Serviceberry, ivy and hydrangea are at their best in fall here. And there are many, many other great choices.
“What’s this beautiful shrub?!” was the question on our gardening group. And, of course, the answer was well-known to many of us: euonymus alatus, aka burning bush.
Euonymus alatus does have great color, but doesn’t provide much interest at other times.
There is no escaping this ubiquitous corporate landscaping choice at this time of year. Indeed, whoever did the plantings at my office stuck two of these in front, where they remained either green and boring or bare and boring for four years; this is the first year they are showing color, which I agree is very pretty. But the two weeks of pleasure provided by its fall color does not in any way alleviate the fact that this plant is invading forests throughout the US and is on the New York DEC “regulated” list, as well as many other invasive advisories throughout the country. I would never plant it.
Annoyingly, institutional and corporate landscapes often have massive rows of this. You’ll see it around traffic circles, lining parking lots, and in front of offices everywhere. It’s really only in fall, though, that I remember to be annoyed by its presence, as at other times it is nondescript. The worst part is when workers prune it into boxy shapes, which greatly interferes with the reason it was planted it in the first place—you get patches of red punctuated with bare spots rather than a glorious burst of red.
There are so many other shrubs that provide beautiful color in fall. So many. Some of my favorites include serviceberry, blueberry, beautyberry, and sumac. Sumac provides some of the best fall color I’ve ever seen, though it is a bit unruly for a small home garden. I enjoy it along the road. At home, I find that my viburnums, leucothoe, and hydrangea put on a decent show. And the maples, of course.
At the office, whatever was done in front is made up for in our courtyard (at top), which absolutely glows at this time, with, (mainly) serviceberry, Boston ivy, and river birch. No burning bush is needed or wanted here.
“Pumpkin Spice” season is in full swing, folks. That means we need to be aware that Winter is right around the corner. With that idea in mind, read some quick tips on how to protect your trees and shrubs from Winter damage.
Tree Pruning
This is a really important part of keeping your trees and shrubs healthy, and should be done regularly. Having it done before the uncertainty of Winter storms is even more critical.
The key point here is that you want to be aware of branches that are susceptible to damage. Snow and ice accumulation put the stress of added weight on branches. According to Richard’s Tree Service in Annandale, Virginia, you should “…start by encouraging proper angles: branches that extend upward at 30- to 45-degree angles.” This allows trees to take on some of that weight with enough support to handle the load. It also allows just enough flex in the branch to prevent damage. Removing branches with too much mass (already very heavy) can also be helpful.
Not sure which branches to remove? “It’s always a good idea to hire a certified arborist to get the job done right,” say’s Richard’s. We could not agree more! Contacting a Certified Arborist to get a professional opinion and quote on the work is never a bad idea. Here the old adage holds true: “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.” Protecting your trees for winter is a preventive task! Making sure trees are properly pruned before the storms hit ensures they’re better able to withstand the forces put on the tree from the winds and added weight of precipitation.
Wrapping Vulnerable Trees
This practice involves a little more elbow-grease on your part as the homeowner. Also, it can look a little silly to some people. But it does go a long way toward protecting your landscape.
Basically, you’re literally wrapping trees up, like in a Winter coat, for the season. Certain trees have thin bark. What happens to these trees is that as sunlight warms them on bright days, it warms up some parts of the tree but not others. This can cause gaping holes to appear in the bark, which is obviously a bad thing.
According to Davey Tree Experts, the type of wrap should match the tree. “Take Damien’s Japanese maple, for example. It’s a tree that loses its leaves in the fall and has thin bark, so the best way to protect it is by wrapping the trunk in a plastic tree guard.”
Other trees benefit from basic burlap, like coniferous (cone-producing) evergreens. There’s two ways to do this. The first option is to lightly wrap the burlap all the way around the tree, and then tie it around at the top, middle, and bottom. Option two is using stakes that are the same size (or taller) than the tree, creating a triangle around the tree, and fastening the burlap around the stakes. This essentially creates a kind of “tent” around the outside of the tree, protecting it from damage caused by cold Winter winds.
Anti-Desiccant Sprays
In the Winter, high winds or heavy sunshine warming the leaves of an evergreen can cause what’s called “transpiration.” In essence, the moisture is leaving the leaf- or needle-tissue. During Spring, Summer, and Fall, this evaporation of moisture isn’t a big deal – they can simply pull more out of the ground.
In the Winter, however, this process doesn’t function the same way. The ground is frozen, and it’s nearly impossible for that fluid to move up and down the tree the way it needs to for damage to be prevented. So, what are you supposed to do about it?
Basically, anti-desiccant sprays prevent moisture from escaping through the leaf tissue. Think of it like lip balm – it’s a coating on the “green” of the evergreen that holds in the moisture and prevents damage to the plant from the extreme temperatures.
Anti-desiccant sprays are not a “silver bullet” for protecting the trees. These treatments are not 100% guaranteed (nothing is when you’re talking about plants and environmental conditions!), so don’t plan on this as a fool-proof plan. There are environmental factors (the dreaded “Polar-vortex” for example) that can prevent them from working as intended.
