Beauty And The Zits

Shooting skyward, over six feet tall, the handsome stranger peeked over the stockade fence.  This mystery was accompanied by some commoners, including daisy fleabane, Queen Anne’s lace, and pink cosmos, all living in the giant’s shadows in a narrow strip along the gravel.  Featuring short, dense, bottlebrush leaves on a few lanky stems, it was topped by brilliant scarlet, trumpet-shaped flowers.  Not a well-known wildflower, and not a nasty invasive, a little Wednesday morning detective work pinned this suspect as Ipomopsis rubra, a.k.a. Texas plume, standing cypress, or scarlet gilia.  A truly beautiful thing, it can tolerate hot, dry soil, and exists as a biennial or short-term perennial.  Hummingbirds, legendary for their attraction to flowers in shades of red, not surprisingly serve as pollinators of this species.  Probably not a garden stalwart to count on for a floral display, but lovely when it appears, a gift from the gardening gods who all too often send us crazy snake worms, tomato blights, and, as I’ll later describe, plant zits.

But where is it native?  This is a question recently asked and answered by a team of botanical researchers from the Universities of North and South Carolina.  They note that I. rubra was a well-known garden plant at the time of the Civil War.  Bartram, traveling through Georgia and Florida, described it growing wild in 1791, and even earlier, Johann Dillenius was studying the seeds and growing it at Oxford University in England in 1732.  Yet it remained unclear where exactly the species originated and where it later traveled, aided by humans.  By studying every available herbarium record, the scientists have concluded that standing cypress is native in small pockets, from low country North Carolina to Texas and Oklahoma, and lives in a wide variety of habitats, from prairie to seashore, from granitic soils to limestone.  Occurrences north of Arkansas and ranging all the way into Ontario are likely introduced, including the plant growing right here in Troy.

Much less desirable and even more obscure, the Rudbeckia psyllid is making its presence known in a local garden.  We first learned of this strange insect in 2016, when a Master Gardener found it in her brother’s garden in Massachusetts, feeding on the ever-popular botanical megastar Goldsturm Rudbeckia.  Apparently not an entomologist, the brother described the damage as “zits,” but a more prosaic description could be purplish-black spots with greenish raised bumps. 

Although the details of their biology remain obscure, these creatures have several names, including psyllids, triozids, and “jumping plant lice.”  When in the mature nymphal state, they are about one-eighth inch long, flattened and very colorful with a light green abdomen, red-orange head and thorax, and white wing pads. They feed by inserting their needle-like mouthparts into lower surfaces of the leaf and sucking out plant juices. This feeding causes a distinct, shallow depression and purplish spots.  We aren’t sure how much trouble these triozids might cause in the future, but acne is no acme of anyone’s summer.

Stout and The Tawny

The ditch lilies are out in force.  Excuse me for using what seems to be a tawdry name, perhaps you know them by the more accepted monikers tawny orange daylilies or Hemerocallis fulva.  Natives of Asia, legend has it they were brought here by sea captains bearing gifts for their wives (who might have longed for something shinier).  No doubt their bright orange flowers, with pale stripes and yellow throats, delighted nineteenth century gardeners, who were daylily-deprived.  Although each blossom lasts for only a day, they flower abundantly and possess a tenacious spirit, growing in a wide range of conditions and re-appearing after being mowed, grazed, or even sprayed with herbicide.  Given their ability to spread, H. fulva is considered an exotic invasive through much of the eastern U.S. and in pockets farther west.  But as intruders go, it is difficult to thoroughly dislike the eye-dazzling trumpets, which seem to scream, “its summer, its hot, and so am I!”

With both rhizomes (spreading roots) as well as tubers (swollen underground storage organs), tawny daylilies are tough customers which can move.  Oddly enough, for all the show of the flowers, most of the plants we see “in the wild” are somewhat useless from a biological perspective, since they rarely reproduce from seed.  This is because they are a triploid form, and while producing viable pollen, they are otherwise sterile.  This triploid form is scientifically known as Hemerocallis fulva variety fulva.  Other forms of H. fulva, many long-cultivated in Asia for food, medicine, and beauty, also made their way to European and American gardens, along with other species of daylilies, which total about twenty in number.

Providence smiled upon the daylily when a Midwestern farm lad met H. fulva in the 1890’s.  Young Arlow Burdett Stout was intrigued by his mother’s tawny daylilies, growing by the porch, which produced no seeds.  He went on to study botany at the University of Wisconsin, and soon earned a Ph. D. from Columbia.  By 1911 he was working at the New York Botanical Garden, where in the 1920’s he obtained daylily plants and seeds from Asia.  Keeping meticulous records, he started hybridizing, eventually making over 50,000 crosses and raising thousands of seedlings, which were evaluated and culled, leaving only about 100 plants good enough to become named varieties. 

And oh what varieties they were!  The first one to hit the market, in 1929, was ‘Mikado,’ a strong yellow with dark red bands.  One of ‘Mikado’s’ parents was, unsurprisingly, H. fulva.  Daylily popularity boomed with the introduction of more of Stout’s hybrids, encouraging other plant breeders to get involved as well.  Today we have almost 50,000 named hybrid daylilies in vast array of colors, forms, and sizes.  Each year, one new daylily cultivar wins the Stout Silver Medal, the highest honor given by the American Daylily Society.  2018’s winner, ‘Entwined In The Vine,’ is a lavender pink, with a darker lavender multi-colored eye, yellow-green throat, and rippled ivory edge.  You’ve come a long way, tawny.      

