Trees and shade

The inevitable result of planting lots of trees on a property is that the garden becomes increasingly shady. When carried to an extreme (which I have) the exposure of the garden changes radically over time so that sun loving plants are plunged into darkness. Many shrubs are forgiving of the encroaching shade, but some are not, and perennials are less tolerant of the transition and often begin to fade and finally disappear with diminished sunlight.

Twenty five years ago most of this property was open, with only tall swamp maples and tulip poplars along the southern border to obstruct the sun. The front garden was sunny in the morning and the rear garden in the afternoon. And, then I started to plant. A few dogwoods at first, then a beech, and redbuds. Then came a few Japanese maples, and magnolias, serviceberry, silver bells, fringetrees, and the list goes on. I didn’t stop planting until …. well, I haven’t stopped yet, and there’s barely an inch of the garden that’s not under the canopy of one tree or another.

I’ve gotten caught up in collecting dogwoods, redbuds, magnolias, and Japanese maples so that I’m always on the lookout for just one more, regardless if there’s adequate space for it. Now is an appropriate time to suggest that this is not the proper way to go about designing a garden. I’ll concede that there are occasional problems with one thing or another being too close, but it’s my garden, and if I don’t want to be bothered with details, so be it. In fact, only a few evergreens and stray perennials have been lost, and trees that grow into one another are mostly not a problem. I prefer one tree blending into the other, without defined lines between, as long as the character and form of each remains evident.

Most of the trees are small, sort of, but some that you’d think to be small are not quite so. Two ‘Seriyu’ Japanese maples were planted close to the house, inside the front walk. More or less, I understood how large these trees grow, and the intention was to eventually walk under the branches. But, when the book says thirty feet, the mind imagines twenty, so the tree grows a bit taller and a lot wider than you expected. So, now you walk down the front path in the splendid filtered shade of the two maples, but the driveway is impassable to anything larger than my wife’s Honda Civic.

The same thing happened, more or less, to a magnificent ‘Crimson Queen’ Japanese maple planted a bit further up the driveway. This tree was initially planted beside the front walk, but it began to spread too wide so I was forced to transplant it, though transplant is perhaps not the proper term. I began to dig the tree, but grew tired halfway through, so I grabbed a tow strap, circled the roots and attached it to the back of my Miata. The wheels spun for a moment, and then, out it popped. This is a long ways from the proper way to move a tree, but fortunately the maple quickly recovered.

The ‘Crimson Queen’ was fairly large when I planted it, then it grew a bit larger by the walk, and when I moved it to a spot along the driveway I was careful to give it adequate space. But, apparently I wasn’t careful enough. Now, it has grown a foot into the driveway. I suppose my thought process at the time I planted it was, yes, I’ve seen ‘Crimson Queen’ grow to ten feet across, but it won’t get to that until long after I’m dead and gone. Well, I’m still here, and it’s ten feet across and still growing. My wife suggests we either prune the maple or rebuild the driveway on the far side of the house, on the opposite side of the garage. I’m fairly certain she’s being sarcastic, but I’m considering the idea.

Along the northern boundary of the property a Japanese Umbrella pine melds into a ‘Jane’ magnolia, which is partially overhung by a Golden Rain tree. A sourwood is mostly engulfed by the rain tree and on the other side by the last remaining of three hornbeams, with a huge pink weeping cherry to the low side. The cherry ends where a massive ‘Nellie Stevens’ holly begins, which is then overhung by a massive weeping beech and a fastigiate form of Southern magnolia. Below this are a dogwood, ‘Okame’ cherry, three gold tipped ‘Sekkan Sugi’ cryptomerias, a katsura, then three ‘Yoshino’ cryptomerias. No, we’re not done yet. There’s another Southern magnolia, the cold hardy ‘Bracken’s Brown Beauty, then ‘Hearts of Gold’ yellow leafed redbud, a Paperbark maple, and finally, a river birch.

This is the longest stretch of property line, but there’s barely an inch of space that is not under the canopy of one tree or several. All grow in relative harmony, though I wish I had given more space to the weeping beech, which would be quite magnificent if only it could be seen. The neighbor has a grand view of it from his side.

The southern border of the property is wooded by native maples and tulip poplars, with a stray black gum and dogwoods, and a sprinkling of oaks. Between the borders there are plenty of trees, but these are mostly Japanese maples that are smaller and slower types so that the sun actually peaks through in some spots

I’ve been convinced by my wife that there’s no more space for trees in the garden, back or front, but in recent years a few trees have been toppled in severe storms, so I’ve been able to plant a few new ones. And, in late autumn I decided to push into the brush and brambles that bordered the garden at the front corner, so a new area was opened up where a catalpa and sweetbay magnolia were planted. It’s not exactly on my property, but it’s close enough to claim, and all I want to do is plant a few trees on it, not build a house. Before I cut out mulberries, brambles, and a tangle of vines there was little sun in this area, but now it’s opened up a bit. Not for long.

