Iris x hollandica

Since there's at least one iris fan out there, I thought I'd write about another type of iris that I used to grow, but currently don't: Dutch iris.

According to the packing list from Scheepers, in New York we had two varieties of Dutch iris: Blue Magic and Silvery Beauty. I am quite confident that we actually received Blue Magic, since the flowers looked like the photos in the catalog and it acted like a Dutch iris—that is to say, it produced tall, narrow, gangly leaves that flopped about until they finally dried up. (This is why I no longer grow Dutch iris—the flowers are lovely, but I really don't like the foliage, especially compared to the attractive, well-behaved Siberian iris. But I suppose I can't blame it too much for acting like a bulb instead of a rhizome, since that's what it is.)

However, I am not convinced that we actually received Silvery Beauty. The color was much more lavender-pink than the pale blue I had expected, the standards (the upright parts of the flower) were short and full rather than tall and narrow, and the falls (the parts of the flower that hang down) did not have bright yellow splotches but rather the diffused shading that's more common in a bearded iris. In addition, the leaves were wider and held themselves up better than most Dutch iris. In short, I ended up liking it better than my other Dutch iris, which prompted me to look for other types of iris that had similar qualities—hence the happy experiment with the Siberian iris described previously.

I believe that all Dutch iris are hybrids, and it's entirely possible that while Scheepers thought they were sending me Silvery Beauty, they actually sent a quirk of nature, some odd byproduct of a pollination error. It was not what I expected, yet it was a pleasant surprise. Would that all mistakes turned out as nicely!

We have liftoff!

The cabbage and cauliflower seed packets said germination would take 10–21 days, but I got germination after only 5! Woo-hoo!

It's a little hard to tell in this picture, but the edges of the cabbage leaves have a slight purple tinge to them. (For those keen to expand their knowledge of botany, those little green growths are not "true" leaves—they're actually cotyledons, which are part of the embryo within the seed. The next set of leaves to grow will be the "true" leaves.)

Y'know, I've been starting seeds for years, and it still boggles my mind that those little tiny granules turn into seedlings!

Now comes the painful part...in another day or so, I'll thin them to one seedling per cell. It's hard to tell at this stage which will be the strongest plant, but you look at how well rooted it is (no root should be showing on the surface), how well formed the cotyledons are, and take your best guess. I tend to favor the seedlings that aren't too "leggy" (tall and spindly), as well as ones toward the center of the cell, as they'll develop more even root balls. At least that's my theory.

Iris sibirica

In addition to iris reticulata, we have two other types of iris in our gardens: bearded iris (which I'll write about later if they ever bloom!) and Siberian iris. I had not previously grown Siberian iris, and I'm extremely pleased with it.

We have two clumps on either side of the pondless waterfall. We originally intended to get six pots of Iris sibirica 'Chilled Wine', but only three were available from Greenfield at the time, so we planted those on one side of the waterfall.

On the other side, we planted two pots of Iris sibirica 'Contrast in Styles'...

...and one pot of Iris sibirica 'Memphis Memory'. (I would have preferred three of a single variety, but sometimes you have to take what you can find.)

They bloom in mid/late May for about two weeks, and even after the flowers have gone, the narrow leaves are quite attractive, and remain full, green, and upright until cold weather really sets in.

Iris reticulata 'Gordon'

Another uncommon (and, as far as I can tell, bunny-proof) spring bulb is iris reticulata. The flower itself is almost the size of a Dutch iris blossom, but the whole plant is only about four to six inches high.

This is the earliest of the spring-blooming bulbs that I've tried so far. It started flowering on March 15 and lasted for about two weeks.

I planted Iris reticulata 'Gordon', which I got from Scheepers, but if I had it to do over again, I might have gotten a lighter color—a white or pale yellow, perhaps, to better stand out against the dark soil and mulch, especially since I planted these at a distance from the house rather than by a walkway or the patio. Which isn't to say I couldn't get more of a different kind and plant them closer.

One somewhat unusual aspect of this plant is that after the flowers fade, the foliage more than doubles in height. As with any bulb, I choose to let it run its course uncut and untied, since it's the foliage that nurtures the bulbs for next year's show.

