Echium candicans seedling

Last spring I planted a Penstemon ‘Blackbird’ in this tub in the tub garden (observe the remains in the foreground). Briefly divine with it’s vinous purple trumpets, it stalled once the temperature rose above 35℃ and inevitably failed with continued heat. While the Penstemon was flagging this Echium candicans (Pride of Madiera) seedling, unnoticed while tiny, was revelling in the perfect drainage and full sun I thought would finally yield ongoing success with my beloved P. ‘Blackbird’. Oh well, such things are not meant to be and I will pine no more for it’s darkly seductive flowers, instead sticking to the hardier North American species.

Normally content with serendipitous volunteers I will in this case have to remove the rogue. Neither the tub nor location will provide enough space for a fully grown E. candicans, already several times the size of it’s siblings that were potted earlier, thanks to the increased root run of it’s much larger container. After some serious coffee fuelled contemplation I decided it would be a suitably scaled companion for my stand of the South African Melianthus major (Honey bush), another spring flowering, giant perennial, with crooked spikes of dark maroon flowers that should sympathise well with the similarly shaped but deep blue spires of the Echium. Time will tell.

Before I can introduce it to it’s new home though, I first have to remove a large drift of Imperata cylindrica ‘Rubra’ (Japanese blood grass) that I have tired of.  Once looking quite fine with it’s bloody tipped, bright green leaves, it existed solely on what moisture seeped into this unwatered bed from the nursery bench across the path. As I’ve halved the irrigation in the nursery and the patch has grown denser, increasing it’s demand for water, it has lost most of it’s shine and become dull and listless. A similar fate may be in store for an Elegia capensis, a South African restio that is similarly sited (Restios are sedge like plants from the Restionaceae family). Being slow to establish and highly desirable I will give it another year before I conclude it needs a moister site to produce it’s bamboo like stems that bear a whorl of cylindrical leaves at every joint, resembling a giant Equisetum (Horsetail).

The golden firework-like flowers of Lycoris aurea

This year’s hot, dry summer has been very much to the liking of these Lycoris aurea, or Golden spider lily, which are disinclined to flower if they receive any water over summer. Within a week or so of the first few showers of autumn rain they send up these golden flowers like fireworks, which are later followed by strappy dull green leaves. This habit of flowering bare stemmed and without foliage sees them, along with other bulbs of similar habit, often referred to by older gardeners as Naked ladies. May such charming epithets never die in favour of bland political correctness.

Lycoris are native to China and Japan and are often confused with the similar looking genus Nerine from Southern Africa. Although Lycoris aurea is naturally found in forests I have them out in a baking, full sun position and they seem quite content. If I leave them undisturbed they should slowly clump, sending up more fireworks each year.

Lobelia polyphylla exposed and awaiting a new home

With cooler weather I have at last been replanting the tub garden. Over summer I’ve watched the less heat and drought tolerant plants keel over one by one leaving spaces full of endless possibility. Some plants were treasured and I had high hopes for them, their demise means that other plants with perhaps even more potential get a chance. While perusing the stock areas for likely candidates I noticed my last surviving Lobelia polyphylla was starting to sprout (the others had succumbed to excess moisture the previous summer). I decided to investigate what was going on below ground.

A Chilean native it survives the dry summers with moisture stored in those impressive fleshy roots. Quite brittle a few of the smaller ones broke off during de-potting and they emit a smell like freshly mown grass.

It now has a deep square pot to itself in the tub garden, formerly the home of a Comptonia peregrina (Sweet fern), the only plant I know of able to both fix nitrogen from the atmosphere with the aid of bacteria and extract phosphorous from the poor soil it grows in with the assistance of mycorrhizal fungi. It exudes a sweet sugary perfume on warm days or when brushed, hence the common name, although it’s not a fern but a shrub with remarkably fern-like leaves. From the north east coast of North America it sadly found our heat too challenging.

The Lobelia should be more at home and will hopefully this winter grow large enough to flower. Eventually it should reach over a metre high becoming quite shrubby. The flowers are reputedly deep red and bird pollinated. I can’t wait.

Helictotrichon sempervirens looking unhappy at the end of summer

It’s the time of the year when I wander around the nursery assessing how well plants have handled the summer and whether they should be promoted, given another chance, or demoted to the scrap heap. This year has been better than most for testing a plants mettle, with daytime temperatures almost continuously above 30℃ from January through March.

