The young (only 3 feet tall) Leatherleaf Mahonia in full bloom at Marsh Gardens on January 27th. Eric has planted it near a red berried American holly, to make, as he puts it “a visual pun,” on the two plants’ quite similar leaflets

I was so pleased when Eric sent this – in my mind, Mahonias are associated with far more clement climates than either of mine. Eric’s place over at Yale IS a lot warmer than it is here, but with a bit of shopping around for a protected spot, it sounds as though I just might be able to plant a clump of these beautiful, fragrant winter bloomers.

Leatherleaf Mahonia (Mahonia japonicum var. bealei)

By Eric Larson

Not often do you get something blooming in January here in New England, and when you do, you want to praise it beyond its intrinsic worth perhaps. But who is to say what intrinsic worth is? Many a fellow carbon-based life form will have questioned mine own in the decades of walking around on this blue-green orb.

But Leatherleaf Mahonia is intrinsically AND anthropomorphically beautiful, for its season of bloom and far more.

In mid-winter, the pale yellow fragrant flowers emerge on spikes of about six to nine inches long and somehow manage to get pollinated even in our climate. (The plant is native to China, despite its specific name, though it has been cultivated in Japan for hundreds of years). The flowers are displayed at the ends of the branches, visible even through the fog of a late January warm spell.

Although not as showy and vibrant as its sister plant, Oregon Grape-Holly (M. aquifolium), Leatherleaf blooms much earlier in the season: January as opposed to late March and April. So if you can grow both, you will have an extended season of bloom. In addition, the Oregon Grape-Holly has lighter green, shiny leaves, while our plant has a blue-green cast, and is somewhat dull in appearance.

A closer view of the flower spikes reveals the primrose yellow color of the individual flowers. Very fragrant, these blooms will last for up to three weeks if the weather conditions are right.

Later in spring and during the summer, dark purple to blue-black fruits begin their show on. These fruits are edible and rich in vitamin C, but are not really that tasty. I have eaten a few on a dare, and they left me with the impression that anything that acrid MUST be good for you – if it doesn’t outright kill you.

Birds love the berries, though, so expect the show of fruit to be short-lived. But helping our feathered friends is a good thing…isn’t it? ( D*****d starlings! Two were building a nest in the gutter just above our bedroom window last spring, and my warm and fuzzy feelings towards those barely-evolved dinosaurs evaporated like gasoline on hot cement.)

Leatherleaf mahonias grow 6 to 10 feet tall and spread about 8 feet wide. They are evergreen, will tolerate and even thrive in shade and are not fussy about soil as long as it is on the acid side and not swampy. Most folks looking for an evergreen screen in their shady garden think Eastern or Canadian Hemlock, perhaps Rhododendron. But Mahonia is a great choice.

Gardeners plagued by deer might find it particularly valuable. Although it shows up on many a ‘deer resistant’ list, I haven’t seen a truck, even in the mining districts of Montana, that would hold a grain of salt big enough to view those lists with any degree of certainty. Some lists are strictly geographical: apparently deer in one locality haven’t developed a taste for plants that deer in another location consider haute cuisine. And in a hard winter, plants that were ignored in years past may suddenly start disappearing at a rapid rate.

Before planting Leatherleaf Mahonia, please be warned that it’s a member of the Barberry family, which includes some notorious invasives. I have seen it pop up in spots where only birds could have deposited the seed, so while it’s not on Connecticut’s invasive species list yet, that may just be a matter of time.

The genus name is after Bernard McMahon (1775-1816), who introduced the plants collected from the Lewis and Clark Expedition to an adoring American public who had gotten notices in the mail that they may already have won!

No, I jest. But although Bernard was not Ed, he was a publisher  – of the first American-produced seed list in the United States (1803). He also inspired future generations of garden writers with his Calendar, a comprehensive month –by-month instruction manual on planting and caring for plants, including soil preparation for the “Kitchen Garden, Fruit Garden, Orchard, Vineyard, Nursery, Pleasure Ground, Flower Garden, Green House, Hot House and Forcing Frames.” This went into eleven editions, published by his son, ending in 1857. (Facsimile reproductions are in print to this day, available on order from your local bookstore or of course Amazon. A great read, and still more than a little instructive. LL)

And almost everything deciduous is down to the bare branches, many of them in need of shaping. What all this is reminding me is that I definitely need some snazzy new material for the string of garden beds that will (next spring) finally be unified into a single sweep of Things That Look Good From Inside The House When Inside Is Where We Are Most Of The Time.

Enter Eric’s excellent suggestion:

Corylopsis pauciflora – earlier than forsythia, far more delicate and FAR more fragrant, to say nothing of better behaved.

Buttercup winter hazel (Corylopsis pauciflora)

By Eric Larson

The winterhazels (Corylopsis species) are in the witchhazel family (Hamamelidaceae) and have many of the witchhazels’ virtues: fragrant flowers on bare branches, wide adaptability and ease of care. But unlike most of its siblings and cousins, Buttercup winter hazel is on the short side. It tops out at six or seven feet, ideal for the home landscape where space is at a premium. And it grows at a modest rate to its eventual manageable size, leaving little need for corrective or size pruning

In mid- to late April, this dainty shrub pops into bloom with a display of buttercup yellow flower clusters. The fragrance is delicate yet quite noticeable, making it perfect for end of the shrub border nearest the breakfast terrace (if you are lucky enough to have such an architectural element). New leaves show red edges before darkening to rich green, then (with luck) turn a rich gold-bronze before falling to reveal the slender but sturdy branches.

