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Tag: Natives

  • Native Irises: The Best Low-Maintenance Irises Indigenous to the U.S.

    Native Irises: The Best Low-Maintenance Irises Indigenous to the U.S.

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    “Irises were my first love,” says horticulturalist Kelly D. Norris, the garden author and designer known for his “new naturalism” garden style. He started out managing his family’s iris farm and eventually became a noted iris expert, writing A Guide to Bearded Irises. However, it’s not just the dizzying array of bearded irises that Norris fell hard for: He loved the beardless native irises, too. “The farm I grew up on was not far removed from native prairie remnants, including some that bordered the river. All of the little swales where they’d dug for the railroad tracks and disturbed the floodplain were home to large colonies of Iris virginica,” he remembers. On one occasion, teenage Norris took a potato fork to dig up a patch of irises in the path of development.

    Indigenous irises often get less attention than their cultivated counterparts, but as gardeners aspire to plant more natives and design landscapes that better manage rainwater, American irises deserve a second look. Unlike imported irises, native irises are low-maintenance: They don’t require fertilization, and once established they will spread and come back bigger year after year. Even when not in bloom, many native irises have foliage that offers substantial architectural quality. And while we do not yet know about specific host plant relationships, they are beloved by bees, moths, and butterflies. 

    Native irises, and blue flag irises in particular, are often well-suited to rain gardens and bioswales, which mimic their natural habitats near ponds and streams. Writing for the Ecological Landscape Alliance, Dr. Catherine Neal, a horticulture professor at the University of New Hampshire, noted, “Blue flag iris (Iris versicolor) is a plant that seems to be highly adapted to the lowest area of the rain garden—we have seen it survive where many other species have failed.” Norris has personally been experimenting with breeding native irises, hoping to tease out selections from wild populations that could have a little more horticultural interest in bioswales and green infrastructure. “We need a plant palette for that,” he says.

    There are only 28 native iris species in the U.S. (although that number may vary slightly depending on who you talk to), but because they hybridize easily both in nature and with human assistance, there are hundreds of garden forms in cultivation. Plantsman Bob Pries, an iris hybridizer and longtime member and spokesperson for the American Iris Society, encourages gardeners interested in native irises to join Species Iris Group of North America (SIGNA). “They have a seed exchange, which is one of the easiest ways for people to get seeds of a lot of these plants,” says Pries. (Iris lovers might also explore the Society’s Iris Encyclopedia, which lists about 80,000(!) different cultivars of irises, mostly non-native, that have been registered.)

    Here’s a primer on the irises native to the United States:

    Blue Flag Irises

    Above: In the “valley” of Norris’s own Three Oaks garden, an homage to wet ditch flora features ‘Purple Flame’, a selection of I. versicolor from Mt. Cuba Center.
    Above: In the “valley” of Norris’s own Three Oaks garden, an homage to wet ditch flora features ‘Purple Flame’, a selection of I. versicolor from Mt. Cuba Center.

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  • Tama Matsuoka Wong: An Interview with the Forager Extraordinaire

    Tama Matsuoka Wong: An Interview with the Forager Extraordinaire

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    We’ve been writing about Tama Matsuoka Wong for more than a decade—first in 2013 when we joined her for a foraging (and eating) adventure on her 28-acre property in Hunterdon County, NJ, then again in 2017 when she co-authored the cookbook Scraps, Wilt + Weeds with Danish chef Mads Refslund (of Noma fame). And more recently, earlier this year, we were swept up by her new book, Into the Weeds, which lays out her “wild and visionary way of gardening.”

    All of which is to say, we are unabashed fans—of her forage-focused recipes, of her let-nature-take-the-wheel gardening philosophy, of her passion for plants that are often misunderstood and loathed. “Some are ecologically invasive plants, some are just ordinary garden weeds, and some are native plants that aren’t on the list of showy ornamentals but are part of a vibrant natural plant community,” she says.

    Below, the self-described “garden contrarian” shares why she thinks planting doesn’t have to be a part of gardening, which tool she uses to maintain her meadow, and why she always has crates in her garden.

    Photography courtesy of Tama Matsuoka Wong.

    Above: The “ecologically minded forager, meadow doctor, and lecturer” has written three books. Her first, Foraged Flavor, was nominated for a James Beard award; her second, Scraps, Wilt + Weeds, received the IACP “Food Matters” award. Read about her latest, Into the Weeds, here. Photograph by Colin Clark.

    Your first garden memory:

    In New Jersey, mucking about in the garden dirt with my mother, and picking wild berries. My mother grew up in Hawaii, climbing coconut trees and she always told me she loved the feel of the earth in her hands.

    Garden-related book you return to time and again:

    It’s an oldie but goodie: Bill Cullina’s Native Trees, Shrubs & Vines: A Guide to Using, Growing, and Propagating American Woody Plants. I still have my dog-eared version of Weeds of the Northeast by Richard Uva. I’ve also read multiple times H is for Hawk by British author Helen Macdonald and My Wild Garden: Notes from a Writer’s Eden by Israeli writer Meir Shalev. They inspire me. And, of course, Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer.

    Instagram account that inspires you:

    @andrew_the_arborist. @minh_ngoc.

    Describe in three words your garden aesthetic.

    Above: Outdoor dining on her property, surrounded by “weeds.” Photograph by Ngoc Minh Ngo.

    Wild, wonder-filled, wabi-sabi.

    Plant that makes you swoon:

    A survivor plant in its natural habitat and community: whether desert, chaparrel, bog, pine barrens, highlands, low country.

    Plant that makes you want to run the other way:

    Callery pear tree (bradford pear tree).

    Favorite go-to plant:

    Tama likes to forage staghorn sumac fruit to cook with. See her recipe for Sparkling Sumac Lemonade Recipe. Photograph by Tama Matsuoka Wong.
    Above: Tama likes to forage staghorn sumac fruit to cook with. See her recipe for Sparkling Sumac Lemonade Recipe. Photograph by Tama Matsuoka Wong.

    Rhus typhina (staghorn sumac).

    Hardest gardening lesson you’ve learned:

    Nothing is forever. Plants thrive when and where the conditions are uniquely suited. We can’t over-think, over-design, and over-control these conditions, especially now with changing and unexpected weather conditions. Just be grateful when a plant has an amazing year.

    Unpopular gardening opinion:

    My mission is not popular: Weeds, by definition are not popular.

    Gardening or design trend that needs to go:

    The idea that everything in a garden needs to be planted, that we need to “install” a landscape.

    Favorite gardening hack:

    Above: “These crates are covering newly planted turkey tangle frogfruit, an unnoticed, weedy native plant that likes to grow ‘in wet ditches.’ ” Photograph by Tama Matsuoka Wong.

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  • Native Vines: Experts Share Their Favorite Native Climbers

    Native Vines: Experts Share Their Favorite Native Climbers

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    Vines can hide an ugly fence or add beauty to trellis or doorways. When grown over an arbor or pergola, they can create shade. But when gardeners think of vines, the first thing that comes to mind may be imported ones like Japanese and Chinese wisteria, English Ivy, or the dreaded oriental bittersweet, which can all be difficult to get rid of (and have notoriously escaped our gardens and aggressively displaced native plants in the wild). There are many native vines, though, that can play a useful part in your garden scheme.

    Christina Koether, a backyard flower farmer, florist, and garden designer behind Nomadica in Weston, Connecticut, notes that tastes and awareness are gradually shifting: In October, for example, it will be illegal to sell both Japanese wisteria (Wisteria floribunda) and Chinese wisteria (Wisteria sinensis) in Connecticut. As a result, she says, “I think we will see native vines like Aristolochia macrophylla and Lonicera sempervirens become more popular again.”

    Here are 11 native vines that garden professionals are using in their designs:

    Dutchman’s Pipe (or Pipevine)

    Above: Photograph by Anne McCormack via Flickr.