A mini derecho?

This morning I saw that a large limb from the top of the Golden Raintree (Koelreuteria paniculata, below) was damaged in one of the severe storms that passed through yesterday. It crashed to the ground, barely avoiding a ‘Winter Star’ camellia and a clump of ‘Winter Red’ hollies. Damage was minimal, but the tragedy is that the entire tree was not uprooted, shattered into pieces to roll down the hill into a neat stack beside the firepit where I could be rid of it for good. Anything short of this is unsatisfactory. I’m forever spouting off that this or that is my favorite, but Golden Rain is my least favorite tree, without a doubt.

I’ve considered chopping the Golden Raintree out many times, usually when I’m on hands and knees plucking any of two hundred thousand seedlings that germinate annually. The only time of the year that the tree is worth a hoot is this week and next, when it’s flowering, but even then the blooms are a reminder that seed pods looking like miniature Japanese lanterns are next, full of round black seeds that end up sprouting in all parts of the garden.

A weather guy claimed the damage was done by a “mini derecho”, a reminder of the real thing last summer when numerous trees were beaten and battered, and my garden suffered considerably. The term “derecho” has been worn out by overuse, and just when I thought that it was dead and gone ….. here ‘s a miniature version. This storm was much less a problem in my garden, with the busted limb on the Golden Raintree the only damage I’ve seen so far.

Now, enough of this negativity. The blooms of the Golden Rain are nice for about a week, and then you are fortunate to forget about it for the remainder of the year. Japanese stewartia (Stewartia pseudocamellia, above) is flowering at the same time, and the only negative comment I have for it is that it took several years after planting before it decided to get growing.

Some tree are like that. Some get to growing the day they’re put in the ground, but the huge purple leafed European beech in the front sat still for eight years before it grew at all. I almost gave up on it, but then it started, and the next thing you know it’s thirty feet tall and sucking every ounce of moisture out of the surrounding few hundred square feet. This is only a negative if you’re looking to grow something, anything under the tree, but the tree is so magnificent that this tiny flaw is tolerable.

The stewartia has no such obvious flaws, and now it has grown into a fine small tree, though I’ve done it no favors by planting where a bit of effort is required to see its splendid, camellia-like white blooms. If I could somehow resort the garden to move this here and that there without regard to how large it’s grown, to place the best and most beautiful where they are most readily appreciated, the stewartia would be situated where every passerby could see its late spring blooms and superb autumn foliage colors (below).

This is nonsense, and of course I can’t move trees around like chess pieces, but if you have some open space where such a delightful tree can be planted you have my full recommendation to plant a stewartia. But, do not be fooled into planting a raintree.

Damp, then damper

In the past week there has been one storm after the other, and the forecast is for more of the same in the next few days. The lower part of the garden is saturated, and mostly the plants in this area are well adapted to damp soil, so there is little harm to be done by areas of standing water for a few more days.

A variegated hybrid dogwood (Cornus x ‘Celestial Shadow’, above) recently succumbed to the constant moisture, and I blame myself for poor judgement in planting where I should have known it was too wet. My reasoning is not important at this point, but I planted the dogwood in late summer a few years ago when the area was far drier, and I planted it high in a raised bed to allow for some additional drainage. It survived a year, but it grew weakly, and it would have been better to transplant the dogwood to a drier spot before the problem reached this point. But, you say that things happen for a reason, and I know why this occured; I’m lazy and sometimes I give plants credit for being tougher than they really are. Oh well, another lesson learned, and fortunately I planted two others in more suitable spots.

A variegated Sycamore maple (Acer pseudoplatanus ‘Eskimo Sunset’, above) and a few evergreens barely tolerate the dampness, and eventually I’m likely to replace these with something else, though I don’t know where I’d transplant the maple to. Now, the small tree is in the middle of a small section of lawn in the lowest area of the garden behind the large koi pond. When I planted it, there seemed nowhere else with suitable space or sunlight, so it’s stuck where it’s in the way of the mower, and if it would happen to eventually take off and start growing it will block foot traffic also. I incorrectly figured that a maple would better tolerate the moisture, but somehow I didn’t consider that the tree would be so much in the way.