Witchhazels (Hamamelis species) bloom at different times: North American mostly in fall, the Chinese and other Asian species and many of their crosses generally in the late winter to early spring, much earlier than our Corylopsis. If you plant as many of the Hamamelidaceae as you can find – and fit in – you can enjoy their flowers for a good part of the year, but if you only have room for one this may be the one for you.

Like most of the Hamamelidaceae, C. pauciflora has very few insect or disease problems to worry about. This combines with its modest pruning needs to make it especially suitable as part of the ‘sustainable’ (was there ever a word so overused?) home landscape. Plant either in spring or fall, in good humus-rich acid soil, being sure to choose a nice partly shady spot.

Our winter hazel here at the garden gets lots of reflected light but no direct sunlight, and it seems to provide plenty of bloom and plenty of fall color, too.

If you can avoid windy exposed locations, you will have better luck with keeping this plant from flagging during the hotter months. In fact, if sited properly, it will need supplemental water only during severe summer drought. Mulch it well, and then let nature take its course.

This is a good addition to the shrub border, but it can also be used as a specimen and as forest underplanting. Planted in front of evergreens, the flowers, spring foliage and fall colors will show up with more contrast. A famous combination at Winterthur Gardens in Delaware includes C. pauciflora and Rhododendron mucronulatum, the soft buttery yellow of the Winterhazel providing perfect counterpoint to the rich almost electric purple of the Azalea, and of course they flower at the exact same time.  I would also look for good combinations with bulbs and other spring flowering perennials.

C. pauciflora can be hard to find, but well stocked independent nurseries sometimes carry it, usually in pots, occasionally  balled-and-burlapped. Spring bloom is fairly consistent and your best chance of finding the plant is in spring. But fall color is highly variable, so if you’re willing to shop around it pays to check out your purchase in fall.

In general, witchhazels have better fall color than winterhazels, but our winterhazel here at the garden has a rich gold color. In addition, the darker coloration along the leaf edges in the close up shows a nice reddish tint in spring after the flowers have dropped and the leaves emerge. Eventually turning green as the leaves mature, that nice touch of color in May and early June is a good foil for other colors provided by bulbs or herbaceous plants. For instance, there are several Tulips that have the same red tints and tones, so that repeating elements from ground to mid-level can be achieved.

Eric's Japanese snowflake holly, still a baby at this writing but already quite showy.

Our friend Eric continues to find places to plant new things, in this case a pair of Japanese Hollies that are almost (but not quite, I have to confess) sufficiently dazzling to make me change my mind about randomly variegated plants. But I’m a notorious holdout in this regard. Almost everyone else is bound to be seduced, if not by the picture then by Eric’s description of this plant’s merits, of which there are many besides its looks.

Snowflake Japanese Holly (Ilex crenata ‘Shiro-fukurin’)

By Eric Larson

 There are holly trees. There are holly bushes. There are some hollies with spiny foliage, some with smooth, some that are evergreen and others that are deciduous, some native to this continent and a lot from Asia. Most require good sun exposure (not universally), good soil drainage (although not all) and two differently gendered plants to produce fruit (this last is set is stone species-wide).

I first read about Snowflake Japanese Holly in one of my favorite catalogues, from the Forest Farm outfit in Bend, Oregon. Their very informative print catalogue* is over two hundred pages long, with a huge selection – from the prosaic to the rare -  of woody plants, perennials, grasses, sedges, fruit trees and bamboos.

Each description has enough information to get a plant collector’s fingers itchy for spring planting. Admittedly, the cost of transporting the goods is rather high, and definitely not sustainable in terms of carbon footprint, but you just might have to resort to mail order if you want something rare to fill in that troublesome corner near the door, or that hole in the perennial border that appears every July 26th.

I planted Snowflake Japanese Hollies on either side of the main entrance door and they seem to be doing quite well, in spite of not getting the full sun they would (under ideal circumstances) prefer. I have found that full sun on them spells disaster unless I pay very close attention to watering.

They just don’t like it dry, so I planted them in partial shade, underplanted with hakonechloa, Liriope, Wood Violets and Grape Hyacinths. It’s a workable vignette, I think, though it hasn’t matured to the point where I can say it’s an unmitigated disaster or an unqualified success. They are all thriving, the plants in this little entry garden, so I’m not complaining.

At this stage, "underplanted" doesn't seem like the right word for the perennials, but in time the holly will rise attractively above them.

Entry gardens, in my view, should be simple, have a limited color palette and be functional. They should not block windows, or have spiky foliage scratching legs. Some other points to remember:

* If there may be de-icing chemicals used on entry steps and surfaces, use salt tolerant plants.

* It’s best to avoid plants that don’t like ice build up from dripping eaves and/or overflow from gutters.

* Think carefully before using plants with poisonous berries or those that can cause allergic skin reactions.

Beyond these little notes, the world is your oyster as regards the entry garden (and my idea about limited color scheme is only my opinion: have at it if you like the multitudinous flash of tropical bright colors. It may work for your personality, your house, your neighborhood or the disposition of your town or city). There are few rules here, just sage advice, and you’ve heard mine so back to the plant.

Japanese Holly, Ilex crenata, is a medium-sized evergreen shrub that grows from five to ten feet high with an equal or greater spread. Some authorities say twenty feet high, and that may be in the wild, but I haven’t seen it despite viewing some very mature plantings. They grow slowly to their full size, which makes them perfect for the entry garden: they stay close to the size of your design for quite a while.

