Last week I had the great pleasure of speaking with the author/photographer of some of my all-time favorite garden books. Ken Druse, who wrote Planthropology and Making More Plants among about a bazillion others, called – while a raging river ran through his garden – to quiz me about Blithwold’s Rose Garden and he recorded our conversation for his podcast, Real Dirt. Those who know me, know that I am a reluctant (read terrified) public speaker: when I have something to say, I’d rather write it down. But Ken, who is effortlessly articulate in print and voice, put me at ease and our few minutes were up before I even knew it. I only wish I had said…

Most of you are already familiar with our Rose Garden, so feel free to pass by the rest of this post. But for anyone who might be visiting for the first time via Real Dirt, allow me to fill in some of my gaffs gaps.

Ken intended to ask about how we prepare the Rose Garden for winter and in case he calls back to get the scoop, I’ll hold off on those details for now. We got instantly sidetracked (my doing) by compost instead. The Rose Garden was compacted from years of tromping through it to deadhead and rake leaves so we turned about 3″ of compost in to the soil, which improved the drainage immensely. I also want to say that while I’m perversely pleased that I never mentioned the word “sustainable” I feel I should do so here. Roses, unless you plant your neighborhood’s natives, are inherently difficult. They are heavy feeders, need tons of water, and a lot of gardeners have gotten hooked on spraying regimes to keep them fungus and pest-free. By filling in the garden’s gaps with bulbs, annuals, perennials and shrubs, and refusing to spray, we not only encourage beneficial wildlife but the garden stays colorful even when the roses start to look terrible. Which incidentally, to bring it back around, they haven’t – ever since we amended the soil and installed irrigation. I like to say that our Rose Garden is as-sustainable-as-possible-under-the-circumstances.

I also didn’t mention “Knock-Out” roses among my list of favorites because they’re not on it (though we do have a few in and out of that garden.) To give them their due, Knock-Outs are tough-as-nails and need very little in the way of babying but they lack the grace and charm of the roses that are on my list. I mentioned Rosa ‘Champlain’ but forgot to say that I really love how its deep-green foliage turns burgundy/bronze towards winter. I tried again to take a picture of Rosa ‘Hot Cocoa’ and the color simply defies my lens. It is redder here (and maybe because of the cooler nights lately) than the coppery-brown it can be. And I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea but little Rosa chinensis ‘Viridiflora’ is blooming its heart out right now. But then, I’ll take weird over knock-out any day.

I want to thank Ken again for his kindness to me and for speaking so generously about Blithewold – especially while his own garden was being savagely ravaged by both Irene and Lee. (I’d have been too distracted for any words at all…) And thank you for listening/reading. Have you filled the gaps between your roses too?

September is one of my – and Gail’s – favorite months in the garden. But so far, this is no ordinary September. Irene aside, it’s raining again. I can’t remember the last time we weren’t desperate for a good drenching by now. (Looking back at my records, it was just 2 years ago that we had a rainy summer. How my memory fades…) In any case, this week the lovely lushness of the late summer garden is soaking wet. Even though we’re lucky that this rain hasn’t brought further devastation along with it like it has for some, we have to take a rain check on getting much work done out there.

Christopher Lloyd called the September garden “sleazy” and looking out at all of the slouching and slumping I have to suspect our garden of a little debauchery too. If we could get in the gardens without compacting the soil, we’d be outside in the lulls propping everyone back up, tidying the overgrown and overblown, and thoroughly enjoying the party. There really is nothing livelier than a September garden – even as parts of the garden are starting to look their age, other plants, like the Autumn crocus (Colchicum autumnale) are just coming along to remind us in their weird way of spring and seasonal renewal.

But since we can’t be out tromping around in the garden, we’re catching up on housekeeping (Gail tackles the closet!) and looking forward to all of the amazing events planned for a spectacular September at Blithewold. If you don’t already know that Helen Dillon is coming all the way from Dublin, Ireland to speak to us about the garden she has created and recreated in the most “down to earth” Helen-Dillon sort of way, mark your calendar now; call off work; and send the doggie to daycare. (Monday, September 19, 10:30am – 1:00pm) I mean it. This is a very big deal.

Autumn Splendor – our fall version of Daffodil Days – begins on the 17th and there are a plethora of events right through October 10. Gail, actually helps kick it off with a tour of her late season garden favorites (I can promise you’ll also see at least 6 praying mantis on her tour and 2 hummingbirds.) There are teas coupled with floral design demonstrations (using flowers cut from our gardens) on Fridays and a Fall Family Food Fest on Sunday, September 25 11am – 3pm, billed as “the one day it’s OK to Play with your food!” That same day our bff, Pam Gilpin will also give boggling slideshow of all the coolest bugs she’s found dining in her gardens. And that’s not the whole list by any stretch. (Click here for the lineup.) I’m telling you, rainy or not, September is definitely one of the best months in the garden.

Are you taking a rainy day opportunity to do a little housekeeping too?

I don’t know if all of our recent focus on potentially devastating weather is the cause of it, but this week I found myself particularly interested in one of the most easy-come/easy-go plants in our gardens. Hibiscus trionum has been sowing itself here for probably ever; I’ve diligently cautioned the volunteers to not weed out the volunteers and I’ve always vaguely appreciated the way it pops up, weaves, and sprawls sort of awkwardly through other plants. But I never really noticed it. I didn’t commit its name to memory until recently and only learned its common names and trademark trait when I googled it just now.

Venice mallow or flower-of-an-hour opens for a short time on sunny days like a fair-weather friend. They’re as ephemeral as it gets but there are plenty of buds for a summer-full of days, which is probably why I never noticed them come and go so quickly. And the seedheads are every bit as pretty – fuzzy, striped bright green puffs that turn nut-brown and open up as the seeds ripen. The plant, with its sprawling 2-3′ weave, generally plays really well with others (though the picture below shows it right smack in the middle of a Helichrysum in the North Garden. Not that I mind.)

My RHS A-Z encyclopedia lists its region of origin as “uncertain” and the internet isn’t any more help: evidently it’s happy to grow all over the world. Although it has a typical hibiscus-y tropical-looking flower, this one doesn’t seem as curiously out of context here as some of the larger flowered species do. Just because it’s happy everywhere (in full sun and whatever kind of soil) doesn’t mean that it’s easy to find to buy. According to my brief search, Annie’s Annuals sells plants and Chiltern sells the seeds. This is more of a passalong plant. Take a close look around friends’ gardens and beg. No doubt they’ll have a few seeds to spare.

Do you have flower-of-an-hour in your garden? Have you noticed and loved it all along?