Wednesday, however, I spent the afternoon working in the garden, and this report will share a few observations on that experience. Although we’ve had a few nice days this winter when I could do outdoor garden maintenance, the 8th was the first time when I had several uninterrupted hours preparing the garden for the spring.
Most of the afternoon involved cutting back dead foliage in the “C” bed (located in front of the patio), raking up the trimmings, and carrying everything to the large compost bin at the east end of the garden. This work requires minimal skill, demanding no more knowledge or dexterity than what I would have done 70 years ago in my parent’s yard on the farm. The ground is still frozen so there is no digging or weeding: all I do is cut and carry. My tools are a pair of 10" garden scissors and a large hedge shears. Although the trimming would go faster using my electric string trimmer, I prefer to work with tools requiring neither motor nor batteries. There’s an intimacy with the plants that is lost when I’m walking across a flower bed, lugging the trimmer and its electrical cord. I’m a slow gardener. Perhaps not everything will be finished on time, but I would prefer to enjoy my hours in the garden. My measured pace strikes me as appropriate for an 18th-century style flower garden. Most of the garden work is being done by the plants and other organisms that live here year around, whether it be January or July. I’m primarily an observer and occasional assistant.
I recently read a book which suggested that a garden in winter is like an unopened parcel with its hints of a warmer future making us all “dream-gardeners.” As I was trimming old foliage, I thought about what this “C” bed looks like at different times of the year, which led me to wonder how many perennials live in this “unopened parcel,” waiting for a warmer future. Several years ago I drafted a map of all the plants in the garden, but the map was never finished. And since that effort, there have been many additions and deletions. It’s a little tricky doing a census in February because many flowers don’t have an above-ground presence. But there may not be any days in 2023 when all the plants in this bed are visible at the same time. As the Physostegia are emerging, the snowdrops will have already disappeared. But as an avid dream-gardener, I decided I to try and list every plant in this one bed, sorted by common names into an alphabetical order. Asterisks identify the plants that had an above-ground presence the first week of February.
• *Allium: there are at least three different varieties of ornamental onions in the bed; on the south side of the bed are a few emerging spears, which resemble thin chives.
• *Artemisia (wormwood): a small patch on the north side of the bed, mixed in with penstemon and blazing stars; every year I attempt to remove the artemisia (because of its aggressively expansionist root system), but it always comes back.
• *Black-eyed Susan: they have gradually expanded in the SE corner of the bed, the same area as the Coneflowers and a few remaining goldenrod; their tight, black seedheads often remain intact through the winter.
• *Blazing star (gayfeathers): these have gradually expanded on the north side of the flower bed; a wonderful front-of-border flower; they have attractive, fluffy gray seedheads in the fall but now they are just gray sticks, stripped of their seeds.
• *Catmint: four Nepeta in two separate colonies, planted 6-7 years ago; super dependable; impervious to winter cold and dry summer heat; long-blooming; today I cut them back to the ground, and they will probably be cut back two more times during the year.
• *Coneflowers: a few purple coneflowers in the SE corner of the bed; they produce lovely seedheads that remain a source of food for birds through the winter; all the coneflowers in this bed are the progeny of self-seeding.
• *Coreopsis: a patch of a perennial coreopsis (either Zagreb or Moonbeam variety) on the north side of the bed.
• *Cranesbill: two large clumps of bloody cranesbill on the west side of the bed that I wish to keep; mixed in with the daylilies are many small bloody cranesbill that need to be removed, but I can’t dig them out until the ground thaws.
• Crocus: there are a few crocus emerging in the lawn beds, but so far (to my surprise) no sign of crocus in the “C” bed.
• *Cushion Spurge: these have self-seeded and expanded extensively throughout the bed; every year I remove clumps that have sprouted too close to a daylily.
• *Daylilies: the daylilies with their diverse blooms dominate the bed in the middle of the summer; varieties in this bed include Baja, Bonanza, Catherine Woodson, Frans Hals (my favorite: prolific mid-season bloomer), Joan Senior, Lime Frost (only a few blooms each year but very attractive), Little Grapette, Mary Reed, Pink Playmate, Ruffled Apricot, Stella d’Oro (and a purple-petaled cousin), Strawberry Candy (should be removed; the blossoms not particularly attractive), Strutters Ball, and a couple of varieties whose names have been lost.
• *Dianthus: eight years ago I planted two dianthus along the east border of this flower bed; I later divided one of those clumps, and for a couple of years we had three patches, but we are now back to two colonies; they have lovely foliage unfazed by winter; I intend to add several more dianthus this spring and create a series that run continuously across the border; one challenge is that they can be buried by the nearby daylilies.
• *Goatsbeard: one of the tallest plants in the bed; lovely white blooms in late spring, though the blooms don’t last long; not particularly attractive seedheads, but I leave them through the winter.
• *Goldenrod: when I started taking care of the Alumni House Garden in 2014, the dominant flowers in the “C” bed were rose bushes, New England asters, and goldenrod; in 2015, I dug up all the rosebushes (their blooms were short-lived, not particularly attractive, and had no fragrance) and replaced them with the daylilies; I removed all the New England asters and attempted to remove all the goldenrod, but the latter keep popping up in the SE corner of the bed; a few are okay but they are more effective in beds with other tall companions.
• *Grape Hyacinths: their green leaves emerged early in the fall; it appears that rabbits have recently eaten the tops of some leaves.
• Hostas: several small hostas mixed in with the grape hyacinths (which disappear during the summer months).
•* Meandowsweet: several patches of meadowsweet sprinkled through the daylilies, serving as a groundcover.
• *Miscanthus: Zebra miscanthus with variegated leaves; since it still has a few attractive seedheads, I will wait another month before cutting it back.
* Obedient Plants (Physostegia): just a couple of obedient plants that appeared a couple of years ago, the result of self-seeding, probably from the large colony in the "D" bed.
• *Penstemon: Husker Red beardtongue; attractive dark burgundy foliage particularly striking in the early spring; the Husker Red (and the similar Dark Tower) penstemon are found throughout the garden and serve as one of the garden’s most important connecting links between flower beds; all the penstemon in the “C” bed are the results of self-seeding.
• *Snowdrops: a few green leaf spears are poking up and one is preparing to bloom.
• *Switch grass: planted at the corner of the bed, protected by a Briggs-Farmer steel plant support; it has a matching partner in the “L” bed on the other side of the gravel walkway.
• *Sedum: a ground cover that I moved from the crevice garden several years ago; produces small blooms on thin flower stalks in the summer; I don’t know the name of this variety.
•*Siberian Iris: these iris do not produce many blooms, and as they have expanded they have become mixed in with cranesbill and cushion spurge; they all need to be dug up and replanted in a more “organized” pattern.
• *Spiderwort: at this time of year, the spiderwort are small bluish-green spears randomly dispersed throughout the bed; they will be cut back to the ground after they finish blooming in the summer.
• *Tall Stonecrop: lovely plants with year-around visual; beautiful seedheads that remain erect through the winter; I cut back most of the stonecrop but left two groups undamaged by winter snow and ice.
• Tulips: white blooms; bulbs planted two years ago.
