Enthusiastic, not invasive

The past few weeks have been hot, real hot! In only a few weeks lawn grasses turned from lush green to straw colored, and the deep greens of the garden faded a few shades. Some plants pay no attention, and even thrive in the heat.

Plume poppy (Macleaya cordata, above) grows exuberantly to fill whatever space it’s allowed to spread into, but it’s controlled fairly easily once it has grown past its boundaries. This is not gentle or well mannered, but an enthusiastic perennial with arching stems of large, coarse, blue-green foliage and short lived clusters of dainty white blooms in early summer.

In the garden it is hemmed in by tall gold cryptomerias and a large spreading Limelight hydrangea, and unlike barely controllable running bamboos it doesn’t cross these barriers. For the front of the garden plume poppy is too coarse, but it is marvelous in the back, or when used to fill spaces.

I planted the native Mountain mint (Pycnanthemum virginium, above) without knowing much about it, and for a few years I was pleased with its slowly spreading habit and summer blooms that attract scores of bees, butterflies, and moths. This spring it has spread a bit faster, and a bit further than I want, so I’ve had to pluck some stems before it becomes troublesome. Until recent severe storms the stems stood erect, but now they are splayed in every direction. They will perk up some, but the bees don’t seem to mind.

As the clump of mountain mint has spread so has its fragrance, so that the back portion of the garden is pleasingly minty on a still, warm day. As my wife has become more active in roaming about the garden (looking for trouble) she is concerned that the mint will overwhelm its neighbors, but I’m comfortable it will easily be kept in bounds. Mountain mint is likely not to be a good choice for the mixed perennial border, where it could be a little too aggressive, but as a filler, and in poor soils this is a wonderful choice.  

The tall, native Joe Pye Weed (Eutrochium, or Eupatorium purpureum) grows in the damp meadow just behind the garden, successfully competing with brambles and cattails. In the garden I’ve planted the shorter and more compact ‘Little Joe’ (above) that is tall enough to make a presence at the rear of the garden, but stout enough to withstand summer storms without leaning. Joe Pye’s foliage is dark green, thick, and leathery, and the dusky lavender blooms persist for months.    

Gladiolus ‘Boone’ (Gladiolus x gandavensis ‘Boone’, above) is dependably tough, and in damp and dry soils in my garden it seeds itself about, though it’s never troublesome. If it’s not popping up beside a taller neighbor ‘Boone’ will probably need some support, though I usually leave it to fend for itself. The peach colored blooms are splendid, and ‘Boone’ is enthusiastic without ever making a nuisance of itself.

Wet feet

The back half of the rear garden is prone to wet soils through the spring, or in any period with an inch or more rainfall in a week. In September last year there was more than a foot of rain from various hurricanes and tropical storms, and this part of the garden stayed waterlogged into November. A few plants that resent the prolonged dampness had troubles, and with repeated heavy rains in recent weeks a few perennials that were already weakened have given up and drowned.

One border of  the rear garden parallels the forest so that it’s shaded until mid-afternoon, and here there is a depression that drains a portion of the property. It also drains a trickle of a spring so that the area remains damp into the hottest summer days, and often there is a bit of standing water. Digging a hole in this area is a bit tricky to avoid being sucked down into the swamp, but small perennials are usually planted by pushing them into the mud without having to dig. Most often evergreens are a bad bet for wet areas, but a tall evergreen holly and two western cedars have flourished planted slightly to the high sides of the drainage swale. These further shade the garden, and through the years several plants in this area have demonstrated their lack of tolerance for wet feet, or shade, or the combination of the two.

When I first started the garden the lower end was much drier, then the property developer dug a poorly installed water retention pond just behind my property, and the water table was raised considerably. The area that was just barely damp from the small spring became more wet, and the wet area grew wider. A witch hazel (Hamamelis x intermedia ‘Arnold Promise’, above) was planted long before the retention pond was dug, and as the damp area spread I feared it would not survive. But, it has not been bothered at all by the constant moisture. It is planted a little to the high side, and I don’t know that the witch hazel would survive in standing water, but it seems quite happy and I depend on its cheerful yellow blooms to signal the approach of winter’s end each February.