Also, they typically have to be done as a series of treatments rather than a single spraying. The weather and temperature dictate the timing of these sprays. Too long between treatments can also create an opportunity for the trees to be damaged.
Conclusion
Just because the thermometer is dropping doesn’t mean that your landscaping is done for the season! Be sure to examine your landscape for potential Winter hazards. If you have questions or would like a free consultation, please Contact Us.
The space had originally been turfgrass, a continuation of the lawn on the other side of the sidewalk. So maintenance was easy – another minute or two of mowing.
Then the city’s director of horticulture got ambitious (in his words), ripped out the lawn, and planted landscape roses, ‘Autumn Joy’ sedums and presumably other perennials that are long gone. He now regrets creating such a high-maintenance bed in such a high-visibility spot, and recommended that it be ripped out and the lawn restored.
This month it was done, and already looks better to my eyes, though I’m hoping some low shrubs will be added to partially hide the ugly lighting fixtures. And our iconic bas-reliefs will get an overdue cleaning this winter. (By sculptor Leonore Thomas Straus, they illustrate the Preamble to the Constitution.)
Anti-Lawn Sentiment on Social Media
The change was noted on two of our local Facebook groups, and I immediately commented that it “made sense” to restore the original turf, since the perennial bed was a weedy mess most of the growing season. But most of the comments were in opposition.
“That’s just going in the opposite direction of all environmental advice. Not good.”
“Where will the bees and butterflies go? We need to provide a habitat for them to live. Unfortunately reducing maintenance is what it’s all about.”
“This makes me sad. I wish I were in better health and could have stopped this. A weedy mess is better for the environment than turf. Better for the environment is better for people in the long-term but some people are short-sighted.”
“I liked the weedy mess. Nothing is more boring than turf.”
“No doubt they have their reasons but if this is permanent I sure will miss all the fabulous bees & insects that populated the area every summer.”
The former city staffer who created the perennial and rose bed weighed in to apologize for creating it (“my bad”) and support its removal. He added that the roses had partially obscured the bas-reliefs.
One commenter, a nongardener, recognized it as a cost-saving move: “If the City cannot afford $5,000 for bus service in 2020 then it cannot afford the cost of maintaining flower beds. It’s unfortunate, but if our budget really is this tight then services to people must take priority over things that look pretty.”
City Landscapes and Pollinators
So what ABOUT the role of city landscapes in providing for pollinators?
Should turf be replaced with perennial beds and maintenance budgets increased accordingly?
Or how about just incorporating clover into existing turf?
What if cities used out-of-the-way spots for pollinator gardens so that they don’t require regular weeding, for appearance’s sake?
Talk to any real estate agent, in any market, and they’ll tell you that curb appeal is critical to getting the best offer for your home.
That’s not just anecdotal—there’s data on the importance of curb appeal. According to HomeLight’s Q2 2019 Top Agent Insights report, 94 percent of agents say that curb appeal adds value to the seller’s bottom line.
But that doesn’t necessarily mean you have to hire a landscaping firm to completely redo your tired yard. You can achieve great curb appeal at relatively low cost and with a weekend or so of effort—just follow these simple gardening tips.
Mow and edge your lawn
It’s amazing the difference a tidy front yard can make. It’s one of the most basic yard care activities there is, and yet so many people either don’t mow often enough, or don’t pay attention to the details, like edging.
Prior to listing your home for sale, and during the entire time that it stays on the MLS, keep your lawn mowed to precision. It will keep your home looking well-kept, while also creating an excellent backdrop for any planting or other details you add.
Choose flowers or greenery with your home’s color in mind
When you walk into a nursery, it can be tempting to choose flowers or plants based solely on what appeals to your eye—bright pink zinnias, yellow snapdragons, blue forget-me-nots.
But it’s important to take into account the color of your home, so you don’t inadvertently choose colors that will clash. If your home is pale blue, for example, you probably want to go with purples or pinks, with an occasional blue sprinkled in for effect. You want enough color contrast to be striking, but not so much that it becomes jarring.
Mulch your beds
Mulching is one of the best ways to improve curb appeal without much effort. Mulch creates a clear separation between planting beds and your lawn, pulling the yard together and making everything look instantly tidy.
In addition, mulch can lower the amount of maintenance your garden requires, as it will insulate the soil, aid in water retention, and help prevent weeds.
Keep hedges and trees trimmed
If your yard contains hedges or trees, make sure to trim them back regularly. While you don’t want them to look boxy—unless you’re a dedicated gardener with a geometric streak—you do want them to look like they’re under control and tamed. Nothing says neglect like a bush with countless stray branches reaching out to grab you!
Add or emphasize your walkway
If you’ve got a sidewalk that leads to your door, consider lining it with small solar lights to further define the edges and make the approach to your home more inviting.
If not, laying a simple stepping stone walkway is an excellent way to up your curb appeal. This is especially true if your home has limited outdoor space, as a well-defined walkway can serve as a focal point that will draw potential buyers’ eyes away from the size of your yard.