• *Viburnum: this viburnum a partner with one in the “L” bed on the other side of the gravel walkway; needs to be trimmed each year after it completes its short bloom cycle; reasonably attractive fall foliage; produces small fruit that birds quickly consume.
• Wind flowers (Anemone blanda): no sign of them yet; they produce lovely, small blue and white blooms and then quickly disappear.
• Winter Aconites: their yellow blooms should be appearing by the end of the month; I just saw a photo with thousands of winter aconites in bloom on a hillside in England.
• *Yarrow: a long-established patch in the NW corner of the bed; has lovely gray foliage; typically produces two cycles with yellow blooms each year.
By my count (treating all the daylily varieties as one), the “C” bed has 28 different flowers, plus one shrub and two ornamental grasses. The bed will have one or more plants in bloom from the middle of February until early November. As I read through the list, I do wonder what I’ve forgotten. There must be someone I’m missing. ~Bob
I was at the Alumni House Garden on Monday, the 6th, but all my time was in the greenhouse, watering plants and preparing materials and equipment for sowing seeds later this month. On Wednesday, however, I spent the afternoon working in the garden, and this report will share a few observations on that experience. Although we’ve had a few nice days this winter when I could do outdoor garden maintenance, the 8th was the first time when I had several uninterrupted hours preparing the garden for the spring.
Most of the afternoon involved cutting back dead foliage in the “C” bed (located in front of the patio), raking up the trimmings, and carrying everything to the large compost bin at the east end of the garden. This work requires minimal skill, demanding no more knowledge or dexterity than what I would have done 70 years ago in my parent’s yard on the farm. The ground is still frozen so there is no digging or weeding: all I do is cut and carry. My tools are a pair of 10" garden scissors and a large hedge shears. Although the trimming would go faster using my electric string trimmer, I prefer to work with tools requiring neither motor nor batteries. There’s an intimacy with the plants that is lost when I’m walking across a flower bed, lugging the trimmer and its electrical cord. I’m a slow gardener. Perhaps not everything will be finished on time, but I would prefer to enjoy my hours in the garden. My measured pace strikes me as appropriate for an 18th-century style flower garden. Most of the garden work is being done by the plants and other organisms that live here year around, whether it be January or July. I’m primarily an observer and occasional assistant.
I recently read a book which suggested that a garden in winter is like an unopened parcel with its hints of a warmer future making us all “dream-gardeners.” As I was trimming old foliage, I thought about what this “C” bed looks like at different times of the year, which led me to wonder how many perennials live in this “unopened parcel,” waiting for a warmer future. Several years ago I drafted a map of all the plants in the garden, but the map was never finished. And since that effort, there have been many additions and deletions. It’s a little tricky doing a census in February because many flowers don’t have an above-ground presence. But there may not be any days in 2023 when all the plants in this bed are visible at the same time. As the Physostegia are emerging, the snowdrops will have already disappeared. But as an avid dream-gardener, I decided I to try and list every plant in this one bed, sorted by common names into an alphabetical order. Asterisks identify the plants that had an above-ground presence the first week of February.
• *Allium: there are at least three different varieties of ornamental onions in the bed; on the south side of the bed are a few emerging spears, which resemble thin chives.
• *Artemisia (wormwood): a small patch on the north side of the bed, mixed in with penstemon and blazing stars; every year I attempt to remove the artemisia (because of its aggressively expansionist root system), but it always comes back.
• *Black-eyed Susan: they have gradually expanded in the SE corner of the bed, the same area as the Coneflowers and a few remaining goldenrod; their tight, black seedheads often remain intact through the winter.
• *Blazing star (gayfeathers): these have gradually expanded on the north side of the flower bed; a wonderful front-of-border flower; they have attractive, fluffy gray seedheads in the fall but now they are just gray sticks, stripped of their seeds.
• *Catmint: four Nepeta in two separate colonies, planted 6-7 years ago; super dependable; impervious to winter cold and dry summer heat; long-blooming; today I cut them back to the ground, and they will probably be cut back two more times during the year.
• *Coneflowers: a few purple coneflowers in the SE corner of the bed; they produce lovely seedheads that remain a source of food for birds through the winter; all the coneflowers in this bed are the progeny of self-seeding.
• *Coreopsis: a patch of a perennial coreopsis (either Zagreb or Moonbeam variety) on the north side of the bed.
• *Cranesbill: two large clumps of bloody cranesbill on the west side of the bed that I wish to keep; mixed in with the daylilies are many small bloody cranesbill that need to be removed, but I can’t dig them out until the ground thaws.
• Crocus: there are a few crocus emerging in the lawn beds, but so far (to my surprise) no sign of crocus in the “C” bed.
• *Cushion Spurge: these have self-seeded and expanded extensively throughout the bed; every year I remove clumps that have sprouted too close to a daylily.
• *Daylilies: the daylilies with their diverse blooms dominate the bed in the middle of the summer; varieties in this bed include Baja, Bonanza, Catherine Woodson, Frans Hals (my favorite: prolific mid-season bloomer), Joan Senior, Lime Frost (only a few blooms each year but very attractive), Little Grapette, Mary Reed, Pink Playmate, Ruffled Apricot, Stella d’Oro (and a purple-petaled cousin), Strawberry Candy (should be removed; the blossoms not particularly attractive), Strutters Ball, and a couple of varieties whose names have been lost.
• *Dianthus: eight years ago I planted two dianthus along the east border of this flower bed; I later divided one of those clumps, and for a couple of years we had three patches, but we are now back to two colonies; they have lovely foliage unfazed by winter; I intend to add several more dianthus this spring and create a series that run continuously across the border; one challenge is that they can be buried by the nearby daylilies.
• *Goatsbeard: one of the tallest plants in the bed; lovely white blooms in late spring, though the blooms don’t last long; not particularly attractive seedheads, but I leave them through the winter.
• *Goldenrod: when I started taking care of the Alumni House Garden in 2014, the dominant flowers in the “C” bed were rose bushes, New England asters, and goldenrod; in 2015, I dug up all the rosebushes (their blooms were short-lived, not particularly attractive, and had no fragrance) and replaced them with the daylilies; I removed all the New England asters and attempted to remove all the goldenrod, but the latter keep popping up in the SE corner of the bed; a few are okay but they are more effective in beds with other tall companions.
• *Grape Hyacinths: their green leaves emerged early in the fall; it appears that rabbits have recently eaten the tops of some leaves.
• Hostas: several small hostas mixed in with the grape hyacinths (which disappear during the summer months).
•* Meandowsweet: several patches of meadowsweet sprinkled through the daylilies, serving as a groundcover.
• *Miscanthus: Zebra miscanthus with variegated leaves; since it still has a few attractive seedheads, I will wait another month before cutting it back.
* Obedient Plants (Physostegia): just a couple of obedient plants that appeared a couple of years ago, the result of self-seeding, probably from the large colony in the "D" bed.
• *Penstemon: Husker Red beardtongue; attractive dark burgundy foliage particularly striking in the early spring; the Husker Red (and the similar Dark Tower) penstemon are found throughout the garden and serve as one of the garden’s most important connecting links between flower beds; all the penstemon in the “C” bed are the results of self-seeding.
• *Snowdrops: a few green leaf spears are poking up and one is preparing to bloom.