    Looking for a native vine to cover an ugly deer fence on the woodland edge of her property, Koether decided to try planting a pipevine (Aristolochia macrophylla), whose heart-shaped leaves were a favorite in Victorian gardens until favor shifted toward the imported Chinese and Japanese wisterias for their showier flowers. “Pipevine—it’s one of my favorite native vines,” says Koether, who admits that technically, it’s native to areas slightly further south than Connecticut, where she gardens. “But I rolled the dice when I bought them, knowing the butterfly that relies on it would likely start coming further north as temperatures increase each year.” Sure enough, this year, Koether watched pipevine swallowtail butterflies lay eggs on the vine, which hatched into caterpillars. In addition to being the host plant for the pipevine swallowtails, who rely on this plant to survive, Koether appreciates the playful pipe-shaped flowers in the springtime. 

    California Pipevine

    Photograph by TJ Gehling via Flickr.
    Above: Photograph by TJ Gehling via Flickr.

    Out on the west coast, Andrea Hurd, the founder of Mariposa Gardening & Design Cooperative in Oakland, California, points to the California native pipevine (Aristolochia californica), which has larger, distinctive purple-striped, pipe-shaped flowers. “We have a garden where it has gotten well-established,” she says. According to the California Native Plant Society, this plant is common in moist woods and along streams in northern and central California. Like its cousin Aristolochia macrophylla, it is the host plant for the pipevine swallowtail, and there are other regional Aristolochia to explore, depending on where you garden.

    Coral Honeysuckle

    Photograph by Melissa McMasters via Flickr.
    Above: Photograph by Melissa McMasters via Flickr.

    Not to be confused with Japanese honeysuckle (Lonicera japonica), which is considered invasive in most states, coral honeysuckle (Lonicera sempervirens) is native to the southeast and grows as far north as Maine and inland to the midwest—and is a favorite of several garden pros. Gena Wirth, a landscape architect and partner at SCAPE’s New York office, recently moved into a home in Brooklyn with a large fence that backs onto a subway corridor, on which she is experimenting with a number of native vines, including coral honeysuckle. “Lonicera sempervirens is such an easy-to-grow, adaptable plant that thrives in full and part sun environments,” says Wirth. “I love planting it in arches and garden windows, as its flowers reach for the light.” Koether notes that she also likes to use cuttings of both the greens and the flowers in her floristry work.

    Trumpet Vine

    Photograph by Renee Grayson via Filckr.
    Above: Photograph by Renee Grayson via Filckr.

    If you want to attract hummingbirds, look to trumpet vine (Campis radicans) and its orange, trumpet-shade flowers. It’s native to eastern North America, as far north as Ohio and South Dakota. Fast- and high-growing, trumpet vine has a reputation for being aggressive (great if you want it to screen a fence), but the experts from the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, in their guide Great Natives for Tough Places, say that it can be controlled with pruning if you want to contain its vigor.

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  • Fall Foraging: 6 Easiest Fruits and Mushrooms to Forage in the Autumn

    Fall Foraging: 6 Easiest Fruits and Mushrooms to Forage in the Autumn

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    While spring and summer offer a bounty of wild food treasures, there is a cornucopia of good things to forage in fall. Fruits like native aronia and pawpaw, and imported and notoriously stinky ginkgo, ripen on trees and shrubs. Hen of the woods, one of the most delicious and easiest of mushrooms to identify, begins to appear at the base of hardwoods. Even as winter arrives and days contract with cold, wood ear mushrooms remain in season when the weather is damp. For anyone newly curious about wild food to forage or to grow (in the case of the fruit), here are six fall forages that make the season exciting. They are sustainable to gather, and easy to identify.

    Photography by Marie Viljoen.

    Aronia

    Above: Aronia melanocarpa is also known as chokeberry.

    Like apples, the fruits of aronia are known botanically as pomes. Like apples they are ready to harvest in early fall. Darkly tannic when underripe, aronia has a long season, and begins to turn black and juicy in late August. The fruit persists well after frost and is also sweeter after a cold snap’s bletting. It can be gathered earlier, but wait until entire clusters are a midnight purple; any hint of red means they are unpalatably acerbic, giving the shrub that chokeberry common name. (Scarlet-hued fruit are a different species, Aronia arbutifolia, and can be used in the same way, but yield less juice.)

    Above: Ripe and juicy aronia.

    Around mid-September (where I live), the first forage of aronia is plump and mouth-puckering, but ideal for juicing through a foodmill. Freeze the juice in ice trays and store in bags or a container. The frozen cubes of aronia juice can be used like red wine in cooking, adding depth and complexity to slow-cooked stews and braises. An ounce of juice shaken into a cocktail gives it an antioxidant-rich backbone (aronia in supplement form is big business). A staple is my kitchen is slow-fermented aronia, dried, and used in baking and cooking like raisins. To ferment the fruit I cover it in sugar in a jar, let it sit for weeks to months—the lid on loosely—before straining it off and bottling the syrup (you can use this elderberry syrup method for the aronia syrup). The delectable, leftover fruit is air-dried slowly on trays and it keeps indefinitely.

    Above: A foodmill is very handy for processing aronia for juice (to freeze and use later).

    Above: Dried, fermented aronia in holiday marzipan loaves.

    Ginkgo

    Above: Friend, or foe? Ginkgo fruit is notoriously stinky.

    Roasted ginkgo “nuts” might be the ultimate bar snack.

    New York City’s streets and parks are richly planted with Ginkgo biloba. The trees’ tolerance of pollution and their vivid fall color make them a beloved ornamental. Female ginkgo trees bear heavy crops of fruit, which drops to the grass or sidewalk beneath when ripe. This is one of the smelliest times of the urban year. Aside from knowledgable East Asian connoisseurs who gather the fallen fruit to process in late fall (and city-dwelling raccoons and possums who love the reeking pulp), few urbanites love ginkgo for these odiferous weeks. But hidden inside that fruit is a nut-like shell. And inside that shell is a delectable treat: a pistachio-green kernel that tastes something like a roast chestnut crossed with tofu.

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  • Biodiversity in Governors Island: Andi Pettis Is Bringing Biodiversity Back at the Urban Island

    Biodiversity in Governors Island: Andi Pettis Is Bringing Biodiversity Back at the Urban Island

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    This is part of a series with Perfect Earth Project, a nonprofit dedicated to toxic-free, nature-based gardening, on how you can be more sustainable in your landscapes at home. 

    “We have declared 2024 the year of milkweed,” says Andi Pettis, director of horticulture at Governors Island. For the past couple of years, Pettis and her team have been busy incorporating milkweed into the island’s plantings. They’re focusing on the three species native to the ecoregion: butterfly weed (Pettis’s favorite because of the “incredible variation in color from golden yellow to almost scarlet”), mauvy common milkweed, and hot pink swamp milkweed. Her goal is to finish planting 5,000 milkweed plants this year. “Showing the relationship between monarch butterflies and milkweed is an easy way for us to connect people to the benefits of native plants and show them why it’s important to support wildlife even in an urban environment.” The efforts have paid off. They’ve been noticing more and more monarchs on the island. You’ve heard it before: If you plant it, they really do come. (See Monarch Butterflies Are Nearing Extinction: 5 Ways to Help.)

    Planting milkweed is just one of the many initiatives that Pettis and her team are doing to bolster biodiversity. “Climate resiliency and sustainability were sort of baked into the design of the park,” she says. Created by the design firm West 8, with Mathews Nielson Landscape Architects, the park features 120 acres of hills, meadows, and forests in the middle of New York Harbor. “It was a reuse project really—an old military base turned into a public space with new parks,” she said. “But there was no horticulture staff when I was hired [six years ago].” Pettis, who trained at Brooklyn Botanic Garden and had risen through the ranks at The High Line to become director of horticulture before moving to Governors Island, had to build a team from scratch and began to rehabilitate areas where maintenance had been deferred for years. Today, she and her team have introduced 52 native plant species to the island, planted habitat for butterflies and birds, and brought in sheep to tame the rampant spread of invasive species. “We’re working with nature here,” she says. “It’s not a short fix, but it’s working. We’re in this for the long haul.”