You can drastically improve your curb appeal with just a few simple steps. So break out those gardening gloves, find those hedge trimmers, and let’s get to work!
Tarda ‘Dasystemon’ species tulips: these have returned for me for years.
That’s the title of a talk I gave recently for a suburban/rural gardening club, though maybe it didn’t apply. They all seemed like longtime spade-wielding warriors. Very few of them ever looked online for gardening advice; they just did things the way they’d always done it and seemed Ok with that. It was refreshing. What a contrast to my online gardening group, most of whom seem to worry about everything. But there are a few bulb rules I follow, some of which go against bulb wisdom found both online and in newspaper columns and some of which were new to the club members. They work for me, so I’ll share them here.
Bulb tools are dumb, as you know if you’ve ever spent minutes pounding plugs of soil out of them. I use a sharp spade to get the small bulbs in (species tulips, tiny daffs, Galanthus, chionodoxa, eranthis, etc.). For big groups of hybrids, I use a large shovel, dig a big hole or trench and throw the bulbs in. If I think of it, I straighten out a bit before covering with soil.
Deer, chipmunk, squirrel, and vole problems should not rule out bulbs. Wire or plastic mesh can be pinned on the ground over the plantings immediately after planting. That keeps out the small guys. With deer, we know they don’t like quite a number of species; as for the rest, I am told that they are less likely to bother species tulips and that sprays work. I think pots close to the house (easy to keep sprayed) might be an option. I am also told that interplanting of daffodils among tulips can fool them. (Deer are not yet roaming the streets of downtown Buffalo.)
Bulbs in pots are a great option. Here’s a piece I wrote for Fine Gardening about that; it was a few years back, but I think the info is still valid. I love them in pots because you can plan combinations, move the pots around, and, in general, get a big visual bang for your buck. If you’d rather not click, it’s simple: plant them in big pots at the same depth they would be in the ground, water, store in an unheated garage or otherwise protect from freeze/thaw, take out in early spring. These can also take some mesh or spray if needed. This really only works well for tulips.
Don’t waste time or money on fertilizer, especially the usual recommendation to add bone meal in the planting hole when planting (the nutrients in bone meal are already present in most nonagricultural soils). Top dressing with compost or mulch is fine—i.e., treat them as other garden perennials. Or do a soil test; maybe you don’t need anything.
Don’t do this.
Plant a lot or don’t bother. Accept that hybrid tulips are (close to) annuals and enjoy them for their beauty, even if it is relatively short-lived.
Do this.
There are many beautiful, enjoyable things in life that last way shorter than hybrid tulips.
Its time to bring your amaryllis indoors! Well, a few weeks ago was probably the time to bring your amaryllis indoors but it isn’t too late.
I’ve been letting my amaryllis grow outside all summer. This has been so easy that I have, in fact, completely forgotten about them. I’ve been so proud of myself for the restraint I’ve shown because there is a little bit of space on my plant shelves… and then I discover yet another plant which I have not brought indoors.
I planted my two amaryllis outside near the end of May. I tucked them behind some elephant ears and hibiscus and, truthfully, forgot they were there until I saw some amaryllis indoors at a garden center yesterday. I planted them directly in the soil and let them grow all summer.
This is what they look like now:
The bulbs themselves look healthy and the leaves aren’t even showing any damage from the frosts we’ve experienced.
This is the first time I’ve planted these outdoors so I didn’t really know what to expect. I found that they popped out of the soil pretty easily. The largest had a pretty sizable clump of soil on it that I was able to break away before bringing this amaryllis indoors.
I repotted both bulbs in separate containers with fresh potting soil. At this point they will go down to the basement to have some quiet time. I will stop watering them and will wait for the leaves to turn brown and desiccate before cutting them off.
The ISU Extension suggests, “place the dormant bulb in a 50 to 55 degree F location for at least 8 to 10 weeks. After the cool requirement has been met, start the growth cycle again by watering the bulb and placing it in a well-lighted, 70 to 75 degree F location.”
Since my bulbs have already experienced quite a bit of these cool temperatures outdoors I am writing a note on the calendar to pull these the week of Thanksgiving (approximately five weeks away). I am hoping this will have been enough time to trigger the flowering to come.
I think I am in trouble. Leaving these bulbs outside and then bringing my amaryllis indoors was so easy that I am worried I will need more. Here we go…
Somewhere near the bottom of every writer’s artistic license, a clever wordsmith will find the following recommendation:
Monty Don
“Comically exaggerating the position of one’s opponent is encouraged in the defense of one’s argument.”[i]
Thus, after verbally sparring with Scott Beuerlein over the curiously inflammatory subject of whether to openly read British garden writers, or to do so under the covers by flashlight – all the while pledging fidelity to the American values of Weed & Feed; a tortured Scott is wrestling with the inadequacies of a Midwestern accent late into a Cincinnati evening, and I am apparently one step away from a sexting relationship with Monty Don.
