Sustainable Rose

It seems to have been a long time since I blogged about a current reading, but I've been skipping among several gardening books and catching up on my fiction as well.  The summer heat is setting in and I'm beginning to do less and less in the garden during the weekend afternoons, but I do relish the chance to pick up my garden reading.  I seem to do most of my garden reading in two seasons, at the height of summer and in the dead of winter,  but I suppose that makes some logical sense. 

One recent text that I'm finishing, though, is The Sustainable Rose Garden, a 2010 Newbury Books publication edited by Pat Shanley, Peter Kukielski, and Gene Waering.  The book is a collection of essays (sometimes supplemented by a poem or short note), and it is beautifully illustrated.  All the essays are directed at some aspect of breeding or growing disease-resistant roses, or at practices in rose culture that utilize less synthetic fertilizers and artificial chemicals. 

The essays will not all be useful for all readers (chapters on Tea Roses, for instance, won't help rosarians who live in Zone 5, such as myself), but there are ideas to be gleamed from most all the writings.  The big bonuses though, are essays by well-known rosarians and rose hybridizers, such as Stephen Scanniello, Viru Viraraghavan, Jeri Jennings, and Jeff Wyckoff.  There is a whole lot of information here, including a great description of the EarthKind™ program where I learned that there is a small EarthKind trial going on right here in Kansas.

The highlight of the book for me, however, was a chapter written by William J. Radler, the Radler of 'Knock Out®' rose fame, titled Talking About My Work With Roses.  It is essentially a history of his interest in roses, his breeding program, and a listing and description of his current introductions.  It is fascinating, for instance that he does not leave the testing of blackspot resistance up to the whims of a particular summer's weather, but describes how he collects diseased leaves early in the season, drys and powderizes them, and then sprays it over the rose garden wetting down all the leaves;  in essence creating a worse-case scenario of disease to test his seedings.  I learned a number of interesting facts, including the revelation that the original 'Knock Out' took 11 years to get to market, while his shortest time of a rose to market has been 7 years.  And I learned how 'Knock Out' got its name.  The list and description of the currently-introduced Radler roses is informative, telling us which ones were sports from others or were genetically different seedlings from similar crossings.  And there are numerous tidbits and advice from Mr. Radler about dealing with horticultural mistakes, companion plantings, and tips for using roses in the design of the garden. 

It is comforting to know that William Radler, with six employees who help with the rose research and development, views his biggest challenge as "keeping ahead of the weeds."  Sound familiar?  I guess we don't need a lifetime of dedication to roses, a degree in landscape architecture, or recognition, fame and fortune to share some of the basic challenges of gardening;  we just need a kinship with the soil.      

Excogitating Echinacea

I noticed this morning that Sherry, of  If only sweat were irrigation also blogged on echinacea, but she had the good sense and grace to stay with those echinaceas whose appearance closely resembles the appearance of my native species. 



Echinacea 'Tomato Soup'

I've been exploring, with some unease I might note, various other recently-released echinacea cultivars in my garden, and I'm starting to view the results now.  I'm prone to like the oranges and reds, but I'm not very fond of the pinks and whites and greens.  I had previously tried all white 'White Swan' several times, but I hadn't been able to overwinter it yet and it really just looks too much like a Shasta Daisy to be worth the trouble to keep trying.  My favorite, so far, is the bright orange-red 'Tomato Soup' cultivar, which is right now happily enjoying the Kansas Sun with over 20 flowers on one clump.  I must have found the right place for that one and I am planning to add some other 'Tomato Soup' plants soon, because I really love that red-orange tone.
  



Echinacea 'Aloha'

I've also tried a couple of others recently, with the yellow-tan 'Aloha' making a decent first bloom in my garden.  I like this one, just the right color to offset the blue Russian sage next to it.  I have high hopes for 'Hot Summer', but that one is a new one for me this year and it hasn't bloomed yet. 

Echinacea 'Hot Papaya'

I am, of course, very picky about the echinacea cultivars I choose.  I really can't even bear to look at many of the new cultivars that have been introduced from nurseries far and wide.  Very double "poofy" echinacea such as 'Pink Double Delight' are no delight for me and remind me of a highly manicured French poodle.  The lime green 'Green Jewel' leaves an acid taste in my mouth.  Why breeed for a green flower on an already green plant? 'Marmalade', or 'Coconut Lime'? Or 'Meringue' or 'Coral Reef'? 'Fatal Attraction' would surely be the death of me!
  Please, no more of the off-line colors, my stomach can't stand it.   I WOULD like to find an easy source for 'Tiki Torch' as I believe I could use that orange in my garden, and I will admit to trying out 'Hot Papaya' last year (pictured at right), which is as far as I'll go in trying the new doubles.  Not sure yet whether I'm very excited about this one, but I'll let it live a year or two yet.   As far as purplish 'After Midnight' goes, we'll have to see.