    Pettis talks about this bustling and beautiful urban island park and shares how they’re bringing biodiversity back. [This interview has been condensed and edited for clarity.]

    Photography by Sarma Ozols, unless otherwise noted.

    Q: How are you gardening for biodiversity?

    Above: Governors Island is doing what they can to help increase the dwindling monarch population by planting milkweed, the insect’s main food source. Here, in the milkweed demonstration garden in Liggett Terrace, several different pollinator-friendly native plants grow together including Asclepias tuberosa (Butterfly weed), Asclepias incarnata (Swamp milkweed), Agastache foeniculum (Anise hyssop), Phlox paniculata ‘Jeana’ (Garden phlox), and Echinacea purpurea ‘White Swan’ (Coneflower). 

    A: The park was designed for sustainability and climate resilience. West 8 built hills and these kinds of swales and berms to raise part of the park out of the 100-year floodplain. Working with Matthews Nielsen, they created a lot of naturalistic areas based on coastal maritime plant communities and filled the park with a lot of native trees. I think there are 53 different species of native trees planted on the South Island alone! 

    We have made it clear that we are choosing plants that mimic our coastal maritime shrublands and grasslands native plant communities. We’re also focusing on those that benefit biodiversity and wildlife. In areas where we have managed to retake the land with these native plant communities, we’ve seen huge upticks in the native insect populations.

    Q: How are you adapting to our changing climate?

    When you walk along the pathways on the 70-foot high Outlook Hill, you’re immersed in plants like the fragrant native shrub Clethra alnifolia
    Above: When you walk along the pathways on the 70-foot high Outlook Hill, you’re immersed in plants like the fragrant native shrub Clethra alnifolia ‘Ruby Spice’ (right) and the red fruiting Viburnum opulus (Guelder-rose). 

    A: As temperatures warm, we are definitely experimenting with plants that would be considered more Southern. For example, we are considering planting live oaks on the island. We are also growing pawpaws, persimmons, and magnolias that are all doing really very well.

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  • Yucca Fruit Pickles: How to Prepare the Edible Seed Pods

    Yucca Fruit Pickles: How to Prepare the Edible Seed Pods

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    Your next summer pickling adventure awaits. Yucca fruit pickles are made from the young, green seed pods of yucca plants. They just need to be soaked, peeled, and brined to become a crisply intriguing addition to your favorite pickle platter. Yuccas are strikingly structural native perennials that are relatively cold-hardy as well as drought-tolerant, a tough combination that makes them an appealing choice for low-maintenance gardens in a challenging and changing climate. They are also edible. Since it is unlikely that anyone you are feeding will have eaten yucca fruit pickles before, there will be immediate questions. And a small cloud of confusion. 

    You will need answers, clarity, and a recipe. Read on!

    Above: The unripe and edible seed pods of Yucca filamentosa.

    All yuccas (and their agave cousins) share edible traits via their immature stems, flowers, and fruit. You can read a previous story about eating yucca stems and flowers here: Yucca: An Edible and Resilient Plant.

    Speaking of eating, about that small cloud of confusion: Yucca versus yuca. Yucca is the botanical name for a genus of plants in the Asparagaceae family; they have spike-tipped leaves growing in a rosette, with tall, candelabra-like heads of flowers, and squat seed pods (and yes, their central stalks when immature look just like giant asparagus).

    Yuca, on the other hand, is one of the common names of a different edible plant, the tropical shrub Manihot esculenta, whose imposing and starchy brown-skinned tuber is also known as cassava or manioc. It is in no way related to yucca.

    Above: A leaf detail of Yucca filamentosa.

    In New York, where I live, the species we see commonly along sandy shorelines and in disturbed ground is Yucca filamentosa. While it is native to southeastern North America, it has escaped cultivation and has naturalized into New England and the Midwest.

    Above: Yucca filamentosa flowers in June.

    Above: Young yucca seed pods ready for pickling.

    After their tall stalks have bloomed effusively in early summer, the moth-pollinated yucca flowers transform gradually into gherkin-shaped seed pods. Years ago, those gherkins (South African and British English for a small, pickled cucumber) gave me ideas, which were borne out by a sweet foraging book by Billy Joe Tatum, Wild Foods Field Guide and Cookbook. A summer pickling tradition began.

    Above: Immature yucca pods have white seeds.

    Inside the green capsules are flattened seeds packed into neat, double-rowed, tripartite compartments. While those seeds are still pure white, they are tender and juicy; at this stage the entire pod can be pickled, or eaten as a cooked vegetable. The only caveat is this: Yucca pods must be peeled, since any remaining green parts are bitter. Raw, the peeled pod tastes little like green beans meeting a slightly bitter cucumber.

    Above: These yucca fruit are too mature to be pickled—their seeds are black and hard.

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  • What to Do in the Garden in Extreme Heat: Tips for Climate-Resilient Landscapes

    What to Do in the Garden in Extreme Heat: Tips for Climate-Resilient Landscapes

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    This summer has been hot—really hot. Gardeners across the globe have recently experienced the four hottest days ever observed, and by all accounts, this is the new normal. Late last year the U.S.D.A. released their new Plant Hardiness Zone Map, which shifted zones for many locations, including the Midwest and Northeast, into the next warmer half zone. So, what’s a gardener to do? We reached out to a group of garden pros who have experience in gardening in extreme heat to ask them how we can plant and maintain our gardens to better weather hot summers. 

    Read on for their advice for picking plants, watering plantings, protecting trees, and more.

    N.B.: Featured photograph above courtesy of Refugia, from Garden Visit: Refugia’s Quiet Revolution in Philadelphia’s Suburbs.

    1. Stop planting.

    After a particularly dry, hot summer in 2022, Claire Davis, an ecological garden designer in the Hudson Valley vowed: No more summer planting. “I decided that I wanted a cut-off date for plantings,” she says. “That super-dry, hot summer felt brutal for newly planted areas, and it was pretty miserable as a gardener trying to take care of them.” As a bonus, Davis says that pushing pause on planting has given her much welcome breathing space in her garden maintenance calendar. Instead of giving into the impulse to add annuals for “a little color” in midsummer, make detailed notes about when and where you lacked blooms, so you can make a plan to fill the gaps come fall.

    2. Favor native perennials.

    The Bosque Garden at NYC
    Above: The Bosque Garden at NYC’s The Battery, designed by Piet Oudolf, features native perennials. Photograph courtesy of The Battery Conservancy, from An Interview with Warrie Price, President and Founder of The Battery Conservancy.

    When you do add plants in the fall (or next spring), all the experts we spoke to placed an emphasis on using perennial plants native to your region because they are naturally adapted to the climate there. “For the most resilience in the heat, use mostly perennial native plants instead of seasonal annuals, because their root systems are more extensive,” says Ginny Stibolt, the author of Climate-Wise Landscaping, who gardens in Florida. She notes that forgoing annuals will also result in less disturbance of the soil, which helps build up humus, so that the soil stays moist even when it’s hot. 

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  • Milkweed Pods: How to Gather, Prepare, and Eat This Summer Vegetable

    Milkweed Pods: How to Gather, Prepare, and Eat This Summer Vegetable

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    Common milkweed pods are a native vegetable that could be as familiar at summer greenmarkets as okra. As a food, milkweed still resides on the foraging fringes, or on rare restaurant menus, despite having been valued by Native Americans in regions throughout its range. Like okra, milkweed pods herald sweltering weather and are ready to harvest when crickets warm up and cicadas begin to zing. While succulent okra originates in Africa, and is grown as an annual crop in the United States, common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca) is a cold-hardy perennial indigenous to eastern North America. It has edible shoots, buds, flowers, and immature pods. And it is one of the most valuable milkweed hosts for monarch butterfly larvae.