Yet, beyond the slings and the arrows and the thoroughly base attempt to play cards as sneaky as cancer and a dead, beloved dog (I see you one dog and raise you a dad, Scott), the rebuttal beautifully illustrates the constant niggling suspicion American gardeners have that the British are looking down their noses at us, feeding us advice to help us fail, sniggering with intent, and securing all the fat Timber contracts in order to render our garden gurus speechless upon their own soil.[ii]
Rubbish.
Or if you prefer, horseshit.
And when social media gets involved, the comments reveal our innate prejudices and (I believe) underlying insecurities as Americans.
For the record:
I am not a self-righteous Brit who ignores and disparages American garden writers because I am so enchanted with the idea of tea at four and ha-has across the south lawn that I can’t remember my USDA zone. I AM an American garden writer with dual citizenship who has lived most of her life in America, reads authors on both sides of the Atlantic and writes for American publications on American soil. I married a Marine. And not as a war bride.
And neither is Scott a Trumpian angry ethnocentrist (as one commenter lamented) because he has a beef with the relevance of British garden writing to American gardeners. He was clearly just having a bad day.
Perhaps it was a work-related trauma. Spring is a cold and busy season at the Cincinnati Zoo. The last thing the Manager of Botanical Garden Outreach needs to have shoved down his throat is a picture of Fergus Garrett standing under a fruiting Musa basjoo.
Perhaps someone left a copy of George Plumptre’s The English Country House Garden in the men’s toilets. We can only speculate.
Nevertheless, something primal snapped in the man. I get it. But to throw out the cherubic baby with the bath water? That’s when I objected.
It’s just so damned predictable.
Though a strong stance, Scott took a safe one. An American audience is not going to object to giving the Brits a tongue-lashing for what we immediately assume to be their propensity towards snobbery, condescension and arrogance. And, any written defense of such a reprehensible population will be met with equal certainty that the author [obviously bewitched] eats her eggs soft-boiled.
An autumn tapestry at the newly opened Delaware Botanic Gardens, designed by Dutch Wave guru Piet Oudouf, and providing 25 acres of forage, habitat and outstanding beauty for wildlife & visitors.
Except.
Americans are not innocent in this game. Far from it. From my American pine cradle, I’ve grown up in both worlds. My mother is a California rancher’s daughter, my father, a public-schooled Brit. After a lifetime of lively conversations around their dining room table with friends from far and wide, I can attest to the fact that the two cultures take great delight in a strong sense of superiority over one other. I’ve seen my share of sparring. Subtle and not so.
All these decades after the American Revolution, there is still the spirit of rebellion in your average American heart and we’re deeply (and rightly) proud of it. We object to being told what to do – whether it’s what to do for a living, what to wear to a funeral, or what to plant in our gardens. We expect the luxury of space, and claim it when we can – from 4200 square foot homes for two people to insisting on a wide berth when standing at an ATM.
We’re pioneers, explorers and dreamers. But we’re also pragmatists. A great many of us feel strongly that we don’t need a two thousand year-old language to refer to a plant our daddies always called Ramps. And if we want to spell it with a capital R, that’s our business. We sure as hell don’t need people with a perfect climate telling us how to grow it.
Even though they probably weren’t.
In their less generous moments, the Brits look upon us as spoilt children who think the world revolves around us. (Scott, your original essay didn’t help with this.) They write for their own as surely as we write for ours; and if it’s American money that’s buying a gardening book, they credit that money with the good sense to recognize that it doesn’t live in Cornwall – and to adapt accordingly.
They’ve got their own issues and insecurities certainly. In a country with an average population density of 720 people per square mile (the USA is 87)[iii], space is a luxury many never dream of attaining, no matter how quickly they get on the property ladder or how upwardly mobile their lifestyle.
This means that they can be a little prickly about American ideas of personal space. But they are an exceptionally self-reliant people – particularly those who live rurally – making do with very little to create lives that most Americans would find inconvenient.
Sparked by the blight that is decimating boxwood, RHS Wisley has created a knot garden composed of alternate shrubs to inspire depressed gardeners. I can’t grow several of these species, but it doesn’t stop me taking what I can from this fantastic, educational display. (Though not perhaps cuttings.)
When it comes to gardening, they know what they’ve got: the Gulf Stream and hundreds of years of exploiting it to create some of the best gardens in the world; and a culture that gardens more than it doesn’t. But they also know what they don’t have. Besides the obvious (colonies in the Americas & room to swing a cat), they don’t have the guarantee of a decent summer every year.
So, here we are. They, envious of our wide open spaces and [mostly] abundant sunshine. Us, fascinated by their walled kitchen gardens and high streets clothed in annuals. We may admit to a little jealousy – joke about it perhaps – right up until the moment we start feeling the slightest bit insecure.
Then, Americans tend to lash out in righteous fury….
“I don’t need to know the [insert expletive] “proper” [voice dripping with sarcasm] name for this [long pause] blue poppy, to grow it!”
…while the Brits rely on cold condescension.
“But you’re not growing it particularly well, are you?”
And the resentments build.
Now, no one with an ounce (or a gram) of sense thinks that we shouldn’t garden regionally in America, or for that matter, anywhere else in this world. That we shouldn’t find garden writers who live where we live and garden where we garden in order to help us to gain knowledge and experience relevant to our climate.
