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.

I’m pleased that the evergreen azaleas are flowering at all. In previous updates I’ve chronicled my failure to spray the deer repellent in late autumn, which was predictably followed by deer nibbling all foliage on azaleas, camellias, and aucubas through the winter. I suspected that in their haste to devour the leaves that deer would have also chomped the flower buds at the branch tips, but many of the azaleas are blooming as if nothing happened.

With the exception of a tall and wide spreading Delaware Valley White (above), and another unidentified pale pink that peeks from beneath the white flowered azalea, the remainder of the azaleas in the garden are from the Encore group that flowers in the spring and again in late summer into early autumn. Problems with lacebugs twenty years ago convinced me to give up on other azaleas, and only when Encores were introduced was I persuaded to give them another try. After a slow start when a few varieties were weeded out as reluctant to flower a second time, I’m pleased to recommend Encores to the exclusion of typical azaleas. Except Delaware Valley, that is, which shares the Encores’ resistance to lacebugs.

The various deciduous azaleas should not be considered in the same manner as the evergreens. Most are tall with an upright form, and while evergreen azaleas are often suitable for the front of the garden, the deciduous types are more appropriate for the back where they tower over most other shrubs. But, not too far back, and certainly not where their fragrant and brightly colored red, orange, and yellow blooms cannot be enjoyed. In most years the blooms of the deciduous azaleas follow the evergreens, but this spring they coincide for a marvelous display in mid May.

The fragrant flowers of sweetshrub (Calycanthus floridus, above) are unremarkable by comparison to azaleas, but the unusual red-brown blooms have a unique charm. This native shrub is well adapted to sun or part shade, and it manages nicely in my garden with root competition from neighboring tulip poplars and swamp maples. The yellow flowered ‘Athens’ (below) blooms two weeks later, and is equally undemanding.

The foliage of Rainbow leucothoe (Leucothoe fontanesiana ‘Rainbow’, below) is streaked with white, and with lily of the valley blooms this should be quite a delightful evergreen shrub. But, it seems to fall just short for me. The foliage is not striking, but still, it is carefree, and if given space enough to spread its arching stems, leucothoe is a fine addition to the garden. Its common names, dog hobble and fetterbush, are head scratchers.

Deutzia ‘Nikko’ (Deutzia garcilis ‘Nikko’, above) is under utilized as a ground cover, and though it’s deciduous, it has sufficient attributes to earn a prominent place in the garden where a massing is a splendid sight through much of May. The shrub is covered in white blooms, followed by pleasant green foliage. The yellow leafed ‘Chardonnay Pearls’ (below) grows just a bit taller, but yellow foliage is best used in moderation, so it is perhaps best used in smaller numbers rather than in masses.

There is so much of interest in the garden in May that it cannot be included in only one chapter, so when I return in a few days we’ll catch up on the rest.

This is a tree that I lusted after for years, and was even tempted to purchase a small sapling through mail order since I could not find a larger one. The Full Moon maple is slow, and I’m an impatient gardener, so fortunately I stumbled over a tree in a Japanese maple grower’s field in Aurora, Oregon that had been left behind due to damage to its trunk. The injury proved to be superficial, and I’m overjoyed to include this treasure in my little collection of Japanese maples.

Most of the maples in the garden are not unique or rare, and several are downright common, but rare or commonplace matters little to me. A few of the Japanese maples have been here for more than twenty years, and others only for a year or two (and one for only a few months). As the garden has filled to capacity in recent years my selections have turned to ones that stay relatively small, and I’m always anxious to add another.

A simple fact is that red leafed types will be most popular in garden centers, and that red leafed varieties with pendulous branching will be most requested. I’ve planted red leafed upright and weeping varieties, but also ones with green, yellow, and variegated foliage. I don’t think that there are any foliage types that I don’t have at least one of, though my collection of twenty three varieties is only a small fraction of the twenty five thousand named varieties.

