Rosa 'Eugène de Beauharnais'

Rosa 'Eugène de Beauharnais' (Hardy, 1838)



Rosa 'Souvenir de la Malmaison' (Beluze, 1843)



Rosa 'Barcelona' (Kordes, 1932)



Rosa 'Bishop's Castle' (Austin, 2007)



Clematis 'Bourbon' (Evison, 200?)

The Superb Platycerium superbum

I have two Platycerium superbum, and yes, they are aptly named: superb. Epiphytic ferns from northern Australia/southern Indonesia, they grow on trees in the rain forest canopy. As they grow, leaf litter falling from above collects in the top area of the fern, where it decays, providing them with nutrients! Darned clever, that evolution.

On the walls of our patio, they grow on pieces of wood and are dramatic living sculptures. I got one as a three inch (7 cm) diameter disk around 2002, the other my mother-in-law gave us. They are far from full grown now, but grander and more dramatic every year. I try to remember to water them regularly, but they survive months without any water. (Don't ask how I know.) The grower I bought mine from said most people kill them by over watering. He recommended one watering a week in summer, once a month in winter, and every day during Santa Ana conditions (when relative humidity is a brutal 7-8%).




Platycerium superbum is hardy to the high twenties and doesn't need a huge amount of light, so I would think they'd be easy to grow in many climates if brought inside during cold spells. Some mild fertilizer in spring is probably a good idea. I did fertilize them once a couple of years ago, but they've done well without it.

They have two types of fronds: the platter-like part that attaches to a support, and a Rapunzel-like stream growing out from the center of the platter that are the spore-producing fronds. The platters start out round but soon develop finger-like structures at the top. They grow to a certain size before they start going Rapunzel. Not there yet. No matter.




At a local botanical garden, there are a couple of huge ones, over 6' (1.8 meters) tall:


Truly magnificent! I try to remember those, in the hope it will motivate me to water and fertilize mine more often.


Looking down at the top of the plant:

The Neighbor's Bougie

The neighbors on the north side of our property had free run of what became our property for something like 35 years. Their kids played in the mud here when it rained. Their horse grazed here before it tragically burned to death in a wildfire in the 1960's. The husband used this land for a driving range. I know this last fact because in my gardening I found lots of old golf balls.

The property was eventually built on, we bought it, and the neighbors lost their extra space and privacy. So they started letting things grow on the south side of their house, as a screen. One thing they let grow was a Bougainvillea, which now after 10 years has reached decent size and considerable glory.



Sadly for them, they can't see it. It's not visible from the street, either. All the flowers are on the south-facing side, which makes this waterfall of searing magenta all mine. To give you some idea of the size of this plant, that small fence at the bottom of this picture is six feet (1.8 meters) tall:


I've gotten a freebie here: I don't have to take care of it. I don't have to water it. (Though apparently neither do the neighbors). Though I wonder how long the glory will last, I'll enjoy it while I can. How many gifts does anyone get in life that are this wonderful?

Oh. Clivias.

In other parts of the world, Clivia miniata is a tough house plant. I read a story somewhere about a horticulture professor who took a healthy potted Clivia to the first day of a class and without a word, put it in a lightless lecture room closet and locked it up. Then at the end of the semester, at the end of the last class, he unlocked the closet, and pulled it out, still healthy, but now in bloom.

I don't know if that story is true, but as long as it stays above the high 20's F, this plant is nearly indestructible. The genus was named for Lady Charlotte Clive, Duchess of Northumberland, when the first plants were brought to England from South Africa in the early 19th Century. A general rule of botanical nomenclature is to pronounce plant names which are named for people in the same way the person's name is pronounced. So, pronounce "Clivia" with a long first "i", as in "dive".

The Clivia are late, blooming only now. In past years they've bloomed in December, but not this year. The timing is right for this clump paired with Azalea 'Alaska'--they're blooming together:


It its native South Africa, Clivia miniata is found growing in the shade of trees. In East Asia and Europe, this is a houseplant enjoyed for the beauty of its foliage. Shorter, wider foliage is preferred because it enhances the shape and neatness of the plant, so enthusiasts there have selectively bred for those characteristics. Clivia breeding is best started in childhood. It takes roughly ten years to go from seed to plant to seeds of that plant, so a human life spans only a few generation of Clivia.

In California, this is the go-to plant for the north side of the house, for dry gloomy areas under that Magnolia tree that desperately needs pruning, for anywhere nothing else will grow because it's too shady. You could put Aspidistras there, but Clivia are even easier. Since they form enthusiastic clumps given minimal care, it's a plant you never buy--you get it from your neighbors who have too many.