• *Switch grass: planted at the corner of the bed, protected by a Briggs-Farmer steel plant support; it has a matching partner in the “L” bed on the other side of the gravel walkway.
• *Sedum: a ground cover that I moved from the crevice garden several years ago; produces small blooms on thin flower stalks in the summer; I don’t know the name of this variety.
•*Siberian Iris: these iris do not produce many blooms, and as they have expanded they have become mixed in with cranesbill and cushion spurge; they all need to be dug up and replanted in a more “organized” pattern.
• *Spiderwort: at this time of year, the spiderwort are small bluish-green spears randomly dispersed throughout the bed; they will be cut back to the ground after they finish blooming in the summer.
• *Tall Stonecrop: lovely plants with year-around visual; beautiful seedheads that remain erect through the winter; I cut back most of the stonecrop but left two groups undamaged by winter snow and ice.
• Tulips: white blooms; bulbs planted two years ago.
• *Viburnum: this viburnum a partner with one in the “L” bed on the other side of the gravel walkway; needs to be trimmed each year after it completes its short bloom cycle; reasonably attractive fall foliage; produces small fruit that birds quickly consume.
• Wind flowers (Anemone blanda): no sign of them yet; they produce lovely, small blue and white blooms and then quickly disappear.
• Winter Aconites: their yellow blooms should be appearing by the end of the month; I just saw a photo with thousands of winter aconites in bloom on a hillside in England.
• *Yarrow: a long-established patch in the NW corner of the bed; has lovely gray foliage; typically produces two cycles with yellow blooms each year.
By my count (treating all the daylily varieties as one), the “C” bed has 28 different flowers, plus one shrub and two ornamental grasses. The bed will have one or more plants in bloom from the middle of February until early November. As I read through the list, I do wonder what I’ve forgotten. There must be someone I’m missing. ~Bob
Monday Morning Garden Report: 30 January 2023
Eight Observations on a Cold Morning
• According to the garden shed’s exterior thermometer, it was 10 degrees this Monday morning when I started my walk around the garden. But the gazebo thermometer indicated it was 60F, 50 degrees warmer. One explanation for the disparity might be that the gazebo thermometer is broken, but the thermometer is in a corner of the building that receives direct early morning sunlight. I’m often surprised how warm the gazebo can feel when bathed in that early morning radiation. But 60 degrees I find hard to believe.
• Behind the NE park bench, there is a group of crab apple suckers, 2-3' tall. Their red bark resembles red twig dogwood, and their tight arrangement suggests they might have been intentionally planted there to render “winter interest” and create a contrast with the tall miscanthus grass behind them. Every year I cut to the mother root dozens of these clones, like trimming toe nails that have grown too long. In the spring they will be removed, but for the winter months they are welcome visitors.
• The red, tubular steel sculpture that usually resides in the garden’s SW lawn quadrant was designed and constructed by a Coe alum who took a couple of classes from me, including the Nature Writing course at the Wilderness Field Station. This piece was intended for a flower bed in my back yard at home, but once I started taking care of the Coe garden, I decided to bring it on campus so more people could see it. While walking around the garden today, I was struck by how the sculpture’s thin shadow in the snow created a beautiful doppelganger, a perfect complement to the sculpture’s clean, precise lines.
• There were several moments in the garden when the morning shadows created temporary images on the snow that would never be observable at any other time of the year. The winter wind had turned the snow’s surface into a perfect canvas for images cast by both man-made objects (the steel chairs on the patio, the “Ringo” and “Sisyphus” globe structures in the lawn) and the garden’s plants (the tall stonecrop, the coneflowers).
• Another object particularly attractive in the winter is the staddle stone behind the NW park bench. Staddle stones were originally designed to support granaries and protect the grain from rodents. At some point they became a common motif in British gardens, and one of my first purchases for the Coe garden was a staddle stone. Because of the stone’s modest gray/brown, earthy surface and its location behind a park bench, the staddle stone probably does not receive much attention from visitors. It usually looks like a simple, large stone mushroom. But its current snow cap and the way the heat of the stone creates a depression around its base, the staddle stone acquires a distinctive presence in the winter months.
• It’s impossible for me to walk through the garden in the winter without looking at coneflower seedheads. They enter the winter with such an elegant symmetry in their globular display of seeds, but this late in the year, most of these miniature bird feeders have lost their topmost seeds, probably a luncheon menu item for visiting finches, juncos, chickadees, and their brethren.
• This fall I ordered a book on urban lichen and was hoping I would find the time and commitment to read the authors’ descriptions of the lichen most likely to be found in a North American urban setting. Although the book focuses on lichens in New York City, I thought it likely a garden in Cedar Rapids would share some common species. It’s now the end of January, and so far my serious study has not begun. And once spring weather arrives, the lichen will modestly retreat into the garden’s background while my mind focuses on other gardening interests. While I have been lax in my efforts to understand and classify the garden’s lichens, I do love looking at them and have started taking photos of the lichen in the same location each year, trying to discover what changes may be observable. The most extensive and diverse lichen community is on the SW wooden park bench (see photo). The bench is rarely in direct sunlight and the bench is covered with green, gray, brown, and orange lichens. Last summer someone volunteered to remove the garden’s benches for the winter and thoroughly clean them. I expressed my appreciation for the offer but pointed out that these benches played a prominent role in the winter garden. I would prefer the benches remain unscrubbed. ~Bob
Eight Observations on a Cold Morning
• According to the garden shed’s exterior thermometer, it was 10 degrees this Monday morning when I started my walk around the garden. But the gazebo thermometer indicated it was 60F, 50 degrees warmer. One explanation for the disparity might be that the gazebo thermometer is broken, but the thermometer is in a corner of the building that receives direct early morning sunlight. I’m often surprised how warm the gazebo can feel when bathed in that early morning radiation. But 60 degrees I find hard to believe.
• Behind the NE park bench, there is a group of crab apple suckers, 2-3' tall. Their red bark resembles red twig dogwood, and their tight arrangement suggests they might have been intentionally planted there to render “winter interest” and create a contrast with the tall miscanthus grass behind them. Every year I cut to the mother root dozens of these clones, like trimming toe nails that have grown too long. In the spring they will be removed, but for the winter months they are welcome visitors.
• The red, tubular steel sculpture that usually resides in the garden’s SW lawn quadrant was designed and constructed by a Coe alum who took a couple of classes from me, including the Nature Writing course at the Wilderness Field Station. This piece was intended for a flower bed in my back yard at home, but once I started taking care of the Coe garden, I decided to bring it on campus so more people could see it. While walking around the garden today, I was struck by how the sculpture’s thin shadow in the snow created a beautiful doppelganger, a perfect complement to the sculpture’s clean, precise lines.
• There were several moments in the garden when the morning shadows created temporary images on the snow that would never be observable at any other time of the year. The winter wind had turned the snow’s surface into a perfect canvas for images cast by both man-made objects (the steel chairs on the patio, the “Ringo” and “Sisyphus” globe structures in the lawn) and the garden’s plants (the tall stonecrop, the coneflowers).