The death of the dogwood is clearly a failure on my part, and the maple a disappointment, but other plants thrive in the moist soil. Native Indian pinks (Spigelia marilandica, above) are quite happy in damp ground, though one clump is at the edge of a spot that suffers a bit of erosion in a deluge, so I must watch to make certain that it isn’t uprooted and washed away. In a drier location the pinks grow slightly taller, and the stems are less supple so that they flop a bit, but not so much as to be a problem. The trumpet shaped flowers are red on the outside, and the contrast with the flared yellow tips is striking, though Indian pinks will never be noticed from more than a few paces away. Not every plant must be obvious in bloom to automobiles speeding down the highway, and most exceptional plants are not.

Wood sorrel (Oxalis crasippes, above) is thriving in damp or dry spots, and I’ve discovered there is no need for the caution I exercised in not planting it for too many years, fearing it would spread rampantly and be too aggressive. This variety is a pleasant clumper, and it blooms from late spring through autumn in sun or part shade with hardly a break. On hot afternoons it wilts a bit in dry ground, but it quickly springs back and looks perfectly content the next morning. In damp soil (though not standing water), it is overjoyed.

Save the irises

This weekend I saw that one clump of Japanese iris (Iris ensata, below) close beside the waterfall of the large koi pond was dangerously crowded by overhanging branches of an exuberant Oakleaf hydrangea (Hydrangea quercifolia). On the other side of the falls a rambunctious Winter jasmine (Jasminum nudiflorum) has invaded another clump, and both shrubs required immediate attention to be certain that the irises were not overwhelmed. The pruning was accomplished without much effort, but in the future I must be vigilant to monitor the shrubs’ growth so the irises aren’t lost.

Just outside the pond, a clump of iris with large, dark purple flowers has sprouted from seed (below) between the columnar, red leafed ‘Helmond Pillar’ barberry, a low, mounding cypress, and yellow leafed seedlings of ‘Golden Jubilee’ agastache. As often happens, this accidental grouping is a superior combination to anything I’ve planned, so of course the irises will be kept, and encouraged. A year ago this iris was barely there, and I could have easily plucked it out as a weed if I was inclined to keeping the garden more tidy. Now, the challenge will be to keep the iris growing in ground that is drier than it would prefer.

In the shallow water of the pond, named cultivars (though I’ve forgotten most of the names) grow vigorously, flourishing with their roots constantly wet. Outside the pond, Japanese irises require a constantly damp soil to thrive, but wedged between small boulders and planted in only gravel in the pond the irises spread to fill as far as the boulders will allow. I’ve read that Japanese irises require only constant moisture, and dividing once every few years, but the roots of the pond’s irises are spread through gravel and under boulders so that lifting them would be troublesome, so they are likely never to be split.

The green and white variegated iris (Iris ensata ‘Variegata’, above) is the shortest growing of the cultivars, and in some years it has seemed less vigorous so that I considered pulling the clump out to divide it despite the hardship. But, as often happens, if a garden project is delayed long enough the problem is resolved by doing nothing at all, and today the variegated iris appears to be in perfect health. The dark purple flowers are splashed with a slight streak of yellow, and in scale with the shorter foliage, the blooms are smaller than other varieties.

‘Lion King’ (above) is the latest flowering of the irises in the pond, and it seems to be the least vigorous with the clump barely increasing over several years. The flowers are quite marvelous, but I wonder if the sturdiness of other Japanese irises was left out in the breeding process. But, it survives, and I look forward to the blooms that arrive just as other varieties are fading the third week of June.

From start to last bloom Japanese irises flower for about a month surrounding my koi pond in mostly full sun. In prior years I planted them in damp soil with what I thought was just enough sun, with only brief success. For two years they bloomed fine, but it was clear they weren’t happy and after another year they disappeared completely. At the edges of the pond they’re planted and enjoyed with no care except to cut off the overwintered foliage in early spring before they begin to grow.

Stunning blooms in early June

For whatever little credibility I have, I find a few of the garden’s blooms in early June to be incomparably beautiful. I know, I’ve probably said the same thing a handful of times so far this year, and the year’s not half over. But, read on and judge for yourself.

The first, and my current favorite is a confounding shrub, Deutzia ‘Magician’ (Deutzia x hybrida ‘Magicien’, above and below). Surprising because its flowers are lovely, and the shrub is easy to grow and trouble-free, but it’s regularly overlooked and rarely planted. I understand that deciduous shrubs are not so popular, and ones that grow to six feet rather than to a more compact size have even less appeal, but look at ‘Magician’ today in my garden and you’re going to want one of your own. Before and after flowering its foliage is a pleasant light green, remaining vigorous through the heat of summer, but the flowers that appear in late May are most stunning, and the reason I grabbed this plant the first time I saw it blooming.

For the first few years after I planted ‘Magician’ it grew compactly to just above knee high, but in the third year it sent long arching branches several feet above the main body of the shrub. Typically, I don’t prune anything, but the long stems cried out to be cut in half, so I did, and since it has grown without the long shoots, filling in nicely to six feet tall.