A wide spreading white beautyberry (Callicarpa dichotoma ‘Albifructus’, above) was planted nearby, and now it is often surrounded by standing water, or at the least saturated soil. It leafs late each spring, and there is considerable dead wood that must be annually pruned, but this is typical of beautyberry in wet or dry conditions. This is not the native purple berried beautyberry (Callicarpa americana), but since the white was happy I’ve planted the native a few feet away and it thrives in a spot that is only slightly drier.

After the installation of the retention pond was botched and the area turned towards swamp I planted a variegated pussy willow (Salix gracilistyla, above) and native river birches to help absorb some of the excess moisture. Both have thrived, but I quickly recognized that this was the perfect spot for the ill mannered pussy willow. It is planted at the rear property line, in damp soil that can only be walked on in the driest periods of summer drought. For any other circumstance the unruly and wide spreading pussy willow is poorly suited. Off an on through the years I’ve gotten close enough to be disappointed by the lack of variegation to its foliage, but during this year’s dry April I managed to wade in close enough to see the variegation of the newest leaves alongside plain green foliage. Unremarkable, and I don’t recommend this monster unless you have a similar waste area to be filled.

In recent years I’ve planted several native shrubs that tolerate moist soil, and several other natives that flourish in wet or dry conditions are spread through the garden. Black chokeberry (Aronia melanocarpa, above) has grown vigorously in swampy soil. I planted several buttonbush (Cephalanthus occidentalis, below) after seeing a patch growing at the base of a local hiking trail that my wife and I visit occasionally. Bees and butterflies were swarming the unusual flowers in mid summer, and in my garden in early June the start of the satellite-shaped blooms is evident. They’ve been planted in the wettest ground and they’re loving it!

I’ve planted the pink flowered summersweet (Clethra alnifolia ‘Ruby Spice’, below) and Virginia sweetspire (Itea virginica) in much drier ground, but both natives will tolerate damp soil in either sun or part shade. Both sucker more vigorously with more moisture, but they have tolerated relatively dry shade without a problem.

A number of perennials have been planted at the edges of this wet area, and some have thrived while others falter and fade after a few years. Japanese irises (Iris ensata) thrive in full sun in shallow water in the garden’s ponds, but they struggle without enough sun between the western cedars and beneath the beautyberry. Ostrich ferns (Matteuccia struthiopteris) grow and spread exuberantly in damp ground (but not into the wettest area) along side native Joe Pye Weed (Eupatorium, or now Eutrochium purpureum), milkweed (Asclepias syriaca, below) and goldenrod (Solidago), and cultivars and hybrids of the native spiderwort (Tradescantia x andersoniana ‘Sweet Kate’). It can be difficult to walk close enough the enjoy their flowers without sucking the shoes off your feet, but a wet area has been salvaged to be as pleasing as any other part of the garden.

The last dogwood blooms

Chinese dogwood (Cornus kousa) is the latest of the dogwoods to flower in my garden. The dogwood season began this year as the native dogwood (Cornus florida) began to bloom the last week of March, two to three weeks earlier than is typical.

Hybrid dogwoods introduced by Rutgers University that combine the native American and Chinese dogwoods, and Chinese and Pacific coast dogwoods (Cornus nutalli), usually flower in early May, just after the natives fade, but this year they were fully in bloom by mid April. Fortunately, the temperatures in late April were cool, so the flowers persisted an additional week into May (‘Venus’ dogwood, below).

There are many selections of Chinese dogwoods, and most are more low branched and shrubby than the native American dogwood. The Chinese dogwood is notable for large white flowers (bracts) that will often nearly obscure the tree’s foliage for several weeks in late spring. Foliage is variable between selections (some leaves are more rounded, others not), but it is often glossier than the eastern American dogwood, and more resistant to foliar diseases. The Chinese dogwood is also highly resistant to other diseases that afflict the native, and it is rarely bothered by insects or other pests.

Most Chinese dogwoods have green leaves and white flowers, and there is a range of forms from low growing, shrub-like trees to others that are quite upright in habit. The popular selection ‘Milky Way’ is often wider than it is tall, while ‘Galilean’ (above) displays a classic tree form with a central trunk and it is much taller than wide.