Surviving Shock

In spring, along with rising sap, a gardener’s passions run high.  Most of us need to get in the car, travel to several nurseries and garden centers, and exchange some green (cash) for some green (plants).  We tote our purchases home, plant them, then expect them to perform.  What do the plants do?  After realizing they aren’t in Kansas anymore, some adjust to their new digs just fine, while others sulk, entering a phase some call “transplant shock.”  That’s just what we want to avoid.

Plants live on a slower schedule than we do.  It is not at all uncommon for a newly-planted tree to take three to five years to re-establish itself in a new location.  During this long re-adjustment period, the tree may show a host of distress symptoms.  These range from delayed leaf emergence in the spring, smaller leaves, off-color leaves, and early fall color to stunted growth, stem dieback, secondary insect and disease issues, and limited flowering.  Of course, the ultimate expression of dissatisfaction is when the tree checks out and dies.  Good gardeners can read these symptoms and possibly provide some corrective action, while the non-horticultural remain blissfully ignorant, become helpless or get angry.  Unfortunately, there is no mandatory coursework required to enter plant parenthood, but maybe there should be.

The list of reasons why transplanted plants fail to thrive could fill a textbook, and since plants can’t talk, we probably don’t know the half of it.  Consider that some nursery plants are of poor quality – with undersized root systems, or excessively pot-bound roots, or stresses from pest issues or poor handling techniques.  Any sort of root damage along the way from the production farm to the sales lot to your home is likely to show up as dieback on top.  Mishandling plants can have lasting results.  I get a chuckle when I see trucks flying down the road, nursery stock hanging on in back, leaves blowing in a fifty mile-per-hour breeze.  What foliage does hang on after that joyride is likely to become a desiccated mess. 

Matching the plant to the site is critical.  Some plants like shade, some like sun, some tolerate both.  For example, a rhododendron is not a good plant for a hot, dry parking lot, but I’ve seen it attempted.  Heavy clay soils are likely to retain a lot of water and have low oxygen content, so choose plants which can tolerate “wet feet” here.  Sandy soils are likely well aerated but may lack moisture, so drought tolerant species are a must.  It pays to stick a shovel in the ground and take a look at the soil before choosing what to put in it.  Windy areas are typically difficult locales for broadleaved evergreen plants, and even needled evergreens may have trouble establishing there.  Places which are exposed to road salt require salt-tolerant plants.  Even simply low spots and high spots have their challenges.  While plant tags are helpful, there really isn’t any substitute for knowing the likes and dislikes of the plants you bring home. 

Tough and Easy

Can something be “tough and easy” at the same time?  I say “yes!” when it comes to gardening with perennials.  Plants are said to be tough when they tolerate poor soil, drought, insect pests, and the other perils Mother Nature periodically reigns down.  They’re easy if you don’t have to spend a lot of time staking, dividing, restraining, or otherwise futzing over them.  At North Greenbush’s Robert C. Parker School, where we have our Master Gardener Demonstration Garden, the wide-open, full sun site and compacted, clay-and-rock growing stratum have provided excellent proving grounds for what grows in a tough place.  We don’t have delphiniums, for example, because, while stunningly beautiful, delphiniums need the same constant nurturing as a preemie.  But we do have some attractive plants which can allow you to have (is it possible?) a life in addition to the garden.

Nothing is easier, for example, than ornamental grasses.  Some have incredible foliage, such as Blue Dune Lyme grass (Elymus arenarius ‘Blue Dune’), with its pale blue leaves and rather unkempt habit.  Also colorful is spiky blue fescue (Festuca ovina), which actually demands well-drained, poor soil and will languish if given too much love (see photo on right).  The main point of interest for feather reed grass, (Calamagrostis acutiflora), is the soft plumes of flowers and seeds which reach five feet or so above a clump of green foliage.  Many grasses, such as the switchgrasses (Panicum sp.), provide increased interest as the season progresses, as they flower and produce ornamental seedheads in late summer, and look snazzy well into fall.  Sedges are also easy to grow but often overlooked.  One of the most handsome (in my mind at least) is Carex siderosticha ‘Variegata,’ a low-grower and slow-spreader with green leaves edged in white.  Flashier ‘Banana Boat’ has yellow leaves edged in green.

The 1980’s wasn’t just the decade of big hair, glasnost and The Yugo, but also marked the widespread appearance of three perennial biggies:  Stella D’Oro daylily, Goldsturm rudbeckia and Autumn Joy sedum.  This trio is still extremely popular, almost to the point of redundancy, because they are so long blooming, tough and easy.  Stella was one of the first compact daylilies to re-bloom, and it is a rather vivid shade of yellow-orange (think processed American cheese).  For some reason, it is often planted with pink flowers, with mind-bending results.  Fortunately, newer, similar daylilies, such as ‘Happy Returns,’ ‘Purple de Oro’ and ‘Little Business’ have widened the possible color spectrum.  Goldsturm (in English “gold storm”) has golden daisy-like flowers with dark centers and a sunny black-eyed Susan look.  And while there is an entire wonderful world of sedums to explore, nothing compares to the joy of Autumn Joy’s pink flowers in, you guessed it, the fall (see photo on left).

 

Would you like something more exotic?  How about Culver’s root (Veronicastrum virginicum) with its white flower spikes, pointy leaves and architectural stance.  Or wine cups (Callirhoe involucrata), magenta flowers on a sprawly, geranium-like plant which combines well with lady’s mantle (Alchemilla mollis) (photo on right) and lambs’s ear (Stachys byzantine).  All are tough, yet easy.