The Iris and the Rhododendron

Day 257
The Daily DuBrule

It's mighty cold outside for the week after St. Patrick's day. The plants were rejoicing earlier last week with the warm, mild weather. They bravely appeared the minute the snowbanks above them melted. Snowdrops, snow crocus, Hellebores all opening their faces to the warm sunshine, celebrating the season of rebirth. Alas, winter weather returned. Snowflakes flying, frigid temperatures, bone chilling cold making it very uncomfortable to continue the pruning chores I had so hope to accomplish over the weekend.

As I look out my window I see my Iris histrioides 'George' flowers facing down the upcoming snow and ice storm with fortitude. They are so small and precious. I have been studying their progress all week from emerging buds to a fully open patch of purple beauty. Right next to them is an ancient 'Nova Zembla' rhododendron. The leaves on this plant give me an instant read on the temperature outside. I don't need to see a thermometer to know that I need to layer up today. The rhododendron leaves are curled up tight.

The contrast of my brave little irises and the curled rhododendron leaves remind me once again of the fact that March is the cruelest month in my opinion. You are teased by spring-like days and you feel that fever rising. The return of snow and ice is so much harder to take when spring is so close.  

I need to learn some new coping skills to deal with this phenomenon. It is an all too familiar feeling. Scented candles, soothing music, a fire in the fireplace, and looking at hundreds of digital photos of flowers on my computer as I prepare for various talks I have to give all help. I focus on one of my favorite quotes, shared with so many friends for so many different reasons: "Faith is the bird that sings when the dawn is still dark."

Getting a Jump on Spring Pruning

Clematis 'Arctic Queen' and 'Niobe'  

Photo courtesy of Diane St. John

Day 256
The Daily DuBrule

I have to admit, this has not been my favorite winter of all times. I am slowly working my way out of a funk, most likely brought on by my impending milestone 60th birthday. Friends in their mid-sixties, seventies, and beyond laugh at my angst. I know, it's a bit ridiculous, but there it is, sitting there, laughing at me.

Anyway, I don't like winter, and I especially don't like March. I get all excited when the snow melts and the snowdrops bloom and the witch hazel flowers and I believe spring is around the corner. Then good old Mother Nature dumps 14" of snow on my yard and I just want to crawl under the covers and hide until April.

Yesterday and today I pulled myself up by my big girl bootstraps and decided to get started on cleaning up my yard. Needless to say, it is a mess. Broken branches everywhere. Blueberries snapped off. Low hanging Norway spruce branches still pinned down to the ground by wet snow. One 'Midwinter Fire' twiggy dogwood completely encased in snow, like a snow mummy, just emerging today with half the plant springing back into the light. 

I decided to tackle my climbing roses and clematis arbor first as it is right by the garage and the snow had melted in that bed. I dragged out the ladder, set it up, climbed on, and the ladder sunk 6" in mud. I wiggled around a bit until it was properly balanced in the mud evenly (a new skill I just learned, by the way) and proceeded to prune away. The roses were easy. I cut off tons of dead wood, thinned the branches, tied them to the trellis, and voila I had made order from chaos. The clematis was also a snap- I cut it to the ground.

What? To the ground you ask? How did you have the courage to do such a thing? You must know the name of it, you must have looked it up on a clematis pruning chart... Nope. When I moved into this house I met this clematis for the first time. No label to be seen. I watched it for an entire growing season. Purple flowers appeared in July and continued coming until the fall. Aha. This clematis blooms on new wood. The following spring, I cut the entire rat's nest of vines out of the two climbing roses and pruned it to the ground. Every year since then it has climbed the arbor, entwined with the roses, and been happy as can be with it's annual new lease on life.

If you have a clematis that you don't know what to do with, you can figure it out too. By observing it for a year, you can track when it blooms. If the flowers come out in May and June and then there are no more flowers, it blooms on last year's wood. The time to prune it is right after blooming, in late June and early July, and then leave it alone for the rest of the growing season. If it doesn't flower at all in the spring but starts to flower in July and continues for the summer and into the fall, it blooms on current year's wood. You then have my permission to cut it to the ground every spring and enjoy a fresh, new plant each year. If your clematis blooms in May and June, takes a rest from flowering, and blooms again late summer or fall, it blooms on both last year's and this year's wood. You have a couple of options. If you are like many people who don't understand clematis and have consequently left your vine alone for years in fear of damaging it, you have a giant tangled mess on your hands. In that case, cut it down in the early spring, sacrifice the early bloom season, and get control back of the plant. You will still enjoy the late season flowers. If it looks pretty good and you don't feel like it will tear down the trellis anytime soon, do a light pruning in the spring and a second light pruning in late June or early July after the first heavy bloom period finishes. 