‘Satomi’ Chinese dogwood (above) is a wide spreading tree with glossy, rounded foliage that often turns remarkable shades of red and orange in autumn (below). It’s flowers are pink, though in my Virginia garden they are usually almost white with a blush of pink. In mid June I see ‘Satomi’ in western Oregon in cooler temperatures and lower humidity, and the blooms are much pinker, so I suppose that the warmer, more humid Virginia spring is responsible for the color difference.

I have two variegated leaf Chinese dogwoods in the garden, the wide spreading ‘Wolf Eye’ (below) and the more upright growing ‘Samaritan’. The foliage of ‘Wolf Eye’ curls so that it is not as attractive as the flatter leaves of ‘Samaritan’. Unfortunately, I’ve planted ‘Samaritan’ in a bit too much shade so that it rarely flowers, though the foliage grows splendidly. Most years ‘Wolf Eye’ blooms nicely, though this year the flowers are more sparse than usual.

The Chinese dogwood is a wonderful tree, not better than the native American, or the hybrids. Each has its unique attributes, and distinct season to flower. I have several of each, and to my thinking planting one or two of each is preferable to choosing between exceptional trees

It’s not New Orleans

My wife was in New Orleans over the weekend to visit an old friend. I was invited, but of course she and her buddy were just being polite, and didn’t really want me intruding on their time to visit.

New Orleans isn’t my kind of town, but it has some great gardens in public spaces and I sent along my pocket camera in case my wife was motivated to take a few photos for me. She tried, but couldn’t figure how to change from video to still photos, so we’re stuck for today looking at photos from my less than exotic Virginia garden. Louisiana is nearly at  the end of its spring, almost into summer, but in Virginia it’s only slightly past spring’s peak. After an early start with warm winter and early spring temperatures, the garden has slipped back into a somewhat normal timeline, and plants are flowering just about when they’re expected to.

Earlier this spring I planted a few handfuls of marsh (Dactylorhiza fuchsii, above) and ground orchids (Bletilla striata, below), and both are flowering. A visitor to the garden in late May would figure that there’s not one bit of space open to jam another plant into, but the orchids are low growing and quite small (though it is hoped they will spread), so they fit almost anywhere with a bit of sun.

I was very pleased at the start of the weekend when I saw the emerging bloom of the spotted marsh orchid, but when I returned the following morning the flower’s stem had been severed cleanly and the blooms were laying on the ground. Rascally rabbits! The ground orchids began to flower a few days later, and these will bloom for weeks, and perhaps months if all goes well. The flowers of the cold hardy orchids are quite small, so the gardener will be disappointed if he is expecting flowers as large as the ones that brighten the kitchen counter through the winter. I am not displeased, though I’d be happier if the rabbits would stay away.

The sturdy and trouble free blue stars (Amsonia hubrichtii, above, and Amsonia x ‘Blue Ice’, below) are passing slightly past peak bloom now. Though the hybrid ‘Blue Ice’ flowers considerably longer, the foliage  of the midwest native turns to a softly glowing yellow in the autumn. I grow both, but prefer the native variety, which makes an excellent foliage filler, and works especially well in dry, neglected soils.

Equally tough as blue star is False Indigo (Baptisia australis, below). Baptisia flowers fade quickly once peak bloom has arrived, but the flowers are colorful for several weeks up till the peak. The foliage of false indigo is a pleasant blue-green, and even in miserably poor, dry soil it remains lush and vigorous through the heat of summer. I’ve read that the roots of baptisia do not like to be disturbed, so they should planted where they will stay.

The native spiderwort and the yellow leafed selection ‘Sweet Kate’ (below) are quite vigorous in both damp and dry soils, and though spiderworts prefer sun I have a long established plant that grows in deep shade tucked under an old nandina bush that is shaded by a tree lilac. I am cautious to spray the spiderworts regularly with deer repellent in early spring or the new foliage will quickly be eaten to the ground. It seems deer favor the spiderworts even more than hostas and daylilies, so they should be planted only where deer are not a problem, or by a gardener who will keep up with spraying a repellent. After flowering the foliage of spiderworts quickly becomes spotted and ragged, and they look much better if they’re cut to the ground and allowed to grow back. In this manner they will rebloom again later in the summer.