    Here’s why to plant common milkweed as a vegetable, and how to prepare milkweed pods once you have gathered a clutch.

    Photography by Marie Viljoen.

    Above: Warts and all, these tender common milkweed pods are at the right stage for harvest.

    Dozens of milkweeds are native to North America. Monarchs, and hundreds of other insects, rely on them all for food. It bears repeating that the species we are discussing as human fare is Asclepias syriaca.

    All parts of cooked common milkweed taste like a mild green vegetable, along with a distinctive sweetness. It is never bitter. If you have collected, or grow, a milkweed whose distinctive white sap does taste bitter (raw or cooked), it’s a different species. (Others may be edible, but we are not addressing them here.)

    Above: Common milkweed flowers are heavily perfumed.

    Common milkweed blooms in early to midsummer. Its plump umbels of blossoms are richly scented and they are edible in their own right, as are the immature green clusters of buds that precede them.

    Above: Immature milkweed pods are tender and sweet.

    Milkweed pods form about three weeks after a flower has been pollinated. More than the spring shoots or flower buds, they taste uniquely like the scent of the flowers, their flavor coming from the soft white seeds and their pre-silk nestled inside rough, green capsules. While the pods are immature, before the silk has strengthened and the seeds hardened, the entire milkweed pod is edible. (Later, as the capsule toughens, the seed-and-silk cluster inside can be popped out and cooked alone, before the silk becomes tough.)

    Above: Tiny pods are good to eat, too. Large ones are fibrous.
    Above: Common milkweed pods in my previous vegetable garden.

    Despite the fact that this striking native plant is beautiful in bloom, supports hundreds of insect species, and is edible from nose to tail (as it were), it remains unusual in cultivation. I have yet to hear of a farmer growing it for the table, but perceptions shift: Ten years ago no one was bringing invasive and edible Japanese knotweed to market, either, and that has begun to change.

    Above: A monarch butterfly on milkweed in my previous garden. Their caterpillars feed on the leaves.

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  • Obedient Plant: Everything You Need to Know About Growing Physostegia

    Obedient Plant: Everything You Need to Know About Growing Physostegia

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    Any article about Physostegia begins with the acknowledgement that this plant’s most-common common name, obedient plant, is a misnomer: Physostegia is anything but complying. The name obedient plant refers not to its behavior in the garden, but to the nature of the plant’s stems. “You can move the flowers from side to side, and they stay put—a welcome trait making this a fun cut flower,” explains Christina Koether, a garden and floral designer based in Weston, Connecticut. 

    While obedient plant’s blossoms are snapdragon-like (it’s also known as false dragonhead), it is a member of the mint family, and like mint, it spreads quickly by stolons—hence its reputation for disobedience, something Chris Liloia, the habitat gardens curator and the North Carolina Botanical Garden (NCBG) has experience with. While the plant now grows in NCBG’s Piedmont habitat, Liloia says, “It’s actually a remnant of the perennial border that I can’t get rid of. It has just cropped up in different spaces.” 

    But Koether says, “Its disobedience, or toughness, is what I love most.” Marissa Angell, a landscape architect based in Brewster, NY agrees, noting, “When I use Physostegia, it’s because I want a more aggressive plant to fill a space quickly, which is ideal for restoration or seeded meadow settings.”

    Here’s everything you need to know about this tough and beautiful native:

    Photography courtesy of North Carolina Botanical Garden, unless otherwise noted.

    Where should you plant obedient plant?

    Above: P. angustifolia is seen here in Norris’s prairie garden. He grew the plant from seed, which is available through Prairie Moon and Missouri Wildflowers Nursery. Photograph courtesy of Kelly D. Norris.

    All the experts we spoke to say obedient plant does best in a damp, sunny spot in a naturalistic design with other native species. “Like any plant, they require context for maximal appreciation,” says Des Moines-based ecological garden designer Kelly D. Norris, who is the author of New Naturalism. “These plants evolved to compete in grass-dominated environments. You can commonly find P. virginiana in wet ditches growing cheek-to-jowl with cattails, sedges, and tall grasses. Is it any wonder when gardeners remove them from that context that they sprint in every direction?” Place obedient plant in spots with poor drainage, in bioswales, or any place where spongy, absorbent vegetation has value. One place never to use it? In more “curated” gardens where you want plants to stay in one spot, says Angell. 

    Is obedient plant invasive?

    “Tough natives like this are sometimes accidentally called invasive, a term reserved for non-native plants that are monitored by individual states and are bad for biodiversity and pollinators,” says Koether. Physostegia virginiana is, in fact, helpful to pollinators. “Long blooming from summer to frost, the blooms are loved by hummingbirds, bees, and butterflies,” Koether adds. Obedient plant’s thuggishness can also crowd out invasive weeds.

    What are the different varieties of obedient plant?

    Physostegia virginiana at the North Carolina Botanical Garden.
    Above: Physostegia virginiana at the North Carolina Botanical Garden.

    There are purple, pink, and white-flowered varieties of Physostegia. Physostegia virginiana is the species most commonly available at nurseries, but Liloia notes that there are actually two subspecies of virginiana, a northern and southern one. There are also a few cultivars, including ‘Miss Manners,’ which is advertised as a less aggressive, compact, and white-flowered version of the plant. Koether hasn’t had much luck growing it and Angell notes “it’s not as delicate or nice but you get some of the same feeling as the native, straight species.” Norris has both Physostegia virginiana and P. angustifolia, which is native to the central United States, in his garden and says, “P. angustifolia has been comparatively less aggressive than P. virginiana in my experience, and its paler flowers add an ethereal quality to the garden.” Koether adds, “The renewed interest in this plant is exciting. I’m hoping to try more cultivars soon.

    What plants are good to grow next to obedient plant?

    Above: Physostegia virginiana grows next to
    Above: Physostegia virginiana grows next to ‘Solidago rugosa ‘Fireworks’ in the Piedmont habitat of North Carolina Botanical Garden. 

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  • At Green-Wood Cemetery, Wildflower Meadows Replace Lawns

    At Green-Wood Cemetery, Wildflower Meadows Replace Lawns

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    Where would you expect to find a meadow filled with native flowers and grasses, where once an expanse of lawn grew? In a suburban front yard, as the short-back-and-sides neighbors give the gardener’s tousled vision the stink eye? At the summer home of weekend warriors who have newfound respect for the perils of mugwort? Or in an urban cemetery that doubles as a laboratory for biodiversity? Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn, New York, is home to an experimental wildflower meadow, seeded in October of 2022, and part of the cemetery’s Urban Grasslands initiative.

    This summer, from June through July, I visited the meadow over the course of six weeks, watched its palette evolve, learned about the reasons for the transition from lawn to wildflowers, and some of the challenges unique to this unusual site.

    Above: Coreopsis and Penstemon in the experimental meadow in early June.

    Set on a ridge in South Brooklyn, with views of New York Harbor, Green-Wood is no ordinary cemetery. The green space is a haven not only for the dead but for the living: for birds and the birders who watch them, for a monk parakeet colony, for honey bees in hives, for native pollinators, for artists in residence, for researchers, and for the local community, who find respite from urban life among the towering trees of this nationally accredited arboretum and historic landmark.

    Above: In early June the meadow’s palette is yellow with white relief from Penstemon and Achillea.

    Stippled with weathered marble and brownstone headstones, the 1.2-acre wildflower meadow is one of four re-wilded areas in close to 30 acres of public lots on the cemetery’s historic perimeters. “These lots were some of the first areas to be developed as an affordable internment option when Green-Wood was established in 1838,” said Sara Evans, the Director Of Living Collections and Curator at Green-Wood. In contrast to the large opulent family lots, she explained, “the public lots are dense with small graves characteristically marked with modest headstones primarily made of more delicate stone.”