Poking around outside these last few days was good for my spirit. It soothed my soil to get muddy and use my muscles again. When studying the plants up close, I can see they are getting ready for spring just as I am. Buds are swelling and I find myself being extra careful not to step on the bulbs that are poking their noses up everywhere. There's hope!

The Harvest is In!

Day 255
The Daily DuBrule

I have been glued to my computer screen for the past few days. I have two gardening classes to teach tomorrow and I have been creating my Powerpoint presentations all week. This means that I pour through all of the digital photographs that I have taken in the past year and attempt to update my slide shows. It is really easy to get lost in this process as the pictures bring back so many wonderful garden memories and inspire dreaming about the growing season that is just around the corner. 

I finally took a break, pulled on my knee-high rubber boots, and ventured out into the yard with my pruners and loppers in hand. It was time to harvest some pussywillows for the CT Flower Show next week. I could see from the kitchen window that they were starting to open. 

Imagine my surprise to find my purple witch hazel (Hammamelis vernalis 'Purpurea'). in FULL BLOOM. How did that happen in a week so filled with snow and winter chaos? I spent nearly fifteen minutes carefully picking off the dried brown leaves that clung to the plant. Why does this happen some years and not others? Does anyone know? Anyway, I really didn't mind as it gave me a chance to be outside in the sunshine on this surprisingly mild day. I cut many branches of this native tree. With every cut I considered how this plant had completely split apart in the October snowstorm of 2011. My cuts were guided towards creating a stronger woody structure with wide angled crotches.

Next I turned to the Cornus sanguinea 'Midwinter Fire'. What a display this has been putting on for me all winter long. It is perfectly located to catch the rays of the setting sun. I cut an armload of the most colorful branches and made a note to continue to do so all month and into late March. Cutting these colored twiggy dogwoods encourages lots of young new growth that has the brightest color. If it is allowed to get to woody, the color fades.

I hadn't yet made it over to the pussywillows. I slowly trudged to the border, sinking above my boots in the very wet snow. The black pussywillows (Salix melanostachys) were starting to crack. The fasciated pussywillows were already opening. I cut off lots and lots of long, architectural branches. 

As I headed back to the deck and the only outdoor spot free of snow where I could arrange my bounty, I passed my 'Arnold's Promise' witch hazel. I could see the color in the cracking buds. I cut a bunch of branches, again with an eye on building a strong framework for this tree that also split wide open a couple of years ago. (I successfully bolted it back together.)

One more item to harvest-winter jasmine (Jasmine nudiflorum). I have been cutting this all winter and the yellow flowers unfold within a day in the house. It's on the south side and I figured the snow would be lower, but no. More snow in my boots, but it was totally worth it to see the flowers showing color on this February afternoon.

My husband was surprised to come to the back door and find me sitting in the sun, surrounded by vases filled with branches I had just cut. "The harvest is in" I told him, holding up a bouquet of purple witch hazel. He shook his head in wonder. Who knew so much bounty could exist in the winter landscape? You just have to be determined enough to wade through the deep snow to get to it. 

Embracing Winter

Lonicera fragrantissima buds were swelling a few weeks ago during a warm spell. I brought them into the house and they perfumed my office for a few days.

Heptacodium bark is amazing in the winter.

Day 255
The Daily DuBrule

I am not a fan of winter. The older I get, the colder I get. I miss my flowers desperately. They feed my soul. I look outside at the barren landscape and I think to myself "I should find this beautiful". Instead, I find myself wishing for color, lushness, greenery. 

I wish I could say that I vacation in warm places every winter but, so far, I haven't done that. For many years I took care of my elderly parents and only went away on business trips, all the while worrying that something would happen to them while I was gone. Contrary to what most people imagine, when you own a garden center and landscaping business, winter is a really busy time. You have to buy all of your products for the following year, organize your employees, take inventory, and design and estimate new landscape jobs for the coming spring. In the early days of my business, I was so poor that I did everything myself and began the spring completely exhausted. 

Now, in year thirty, I have excellent help. My parents are gone. And this is the first winter ever that I actually have had time to rest, relax, and think straight. It is an amazing gift, to be time rich. So back to embracing winter. I spend a lot of time in my home office which is a sunroom. I have a great view of the outdoors, with birdfeeders next to the window and a lovely sunset that includes a long view of blue hills framed by 'Midwinter Fire' orange twiggy dogwoods. Why aren't I content? I am wishing for something else. I am not soaking up what is in front of me now- the white snow, the serenity, the calm emptiness of this season. 

Last night it hit me. I woke up in the middle of the night and ventured downstairs to get a drink of water. I looked out at the deck to see that a dusting of snow had fallen. Wait a minute, the deck was covered with sparkling diamonds. I knew it was supposed to snow last night. Why was it sparkling? I looked up at the sky to see the bright moon shining on the newly fallen dusting of snow. I looked out at my yard and the entire yard was sparkling. It was then that I truly appreciated the gifts of this season. 