For the rest of us, it's important to note that most of the new Echinacea have come from only four modern breeders.  In 1968, Ronald McGregor suggested that interspecies crosses were possible, but it was Jim Ault of the Chicago Botanic Garden who put that theory into practice in the late 1990's crossing Echinacea purpurea, Echinacea paradoxa, Echinacea angustifoloia and others.  Ault is responsible for most of the breakthrough colors.  Richard Saul of Saul Nursery in Georgia created the Big Sky series with Echinacea purpurea and Echinacea paradoxa crosses.  Dan Heims of Terra Nova is hard on their heels.   Arie Blom of the Dutch nursery AB-Cultivars is responsible for many of the anemone double-flowered forms, for those who like them (I'm not in that group).

 

As for the future, who can tell.  Right now I'm content to view the explosion of new garden varieties and either turn up my nose at them or bury my nose in a new, and often fragrant, bright blossom.

My Minty Monarda



Wild Monarda fistulosa

 This is certainly the time of daylilies in the Flint Hills, but on the native prairie, it is also the time of  Monarda, specifically Monarda fistulosa, otherwise known as Wild Bergamot, in my pastures. 



Wild Bergamot is a common perennial forb of the Kansas prairie, blooming from June through August.  This 3 foot tall member of the mint family is easily identified by the characteristic square stem of the mints and by the blowsy pale pink-purple flowers that stand out from the yellow-green color of the prairie grasses in the summer. When its leaves are crushed, it also releases the fragrant essential oils we've come to associate with the mints.  Highly resistant to drought, it is an essential summer food of bees in the area. 

 

Wild Bergamot clump on the prairie

Great Plains Native Americans had many uses for this aromatic plant, from a food seasoning ingredient or perfuming their clothes to the treatment of colds and stomach ailments. They also recognized that it had strong antiseptic properties due to a substance now known as "Thymol" (now a common ingredient in mouthwash formulas) and used it as a poultice to treat skin infections and minor wounds.   There are three other Monarda species found in Kansas, Monarda citriodora (Lemon Mint), Monarda punctata (Western Spotted Beebalm), and  Monarda bradburiana (Bradbury Beebalm), but only Lemon Mint might also be found in my local area and I've never seen it.

'Jacob Cline'

Of course, most gardeners know this genus by the more colorful cultivars of Monarda didyma, otherwise know as Scarlet Monarda or Oswego tea.  The latter common name is popular because the Oswego Indians taught the American colonists how to use it for tea after the colonists had a spiteful little Boston Tea Party.  I grow several cultivars of Monarda didyma, from deeper purple-pink 'Blue Stocking' to less intense 'Prairie Knight' and also grow a bright red form that are the descendants of either 'Gardenview Scarlet' or 'Jacob Cline'.  Those two cultivars were identical to my examination from the time I planted them and I had both planted in the same general area, so now that it has spread throughout my front landscaping, I'm not sure which of my scarlet bee balms was the evolutionary winner (if not both).  'Gardenview Scarlet' is a cross of Monarda didyma X M. fistulosa that was a selection from the Chicago Botanic Gardens Plant Selection Program.  'Jacob Cline', which seems to be the more widely available and better known red cultivar, was a selection of the native Monarda didyma that is highly resistant to Monarda nemesis of powdery mildew.  I've had some trouble determining if the proper spelling of the name is 'Jacob Cline' or 'Jacob Kline', but according to Saul Nursery, which originally introduced it, the proper name is 'Jacob Cline', named for the son of Georgia garden designer Jean Cline.  I suppose they'd know.

'Blue Stocking'

As you would expect from a plant where related species grow naturally in the same area, every Monarda cultivar that I've tried has done well in my Flint Hills garden. It seems to love the full sunlight and dry late summer conditions of the summer, blooming freely and self-seeding or spreading by rhizomes over whatever garden areas I choose to give it. And I've got to tell you, I love removing last years stems in the Spring and weeding this stuff in the summer; stepping on the young plants packed so closely together releases a delectable aroma.  Monarda has a reputation in most printed sources for thriving best in moist environments, but I haven't found extra water to be necessary for established specimens.  Monarda seems to do just fine with occasional droughts, just as long as the drought does not occur in the middle of the flowering period. In fact, withholding a little moisture helps keep these cultivars from growing too tall and then sprawling about. None of the cultivars I grow seem to get mildew, and they provide me the benefits of being deer resistant and attracting bees and butterflies by the thousands. In fact, it is one of the few plant families that I can truly say I've never killed or lost a specimen I've tried.  Now that's what I call adapted to the climate!



'Jacob Cline' in my front landscaping