A year ago I planted a handful of varieties of ground orchids (Bletilla striata, above). These grow in soil rather than dangling from trees as many orchids do, thus ground orchid. These are cold hardy, and in a year they have spread enough that there are dozens of beautiful flowers. The body of the plant doesn’t amount to much, so they are best plugged into small, sunny gaps between more substantial plants. And, the blooms last only a few weeks from start to finish, but then it’s time to move on to the equally splendid, but larger blooms of Japanese irises (Iris ensata, below).

Only a few Japanese irises in my garden are planted in soil, with most positioned in the shallows of the garden’s ponds, planted in small gravel between small boulders that are partially submerged. A clump of three fans will quickly triple or quadruple in size, but the granite boulders limit spreading much further. I’ll not go into too much detail to detract from an update when all are flowering in a few days, but the Japanese irises flourish in several inches of water or in damp soil.

Before the spring passes I must mention the delightfully huge flowers of Bigleaf magnolia (Magnolia macrophylla, above). Its plain green leaves are unremarkable except for their size, and the tree’s form and size is coarse and impractical for most home gardens, but the fragrant,  jumbo sized magnolia blooms are certain to capture visitors’ attention. Unfortunately, as the tree has aged many of the lowest branches have been lost, so there are only a few flowers close enough to the ground to stick my nose into.

When fully opened the Bigleaf magnolia’s blooms are more than a foot across, easily the largest in the garden. Large or small, these flowers add immeasurably to the enjoyment of the late spring garden.

Degrees of vigor

One tall growing nandina (Nandina domestica) at the corner of the deck hosts two clematis vines. The large flowered, white ‘Henryi’ (below) is the more vigorous of the two, though it has had to start more or less from the ground up this spring after my wife pruned a large branch that supported it. The nandina and clematis were intertwined so that there was no practical way the two could be separated.

My wife asked me several times in recent years to trim the few nandina branches that obstructed the step from the deck (with varying degrees of sternness, but without success). But, pruning would imperil the clematis, so I thought it best just to use one of the two other steps down from the deck. The wisest decision would have been to remove the step and plant something in its place so that there was no decision to make, but my wife was determined, so she took to the nandina and clematis with her clumsy manner of pruning. Now, another stem of the nandina has arched to block the step, and ‘Henryi’ is scrambling along the ground with only a few stems climbing into the tall shrub. It might take another few years for the clematis to regain its foothold in the nandina. 

The purple flowered ‘Jackmanii’ (above) is planted on the far side of the nandina from the step, so it twines safely up the other side. I hesitate to pronounce that ‘Henryi’ is more vigorous than ‘Jackmanii’, but the two clematis have an equal opportunity to clamber through the nandina, and ‘Henryi’ produces dozens more flowers. After flowering both vines recede so that the foliage is barely seen, though the seedheads of ‘Henryi’ are quite nice.

On the far side of the deck, climbing through five feet of lattice up to the handrail, is the most vigorous of clematis, Clematis montana var. rubens (above). Here, I have planted several vines before the clematis, with a notable lack of success, or perhaps too much success as the vines ran rampant. Five years after it was ripped out of the ground, I’m still fighting pieces of the Chocolate vine (Akebia quinata) that spread in every direction, with dozens of stems racing across the ground beneath the deck and into a tall cypress at the far side. To cover the lattice and rail required a more exuberant vine than ‘Jackmanii’ or ‘Henryi’, and the foliage and flowers of akebia are marvelous, but this was certainly far too much of a good thing.

There seemed no ideal choice to cover this area; all vines were too vigorous or not enough, until I planted Clematis montana rubens. It quickly climbed the lattice and onto the handrail, and it is maintained fairly easily at a proper state of wildness. After flowering, the foliage remains dense and a fresh green through the summer. A few years ago the bushy vine at the top of the handrail was home to a garter snake that seemed unconcerned by its proximity to our living space. I’ll admit to steering clear of this side of the deck for much of the summer, and to pruning the vine reluctantly and with great care. Not that I’m scared of a little snake. 

Fortunately, the next spring the snake found a new home, and since then pruning the clematis has been much less of an adventure. Pruning the autumn flowering clematis (Clematis terniflora, above) by the driveway presents a different challenge. It was planted to cover a wrought iron fence that borders the drive, but the vigorous vine had other ideas. It quickly leaped from the fence into a tall growing threadbranch cypress (Chamaecyparis pisifera ‘Aurea’), and now the two are inseparable, though this has not proven to be as much trouble as I first supposed. If the clematis began to overwhelm the cypress I could cut it off at the base, and of course the top that is climbing through the cypress would die. But, it has not grown as rampant as I feared, so I take it year by year and I’m not figuring it will be a problem.