The most recent Japanese maple I planted was the green and white variegated ‘Butterfly’ (Acer palmatum ‘Butterfly’, above). There is another on the shaded south side of the house, and while most maples perform best in full sun, ‘Butterfly’ has done quite well with little sunlight. I planted the new maple at tip of a curved point in the large koi pond (which was previously referred to as the swimming pond, but my wife informs me that I should not swim/float in it any longer with so many fish). A Japanese maple that was planted a year ago was removed, which was a shame since I planted it believing it was the variegated ‘Floating Cloud’ maple (Acer palmatum ‘Ukigumo’, below). As it turned out, the tree was mislabeled, leafing out a sad looking green and proving to be the single most unremarkable Japanese maple I’d ever seen.

This was a horrible disappointment since I have seen too many ‘Ukigumo’ maples going to waste with the vast oversupply of Japanese maples the past several years in Oregon, and it seemed such a simple thing to have one of my own. Alas, it was not meant to be, and I’ve moved on, though if the opportunity to get a genuine ‘Floating Cloud’ comes around I’ll certainly find a spot for it. In any case, the green leafed maple was dug out and ‘Butterfly’ was planted in its place, where it is a slightly better choice since it is a bit more tolerant of one of the few full sun spaces remaining in the garden.

Late spring is the prime season for Japanese maples in the warm and humid mid Atlantic region (or upper south, whichever you prefer). By mid summer many maples in full sun begin to show a bit of stress, and some red leafed varieties begin to fade. They are still healthy, but the maples are much happier in cooler temperatures, and in May and June their foliage color is most vivid.

In May the foliage of ‘Gwen’s Rose Delight’ (Acer palmatum ‘Gwen’s Rose Delight’, trade name ‘Shirazz’, above) is purple with a pronounced pink edge, a striking combination that attracts the immediate attention of visitors. Unfortunately, by August the foliage has faded to a bedraggled red-green, and the pink edge is only a memory, but for a few months in the spring there is no Japanese maple so delightful. For this reason, ‘Gwen’s Rose Delight’ should probably not be the only maple in your garden, but in this garden it is one of many, so I can simply avert my gaze when it’s not at its prime.

The lawn, never a priority to me, is lush and green, and mostly without weeds. Trees and shrubs are growing vigorously, and with perennials and bulbs planted thickly between there is little light or space for weeds. There are flowers at every turn, and foliage in vibrant greens, yellow, and red.

Considerable effort was required earlier in the spring to reach this point, and now for a few moments there is time to enjoy. In fact, by early May most of my labor to maintain the garden is complete, and with a low standard of neatness I’m satisfied to barely manage the garden through the remainder of the year. It’s possible during this two week period that a visitor might be fooled into believing that this is a well maintained garden, but a discerning eye will realize that the abundant foliage conceals an underlying wildness. It’s not quite a look that the gardener has given up and walked away, but compromises have been made. And, I’m not bothered by this at all.

This is not a manicured garden, to say the least. One tall boxwood is sheared into a cone, and this only because it was growing too wide across a path and the wife threatened taking matters into her own hands to keep the flagstone walk passable. She is aware that this flips a switch for me, and as soon as she picks up her pruners I spring into action.  No other pruning is done except to cut out a stray dead branch, and occasionally to clip a branch that encroaches too far into a neighbor.

In fact, I’m disturbed when neighbors do not encroach into another’s space. Certainly, there are limits when one plant is too close to another, and one or the other is injured by the proximity. But, I prefer less defined lines between neighboring plants, so that one branch flops over another, and the wildness is barely controlled (or not).

This is not my wife’s preference. I think she would prefer a larger lawn, and a smaller garden. Paths should be wide, with stones that are stable and not obscured by wide spreading hostas and Forest grasses. Edges of planting beds should be sharply defined, and plants pruned in an orderly fashion (though not sheared into a series of balls. On this we agree.). Debris should be raked, swept, and discarded, and not left to decay.

Oh well, most of  us learn early in life that not everything will go our way. Occasionally, there will be piles of debris, and some might linger from one year into another. In late spring the stone paths will be partially obscured by overhanging foliage, and beware what lurks beneath, so it’s best to move along quickly.

Mostly (and by mostly I mean completely), this garden is for me, and if anyone (with the minor exception of my wife) has other ideas, I’m sorry. There is certain to plenty in this garden to annoy dedicated gardeners, and if you must have order it’s probably best if you don’t drop by to visit. Plants are too close, the design is cluttered without a unifying theme, and heaven knows what else, but the garden is exactly how I prefer it, well maintained or not.

