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?

It may be impolitic to admit this but I haven’t been the biggest fan of spring flower shows in a long time. Back when my garden existed only as an unrequited dream in my head, I would go to the show every year as a special treat. I’d soak up the smells, the colors and endless inspiration from gardeners able to follow their passion. It didn’t even occur to me to be bothered by the oddness of plants forced out of all reasonable sequence. The shows’ magic just worked on me.

Now that my garden(s) are for real, I have to make an effort to even attend the shows. When I’m there I find myself overwhelmed imagining the amount of effort it takes the designers to set up their displays; I cringe at delphinium and foxglove blooming with the tulips and azaleas; and sadly, I lose the magic.

This year I really tried to walk into the RI Flower and Garden show with a better attitude. – And am happy to report that it worked. I thoroughly enjoyed the creativity and loveliness of the garden club competitions and horticultural entries, and rather than cringing at the forced plants in the display gardens, I enjoyed them for their odd timing. Amelachiers and fringe trees in bloom now! – Heaven. I’ve never seen nicotiana forced before. Brilliant. My favorite garden displays are always the ones that seem the most naturalistic and this time there were several winners for me in that category, which gave me renewed hope for the current trends towards native plants and gardening for the wildlife. Hope is a wonderful thing.

And then there were the lectures. When I was first going to shows I never attended the lectures and now I wonder why not? They’re the best part! Yesterday we heard Scott LaFleur from Garden in the Woods speak on native plants for pollinators. Even though that’s right up our alley these days, I took pages of notes. And I’m desperate now for a sassafras in my yard – certainly not because compounds from its roots were used to make Ecstasy (interesting fact.) but because it’s a host for butterflies I’ve never seen before. And then we heard Steve Aiken from Fine Gardening speak on low-care plants – or as he put it, plants he hasn’t killed yet. Gail and I found ourselves nodding in agreement and laughing along with every selection.

All in all it was a worthwhile adventure – although the marketplace was disappointing. We had expected to fill in some blanks in our seed orders but, alas, the seed booths were were hoping for were not there this year.

Do you usually go to spring flower shows? Why or why not?

I’ve saved this end of the list for most of the plants I loved well enough to take them for granted — meaning, in some cases I haven’t yet shot their portrait.

6. I’m sure that no top ten list for a dry summer would be truly complete if it didn’t include lavender. (No list of mine would be complete in any case.) They were all perfectly lush despite the wet spring and because of the dry summer – our now venerable clumps of Lavandula x intermedia ‘Grosso’ especially. This year we also tried Lavandula angustifolia ‘Silver Edge’ (among others) in the herb garden and it has a silver lining sort of variegation that could make any gardener more optimistic. I don’t even remember the flowers. Whatever.

7. Lobularia - sweet alyssum – ‘Snow Princess’ on the other hand was all about the flowers. They are big (for an alyssum), honey-fragrant (as they should be), and absolutely unstoppable. We grew it in the Rose Garden and Gail claims to have cut it back weekly. I never noticed that she did that because the plants were rampant always. I think they would look even better draped over a wall or flowing out of a giant pot. Next year…

8. No list of Gail’s would ever be complete without a salvia and this year we have a Goldilocks tie between Salvia ‘Mystic Spires’ (a child-sized version of ‘Indigo Spires’) and enormous Salvia vanhouttei and Salvia elegans (pineapple sage). S. vanhouttei might be my secret favorite though because its deep wine color is so …  intoxicating.

9. All of the basils did really well too but I was especially impressed with the variegated Ocimum basilicum citriodorum ‘Pesto Perpetuo’ because it made a sturdy column and never bloomed so never bolted. Next year I’d like to try shearing it periodically for shape (and using the clippings for a perpetual pesto…) And as far as the blooming basils go, African blue will always be on our top 10 list and we’ve added a generous reseeder, ‘Blue Spice’ to the life list too. (No decent pictures of that one either, alas. My apologies.)

9.5 I do have decent pictures of Panicum elegans ‘Frosted Explosion’, a brandy new annual grass we spotted in the seed catalogs last year. It was a dry and fragile thing towards the end of the season but tucked it with neighbors it provided a fuzzy frothy sort of contrast from start to finish.