If I cut the autumn clematis hard and regularly tied it off to the fence there would be a chance that this vigorous vine could be maintained to cover the fence without jumping over onto every neighboring shrub. I’ve seen this in magazine gardens, but there’s not a prayer that I could keep this schedule, so off it goes into the cypress, where it’s not creating as much havoc as I once supposed.

Stellar, but not pink

I have little doubt that you occasionally grow weary reading of the various collections of trees in the garden. The catalog of Japanese maples goes on far too long, but it can easily be argued that the number of redbuds is too few. There are several cultivars that I would add immediately, if only there was enough space. The number of dogwoods is just right, I think.

The dogwood (Cornus florida, above) that is native to much of the eastern U.S. is a wonderful tree, and if were not susceptible to a number of debilitating diseases there would be little need to argue the merits of non-natives. More vigorous selections of the native dogwood, such as ‘Cherokee Princess’ and ‘Cherokee Brave’ are less troubled by mildew and antracnose, but their resistance is slight and the foliage of my dogwoods is spotted and mildewed in any damp spring. I’ve not had the opportunity to evaluate ‘Appalachian Spring’, which is said to be more disease resistant, but it’s fair to question the long term prospects of any of the native dogwoods.

Still, I don’t hesitate to recommend the native dogwood. Several in my garden have flourished for more than twenty years, and only dogwoods planted in soil that was too damp have failed. Cautious gardeners might opt for alternatives, and hybrid and Chinese dogwoods have much greater disease resistance while sacrificing little of the tree’s beauty.

In order of flowering time the native typically blooms in my garden in mid April, with variations of several weeks earlier in the odd warm spring, but rarely any longer than a week later in cool weather. The flowers last for two weeks, sometimes into a third just as the hybrid dogwoods come into bloom. The hybrids are crosses of the native American dogwood and Chinese dogwood (Cornus kousa, above), or between the Chinese and Pacific dogwood (Cornus nuttallii). These were developed at Rutgers University to take advantage of the Chinese dogwoods’ disease resistance, which has been confirmed in my garden. 

Initially, I planted ‘Stellar Pink’ (above) and the white flowered ‘Aurora’, which languished and eventually failed in damp soil. For several years I was unimpressed by ‘Stellar Pink’. It flowered sparsely, and the blooms could barely be considered pink, but rather white with slight pink blush. In recent years I’ve witnessed too many plant introductions that are over hyped and under evaluated, so I was prepared to be disappointed by the Rutgers’ hybrids.

Then, ‘Stellar Pink’ began to grow vigorously, and after a few years of light flowering it began to bloom densely enough that the foliage was mostly covered for a few weeks. The flowers are still white with a blush, except for one odd season when they could truthfully be called pink. The foliage of ‘Stellar Pink’ is not bothered by heat or humidity, and I have yet to see any leaf spotting, mildew, or ill effects from summer heat. 

I was attracted to the Chinese-Pacific dogwood cross ‘Venus’ (above) when I heard that it had flowers the size of a salad plate, many times larger than other dogwoods. I suspected this might be garish, but I’ve done worse things, and the blooms have proven to slightly smaller and almost in scale to the foliage so that this is an attribute, not only a novelty. ‘Venus’ shows signs of vigorous growth, disease resistance similar to ‘Stellar Pink’, and improved numbers of flowers after only a few years. I expect that it will become a staple of gardens.

A year ago I planted ‘Celestial Shadow’ (above), a natural mutation of  the Rutgers’ hybrid ‘Celestial’, with green and yellow variegation and white flowers. I am already enchanted by the flower and foliage, which is crisply variegated and a vast improvement over the dependably mildewed foliage of the variegated native ‘Cherokee Sunset’ (below).  

The flowers of Rutgers’ hybrid will often provide a good show for several weeks, and as they fade the Chinese dogwoods are coming into bloom. With a greater range of cultivars available, I’ve planted green leafed varieties with white and pink flowers, and two with variegated foliage.

The pink flowered ‘Satomi’ dogwood (Cornus kousa ‘Satomi’, above and below) is similar in flower to ‘Stellar Pink’ in that the flowers show only a trace of pink in most years in my garden. The reason for the lack of color is clearly environmental. Every year I see ‘Satomi’ with dark pink blooms at tree growing nurseries in cooler and less humid Oregon (above) while the flowers on my Virginia grown dogwoods are lovely, but only barely pink (below). 

