Purple Leaves Me Crabby

Please listen to ProfessorRoush:  you MUST plan your garden carefully rather than submit to the whims of spontaneous plant purchases and spectacular momentary blooms!  Science suggests that in an infinite number of parallel universes, almost anything can happen.  I'm almost sure, therefore, that somewhere out in the gardening universe, there exists a gardener who plans everything on paper, circles and borders and hardscapes each perfectly sized, and that mythical gardener later proceeds to shop for that clump of 'Stella de Oro' or that purple barberry planned to provide just the right size and color blob for each spot on the plan.  It's even conceivable that in one of those infinite parallel universes, there is a ProfessorRoush who plans his gardens before he plants.  In the rest of those infinite gardens, however, there is a crabby ProfessorRoush who planted too many purple-leaved crabapples.

Like many great artists and gardeners, I have evolved through a number of creative periods; my bedding plants phase, my daylily extravagance, the iris collection mania, the weeping evergreen saga, and my ornamental grasses affair.  My most notorious fleeting passion, however, was a "purple-leafed tree" period, which resulted in an entire front landscaping dominated by dreary dark-burgundy blobs, all individually beautiful, but collectively presenting a distressing and depressing display.  You all know how it happens.  In early Spring, you are seduced at a local nursery to purchase a 'Royalty' crabapple by the perfectly beautiful pinkish-purple blooms as seen above right.  Those claret, delicately-veined blooms are gorgeous, aren't they?  The fact that the plant will have burgundy leaves throughout the summer only adds to its theoretical interest and garden usefulness.  Price doesn't matter, we must have it!

Unfortunately, those burgundy leaves serve as an uncontrasting backdrop for the burgundy flowers and from over a few feet away, the flowers disappear into the foliage. Witness the tree in full bloom pictured at the left.  Now you've just got a dark, dirgeful blob in the lawn, and you're never sure when the plant is in bloom from a distance.  Deep in your addiction phase, now add in a similar 'Red Baron' crabapple purchased before you've learned your lesson, and a 'Canada Red' Prunus candedensis tree with purple leaves, and a Fraxinus americana 'Rosehill' Ash whose leaves turn burgundy in the Fall, and you've accidentally created a doleful landscape in purples.  Thankfully, a copper-red 'Profusion' crabapple died under my care as an infant tree and the 'Canada Red' has since enlisted the Kansas wind in an assisted-suicide pact, both proof that God exists and is attentive to foolish gardeners. 

A little variety, friends, goes a long way in a garden, and so does a little hard-won wisdom.  We've all done it, and those who missed their purple phase likely just substituted a white phase centered around Bradford Pears or suffered some other colorful catastrophe of their own making.  Although I later succumbed to a minor "shaggy-bark" tree infatuation that caused a smaller area of my landscape to appear as if massive dandruff had afflicted all the trees, I learned a substantial lesson during my burgundy fiasco and have since added maples and oaks, magnolias and sycamores, and cottonwoods and elms to the garden.  Given age and actuarial tables, I may never see the mature outcome of these efforts, but perhaps, someday, my landscape may look more like a planned garden and less like a watercolor scene created by a two-year-old with a penchant for purple.  I still don't have a garden plan, and I'm still subject to spontaneous purchases, but I persevere with the knowledge that time and nature will help correct my mistakes.

Cinnamon Spice Girl

Once upon a time, far back in my youth, the "in" crowd followed a pop singing group named the Spice Girls.  ProfessorRoush didn't listen to them, of course, since he wasn't of the "in" crowd, and today I cannot name a single song they recorded for the life of me, but as I am of male persuasion, I can still name the Spice Girls themselves; Scary, Sporty, Baby, Ginger, and Posh Spice (the latter since married to and bending it like David Beckham).  Let me tell you, though, them Spices weren't nearly as fabulous as is my newest rose, 'Cinnamon Spice'.

In immediate and full disclosure, ProfessorRoush is being a very bad boy this evening.  I shouldn't show you this first picture of 'Cinnamon Spice', I really shouldn't.  I'm afraid that I will be guilty of deepening the addiction of many rose lovers, setting back recoveries that have thus far survived these scant few weeks into Spring.  Yes, I'm aware that a post on this very young rose is completely premature, and that I shouldn't be making any broad statements about her performance yet in the garden.  But she opened up that first bloom and I fell, smitten in a glance.  You might as well fall along with me into the rose abyss.

'Cinnamon Spice' is a "Griffith Buck rose," which I placed in quotation marks because she wasn't actually one of Dr. Griffith Buck's original introductions.  The story goes that she was bred by Dr. Buck in 1975 and given to a friend, collected back again by family for preservation after his death, and then introduced into commerce in 2010 by Chamblee's Rose Nursery along with nine other Buck-bred roses of similar background.  I obtained her, however, from Heirloom Roses just a few weeks ago because Chamblee's no longer lists 'Cinnamon Spice' on their website.