    Collectively, they are now the site of the ongoing project to transition from high-maintenance turf that requires noisy and carbon-unfriendly mowing (which also risks damaging these modest headstones), “to resilient native species more tolerant of drought, an increasing feature as the planet warms and the climate changes.”

    Above: Designed by Weaner Landscape Associates, the experimental meadow is divided into six blocks.

    Each of the six sections in the experimental meadow is seeded with a different combination of native grass and wildflower species “that also differ in species-richness (low-to-medium-to-high diversity),” said Sara. The goal is to “test and see what communities evolve, especially in terms of mowing stresses.” Paths are mown to allow access for visitors and researchers, and each wildflower block is given at least one annual mow with a weedwacker or hedge trimmer, “cut very high, at eight to ten inches, to leave material for nesting pollinator habitat and seed heads to establish a seedbank,” she said.

    Above: Coreopsis leaning over a mown path in the meadow.

    To prepare the site prior to sowing, the existing lawn grasses were treated with herbicide. Sara explained that such a large area, “with hundreds headstones,” cannot be solarized. (This technique involves placing expanses of plastic sheeting over unwanted vegetation to heat the soil underneath, spurring the germination of seeds, and their subsequent death. With established plants it can take a very long time.) Despite the treatment, some resilient invasive and naturalized plants persist: Mugwort, as well as bermuda, foxtail, sweet vernal, and brome grasses remain a perennial challenge.r

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  • Wild Yard Project: David Newsom’s Mission to Re-Wild Landscapes

    Wild Yard Project: David Newsom’s Mission to Re-Wild Landscapes

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    The name The Wild Yards Project tells you a little about its founder David Newsom’s journey over the last seven years: It started out as a project. A Los Angeles-based film professional and photographer, Newsom had recently become a parent when he discovered gardening. “I immediately began to worry about my kids’ baseline interaction with the wild world,” he says. “I had no background in botany. I wasn’t into horticulture. I just knew that I found solace in being around plants and animals, and I wanted to give my kids that.” Newsom decided to rewild his backyard, so his kids could have nature right outside their door.

    Photography by David Newsom.

    Above: Newsom’s own yard reveals how land can come back to life. “Before I began this work, the state of our home’s dead, baked lot [at left] was overwhelming and depressing,” he says.

    As Newsom transformed his yard, he documented his work. “I made so many mistakes, but I wrote about it,” he remembers. “And because I had worked in documentary television, if I saw someone who had written an article or someone who was doing really great work, I would just call them.” As Newsom learned more and shared his journey on social media, he says, “I quickly realized that a lot of people were hungry for the idea.” In 2018, he decided to make his project official, naming it The Wild Yards Project—note that it was yards plural–not just his own.

    Above: Newsom’s own wild yard looking particularly lush after California’s atmospheric rivers this past spring.
    Above: Newsom’s own wild yard looking particularly lush after California’s atmospheric rivers this past spring.

    “At first, I thought I would just go around and film and share stories about what people did,” says Newsom. “But I pretty quickly felt compelled to get my own hands dirty and to build these gardens.” Soon Newsom was consulting with other homeowners who wanted to rewild their yards. “I would go over to their house and help them spin a story about what their land could be—that’s how it started.” His work led to deep research into hyperlocal plants in his Mediterranean chaparral biome and ecological gardening practices. “There’s a series of benefits, so many stacked functions to these gardens beyond amplifying biodiversity,” he says. “We’re amplifying physical and mental health, water infiltration, and carbon sequestration.” 

    Above: This hillside garden is an example of a full design and install project that Newsom executed for a client. 
    Above: This hillside garden is an example of a full design and install project that Newsom executed for a client. 

    Casual advice gradually morphed into more formal garden coaching and eventually design and installation services. However, Newsom’s landscape work is different from traditional garden designers. For one, he wants his clients to get their hands dirty. “I tell them: I promise you’ll know more about your land in a year than I do,” he says. “When people move away from traditional gardens, they become authors in the natural and cultural history of their land—and that land is its own educator.” For any project, Newsom visits the property, tests the soil, and explores nearby nature with a similar disposition. Then he creates a plant list and offers a design plan whose execution can range from homeowner DIY to full design and install. Gardeners who want to do it themselves can book Newsom hourly for future coaching. “You don’t need to spend $50,000 to $150,000 on high-priced landscapers,” he says.

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  • Pollinator Container Gardens: How to Plant a Pot that Will Attract Beneficial Insects

    Pollinator Container Gardens: How to Plant a Pot that Will Attract Beneficial Insects

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    There are two main reasons that you might consider planting a pollinator garden in pots instead of in the ground: Either you don’t have a garden bed—or you’ve run out of space to plant anything more in your garden. In either scenario, a container garden can support pollinators just as well as an in-ground garden. Even if you aren’t dealing with space constraints, you might consider adding some pollinator pots, says Alicia Whitaker, a master gardener and a co-leader for the Suffolk Alliance for Pollinators’s South Fork chapter. “If they’re near an outdoor seating area, the gardener can see and enjoy the wildlife that will be attracted.” Plus, she notes: Containers are also a great option if the gardener has a mobility issue or other handicap that makes gardening in the ground difficult.

    Above: A bumble bee nectaring on goldenrod. Photograph by Kim Eierman.

    Here, nine tips on how to garden for pollinators in pots:

    1. Be prepared to water often.

    The most common mistake with any container garden is underwatering. “The soil in pots dries out faster, especially in a very sunny and hot environment, such as a windy deck or brick patio surface,” says Whitaker, who notes that people often underestimate the water needs of container plants because they are accustomed to worrying about overwatering indoor houseplants.

    2. Go big.

    Susan Nock, a Boston-based garden designer with a specialty in container gardens, filled a large pot with tall grass, agastache, foxglove, daisies, scabiosa, verbena, angelonia, and sweet potato vine for a dynamic, pollinator-friendly design. Photograph by Susan Nock.
    Above: Susan Nock, a Boston-based garden designer with a specialty in container gardens, filled a large pot with tall grass, agastache, foxglove, daisies, scabiosa, verbena, angelonia, and sweet potato vine for a dynamic, pollinator-friendly design. Photograph by Susan Nock.

    Garden pros recommend choosing the largest container possible. “A higher volume of soil will dry out less quickly,” explains Whitaker. But there’s another reason to go big: The more plants you cram into a pot, the better the chances the pollinators will find them. “When we use large pots or gang pots together in groups, we create some floral targets for pollinators,” says ecological horticulturist Kim Eierman, the author of The Pollinator Victory Garden and founder of EcoBeneficia. “That’s really important. Having a larger target makes it much easier for the pollinator to find the resource.” If you’re worried about weight, you can use a false bottom planter.

    3. Amend the soil.

    Both Whitaker and Eierman suggest mixing compost into the container’s soil, to nourish the plants and encourage root growth. “I apply a limited amount of compost a couple times a year to beef up the soil biology because there’s no interchange with any other soil,” adds Eierman. “I just put it on top and let rain do its thing.” Whitaker adds, “We often hear that native perennials prefer leaner soil and don’t require fertilizer, but the artificial environment of a container calls for better soil and the regular use of organic fertilizer.”

    4. Consistency + variety is key.

    Just like humans, pollinators need a diverse diet, but that doesn’t mean you need to run out and buy dozens of different plants. Eierman says to aim for a balance between diversity and sufficiency of given plants. So, rather than having many tiny plants of a wide variety of species, focus on a few types. “It’s better to have a more substantial amount of that one species,” says Eierman. Whitaker adds, “Think drifts, not polka dots.” When pollinators forage they’re looking for that one plant species, so a repetition of bloom from container to container can attract them without having one massive target, Eierman notes.