Ipheion uniflorum 'Rolf Fiedler'

Another dainty spring bulb that is generally left alone by wandering wildlife is ipheion, also known as spring starflower. Like allium, it's a member of the onion family, and one of the prettier members at that. Although we don't grow it at our current home, we grew Ipheion uniflorum 'Rolf Fiedler' at a previous home here in Ohio as well as in New York.

Scheepers carries only blue and white varieties, although Dave's Garden lists a pink one in its plant database as well.

In spite of the numerous flowers in this picture, I have found that ipheion tend to bloom a little sparsely. Or perhaps they just don't bloom all at once, giving the impression of more foliage than flowers at any one time. And the foliage remains long after the April flowers have stopped. But they're a nice splash of spring color, so who can complain too much?

Of Cabbages and Kings (and Cauliflower)

Since I was starting the columbine this weekend, I decided to start the cabbage and cauliflower as well.

I have to admit that it wasn't quite as easy to get my seed-starting supplies as I had thought. I have plenty of trays, but in washing my old cells I discovered that quite a few of them were broken, so I decided to pick up another set. And I also needed some seed-starting mix.

I stopped by Lowe's last weekend and was told that they wouldn't be getting their seed-starting supplies in until February. (The clerk apparently missed the stacks of Burpee trays that another customer pointed out to me, but they did not seem to lend themselves to being cut up into smaller cell groups, so I didn't get any.)

Then on Thursday I stopped at a local nursery (Natorp's, where I've gotten plants before), and they had Jiffy trays that I could subdivide, but not an organic seed-starting mix. This time I broke down and bought their Schultz mix, which includes some chemical fertilizers. I probably should have ordered an organic mix from Gardens Alive or Gardener's Supply, but I really wanted to get started this weekend. So I compromised my principles for expedience.

I've never grown cabbage before, but my husband loves my slaw, and I thought it would be nice to see how it tastes with home-grown cabbage. I'm trying 'Earliana' from Burpee, since a quick spring crop ensures that I can get my summer crop in eary enough.

I don't recall ever having grown cauliflower before, although when I was cleaning up our gardening tables I found some old cauliflower seeds. Had I tried to grow them but not gotten any germination? This year I'm trying Burpee's 'Early White Hybrid,' so we'll see how it goes.

When I plant seeds, I fill the cells with seed-starting mix, water them a little from the top to just moisten them, and then add about a quarter to a half inch of water to the bottom of the tray. For most seeds, I make a slight impression in each cell with my finger, add 2-3 seeds per cell, lightly sprinke more seed-starting mix over the seeds, and then spritz them with water from a spray bottle. (Larger seeds might have to be planted a little more deeply, and seeds that require light for germination don't get covered with any additional mix.)

We grow so many different kinds of seeds that they absolutely have to be labeled, and since I start my seeds under a cover, the label has to be short enough to fit under the cover. My solution has been to create little flags—I write the name on a piece of masking tape, and then fold the masking tape around a toothpick, which I then stick into the cell. Amazingly, the toothpicks generally hold up until planting time.

The seeds benefit greatly from being under a grow light. Several years ago, for Valentine's Day, my husband and I indulged in a three-tier plant light from Gardener's Supply, one of the very best gardening investments we ever made. The lights (which we put on a timer) hang on chains and can be easily raised or lowered to accommodate both watering and plant growth. Initially, we keep the lights almost on top of the seed tray covers, and then as the seedlings grow, we keep them within an inch of the plants. Full-light spectrum bulbs are best, although I have from time to time used regular fluorescents.

And now the fun begins! How long before something sprouts?

Chionodoxa 'Gigantea'

I enjoy spring-blooming bulbs, but was always frustrated that the rabbits liked my crocuses as much as I did. So I found several alternatives that enabled me to enjoy their flowers until they faded of their own accord rather than being cut down in the prime of their little lives by hungry critters.

One is chionodoxa, also known as Glory of the Snow. I grow Chionodoxa 'Gigantea', which has a lavender-blue flower, although bright blue, pink, and white varieties are also available.