• Another object particularly attractive in the winter is the staddle stone behind the NW park bench. Staddle stones were originally designed to support granaries and protect the grain from rodents. At some point they became a common motif in British gardens, and one of my first purchases for the Coe garden was a staddle stone. Because of the stone’s modest gray/brown, earthy surface and its location behind a park bench, the staddle stone probably does not receive much attention from visitors. It usually looks like a simple, large stone mushroom. But its current snow cap and the way the heat of the stone creates a depression around its base, the staddle stone acquires a distinctive presence in the winter months.
• It’s impossible for me to walk through the garden in the winter without looking at coneflower seedheads. They enter the winter with such an elegant symmetry in their globular display of seeds, but this late in the year, most of these miniature bird feeders have lost their topmost seeds, probably a luncheon menu item for visiting finches, juncos, chickadees, and their brethren.
• This fall I ordered a book on urban lichen and was hoping I would find the time and commitment to read the authors’ descriptions of the lichen most likely to be found in a North American urban setting. Although the book focuses on lichens in New York City, I thought it likely a garden in Cedar Rapids would share some common species. It’s now the end of January, and so far my serious study has not begun. And once spring weather arrives, the lichen will modestly retreat into the garden’s background while my mind focuses on other gardening interests. While I have been lax in my efforts to understand and classify the garden’s lichens, I do love looking at them and have started taking photos of the lichen in the same location each year, trying to discover what changes may be observable. The most extensive and diverse lichen community is on the SW wooden park bench (see photo). The bench is rarely in direct sunlight and the bench is covered with green, gray, brown, and orange lichens. Last summer someone volunteered to remove the garden’s benches for the winter and thoroughly clean them. I expressed my appreciation for the offer but pointed out that these benches played a prominent role in the winter garden. I would prefer the benches remain unscrubbed. ~Bob
Monday Morning Garden Report: 23 January 2023
One of my goals last year was to increase the role of annual flowers in the Coe garden. Although the fundamental structure of the garden will always rely on its perennial trees, shrubs, and herbaceous flowers, annuals play an essential role in filling in spatial gaps among the perennials and increasing the garden’s sensory flower power in the late summer and early fall. While the majority of the garden’s perennials enjoy relatively short periods of intense blooming (e.g., spring-flowering bulbs, Siberian iris, peonies, Baptisia, astilbe, mums), the survival of most annuals depends on seed production and that means they focus their energy into a longer period of bloom production. Last spring in the greenhouse I sowed over 25 different varieties of flower seeds, but for various reasons many of those flowers never ended up in the garden. In a few instances seeds did not germinate. In other instances, I gave the plants away or sold them at a church plant sale or used them in one of my other gardens. This year I’m determined to get more of these flowers into the Coe garden.
My first flower seed order of the year was to Select Seeds in Connecticut, a mail order company I’ve used for several years. They send me an attractive seed catalog with descriptions of flowers that often strike me as irresistible and perfect for our needs. Listed below are seeds I ordered this weekend. A few of these will be sown directly into the garden, but most will initially be sown in seed blocks or small cowpots in the greenhouse and transplanted beginning about May 1.
• African Daisy ‘Polar Star’ (Dimorphotheca pluvalis). For me this is a new flower (also known as rain daisy) that immediately attracted my attention in the Select catalog. The photo shows blooms with aster-like white petals and dark purple rings in the center. The seeds were relatively cheap (150 seeds for $3), and I liked the description of the plants being heat tolerant and amenable to a dry, rock garden. I decided to give ‘em a try.
• Agrostemma ‘Ocean Pearls’ (Agrostemma githago). This is another plant I’ve never previously grown. It is described as an old-fashioned cottage garden flower that can blend nicely with other summer flowers. It’s supposedly easy to grow, with direct sowing in early spring. It prefers poor, well-drained soil and should grow to about 2.5' tall.
• Celosia ‘Asian Garden’ (Celosia argentea). Several years ago we had a marvelous patch of celosia with spires of long-lasting blooms in a planter on the north side of the garden. This new variety, winner of an AAS award, is supposed to be vigorous and with long-lasting blooms. I suspect these celosia will go in two north-side planters in full sun. The last two years those planters have had eggplants and peppers. I'm hoping the celosia will not need the extra watering the eggplants and peppers were frequently demanding.
• Cleome ‘Color Fountain’. For several years a variety of cleome (known as Spider Flower or Grandfather’s Whiskers) was effectively self-seeding in the crevice garden and a corner of the “J” dahlia bed. Although the cleomes were really too tall for the crevice garden, they loved that rocky, well-drained soil. But last year, no cleomes appeared in the crevice garden and we only had one small, late emerging plant in the “J” bed. This year I ordered a packet of fresh seeds and will try to get a new variety started in several locations. The cleomes are steady bloomers from the middle of the summer until the first freeze in the fall, and their distinctive blooms invariably draw comments from visitors to the garden. Cleomes were grown by Jefferson at Monticello, and I would love to have them reappear in this year’s garden.
• Cosmos “Psyche White,’ ‘Sensation Radiance’, ‘Sonata White’ and ‘Double Click Bicolor Violet’. For several years we have had cosmos weaving their way throughout the two dahlia beds north and south of the garden’s central fountain. They produce lovely flowers and serve as ideal gap fillers. Last year we had no cosmos, and I’m determined to rectify that situation. I hope to use them not only in the two dahlia beds but also in beds that surround the patio.
• Dahlia ‘Watercolor Mix’ (Dahlia variabilis). Last spring ‘Bishop’s Children’ dahlia seeds produced plants that were prolific bloomers through the summer and into October. This year we’ll experiment with another variety that should produce yellow, pink, lemon, peach, white, and pale lavender blooms.
• Foxglove ‘Dalmatian White,’ ‘Gigantea Gelber Herold,’ and ‘Sunset.’ Last year I managed to grow from seeds about 25 foxglove; some were transplanted into the garden in the summer and fall while about 15 have overwintered in the greenhouse and will be transplanted this spring. This Select Seed order is an attempt to expand the variety of our foxgloves. The ‘Dalmatian White’ (Digitalis purpurea hybrid) is a short-lived perennial that should produce white flowers with purple dots in the florets’ throats. The ‘Gigantea Gelber Herold’ (D. ferruginea) is an early 19th-century heirloom; reputed to be a vigorous grower (perhaps reaching 5' tall) and a prolific self-seeder. The ‘Sunset’ (D. Obscura) is a compact perennial with unique, apricot florets that should be do well in a rock garden or at the front of a border.
• Morning Glory ‘Clark’s Heavenly Blue’. Two years ago when we added a 6' tall steel sculpture (designed by Cara Briggs-Farmer) to the “G” bed, I thought it would be a perfect structure for a clematis. I’ve planted two clematis at the base of the sculpture: one died; the other has survived but just barely and has shown no interest in climbing up the sculpture. Thus the purchase of the Morning Glory seeds. We’ll see if any of these transplanted annuals use the steel arch for displaying their wares.
• Nasturtium ‘Tip Top Apricot’ (Tropaeolum minus) and ‘Indian Cress’ (T. majus). Several years ago we had two small planters in the Coe garden with a compact nasturtium covered with apricot colored blossoms. I’m not sure it was this variety, but I’m hoping for a similar success. As for the 19th-century heirloom ‘Indian Cress,’ we’ll try this variety in a couple of the flower pots installed on the cedar fence south of the patio. Last year those pots had several asarina plants with attractive foliage, but the flowers did not show up well from a distance and were short-lived. I’m hoping these trailing nasturtiums with the yellow and red blooms may be a more dynamic presence and complement the late summer and fall blooms of the tall perennial sunflowers not far away.