    5. Give the bugs color cues.

    Above: This composition of ‘Giga Blue’ pincushion flower, ‘VIBE Ignition’ purple salvia, and S’unSparkler Firecracker’ sedum by Monrovia demonstrates how you can do a monochromatic pollinator design using one color but different plants. Photograph via Monrovia.

    “We know that pollinators have their color preferences,” says Whitaker. Hummingbirds are attracted to red flowers, while many bees love purples and yellows. Butterflies are drawn to a wide range of colors, but moths are attracted to white blossoms. “it’s good to have a variety of colors, and a variety of shapes,” says Whitaker, noting, “There are almost no wrong choices.”

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  • Wild Lettuce: A Delicious Foraged Vegetable that Makes an Outstanding Summer Soup

    Wild Lettuce: A Delicious Foraged Vegetable that Makes an Outstanding Summer Soup

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    Do you know where the wild lettuce grows? Ask a bunny. In Beatrix Potter’s eponymous tale, the Flopsy Bunnies eat too many lettuces and fall asleep in an ill-advised spot, where Mr. MacGregor finds them. These were “overgrown lettuces, which had shot into flower” to be thrown on a rubbish heap; mature lettuces produce a lot of milky sap (hence their genus name Lactuca), and this sap has been used in folk medicines for millennia to calm and to soothe (dried, it is known as lettuce opium). And then there are Edward Lear’s Old Guinea Pigs, who caution: “Have a care that you eat your Lettuces, should you find any, not greedily but calmly.” The little guinea pigs did not follow their advice.

    These favorite childhood stories and an abundance of wild lettuce locally (in flower, as I write) are how my recipe for a chilled wild lettuce soup was born. The emerald soup is restorative, and can be made with tame lettuces, too, or other leafy greens.

    Photography by Marie Viljoen.

    Above: This smorgasboard of early summer weeds includes wild lettuce (rear), daylilies, and burdock.

    Lettuces may in fact be soporific; exploratory studies are beginning to (tentatively) substantiate traditional medicine’s deployment of lettuce powders and oils as a sleep aid and analgesic. In a culinary context, you’d have to eat as many as those greedy rabbits did to feel any effects. But the antioxidants and high fiber in lettuce, plus the drowsy-bunny appeal, are reason enough to eat more wild lettuce. It is an under-appreciated vegetable whose versatile nature should encourage culinary attention.

    Above: As ornamental as Swiss chard? The midribs of Lactuca canadensis in late spring.

    Wild lettuces as a group are not too hard to identify. Beginners might mistake them for dandelions, sow thistle (Sonchus oleraceus), or thistle species—not a serious error, since all are edible. It’s helpful to know that some lettuce species look very similar and are hard to tell apart until they bloom. This is also not serious, since there is no toxic species, but it will vex your inner plant geek.

    Where I live, the two most common lookalike wild lettuces are Lactuca canadensis  and L. biennis (also known as tall blue lettuce). The stalks of both may be either a deep maroon or green. The leaves of both are highly variable. Both are tall, their hollow stems stretching up to human height.

    Above: Lactuca biennis, tall blue lettuce.

    Above: A closer view of L. biennis, with faint hairs on the stem and leaves that do not clasp.

    L. biennis has very faintly hairy stems, while L. canadensis has fine hairs only on the leaves’ midribs. A useful distinction is that L. canadensis bleeds a slightly brown latex when cut. And a final “c” distinction is to remember that “canadensis clasps,” because its leaves clasp the stem.

    Above: Lactuca canadensis.

    Wild lettuces have potential to be sown and grown as bona fide vegetables. While we have bred the stems out of domesticated lettuce, consider celtuce, which is all stem (and challenging to cultivate). A tender wild lettuce stem is a true delicacy, and the plant is easier to grow. Harvest lettuce seeds this late summer and fall and offer them a spot in your vegetable plot. L. biennis will prefer some shade if you have it to spare.

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  • Best Viburnum Shrubs: Our List of 10 Flowering Bushes

    Best Viburnum Shrubs: Our List of 10 Flowering Bushes

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    If you want to start a horticultural fight, opine loudly at your next plant party about the best viburnums to grow. These flowering shrubs provoke strong opinions among the botanically inclined, and things could get ugly, fast. Dessert might be thrown. But consider our disciplined list of ten and hear us out. And bear in mind that there are almost 200 species to choose from, let alone cultivars and hybrids. Whether you want fruit, flowers, fall foliage (or all three), there is probably a viburnum for your gardening personality: extrovert, shy, down-to-earth, elegant, rambunctious, shape-shifting, or fragrantly alluring?

    Here they are.

    Photography by Marie Viljoen.

    Above: Viburnum plicatum var. tomentosum ‘Summer Snowflake’.

    But first: Why plant viburnums at all?

    • A range of sizes means that viburnums can stand in for trees in small spaces.
    • Multiple seasons of interest, from spring flowers to fall foliage and fruit (except in sterile species).
    • Flowering times that range from late winter to early summer, so you can build a collection.
    • The shrubs have interesting foliage with texture that rewards the detail-oriented gardener.
    • Viburnums that bear fruit offer ornamental interest in fall and winter, as well as food for the birds (and humans).
    • Kaleidoscopic fall colors, depending on the species you choose, and how much sun it receives.
    • Persistent winter fruits that feed birds when there is little else available.

    1. Viburnum × bodnantense ‘Dawn’

    Above: Viburnum × bodnantense ‘Dawn’ blooming as winter lingers.

    At the end of winter, the exceptional fragrance of this tree-like hybrid viburnum is sweetly uplifting. It is a cross between V. farreri and V. grandiflorum, whose clusters of flowers start as deep rose-colored buds before paling in full bloom. The tubular flowers make you look twice, wondering whether a lilac has gone mad and erupted while there is snow on the ground. Flowering on bare branches, this earliest of viburnums is elegantly dramatic and more tolerant of frost than its grandiflorum parent. Usually sterile, few or no fruit will form, helping to ensure that this non-native viburnum does not spread. Viburnum × bodnantense is hardy from USDA zones 4 – 8.

    2. Korean spice viburnum, Viburnum carlesii

    Above: V. carlesii buds are pink, before opening into full-white bloom.

    Above: The perfumed pom-poms of V. carlesii.

    If scent is your thing, a must-have viburnum is the intensely fragrant Koreanspice. In mid spring its deep pink buds open into pale pink flowers that shift gradually into pure white. The flowers can be turned into an equally fragrant syrup, fermented wild soda, or perfumed honey (simply substitute the flowers in our Lilac Honey Recipe). Koreanspice is a slow-growing shrub that responds well to clipping (like a boxwood) and makes a showy ball of flowers when spring rolls round. Be sure to prune and shape it right after blooming, since all viburnums bloom on new wood (so, if you prune in fall, you will miss the next spring’s flowers). Extremely cold-hardy Viburnum carlesii is hardy from zones 2 – 8.

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  • Russel Wright’s Manitoga: His ‘Forest Garden’ in Garrison, NY, Is a Must-Visit

    Russel Wright’s Manitoga: His ‘Forest Garden’ in Garrison, NY, Is a Must-Visit

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    This is part of a series with Perfect Earth Project, a nonprofit dedicated to toxic-free, nature-based gardening, on how you can be more sustainable in your landscapes at home. “I am more interested in nature than any other subject,” says Russel Wright, the influential mid-century industrial designer, who believed that good design was for everyone […]

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  • Blue Flax: How to Grow and Care for Linum Lewisii, A Wildflower Native to the Western States

    Blue Flax: How to Grow and Care for Linum Lewisii, A Wildflower Native to the Western States

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    Blue Flax, Linum lewisii

    I can’t get enough of the blue flax in my yard, but it wasn’t always this way. With most other perennials, it’s a binary case of love or hate. With blue flax, though, it was more complicated.

    Above: Blue flax’s five-petaled flowers range from a pale blue to a bright cerulean. Photograph by Debbie Ballentine via Flickr.