They are not spectacularly pretty in and of themselves, but when planted en masse, they do provide a nice splash of color. When we lived in New York, I planted a hundred or two in a narrow strip of soil between the sidewalk and our picket fence, and I really liked the effect. (Each tiny bulb yields several flowers, so a little goes a long way!)

They're among the earliest flowers to bloom (hence the name, I suppose). Here in Ohio, mine start blooming at the beginning of April and last for about three weeks.

I have them planted along the sidewalk leading to the front door, where they complement the daffodils.

Lilium

It was a while before I could keep straight which lilies were Asiatic, and which were Oriental, but I've got it now—Asiatic lilies are the short ones (about 12-18 inches high), often brightly colored, with dense whorls of leaves along their stems. Oriental lilies are taller (about four feet high), more often in pastel shades, with more sparsely spaced leaves. I don't recall if my Asiatic lilies have had multiple blooms per stem, but Oriental lilies definitely do.

There were three clumps of Asiatic lilies already here when we moved into the house: two in the front beds and one in the back bed. They're bright orange, which is not my favorite color, but I have to admit that the orange Asiatic lilies rising up behind the purple Geranium 'Rozanne' is a strikingly good combination. (I apologize for not having a picture of the two of them together; I will add one later this year.) The blooms lasted from mid-June to early July.

When we lived in New York, we planted a couple different kinds of Oriental lilies, although I don't remember exactly what they were (except that they were lovely, and if I recall correctly, very fragrant!).

At our home here in Ohio, some Oriental lilies had been planted between a low yew hedge and the front of the house, which provides a bit of a windbreak, although they would still benefit from staking. These started blooming in mid-July, after the Asiatic lilies were done, and provided a nice show for about two weeks.

Starting Seeds

Over the years, I've tried a wide variety of seed-starting techniques. First, I'd like to share what I don't like:

• Peat pellets. These are the little mesh-covered, compressed peat disks that, when you add water, expand into little cylinders. I'm not crazy about these for several reasons. For one, I'm not convinced that plain peat is the best growing medium for seeds; I would think that the pH would be too acid.
  
  Second, although the plant's roots should be able to penetrate the mesh wrapper, I can't help thinking that it's still restrictive, like binding a woman's feet. At the end of a season, when I've pulled up annuals or veggies that I started in peat pellets, the little cylinder was still there, largely intact. It just doesn't seem natural.



• Peat pots. Unlike peat pellets, peat pots do let you use your own favorite growing medium. In theory, the advantage to these is that you can just pop the pot into the ground, thereby reducing transplant shock. However, I'm not convinced that peat pots dissolve that well, and again the roots are restricted. One workaround is to tear off the bottom of the pot before you plant it. I've even torn off the whole pot, which makes a mess that has to be thrown away. (I have not found them reusable.)
  
  In addition, all the peat pots I've ever tried have been fairly large—more the size I would use for potting up tomatoes or peppers than for staring annuals or perennials. I've seen that peat cell strips are now available, which would be a more reasonable size, but I've never tried those.
  
  And of course, whether you plant the pots or simply dismember them, you end up having to buy both the pots and the seed-starting medium every year, which seems wasteful.



• Park-Starts. Forgive me, Park Seed, but I really don't like these. Park-Starts are polystyrene blocks with pre-drilled holes into which you put narrow peat cylinders. This approach has all the disadvantages of peat pellets, with the added inconvenience that you have to get the specially sized cylinder refills by mail. (If Park is retailing these, I've never seen it.) My husband Alan liked them, but I thought the results he got were not nearly as good as the results I got with my method, and we no longer use them.

So what method do I like?

I'm partial to the standard plastic trays of cells that you can pick up at any garden center or even hardware store. Some are pre-perforated so that the cells can be divided into six-packs or nine-packs. If they're not pre-perforated, I cut them up myself, as this makes it easy to move the seedlings around. For example, when some seeds have sprouted and others haven't, I like to be able to move the sprouted seeds out to a separate tray, and leave the unsprouted ones under the cover. Plus, I think anything larger than a nine-pack would be hard to handle when it came time to transplant the seedlings.