This Helictotrichon sempervirens (Blue oat grass) is one of those plants on it’s last chance. Considered by many gardeners the finest blue grass of all it should be spectacular and coming from the Mediterranean I expected it to do well. After failing with it in pots I finally got it in the ground where it would not receive too much water but more than enough to keep a supposedly drought tolerant plant happy. It looks pretty much the same at the end of this summer as it has at the end of every other. Being a winter grower I will give it until spring, then if it still doesn’t show any promise, or at least look like it might flower, I’ll replace it with a more reliable blue grass, another Schizachyrium scoparium (Little bluestem) or a Sorghastrum nutans (Indiangrass) that’s been begging me to get in the ground.
Among other plants that will be getting the chop this year are most of the English hybrid penstemons, with the exception of ‘Alice Hindley’ and ‘Pink Dragon’ they just can’t handle the heat, a pity because they are so beautiful and flower their heads off. No loss, they will be superseded with wild North American penstemons, like Penstemon palmeri, Penstemon eatonii and Penstemon heterophyllus that seem to quite revel in the heat and are far more resistant or even demanding of dry conditions.
Adenophora nikoensis a Campanula relative has also failed to impress. Having enjoyed the pale lavender bells of Adenophora triphylla for many years I thought I would try another species but since growing them from seed in 2008 they have made meagre growth in spring only to fizzle as the temperature rises. They are from woodlands somewhere in the mountains of Japan so I’m not really surprised at my lack of success, though other Japanese natives do well enough. They can now find homes in the gardens of gardeners in cooler regions who are eager to try them.
A couple of plants that unexpectedly passed summer’s test with flying colours are Scutellaria alpina and Edraianthus graminifolius, considered alpines they have both come through unscathed and look set for a stellar flowering come spring.

The sage garden - before

After spending the last couple of years researching and growing Californian sages it’s time to actually plant some in the ground. Unirrigated and fully exposed to the sun this garden is about the only space I have that is suitable, it’s one draw back being that the soil, underneath a layer of crushed concrete, is solid clay. Drainage is going to be an issue. Californian sages demand good drainage and our winters being wetter than what most of them are used to will make it doubly as important. Hopefully I can increase the drainage enough at the base of each plant by making a small mound on which to plant it.
Currently this garden is occupied by several Salvia muirii and a Salvia lanceolata, both South African sages, a swathe of Scilla peruviana (Cuban  lily or Peruvian lily) also from South Africa (common name are often misleading), a couple of Urginea maritima (Sea squill, seen flowering in anticipation of rain) from Greece, a handful of Pancratium maritimum (Sea daffodil) from around the Mediterranean Sea, an assortment of other winter growing bulbs and a Artemisia alba ‘Canescens’ seen at the front growing in only few inches of clay over concrete and baking on the paving. Towards the back I have already established one Californian sage, Salvia apiana or white sage, it’s been in for a couple of years and is quite happy.
I’m not going to remove any of the bulbs, there are many bulbs in California and they won’t look out of place amongst their new companions, but I will remove the Salvia muirii leaving perhaps one, as it’s horrendously hardy and never stops flowering. The Salvia lanceolata can also stay, at least until I plant another elsewhere. And I’m certainly not going to remove the Artemisia ‘Canescens’ because I doubt anything else would grow in that spot (underneath that corner is an old concrete driveway), besides Artemisias are also referred to as sages or sagebrush so it will be quite appropriate.
Once I’ve removed what I need to I will contemplate exactly what I’m going to plant. There will be a few more plants going in besides the sages but I want it to maintain a Californian feel even if many of the plants are not Californian. This should be quite easy as most plants from Mediterranean climates share common forms, features and growth cycles.

Ladybird feasting

Every year around this time aphids appear on the milkweeds (Asclepias currasavica) in the nursery. These bright yellow aphids never seem to feed on other plants so I leave them for ladybirds and Aphidius wasps (a tiny wasp that breeds inside aphids) to feed on. It’s a garden war that’s fascinating to watch, initially the aphids have the advantage of numbers but within a few weeks the superior fire power of the predators leads to total genocide. I managed to snap this ladybird in action, in the space of a few minutes he devoured six defenceless aphids. I can still hear their screams.
This year there are the most aphids I think I’ve ever seen, so many that entire plants and the paving beneath them have become sticky with honeydew, a sticky sugary substance excreted by aphids (aphid pee). Ants often farm aphids for the honeydew which they love to drink and in wetter weather black sooty mould usually grows on the honeydew making the plants unsightly. Plants in shadier, softer conditions are usually the worst affected and I always end up having to cull a few.

Cyclamen graecum

Cooler weather must be just around the corner as the first Cyclamen are flowering, this one is Cyclamen graecum (my favourite) it’s appearance above ground reminded me my cyclamen collection badly needs repotting and while it should of been done weeks ago it was just too hot. Cyclamen tubers can grow to very large sizes, that’s a fifty cent piece in the photo, but that’s not my largest tuber, that title belongs to a Cyclamen persicum that I measured at over 15cm across and growing. I’ve heard of Cyclamen hederifolium in collections with tubers over 40cm across, so mine are still babies. I would have to rank wild Cyclamen as some of the best pot plants for our climate and with minimal care they can live long enough to pass down to your grandchildren.