It took a mere three days for my witch hazel to fully open. The first time I stuck my nose in the flowers and smelled that familiar spicy scent I was in heaven. Can the flower show be far behind?

I awoke this morning and sat at my computer and watched the hungry birds feeding. I took photos of all of my houseplants and forced branches that are making my home a cozy little patch of paradise. I thought about the next three days stretching ahead of me, long, luxurious, and perfectly suited for writing, designing, and being creative without the pressure of the busy season bearing down on me. I get it.

My friend Lucy gave me a double Hibiscus plant that she propagated. I is so pretty!

Last year Fran, from the African Violet Society, gave me a rooted leaf of this gorgeous African violet. He should see it today. I now love to grow them, as my mother did before me.

Lucy also rooted a cutting of sweet olive, Osmanthus fragrans, for me. This teeny tiny white flower has the most powerful fragrance.

How Hellebores Happen

Day 254
The Daily DuBrule

A week ago my Hellebores were trying to flower. It had been a warm December and a few types were cruising along nicely, budding up, and starting to swell. Helleborus niger, the Christmas rose, is so named because in England and other warmer climates it is usually in bloom on Christmas day. I have seen that happen twice in CT, and I thought this year was going to be the third time. The buds on this species emerge from the center of the crown, right at ground level. If you check your Helleborus niger plants in late November, you will usually spot them, as in the photo above. 

Helleborus niger in bloom with snowdrops

The week of Christmas, it started to get really cold. I decided I would rather wait to see the flowers than to find them frozen in the morning so I created a loose tent of cut evergreen boughs and covered my plants. Now, almost a foot of snow has fallen and I imagine these buds are safely waiting under their blanket for warmer days to come. If the snow cover lasts, we may not see our Christmas roses bloom until late February. 

 

Hellborus foetidus is called bear's paw hellbore because of the distinctive pattern of its leaves. Another common name is "stinking hellebore" because if you smell the leaves or the flowers, they have a pungent aroma. This species buds up completely differently than Helleborus niger. The buds form on upright stalks; they are formed in late summer and are held above the totally evergreen foliage as fall winds down. They open in early winter, often blooming through the top of the snow, even if the leaves are buried. The flowers on this species are chartreuse green with burgundy edges. It is not the showiest flower by any means, but its early, and an oddity. I actually grow this plant primarily for the leaves. I have had bear's paw Hellebores in my dry shade garden for over 20 years. I have found that the best way to assure their longevity is to let the flowers from the previous winter remain on the plant and go to seed. Then, once you have spotted dozens of baby seedlings in the garden, cut the seed stalk to the ground. Usually, at that point, the mother plant dies, but there are so many babies everywhere that you will never be without this plant. Sounds like a familiar life cycle? Actually, now that I think about it, I treat my Helleborus foetidus as biennials. It works for me. 

Helleborus orientalis and all of its many relatives they we now call Helleborus x hybridus (the breeding work lately has created a very mixed up Hellebore world) set up their buds in a very similar manner to Helleborus niger but they tend to wait a while to form. When they do, usually in late winter, they arise upward from the crown of the plant on long stems. 

Although their leathery leaves are quite green and attractive when they head into the winter, by March when they begin flowering, the leaves have usually become brown and unsightly. The photo above illustrates deadleafing, removal of last year's leaves as this year's flowers are forming. If you can get to this chore before the flower stems get too tall, it goes a lot quicker. 

Helleborus x 'Candy Love' buds erupting from the center of the plant in late March.

No matter what kind of Hellebores you grow or hope to grow, they do provide a fascinating study in the colder months when the rest of your beloved perennials are dormant. Each year brings a different set of weather conditions. As gardeners, we should monitor how the buds are forming, protect them if it is extremely cold and there is no snow cover, and enjoy the promise of spring that the sight of their buds gives us each time we venture outdoors to say hello.

A Hopeful New Year

The most sheltered branch of my winter jasmine (Jasminum nudiflorum) was in full bloom on Christmas Eve.