With cells, I can use whatever medium I want—I'm partial to Hoffman Seed-Starting Mix, but there are several good ones out there. And I like the fact that I can reuse them year after year (although I will admit it is a hassle to wash them out with a little bleach in water to minimize the risk of mold and algae and whatnot, which I sometimes get anyway).

I also keep several larger pots on hand for potting up veggies.

In deference to fair and balanced blogging, I'll also mention another technique that Alan uses—they're essentially plastic cells, but they're about five inches long. They provide lots of room for root growth, which is their virtue, but they all have to stay together in the tray, and they don't really lend themselves to bottom-watering, which is how I prefer to keep my babies moist. Our cells used to be hinged at the bottom, but over the years they have fallen apart. Of course, when they're all in their tray, it really doesn't matter. (I have no idea where we got them, so if we ever lose one and can't fill the tray, we're in trouble!)

Aquilegia

The first time I ever saw columbine, I thought it was one of the most beautiful, exotic flowers I had ever seen, and my opinion hasn't changed. Even the foliage is bright, lovely, and delicate.

This week I plan to start some Aquilegia hybrida 'McKana Giants Mixed' seeds that I got from Thompson and Morgan. (In the photo of the seeds below, that's a toothpick for perspective.)

Columbine can be challenging to start from seed. It can take 1-3 months to germinate, and it benefits from a few weeks in the refrigerator. My own success rate has been hit-and-miss, but when it works, the results are very worthwhile.

The last time that I started columbine was when we lived in New York, from some seeds that my sister-in-law sent to me. She didn't mention the variety—I used to think it might be 'Pink Bonnets', but I'm not sure. In any case, I got some to germinate, and within a year or two they had formed a very nice clump that produced abundant blooms every May.

It was also a prolific self-seeder, and before long I was transplanting its babies all over the yard.

When we moved to Ohio, my husband brought a small plant with him. At our new home, there was an clump of columbine under the Magnolia 'Sweet Bay', and I figured that was a good environment for the transplant, so I put it nearby. (I don't know the name of the existing columbine, but I believe it's 'Danish Dwarf'.)

Unfortunately, my original columbine wasn't happy there, so last year I transplanted it to the berm. It seems to be hanging on, but it's not flourishing the way its mother did. It remains small and flowerless, so we'll see what happens this spring.

In the meantime, I wanted to try starting some more. I particularly appreciate columbine that are upward-facing rather than nodding, and from the catalog photos it looks like 'McKana Giants Mixed' will offer that feature.

Burpee, Revisited

I'm starting to remember more now about why I strayed away from Burpee years ago. I mentioned earlier that I got a good deal from them on composite wood raised bed frames, which is true. But as I was cleaning out the seed-starting area in the basement the other day, I recalled that one of the frame pieces had been damaged, and I had requested a replacement. In reponse, they sent me a tabletop greenhouse. (It was seeing the greenhouse that triggered the memory.) Confused, I had called customer service, and they then correctly sent me more composite wood. So a happy ending, but a circuitous way of getting there.

Then today, as I was going through the seeds I received from Burpee and comparing them to my order confirmation, I noticed that I was supposed to receive a free sample of Espoma Plant-Tone, and didn't. Now, I'm not entirely sure what that is, and it's a freebie, so it's not a big deal that they omitted it, but it just goes back to competent customer service. Someone is not paying attention.

And then I replayed in my mind the conversation that I had with the customer service representative on the phone when I couldn't create an online account, and how she told me they get feedback like that all the time, and nothing is ever resolved.

So the long and short of it is that I'm really, really hoping these are great seeds. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice...

Daphne 'Beulah'

I can't say what possessed us to buy our first Daphne 'Beulah'. We were living on Long Island at the time, and working with a marvelous landscape designer who advised us that although daphnes are very nice, he couldn't recommend them because they're too tempermental—they'll grow well for a few years, and then suddenly up and die. But there they were at Roslyn Nursery, and on a whim we picked one up. We put it in the small border adjacent to our pool—not the best environment, what with heavily chlorinated water splashing on it all the time—and yet it thrived.