Influences from all over the world come together in the wildly beautiful gravel garden at Chanticleer Garden, PA.
But to dream, and perhaps more importantly, to innovate, we should inspire ourselves globally: Paradise gardens of Andalusia, potagers in Normandy, xeriscapes in San Diego, shambas in East Africa. People working with their specific environments to create life-giving works of art that other gardeners can observe, absorb and adapt to their own climates and their own environments. Thus:
Half of Europe is embracing naturalistic pollinator and wildlife-friendly designs inspired in part by the prairies and open spaces of the Americas, and led by top designers. Hell, even Hyde Park is letting the grass grow. Do they loathe their own traditions?
A nearby grower friend is showcasing & selling Mediterranean look-alike plants (in a cruel and chilly Mid-Atlantic 6b) as Cali-faux-nian. The customers love it. Did she throw out her summer stock of petunias & calibrachoa?
Monty Don is inspiring his slavering audience to create restful Moorish gardens within the limitations of urban garden flats and boring, but respectable suburban neighborhoods. Does he thus despise boring, but respectable suburban neighborhoods? Well, probably, but we can all agree upon that.
Therefore, I plead with gardeners, garden educators, and Scott on a chilly spring day, who wish to make a full retreat into the safe space of regional gardening advice delivered by regional gardening experts:
Garden regionally. Inspire yourself globally.
Cutting ourselves off from other influences is short-sighted, possibly pig-headed, and will not lead to innovative, exciting design movements of the future. And for those now racing to the captcha to virtuously proclaim how few damns they give for “exciting design movements of the future” (I’m talking to you mom): it’s the Dutch Wave/New Perennial Movement you can thank for inspiring a new generation of gardeners – and non-gardeners – to create pollinator-friendly landscapes in an increasingly urbanized world.
Tom Stuart-Smith’s innovative design within the walled garden at Broughton Grange encourages gardeners all over the world to move beyond traditional borders and contrast formal architectural elements on a relaxed, perennial canvas.
This isn’t a zero sum game. The rest of the world does some things better than we do, and vice versa. Know what you know about where you garden, and know it well. Take time to know more. Look for alternative opinions. Read footnotes. Whether British or American, pens deftly wielded as daggers can be a great deal more effective than those used to spoon-feed.
Doing all this doesn’t make you a snob – it makes you smart. And it just might put you at the top of your regional game.
The car was invented 135 years ago, and all that time we have needed a place to put them when we run into the grocery or the bank. Trouble is, we discovered that early on that parking lots are inherently ugly, gray, bleak, depressing, hard, dirty, blazing-hot-in-summer, bitterly-cold-in winter, soul-sucking, wind-swept plains of human misery. To mitigate this, some time ago, people began planting trees in them.
Was this a good idea? Sure. Why not? Everyone loves trees. They’re wonderful. They’re pretty to look at, and, among a zillion other things, they shade our cars, clean our air and water, mitigate stormwater runoff, provide for wildlife, and sequester carbon. Socially, they support our well-being, create a feeling of community, and, believe it or not, they even make us behave better. That’s the power they have, and all because they connect us urbanized, home-to-Starbuck’s-to-office-and-back-again hominids, albeit briefly, to our long-ago, natural, better selves.
A recent study conducted by the University of Chicago found that city dwellers with just ten trees on their block reported a quality of living $10,000 richer and seven years younger than those without trees on their block. (Like the Lorax’s neighbors had stars upon thars). If ten trees along a street can do that, then why not put them in parking lots? We should. Problem is we’ve been doing it dumb, almost always, since the beginning.
This has been the trees in parking lot instruction manual has looked forever:
Make the lot two times bigger than the most frothing-at-the-mouth, giant ass Black Friday mob could ever possibly need.
Chisel into this lot the smallest planting spaces possible.
Carefully locate these planting beds where trucks are sure to run over them, and where people are all but forced to compact the soil by walking through them.
Don’t improve the soil. Plant trees directly into post-construction, subsoil, liberally infused with high pH concrete leach, and then later with salt, oil, anti-freeze, and other unimaginable pollutants.
Be sure to choose a poorly suited tree species because you don’t know there’s a difference or simply because it’s a favorite of the developer’s oldest daughter
Choose not to install irrigation. Or, if it breaks when a truck runs over it, choose not to fix it. Or, better yet, forget to turn it on in the spring.
By all means, hire the least qualified mow and blow landscape wrecking crew to wound the trunks with string trimmers and volcano mulch halfway up the tree.
Allow snow removal contractors to encase your trees and other landscaping in sarcophaguses of grimy, salty, snow and ice five or six times every winter.
Not even a prayer this bed will ever see any success. So why even bother?
Over many years of diligently following these practices, the results are remarkably consistent:
No tree ever looks as good as the day it went in the ground.
Every visit to Verizon or Great Clips from that day on, is made worse by seeing the trees struggling to survive.
By and by, mercifully, one by one, the trees goes to that great forest in the sky.
When they do, they are at some expense replaced. Invariably with the same unsuitable species that had just demonstrated no sense of humor about trying to live in that place.