And they are quite easy to prune, but if I see another person using electric or even manual hedge shears on a broad-leaved evergreen, I will be driven to taking embarrassing pictures and posting them on the Internet. Please do not do this! The severed pieces of leaf remaining on the plant will turn brown and die. Not picturesque in the least. And come on, the little meatballs spaced at even intervals up to the door of the suburban home would give a beret and a baguette a run for their money in the realm of cliché.

To return once again to our plant, it’s very accommodating in other aspects as well. The straight species of Japanese Holly has a medium to deep green leaf, rounded as opposed to pokey, pointy or pinchy like many other Hollies. They do well in full sun to light shade, in well-drained average garden soil, and they are not particularly pest prone.

The variety ‘Shiro-fukurin’ has green foliage with cream to white spots and dots and splashes, which helps to lighten up a dark corner at any time of year. It also has a great name to drop on unsuspecting guests when giving a tour of your palatial estate. You WILL get a reaction, believe me.

A note about getting carried away (when viewing tempting catalogues):

One must always be wary of falling into the trap called ‘the onesies,’ where your garden has one of everything that appeals, and no sense of order or a definite lack of restfulness. Every gardener has been there with this syndrome. I know I’ve had it bad from time to time, and so must guard against recidivist swoons.

But it is also true that sometimes one is all you need of something, say the Poncirus trifoliata  ‘Flying Dragon’ which I got from Forest Farm some years back and is a knock out in our garden

A reminder: Friday October 28, we at Marsh Gardens will be hosting an Open House and Gala Event, with the Carnivorous Plant Display as the centerpiece. Come join us that evening from five to seven for a Frightfully Good Time! As always, live music, light refreshments and tours of the glass houses will be offered.

* (Forest Farm’s print catalogue is a browser’s delight, but be warned it is innocent of illustration. I wouldn’t be without it, but I’m very glad for the online version’s eversouseful pictures. LL)

But there’s one branch of the spring flower shower that doesn’t get as much notice as it deserves, the one that doesn’t have any petals (At least not petals the way forsythia has petals, and certainly not the way daffodils have petals).

So right here I want to put in a good word for catkins, the fuzzy flowering parts of birches, beeches, mulberries, hazels and of course pussy willows.

In a moment, our friend Eric will be extolling the Black Pussy Willows he grows over at Yale, but first a glimpse of our own backyard thrill, the contorted hazel, in full chandelier mode:

Corylus avellana 'Contorta' in flower

The stems look a lot like the curly branches offered at some high end florists, but those are usually the faster growing curly willow, which brings us back to Eric and his fashionably

Black Pussy Willow (Salix gracilistylus ‘Melanostachys’)

By Eric Larson

My oldest friend, or a better term would be the friend I have known the longest, sent me an e-mail at the end of March with the following as his last line: “I would tell you that the color of green produced by plants waking up from winter never ceases to lift me.”

Couldn’t have said it better myself. If every day is a gift – and if we don’t remember that at least once in a while, we need to check our own pulse for life – then every spring is a stupendous totally encompassing miracle…

not all of which is green. The waking Black Pussy Willow, for instance, is anything but. Yet it too is miraculous, and it puts on its big spring show just as the season begins.

The black catkins last for up to four weeks depending on the weather. Most catkins are wind-pollinated, but willows tend to be associated with early spring insect activity.

Flowers form along the stems of the plant, the procession of dusky catkins resembling little black caterpillars – very closely, if you have a good imagination. There is an anecdote that a customer called a garden hot line with a complaint that there were scores of wooly worms on her willow bush. Egad, hand pick them or you are doomed!

The catkins can range from a half-inch to two inches in length, starting small early in the season, then lengthening and changing color as they mature. Females stay flat black until well-expanded; males will add a fine-textured, silky red to orange staminate haze to the display. (Willows are dioecious, which means that like humans, holly and marijuana, each individual has one gender and it takes two to make progeny.)

Like many of its genus, Black Pussy Willow is a quick growing shrub. It ends up six to ten feet tall, but can be more than ten feet wide because it will spread aggressively by underground adventitious roots and above ground ‘suckers.’

Don’t fret too much; if necessary you can prune this plant pretty severely to keep it in check.  I prefer to let it attain its natural size, and then lightly prune it back. The stems tend to be somewhat brittle so can be damaged in windy locations, or by heavy snow load.  To avoid broken branches and distorted shapes, it is best to prune it proactively, keeping it relatively compact, no matter what shape and size you prefer.

Although it won’t grow in standing water, this plant, like most willows, loves to have water very nearby. Unfortunately (once more, like most willows) it is subject to rust, leaf spot, canker and other pathogens. Planting in full sun will help keep some of the fungal problems in check.

There is also a list of insects that seem to enjoy feeding on it, but ours doesn’t seem to be too badly munched upon.  I think if you have a lot of willows, you are more likely to encounter problems, while with only one or two, you might sneak under the pest radar.

Average garden soil in the slightly acid range is great for this plant, but it’s quite tolerant of other soil types as well as moderate road salt and pollution exposure. I have seen it used in a median strip situation in Delaware to good effect.

Its natural propensity to sucker out into a fairly large clump makes it ideal for holding stream banks, protecting hillside soil and reclaiming wetlands.  It could also be used to good effect in the shrub border, as I have here at Marsh Botanical Garden.

The silver-catkined  S. caprea is better known, but S. gracilistylus ‘Melanostachys’ is fully its equal for providing great cut flower material and late winter/early spring interest in the garden.

I haven’t seen this plant offered locally – at least not yet. We got ours from Forest Farm.

Our plant does its best to ease the industrial view of electrical transformer and chain link fence. During the summer the gray-green to silver foliage does a pretty good job, while providing a counter-point to the predominantly green landscape around it.