• Painted Tongue ‘Gloomy Rival’ (Salpiglossis sinuata). This is a flower I’ve never tried to raise, but when I saw in the catalog a photo of ‘Gloomy Rival,’ I knew I had to give it a shot. It has off-white petals with orange and burgundy veins in the blossom’s throat. The catalog indicates that they don’t like intense heat, recommending additional mulch to help keep the soil cool.
• Poppy ‘Hungarian Blue’ (Papaver somniferum). Every year since 2015, I have sown poppy seeds or transplanted young poppy seedlings, attempting to establish enduring colonies in several locations in the garden. So far all my efforts have failed. For a couple of years some red red poppies were popping up in the “D” bed on the south side of the garden. Alas none has appeared the last two years. But hope springs eternal. In the next month I will again be scattering poppy seeds in several beds, and in the greenhouse I'll attempt to grow these ‘Hungarian Blue’ poppies for distribution in several beds.
• Rudbeckia ‘Cherokee Sunset’. Last spring I started from seed about 20 of these Rudbeckia, but between giving some away and using them in other gardens, none ended up at Coe. This ASA award winner has great autumnal colors with large semi-double and double blossoms, and they should work well in all the locations where we have healthy clumps of purple coneflowers. The Rudbeckia should provide an effective late-season complement to the coneflowers while also creating seedheads attractive to birds visiting in the fall and winter.
• Snapdragon ‘Rocket Orchid’ (Antirrhinum majus). All the snapdragons I started from seed last year ended up in one of my flower beds at home. This year I hope to introduce snapdragons into each of the long beds on the north and south sides of the fountain’s lawn quad. The ‘Rocket Orchid’ hybrid is an AAS award winner known for its large size, full flowering stems, and tolerance to summer heat.
• Sweet Scabious ‘Black Knight’. For two summers we had this heirloom scabiosa growing in the crevice garden and one of the raised “J” beds. The blooms are a dark maroon, rich in nectar for bees and butterflies, and an excellent cut flower. It was grown in England in the 1600s, where it went by such names as Blackamoor’s Beauty and Mournful Widow. Last year I had several small plants started, but gave most of them away and only one ended up in the garden, planted with the dahlias. Since individual blooms are not large, we need a colony of these blooming at one time to make a significant impact. My plan is to try them again in the crevice garden and in the sundial bed in front of the gazebo.
• Tobacco ‘Cranberry Isles’ (Nicotiana x sanderae) and ‘Misty Dawn’ (Nicotiana mutabilis). Last year I grew a dozen Jasmine Tobacco (Nicotiana alata) that I kept in the greenhouse. When blooming they produced an intoxicating fragrance. My intent is to plant them in a small bed on the south side of the garden, where in the past they have thrived. In addition to the Jasmine (which have been overwintering in the greenhouse), we’ll experiment with these other two varieties and see how they compare.
• Verbena ‘Vanity’ (Verbena bonariensis). One of the most successful additions to the Coe garden in recent years has been the Tall Verbena. It has been a dependable self-seeder, providing long-lasting magenta blooms attractive to bees and butterflies. Although often reaching over three feet tall, the tall verbena is a marvelous see-through flower that works well from the front to the back of a border. This ‘Vanity’ option is described in the catalog as a compact variety, more suited to the front of a border, and producing a thicker cluster of violent-purple blooms. The tall verbena has done well in the dahlia beds, and I’m hoping the ‘Vanity’ cultivar will integrate effectively into those beds.
• Zinnia ‘White Star,’ ‘Benary’s Giant Mix,’ ‘Benary’s Giant Salmon Rose,’ and ‘Isabellina.’ Last year we had no zinnias in the Coe garden, an error that I hope we never replicate. Zinnias have often played a major role in adding major flower power to the garden from mid-July until after the fall equinox, particularly at the front of the “G” and “H” beds on the east end of the garden. Two years ago we had some marvelous Isabellina. We saved a bucket load of their seeds but have no success getting them to germinate last year.
One of my goals last year was to increase the role of annual flowers in the Coe garden. Although the fundamental structure of the garden will always rely on its perennial trees, shrubs, and herbaceous flowers, annuals play an essential role in filling in spatial gaps among the perennials and increasing the garden’s sensory flower power in the late summer and early fall. While the majority of the garden’s perennials enjoy relatively short periods of intense blooming (e.g., spring-flowering bulbs, Siberian iris, peonies, Baptisia, astilbe, mums), the survival of most annuals depends on seed production and that means they focus their energy into a longer period of bloom production. Last spring in the greenhouse I sowed over 25 different varieties of flower seeds, but for various reasons many of those flowers never ended up in the garden. In a few instances seeds did not germinate. In other instances, I gave the plants away or sold them at a church plant sale or used them in one of my other gardens. This year I’m determined to get more of these flowers into the Coe garden.
My first flower seed order of the year was to Select Seeds in Connecticut, a mail order company I’ve used for several years. They send me an attractive seed catalog with descriptions of flowers that often strike me as irresistible and perfect for our needs. Listed below are seeds I ordered this weekend. A few of these will be sown directly into the garden, but most will initially be sown in seed blocks or small cowpots in the greenhouse and transplanted beginning about May 1.
• African Daisy ‘Polar Star’ (Dimorphotheca pluvalis). For me this is a new flower (also known as rain daisy) that immediately attracted my attention in the Select catalog. The photo shows blooms with aster-like white petals and dark purple rings in the center. The seeds were relatively cheap (150 seeds for $3), and I liked the description of the plants being heat tolerant and amenable to a dry, rock garden. I decided to give ‘em a try.
• Agrostemma ‘Ocean Pearls’ (Agrostemma githago). This is another plant I’ve never previously grown. It is described as an old-fashioned cottage garden flower that can blend nicely with other summer flowers. It’s supposedly easy to grow, with direct sowing in early spring. It prefers poor, well-drained soil and should grow to about 2.5' tall.
• Celosia ‘Asian Garden’ (Celosia argentea). Several years ago we had a marvelous patch of celosia with spires of long-lasting blooms in a planter on the north side of the garden. This new variety, winner of an AAS award, is supposed to be vigorous and with long-lasting blooms. I suspect these celosia will go in two north-side planters in full sun. The last two years those planters have had eggplants and peppers. I'm hoping the celosia will not need the extra watering the eggplants and peppers were frequently demanding.
• Cleome ‘Color Fountain’. For several years a variety of cleome (known as Spider Flower or Grandfather’s Whiskers) was effectively self-seeding in the crevice garden and a corner of the “J” dahlia bed. Although the cleomes were really too tall for the crevice garden, they loved that rocky, well-drained soil. But last year, no cleomes appeared in the crevice garden and we only had one small, late emerging plant in the “J” bed. This year I ordered a packet of fresh seeds and will try to get a new variety started in several locations. The cleomes are steady bloomers from the middle of the summer until the first freeze in the fall, and their distinctive blooms invariably draw comments from visitors to the garden. Cleomes were grown by Jefferson at Monticello, and I would love to have them reappear in this year’s garden.