    I’m newish to Central Oregon, where I relocated after a lifetime of living on the East Coast, and unfamiliar with the plants native to this high desert region. Hydrangeas, a landscape leitmotif on the East, are rarely seen in these parts, but Linum lewisii, another plant with vividly blue flowers, peppers the landscape. I see blue flax thriving in the wild on the trails; swaying in the wind next to the the chain-link fence that surrounds the local high school track; and growing in my own front yard, where it was planted by the previous owners.

    Once established, one blue flax plant can generate many, many petite flowers. Photograph by Philip Bouchard via Flickr.
    Above: Once established, one blue flax plant can generate many, many petite flowers. Photograph by Philip Bouchard via Flickr.

    While I was immediately smitten with the delicate blue flowers (measuring just 1 to 1.5 inches across) that float over thin stems, I was less than happy to learn that they wither by day’s end. I have always had a bias for durable, long-lasting blooms, and these ephemeral flowers, with an expiration date that measures in hours (not even days), offended my practical sensibility. The thing is, the spent flowers are replaced the next morning with a flush of new blooms. All summer long, this 24-hour cycle of birth, death, and rebirth is repeated.

    Above: This flower will die by the end of the day, but new buds are standing in the wings, ready to bloom the next morning. Photograph by tdlucas5000 via Flickr.

    I’ve come to admire blue flax. Every morning, like a child waking up to look for fresh snow, I eagerly grab a cup of coffee and peer out our front window searching for the new blooms. Throughout the day, I check on them. And early evening, I do one last inspection to see if, by some miracle, they’re still around, gently swaying in the breeze. They never are. But come morning, I fill up my cup again—and delight in their rebirth.

    Cheat Sheet

    Its stems can look messy and leggy, so best to plant them en masse or crowd them next to tall grasses and wildflowers. Photograph by George Wesley and Bonita Dannells via Flickr.
    Above: Its stems can look messy and leggy, so best to plant them en masse or crowd them next to tall grasses and wildflowers. Photograph by George Wesley and Bonita Dannells via Flickr.
    • Discovered by Meriwether Lewis (of Lewis and Clark fame) in the Rocky Mountains, Linum lewisii is commonly known as blue flax, wild blue flax, prairie flax, Lewis flax, and Lewis’s flax.
    • The drought-tolerant, deer-resistant perennial is native to Western North America, growing wild in prairies and mountain trails.
    • Grows to 18 to 30 inches tall, with needle-like blue-green leaves.
    • Will readily self seed once established.
    • Exhibits a clumping habit; looks best en masse or mingling in a dense planting with tall grasses.
    • The cultivar commercially grown for its fibers, seeds, and oil is common flax (Linum usitatissimum), but blue flax’s seeds are edible, too, as long as you cook it first.
    • Its bloom period covers a long span, from April to September (though in Central Oregon, where the last frost date was in late spring, mine didn’t start blooming until early June).

    Keep It Alive

    Blue flax happily mingling with coast sunflower, California fuchsia, Sulphur buckwheat, California sun cup, and
    Above: Blue flax happily mingling with coast sunflower, California fuchsia, Sulphur buckwheat, California sun cup, and ‘Margarita BOP’ penstemon. Photograph by Debbie Ballentine via Flickr.
    • Hardy from USDA zones 5 – 8.
    • Extremely easy to grow, the wildflower is both cold-hardy and heat-tolerant.
    • Fairly shade-tolerant but happiest in full sun.
    • Drought-tolerant, it has low to medium water needs.
    • Best planted in well-draining soil; preference for rocky or sandy conditions, dislike of clay soil or wet conditions.
    • To prevent self seeding, prune almost down to the ground at the end of the growing season; if not a concern, leave them standing for birds to snack on during the winter and cut back in early spring.

    See also:

    (Visited 3 times, 3 visits today)

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  • Marsh Marigold: A Native Alternative to Invasive Lesser Celandine

    Marsh Marigold: A Native Alternative to Invasive Lesser Celandine

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    In summer our thoughts turn for refuge to cooling streams and pond edges, and to memories of a spring blaze of marsh marigold and moving water. Early to bloom, and in lush leaf through summer, marsh marigolds (Caltha palustris) are a cold-hardy and water-loving perennial. They are also a native alternative to their diminutive lookalike, the highly invasive lesser celandine (Ficaria verna). Differentiating between the two plants is helpful to curb the spread of one, and to encourage the cultivation of the other.

    Photography by Marie Viljoen.

    Above: Marsh marigolds have between 5 to 9 petal-like sepals, and have a mounding habit.
    Above: Lesser celandine has 8 to 12 petals, and a carpeting habit.

    Both marsh marigolds and lesser celandine have buttercup-perfect, iridescent yellow flowers that signal their kinship: they belong to the Ranunculus family. But in North America lesser celandine, a transplant from Europe (it is also occurs natively in North Africa and West Asia), has mastered the insidious creep, smothering regional swathes of riverside and forest floor, altering habitats as it spreads its low but impenetrable canopy. Lesser celandine’s invasive status is mostly associated with the Northeast, but it is moving into the Midwest and occurs in the Pacific Northwest, too. In places where it grows beside moving water, flooding carries parts of the plant downstream, where they take root.

    Above: Marsh marigolds at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden.

    Marsh marigold’s species name palustris means “of marshes.” Varieties of marsh marigold have an unusually wide native distribution, described as circumboreal: The plants occur across the northern part of the planet (boreal means north), in North America, Europe, and Asia. The plant’s flowers are larger and more showy than lesser celandine’s. In terms of function, marsh marigold can stabilize stream banks, forming mounded, clumping colonies over time. The flowers’ pollen and nectar are a rich food source for native pollinators, and small mammals and ducks eat the seeds.

    Above: Lesser celandine is very difficult to remove where it is widespread.

    Lesser celandine removal sidebar: The removal of lesser celandine is not easy. If you have a few clumps, remove them at once. By the time a carpet has formed, the task is daunting, and complicated. Methodical mechanical removal, by hand, is best (although difficult), and vigilance is essential. Personally, I cannot recommend glyphosate (usually sold as Roundup).

    Why not use glyphosate? There is its implication in the evolution of so-called super-weeds, for one thing. And while the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) considers glyphosate “not likely to be carcinogenic to humans,” the International Agency for Research on Cancer (IARC) does classify  glyphosate as “probably carcinogenic to humans.” Quite the contradiction.

    For your own rabbit hole research consider that the studies that the IARC relied on seem more in keeping with real-world situations and exposure than those employed on by the EPA. Glyphosate has been banned by California, and in 2020. New York banned the use of glyphosate on state property. Its use is especially problematic near water, or when associated with water tables (everything lands up in the water table). Glyphosate has been showing up in stream and air samples since 2011, and its knock-on effects on life forms other than the target-plant (from soil microbes to aquatic invertebrates) are being studied.

    Above: Marsh marigolds favor flowing or oxygenated water.

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  • White Flowers: Our Favorite White Blooms to Bring a Garden to Life, Especially at Night

    White Flowers: Our Favorite White Blooms to Bring a Garden to Life, Especially at Night

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    One of the realities of enjoying a garden is that there’s not always a lot of time to do so. We work, we commute, we parent, we scroll. By the time we step outside it might be late, so it is with twilight in mind that we bring you the brightness of our 14 favorite white flowers. They are all perennials, and they are all North American. Many of these blooms are pollinator-friendly, and each is easy to care for, so long it’s in the right spot. From petite ephemerals that will appeal to your inner wood sprite, to big-statement drama plants, our list will set you on the path to a soothing evening escape. You might even sneak out to enjoy them in daylight.

    Photography by Marie Viljoen.