Iced viburnum

On the other hand, that’s “best” in a strictly visual sense. Unless you count being covered with ice while still in leaf, there’s no greater stress for a tree’s crown than having to bear great weight on frozen, unbendable branches.

Unless you count ice plus wind.

Our friend Eric over at Yale isn’t mentioning any woes that may have befallen Marsh Gardens, but he does have a lot of good advice in the “how to save your trees” department.

Ice Storm Damage to Trees

By Eric Larson

One of nature’s severest tests for man, beast and plant is an ice storm. We can of course stay indoors, salt the walks and roads, and put on our ice-gripping slip-ons to fight the effects. For birds and animals, shelter is also the order of the day. But for plants there is no refuge, save in their structural ability to withstand the weight.

Ice build-up can increase the branch weight of a tree by up to 30 times the normal.  When ice builds up to a half-inch, small branches, dead limbs and weak structural members are at risk. One-half to one-inch accumulations will result in the loss of larger branches, sound wood and other severe damage to the tree.  Strong winds add to the stress on the structure of branch and limb.  An additional cause of injury to trees due to ice is from vehicles skidding into them.

We in New England live in an area of the country that is susceptible to ice storms, along with a large band that extends across the central and northern midsection.  As recent Weather Channel reports show, ice storms can happen almost anywhere, including the South. I will leave it to those august prognosticators to describe the climatological conditions that result in an ice storm. We can discuss what it does to trees and shrubs.

The factors that influence a tree’s susceptibility to ice damage include: inherently weak wood, dead and decaying branches, broken branches, a broad or imbalanced crown, large horizontal structural wood, fine branching habit and ‘included’ bark.

This last is a feature that you most often see on Bradford Pear.  When a crotch angle is too tight, the bark between the two structural members becomes ingrown, as in a fingernail. This weakens the structure of the branch junction, making the Bradford Pear one of the worst trees for ice damage.

Examples of species with a broad crown and fine branching habits include the Siberian Elm, Honey Locust, Green Ash, Hackberry and American Elm.

Factors affecting a tree’s resistance to ice damage include its general shape, with pyramidal being the best. This prototypical evergreen architecture is also found in some young deciduous trees, like the Sweet Gum.  Later in its life span, the Sweet Gum crown will broaden and become more susceptible to ice damage.  It should be said that there are some varieties within a species generally known for broad crowns that exhibit tighter more pyramidal structure, so if you are set on, say, an English Oak, look for the ‘fastigiate’ or narrow pyramidal form.

Another factor in resistance to ice damage is the propensity of a species for coarse branching habit, or fewer thicker branches.  These tend to have less horizontal surface area, which means less ice load.  Under story trees and trees that mature at smaller heights also have more resistance to ice damage.

The other factor in my experience involved with major tree failure during ice events is the root depth of different species. For instance, Red Oaks have shallower root systems, which makes them easier to transplant, but it also makes them more susceptible to blow-down than their cousin the White Oak, which has a deep tap root.

So what can we do to lessen the devastating affect of ice damage on trees?

First –  in areas where ice storms are likely, plant resistant species and varieties. (See table below).

Second – plant the tree or shrub in the correct place. Those with preference for good drainage should not be planted in wet lowland areas for instance.  Pay attention to the tolerance or preference of trees and shrubs for sun or shade.  Trees that are grown too close together or in deeper shade than preferred tend to have imbalanced crowns and long horizontal branches.

Third - Train and prune young trees for good structural integrity: remove crossing branches and branches with poor angles of connection to the trunk, and maintain good spacing of branches as the tree grows. Remove dead wood periodically, and have an arborist check for disease and insect problems.  Trees near the home, sidewalk, road or other sensitive area should be monitored more closely.

An additional note about prevention of ice damage concerns the common practice of allowing English Ivy to grow up the trunks of large deciduous trees. There is no data to support the fact that this harms trees, except for one important point: the increased surface area of this evergreen plant adds to the ice load for the entire tree to an extent that may spell dire consequences. So in areas with frequent ice storms it may be wise to periodically remove the ivy from all but the main trunk of the tree.

After ice damage has occurred, it is probably best to contact an arborist for help in assessing the damage and deciding what action to take. In some cases, correct pruning will suffice in minimizing the long-term effects of the injury. In a few cases, the injuries are devastating enough to warrant removal of the tree. It is always best to seek the advice and estimates from at least two tree services.  Also make sure they are licensed, insured and bonded before starting work.

(If your place looks anything like our place, heaps of snow are giving the ice layers a real run for their money. Tips on snow removal are here. LL)

• Susceptible ……………..Moderately Resistant …………..Resistant
• American Elm                      Bur Oak                                          American Sweetgum
• White Oak                             Eastern White Pine
• American Linden                                                                                   Arborvitae
• Black Cherry                         Northern Red Oak                                Bald Cypress
• Black Locust                         Red Maple                                               Black Walnut
• Bradford Pear                       Sugar Maple                                            Blue Beech
• Common Hackberry           Sycamore                                                  Catalpa
• Green Ash                             Eastern Hemlock                                    Ginkgo
• Tulip Tree                              White Ash                                                 Ironwood
• Honey Locust                                                                                             Kentucky Coffee Tree
• Pin Oak                                                                                                        Littleleaf Linden
• Siberian Elm
• Silver Maple
• Norway Maple
• Silver Linden

Adapted from Hauer, R.J., Wl Wang, and J.O. Dawson. 1993.Ice Storm Damage to Urban Trees, Journal of Arboriculture

19:187-193.