The replacement trees are then planted too deep and mulched too high.
I want to say someone should teach truck drivers how to steer, but I suspect they are not to blame. Trucks must navigate parking lots. That’s a given. So why aren’t parking lots designed so trucks can make their turns?
I apologize for the dark and cynical tone here, but seeing this over and over again is driving me nuts! Each of the millions of times this cycle has been repeated, all the time, money, and effort invested yielded nary any of the many potential benefits of trees. Just as bad, maybe even worse, in this time when it is more and more important for all homeowners and landowners to raise their horticultural game for the sake of ourselves and our planet, the typical person’s daily exposure to cultivated plants are these abysmal, failing, ugly, parking lot plantings, brought to them, supposedly, by people who should know and do better. What message does that send?
And this has been going on for the entirety of my long, strange, trip of my 59 & 1/2 year life.
My friend, Dr. Tom Kimmerer, from the University of Kentucky, heard me voice frustration over this at a recent presentation, and, riffing on an old comedy routine by Dudley Moore and Peter Cooke, said, “Have we learned from our mistakes?” “Yes, and we’re repeating them exactly.”
It’s time to get it together and stop the dumb!
I would suggest we start by re-accessing what we really want from our parking lot plantings and commit to making them succeed. Do we want shade? If so, without exception create much larger planting beds and use species suitable for these sites. If that’s not an option, forget trees and put up solar panels. They shade just as well and are also quite clever with what they do with sunlight. Do we want biomass? If so, plant these beds with grasses, bamboo, suckering shrubs like sumac, or other plants that will respond to foot traffic, trucks, and other abuse by sending up new shoots. Or, take the sum total square footage of fifty tiny beds and make one central big one and plant a grove of suitable trees.
A parking lot island bed with a good chance of success. Large enough. Raised with good soil. Curb for protection. Wisely chosen species.Even though the landscaping in the foreground is abysmal and all but forces people to walk through it, the dedicated space in the background is actually functioning and somewhat attractive. Why not more of this?
There are other answers too. Some easier and cheaper. Others more expensive and difficult. But solutions like these won’t see the light of day as long as people who don’t know the basics of horticulture and arboriculture are making the decisions. Gardeners, other generally sensible citizens who care, and, especially, certified, knowledgeable green industry professionals need to demand better. Go to council meetings or zoning meetings and make your voice heard. Landscape architects and quality landscaping companies should refuse to do work they know is destined to fail, or at the very least, lose the argument swinging. It is in no one’s interest—from the developer’s to the shopper’s—to continually invest in repeated failure. Especially when the benefits of doing it right are so great.
It’s time to breathe a sigh of relief—one tinged with melancholy, perhaps.
Aside from getting a few hundred bulbs in the ground before the end of October, my work in the garden in done for the year. As fall progresses, there will be many great days perfect for taking a walk in a park (see above) or preserve or just sitting in the garden.
Here’s what I won’t be doing there:
cutting back or cutting down anything
any garden clean-up of any kind
no winter protection—Western New York is where these plants live and they better suck it up.
Of course, those big tall things in front of the house will be dropping an inconveniently huge load of organic debris on my front garden and sidewalk. This will need to be gathered and placed for pick-up by the city’s compost team; the abundance is more than I could possibly deal with. You’d never believe that 3 trees would drop enough to require a team of people and more than 20 big bags, but they do. (Those who know Norway maples will believe this.)
What I will be doing:
Admiring the flowers. Despite the lack of supplemental watering, the tuberous begonias (above) are still magnificent, as are the annual salvias, lobularia, euphorbia diamond frost, and others. Who needs mums? Not me.
Sorting my 10 boxes and 20 bags of bulbs. These will mostly go into big pots, as the annuals in pots peter out, and those pots will go into the garage for the winter. Another large cohort of bulbs will be forced in the root cellar and attic. Cold dark attics were a boon to bulb forcers decades ago (See Diary of a Provincial Lady) and ours remains unimproved from its original state. Species tulips, snowdrops, and ephemerals will go into the ground, covered by plastic or wire netting. Plus several big clumps of hybrid tulips that will be treated as annuals.
Might have over-ordered
I persist against squirrels, tree roots, and midsummer dry shade because I’m still thrilled every single year by the burst of color that arrives April through May. That’s my winter protection.
Pergolas in Daybreak, UT, outside Salt Lake City.A pergola in Maryland
I saw way too much water-sucking landscaping when I was in Salt Lake City, but also some gorgeous pergolas in residential backyards. Lovely, huh? But what else do those structures provide?
Not much shade. And it gets hot there!
No protection from rain, which I understand they don’t get much of, so okay if you’re in the desert, I get it.
And compared to screened-in porches that are increasingly popular here in Maryland, they offer no protection against insects. Again my Utahn acquaintances assured me bugs aren’t a big problem there, either. (Can it be so?)
My bug-free porch
All of which makes me wonder – Are people happy with their pergolas? Do they ever wish it had a roof and some screening? I also wonder if their designer suggested it. Anyone know?