9.75 Acalypha wilkesiana (Copper leaf) was another plant that by virtue of being incredibly interesting to look at, made every one of its neighbors look extra fascinating too.

10. By contrast Kalimeris incisa ‘Blue Star’ was more easily overlooked. It’s on the tiny side – not quite Tom Thumb but nearly knee high to a toad stool. The daisy flowers were the color of today’s cold bluish sky and lasted nearly as long as winter feels – it was in constant bloom from June into September.

I know I’m forgetting something I loved a lot. Like all of the nicotianas… What are you wishing I had mentioned?

I am inclined to celebrate a new year when we sow sweet peas or when the daffodils bloom or when the leaves fall off the trees. But the beginning of January is as good a time as any to make a fresh start, and in any case, this  is when Gail and I really start over in the gardens, firming up our ideas for next year. (I mean this year.) And like most gardeners we always begin the process of planning by remembering the best and worst of the past season.

Hands down, the worst was the weather: much too much rain in March and then not nearly enough through the summer. But since there’s not a lot we can change about that I might as well move straight on to what was “best” despite the weather (keep in mind, we do water the gardens periodically during dry spells in hopes that nothing ever looks wretched.) Here are my favorite plants from this past year, in no particular order:

1. Allium schubertii and A. albopilosum (Star of Persia). Like a sustained display of firecrackers that sparkled in the garden well beyond when they first opened, and were extra super fun spray-painted.

2. Ricinus communis – Castor bean – ‘Pretty Purple’. This was supposed to be a 4′ tall form but for us even cut back it reached a good 8′. And it had the prettiest purplest leaves and a nicely branched structure (perhaps owing to being whacked back now and again.)

3. Pelargonium ‘Lady Plymouth’ (scented geranium). It’s all about the lacy white-edged foliage and vigorous habit. (Had it ever flowered, that would have been totally beside the point.) It was such a great companion plant that we’ll be hard pressed to not use it again in the Rose Garden.

4. Lespedeza thunbergii ‘Edo Shibori’. Visitors and bees adored this plant. I disparaged it for being beige but then discovered I loved it too, which often happens with things I think I hate. After it went to seed it looked lit from within.

5. Echinacea purpurea ‘Virgin’. I still prefer the color of  ‘Green Envy’ (to any other color on any other flower) but nothing beats the unstoppable blooming and sturdy uprightiousness of ‘Virgin’.

6. (to be continued…)

What were some of your favorites from last year?

Back in June 2008 I wrote, “A mixed container is a challenge. Just like planting a garden with the right plant for the right spot, for a mixed container one must at least consider putting plants with similar needs together.” Then I went on to talk about breaking that rule. (It didn’t work out well. I’m pretty sure I never mentioned those particular pot combos again.)

This past April – the 8th to be exact if I can trust the scrawl in my calendar that reads “k – front porch pot” – I planted a container that I wasn’t sure would make it past Daffodil Days. I was so unsure of it that I didn’t even take a picture after I planted it. But not only did it make it through spring, I just took it off the porch yesterday, looking more beautiful than ever. My temptation is to take zero credit for it and say it was just dumb luck – one of those happy accidents that happens sometimes in the garden. But actually, the plants played very well together and there’s a (remote) possibility that I might have had an inkling when I planted it. The plants I chose could all take the kind of “evenly moist” that is easy to maintain in a glazed pot (watered twice a week); they all appreciate a little morning sun and afternoon shade. And here’s where I really lucked out – they almost all grew just enough to fill the pot without being bullies.

The plants:  Pinus palustris (Longleaf pine) – in any container it’s guaranteed to turn heads. (I planted one in the pot by the road too.) Farfugium japonicum ‘Aureomaculatum’ (Leopard plant) – another stunner, finally blooming now. Hypericum calycinum ‘Brigadoon’ (St. John’s wort), Asparagus densiflorus (asparagus fern) and a couple of tiny Campanula ‘Elizabeth Oliver’. The campanula were the only plants that, after they were done blooming, were overtaken by the rest. It was almost as if I planned it that way.

I know there’s something to be said for redoing containers periodically throughout the season to keep it all interesting – and keep a gardener on her toes. But my goal is always to get it right the first time. (And this was the first time.)

Have you planted a container combination that stood the test of time and maintenance? What worked? (Was it carefully planned or a happy accident – or a combination?)