The catkins on the corkscrew hazel ( Corylus 'Contorta) would seem to be an invitation to disaster, but we've never had so much as a broken twig.

Photos by Bill Bakaitis

I have already tied a shortbread recipe to these ubiquitous conifers and my strong feelings about them, but our friend Eric over at Yale has been inspired in a whole different direction. If you choose junipers, you’re not just honoring a symbol, you’re getting rid of pests.

Recently planted ‘Blue Star’ Juniper. It will take about a decade to reach full size.

“Our Juniperus squamata ‘BlueStar’ shows how it got its name in this image,” says Eric. “It will take ten years or so to become 3 feet in spread and almost that in height. That slow growth combines with its excellent coloration to make it a good choice for the mixed border.”

Junipers (Juniperus species)

By Eric Larson

Back before they were overrun by Christians, (nobody was checking green cards, I guess) the pagans in northern Europe had rituals celebrating cosmological and seasonal events:  the longest day of the year, the spring and fall equinoxes and of course, after the shortest day of the year, the returning sunlight that brought great joy to the people.

If it seems like the days are about three hours of sunlight this time of year here in New Haven, imagine what it might have been like in England, for instance, back in the days before even candles: “So, seeing as how we have all this beer that we put up over the summer, and someone just brought in a stag which we will slap onto the barbie, let’s have a party!”

The tradition was to bring into the hut, the cave or the lean-to during the fall some evergreen branches, to supposedly pay homage to the everlasting and returning quality of life. If there were berries involved, that was even better, as this denoted vigor and fertility, bestowing on the household those qualities.

I suspect that there were other reasons for this decorating motif: perhaps there were some pesticidal qualities in the evergreens they chose, good for keeping nits to a minimum. The distaff members of the household might have insisted that these boughs be brought in to be used as crude brooms during the long winter months.

The berries were probably used as marbles by the kids, in the dark days before the X-Box 360. Who knows? But the fact remains that the precedent for our Christmas tree lies in the golden pagan past, when life was simpler and NERVRACC was as yet an undiscovered syndrome.

Junipers are among the conifers that do have some pesticidal qualities (think cedar chest). There are around fifty or sixty species within the genus Juniperus, which is also the Latin name for a species native to Europe. This genus, along with about thirty other genera, resides in the stately Cypress family, Cupressaceae.

Junipers in the Landscape and Garden

Junipers are tough plants, growing in poor rocky alkaline soils, sometimes very thin on the surface or bedrock or caliche. Some species are very large, growing to almost a hundred feet in height, and some are quite diminutive. Many of the best for gardens stay very short but spread amiably along the ground, as if to say, “That’s okay, you have your head in the clouds; I’ll just crawl along the ground and keep my expectations low.”

These Juniperus horizontalis will slowly fill in to form a handsome, low-maintenance erosion control.

This new planting of  the low-growing Juniperus horizontalis ‘Blue Rug’ is a good use of the plant in protecting the soil on a hillside.  I will plant Crocus species in this area next year. As the juniper slowly grows out around the planting, the crocus will pop up through its steel blue-green boughs to provide spring color, and then their foliage after flowering will be hidden within the juniper’s spread.

Regardless of size, all junipers are sun loving and almost all are easy to grow. They offer a wide variety of foliage colors, from dark green to mid-green, yellow-green to blue-green, and some of them are very striking.

There are also two foliage types: the needled and the scale. Needled foliage is sharp and somewhat stiff, while the scale type is softer to the touch. Most species have one or the other, but there are a number that have both.

In those that have both, the prickly type, often referred to as ‘juvenile’ foliage (think teenager), is found on the outer growth of the branches. As the branches mature, the foliage changes to the softer scale type.

Because they come in so many sizes, shapes and colors, junipers are the evergreen of a thousand uses. They can be used as accents, in foundation plantings, as hedges, in the mixed border and in plantings for wildlife.

Growing juniper is easy, especially if you give it full sun. We have several specimens in light shade that seem to be doing well, but they not only grow better in full sun, they also show off their foliage color better in good light.  There are no real pests to worry about, although there are several fungal diseases, including a rust (Cedar/Apple Rust) and a tip-blight,  that will crop up from time to time.

Non-landscape Uses of Juniper

* Juniper, specifically J. virginiana, the Easter Red-Cedar, is used (this is the pesticidal part) for lining drawers and closets to discourage the wool moth. The common name using the word ‘Cedar’ is misleading: this species is unquestionably a Juniper, not a true Cedar like the Cedar of Lebanon.

* Juniper berries should not be eaten in any quantity, but they are used as a spice in a wide range of cuisines, and they are also one of the flavorings in gin. One of the most important flavorings, actually, the origin of the word ‘gin’ is ‘genever,’ the Dutch word for juniper.

* There are more than a few widely spread tribes of prehistoric people who lived in or near juniper forests and depended on them for fuel and material for shelter and tools. The trees were thought to be symbols of long life, prowess and fecundity.

* In Morocco, the sap , called ‘gitran’ of the arar tree (J. phoenicea) is applied in spots on the lips of drinking cups. It makes the water more fragrant and also strengthens the teeth. There also might be some anti-parasitic quality that western medicine hasn’t discovered.

* The First Peoples of the Americas used juniper to treat diabetes, and also as a female contraceptive.

* The noted 17th Century herbalist and physician Nicholas Culpeper promoted juniper to treat asthma and sciatica, and also to speed childbirth.

This juniper was here when I arrived and there is no record of its exact species, but I'm pretty sure there's at least some J. chinensis in its parentage.

