Shrubs for your Soul

For all those gardeners who haven't happened upon it, there is a new online gardening magazine titled Toil the Soil at BestGardenBlogs.com.  For the first (and free!) issue, I wrote an article in it about Plains-adapted flowering shrubs for MidWest gardeners titled "Shrubs for the Soul."  I thought I should post the text and some of the pictures here as well on my own blog, since the clickable pictures should be better quality here.  It may take a couple of parts:

Shrubs for the Soul:  Plains-adapted flowering shrubs for the winter-weary Midwestern gardener.
 

 Imagine that it is February 1st, 2011 and the biggest winter storm of the decade is throwing snow and ice at your windows and creating six foot high drifts around your shrub roses. You are a gardener in the Kansas Flint Hills who hasn’t seen a single sprig of green plant life for 2 months and your soul aches for any sight of a cheerful spring bloom. You are also an amateur writer who is trying to choose a topic for a new garden magazine and you’re under a short deadline. I’d be willing to bet my entire mail-order plant budget that eighty percent of you would choose, under those circumstances, to write about the spring-flowering shrubs that your heart pines for. The other twenty percent might write about either starting seeds indoors or about forcing spring bulbs, but I’m a conventional kind of guy, so I’ll stick with the cliché.

Here in the Flint Hills of Kansas, shrubs that can survive our cruel, arid Zone 5B winters, flower reliably in the soggy clay abetted by the April and May downpours, and then hold on steadfast through the hot dry summers, are indeed few and far between. Some spring shrubs counted on for the earliest displays in some regions of the country, such as the Witch Hazels (Hammelia sp.), need more acid soils to thrive than we can usually provide in the Flint Hills. I have, for instance, a specimen of ‘Jelena’ witchhazel in my garden and it is seen seldom enough in the area that most gardeners who visit either ask what it is or express surprise to see it. Those shrubs that do thrive in our soil and climate, however, are the pillars of Kansas gardener’s hopes in the Winter and provide the restoration of those gardeners’ souls each Spring. Eight intrepid shrubs that are well-equipped for the Kansas and Great Plains climate are:

  

'Meadowlark' Forsythia

Forsythia sp: Everyone with any gardening experience in the MidWest knows that Forsythia is going to be on this list, so we might as well get it over with early. Many varieties of Forsythia grow and perform very well here, and in fact, Manhattan, Kansas and the surrounding towns are pretty well covered in early April with the pastel combination of yellow Forsythia shrubs and pink Redbud trees. Some varieties of Forsythia can sustain damage from the more extreme winter temperatures of the Flint Hills, so it is useful to search out and plant the hardier varieties. Forsythia x int. ‘New Hampshire Gold’ (USDA Zone 4-8) is a mounding, arching shrub to about 5 feet tall that has reliably flowered every spring for ten years in my current garden. I tend to prefer the less brassy yellow tones of the newer Forsythia ovata ‘Meadowlark’, however. ‘Meadowlark’ has a taller and stiffer form to about 6 feet tall and the blossoms are much larger and showier than ‘New Hampshire Gold’. ‘Meadowlark’ was developed in a collaboration between the Arnold Arboretum and the North Dakota Agricultural Experiment Station and is widely proclaimed as the hardiest of the forsythias (Zone 3-8), with buds resistant to cold damage to -35®F. Variegated Forsythia varieties, such as ‘Fiesta’ are planted here in hopes of a better display in the off-flower seasons, but they often suffer damage when fully exposed to the hot prairie sun and buds are not as reliably cold-hardy as the varieties previously mentioned.

Magnolia stellata

Magnolia stellata: One of the earliest flowering shrubs in my garden is Magnolia stellata, the Star Magnolia. I know that some gardeners in other zones or climates might think of this magnolia as a tree, but it definitely remains shrub-sized everywhere I’ve seen it in Zone 5. . I have cultivar ‘Royal Star’ which grows to around 10 feet, but other larger M. stellata cultivars are also available. But, regardless of ultimate size, this beauty is a god-send for early fragrance. I’ve never been particularly excited about the smallish 3-inch white blossoms against the bare branches, not like I am with some of the larger and more colorful magnolias, but the Star magnolia more than makes up for it in scent production. The survival of this one has encouraged me to try a few other of the hardier magnolias, including ‘Jane’, one of the “Little Girl” hybrids from the U.S. National Arboretum, and Magnolia acuminata ‘Yellow Bird’, a recent introduction from Monrovia. Both are reportedly hardy to at least Zone 5 but they are too young to be certain performers in my garden.

Syringa sp: Lilacs of all species and types are well-adapted to the alkaline soils of the Kansas Flint Hills and are cold-hardy far beyond our region. They bloom early in April in Zone 5, and sometimes the earlier blooming cultivars can be burned by a late frost or even dusted with snow. Although the hundreds of Syringa vulgaris cultivars all do well,  Korean lilacs and newer cultivars such as ‘Josee’ also thrive in the Kansas sunshine.  And the scent!  What would the scent of a Kansas spring be without Lilacs? 