The two variegated Chinese dogwoods present a mystery of another sort. The wide spreading, and almost bush-like ‘Wolf Eyes’ blooms heavily, though the flowers hardly stand out above the green and white variegation. The leaves are slightly curled, not its best attribute, but ‘Wolf Eyes’ is an exceptional tree where there is space. The variegated ‘Samaritan’ grows much more upright and with leaves that don’t curl, but it has grown past twelve feet in my garden, and I don’t recall a single flower. Perhaps this is an environmental issue that I haven’t recognized; I’m quite certain that blooming has not been bred out of the tree, but the variegation is excellent and the flowers are hardly missed.

So, in early June the flowering season for the dogwoods is winding down, but with natives, hybrids, and Chinese varieties I’ll have enjoyed their blooms for nearly two months. If not for its disease issues I could easily declare the native to be my favorite, but with this consideration the primary concern to determine a selection for your garden is the time of flowering and the color of the flower or foliage. Each of these is a marvelous choice for the garden.

…. bring May flowers

I must hurry along to catch up on the month’s blooms while it’s still May. As I finished up on flowering shrubs last week ninebark, elderberry, and Arrowwood viburnum popped into bloom, and it seems a pleasantly impossible task for me to keep up with the month’s flowers.

The small purple flowers of tall verbena (Verbena bonariensis, below) don’t make a big show, but this tall, lanky perennial is somehow quite captivating. It is best planted beside stout, bushy perennials or shrubs that the tall, almost leafless stems can lean on for support. If the flowers hover slightly above, swaying in the breeze, the result is splendid. Without support the stems often flop under the weight of a spring shower, and inches from the mud the blooms are not nearly as attractive.

Tall verbena is a rambunctious seeder, so the gardener must be prepared for a number of volunteers in any sunny space in the vicinity (though these are easily controlled). In the moderate climate of the mid Atlantic it will return dependably each spring, though it is impossible for me to distinguish seedlings from the original plants. With too much shade tall verbena slowly fades and eventually disappears, so it is far from indestructible. Now is the second time that it has fallen victim to encroaching shade so that I’ve reintroduced it into the garden; this time in as sunny a spot as I have but between evergreen shrubs so that it can sprout up annually without notice until the flowers appear.

I suspect that ever spreading shade is a problem in many gardens, and since I’ve planted dozens of small trees over twenty four years it should not be surprising that some sun loving perennials decline and must occasionally be replaced. Several clumps of another tough as nails perennial, false indigo (Baptisia australis, above) have diminished in recent years beside wide spreading shrubs, but in spots where the sun shines through they are as vigorous as ever. Baptisia asks for little except a bit of sun and dry soil, and before shade crept in the clumps had grown impressively in very poor, rocky soil that was excavated when the large koi pond was dug.

In a similar circumstance, Blue Star (Amsonia hubrichtii) has grown into a fine clump. It seems to tolerate a bit more shade, so I’ve planted a few more where the dense, but delicate foliage will fill areas between shrubs. The pale blue flowers are nice enough for a short period, but it is the foliage that is the main attraction. In autumn, the foliage turns a soft, glowing yellow that is simply superb.

In a nearby neighborhood a mass planting of Catmint (Nepeta × faassenii ‘Walker’s Low’, above) is quite marvelous in late May, but in my garden they have been shoved behind and between where space allowed, afterthoughts that are appreciated too little. I suppose there is not enough space in the garden for everything to be planted up front, but catmint is one that deserves a better lot. Fortunately, there are enough treats in the garden to assuage my guilt in paying too little attention to the placement of this fine perennial.

The yellow foliage of ‘Sweet Kate’ spiderwort (Tradescantia x andersoniana ‘Sweet Kate’, above) is brightest in May, and though this fades through the summer the contrast of blue flowers and yellow foliage is delightful. The grass like foliage of spiderworts is a favorite of deer in my neighborhood, so I must carefully spray deer repellent to prevent them from being chewed to the ground. By late spring the foliage is often in need of rejuvenation (so am I), and deer are up to the task if given the opportunity. Spiderwort grows back quickly, so it’s a neighborly gesture to throw the deer a bone on occasion.

Why the garden must have five ponds

The development of this garden has not been an orderly process, but one better described as chaotic, and perhaps haphazard. This is not to say that the end result is not entirely pleasing. There was never a master plan to follow; sections were constructed as the budget allowed, and frequently well thought out planning and the budget suffered as additions were implemented. The garden’s design owes more to madness than genius, but twenty four years after the first dogwood was planted there’s hardly a thing I would change.

This is not to say there haven’t been mistakes. In fact, there have been many, though I’m fairly certain that even the most deliberate gardener will recall plenty of their own. Deliberation is not my strong suit. Looking back on the major additions to the garden, most were pursued with reckless abandon. One day an area was lawn, with no plans otherwise, and the next there was a tree, shrubs, a few perennials, and the grass was gone. The garden’s five ponds were planned in the same manner.