J. chinensis is large  for a shrub, growing to about 20 feet tall. It also spreads nicely, so don’t plant too close to the house: you’ll regret having to disfigure it with the pruning that would be necessary. The front of this specimen is an example of bad pruning provided to us by the contractor who installed the ‘waffle-block’ road in the foreground.

(Juniper pruning is a somewhat vexed subject; my advice on same can be found at Juniper Needs Pruning, Eats Path, or The Heap Revisited. LL)

Back here in Evergreen Season, an Invitation:

Please join all of us at Marsh Gardens on Friday December 10, from five to eight, for A Holiday in the Tropics, our version of the seasonal festive gathering.  While we try to keep the religious connotations to a minimum, if someone breaks out into a carol, we wouldn’t call the police. We do have light refreshments, we lead tours of the glass houses (and what could be better on a dark December evening) and we provide live music – as opposed to the dead kind, which we do at our Halloween party.

Special guest artist this year will be Michael Ward on violin, whose work has been recorded on at least four CD’s. He has been in several Philadelphia-based Irish and mixed-genre bands and is now performing regularly in that city, that of the Brotherly Love. (I’m sure that Sisters are well regarded there as well.)

We are lengthening the usual party time to allow for the attendance as guests of the staff of what is in my opinion the BEST GROCERY in Connecticut, if not the whole East Coast. Whitneyville Food Center is the vendor we use for the light refreshments, and I have to admit that in an informal poll run by the same company that the Tappet Brothers use (Merki Research), attendees at our events responded that they come for the food and tolerate the music, especially the bass playing.

Disclaimer: These columns are well-meaning but flawed creations of the author, whose ardent secular humanist and socialist views are in no way reflective of Yale University, Marsh Botanical Garden, Leslie Land –  or the author’s family and friends.

This bald cypress is roughly nine feet high, with a spread of about four feet. Its coppery fall colors show off well against the yellow of the River Birch (Betula nigra) in the background. Not visible in Eric's snapshot are the yellow Clethra, the red and purple Itea and other plants typical of East Coast swamp lands.

As autumn takes hold over at Marsh Gardens, our friend Eric turns his attention to one of Yale’s more educational plantings, a small native bog display. There’s not much chance his bald cypress trees will attain the majesty of those in the southern swamps, but with any luck they’ll grow large enough to show how much beauty these deciduous conifers can confer on a landscape.

Bald Cypress (Taxodium distichum)

By Eric Larson

Compared to the more colorful denizens of our eastern deciduous forests (and many of the plants here at the garden), Bald Cypress in its subtle autumn raiment is a non-starter. But it provides a fine fall display when viewed in larger stands where it is native, and in winter the leafless trees stand out in all their sculptural splendor.

There are only a few species of deciduous conifers: 13 species of Larch (Larix), the Golden Larch (Pseudolarix), Dawn Redwood (Metasequoia), the Chinese Swamp Cypress (Glyptostrobus) and our plant, Taxodium, of which there are three species – maybe. Some botanists mush them together and make two categories of sub-species for the Mexican species and the Pond Cypress.

Taxodium comes from the resemblance of the leaves to Yew foliage. The Yew genus is Taxus, to which is added the Greek word eidos, which means ‘resemblance, “ and then the whole thing is ‘Latinized.’  It’s a member of the Cypress family, Cupressaceae, along with about a hundred and thirty other species.

Bald Cypress was formerly the dominant species for the great southeastern and southern lowland forests. There were some trees that grew to over a hundred and thirty feet tall. The lumber harvest from a hectare in the early days of ‘forest management’ was over a thousand cubic meters, while today a creditable 150 to 200 c.m. per hectare is common.

The wood is rot resistant, long used for greenhouse construction as well as piers for docks and jetties. Lightweight but strong, with no soft-wood odor, it’s highly prized for its environmental stability.

Bald Cypress trees can grow pretty fast when the basic conditions are met, though it does take a while for the spectacular “knees” to form. They love wet feet, hot humid summers, sunny locations and plenty of nutrients. (Although one species/sub-species is common in less fertile ‘black-water swamps,’ the brown-water swamps of the southeast are generally quite high in nutrient load due to periodic flooding of upland, nutrient-rich waters.)

The shape is generally narrowly pyramidal, although some large crowns have been noted in some plantings, whether by environmental response or genetic disposition. A 70-foot tree will have a spread of around 30 feet, generally speaking.

These two Bald Cypress show variability in growth rate and in fall color. Planted as foot-tall saplings at the same time five years ago, the one on the right is almost twenty feet tall, while the one on the left is about eight feet in height.

The northernmost point for native stands of Bald Cypress is Trap Pond in Delaware, a canoeist’s delight. The tree is cold-hardy much farther north, but because young saplings are extremely susceptible to ice damage, a sustainable wild population is not possible in climates where ice often covers the flooded areas necessary for seed germination and initial growth.

On the other hand, trees that are planted as saplings and cared for properly can do well in colder areas all the way to zone 4, and in drier soils (A growth rate of two-and-a-half feet a year for seven years has been recorded in Wichita, KS)

Interestingly, this tree is “exceptionally wind-firm,” as Dirr puts it, and will not be dislodged by even hurricane force winds.

One note: although some coastal tidal inundation has been noted in some of the great stands of Bald Cypress, T. distichum is not suited to growing in brackish water. So avoid this tree in choosing plants for the ‘pond’ plantings along the shores of Rhode Island for instance.

Another note: Bald cypress trees are great for the homeowner with problem wet areas, easy to care for once established, relatively free of pest problems and – of course – unfazed by constant flooding. The species is highly variable, but if you buy a grafted cultivar you can choose from an assortment that includes weepers and columnar forms as well as pyramids. LL

Disclaimer: This column is produced at infrequent intervals, and does not reflect the views of Yale University, Marsh Botanical Garden, or anyone else who works, worked or will work here.