Lilacs 'Wonderblue', 'Yankee Doodle', and 'Annabelle', left to right

the next week or so, I'll post the rest of the article, including a discussion of honeysuckles, viburnums (yes, in full sun!) and mockoranges.  But not right away, because I've got other things to touch on first!

Healthy Prairie Harvest

One of the first Griffith Buck roses I ever grew, and still one of my most cherished roses, is 'Prairie Harvest'.  I've mentioned her before in this blog, but she deserves her own little moment alone in the spotlight. In fact, for Midwestern gardeners who seek out the Buck roses, 'Prairie Harvest' is a "must have" rose.  Hardy yellow roses are difficult enough to find for Northern climates, let alone hardy yellow roses that are also ironclad healthy.  'Prairie Harvest' is one of my healthiest roses and the light green, glossy foliage is a nice contrast with that of the Rugosa clan.  I never spray fungicide on this one and the perfect foliage holds on through August with minimal leaf loss, little blackspot, and no mildew.



A young, two year old 'Prairie Harvest'

Although the foliage IS spectacular, 'Prairie Harvest' is my favorite of all the Buck roses because of the blooms. Unlike many of the Buck-bred roses, these hybrid-tea style, 4 inch blooms hold their form well, not quickly opening flat or showing their centers as many of the Buck's are prone to do. The rose is fully double with 40-45 petals, and quick to repeat, with continuous single flowers and floribunda-type sprays throughout the summer and fall.  But it is the soft-yellow color, more potent in the center and fading to white on the edges and as it ages, that makes this rose stand out for me.  The yellow-white blend of the newer acclaimed floribunda 'White Licorice' reminds me of this rose. The color mixes well in the garden, not like the gaudy pink of 'Earthsong'.  It also has a nicer, neater bush form than 'Carefree Beauty' (one of its parents), and it is just as healthy and hardy here in my Flint Hills garden as either of these other well-regarded Buck roses, solidly cane-hardy in my Zone-5 garden.  In fact, the overall form of this rose is far better than most modern hybrid teas, with a nice vase-like four foot tall by three foot wide shape at maturity.



Prairie Harvest was released in 1985 and is officially classified as a shrub, although I would have said it is closer to the Grandiflora clan in its overall form.  The Iowa State University website on the Buck roses describes it as "barium yellow," whatever that is.  To me, this rose is honey-yellow, fading at the edges to white, and in cold weather it may have just a touch of blush pink at the edges.  The fragrance is moderate and sweet, described as "fruity" by some with noses who are undoubtedly more discerning than mine.  Both the yellow center and the fragrance undoubtedly are from 'Sunsprite', a Gamble Fragrance Award winner and the second parent of  'Prairie Harvest', but in my garden, as much as I love bright 'Sunsprite', 'Prairie Harvest' is by far the healthier and hardier of the two.


'Prairie Harvest' with a little Fall blush

I'm sorry to finally write this post, because I know it'll send half the rosarians reading it into a frantic search for a source for this rose, but sometimes, just sometimes, everyone needs a little nudge towards perfection.





Visitors in the Mist

Sometimes, God gives us little miraculous gifts to lighten our load for the day.

That is the only way I can explain it.  I was walking the treadmill yesterday morning at 6:30 a.m.  It was a misty, cold morning, in the Flint Hills, about three days after the last snowfall.  Another sad day towards Spring without being able to work in the garden.  I glanced up at the window to see movement in the garden.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear but four hungry deer feeding in my back garden?  I rushed upstairs in an instant and grabbed my camera to capture the moment.  I'm sorry for the quality of the pictures, but what can I say?  It was still dark, I was using a zoom lens and handholding the camera, and I woke up fifteen minutes before my fine motor skills were tested.  Not to mention that I had been exercising seconds before. 

Now, some gardeners would be outraged or dismayed at seeing four deer carefully selecting their morning menu from the gardener's larder, but sometimes, as a Darwinian gardener, I'm willing to allow my soft-eyed neighbors a little charity.  That is especially true when I know that the weather has been nasty and the pickings are probably getting a little thin on the prairie right now.  And when I know that the howling of the coyotes last evening was likely unnerving to these guys and may have driven them out of the bottoms.  Besides, most of the stuff I really care about is either surrounded by woven wire or buried deep beneath the snow.

Anyway, this little guy seemed to think that my Clematis paniculata was particularly scrumptious.  It is brown and likely will die back a little with the cold winter anyway, so what do I care?