This tall, wide shrub has been a problem for me for the past several years. I’ve no quarrel with the viburnum, which is quite wonderful in flower and pleasant enough after bloom, but it’s a considerable nuisance to my wife, and of course the trouble is passed along to me. The bother is that the shrub has grown to block most of the light from our library windows, and annually I’m assigned the task of cutting it down to size.

Each year I promise (with a hedge, as is my usual manner) to prune the viburnum after flowering. It would be much simpler to prune while it’s dormant, but I argue that would cut off the many hundreds of blooms, and that would be such a waste. I should wait until after flowering, but the spring comes and goes and there’s so much to be done, and of course time must be set aside to appreciate the garden, so that the pruning doesn’t happen, again. I figure that much the same will occur this year, and so the library will remain dark. (It has lights, for Heaven’s sake, so I don’t know what all the fuss is about.)

Chinese Snowball does benefit from annual pruning after flowering or it grows with a bit too much of an open form, and though I don’t recall I suppose that I could have done this years earlier when it was a much smaller shrub. Now, it’s far too tall to reach the uppermost branches, so pruning to shape is out of the question, and only with a tall step ladder and an open afternoon would there be any way to cut it back to a reasonable size. As long as my wife doesn’t learn to use the chainsaw I’m safe, the Chinese Snowball will be allowed to roam far and wide, and I’ll take my tongue lashing without complaint.

The garden’s other large viburnum, the doublefile ‘Shasta’ (Viburnum  plicatum tomentosum ‘Shasta’, above) takes nearly as much space, though it is not nearly as tall. Fortunately, it’s not blocking any part of the house since it’s planted out into the garden at the forest’s edge. Actually, the forest and a large serviceberry have grown so that ‘Shasta’ is now an understory shrub. In this shaded setting it doesn’t flower as heavily as long ago when it enjoyed at least a half day’s sun, but in early May most of its branches are cloaked in white blooms.

Looking down from the kitchen windows the snow white blooms of ‘Shasta’ are seen peeking out from behind the serviceberry, but walking through the garden you must walk around through the forest, or push aside branches of too many shrubs to get to it. From the stone path twenty feet away, ‘Shasta’ is barely evident, which is shameful design to hide such a beauty, and I’ll take full blame. In a sunny spot the foliage of ‘Shasta’ turns to plum-purple in autumn, but with too much shade under tall swamp maples the color is lost.

Both viburnums require substantial space, and I laugh when I hear people suggest that they will keep a shrub or tree “pruned back”. Perhaps long in the past I fooled myself to think I would dependably keep after pruning something, but it’s just not going to happen, so plan on the space from the start. If there’s room enough for one of these delightful viburnums, the large flowers are certain to please.

There are more dogwoods, redbuds, and lots of Japanese maples (Acer palmatum ‘Scolopendrifolium’, below) that I lust after, but at some point there is just no space and the most idiotic gardener must call it quits. While it might not be too big a challenge to shoehorn the Dove and Sweetheart trees in, planting five or six others in pots would cross the line, even for me. I might be stupid, but I’m not crazy, or is it the other way around?

So, there is no room for more trees. And then, a summer storm pops up with extraordinary winds for only ten minutes, and the fifteen feet tall and wide Seven Son Tree (Heptacodium miconiodes, below) is snapped off below the soil line. After weeks of waiting, to my surprise, there is not a a single sucker that grows back from the roots, so here is an open space, a wide open space.

I argue back and forth for weeks, what to plant? A wide spreading purple Catawba crapemyrtle (Lagerstroemia indica ‘Catawba’) will best fill the space, but do I lust after it? No. Years ago I planted ‘Catawba’ just off the back corner of the house, when that spot was still in nearly full sun. This crapemyrtle spreads gracefully, and the dark purple blooms are nothing short of magnificent. But, it suffered annually with aphids.

It sounds so easy when it’s recommended to blast aphids off foliage with a concentrated spray of water, but the reality is far more difficult, and I could not be rid of these tiny, leaf sucking beasts. And, one spring, ‘Catawba’ didn’t leaf out. Oh well, sooner than later it would have been too close to the house and the low branches would have obstructed the flagstone walk to the back deck.