    1. Foam flower, Tiarella cordifolia

    Above: Foam flower

    The frothy exuberance of aptly named foam flower begins early in spring, the flowers floating above maple-shaped leaves. The blooms last for about two pleasing weeks. This woodland native grows well in full spring sun if it receives some summer shade (under deciduous trees, for example). It naturalizes easily, by sending out questing runners in late spring and summer. Foam flower makes a very low maintenance ground cover and is an effective green mulch, protecting the soil beneath. It is hardy from USDA growing zones 3-9.

    2. Canada mayflower, Maianthemum canadense

    Above: Tiny Canada mayflower

    In shady gardens, diminutive Canada mayflower (or false lily of the valley) will naturalize to form a lush, low green carpet that produces a shower of snowy blossoms in mid-spring. It needs consistent moisture to become established, but will then spread and naturalize via rhizomes. By fall the flowers will have formed red fruits that are attractive to birds. Canada mayflower is hardy from zones 3-6.

    3. Starflower, Lysimachia borealis

    Above: Starflower growing among Canada mayflower.

    Another small jewel for light shade and woodland-friendly gardens is starflower, whose identifying whorl of leaves frames the exquisite bloom, or blooms. This is a good companion plant for Canada mayflower, as it is summer-dormant, and fades from view as nights begin to grow longer after the summer solstice. Starflower is hardy from zones 3-7.

    4. False Solomon’s seal, Maianthemum racemosum

    Above: False Solomons seal

    Unlike its tiny Canada mayflower, false Solomon’s seal grows to about three feet tall, and its plumes of fluffy white flowers can be elegantly dramatic if planted in swathes in dappled shade. It has a very wide native range in North America, and blooms in mid-spring. It, too, will produce attractive, non-toxic red berries in fall that are appealing to migratory and resident birds. False solomon’s seal is hardy from zones 3-8.

    5. Doll’s eyes, Actaea pachypoda

    Above: The perfumed flowers of doll’s eyes.

    Close your eyes and breathe. The sweet, citrus-blossom scent of doll’s eyes is reason enough to plant this shade-loving perennial. Its tall slender stems are topped with perfumed puffs of flowers in mid-spring. By fall, they have morphed into ghoulish white berries that resemble a horror-flick’s idea of a botanical Halloween. They are eye-catching and as toxic as they look. Doll’s eyes are hardy from zones 3-8.

    6. Bunchberry, Chamaepericlymenum canadense (formerly Cornus canadensis)

    Above: The bright white bracts of bunchberries resemble broad petals.

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  • Serviceberry pie celebrates the start of summer berry season

    Serviceberry pie celebrates the start of summer berry season

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    Makes 12 muffin-sized pies; 12 3¾-inch hand pies; or 1 large 9-inch pie (baked in a springform pan)

    Summer is picnic-friendly, and having a serviceberry pie all to yourself feels special. So I’ll bake these little pies in muffin trays, to pack and carry.  You’ll need a muffin tray with 12 slots, and two cookie cutters:  3¾-inch for the bases, and 2½ -inch for the lids. The recipe doubles very well, if you are baking for a crowd.

    If you choose to bake a single, large pie, increase the quantity of fruit to 6 cups, with 3 teaspoons of cornstarch. Sugar says the same: ½ cup.

    Filling:

    • 3 cups (about 12 oz) ripe serviceberries (or mixed berries), stems removed
    • ½ cup granulated sugar
    • 2 teaspoons corn starch

    Molly Bolt’s Pie Pastry:

    • 1 Tablespoon butter for the tray
    • 6 oz butter, at room temperature
    • 2.5 oz sugar
    • 1 large egg, beaten
    • 10.5 oz flour
    • 2 teaspoons baking powder
    • ¼ teaspoon salt

    To finish:

    • ¼ cup cream or whole milk

    For the filling: In a bowl combine the serviceberries or other berries, the sugar, and the cornstarch. Toss together well.

    For the pastry: Lightly butter the slots in your muffin tray.

    In a mixing bowl, beat together the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add the egg. Beat again with a dusting of flour. Gradually beat in the rest of the flour, the baking powder, and salt. When the pastry is cohesive, divide it into two discs: one that contains 2/3’s of the pastry, one that is 1/3.

    Dust flour onto your work surface and roll out your larger pastry disc thinly. Press out 12 pie bases using the 3 ¾-inch cutter. Loosen and lift each base with a dinner knife or a long spatula, and gently press it into the buttered muffin tray. Patch any tears with a pinch of extra pastry. Transfer the tray to the fridge while you roll out the second disc. Press out your lids using the smaller disc.

    To assemble: Remove the tray from the fridge and spoon the fruit filling into each pie base – about 2 tablespoonfuls each. Place the pie lids on top of the filling and press down lightly (no need to crimp) and return to the fridge for 10 minutes.

    Preheat the oven to 350°F.

    Remove the chilled pies from the fridge. Pierce a steam vent in the top of each with the tip of a sharp knife. Brush each pie with a little milk or cream. Bake for 20 minutes, until the pastry is turning golden and the pies are oozing red juices. Remove the tray to a cooling rack and allow to cool for 5 minutes (they become less fragile as they cool) before loosening each serviceberry pie in its slot by running a knife around the edges, gently. Carefully lift each pie from its slot, and transfer to a second cooling rack.

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  • ‘Shrouded in Light’: A New Book by Kevin Williams and Michael Guidi Makes the Case for Shrubs

    ‘Shrouded in Light’: A New Book by Kevin Williams and Michael Guidi Makes the Case for Shrubs

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    Has there ever been a less rock ‘n’ roll category of plant than shrubs, subshrubs, and bushes? A new book, Shrouded in Light: Naturalistic Planting Inspired by Wild Shrublands, makes the case that woody plant communities have some important answers for gardeners trying to figure out how to design naturalistic landscapes in a changing world. Authors Kevin Philip Williams (gardener) and Michael Guidi (ecologist), argue that in the rush to embrace prairies and perennials, shrubs have fallen from grace—and our idea of a bush bears no relation to anything in the wild.

    Above: At the Rachel Carson National Wildlife Refuge in Maine, fallow fields are converted into early successional shrubland habitat, through planting shrubs and initial mowing. They are crucial to the survival of dozens of animal species. Photograph by Michael Guidi.

    In his excellent essay in the book’s foreword, Nigel Dunnett suggests that shrubland is closer to a natural landscape than prairie grasslands, which remain in an early successional state with grazing and fire. Neglected by us and not much grazed, the year-round, three-dimensional structure of shrubs is appreciated by the creatures that shelter in them, and the smaller plants that they shade and protect.

    Above: “Atomic age junipers, neglected and thriving outside an abandoned mid-century modern structure in Denver, Colorado.” Photograph by Kevin Williams.

    The cultural journey of clipped shrubs, from Sissinghurst Castle and Versailles to suburban gardens and parking lots the world over, gives them a  kitsch appeal that the authors have fun with. “As society advances into post-capitalism and our hastily produced infrastructure crumbles and is abandoned, the outlines of shrubs with which we have surrounded our homes will flourish and spread, creating shrubdivisions and shruburbs,” they write.

    Above: More persuasive captioning: “On wide open dunes, shrubs act as refugia, creating microclimates and windbreaks, stabilizing surfaces and depositing organic matter.” Photograph by Kevin Williams.

    Dunes and dune marsh-elder (Iva imricata), make a genuinely stunning combination. Shrubs are caretakers of ecosystems, and the dune marsh-elder is a dune protector, growing close to the tideline on much of the North American Atlantic coastline.

    Above: Exciting, under-subjugated patterns in the mountains of Oregon. Photograph by Sean Hogan.

    Thriving in places that do not respond to a plough, and generally “under-subjugated” by people, shrublands make their own arrangements of form, color and texture, in the kind of visual patterns that we would do well to try to follow. This one, including Cascade blueberry, western azalea and hoary manzanita, occurs in Josephine County, Oregon.

    Above: A dry montane shrubland in Colorado, where a desert bioregion transitions into cooler, higher mountain conditions. Photograph by Michael Guidi.

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