Day 253  
The Daily DuBrule

It's New Year's Eve, and I feel like I have run a marathon in the past month. As I look back on my blog, I realize I haven't written a thing since December 3rd. Yup. That's when the craziness began. Two open houses, decorating a designer house for the holidays, first ever Ladies Night, and hundreds upon hundreds of wreaths, swags, and arrangements made over the course of the past 28 days. Oh, I might also mention a staff pizza party in the wood fired oven at my fully-decked out house for 30+ people to celebrate Natureworks' first official retirement. Then we hosted 12 for Christmas Eve (I married an Italian, need I say more) and another big meal for my family of 6 on Christmas Day. Company stayed on for a while, I collapsed for one day, then onto Natureworks' cleanup day after the retail store closed which included grappling with inventory procedures with our young P.O.S. system. That was truly humbling. Yesterday, to top it off, shoveling a foot of snow that was TOO WET to go through the snow blower. All of that is a lot to handle, but as I look back now, I think I became uninspired to write about plants after the Newtown tragedy. It seemed too trivial all of the sudden. I put my nose to the grindstone and did all that I had to do. Now, I can finally sit, rest, relax, and think again. Which leads me back to this blog. 

I went out on Christmas Eve day and walked around my yard picking greens and taking photographs of all of the signs of life in the garden. I was quite astounded at what I saw. I knew December had been warm, but I really only understood just how warm when I saw plants a bit too far along for this time of year. The other thing I observed was the wide range of plants that don't go completely dormant. There was quite a bit of green out there! Enjoy these pictures, may they remind you that gardeners are, essentially, quintessential optimists. We believe in life reborn every single New Year.

I have been eying this giant rosette of biennial foxglove for a while now. It's in my courtyard. Doesn't it look like a big fuzzy star? I hope it's happy under the snow this winter. If it makes it through, it will be amazing. I also found tons of babies in another area, but they won't bloom until 2014.

My 'Crimson and Gold' quince had swollen buds in the middle of December. I picked them and brought them indoors and they bloomed on Christmas Eve. I then picked some Atlantic white cedar and branches of 'Midwinter Fire' twiggy dogwood, put it all in a ruby red vase, and plunked on my writing desk. So pretty, such an inspiration. A second branch cut on Christmas Eve day is starting to swell it's buds now. Quince lasts a LONG time in the house once it opens, many weeks. If you have quince in the yard, try it.

Since late fall my Viburnum carcephalum has been popping open a bit. If you bring a bud in the house, it will smell so sweet, especially in a small, warm room like a south facing powder room.

The buds of my 'Arnold's Promise' witch hazel are very abundant this year and I can't wait to pick branches and force them. Soon. I can smell that spicy scent now. Those are seed pods of my Rudbeckia 'Herbstonne' that snuck through the fence into the courtyard. The birds will love to munch on them this week.

How is it possible that my ruby chard, which was frozen solid in November, has sent up a new crown of fresh foliage that is so intensely red and green just in time for Christmas Eve? This would have made a good Christmas card!

I was enchanted by the stack of seeds and the pattern of the seed pods on my white Japanese iris by the water garden. I just pulled out the pump and shut the water garden down yesterday afternoon as the first snowflakes started to fall.

Fasciated pussywillows are starting to open. I cut my plants REALLY hard this spring after blooming and BOY did that make a difference. I will have a great crop of branches for the flower show in February.

I brought my night blooming Jessamine (Cestrum nocturnum) indoors for the winter and cut it back HARD as advised by Dave Pliska, my tropical plant expert. It has suffered from the transition but I just noticed all new shoots arising on Christmas Eve. I can't wait for this to bloom in the house. The fragrance is insanely intoxicating.

My Circle of Green

Day 252
The Daily DuBrule

Yesterday was a stunningly beautiful day, warm, sunny, and mild, a perfect day to work outdoors. I tackled my annual wreathmaking project, twisting up a giant wreath for the front of my house. I started by taking the stepladder, my loppers, pruners, and a wheelbarrow for a tour of my yard. I harvested white pine, American holly, juniper, Norway spruce, hemlock, curly willow, and lacebark pine. This involved climbing to the top step of the ladder, extending the loppers to their longest reach, and lopping off giant branches, ducking as they fell to the ground. Because my wreath was going to be big I was going for the longer branches higher up on the trees. 

Harvest complete, I spread everything out in my courtyard around the center circle of my labyrinth. The sun was shining, the water garden was bubbling away, the birds were singing, my heart was happy. I grabbed my trusty roll of green florist wire, my 20" wreath ring (which I re-use year after year), and set to work.

After wiring big hunks of greens to the circle for one go around, I stuck long, thin branches of hemlock and three dimensional sprays of curly willow into my creation. Back around the wreath I went again, wiring this second batch of wilder stems into my wreath. Then I leaned it up against the steps of my deck and added a very strong wire hanger. I fluffed up last year's bow, tied it on, and strung tiny white lights around the wreath twice, wiring them into place. Voila. Complete. I was so excited to march this masterpiece to the front of the house, hang it up, and plug it in.

When I was done, I still had tons of greens left. I made a huge swag, complete with my peace sign. I studded three large pots. What a wonderful, peaceful, creative afternoon. My reward? Pizza and wine for dinner, out on the town with my husband, followed by chocolate covered macaroons. Sweet.