I am usually too lazy or occupied with other duties to take much care to deadhead or cut plants back to encourage additional blooming, but the spiderworts are greatly improved by following up on this. A few times I’ve let the deer do the pruning for me, but it’s not really a great idea to encourage them.

Sweetshrub and other April flowering shrubs

Sweetshrub (Calycanthus floridus, below) is native to much of the eastern United States. It’s not commonly found in gardens due to its unremarkable form and foliage, but I’m certain that it deserves greater consideration for shrub borders, and particularly for plantings at the partially shaded edge of wooded spaces. Sweetshrub’s April flowers are distinctive, though a bit unusual in color (reddish-brown) and form, but they are notably fragrant and long lasting. Planted in full sun the shrub will form a compact, six foot tall spreading mound, but in a shady situation it will often be considerably taller and open branched.

In my garden I’ve planted several sweetshrubs in the dense shade between a tall blackgum and bigleaf magnolia, so they have grown to nearly eight feet tall. The branching is very open, much as I would expect from any shrub planted in the forest’s understory, but the shade does not deter flowering so that every branch tip carries a flower or two.

Somewhere through the years I saw a photograph of a yellow flowered sweetshrub (Calycanthus floridus ‘Athens’, below), and when my son was in grad school at the University of Georgia my wife and I often visited the gorgeous state botanical garden nearby where several were prominently planted. As often happens, I fell in love at first sight, and kept an eye out to purchase one for my garden. Several years ago I found a couple that I planted in the shade of the bigleaf magnolia, but lazy idiot that I am, one perished within weeks when I failed to water it. Fortunately, the other survived my neglect, and now it gets along without any care at all.

The yellow sweetshrub flowers a few weeks later than the red, even though the yellow gets a bit more sun. I usually figure that more sun will result in earlier flowering, but that’s not the case with the yellow flowered sweetshrub, and whether it is truly later blooming or just in my garden, I don’t know. References say that the yellow flower is more fragrant than the red, but I can’t tell any difference, though my sense of smell is horribly lacking. Some days I can smell one or both, and the next day neither. This lacking I blame on myself, not the sweetshrubs.

In any case, as often happens when love is rushed, the thrill wears thin sooner than later and now I prefer the red flowered sweetshrub. The red has glossier, darker green foliage than the yellow, and though this is likely to be because of where I’ve planted it, the simple fact is that the red looks a bit better.  Both are wonderful, and I don’t mind that they grow with a sparsely branched, open form in the shade. In fact, there is no plant in my woodland area that I favor more. Many shrubs don’t flower at all or grow well in similar circumstances, and for the fragrant and unusual blooms alone sweetshrub is worth growing.

Beside the red flowered sweetshrub I’ve planted a red bottlebrush buckeye (Aesculus pavia, above), and though it was quite open in form when young, now it has filled in considerably. It’s compound leaves are large and glossy, and it has become quite attractive in this wooded area, even when it’s not flowering. The red flowers are superb, but short lived by comparison to the sweetshrub.

Black chokeberry (Aronia melanocarpa, above) is native to much of the eastern United States, but it’s habitat ranges from wetlands to dry hillsides. I’ve planted several in an area of the back garden that is fed by a trickle of a spring so that the subsoil remains damp, even when the surface appears dry. In this difficult area chokeberry and buttonbush (Cepahalanthus occidentalis) thrive. To my thinking, neither plant is well suited to the front of the garden. They tend to be irregularly shaped, and lower branches are often bare with foliage only on the upper half of the shrub. However, irregular shape and bare lower branches don’t mean that the chokeberry is ugly, and its flowers and fruit are also quite nice.

More flowers this year?

There are many more flowers this year on the Carolina silverbell (Halesia carolina, below). I don’t see any reason that warm winter temperatures would have resulted in more blooms. I don’t expect that the buds are killed off in a normal winter, so it’s more likely that some weather phenomena at the time the flower buds were formed last year resulted in the abundant blooms. In any case, there are more flowers this spring, which is nothing to complain about.

