If you tell someone you found it in “Dirr” they’ll know you mean the Manual of Woody Landscape Plants: Their Identification, Ornamental Characteristics, Culture, Propagation and Uses (now in its 6th edition). But Michael A. Dirr, PhD has also written The Book on viburnums (Viburnums: Flowering Shrubs for Every Season), The Book on hydrangeas (Hydrangeas for American Gardens) co-written by his wife Bonnie, and several other coffee-table-worthy, destined-to-be-dogeared reference books. What makes his books worth consulting – and reading from cover to cover – is not just the breadth of information but that they’re thick with pithy opinions. I found out yesterday that Mike is just as entertaining and full of it (I mean knowledge) in person.

Mike’s slides were, unfortunately, a little tough to see due to the brilliance of a perfect day but the afternoon tree tour of the University of Blithewold (it felt like a campus yesterday) was a spectacular pleasure. I’m still trying to process it all. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one in the group of local industry professionals, savvy cognoscenti and at least one fellow blogger, straining to catch every second of his mile-a-minute professorial banter. Everyone looked as riveted, and by the end of the day, as overwhelmed as I felt. I’m so relieved that there’s not going to be a quiz – but I’ll try to recap just a little for you.

The event was co-sponsored by the New England chapter of the International Society of Arboriculture, and the topics – fitting for that group and ours – were noble trees and new introductions. Mike pointed out that you always know a noble tree when you see it – you don’t even have to know what it is, just that it has a venerable stature, grace, beauty and presence. It’s a squirrel highway and a landmark and Blithewold is blessedly full of them. It most certainly isn’t a Bradford pear (Pyrus calleryana) which has become not only the most ubiquitous street tree but has turned out to be invasive as well. And certainly not enough truly noble trees are being planted today for the benefit of future generations. Have you planted any? Which ones? Do you have a favorite noble tree? (Mine is a particular linden in a particular Middletown garden – even though – or because – I’ve nearly been knocked cold a couple of times by its enormous akimbo elbows.)

It is new introductions of trees and shrubs that keep the industry on its toes. Mike and Bonnie are on the constant look-out for unusual traits in trees and shrubs and have had a few “85 mph” drive-by finds introduced into commerce. (Keep your eyes peeled for a new redbud called ‘Bonnie’s Pink’.) We all want something new and different (we can’t help it) and with a trained eye any one of us could find the next winner, have it tested, propagated and introduced. The lesson I take from that is simply to pay more attention even to the old stand-by, tried-and-trues. How is it that I never in my life really noticed a hornbeam before yesterday? The professor in Mike brought out the student in me. I’m still interested all over again. And I’ve got a(helluva) lot to learn and a few of my own opinions to cultivate. How about you?

I still haven’t seen any of our super scary yellow and black orb-web spiders, but it’s been a week of other frights – which of course makes me think of Halloween even though we’re still miles away. On Tuesday the “Deadheads” discovered no fewer than a baker’s dozen candy-corn colored caterpillars on one of our butterfly weeds (Asclepias tuberosa). But these were no ordinary monarch or swallowtail – even my favorite i.d. book, Garden Insects by Whitney Cranshaw failed me on this one. Thank goodness for google. They are Milkweed tussock or tiger moth caterpillars (Euchaetes egle) and their vacuum-roller-brush lashes render them completely unappealing to most hungry birds, or so I would imagine. (This caterpillar currently tops my list for what I want to be for Halloween.)

Cathy (Harvestmeister) discovered who was devouring the last of the cherry tomato plants. I might be blamed for helping myself to some of the tomatoes but this tomato hornworm was  filling up on foliage. We let him be though because a parasitic wasp has already laid claim, so to speak. Tomato hornworms can reach up to 4″ or so in length though this one is probably only about 2″.  I wonder if the tusk on their hind is a bird deterrant – though if not, I can’t imagine being covered in wasp cocoons is very appealing either. The braconid wasp, which lays its eggs on the hornworm is considered a beneficial parasitoid. Any time their eggs are observed on a hornworm, the hornworm should be left alone so that the wasp can keep doing what it does best. And when the hornworm grows up (if it’s not eaten by wasp larvae), it becomes the Sphinx moth a.k.a the hummingbird moth which has an impressive wingspan of 4-5″. It’s a bird of another feather for sure and a pollinator to boot.

Speaking of things that are larger than life, Augustus van Wribbit is back in our cement pond and easily twice his former size. I wonder what he’s been eating… We’re so glad the Display Garden’s guard is back at his post.

And speaking of garden guards, the “History of the Scarecrow” exhibit is being installed near our vegetable bed just in time for Blithewold’s Autumn Splendor series of events. No doubt our Brussels sprouts and spinach will be extra safe from crow predation due to the row of formidable scarecrow examples from Ancient Egypt (the very creepiest) all the way to the Wizard of Oz. These days, I kind of think our gardens might be better served by Deerbullies or Groundhoghorrifiers. Perhaps examples of those will be displayed next year…

Is there anything scary in your garden yet?

I have been reluctant to call it fall yet probably because we were a little (a lot) gypped by summer. But regardless of how I feel about it, the asters and Jerusalem artichokes have started to bloom, the tupelos have way more than one red leaf by now and the early bird sugar maple in town has already lost a bunch of its bright orange leaves (you know the one on Church St.?). And today it’s officially official.