• Cosmos “Psyche White,’ ‘Sensation Radiance’, ‘Sonata White’ and ‘Double Click Bicolor Violet’. For several years we have had cosmos weaving their way throughout the two dahlia beds north and south of the garden’s central fountain. They produce lovely flowers and serve as ideal gap fillers. Last year we had no cosmos, and I’m determined to rectify that situation. I hope to use them not only in the two dahlia beds but also in beds that surround the patio.
• Dahlia ‘Watercolor Mix’ (Dahlia variabilis). Last spring ‘Bishop’s Children’ dahlia seeds produced plants that were prolific bloomers through the summer and into October. This year we’ll experiment with another variety that should produce yellow, pink, lemon, peach, white, and pale lavender blooms.
• Foxglove ‘Dalmatian White,’ ‘Gigantea Gelber Herold,’ and ‘Sunset.’ Last year I managed to grow from seeds about 25 foxglove; some were transplanted into the garden in the summer and fall while about 15 have overwintered in the greenhouse and will be transplanted this spring. This Select Seed order is an attempt to expand the variety of our foxgloves. The ‘Dalmatian White’ (Digitalis purpurea hybrid) is a short-lived perennial that should produce white flowers with purple dots in the florets’ throats. The ‘Gigantea Gelber Herold’ (D. ferruginea) is an early 19th-century heirloom; reputed to be a vigorous grower (perhaps reaching 5' tall) and a prolific self-seeder. The ‘Sunset’ (D. Obscura) is a compact perennial with unique, apricot florets that should be do well in a rock garden or at the front of a border.
• Morning Glory ‘Clark’s Heavenly Blue’. Two years ago when we added a 6' tall steel sculpture (designed by Cara Briggs-Farmer) to the “G” bed, I thought it would be a perfect structure for a clematis. I’ve planted two clematis at the base of the sculpture: one died; the other has survived but just barely and has shown no interest in climbing up the sculpture. Thus the purchase of the Morning Glory seeds. We’ll see if any of these transplanted annuals use the steel arch for displaying their wares.
• Nasturtium ‘Tip Top Apricot’ (Tropaeolum minus) and ‘Indian Cress’ (T. majus). Several years ago we had two small planters in the Coe garden with a compact nasturtium covered with apricot colored blossoms. I’m not sure it was this variety, but I’m hoping for a similar success. As for the 19th-century heirloom ‘Indian Cress,’ we’ll try this variety in a couple of the flower pots installed on the cedar fence south of the patio. Last year those pots had several asarina plants with attractive foliage, but the flowers did not show up well from a distance and were short-lived. I’m hoping these trailing nasturtiums with the yellow and red blooms may be a more dynamic presence and complement the late summer and fall blooms of the tall perennial sunflowers not far away.
• Painted Tongue ‘Gloomy Rival’ (Salpiglossis sinuata). This is a flower I’ve never tried to raise, but when I saw in the catalog a photo of ‘Gloomy Rival,’ I knew I had to give it a shot. It has off-white petals with orange and burgundy veins in the blossom’s throat. The catalog indicates that they don’t like intense heat, recommending additional mulch to help keep the soil cool.
• Poppy ‘Hungarian Blue’ (Papaver somniferum). Every year since 2015, I have sown poppy seeds or transplanted young poppy seedlings, attempting to establish enduring colonies in several locations in the garden. So far all my efforts have failed. For a couple of years some red red poppies were popping up in the “D” bed on the south side of the garden. Alas none has appeared the last two years. But hope springs eternal. In the next month I will again be scattering poppy seeds in several beds, and in the greenhouse I'll attempt to grow these ‘Hungarian Blue’ poppies for distribution in several beds.
• Rudbeckia ‘Cherokee Sunset’. Last spring I started from seed about 20 of these Rudbeckia, but between giving some away and using them in other gardens, none ended up at Coe. This ASA award winner has great autumnal colors with large semi-double and double blossoms, and they should work well in all the locations where we have healthy clumps of purple coneflowers. The Rudbeckia should provide an effective late-season complement to the coneflowers while also creating seedheads attractive to birds visiting in the fall and winter.
• Snapdragon ‘Rocket Orchid’ (Antirrhinum majus). All the snapdragons I started from seed last year ended up in one of my flower beds at home. This year I hope to introduce snapdragons into each of the long beds on the north and south sides of the fountain’s lawn quad. The ‘Rocket Orchid’ hybrid is an AAS award winner known for its large size, full flowering stems, and tolerance to summer heat.
• Sweet Scabious ‘Black Knight’. For two summers we had this heirloom scabiosa growing in the crevice garden and one of the raised “J” beds. The blooms are a dark maroon, rich in nectar for bees and butterflies, and an excellent cut flower. It was grown in England in the 1600s, where it went by such names as Blackamoor’s Beauty and Mournful Widow. Last year I had several small plants started, but gave most of them away and only one ended up in the garden, planted with the dahlias. Since individual blooms are not large, we need a colony of these blooming at one time to make a significant impact. My plan is to try them again in the crevice garden and in the sundial bed in front of the gazebo.
• Tobacco ‘Cranberry Isles’ (Nicotiana x sanderae) and ‘Misty Dawn’ (Nicotiana mutabilis). Last year I grew a dozen Jasmine Tobacco (Nicotiana alata) that I kept in the greenhouse. When blooming they produced an intoxicating fragrance. My intent is to plant them in a small bed on the south side of the garden, where in the past they have thrived. In addition to the Jasmine (which have been overwintering in the greenhouse), we’ll experiment with these other two varieties and see how they compare.
• Verbena ‘Vanity’ (Verbena bonariensis). One of the most successful additions to the Coe garden in recent years has been the Tall Verbena. It has been a dependable self-seeder, providing long-lasting magenta blooms attractive to bees and butterflies. Although often reaching over three feet tall, the tall verbena is a marvelous see-through flower that works well from the front to the back of a border. This ‘Vanity’ option is described in the catalog as a compact variety, more suited to the front of a border, and producing a thicker cluster of violent-purple blooms. The tall verbena has done well in the dahlia beds, and I’m hoping the ‘Vanity’ cultivar will integrate effectively into those beds.
• Zinnia ‘White Star,’ ‘Benary’s Giant Mix,’ ‘Benary’s Giant Salmon Rose,’ and ‘Isabellina.’ Last year we had no zinnias in the Coe garden, an error that I hope we never replicate. Zinnias have often played a major role in adding major flower power to the garden from mid-July until after the fall equinox, particularly at the front of the “G” and “H” beds on the east end of the garden. Two years ago we had some marvelous Isabellina. We saved a bucket load of their seeds but have no success getting them to germinate last year.
Monday Morning Garden Report: 16 January 2023
Monday was a March-like weather day that somehow showed up in the middle of January. While working in the Garden Shed, I heard the tornado sirens and later discovered a tornado had crossed I-80 near Williamsburg. Here at Coe no tornado, but we had lightning and a serious rain for a short spell. The rain gauge is stored away for the winter, to protect it from freezing, so I’m just guessing we received at least a half inch of rain. The small rain garden next to the McCabe parking lot was filled to the brim.