Eric's Salvia farinacea 'Victoria Blue' and Canna x 'Pretoria'

We are in the season of summing up and looking ahead. Half-empty types (that would be me) are making careful notes of what failed to thrive, what failed to please and why. Those with sunnier dispositions (that would be our friend Eric, over at Yale) are reflecting on their successes and planning repeats.

Canna and Mealy-cup Sage  (Canna species and Salvia farinacea)

By Eric Larson

The  Canna x ‘Pretoria’ and Salvia farinacea ‘Victoria Blue’ are contrasting in just the way I was looking for in our sunny perennial border. This first year has been a struggle, as the soils have been badly damaged by greenhouse construction, but we look forward to better years ahead.

I had no idea when I planted these two plants together that they are native to the same area: tropical and sub-tropical America, ranging from Texas all the way to South America.  I was just looking for textural and color contrast.  The violet-blue spikes of the Salvia with the broad chartreuse and green leaves of the Canna are a combination worth repeating next year.

Mealy-cup Sage, Salvia farinacea

is a herbaceous perennial from one to two feet tall and wide. It will over-winter in USDA Zones 9 and 10, but must be dug up and protected here or treated as an annual. The leaves of most sage (Salvia) plants are very tomentous, which is a botanical word for ‘hairy.’ But the leaves of our plant are somewhat shiny and distinctly glabrous, or non-hairy. (These words can be used to good effect for the veiled insult: The Colonel once referred to my head as a ‘glabrous pate.’)

Mealy-cup Sage does best in full sun, in good rich soil, and will bloom throughout the summer provided it is kept deadheaded. Plants can be purchased, but they are also easy to grow from seed as long as you have enough light to start early. (Sown in the beginning of March, then moved into larger pots as they grow, they should be close to blooming size in May or early June.)

After the first light frost, dig up a plant or two and pot them up in as large a pot as your orangerie will allow. You can take cuttings from them in February and March, which will give you a jump on the season next year: cuttings will mature more quickly than seed.

They can be used in the border as you see in the photograph, as an accent, in pots and in meadows. Mealy-cup sage also makes a really good cut flower, providing a spiky dark blue (or silver or white) accent to the arrangement.

Salvia, the Latin name for this plant, is related to the word salvus, which means safe, referring to its healing properties. There are between 700 and 900 species in the genus, mostly herbaceous perennials and annuals, with a few shrubs thrown in. Each of these species has different medicinal qualities.

Our plant has been used for poor circulation and menopause symptoms, to treat anxiety, depression and liver disorders, as an antiseptic gargle for laryngitis and tonsillitis and as a breath freshener and teeth cleanser.  As always, please consult a licensed quack or a witch doctor with a diploma on the wall before using herbal remedies. In no way am I espousing the use of herbal remedies alone for what ails you.

All Salvia species are known for leaves that are aromatic when crushed. This quality and the square stem (as well as the flower structure) help to place the plant firmly within the ranks of the Mint family, Lamiaceae.

Canna

is a rhizomatous perennial, with broad leaves and flower spikes that emerge throughout the summer here. It is tropical or sub-tropical in nature, so must be lifted in the fall to prevent it from dying from the cold in our zone.

It will take some shade in the tropics but is best planted in full sun for us. Plants in a wide assortment of sizes and prices are sold at nurseries in spring, but they can also be purchased as rootstock in garden centers and by mail order. Rootstocks are more economical than plants and will put on size quickly if given plentiful water, fertilizer and sunshine.

Cannas can be planted in the border as an accent or focal point. But if you live in the frost belt and want to keep them going, remember when setting out that they will have to be dug up in fall and stored frost free over winter.

They also do well in pots, tolerating considerable crowding as long as they are well watered and fed. Or you could put them in the vegetable garden; the roots are a good source of starch and are a staple in many tropical areas around the world.

The genus name is from the Greek word kanna, for ‘reed,’ although some sources have it from Celtic roots. It is the only member of the Canna family, Cannaceae. Its closest relatives are other plants in the order Zingiberales, which includes similarly showy plants like ginger, banana, and bird-of-paradise.

I would appreciate anyone chiming in who has eaten canna. What does it taste like? Could you recommend any recipes? Can it be preserved  – “I don’t feel like cooking tonight, hon. Can I open a can o’ canna?”  Does it go well with chicken?

There are scores of varieties of horticultural Cannas, with different color flowers (mostly hot colors: orange, yellow, and red, though there are also some pinks and  whites). Leaves also come in quite an assortment of colors and patterns, and plants may be anywhere from two to ten feet tall.

The one in our garden here is ‘Pretoria,’ with the lovely gold-striped chartreuse leaves. I like them better than I do the flowers.  Plant tall, red flowered cannas if you want to attract hummingbirds. They love the red-flowered varieties, and having the flowers held well off the ground helps prevent cat predation.

Disclaimer: These columns are well-meaning but flawed creations of the author, whose ardent secular humanist and socialist views are in no way reflective of Yale University, Marsh Botanical Garden, Leslie Land –  or his family and friends.

Lagniappe: Eric’s photo shows a flower stalk but not the flower, which he may or may not have removed. If you want to let them bloom you’re probably better off surrounding them with flowers that can take the heat. LL

Canna 'Pretoria' in flower in Maine, with 'Starfire' phlox and tiger lilies.