So, if not the crapemyrtle, what? Finally, the argument was decided in favor of the Red Horsechestnut (Aesculus x carnea, flowering above), a medium growing tree that is not quite a small flowering tree and not nearly a tall and wide growing shade tree. It’s somewhere between, eventually a bit too large for this spot, but that will be long after I’m dead and gone in all likelihood. 

Red horsechestnut is a hybrid of the tall growing, common horsechestnut (Aesculus hippocastanum) and the shrubby Red Buckeye (Aesculus pavia, above), and for the next twenty years it will work quite well in this spot. After that, maybe not so much, but lots can change in that time, so I’ll worry about it later, much later. Today, both the red buckeye and red horsechestnut are flowering, and the question is, how could I have waited so long to plant this delightful tree? The answer is obvious to anyone who has seen the garden, but not so clear to me, it seems.

The next question is for you, dear reader. Someone out there has space enough to plant a medium sized tree with agreeable, dark green corrugated foliage and beautiful, red spring blooms. What better tree could you select than red horsechestnut?  

Perhaps you have no space for a thirty foot tall tree. How about the red buckeye or the slightly less beautiful, native Bottlebrush buckeye (Aesculus parviflora, above)? Both require the space that a large viburnum will require, or even a forsythia, and buckeye will grow in sun or shade, dry soil or nearly standing water. I suggest skipping the difficult decisions to choose between these wonderful shrubs, and plant one of each (at least, though I’ll have no argument if you skip the forsythia).

First, this has been a magnificent month for both redbuds and dogwoods. Redbuds (Cercis canadensis) began to flower a week into April, and I was afraid the blooms would be short lived since this coincided with ninety degree temperatures. But, the warm weather moved on and the past three weeks have been cool, so the redbuds have only recently faded. The hot days pushed the dogwoods (Cornus florida) into flower a few days after the redbuds, nearly the average time for their blooms in my garden.

In previous updates I mentioned that the showy white flowers of the dogwood are not, in fact flowers, but bracts. In the photo (above) the yellow flowers are evident at the center of the large white bracts. This is only of minor interest, and certainly it should never be mentioned except as a trivial aside when someone is technically incorrect in stating that their dogwood is flowering when it is only the bracts. I make no distinction, and consider the bracts to be part of the flowering body, so the dogwoods have been flowering since the second week of April. Usually, they have faded by the start of May, but not this year.

Once the true flowers open the bees visit to sample the nectar, and the pollination rewards us with bunches of red berries in autumn. The fruiting body of spruce is the cone, and ‘Acrocona’ spruce (Picea abies ‘Acrocona’, above) has the interesting habit of forming its cones at its branch tips. In late April and early May the cones are soft and pink, then they harden and turn to brown trough the summer as the seed matures.

It would be foolish to say that the cones are as ornamental as any flower, since there are few cones and many flowers, but the sprawling ‘Acrocona’ spruce is as beautiful as any of the garden’s evergreens for several weeks. Eventually, ‘Acrocona’ will form a mound taller than ten feet, and probably a bit wider, but in six or seven years it has barely reached knee high.

Weeks ago I featured the splendid variegated Winter daphne (Daphne odora ‘Aureo-marginata’), and commented on the lacking of my sense of smell. Most often the fragrance of the spring blooming ‘Carol Mackie’ daphne (Daphne burkwoodi ‘Carol Mackie’, above) is more obvious to me, but with cool temperatures (or something, I can’t explain) the scent has barely been noticeable this spring. In any case, the flowers are delightful, and even when it is past bloom the variegated foliage is splendid. ‘Carol Mackie’ flowers more heavily and the foliage is superior to the winter daphnes, but that is only reason to grow both so that the garden has highly fragrant blooms for parts of February, March, April, and May.

Jack in the Pulpit (Arisaema triphyllum, above) is flowering in the garden. The green and white flowers of this native woodland perennial are not showy, but I eagerly awaited its arrival earlier in the month. Ones I’ve planted in the past did not survive soil that was too damp, but now several plants seem to have established nicely in soil that is only slightly damp.