Deterred by the inclement spring weather, I waited until Tuesday to walk around the garden, jotting down a few random observations. As usual, when it’s been several days since my last garden visit, I was initially absorbed with collecting trash. I always seem to find at least one Reese’s Buttercup plastic wrapper and there are invariably a few plastic bags snagged by the garden shrubs. Today, however, I found a gray plastic bag on the patio filled with a large, moist, brown dog turd. The weight of the bag’s contents would suggest it had not blown into the garden. Another unexpected discovery was a cardboard carton for a six-pack of Budweiser. This had been buried under the snow drift in front of the NW garden gate. Only with the recent warm weather had enough snow melted so it had emerged, though it was still locked into the surrounding ice.
Since we attempt to leave most of the garden’s plants untrimmed during the winter months, the garden at this time of the year can look more like a nature preserve than a formal flower garden. Our goal is to leave vegetation that birds and insects can use through the winter months. But in a few weeks we’ll need to do some serious “cleaning up” (a phrase I dislike, suggesting the garden is dirty and needs a thorough scrubbing). Today after my garden walk, I did start pruning many of the plants in the beds around the SE park bench. I cut back most of the Joe Pye weeds, their seed heads now reduced to bare skeletons. I also cut back the purple leaf loosestrife, phlox, monarda, penstemon, and several wild aster-family immigrants that this past summer and fall produced dozens of small daisy-like blooms. Fortunately the ground was not frozen on the surface, and I was able to remove the roots for several tall goldenrod, one of the garden’s more attractive and beneficial weeds. The soft soil under the leaves and the yews made me feel like it was early spring rather than the middle of the winter.
At the west end of the “F” bed I removed old foliage from all the daylilies. So far, no signs of fresh growth. I was surprised that I saw no emerging daffodils. In the fall they often send up green spears that appear just above the surface. I imagine them as submarine periscopes, checking out the landscape, helping them determine when it’s time to rise to the surface. But this year the daffodils give no evidence of wanting to get a quick jump on their spring emergence. In the “F” bed, I also trimmed back the oregano. Their gray/brown stems are not particularly attractive, but their trimming releases a rich, evocative herbal fragrance, making this one of my favorite winter tasks. And once the old vegetation is removed, it’s a pleasure to see the area covered with tiny green oregano leaves, eager to spring into action with the arrival of warmer weather.
While working in the garden through the afternoon, I saw no birds or squirrels. I did come upon several piles of rabbit turds, and I’m reasonably certain a pair of rabbits are living in the garden, but I saw no evidence of them today. The garden felt like an empty village, but that is an illusion. It may be a quite different scene at other hours of the day, and the vitality of garden’s underground life is well beyond my comprehension. As I was depositing vegetation in the big compost bin, the garden lights came on. Both of the lights on the pergola are working, but nine of the fifteen post lights are not working, including all six at the east end of the garden. Fortunately, there was still plenty of light for me to put away my equipment and head home. ~Bob
Monday was a March-like weather day that somehow showed up in the middle of January. While working in the Garden Shed, I heard the tornado sirens and later discovered a tornado had crossed I-80 near Williamsburg. Here at Coe no tornado, but we had lightning and a serious rain for a short spell. The rain gauge is stored away for the winter, to protect it from freezing, so I’m just guessing we received at least a half inch of rain. The small rain garden next to the McCabe parking lot was filled to the brim.
Deterred by the inclement spring weather, I waited until Tuesday to walk around the garden, jotting down a few random observations. As usual, when it’s been several days since my last garden visit, I was initially absorbed with collecting trash. I always seem to find at least one Reese’s Buttercup plastic wrapper and there are invariably a few plastic bags snagged by the garden shrubs. Today, however, I found a gray plastic bag on the patio filled with a large, moist, brown dog turd. The weight of the bag’s contents would suggest it had not blown into the garden. Another unexpected discovery was a cardboard carton for a six-pack of Budweiser. This had been buried under the snow drift in front of the NW garden gate. Only with the recent warm weather had enough snow melted so it had emerged, though it was still locked into the surrounding ice.
Since we attempt to leave most of the garden’s plants untrimmed during the winter months, the garden at this time of the year can look more like a nature preserve than a formal flower garden. Our goal is to leave vegetation that birds and insects can use through the winter months. But in a few weeks we’ll need to do some serious “cleaning up” (a phrase I dislike, suggesting the garden is dirty and needs a thorough scrubbing). Today after my garden walk, I did start pruning many of the plants in the beds around the SE park bench. I cut back most of the Joe Pye weeds, their seed heads now reduced to bare skeletons. I also cut back the purple leaf loosestrife, phlox, monarda, penstemon, and several wild aster-family immigrants that this past summer and fall produced dozens of small daisy-like blooms. Fortunately the ground was not frozen on the surface, and I was able to remove the roots for several tall goldenrod, one of the garden’s more attractive and beneficial weeds. The soft soil under the leaves and the yews made me feel like it was early spring rather than the middle of the winter.
At the west end of the “F” bed I removed old foliage from all the daylilies. So far, no signs of fresh growth. I was surprised that I saw no emerging daffodils. In the fall they often send up green spears that appear just above the surface. I imagine them as submarine periscopes, checking out the landscape, helping them determine when it’s time to rise to the surface. But this year the daffodils give no evidence of wanting to get a quick jump on their spring emergence. In the “F” bed, I also trimmed back the oregano. Their gray/brown stems are not particularly attractive, but their trimming releases a rich, evocative herbal fragrance, making this one of my favorite winter tasks. And once the old vegetation is removed, it’s a pleasure to see the area covered with tiny green oregano leaves, eager to spring into action with the arrival of warmer weather.
While working in the garden through the afternoon, I saw no birds or squirrels. I did come upon several piles of rabbit turds, and I’m reasonably certain a pair of rabbits are living in the garden, but I saw no evidence of them today. The garden felt like an empty village, but that is an illusion. It may be a quite different scene at other hours of the day, and the vitality of garden’s underground life is well beyond my comprehension. As I was depositing vegetation in the big compost bin, the garden lights came on. Both of the lights on the pergola are working, but nine of the fifteen post lights are not working, including all six at the east end of the garden. Fortunately, there was still plenty of light for me to put away my equipment and head home. ~Bob
Monday Morning Garden Report: 2 January 2023
My first visit to the garden in the new year. I had intended to come after breakfast, but various home projects intervened, and so the trip was made after lunch. Fortunately, the weather was more congenial than the first week of January in ‘22–though the heavy snowfall of that first visit inspired some of my favorite garden photographs from last year. After a quick inspection of the greenhouse (to make sure the heater was working and no plants were dying of thirst), I entered the garden, carrying two watering cans to be filled with water from the custodian’s “office” in the Alumni House. Before unlocking the dining room door, I stopped at the front of the patio and took a few minutes to view the garden. The temp was in the low 40s and no notable breeze. We had a thin cloud cover, but there was enough light for me to read the sundial and note the gnomon’s 1:30 afternoon shadow. One could not ask for a more pleasant day to visit the garden in January.