Daphne 'Beulah' is a compact, rounded shrub with fine oval evergreen leaves edged in ivory. It would be very attractive even if it never bloomed, but oh, those flowers! The small white bouquets start appearing in early spring and don't stop until late fall. And the fragrance! Intoxicating!

We later bought two more, and when we moved from New York back to Ohio, the people who bought our house said that they planned to expand it into the gardens, so my husband dug up the smallest daphne and brought it with him. He arrived here in November, and we just stuck the daphne in a little spot next to the patio, hoping it would survive the long trip, horrible clay soil, and impending winter.

And it thrived. It has grown from a small cluster of twigs into a gorgeous shrub. If it lives up to its reputation and suddenly dies one year, it will break our hearts. But until then, we can admire its beauty and get lost in its scent.

Scheepers Kitchen Garden Seeds

I've bought hundreds of bulbs from John Scheepers over the years, but never anything from John Scheepers Kitchen Garden Seeds. Still, I love the catalog. I'm not a salad person, but even I can appreciate their selection of greens, especially the esoteric ones that I've never heard of. Mâche? Orach? Minutina? Claytonia? No clue, but they sound adventurous. And as always, I enjoy learning new things, like the fact that sweet potatoes and yams are not actually the same thing. Who knew?

I also admire them for taking the road less traveled by when it comes to their graphics. I really enjoy the colorful photography in most catalogs, but Kitchen Garden Seeds has simple illustrations, many monochromatic, and why not? How different does one beet really look from another? I appreciate the artistry, and the whimsical dragonfly or lady bug here and there. Today was an overcast, rainy day, and it was ever so pleasant to just curl up with this catalog, flip through its pages, and imagine the coming spring.

Allium

I think that when the animation genius Chuck Jones created instant martians, he was thinking of allium—there's no other explanation for the stem and ball at the top of the martians' heads.

Actually, allium can be rather lovely. I was inspired to grow them by the display that I saw at Barnsley House when I visited several English gardens in 1999.

Scheepers offers a very nice assortment of allium bulbs. The first ones I tried were Allium 'cowanii', a compact white variety that I really liked, especially when planted close together in a clump, although they didn't come back nearly as well the second year. We also tried Allium 'bulgaricum', which has a delicate cluster of florets like a white, purple, and green lily of the valley; the only problem was that they're held on the stem in a weeping fashion, so to see them properly you practically have to get on the ground underneath them and look up—not exactly an easy way to view a specimen. On a lark, we also tried Allium 'schubertii', which looks like a rose-purple firework in mid-explosion; the novelty wore off quickly.

In our current garden, we have three varieties of allium. In the sunny border, we have Allium 'aflatunense', of instant martian fame.

In the berm, on either side of the pondless waterfall, we have a mix of Allium 'atropurpureum' (the maroon ones) and Allium 'multibulbosum' (the white ones). We got this mix because they looked so good together in the Scheepers catalog, although in my own experience, the bloom times are not quite that well coordinated. The multibulbosum blooms first, and for a scant 10 days, so there's precious little overlap with the atropurpureum, which start several days later. Although in fairness, there's probably too much shade for them in the berm; the allium in the sunny border bloomed for almost four weeks, so perhaps these varieties would bloom longer in a better location.

Allium are in the onion family (or, for botanical purists, the onion genus), so they're rarely bothered by rodents or other critters. But that also means that their foliage is not something to write home about (or write a blog about). They work best when they're interplanted with other things that provide cover for their leaves without blocking the dramatic stems and blooms. I tried to do this with my own plantings, although the jury is out on how well I accomplished this. I planted the Allium 'aflatunense' behind some Coreopsis 'Zagreb' and interspersed with daylilies, which should have worked in theory, although the daylilies were not well established enough last year to really provide the coverage I was looking for, so we'll see how they look this year. I also should have planted them more densely, which is a problem I can fix in the fall!

The allium by the waterfall were planted behind some Siberian iris, and this didn't work out well for a number of reasons: the foliage of these particular varieties is really large and not well hidden by the iris, and the bloom times of the allium and iris overlapped more than I thought they would, and they don't really complement each other. The problem with bulbs is that they can be hard to lift if you don't like where they're located, but I'm going to look at this situation again in the spring and see if I want to move them elsewhere.