I drew the line at this one, however, when it nibbled at my sole witch hazel, which is just beginning to bloom.  I suspect that the scent of the witch hazel may really have been what enticed them up to my garden.  Shortly after this, I thought I probably had enough pictures and chased them off, using the camera flash as a substitute for a muzzle blast.

My anti-deer defences are at minimum effectiveness this time of year.  I normally have little problem with deer in the area.  Well, at least after one group "trimmed" my new apple trees down to bare stems years ago and I learned to keep fencing around all new trees for several years until some stature is obtained.  Thankfully, the deer mostly leave my treasured roses alone due to my second defensive tactic.  Along with the fencing cylinders around trees, the defensive measure I use successfully in the rest of my garden is a proprietary secret brew that I use to "mark" my territory boundaries frequently during the spring and summer.  Forget whatever you have read or heard about hanging soap or human hair in the trees or purchasing lion or wolf urine at $50/ounce to repel deer.  I utilize a natural substitute that's readily available nearly every morning, biodegradable, very inexpensive, and almost 100% effective.  It even has value as a source of nitrogenous fertilizer if it is not applied too heavily.  Production of the substance is by the most natural and organic means and I am able to brew a new batch nearly every morning.  I believe it is more potent if the anti-deer application takes place while one is picturing a good venison steak or perhaps a deer head mounted over the fireplace.  Unfortunately, my secret ingredient is difficult to apply in winter and the little guy at the left is telling me what he thinks of my efforts to repel him in this coldest of winters.

Only one other person knows about my secret deer-repelling elixir, that is unless the neighbors have been rising early recently. That person happens to be my spouse, who once again proved her tolerance of a slightly-eccentric husband by responding to the news that there were deer in the garden with the command "You need to start peeing in the garden again."

And I shall, just as soon as it warms up a little bit out there.

First Dates

Although I'm a gardener who likes to write, up until I began blogging I was terrible at keeping a gardening journal.  That statement probably raises in your mind the question of whether or not a blog qualifies as a journal, but for the sake of argument, and to ease my conscience, we're going to pretend that it does.  And for clarity, I intend "terrible at keeping a journal" to mean that I was inconsistent at it; I refuse to comment about it or worry about whether an English language fanatic is reading my writing, lest it stifle my output.  Sometimes fools trudge along where wise men fear to tread.

I previously started out each year with good intentions, fast out of the gate, but I normally faded at the first turn.  Each year for at least a decade and a half, I have written down the dates that those first few garden species come into bloom and then peak at the bottom of my computerized plant inventory.  There will usually be a few other random loose notes about something here or there, but after a few weeks my notes trickle off and disappear.  Thus, while I have an excellent idea of when the 'New Hampshire Gold' forsythia first bloomed each year, and when the Rugosa rose 'Marie Bugnet' first bloomed, I have no idea when the Hydrangea paniculata bloomed, or the crape myrtle or the Rudbeckia hirta.  From these notes, I can tell you that my snow crocus, recently blogged on, is right on time, with the earliest I've ever seen it bloom on February 22nd, and the latest March 9th.  Forsythia usually peaks around the 20th of March, but I've sighted the first buds as early as March 6th and as late as March 29th.  Twice, the bright red 'Great Scarlet Poppy', or 'Iranian Poppy' (Papaver bracteatum) has first bloomed exactly on my May birthday.  

Even when I've made an effort, there are long periods when I cease to enter anything, usually due to depression about the garden's progress.  In 2004, I entered nothing between April 27th and June 1st except to note on 6/1/04 that it was official that May ws the windiest May on record in this area of Kansas, averaging over 10 MPH continual wind.  And in 2007, my entries simply ceased at the very hard and very late freeze around April 19th which put an end to the spring flowers that year and threatened all the young plants of my garden.

I have also defaced my Tallgrass Prairie Wildflowers guide (authored by Doug Ladd and Frank Oberle) with the dates when I observed the first blooms from a number of native forbs on the tract of land we own (see the sample page pictured above).  In fact, it may reveal a small megalomaniac streak buried deep within my psyche, but I always secretly hope some of those records survive to be used by a future naturalist to document climate changes, just as Thomas Jefferson's garden notes have been used by biologists of the 20th Century.  Mr. Jefferson and I have little else in common, but at least I take some comfort in the fact that his garden notes were also sporadic.  For now, during the 15 or so years that I've been keeping records, I can tell you that I'm unable to conclude anything about global warming or cooling in the Flint Hills, except to say that the native plants follow the general average temperatures of the year pretty well.  The earliest noted bloom of Blue Wild Indigo (Babtisia australis) in this area was on 4/26/04, one of the hottest years on record in Kansas, while in the more recent and cooler years I've found them around May 10th.  In fact, the date I noted for the first bloom of this plant in 1996 (the first year I recorded it) was May 10th, exactly the same as it was last year in 2010.  Maybe if I can keep this up for a hundred years, we'll at least know if Global Warming has affected Kansas.