The silverbell is not commonly found in gardens, but that doesn’t make it rare, just uncommon and probably under appreciated. It is native to woodlands of the southeastern United States, in particular along streams and on wooded mountain slopes. In my garden I’ve closely duplicated these understory conditions, and the silverbell grows tall and slender so that it’s clearly visible from the kitchen window of my home. In its early years I wondered what the fuss was about, since its flowers were sparse, but in recent years I’ve become quite enamored with the tree.

The bell-like blooms hang in clusters along the length of year old branches for ten days. By good fortune, this year the flowers are a few weeks early and temperatures have been cool, so the blooms will persist for another week longer. When temperatures are warm the flowers fade quickly, turning to the texture of tissue paper one day, then dropping and disappearing the next. For the remainder of the year the silverbell is unremarkable, but then so many other trees are not so lovely for these few glorious weeks.

For inexplicable reasons, fothergilla (Fothergilla major, above) has not gained more popularity. It’s native to similar geographic regions as the silverbell, and is similarly scarce in gardens. The most common fothergilla (Fothergilla gardenii’ Mt. Airy’) is carried by many garden centers, but despite splendid white bottlebrush blooms in the peak of the spring garden season it has not gained favor. In my garden I’ve found it to be care free, without insect or disease problems. After flowering, the foliage is quite agreeable, and autumn color is frequently a stunning orange or scarlet. I’ve planted many viburnums and lilacs, and I will attest that fothergilla is equally deserving of a spot in the garden.

The red bottlebrush buckeye (Aesculus pavia, above) is a small multi trunked tree or large bush that is probably a bit large for small gardens. In April its red flowers stand erect above the handsome, compound leaves, and though the blooms are not showy from a distance this is one of my favorite spring shrubs. The red buckeye performs well in deep shade, and in my garden it is planted beneath a wide spreading black gum so that the soil is constantly dry. In ten days of hundred degree temperatures last summer it looked a bit resentful and slightly off color, but even suffering my neglect to water it the buckeye recovered without ill effect.

In the deep shade of this same black gum I’ve planted a small grove of sweetshrubs (Calycanthus floridus, above) that perform exceptionally well. This grouping is planted at the border of the garden, far off the stone path, but I rarely pass this section in the spring without straying from the path to catch a glimpse of the unusual, red-brown, fragrant blooms. These are not flowers that will be favored by lovers of masses of petunias and impatiens, but they are well suited to the ramble-along-and-stick-your-nose-into-everything gardener. That’s me!

The red flowering sweetshrub is most common (though not commonplace), and it flowers ten days earlier than the yellow flowered variety in my garden. This could possibly be explained that the yellow is slightly more into the sun, but I would expect that the warming of the sun would cause it to flower a little earlier, not later. I lusted after the yellow variety for a number of years before finally planting one, and now I find that I prefer the red. I’m certain that there’s a lesson to be learned in there somewhere, but I’m a slow learner, and in any case, both yellow and red are marvelous.

Flowering trees for the native garden

I grow a bit sad when the rosy-pink blooms of redbuds (Cercis canadensis, below) along the highway finally fade and disappear. Left behind is the lush green of the forest’s edge, occasionally punctuated by tangled masses of floriferous, but invasive Japanese honeysuckle. In some years, dogwood’s flowers will persist for a week or two longer than the redbud. Though both are native to the area with similar cultural requirements, redbuds are considerably more abundant than dogwoods. Each tree thrives in the partial sun at the margins of the forest, but redbud seeds itself about more vigorously.

In the garden, dogwoods and redbuds tolerate nearly full sun, and will accept even the hot late afternoon sun if provided with a somewhat moist, but well drained soil (though it must not be wet). In my experience the dogwood (Cornus florida, below) will endure deeper shade than redbud, but both prefer at least some sun. In their native state redbuds and dogwoods are open growing and sparsely branched, with branches arching for the sun, but nursery grown trees are often full and densely branched.

Redbud and dogwood are a bit prickly about being transplanted, but a firm rootball will usually assure a good chance for success if the trees are planted in well drained soil. Careful handling is important so the rootball is not broken, and it’s most critical not to plant either tree too deep. So, the best practice is to remove burlap from the top of the rootball to judge where the trunk meets the roots, and then to plant with the tree’s root flare a few inches above the level of the surrounding soil.