The first pond was given some consideration. A small circular patio was cut into the gentle slope near the house, and just below this the pond was constructed. Since the pond was downhill from the patio, the small waterfall could not be seen or heard, so a stone bench was added beside the pond. This was satisfactory for a few years, but the pond was small, and it could not be appreciated from the deck only twenty feet away because of the slope. At once, the dilemma was resolved. There must be a second pond built just below the deck. And, since the deck stands six feet off the ground it would be ideal to construct a lower level onto the deck to stand just above the new pond.

Now, you are probably thinking that this is a logical progression. There’s nothing impulsive about the construction of this pond. Except. From the first thought of this project to the first shovel full of soil was about fifteen minutes. This all happened when my wife took off for a few days to visit her grandmother in Pittsburgh. I don’t recall the timing, but it wouldn’t surprise me if I didn’t have shovel in hand before she drove out of the neighborhood. I swear that this wasn’t planned to be done under a cloak of secrecy with the wife out of town for the weekend, it just happened that way.

Anyway, the deck was added a few weeks later, but when my wife returned home the pond was dug, liner, rocks, gravel, and water were added, and the switch was flipped to start it up. In the following weeks tall nandinas, plump hostas, and a tree lilac were planted alongside the pond. The new planting was thick enough that one pond could not be seen from the other, though they were no more than six feet apart. A large slab of stone was laid across the narrowest part of this two level pond to bridge a path from the circular patio to the stone bench beside the original pond.

After a short while the path between the ponds seemed less than adequate, so a second circular patio was built. The slope is steeper here, so boulders were used to retain the hill on the upper side of the patio. Stone steps were cut into the wall, and of course more hostas, a couple Japanese maples, and a dogwood were needed to complete the area. From this lower patio parts of both ponds were visible, and now I figured this was really coming together.

Except, there was a void between the nandinas and hostas surrounding the second pond and the border of the forest. This must be filled with something. And, there are two sets of steps from the deck. One leads to the upper patio, but the steps on the far side lead only to the backside of the nandinas, where only a few hostas are featured. How about another pond? With a stream that originates in the clump of nandinas so that it appears if you look close enough that the water is overflowing from the second pond. The stream will wind down the wood’s edge, with a stone path close beside. Just above the lower circular patio there will be a small pond that will capture the water from the steam, which is then recirculated back to the top.

This planning, I recollect, took the better part of ten minutes, and as soon as my wife closed the car door on her way back to Pittsburgh I was out the back door, shovel in hand. Now, let’s stop for a moment to say that my wife was not in the habit of running up to Pittsburgh every few weeks, so there was a year or so between each of these projects, but it was entirely coincidental that the planning and construction occurred with these trips. And, before you get to thinking that way, there was much less deviousness about this than you’re thinking. Think of it as a coming home surprise. When my wife leaves there’s a half planted, open area in the garden. When she returns home there’s a pond, stream, and stone path.

A fourth pond was built just off the front walk sometime after this, the only pond in the front garden, and doesn’t it figure that it gets lonely? Anyway, there’s not enough space for another, so it’s has been reconstructed a bit larger and further into a slope to accommodate a stone platform beside it. At this point I can hardly keep my stories straight, and the truth is I can’t remember when this pond was dug, or even if it was done with the wife at home or away.

The largest of the ponds , the swimming pond, was most recently constructed. It is now and forever more to be referred to as the koi pond since there are a hundred or so koi and goldfish in it, and now I’ve been instructed that because of this it’s too unsanitary to swim or even float in it. Our story of the five ponds is meandering along, but the planning for the swimming pond was more brief than the other ponds, if that is possible. The construction, however, was a bit more time consuming, so this pond was not dug while my wife was away.

I can’t quite recall the inspiration for the swimming pond, but it was quickly followed by research into the proper biological filtration necessary to keep the water clear without expensive gadgets. The pump, liner, and plumbing were ordered within the hour, and instead of  a shovel, this pond was mostly dug with a small machine. Except, the digging was done over several weekends in September, and before it was complete a tropical storm turned the hole to muck, so the remainder of the excavation was done by hand.

Fortunately, when you’re inspired this doesn’t seem like so much work, and just before a second storm came in the deep hole was considered to be good enough. The liner was stretched to cover the hole with the assistance of my son, and over the next several weeks storms filled the first eighteen inches. There was not eighteen inches of rain, but with excess liner and sloped sides the pond filled quickly with frequent storms.