My initial observation was how the garden was surrounded by taller buildings, crowding around the outside walls. Because the garden’s vegetation looked so uniform and undifferentiated, my eyes kept slipping over the garden wall and noting the Commonwealth apartments and the new building with the Jimmy Johns on its first floor and the roofs of older homes east of the campus and the cross on St. Paul’s UMC and the two Coe apartments north and south of the garden. Normally, I feel like the garden is a sanctuary, separated from the urban landscape, but today the garden was oppressed by those human structures. With no much of the garden’s plants reduced to their bare bones, there was nothing hidden in the garden, no secret paths, nothing interesting enough to hold my attention. I saw nothing to suggest the garden held any surprises: what you saw on the first glance was what you got.
As I was reflecting on why the garden initially felt so disappointing, I spent a few minutes focusing on the sculptures added to the garden in recent years. Since I started working here in 2014, we have purchased over 100 sculptures and permanent structures for the garden. Not all the pieces are on display during the winter, but there are dozens of stepping stones designed by an artist in Iowa City and benches built by two wood-workers in Michigan and several sculptures by an artist-blacksmith in Wisconsin and over two dozen pieces by Cara Briggs-Farmer, a sculptor artist in Marion. With a couple of exceptions, one principle underlying the choice of these pieces is that they would not be unduly loud or detract from other elements in the garden. They should blend into the environment. The one notable exception northeast of the patio is the 6' tall piece, informally titled “House of the Rising Sun,” with its plates of luminous-colored plexiglass. But that’s the exception. Many of the garden’s pieces are a quiet black or rusted brown, easily overlooked as the eye scans the garden.
Perhaps I have mixed feelings about the value of surprises in a garden. When I was teaching composition classes in a previous lifetime, I would often remind students of the Robert Frost principle: “No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader.” The principle should also be applicable to gardeners in their garden. If I don’t feel a sense of surprise and discovery when gardening, I should not expect visitors to experience anything fresh and unexpected. But as I continued walking around the garden, I began to think the Robert Frost “surprise” principle may miss a fundamental attraction of gardening. On several occasions this afternoon the pleasure of the walk came from confirmations that what had been observed in previous winters was again true this winter season. Perennial flower gardens are governed by recurrent cyclical patterns, and a substantial pleasure comes from seeing those cycles fulfilled. During the walk I saw fresh leaves on several hollyhocks, fresh green daffodil spears pressing through the frozen soil, the coneflower seedheads offering nourishment for visiting birds, the beautiful golden foliage of the Hakone grass, the shriveled red fruit of the flowering crab apple trees. I’ve seen all these phenomena in previous years, but I know there’s no guarantee they will happen this January. So every year I take more photos of the coneflower seedheads, their presence offering a beautiful reassurance in the rhythms of this natural world–rhythms over which I have almost no input. As so often, I am the gardener as observer, the recorder, jotting down a few notes, taking a few photos, celebrating the pleasures offered by different moments in the rotation of the seasons. The pleasures of the winter garden are like the joys that come from singing familiar Christmas carols. I have no desire to sing “Silent Night” throughout the year, but at Christmas, it’s the perfect song. I have the same feeling for the garden at this time of the year. Thank goodness for the other seasons, but a day like today in a January garden in Iowa turned out to be darn near perfect. ~Bob
My first visit to the garden in the new year. I had intended to come after breakfast, but various home projects intervened, and so the trip was made after lunch. Fortunately, the weather was more congenial than the first week of January in ‘22–though the heavy snowfall of that first visit inspired some of my favorite garden photographs from last year. After a quick inspection of the greenhouse (to make sure the heater was working and no plants were dying of thirst), I entered the garden, carrying two watering cans to be filled with water from the custodian’s “office” in the Alumni House. Before unlocking the dining room door, I stopped at the front of the patio and took a few minutes to view the garden. The temp was in the low 40s and no notable breeze. We had a thin cloud cover, but there was enough light for me to read the sundial and note the gnomon’s 1:30 afternoon shadow. One could not ask for a more pleasant day to visit the garden in January.
My initial observation was how the garden was surrounded by taller buildings, crowding around the outside walls. Because the garden’s vegetation looked so uniform and undifferentiated, my eyes kept slipping over the garden wall and noting the Commonwealth apartments and the new building with the Jimmy Johns on its first floor and the roofs of older homes east of the campus and the cross on St. Paul’s UMC and the two Coe apartments north and south of the garden. Normally, I feel like the garden is a sanctuary, separated from the urban landscape, but today the garden was oppressed by those human structures. With no much of the garden’s plants reduced to their bare bones, there was nothing hidden in the garden, no secret paths, nothing interesting enough to hold my attention. I saw nothing to suggest the garden held any surprises: what you saw on the first glance was what you got.
As I was reflecting on why the garden initially felt so disappointing, I spent a few minutes focusing on the sculptures added to the garden in recent years. Since I started working here in 2014, we have purchased over 100 sculptures and permanent structures for the garden. Not all the pieces are on display during the winter, but there are dozens of stepping stones designed by an artist in Iowa City and benches built by two wood-workers in Michigan and several sculptures by an artist-blacksmith in Wisconsin and over two dozen pieces by Cara Briggs-Farmer, a sculptor artist in Marion. With a couple of exceptions, one principle underlying the choice of these pieces is that they would not be unduly loud or detract from other elements in the garden. They should blend into the environment. The one notable exception northeast of the patio is the 6' tall piece, informally titled “House of the Rising Sun,” with its plates of luminous-colored plexiglass. But that’s the exception. Many of the garden’s pieces are a quiet black or rusted brown, easily overlooked as the eye scans the garden.
Perhaps I have mixed feelings about the value of surprises in a garden. When I was teaching composition classes in a previous lifetime, I would often remind students of the Robert Frost principle: “No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader.” The principle should also be applicable to gardeners in their garden. If I don’t feel a sense of surprise and discovery when gardening, I should not expect visitors to experience anything fresh and unexpected. But as I continued walking around the garden, I began to think the Robert Frost “surprise” principle may miss a fundamental attraction of gardening. On several occasions this afternoon the pleasure of the walk came from confirmations that what had been observed in previous winters was again true this winter season. Perennial flower gardens are governed by recurrent cyclical patterns, and a substantial pleasure comes from seeing those cycles fulfilled. During the walk I saw fresh leaves on several hollyhocks, fresh green daffodil spears pressing through the frozen soil, the coneflower seedheads offering nourishment for visiting birds, the beautiful golden foliage of the Hakone grass, the shriveled red fruit of the flowering crab apple trees. I’ve seen all these phenomena in previous years, but I know there’s no guarantee they will happen this January. So every year I take more photos of the coneflower seedheads, their presence offering a beautiful reassurance in the rhythms of this natural world–rhythms over which I have almost no input. As so often, I am the gardener as observer, the recorder, jotting down a few notes, taking a few photos, celebrating the pleasures offered by different moments in the rotation of the seasons. The pleasures of the winter garden are like the joys that come from singing familiar Christmas carols. I have no desire to sing “Silent Night” throughout the year, but at Christmas, it’s the perfect song. I have the same feeling for the garden at this time of the year. Thank goodness for the other seasons, but a day like today in a January garden in Iowa turned out to be darn near perfect. ~Bob