Nearest the house the soil is deep, with adequate moisture and shade so that hostas sprout monstrous leaves and azaleas grow with exceptional vigor. But, nearer the forest the shade is deeper, and the soil is thin, choked with thirsty roots from the maples. In this difficult circumstance Robb’s spurge (Euphorbia robbiae, below) flourishes. It has managed to spread where I can barely carve out a hole for the smallest of plants. I suppose that in looser soil its spread might be deemed too vigorous, but here its roaming habit is greatly appreciated.

And, Robb’s spurge plays nice with others. It’s a vigorous spreader, but not aggressive. It doesn’t ramble over and through its neighbors, but gently surrounds them. A yellow epimedium  and gold leafed hosta have been engulfed for several years in the midst of the spreading spurge, but if I was properly motivated I could go out and dig them up without any trouble.

By late winter the evergreen foliage of Robb’s spurge has begun to fade, but then the vibrant chartreuse flowers emerge on tall stems and a sad looking plant suddenly jumps to life. My only hesitation in recommending Robb’s spurge is that it could prove to be too rambunctious in good garden soil, and its eighteen inch height might not be appropriate for some situations. But, I’d bet that there’s no tougher plant. It’s dependably resistant to deer, and it thrives where good sense tells you a plant shouldn’t even survive.

Years ago, I surmised that with the success of Robb’s spurge, all euphorbias would be comparably indestructible, but I’ve been disappointed with red and variegated leafed spurges in sun and shade. The red leafed ‘Chameleon’ (Euphorbia dulcis ‘Chameleon’, above) comes and goes annually, sprouting from seed, but fading due to mildew (I suppose) by late summer. I was excited by it for a few years, but it has proven to be less than stellar. ‘Bonfire’ (Euphorbia polychroma ‘Bonfire’, below) was introduced with the promise that it would be more vigorous and dependable, and indeed it survived through summer without a sweat, only to fail through the first winter. I suspect that it didn’t like the persistent dampness, and there was no sign of it by spring. It will not be invited back for a second trial. 

A few unremarkable spurges have settled in without distinction, but only Robb’s and threadleaf spurge (Euphorbia cyparissias, below) have had notable long term success. I read that many gardeners find this spurge too vigorous (they say invasive), but it grows with short stems so that it will not crawl up or over larger shrubs in its path. Threadleaf spurge has a wonderful texture, and the blooms are every bit as bright as Robb’s for weeks in the spring. 

In my garden threadleaf spurge grows alongside a stone patio that borders the large swimming pond, and occasionally it creeps into the gaps between stones. In other parts of the garden moss, creeping Jenny, and bluestar creeper fill gaps between patio and path stones, but threadleaf spurge is just a bit too tall to work here. So, it is easily plucked out, and there’s never a spot where it’s a problem.  

The spurges are not the only tough as nails spreaders in this garden. Delicate looking, but rough and tumble Ostrich ferns (Matteuccia struthiopteris, above) started from transplants I dug out of damp shade where a small spring begins at the forest’s edge. In the wettest parts are skunk cabbages, and on slightly drier ground mayapples and a sturdy clump of Ostrich ferns.

I realized that the space I was transplanting the ferns into was considerably drier, and at midday the sun exposure might be too direct, but the price was right. To my delight, the Ostrich ferns have spread robustly, nixing any plans I could have made to plant a bit more color in this area by the driveway (above). In fact, I prefer the lushness of the ferns, until the Japanese beetles and late summer sun give them some trouble. 

The tall Ostrich ferns spread to cover any area of open ground, and even under the thickly leafed canopy of a wide spreading Japanese maple the fern flourishes. I will often find ferns popping through cracks several feet into the driveway. When strays pop up in the center of the bluestone patio they are readily cut out, and often I’ll transplant these to other dry, shady spots in the garden. Here is a spreader that prefers dampness, but grows without complaint in dry shade.

The habitat of Carolina silverbell is similar to that of the native dogwood, and in my garden silverbell flourishes at the wood’s edge growing in the shade of towering swamp maples. In this mostly shaded setting its growth is slightly more upright, and branching less dense than is typical. But, in recent years the lower branches of the thirty foot tall tree have thickened, and flowering is much more evident nearer the ground. Like many flowering trees, Carolina silverbell is unobtrusive through much of the year, but glorious for ten days in April. Given the difficult, root filled soil where it’s planted, I imagine that silverbell is a tough, hardy choice, so long as there is space in the garden for a tree that climbs to forty feet or more.