How fitting then that this morning dawned in deep fog as if the air and water temperatures were in the same perfect balance as today’s day and night. Acceptance of what I cannot change (the rotation of the Earth) along with the fog, made my morning rounds of the grounds a total treat. But do I need 62 pictures of spiderwebs? Maybe you do! – here are a couple just in case:

(hover over for captions and click on for larger view)

I know a lot of people have already begun their garden clean-up. It is a perfect time for dividing perennials (many thanks to all of those people who have offered me their extras!) and planting – like I mentioned in the last post. Even though Gail is popping our purchases into the Rose Garden ground as I write this, we’re still going to wait to do any major clean-up, redesign or perennial divisions in any of the gardens. Meanwhile we and the volunteers are still deadheading and weeding all of the gardens to keep them worthy of visitation. And we’ve been busy making babies. — By which I mean we’ve taken cuttings. (Did you think I meant something else?) For a refresher look at how we propagate our favorite tender perennials – and how you can too, check out this post from last year.

Are you willing to call it fall yet?

There’s nothing in the world that beats a car trunk full of new plants. Gail and I went off today to try and find a couple of things to fill a couple of holes in the Rose Garden – where three of our new(ish) daphnes bit the dust. – They do that, don’tcha-know. It’s a heart-breaker but we still love them. Anyway, we came back with some things that probably won’t be permanent solutions for that bed but that we couldn’t possibly live without – even though, at least in one instance, we didn’t even know such plants existed. But isn’t that all the fun of going plant shopping?

Along with a thing or two that we couldn’t resist for our own gardens at home (what is it with me and aggressive plants? Don’t even ask about the wisteria peeking out from the truck – at least it’s the native one), we noticed a delicate shrub with a tag that read “Wikstroemia (very rare)”. Well, call it rare and we call it ours: We bought the last two. Wikstroemia trichotoma, I just found out, is closely related to Daphne (hmmmm…) and will grow to a 3′ or so mound and blooms from mid to late summer. The blooms are just visible in the photo – on the branch tips. Use your magnifier because they’re the cutest, tiniest things.

Now is such a great time for renewing a diminished interest in the garden with a little shop therapy. Not only are many nurseries and garden centers slashing prices in hopes of reducing stock before winter but heading into the cool, rainy season just happens to be the most perfect time to plant.

Speaking of perfect timing, we came back to the potting shed to find William Cullina‘s latest tome on our desk. In Understanding Perennials – A New Look at an Old Favorite, he goes into the science of herbaceous perennials from roots to stems to leaves to flowers and he answers questions I’ve had like, “why are some leaves fuzzy?” and “why does the pitcher plant have spots?” Not only that but because his chapter called “Cultivation With an Ecological Eye” has the subheadings “They Are My Babies!” and Why Do the Most Expensive Plants Die the Fastest?” I just know from that that he is my kind – our kind – of people. And how happy am I that Bill is coming to Blithewold to speak at our Garden Design Luncheon? – So happy! Save the date (Thursday, November 12th) or better yet, register right now.

Back in June when we planted the lavender/purple experiment in the Display Garden, I said that I would talk more about it. Since it’s officially full grown, nearly past full bloom and it’s Garden Bloggers Bloom Day (hosted by Carol of May Dreams Gardens), I figure it’s high time, now or never. First, I want to state for the record that I love the bed. It’s like a calm hush and easy-breezy on the eyes. But I also think it’s not entirely successful.

Purple is a difficult color. I knew that going in. Not only is it nearly impossible to photograph accurately (anyone have any pointers?) but it has a tendency to disappear a little in the landscape. It’s just not very assertive – that is, unless it’s paired with yellow and then – Watch Out! Perhaps here I should interject a little color theory vaguely remembered from art school: Red and Blue are both primary colors that combined, make purple.  Purple is exactly opposite to yellow (the other primary color) on the color wheel. Red is considered a hot color that appears, to our eyes, to advance while blue is a cool receder. Mix the two and you’ve got luke warm, staying put – just like green (blue + yellow) which we all know as a calm, steady ever-presence. No two purples are quite the same either – some are pinker, some are bluer and the pinkers clash with the pinker stills and the bluers dissolve into the background. It’s tough, I’m telling you.

Purple, the color of kings and bishops, is said to be a rare color in nature – though we gardeners know the truth. Gail and I chose plants like our faves African blue basil which has deep blue-ish-purple leaf backs and veins and paler purple flowers; Stachytarpheta jamaicensis which is as true a straight purple as you’ll ever see; Verbena bonariensis because it chose us and we couldn’t have edited it from the garden if we wanted to (we’ve wanted to); Gomphocarpus physocarpus (a.k.a Asclepias physocarpa ‘Oscar’ or ‘Hairy Balls’) which has just the barest tinge of purple-ish on the almost insignificant flowers, and heliotrope. We also tried a dahlia called ‘Teesbrooke Redeye’, a 4′ tall gomphrena called ‘Fireworks’, petunias, spoon shaped African daisies (Osteospermum), Brazilia button flower (Centranthemum) and a couple of other basils. — The dahlia and gomphrena are pinker rather than purpler but we love them anyway. Against and in the midst of all of that we threw in a few other colors, like green, orange and blue (I couldn’t do yellow) just to observe the relationships.

The main problem I have with the bed is that it has no snap-crackle. Not only are the colors fairly quiet but the foliage is Gail’s and my signature delicate – we’re always on the lookout for more foliage contrast and end up finding the extremes – like Gunnera. (That would have been overkill a little.) And most of the flowers in that bed are diminutive too, giving the whole thing a sort of wispy, frothy look. But when it comes right down to it, I don’t mind because now we know a lot more than we did about purple – and about our own predilections. That bed will look very different next year…

How do you feel about the color purple?