Angelonia 'Serena'

The first time I noticed angelonia was at Longwood Gardens in Pennsylvania (which is the nicest public garden I've visited so far in North America—the nicest worldwide being Sissinghurst). Angelonia is a compact annual, about a foot high, and I've seen it in white, pink, lavender, and purple.

I grew it from seed that I got from Park Seed in both 2007 and 2008, and although it was easy enough to start, it seems to grow very slowly, especially when the weather is cool. In 2008 we had a long, chilly spring, and although I transplanted my seedlings to the garden in mid-May, they didn't start blooming until mid/late-July. But in addition to being just gorgeous and long-blooming (I got three months from it), angelonia has another fine quality for my part of the country: it is extremely heat- and drought-tolerant. Once it gets going, it never wilts or droops. So I think I'm going to grow it again, but might get plants from a nursery that have spent some time in a greenhouse getting well established so that I can enjoy the flowers all the longer.

Achillea

Having previously written that I appreciate a well-organized gardening catalog, I have to apologize in advance for the fact that this blog will not be that well-organized. It is, by nature, chronological, and while I'll certainly write about starting seeds when I actually start some seeds, or about a particular flower when it starts blooming, there's a lot of time in between events in a garden (if nothinig else, gardening teaches you patience), and so I'm apt to write about whatever strikes my fancy at any given time.

I also wrote that I prefer the Latin names of plants to the common ones, and while I will try to entitle these entries with the Latin names, I reserve the right to call them by their common names when it seems appropriate to do so. For example, today I wanted to write about achillea, which is more commonly known as yarrow, and I prefer calling it yarrow. This is not a plant whose beauty will take your breath away; its bloom is not dazzling like an Oriental lily. Unlike a rose, it is not a plant that people write poems about. So to call it achillea seems a little pretentious, like Don Quixote calling Aldonza Dulcinea.

Meanwhile, back to yarrow. In our yard, we have two varieties. (I suppose I should say "cultivars," but that also seems pretentious.) One was there in the back bed when we bought the house, and therefore I can't be certain which kind it is. If I were to guess, I would guess 'Moonshine'. If memory serves me, its bright yellow, flat flower heads appear from late May to late June/early July, and it has just one flush of flowers, even if you cut the dead ones back. You can't quite tell from this photo, but it has silvery leaves. It's not a plant that I would go out of my way to buy, but it's not something that I feel the urge to yank out, either.

I am much fonder of the Achillea 'Paprika' that Seiler's recommended for the sunny border. As shown below, this yarrow has feathery leaves that remain evergreen even in January. (Yes, yes, I should have cut back the dead flower heads last fall.)

The foliage looks particularly attractive as it fills out in the spring, and the flowers start out red and then fade to apricot, so that as new blooms open and older ones age together, you get a nice mixed effect.

As the flowers age, they do get brown and scraggly looking, and definitely benefit from being cut back hard. However, nice new green growth comes back, and the plant reblooms in September/October. It's a mid-sized plant, and I think it benefits from having something tall and late summer-blooming behind it. In 2007, I used tithonia (Mexican sunflower) to good effect.

Euphorbia 'Kalipso'

Earlier I had written about Sedum 'Hot Stuff', but neglected to mention the plant that they replaced: Euphorbia 'Kalipso'.

When we were putting in the sunny border, we got nine of these (the small globes shown in the foreground below).

Ostensibly, they have yellow flowers in the spring, but I'm afraid we never got to see them. We planted the beds after their blooming season was over. I really liked their succulent-like foliage and neat, rounded form, but Alan wasn't sold on them until fall, when the tips of the branches turned a lovely rust color, offering some autumn interest.

They stayed evergreen until February, when all nine suddenly died. In the spring, we looked for new growth at the base of the plants, but found none. That's when we gave them up for lost, pulled them, and put in the sedum -- somewhat similar in its foliage and fall color, but as I noted earlier, more delicious to the critters that pass through our yard. Not sure what we'll do if the sedum don't work out.