Finding a Carolina silverbell in a garden center is another matter. There is no economic incentive for tree growers or garden centers to invest a few years growing lesser known trees without a market to sell them, and of course it is shame that fine trees are neglected. When I find such treasures I don’t hesitate to pluck one to add to the garden, and with a tree with such accommodating cultural requirements there is no reason (even in a garden that is fully planted) not to add one.

Growing (and flowering) nearby at the forest’s edge is the equally obliging fothergilla (Fothergilla gardenii, above), a witch hazel relative with pleasant blue-green foliage similar to Vernal witch hazel (Hamamelis vernalis).  It is fairly common in garden centers, but scarce in gardens.  This southeastern native grows with an open habit when planted as an understory shrub, though it will branch more densely with more sun. Its native habitat is swampy areas, but it seems to grow without a bother in dry shade as well. It has no pest problems, including deer, and I never give it a thought except to enjoy the April bottlebrush blooms and the lush blue green foliage. In autumn the foliage turns a lovely yellow to soft orange  to scarlet (below), and certainly there are few shrubs that compare.

For years there was only one fothergilla in the garden, planted on the outside edge of the property so that the neighbor could enjoy it, but in a spot that I don’t visit regularly. There are years when this has caused me to miss its blooms, or autumn foliage, when I was occupied by so many other treats. So, I’ve rectified this by a adding two smaller shrubs on the far side of the garden in the area where brush and brambles were cleared out in early winter. This area is a bit under done at the moment, which is quite a switch for me, but I’ve no doubt that everything will grow together in a few short years. There is nothing that will please this gardener more than seeing tall branches of the fothergilla arching for sunlight from beneath the Bigleaf magnolia and catalpa. Here, I’ll be certain not to miss these marvelous blooms.

‘Ogon’ spirea (Spiraea thunbergii ‘Ogon’, above) is a pleasant enough shrub through most of the year, though its habit becomes a bit unruly if it is not sheared back into a tight ball after flowering. I rarely prune it (or anything), so it’s behavior leaves much to be desired. The narrow, yellow leaves are almost needle-like, and these are the main attraction of ‘Ogon’, but the flowers cover the shrub in a cloud of white and are quite nice also.

Many gardeners seem enamored by barrenworts (Epimedium x versicolor ‘Sulphureum, above, and Epimedium x rubrum, below). They are dependably deer resistant, and the arching blooms are exquisite for a week, but after flowering I forget about them for another year, so I suppose its safe to say they’re not one of my favorites. Nice, but not exceptional unless you’re fighting deer and don’t want to spray a repellent. 

A week ago I was prepared to write about the various spring flowering magnolias (Magnolia x ‘Jane’, below), but they passed a bit too quickly out of bloom and my enthusiasm waned. In any case, if you’d like, go back a year or two, or three, and I’m pretty certain you’ll find something on them each year. 

I liked the color and textural contrast of this seedling of the red leafed geranium ‘Espresso’ (Geranium maculatum ‘Espresso’) that popped up in Creeping Jenny (Lysimachia nummularia ‘Aurea’, below) that is at its brightest when it first emerges in the spring. I prefer the tough, though short flowering ‘Espresso’ to the floppy and sprawling ‘Rozanne’ that is short lived for me. ‘Espresso’ seeds itself about, though not wildly, and the seedlings are nearly as darkly colored as the parent plant.

Blueberries (Vaccinium corymbosum, below) are touted these days as more than a fruit bearing shrub. The flowers are nice, as is the autumn foliage color, but if you’re not interested in eating the fruit (or feeding the birds) then there are more attractive shrubs. In years past I had ten large blueberry shrubs, and I enjoyed eating handfuls of warm fruits in early July while I wandered about the garden. But, the large blueberries declined (probably from some neglect on my part), and finally they were chopped out. The newly planted blueberries feed only the birds, who are enormously appreciative, I’m sure.

I think that long in the past I planted this purple leafed violet (below), definitely not in this spot, but somewhere. As violets do, seedlings pop up everywhere, which is okay because they only move into open spaces, and nothing is crowded out. Other types of violets grow rampant in the lawn, then fade as temperatures turn hot. I don’t mind this either. Who could be bothered by flowers in the lawn?