'Cinnamon Spice' is a shrub rose said to be from a breeding of 'Carefree Beauty' X 'Piccadilly', and she is supposed to grow 5 foot tall and 4 foot wide at maturity.  My tiny plant is about 8 inches tall and just put forth this first fabulous bloom.  I must apologize for my poor photo here because it does not do justice to her brilliant salmon-pink color, the delicate wine-colored stippling of the petals nor the contrast with her bright yellow stamens.  It also doesn't hint at the fact that this first bloom was as big as my palm (5 inches in diameter; I measured), that there is a moderate sweet fragrance about it, and that every picture I took of her was nearly perfect;  no focusing problems, no insects, nothing.  No other rose I know is that photogenic at first attempt.

I don't know what the future holds for 'Cinnamon Spice' here on the Kansas prairie, but I can tell you that if she survives, she'll easily displace Posh Spice in my heart and soul, and ProfessorRoush might just have a new favorite Buck rose.

The Rose Year Begins

'Harison's Yellow'

Finally, Finally, Finally.  The earliest rose in my garden opened yesterday and for once, it was a three way tie.  'Harison's Yellow', 'Therese Bugnet', and 'Austrian Copper' all submitted entries for the contest as the pictures here attest.  All are beautiful in their own way, and especially welcome given the delayed wait by the gardener.

Since protocol demands that there must be a winner for "First Rose of the Year," the question was submitted to the garden judge (me), who  ruled that since the garden contains two specimens of each of these roses and since 'Harison's Yellow' was the only variety to bloom on both bushes, it is the 2013 champion.  "Therese Bugnet' and 'Austrian Copper' both immediately lodged protests regarding the arbitrary nature of the decision, but the judge's ruling stands.

'Therese Bugnet'

'Austrian Copper'

Today was also my birthday, and by happenstance, five new roses arrived by UPS, just in time to join in the celebration.  This was the first time I've ordered from Roses Unlimited in South Carolina, and I have been pleased with their communication and the nice one gallon size of these roses, three of which are already in bud or blooming.   Left to right, in the picture below, they are 'Brook Song', 'Kronprincessin Victoria', 'Prairie Valor', 'Night Song', and 'Madame Ernest Calvat'.  I can already see that 'Madame Ernest Calvat', like her sister 'Mme. Isaac Pereire', wants to sprawl seductively all over her neighbors in the garden, and so immediately after planting her, I tied her up to a nice strong stake.  Lord knows, a firm hand is necessary to keep these two siblings from their wanton natures.

'Brook Song'

The beauty of the group at present, however, is that solitary yellow bloom on 'Brook Song'.  I knew you'd want to see a closeup so I made sure to get her best side.  Not bad for her first bloom, huh?  Isn't she just a sunny little breath of air?

Thank God, the roses have finally arrived.

Yellow Bird Lives

Yes, in answer to a reader's email, my 'Yellow Bird' Magnolia (Magnolia acuminata or Magnolia brooklynensis?)  still lives and bloomed again this year.  I was frightened for the display given our late unexpected snows and freezes this year, and I thought the last snow would knock off all the newly formed buds, but she still bloomed, although later and perhaps not quite as bountifully.  I think I can now attest to the hardiness of this tree here.  In the past three years she has withstood drought (albeit with a little extra water), early frosts, late freezes, and winter low temperatures of -10°F, and she has still grown and bloomed both years.  I think the high winds bother her the most, ripping the leaves a little here and there.


The 3rd picture below is an overall shot of the tree yesterday morning just after sunrise.  The peak bloom is already over as evidenced by the yellow petals on the ground, but some delicate flowers still remain to brighten my day.  Some have also asked why she is enclosed in a wire cage, and my simple answer is that I don't trust the large furry rats (deer) in my area. Those fuzzy plump buds look so inviting, I'm afraid that my baby will be nibbled to sticks if I leave her exposed.  And what they don't eat, the deer like to scour down to raw wood during rutting season.  So, caged she'll be until she gets branches above deer height.  She's grown about a foot each year since I purchased her.




Some garden experts and writers have written that Yellow Bird's flowers do not display well since they appear after the foliage, but I much prefer this arrangement to the "blooming on naked stems" look of my other magnolias. Blooming after the leaves open  protects the blooms from the late frosts!  The glossy yellow-green leaves of 'Yellow Bird' set off the flowers to perfection, in my opinion, and the experts will just have to suffer with the knowledge that they are wrong.