IF I lived in a relatively bug-free world, I might build a patio with a roof, like the ones shown above and here.
I’ll leave you with a shot of Pinterest results for “pergola ideas,” showing the bizarre shit that’s sometimes coughed up in searches, like phlegm. I’m totally old enough to take that seemingly random saggy-neck ad personally.
Eudora with Chestina Welty. Photo by Rollie McKenna, courtesy of Eudora Welty, LLC.”Photo of a young Eudora by Tom Beck courtesy of Mississippi Department of Archives and History
When Susan Haltom began restoring Eudora Welty’s garden in Jackson, Mississippi, she had Ms. Welty’s blessings but also her mandate to make the garden true to its original concepts. Eudora had been feeling guilty over the state of the garden but had simply become too feeble to keep poison ivy and English ivy from running amok. Susan’s offer to Ms. Welty would rescue the famous author’s garden for posterity before it was too far gone, and would be better done while there were still watchful eyes of one who had helped to create it, though Eudora never took credit for the landscape. She always called it her mother’s garden and described her own role in its genesis as “the yard help.”
Susan’s book, One Writer’s Garden does reveal that Chestina Welty was a passionate and adventurous gardener. Her garden design was drawn the same year that the house was built, in 1925, suggesting that the outdoor spaces in her life were of equal importance with the indoor, perhaps even more so in a day before air conditioning, when it was common to escape the heat of the house to seek the breeze of a shaded bench. More evidence of her passion for the garden lies in a story Eudora told Susan about her mother’s brief foray into membership of a local garden club. Eudora said her mother attended only one meeting and never went back, stating that the women were more intent on socializing than gardening, and so she started her own – one devoted to learning, and sharing plants and experience.
Susan did have access to Chestina’s original drawings for the garden through the Mississippi Department of Archives and History, and they illustrate a thoughtful design for a real and adventurous plantswoman. The garden was divided into several distinct areas, some intended to accommodate assorted plant ensembles. One was the camellia garden where Chestina established dozens of camellia varieties. The cutting garden housed a variety of perennial and annual flowers for arrangements, and the woodland garden offered a shady reprieve during hot Mississippi summers.
Photo by Tom Beck courtesy of the MDAH
This was a landscape that offered destination, a landscape that tempted the visitor to wander from one part to the distinctly different next. Its structure offered discipline yet allowed spaces for experimentation and for collections.
These ideas are still valuable today and are present in some gardens, but unfortunately, these accommodating designs are the exception rather than the rule. As I drive through suburban neighborhoods, most “landscapes” are composed of lines or masses of evergreen shrubs, usually hollies or boxwoods. Most are huddled against the house where they require vigilant pruning until their original growth habit, even their identity, is cloaked in mystery. They have become a chore, rather than a pleasure.
There is little to no space designed for the addition of new perennials or exciting shrubs, though a real gardener is always on the lookout for beautiful additions. Often I see where the frustrated gardener has stuck an incongruous “flower bed” out into the yard somewhere, looking like a giant Easter hat tossed onto a green carpet. A discerning design would have accommodated the joy of sampling new offerings, and plants that celebrate the seasons. Those pleasures should never be an afterthought, in Chestina Welty’s day or in ours.
Photo courtesy of the Welty House
The Welty House is available for tours, and has a variety of events, one of which might be more tempting for those gardeners who love plants and southern icon Eudora Welty’s writings. It features the very camellias found there, rooted from cuttings and passed along (for a fee!) to other gardeners’ hands. I would imagine Chestina and Eudora Welty would smile about this.
My mind was made up 43 years ago after a week filled with cheap vino tinto, emotional Fado music and lots of walking up and down steep hills in Lisbon. In a park, off the busy, beaten path, I found an inspiration for a horticultural career. The Jardim da Estrela was my guiding star. I professed solemn vows in 1976: I would love parks and gardens forever.
Before I arrived in Portugal I had traveled on the cheap across the United Kingdom, Holland, France and Spain. Dog-eared pages of Arthur Frommer’s travel guide led me to abundant parks and gardens.
On my visit to Portugal, as a 24-year-old, I was unsure what would happen after I plowed through my travel budget. I was a college graduate with a sociology degree and no certain career path. I had spent happy months beforehand, working the end of a spade at the great Hillenmeyer Nurseries in Lexington, Kentucky. Digging soil paid a little and was more satisfying than trying to make sense of Émile Durkeim.
A round trip plane ticket and a Eurail Pass would be the best investments of my life.
Lisbon’s Jardim da Estrela (Star Garden) was not mentioned in Frommer’s.
Fifteen years ago, I gave my travel journal from that year, with no redactions, to my traveler-daughter.
I borrowed the journal back last month and enjoyed rereading my account. During three months of traveling in the late fall of 1975 and winter of 1976, mostly by myself, there were moments of joy, wasted nights and confessional passages of lonely days, but nothing that required absolution.
Kapok blooms
1976 was a crucial period in Portugal. The 1974 Carnation Revolution marked the beginning of a messy political and economic transition from a dictatorship to a Democracy. During this time, Angolans were granted independence, and an estimated 250,000 Portuguese fled Angola and returned home.