Look to the neighbor whose Clivias have the shortest, widest leaves, because they form the neatest, most attractive plants. Watch for snails, white fly, and mealy bugs, but they won't be able to kill the Clivias, only make them less beautiful. Water them if you remember. They don't care if you forget.



I got accustomed to ignoring Clivias because they are so common here. It's like looking at blue sky--how different is it from day to day? My reaction was: Oh. Clivias.

But I've learned they're a good indicator of how much organic material is in their soil. Now in any garden I visit I take a look at the Clivias, and thereby determine the compost-distributing skills of the gardener. It's what makes the difference between a fat glossy Clivia that's formed a fat glossy clump, and a weary, droopy, tired, solitary Clivia that looks utterly unloved. This plant journeyed all the way here from the shade of a South African tree, via England, with stops in Europe and East Asia to get its foliage widened and shortened. Doesn't it deserve some love, some wonder, and most of all, some compost?

What's the Difference?

Two pink roses: what's the difference? That's 'Bishop's Castle' (Austin, 2007) on the left, and 'Mrs. B. R. Cant' (Cant & Sons, 1901) on the right.

They're both roses, both quite fragrant, both pink. One is a new(ish) David Austin rose, which you buy because you see a drop-dead gorgeous photo in the drop-dead gorgeous David Austin catalog, and think, "I want that!". The other is a rose from over 100 years ago, which someone gives you a snippet of for free, saying, "This will root if you stick it in the ground."

Do you spend a fair amount of money (plus shipping! and tax! and in this state, tax on the shipping!) for 'Bishop's Castle', because a gorgeous glossy photo has affected your judgement on the virtues of thriftiness? Or do you take the free snippet of 'Mrs. B. R.', and spend 4 years patiently nurturing it until it is big and strong enough to produce those gorgeous flowers?

Which one does the true rosarian choose?

Easy. Both of them.

Clematis Update

On March 7th, I posted an entry about Clematis and how fast they shoot up in the spring. On March 7th, Clematis 'Wisley' was about halfway up its support. Here's today's picture of Clematis 'Wisley'--all the way up. Now the growing tips will either climb up the Dodonaea viscosa purpurea in the background, or cascade down the other side of the tower.



I have a few other what I call "failed" Clematis. These seem, perhaps, to dislike the lack of winter chill here. So they stay quite short, bloom very early, and then sulk until it's once again time to go dormant. But I love the blooms, few though they are, and you never know--the reluctant growers may someday decide they like mild winters after all.

'Ernest Markham', all two lovely feet of you, won't you please decide to like mild winters?


'Nelly Moser', won't you please decide you like mild winters?


Have they failed me, or have I failed them?

The Ides of Mulch Part II

Here's one of the reasons I'm willing to do all the work of top dressing everything with fresh mulch. Compare "before" and "after". You can see the plants better against the uniform color and texture of the mulch. When all those new Aloes and Agaves grow larger, there will be less empty space to mulch. Thank goodness. Grow, babies!

Before Mulch:


After Mulch:


Finished mulching just in time for spring. The very first roses are starting to bloom. Here's 'Windermere' (Austin, 2007) with a delicate beading of dew.

The Rose Will Teach You

Where roses are concerned, "Basals" are a shorthand name for the canes (stems) that come directly from the base of the plant.

On grafted plants, the basal canes come from the bud union, the knobby area where the graft was originally made.

On own-root (non-grafted) plants, the basal canes can sprout from the original stem, in time forming a knobby area that resembles a bud union, or the basal canes can pop out of the ground, forming a thicket that spreads either quickly or slowly, depending on variety.

Some roses are good at producing new basals. Every year there will be a few more fresh new canes, ready and eager to bloom.

Some roses are lousy at producing new basals. They grow a few the first or second year, and that's it: that's all you will ever get out of them, fertilize and water and epsom salt and pamper and mulch and compost-tea though you may.

Why do new basals matter? Because sooner or later, canes get old and unproductive. If they are not continuously replaced by new ones, you end up with few sad old canes that produce a flower or two a year. You put up with this, or you get dig it out and replace it.

Austin roses are the champions of new basals here. Consider the base of this 'Golden Celebration', which four years ago was a single rooted stem the size of a pencil:



And 'Redoute', originally grafted, but with the bud union buried an inch below the soil, now a thicket:



'The Wife Of Bath' is an interesting case. This is one of Austin's first commercial introductions, from 1969. It has a delicate and very charming flower, but it's quirky: the canes have the habit of dying back if pruned, so I only snap off the spent flowers, never cut them off. But the canes get old and tired quickly. Very quickly. Yet it is a willing producer of new basals, reliably a half-dozen or more every year. So I've taken to cutting the plant completely to the ground every January. A new crop of fresh basals appears shortly, ready and eager to bloom. I don't do this with any other rose. I would not recommend doing this to anyone, because it may not do what it does in someone else's garden. I only know exactly what it does in my garden, from years of observation. Roses will teach you how to care for them, if you are willing to observe and learn.



There, now the payoff, the pretty part of the plant:

The Ides of Mulch

It's time! The whole eight yards of mulch has arrived. In a few days the entire garden will by set off by a beautiful rich blanket of mulch. The planet renews the world with Spring, and in celebration, I renew my piece of Eden with mulch. It's the icing on the cake, the olive in the martini, the bow tie for the tuxedo. It's gorgeous.

Not only that, the soil will benefit from the nutrients in the mulch. This year's mulch is next year's fertlizer. And that lovely blanket will keep the soil cooler and moister than it otherwise would be. I, on the other hand, will be a wreck. Ever gotten mulch down your socks? Painful! Mulch under what's left of your fingernails? Hot baths and Advil will be a necessity. I'll ruin yet another pair of garden gloves.

Beware the Ides of Mulch!

Photography As A Tool For Better Garden Design

I read a story about a well-respected landscape photographer, who said he always knew a garden was really well designed if it was easy to photograph. He learned so much through taking photographs of gardens he ended up becoming a well-respected landscape designer as well as a great photographer.

Here's a good example from my own garden which I think illustrates his point. The following picture shows the entry area. It's a small, walled-in section leading to the front door. Unfortunately, what you see when you walk in is the roof of the neighboring house:


This area is full of Austin roses, and it looks fabulous a lot of the time, but I never get a good photograph of it because I can't get the neighbor's roof out of the frame. Not only is there an unimpeded view of that lovely roof, but the original landscape architect (not I!) saw fit to create a frame for it with the big lantern-topped columns in the wall.

And she wondered why I didn't like her work.


Using the magic of Microsoft Paint, I removed the roof. Better? I think so. The untouched photograph puts a roof between you and the distant hills. Without the roof, it gives the area a greater sense of spaciousness.



Of course, I could use Paint or Photoshop to make the photographs look better. But what I want is for the garden to look better. And while I knew something was wrong in this area, it was the many attempts to get a good picture that showed me exactly what was wrong and what I needed to improve. I'm planning a hedge, just tall enough to screen out that roof.

So, go outside and take some pictures, and see what you can see!

Creating A Plant Combination Step-By-Step

After considering one of the dismal spots in my garden, I set to work to see if I could make it look better. I decided to try to "create an exciting plant combination", as professional garden designers are said to do. I speculate most professional garden designers actually spend more time trying not to scream at their annoying clients than they do creating exciting plant combinations, but some of them must get to the fun part once in a while. Being an amateur, (in all senses of the word), I can focus on the fun part.

Gardeners go through stages. First you diligently learn to keep plants alive.

Next you start buying a lot of plants and end up with too many and nowhere to put them all, and since you learned first how to keep them alive, even though you have too many plants, you work hard and keep them all alive.

This buying stage is often affected and prolonged by the various plant fashions that come and go in the green world. Remember all the herbaceous perennials from White Flower Farm? The year you planted 2,000 bulbs? Then all those ornamental grasses that you could never figure out where to plant. Nowadays it's Native Plants, which we've all been scolded into by the Dreaded Native Plant Nazis (you know who you are). This year's fashion won't last. Next year or the year after it will be something else.

But since at some point your garden is full, you start to focus less on shopping and more on trying to make your garden look really amazing, or at least better than your neighbor's garden. You realize that two or three hundred stressed (but alive!) plants in nursery pots stuck everywhere in the yard may be amazing, but not in a good way.

So learning to "create an exciting plant combination" is the next phase of development. I focused on trying this after watching an HGTV show about "home staging", which is when someone wants to sell their house so badly they pay someone to come in and redecorate it. This particular show followed a couple of stagers as they worked on a pretty awkward condo, and what I found inspiring (and rare, for HGTV) was that success wasn't instant. They didn't walk in, make it all perfect in an hour, and walk out again. They tried this and that, discarded and restarted, and finally got it right. Ah! So that's how designers design: they experiment until they get it right. If it works for three chairs and a rug, it must work for plants.

Begin experiment.


I start with what I had, two Carex 'Toffee Twist' and an empty spot. East side of the house, morning sun, afternoon shade. Narrow space. I had three Coprosma 'Tequila Sunrise'. Perhaps the brown tones of the Carex would complement the darker browns in the Coprosma foliage. Better than before, but still not there--I now had a boy-girl-boy-girl type of arrangement. Amateur!


Hmm...the Coprosma has some vivid chartreuse touches in the leaves. What about a 'Lemon Coral' sedum added in? That brightens it up, and the chartreuse of the sedum creates a relationship with the chartreuse of the Coprosma. And it breaks up the underlying carex-coprosma-carex-coprosma pattern.


What next? So far all the foliage is either fine or small...I also had a green Aeonium arborescens of nearly the same color--with bolder ray-shaped foliage--hows that?




Maybe...what about the deep brown version of Aeonium arborescens? There's deep brown in the Coprosma, lighter brown in the Carex, and the deep brown complements the chartreuse sedum. Plus the contrast of the foliage shapes. Interesting?





At least more interesting than two Carex and an empty spot? I wanted to work with what I had on hand, and at least succeeded in that. I'm past the shopping phase, remember?

So, that was my attempt at "design". Successful? Hmmm...well, it's a start.

To summarize, I needed to pay attention first of all to compatibility of needs--remember, I learned first of all to keep plants alive--and happily, all of the plants will be satisfied with morning sun/afternoon shade. A drip system can water the Carex, Sedum, and Coprosma while I hand water the Aeonium as needed. So that's that.

Cultivation needs satisfied, I looked for relationships between plants. A bit of color in one that is echoed in another. Or the shape of the foliage is the same but the colors are different. Or one color complements the other. Add a contrast of some kind if you want some drama--foliage shape is good for that. Or fuzzy texture mixed with glossy. Or plant shape: spikes vs. globes vs. spires. I had the fine textures of the sedum and coprosma and contrasted that with the rayed shape and rosette structure of the Aeonium.

The rest is just practice. And talent of course, but I must make do with practice.

Silver

Artemisa cultivar


Silver. Not bluish, not dusky green. Silver!

Cotyledon species


Calocephalus brownii



Helichrysum 'Silver Icicles'

Mariana sedifolia

Garden Failures

Most gardening magazine articles I read show gorgeous photos and breathtaking beauty--success, success, success. But every garden has its problem areas. Every gardener has her failures (at least I hope I'm not alone).

Here are a few of my particularly annoying failures. That 'Valencia' orange tree, for example, simply won't grow. It's the same size it was 5 years ago. Grrrr!! I have another of the same variety that is large, deep green, and fruitful, bearing oranges which are sweet, juicy, and delicious. Success and failure are only 10' (3 m) apart, get the same sun and water, the same soil. Vexing!

Here's a classic trouble spot, and I'm not even talking about that lawn. Morning sun only, but normally gentle morning sun sun made blazing hot due to reflected light off the pale stucco. Adjacent to the patio, a need for access makes the planting bed too narrow for anything substantial.

I've been struggling with this spot since the original Sasanqua Camellias failed here. That Carex 'Toffee Twist' doesn't work, obviously. I tried a dwarf Hydrangea that found the spot too hot and dry. Plectranthus 'Mona Lavender' died. Fuchsias vanished because the dogs slept on them. I do have three (three!) pots of Coprosma 'Tequila Sunrise'. Maybe? The bright colors and glossy texture of the Coprosma might provide dramatic contrast to the Carex...if I can fit them all in...





Here's another disaster catty-corner from the other disaster.



There were several more extremely unhappy Sasanqua camellias here that declined to the cusp of death. I put them out of their misery. They were poor specimens to begin with, then over watered. I'm too embarassed to comment on that begonia, but I now have some hope for this area: I've put in two miniature sized ('Miss Minipenny') and one medium sized Hydrangea ('Endless Summer') that I hope will be happy in the shady, moist conditions. There's also some dormant clumps of Hakonechloa macra there. We'll see how it looks in a few months. A foreground of bedding begonias would be good, but the dog will just pee on them until they turn into black mush. Take a bow, puppy:




There's also a new rose there on left, 'Easy Does It', which is likely in precisely the wrong spot. I wanted to get it into the ground somewhere, which seemed like a good idea at the time, but it probably wasn't. Another garden failure in the making. One gets fixed, another created. At least I hope one got fixed...I have the feeling I'll be moving that rose and moving the 'Endless Summer' Hydrangea into that spot when the two theoretically "dwarf" 'Miss Minipenny's get going.


And...do I have to explain this?



Nah...