Helianthus horridus ssp. horrendous

Well, that's not actually its name.  I could also call it 'Sneaky Santa Fe' and that moniker might fit better, and it certainly snuck by me, but that's not its name either.  This rampant invader, my friends, is Helianthus maximilliana ‘Santa Fe’, planted in my garden in 2010 and eradicated by 2017 along with its cousin 'Lemon Yellow',  when I realized that they self-seed the 7 foot tall stalks everywhere in this climate.




Once again, to be accurate, I should say "attempted eradication in 2017."   It seems I was successful with lighter-colored  'Lemon Yellow', but 'Sante Fe', or its open-pollinated offspring, lives on.  It has persisted in the form of no fewer than 8 separate clumps which evaded my periodic weed patrols and currently grace the garden.  I've spent the summer pulling it up wherever I noticed it, all except for this spot, which is so nicely placed and healthy that even the busy Bella had to stop and pose with it.  "Any Bella-approved plant can't be all bad," I thought. "Let it grow in just this one spot, and I'll cut it down before it can form seeds."  'Santa Fe' had other plans.




It grew rampantly here, along this bed, hiding among the native goldenrod, and then swiftly sprawled this week out over the path, flattening everything in its way.  I need to cut it off before it seeds again, and I have to cut it soon to mow this area, but it is so pretty that I just can't....yet.











It also grew tall in this bed, hiding among the variegated Miscanthus and other tall ornamental grasses, but once this baby blooms, it is hard to hide, isn't it?  Beautiful and bountiful and bright.  I know that I've found other volunteer clumps in this bed this summer and pulled them on sight, but the evidence suggests that I somehow missed these.











This last little 2-foot tall-but-avidly-blooming example has cropped up in the short time since I last did a major weeding and inspection of this bed, barely a month ago.  Helianthus maximilliana  must speed up its growth as blooming time nears so that it can cast seeds as far as possible, even if it only has a few weeks to try to outshine the sun.  Is it still 'Sante Fe', I wonder, or has it evolved under the harsh Kansas conditions into something more formidable?  The Kansas version of kudzu, perhaps?  I promise, I'll cut these all down before they form seeds.  Or maybe I'll just "gift" other gardeners with the seed this year.  Perhaps this plant is like a flu virus and you have to give it away to be done with it.

Heliopsis Summer Nights

At long last, a Heliantheae that I can live with.  I once thought that Helianthus maximilliana was the answer to my drought-stricken, Kansas sunflower-like dreams, and I sought them out wherever I ventured.  I've grown, and still grow Helianthus maximilliana 'Lemon Yellow' and 'Santa Fe', but they tend to out-compete anything in their vicinity, smothering less aggressive plants.  I keep eliminating clumps and moving them elsewhere.  One of my latest attempts to use them in the garden was to create an ornamental grass + H. maximilliana bed, in the mistaken notion that the ornamental grass clumps could hold their own amongst the H. maximilliana.  Boy, was I ever wrong.

Heliopsis helianthoides ‘Summer Nights’, in contrast, is a much better-behaved garden guest, lending its dark green foliage as backdrop in the early summer, and then livening up the action in Autumn with bright yellow daisy faces and maroon stems.   My 'Summer Nights' seems to be pest-free and at maturity stands about 3 foot tall and 3 feet around.  It is a good perennial for a medium-sized border, and it is creating a good display with the ornamental grasses behind it.  It slouches a little but doesn't spread, a model of grace and good intentions.

If only they had named it something besides the unfortunate 'Summer Nights'.  Every time I look at it, I'm reminded of the song "Summer Nights", from the movie Grease, which leads my hyperactive mind to the vocalists of the song, Olivia Newton John and John Travolta.  I can agree, like other boys who were teenagers in the '70's, that Olivia Newton John has a certain appeal, but I've never been a John Travolta fan.  So I see the plant and I end up with John Travolta singing in my head for a few hours, over and over.  Thus, I always am impressed at first glance by this plant but walk away with a slightly sour expression that the plant doesn't deserve.  "Summer dreams, ripped at the seams, but oh, those 'Summer Nights'!"  

What Took You So Long?

Helianthus 'Lemon Yellow'

All summer I've been anxiously awaiting signs of life from a pair of related plants that I planted last Fall.  Seduced last year by the high prose and beautiful photography of High Country Gardens into purchasing  and planting a pair of Helianthus maximilliana cultivars, I watched anxiously in Spring for the return of their foliage.  When they finally came up, planted as they were in my "native" wildflower area, which gets no extra water at all, I then spent the summer worrying that my single specimen of each would be cut down by some dastardly grasshopper, broken over by a rampaging dog, or that they just wouldn't make it through the heat and drought of this past summer.  But all summer, they grew, slowly and, to me, in an agonizing fashion, but they did grow, to their current four feet or so in height.  I was tempted several times to provide them a little extra water, but I'm proud to say that I practiced tough love gardening.

I expected them to bloom in late July or early August, but they never did.   I think that was all my mistake, assuming wrongly that most flowering plants stop developing buds here by October except for the asters and an occasional rose that tries to open in December. Recently however, as the leaves on decidious trees are changing color, the burning bush euonymous is already aflame, and the nights are approaching the low 40's, I noticed buds on both.  Buds which recently broke open for me like a heaven-sent promise that Summer will return next year.  

Helianthus 'Sante Fe'

My two Helianthus maximiliana  cultivars are ‘Lemon Yellow’  (pictured above right with its insect stowaway) and 'Sante Fe' (pictured at left).  'Lemon Yellow' is supposedly the daintier of the two, said to grow into a mature clump three feet by three feet, although vegatively, I still can't tell my two cultivars apart and both are at four feet tall with single stems at present.  High Country Gardens states that 'Lemon Yellow' "grows easily in hot, full sun locations."  Based on my experience with it this summer, I might not agree that it grows "easily," but it did survive the worse drought year I've seen here.

Maximillian Sunflower 'Santa Fe' should eventually grow to be an 8 foot tall and 4 foot wide clump, a warning to me that I've got it planted in the wrong place at present, but if it continues to survive, I can always divide and move it.  It blooms with large golden-yellow flowers as pictured, and the flowers seem to open from top to bottom on the single stem that I've got at present.  According to the High Country Gardens website, it is hardy to Zone 4 and should grow well in "any soil including heavy clay."  I can only hope that broad statement includes my limey-stony-clay soil.

Given time and a few years, I hope that both H. maximiliana clumps eventually become mainstays in the tall backs of my borders, fighting it out with the Miscanthus sp. to see who drapes over whom.  With the late bloom, however, I'm a little worried that an early frost might occasionally allow me only to enjoy the foliage however. This is my first attempt with this genus, although I've long grown a similarly tall False Sunflower, or Heliopsis helianthoides, which grows well for me and which I've divided several times over in my peony bed.  Now with the new Maximilian Sunflowers looking to make a stand, I guess I'd better prepare to have a much more yellow Fall garden than I've had in the past.  The only question is, do I want that much yellow?  Even in Kansas, one can overdo the sunflowers.