The chaos in Portugal scared off tourists, but it didn’t scare me. I was naive and lucky. The Portuguese were gracious to this skinny, bearded wanderer.
I arrived in Lisbon in February 1976. I left the train station and started climbing up the hill. My backpack felt like I was dragging a tractor tire. A street merchant took pity. He put me on a bus to a boarding house in the Estrela neighborhood. It was bedbug-free, comfortable and cheap. The rooms slept four or five. My roommates were neither grifters nor adrift. They were searchers for something exciting that wasn’t yet clear. So was I.
Pokeberry-like fruit of bela sombra, Phytolacca dioicaCreepy, crawly roots of bela sombra
The Basilica da Estrela was the centerpiece of the neighborhood. The Jardim da Estrela, the size of a city block, was the neutral ground. Everyone was welcome. The park was humble, nowhere close to London’s Hyde Park or Luxembourg Gardens in Paris, but bold enough to call itself a garden. I found a comfortable home away from home in Lisbon. People-watching was an interest of mine. I spent hours here each day for four or five days.
It had been the dead of winter on my first visit, and I had barely begun scratching the surface of plants and gardens.
I had a different vantage on my second visit. My career as a nurseryman and seedsman was in the rearview mirror now.
I returned to the Jardim da Estrela late last month. I had a lovely reunion, though my three hours there seemed a little surreal.
It was early autumn.
I had 43 years of catching up to do in only a few hours.
A teenager with green-dyed hair walked purposefully through the park, while old men and women, who came by their gray hair naturally, poked along leaning on canes, past a table of men shuffling dominoes at the outdoor cafe.
Picnickers and sunbathers staked out the grass.
Bodybuilders pumped it up.
Halfway across the park, children watched a puppet show while two kids, in a play area nearby, learned how to walk on stilts. A few paces away was an open-air, free public library.
A scout group of girls and boys with backpacks and whittled walking sticks marched through the park in loose formation, past the statue of a gardener, wielding a hoe that looked heavy enough to chop sugar cane.
The sculpted gardener’s real-life successors knew how to take care of the Jardim da Estrela. The plantings were neatly tended. There was little trash, and the only vandals were easy to identify. They’d carved their names on thick curved, spiny leaves of giant agaves. Mona and Stefi were here. So were Jenean, Stella, Vesma, Andre, Amark, Leo and Silvia.
The thorny kapok tree, of rainforests, was in bloom. (Frost is rare in Lisbon.) I caught a distinct whiff of marijuana but couldn’t detect the malodorous smell of the pink blooms of Ceiba peltandra. They were too high in the tree for me to reach. The fallen blooms had no scent.
Ginkgoes, palms, philodendrons and southern magnolias mingled with one another. A bird perched high in a 100’ tall Norfolk Island pine looked down on a crooked cylindrical cactus and pockets of blue plumbago and the South African lion’s ear, Leonotis leonurus.
African lion’s ear, Leonotis leonurus
I was happy to see a ground cover of evergreen rhodeas. I grow the sacred lily in the shade of a saucer magnolia at home in Salvisa. I wish some clever breeder would come up with a cultivar that has a fruit stalk with bright red mature berries growing above the foliage, instead of the winterberries staying hidden in the thicket of dark green, strap-shaped leaves. Wouldn’t a yellow-berried form of Rhodea japonica be nice?
I could not identify a fascinating, shade tree with a trunk that looked like it had suffered a melt down. I was told it was bela sombra (nice shadow). The hanging clusters of green berries, high in the tree, looked familiar, but I would never have guessed Phytolacca dioica, a woody South American relative of our native pokeberry. I posted a photo of the immature berries, to try to stump the chumps on the Facebook page Plant Idents. It took 15 minutes before someone got it right.
A newly married couple crossed the street from the Basilica de Estrela to have their wedding photos taken in the park. Their hopes and dreams were consummated for the family album under the big banyan tree.
Organizers for the Partido Inciciativa Liberal were busy, 50 feet away, setting up a rally for Portuguese parliamentary election. Cold beer was waiting in coolers for thirsty, prospective voters. “Cool Operator” played on a loudspeaker in the background.
An earnest, young woman stopped by to invite me to a guided mediation group. She said it might improve my body, heart and soul.
I was tempted by the suggestion but needed at the moment to tend to my sweet tooth.
Chocolate gelato worked wonders.
So did the Jardim da Estrela.
I smiled and thanked the nice woman for the gelato.
“Obrigardo!”
She smiled back and said, “Thank you for coming to the park today.”
Wrapping Vulnerable Trees
Bulbs in pots are a great option. Here’s a piece I wrote for Fine Gardening about that; it was a few years back, but I think the info is still valid. I love them in pots because you can plan combinations, move the pots around, and, in general, get a big visual bang for your buck. If you’d rather not click, it’s simple: plant them in big pots at the same depth they would be in the ground, water, store in an unheated garage or otherwise protect from freeze/thaw, take out in early spring. These can also take some mesh or spray if needed. This really only works well for tulips.
What I will be doing:
