Author: lwcmartin@bellsouth.net

At my childhood home in Sandy Springs, Georgia, we were surrounded by six acres of woods.  The “street” (actually just a seldom traveled road) was far from the house.  So, it came as a bit of a novel idea to plant a garden on public display right on the street in front of our home.

I planted it as a mixed border of perennials and annuals, with the idea that the taller perennials in the back will establish and form a permanent backdrop for the smaller annuals in front – and I’ll only have to replant a long row of annuals every year.  Four years into the project, it’s beginning to work out well.  The soil is good and I get plenty of sun but it has taken all this time to find the right combination of plants.

Always frugal, I began by transplanting things that I already had growing in the back, including Japanese Painted Fern, which has grown, multiplied and spread until it’s almost a weed.  I really wanted a row of daisies but after trying for three years with little success, I finally gave up.  (Who can’t grow daisies in full sun?? Go figure.)I had better luck with a daylily that had languished in the shade for years.  Once it got enough sun, it showed its true colors. 

The combination this year seems to be a happy community of plants.  White echinacea, blue salvia and a long row of small (very happy) petunias make up the bulk of the border.  On one side of the steps, I began planting rosemary along the wall with the hope that it will become an evergreen backdrop.  At the opposite end, lantana delights our many butterfly visitors.

I have been pleased with the results, especially since it seems that every car that passes by our house slows down.  I was convinced that it was to take a good long look at my garden until my husband pointed out that there is also a speed bump right in front of the house.  I chose to ignore that bit of information.

Happy Summer!

Laura

Whenever I mention mimosas to my (grown) children, they immediately think of the delicious breakfast drink with orange juice and champagne.  I like mimosas as much as they do, but usually when I talk about mimosas, I’m talking about the trees.  Mimosas are in their full frilly pink glory right now. I hope that little girls everywhere are picking the blossoms and using them as powder puffs as I did as a child.

We had two mimosa trees at my childhood home, one in front of the house, one just behind it.  At that point, before the onset of the Mimosa vascular wilt, mimosa trees were very tall and healthy and the branches of our particular trees met over the roof of our house. In my girlish romantic thoughts, they were star crossed lovers, separated (by a house) who grew and grew until their branches touched as they soared toward heaven. It was on these trees that I learned to climb and to perch above the world to dream – and to spy on my unsuspecting family below me.

Unfortunately, both trees succumbed to the wilt which reached the South in the early 60s.  They died and we had to cut them down.  This same disease is still rampant today, causing the trees to be scrawny and short lived.  Unfortunately, they reproduce so quickly that mimosas are considered pests and and are on the invasive plant list in most states where they grow.

Actually, mimosas aren’t really mimosas.  The tree which bears this name is the Persian Silk Tree, Albiza julibrissin, and isn’t even in the Mimosa family.  It just looks something like the true mimosa with its feathery leaves.

The tree, by any name, is unquestionably beautiful right now.  When I pointed it out to 10 year old grandson, Rivers, he said, “Isn’t that from China?”  I was amazed and was puffing up with pride about his botanical knowledge when he said, “I saw it in a Chinese karate movie.”  At first I was a little disappointed, but then I thought, Well, at least he was aware enough about trees to recognize it in a movie and identify it later!  I’ll take what I can get.  He’s right, though, Persian Silk Tree is native not only to the area once known as Persia but also to China and other Asian countries.

For those of you who are more familiar with the tree than the drink, here’s a quick, delicious recipe:

Fill a champagne glass half way with dry, sparkling wine or dry Persecco.  Top with freshly squeezed orange juice and go sit under your favorite mimosa tree!  Enjoy them both.

More than 14 species of ferns grow in my backyard.  I don’t know the exact number because ferns are devilishly difficult to identify down to a species level.  Some of them look similar but I’m not positive that they are the same species.

Whatever their name or species, ferns are welcomed and beloved in my garden.  Part of my fern admiration lies in the fact that it’s possible to eat the fiddleheads, the young curled up stage of the frond. I have been wanting to try these for years but before heading out to the back yard with my harvesting knife,  I decided to do a little research. It’s a good thing I did! Imagine my disappointment when I found out that only a few species of ferns produce edible fiddleheads.  I’m sure you can eat many others, I’m just not sure you would want to.

Of the ferns in my garden, only the fiddleheads of the Ostrich Fern are harvested as a spring or early summer taste treat.  I do have a Ostrich Fern that I’ve been coaxing along for a couple of years, but I’m hardly going to harvest the precious new fronds just for a few moments of eating pleasure. If I were lost in the woods with nothing else to eat, I might do it, but with Baskin Robins around the corner, I’ll leave my Ostrich Ferns to grow another year.

Whether I can eat them or not, I love the number and variety of ferns that grow in  and amongst the astilbe, hostas, lenten rose and elephant ears of my garden.   Nestled under hydrangeas and azaleas, these glorious greens bring cool delight to my shady garden.  My favorite garden ferns include:  Holly, Autumn, Japanese Painted, Maidenhair, Hay scented,  New York, Southern Shield,  Ostrich, Royal, Korean, Spleenwort and Christmas.

Happy Summer!

Laura

Years and years ago, when I was a naturalist at Callaway Gardens, I learned to capture spider webs on a piece of paper and I’ve been wanting to try it again ever since.  This past weekend, at the lake with family, I had the perfect opportunity.

Armed with nothing more than a can of black spray paint, a piece of paper and a willing 8 year old, I went down to the dock early Saturday morning to try my luck.  And we were lucky!! Ellie and I found the perfect web, framed by the support beams at the deck.  Being careful not to spray anything except the web, we sprayed black paint all over the web, then put a piece of paper behind it and pulled it toward us.  The results were pretty disappointing.  I had (1) miscalculated how strong the supporting strands were and the web was pulled out of shape (2)  we just didn’t put enough paint on to cover the strands.

Fortunately, there were other webs and our second try was spectacular.  We thoroughly covered the web and as we pulled the paper toward us, I broke the supporting strands so that we were able to keep the shape almost perfectly.

Spider silk is an amazing substance.  Silk produced by the Nephila spider is the strongest natural fiber known and was used to make fishing nets and bags.  It is stronger than steel strands of the same thickness.

Our web was probably made by an orange garden spider, or a banded or weaving spider.  With 30,000 types of spiders in the world, it’s difficult to identify the web maker unless you actually see it.  It was fine with Ellie that we did not “actually see it,” though these spiders are considered pretty small and harmless.

The largest spider in the world is the Goliath bird eating tarantula which, yes, is big enough to eat birds.  It grows to be a foot long with fangs one inch long.  

I pride myself on my own weaving ability and spend weeks and months at my loom creating simple patterns.  I am humbled before these small creatures of nature who can weave a perfect, complicated, beautiful and useful web in a matter of hours.

We left the village, biking on the path that led into the French countryside.  Speaking only a little of the language, we were unsure what we were going to see on this afternoon adventure.  We bumped along the cobblestones through another quaint and ancient village and drifted along beside a bubbling, clear stream and passed by acres of walnut orchards but it wasn’t until we came to the open fields beyond that the most spectacular scenery of the ride came into view.  There, we saw field after field of blood red poppies, so startlingly beautiful that we had to stop and take it in.

I had heard about the poppies in France, of course, because of  John McCrae, a Canadian veteran who immortalized poppies in his poem, “In Flanders Field.”  According to the story, during World War I, the fields in Flanders (actually an old name given to the region that spans the border between southern Belgium and northwestern France) were trampled and lay fallow.  Poppy seeds lay dormant but still viable and when peace was restored, the fields burst into bloom and the red poppy became the symbol of all those who died in the war.   In 1921, England celebrated “Poppy Day” and thousands of paper poppies were made and sold to support families of war veterans.

There is no doubt that poppies can grow in great profusion.  Actual soil counts show that as many as 2,500 poppy seeds can be found in a single square foot.  This bright red European wildflower is called a “corn” or “Shirley” poppy and is not a source of opium.

We were, in part, fascinated with the poppies because this is not a plant that grows wild in North America.  We have several different kinds of poppies, but they are all cultivated as garden plants.  Our only wild poppy is the bright orange California poppy, in the same family but a different genus.

The Oriental Poppies, which is where opium comes from, are some of the most beautiful of the garden poppies.  With blossoms as much as 12 inches across, they can make a stunning display.  These do best in cool climates with low humidity (i.e. not Georgia) and need to be placed in full sun.  Seeds sown in late spring will provide late summer or early fall blooms.

Jack and I just got back from spending two glorious weeks in France where I finally realized what my garden needs.  A crew!!!!  The gardens we saw were spectacular.  We were on the early side for roses (though we saw some amazingly beautiful ones) but saw an abundance of irises, poppies, salvia, pink oxalis and on and on.

The most impressive gardens we saw were green.  The gardens at Chambord Chateau are relatively newly restored but the swirls and shapes created from grass and pebbles are splendid.  (Jack suggested that I turn our back yard into a giant fleur-de-lis.  I politely declined, pointing out that we don’t live in a chateau. Fortunately, he was just kidding.)

My favorite gardens, though were at Marqueyssac in the Dordogne region where 150,000 boxwoods are pruned twice a year by hand. Electric clippers are not used, the guide explained, because they tear the leaves and cause them to turn yellow.  The remainder of the grounds of this small chateau contain 6 km (3.7 miles) of pathways overlooking the Dordogne River.  It is a magical place to spend the day.

Now, back from France, I look at the four (4) boxwood in my front yard and think they look a little lonely.  If only I had a crew……

Actually irises are both goddesses AND bearded ladies.  This beautiful flower was named for Iris,  Goddess of the Rainbow,  whose took messages of love from  heaven down to earth, using the rainbow as a bridge.  The word “iris” actually means “eye of heaven” and is the name given to the goddess, this flower and the center of your own eye, meaning each of us carries a bit of heaven within us.

The iris has been an important symbol to the French since 496 CE.  At that time, Clovis I was fighting an important battle.  Though he thought his army was trapped, surrounded by water on three sides, legend tells us that Clovis looked out and saw yellow flag irises growing and realized that the water was shallow enough for escape.  From this episode, he adopted the iris as his special emblem and eventually it became the basis for the French fleur-de-lis.

The oldest record of iris is from Egypt in 1479 BC when Thutmose III returned home from war and had irises painted on the walls of the temple to commemorate his victories.

Today the single greatest use of iris (other than for its garden beauty) is in the manufacturing of cosmetics.  In Mexico, Iris florentina is grown extensively for this purpose and many tons of the root are shipped to France annually.

There are over 200 different species of iris, many of which are bearded ladies.  Half the petals stand upright, half fall, or point downward and the fuzzy beards appear on these falls.  Bearded irises, some of the most beautiful of all garden plants,  come in every color except true red.  These grow from rhizomes, which should be dug up and divided every three to four years.  Fertilize with organic feed early and spring and cut back the leaves to within 4 – 5 inches of the rhizome in fall.  These bloom best in full sun.

Beardless iris differs from the bearded in that the petals are all more horizontal, rather than vertical.  It is clean shaven (lacking a beard) and has smaller blossoms and leaves that are more narrow.  These are generally easier to grow than the bearded types and will thrive in sun or partial shade.

 On Saturday, May 5, twenty horses at Churchill Downs will “run for the roses.”  Both my parents were from Louisville, Kentucky and Derby Day was a big deal at my childhood home, complete with mint juleps, enthusiastic friends and a lot of noise during the  “most exciting two minutes of sport,” as the Derby has been dubbed.  Although this is the 144th running of the Kentucky Derby, the horses have only technically been “running for the roses” since 1896 when the winner, Ben Brush, was presented with pink and white roses, along with the Derby trophy.

What began as a simple, beautiful gesture has grown into a much more elaborate, though still beautiful, tradition. In 1904, the red rose was declared the official flower for the Derby and, on Saturday, the Governor of Kentucky will blanket the winner with 554 red roses, symbolizing the both the beauty of the horse and the achievement of men and animals.

My own “run for the roses” is not quite as far and admittedly, not nearly as fast.  Blanketing the front garden, my roses, a mixture of light and dark pinks, white and pale yellows, are coming into their glory.  Winners, every one, they vary from the persnickity ‘Iceberg” white rose to the old work horse, “Knockouts.”

Although I love roses of all kinds, I am partial to those that I can just “let out to pasture” and allow them to take care of themselves.  Billed as low maintenance, these hardy, prolific shrubs live up to their names.  I give them an extra feed every spring, just to boost their energy a little, but they are in the race for the duration and will bloom from mid April until frost.

Although the vast majority of Knockouts are dark pink, you can also now get them in a lovely pale yellow color, adding a little variety to the field. Given the right conditions, they will grow abundantly and may jockey for position, trying to crowd each other out.

The result is a mass of color, exuberant energy and a real crowd pleaser.  I would love to think that MY run for the roses will last another 143 years.

Happy Gardening, Laura

I love and appreciate the stunning beauty of the evergreen azaleas as they transform our southern spring from bare branches to fairyland. But I have to admit that I love our more subtle and graceful native azaleas even more. They don’t provide the dark evergreen background of leaves that the Asian cultivars do, nor do they offer the same mass of blooms but there is something completely charming about the natives that make them welcome in many southern gardens.

All of our native azaleas are deciduous and many offer brilliant fall foliage in addition to beautiful blooms. One of the best things about growing these natives is that they offer a broad range of blooming times,  from the Pinxter Azalea in March to the Plumleaf in late August and September.

Many native azaleas have been bred to produce cultivars that have enhanced color, size of bloom or resistance to heat and disease.

Wait, What!!!??? Can we still call it “native” if somebody’s been messing with it to make it a named cultivar? Well, the answer to that question is a matter of opinion.  There are purists who only consider natives to be plants that reproduce without any interference from people.  Other gardeners think that a named cultivar is still a native plant – and a great thing!

A cultivar is not a hybrid.  A hybrid is the result of some human combining two separate breeds, species or classes to make something completely different.  (There are naturally occurring hybrids but the vast majority are the result of the actions of plant breeders and scientists.)

To understand the difference between a cultivar and a hybrid, think of the difference between “editing” the photos on your phone to enhance the color or size (creating a cultivar) vs. using photoshop to take part of one photo and blending it into another to make a completely different picture (making a hybrid.)

Most of the native azaleas that I grow are cultivars.  I would like to be more of a purist, but frankly, these plants are stunningly beautiful – and readily available – so I happily include them in my native garden.

Undoubtedly, there are gardens close to you that grow native azaleas but I think the very best place to see these beautiful shrubs is out in the forest where there is absolutely no question about their lineage.  They are wild and free and beautiful. What could be better?

Happy Gardening!

Laura