There are numerous choices of dogwoods and redbuds that are wonderful small trees for the garden. Dogwood selections ‘Cherokee Princess’ (white flowered) and ‘Cherokee Brave’ (red to dark pink flowered) are vigorous growers and less susceptible to foliar diseases that plague trees that grow from seed. Besides the popular green leafed redbud, the burgundy leafed ‘Forest Pansy’ (below) is an exceptional choice (though its foliage color fades through the summer). There are weeping versions of both dogwood and redbud (‘Lavender Twist’ is a wonderful tree), and yellow and variegated foliage, so there are plenty of choices. Certainly, at least one that is well suited to every garden.

The native serviceberry (Amelanchier canadensis, below) grows in similar conditions to dogwoods and redbuds, and will often immediately precede redbud in flowering at wood’s edge.  In the garden, serviceberries are usually multi trunked, and single trunked trees will require annual removal of root suckers. The trunks are rarely substantial, and in my garden long branches arch for the sun from under the canopy of swamp maples. The delicate white flowers are quite showy, and if there is more than one tree as a pollinator the flowers are followed by edible fruits that are quickly snatched by birds.

The native fringetree (Chionanthus virginicus, below)  is similarly multitrunked, and in my garden I gave up trying to maintain a single trunked tree years ago after chopping away fast growing root suckers for ten years. I believe that fringetree is less common in gardens than redbuds, dogwoods, and serviceberries only because the show of abundant, ribbon-like flowers is too brief. Fringetree is not bothered by pests of any sort in my garden, and its smaller size is appropriate for almost any garden.

Sweetbay magnolia (Magnolia virginiana, below) blooms in late spring, after the early spring flowering Asian magnolias, and just before the majestic evergreen Southern magnolias. Sweetbay will occasionally hold onto a few leaves through the winter, but it is fully deciduous in most years. It’s flowers are notably fragrant, and the silvery-blue undersides of the leaves are splendid as they bob in the breeze. Sweetbay magnolia is another multi trunked tree, and it’s well suited to the partial shade of the wood’s edge.

In small gardens or large, these native trees are excellent choices. All are relatively small in size, but their impact is substantial.

Native shrubs and evergreens

Along local roadsides and in open fields that are no longer maintained as farmland the Eastern Red cedar is found in abundance. In a field of hundreds of these evergreens there will be significant differences in color of needles, shape, and size, so that no two plants appear identical. This is a notable example of the genetic diversity of seedlings, and a reminder that even native plants can overpopulate disturbed sites.

The red cedar is not a cedar at all, but a juniper (Juniperus virginiana, above), and besides native plant enthusiasts, I find that most people dismiss this tall growing evergreen as a weed due to its ubiquitous nature. It’s green to blue-green needles lack luster, and its often profuse, small blue-gray seed cones provide only modest interest. The red cedar’s wood is aromatic with an attractive marbled grain and is valued for cedar chests and small carpentry projects, but its greatest attribute for landscape use as an evergreen screen is that it’s native to much of the eastern United States.

Along the woodline that borders my garden there is one large, thinly branched red cedar that suffers in the deep shade, and there are dozens of smaller seedlings just beyond the edge of the heaviest shade. As they continue to grow some will be saved and encouraged to grow to screen the houses on the far side of this narrow section of forest.

Beneath the forest’s canopy are also scattered small American holly (Ilex opaca, above) seedlings and several that have grown taller than six feet. These grow quite slowly in the dry shade, and even one seedling that sprouted in the middle of a more fertile garden bed in full sun barely inches along.

I have tried to keep other understory plants cleared away so that the hollies will someday grow large enough to join the red cedars in screening the garden’s southern border. I don’t know that I’ll live long enough for the seedlings to grow to this tall, so I’ll be planting a few more mature hollies to do the trick a few years sooner.

On the far side of the garden I’ve planted several other hollies, not evergreens but deciduous hollies (Ilex verticillata ‘Winterberry’, above) that are unremarkable until late in autumn when their large clusters of berries turn to red. Unfortunately, though the ‘Winterberry’ hollies are an understory plant in their native setting, they have become too shaded by neighboring hornbeams and have begun to fade in recent years.