Over the next few months many tons of boulders were moved to retain the slope on the upper side, and to cover ledges that were built into the pond so that the rubber liner was not visible. Months later, after rain and snow filled the pond, irises and cattails were planted along the edge and in the gravel filtration area. A year later, a stone patio was built beside the pond, and of course there are dogwoods and Japanese maples and other goodies to fill in between.

And, there you have it. Over ten or twelve years this is not so much work, and I’m certain that you’ll agree that there was no alternative at any juncture but to keep building, to add the next pond, the next path and patio. Today, I occasionally get the itch to get started on something new, but the garden is pretty much built to capacity, and I don’t know where I could possibly squeeze another pond in. Also, since her grandmother’s passing, my wife doesn’t go to Pittsburgh any longer.

More in May – trees

The splendid excesses of spring in the garden are abundantly evident in May, where blooms explode from every corner, and subtle charms are easily overlooked. I’ve made considerable efforts in recent years to plant for flowers in autumn and winter, but still there are more spring flowers than can be readily listed. With cool spring temperatures this April and May, there has been a delightful succession of flowers, with many blooms persisting a week or two longer without warm weather to speed their decline. Dogwoods flowered for nearly a month, and azaleas that began to bloom in early May are only beginning to fade.

The ribbon-like flowers of the native fringetree (Chionanthus virginicus, above) lack heavy substance, so the fragile blooms often decline quickly with extreme warm or cold temperatures that are typical through the spring. But, this year they are fading slowly, losing vigor now because the new foliage is forcing its way in rather than from the cold. Occasionally, I see articles touting the Chinese fringetree (Chionanthus retusus), but I see no benefit in planting this rather than the extraordinary native. Chinese fringetree flowers a few weeks earlier than the native, so if both are planted the garden will have fringetree flowers a few weeks longer, but if the selection must be one or the other, the simple choice should be the native. 

The Rutgers’ hybrid dogwoods (Cornus ‘Rutgan’ Stellar Pink, above) are in full flower, and soon will be fading as the Chinese dogwoods come into bloom. In my garden, the vigorous, upright growing variegated ‘Samaritan’ (Cornus kousa ‘Samaritan’) has refused to bloom for several years (and perhaps it has never flowered, though I can’t recall), while the similar ‘Wolf Eyes’ dogwood flowers dependably. If you care to look back to previous years, I’ve probably written something about the late flowering dogwoods every year, but I’ll spend little time on this today so I can cover it again in more detail in a few days. For now, let it suffice to say that I recommend the hybrids and Chinese dogwoods in addition to planting our superb native, but for cautious gardeners who are concerned by the native’s poor disease resistance, these are excellent substitutes.

While flowers are the main attraction of the spring garden, there are other delights that must be pointed out. The new foliage of ‘Forest Pansy’ redbud (Cercis canadensis ‘Forest Pansy’, above) is an annual treat, with the newest leaves an extraordinarily glossy, deep red-purple. The gloss fades as the leaves mature, and by mid summer the color often fades to a mottled green-red that is a considerable disappointment after witnessing the spring foliage.

The variegated foliage of the Sycamore maple ‘Eskimo Sunset’ (Acer pseudoplatanus ‘Eskimo Sunset’, above) fades only slightly from its spring glory as the summer heats up. The splashes of pink turns to green and white variegation, but this is still quite nice. The typical, green leafed Sycamore maple grows to be a large forest tree, but the lack of chlorophyll stunts ‘Eskimo Sunset’ to grow slowly to only thirty feet tall. With a bit of protection from the late afternoon sun the variegation stays stronger, but I have not experienced the burning of leaves that is cautioned about in recommending that ‘Eskimo Sunset’ be given a shaded setting. It would be unfortunate to be distracted by the garden’s many blooms to miss this marvelous foliage.

At a point several years ago I was ready to give up on the weeping Golden Chain trees (Laburnum x watereri ‘Pendula’, above). Their growth was weak and flowers were scarce, and I decided they must not like the Virginia humidity. But, just as I made this pronouncement the two small trees began to grow with vigor, perhaps sensing their imminent demise. In less humid parts I assume this tree grows like a weed, but in my garden it took only a little patience to be rewarded with a fine tree, though it still doesn’t flower heavily.

The purple smoketree (Cotinus coggygria, above) was misplaced in too shaded a spot from the start, but I wanted its darkly colored foliage, and dark, lacy flowers as a contrast to a golden Lawson cypress. Smoketrees have an irregular habit that is best tamed by pruning it severely every year or two, and when left alone and planted in too much shade its branches wind around and over anything in its path to the sun.

This is not the worst mistake I’ve made, but the result is that the foliage of the purple smoke is difficult to see, and the blooms are barely there, the inevitable result of cramming too many good things into too small a space.