Just below the ‘Winterberry’ hollies an itea (Itea virginica ‘Henry’s Garnet’ ) barely clings to life in the shade. ‘Henry’s Garnet’ is tolerant of wet or dry soils, sun or some amount of shade, but it has reached its limit. This was a dry spot beside the driveway where I could enjoy the hollies’ berries and the red foliage of the itea as I returned home on autumn evenings. The dry soil restrained the itea’s suckering habit (which is not bad at its worst), but I’ll soon need to grub out the tired plants and rework this area. Perhaps by thinning some tree branches I’ll be able to rejuvenate the shrubs, but I’m afraid the damage is too far along.

I have seen sweetshrub (or spicebush, Calycanthus floridus, above) planted in both sun and shade, but beneath towering tulip poplars at the edge of my garden they grow with an open, spreading form. The shade does not seem to bother the number of oddly constructed, fragrant, brownish-red flowers. After planting a handful with red blooms I was enamored enough of the plant to track down a few yellow flowered sweetshrubs (Calycanthus floridus ‘Athens’ below) that now grow in the shade beneath the aptly named Bigleaf magnolia.

Nearby, in slightly less shade along one of the garden’s stone paths grows summersweet clethra (Clethra alnifolia ‘Rosea’ below). This spot is dry (though not the desert dry shade of the root infested soil only a few feet away), though clethra will be happy in all but the dampest ground. Clethra suckers and spreads slowly, and its habit is probably ill suited for the garden’s most prominent positions, but along this path its fragrant pink panicled flowers (that quickly fade to near white) are particularly enjoyable.

In this almost too dry shade I have planted selections of the native Mountain laurel (Kalmia latifolia, below), and they have struggled from the start. I know that they would prefer more regular irrigation, but that’s not likely to happen. Along a mountain trail that my wife and I hike frequently there are mountain laurels that tower over your head, and as much as I wish that mine would grow I’m afraid they won’t last that long.   

The lower end of the garden is often quite damp, with a few areas where water will stand for several days in a rainy spring. Here I’ve planted buttonbush (Cephalanthus occidentalis, above), and in slightly less damp soil highbush blueberries (Vaccinum corymbosum, below). I first saw buttonbush in a boggy spot at the base of the mountain trail as bees and butterflies swarmed its flowers, and it thrives in this swampy ground.

I’ve grown blueberries for years, though a group of eight large shrubs that were transplanted from a blueberry farm in Oregon were lost to construction of a large pond in the garden. Some years I would harvest many handfuls of fruit as I wandered through the garden, then detoured back for another handful. A few handfuls made it back to house to share with my wife, but only a few. The new shrubs are half the size and until they grow up I leave the fruit to the birds, who enjoy it immensely and rarely wait for it to become fully ripe.

Along the slope that retains the lower side of the large pond I’ve planted a dark leaved selection of the native ninebark (Physocarpus opulifolius ‘Diablo’, above) and also a dark, cut leafed elderberry (Sambucus nigra ‘Black Lace, below). The large flower clusters of the ninebark are marvelous, but the shrub is a bit coarse and requires regular pruning.

I’ve planted the elderberry beneath a shrubby crapemyrtle, but this hasn’t seemed to bother its sprawling habit (though it might limit the number of fruits, below). The leaves are somewhat similar to the dissected foliage of many Japanese maples, though the branching is not as graceful. 

So far as I can figure these are the native shrubs and evergreens in the garden (though I could have missed one or two, or even ten). Some grow vigorously, and others barely at all. The natives are subject to the same problems as non-natives. They must be planted with suitable soil and sunlight exposure, and they benefit from occasional irrigation until their roots are established. I’ve had more than a few failures with native plants, but no more or less than with non-natives. Many have proven to be fine garden plants, regardless of their native habitat.

The next, and last stop on this tour of native plants in the garden will be perennials and vines, and there are many so this might have to be broken into two installments. In the meanwhile a few camellias (of Japanese origin) and the fragrant winter daphne are just about blooming in this extraordinarily warm winter, so there could be a bit of break before the native plant tour wraps up.