Unlike the rest of us, he’s also been enjoying the fragrance of  blooming Ylang-ylang, an easy bit of exotica if you have a large enough greenhouse (emphasis on the large enough).

"The solitary flower of Ylang-ylang with its strap-like petals is a chartreuse to light yellow color," says Eric. "The aroma fills the large bay of the greenhouse in which we keep this easily-grown tropical tree."

Ylang-ylang Tree (Cananga odorata)

By Eric Larson

Cananga odorata is a fast-growing tropical tree (up to 2 or 3 meters per year, which is very fast growing). They top out at around 40 feet in the wild, somewhat smaller in cultivation.

Although they prefer moderate shade, the one in our greenhouse is happy in a very exposed spot because the glass reflects some of the sun’s rays, including the UV light, and we put whitewash on the greenhouses in May to reflect additional short wave radiation. In essence, during the summer all of our greenhouse plants are growing in ‘partial shade.’

This image shows the ten foot height of our tree, with about two dozen blossoms bedecking the ends of branches. Notice the white-washed surface of the greenhouse roof, which cuts the sun’s intensity by about thirty-five or forty percent. Without this precaution, the heat gain in our glass houses would cause temperatures in the 110 to 120 Fahrenheit range.

Cananga are native to the rainforests of the Philippines and Indonesia and are also widely grown in Polynesia, Melanesia and Micronesia. The common name comes from the Tagalog, with some uncertainty as to whether it is ‘ilang’ for ‘wilderness,’ referring to the natural areas where it is found, or ‘ilang-ilan’ which means ‘rare,’ perhaps alluding to its wonderfully delicate aroma.  The more widely acknowledged translation is ‘flower of flowers.’

Whatever its etymology,  Ylang-ylang’s  single attraction is its aroma, which is used in aromatherapy (good for high blood pressure and some skin problems), in everyday life as the basis for perfumes (Chanel #5 could not be made without Ylang-ylang) and in certain situations when an aphrodisiac is called for.

Margaret Mead reported that it was used by South Pacific natives  – especially in the Solomon Islands – for this purpose, often strewn on  the bed of newlywed couples, as if any further inducement or encouragement at  that point was needed. It is also one of the ingredients in MotionEaze, an herbal motion sickness medicine.

Flowers at the chartreuse stage

There is also an Ylang-ylang Vine, Artabotrys odoratissimus and a close relative, Artabotrys hexapetalus, the Climbing Ylang-ylang, which are in the same Custard-apple family, Annanonaceae. They too are highly aromatic.

The Custard-apple family has over thirteen hundred genera and around 2500 species, making it the largest family in the order Magnoliales.  Most family members are tropical trees, shrubs or vines but one of them, the Paw-paw, Asimina triloba, is a large shrub/small tree native to the temperate zone of  the eastern United States.

Paw paws are worthy of an entire column – or two or three – of their own, so for now I’ll just remind you that we will be hosting the last Beekeeping Seminar here at the Gardens sometime in late September or early October. Details to come on the Gardens’ web site – and in this column, of course.

(Note: Those who can’t bear to wait for paw paw columns can check out the extensive paw paw information page published by Purdue University. LL)

Disclaimer:  The views expressed within bear no relationship to Marsh Botanical Garden or Yale University or Leslie Land. This is really for entertainment value, principally my own, but if you have anything to contribute, complain about or correct, please comment. And the horse you rode in on.

“This is what happens when your I-phone lens gets dirty,” Eric explained when he sent this picture,” and of course I have a plastic cover on it to protect the poor device from my unhealthy-for-digital-equipment lifestyle. Sorry for that. But the Switchgrass just behind the sculpture adds an interesting texture, with a life of its own on a breezy day.”

This round, Eric’s Pet Plant is from Storm King, and his article is a reminder of two very important things:

* When you have help that’s really helpful, whether it’s from interns like Eric’s at Marsh Gardens or pros like the invaluable Kristi Niedermann at my place, say thank you a lot – and it doesn’t hurt to bestow a present now and then, either.

* Get out and look around. When your own garden is doing well (though still needing work, likely as not) it’s easy to just stay put. Don’t. I never hit as many of the Garden Conservancy’s Open Days as I think I’m going to, but I do try…

Storm King, Summer Interns and Switch Grass (Panicum virgatum)

By Eric Larson

Storm King With Interns

Every summer, we take a field trip with our staff to one of the many gardens, arboreta or other attractions within a couple of hours ride of New Haven. In the past we have been to Smith College’s fabulous arboretum/gardens, to the New York Botanic Gardens and Wave Hill in the Bronx among others.  This year we went to Storm King Arts Center, in the Hudson Valley.

Its history includes having been a farm and estate, then being purchased by an industrialist who started the arts center in the 1960’s. In the 1970’s, they decided that their strengths included a certain scale of presentation that would best be suited to monumental outdoor sculpture.

Since then they have installed works by David Smith, Alexander Calder, Henry Moore, Mark di Suvero and Maya Lin, among many others.  One of our favorites was the long serpentine wall by Andy Goldsworthy through the woods and the pond and over meadows.

The day was “made out of diamonds” as Van Johnson said in Miracle in the Rain, with a pleasant breeze, low humidity and a nice mid-eighties temperature. The property is about a thousand acres, and can be viewed on foot in a few hours. There is a tram that will help move you around if you have less time or energy for walking, and they also rent bicycles.

We rode the tram for a full circle, had a picnic lunch (although there is a café there, it is only open on select end-of-week days) and then split up to view different areas that interested each of us.

Heading back to the parking lot, I noticed a large meadow planted in Panicum virgatum, shimmering as a backdrop to several pieces of large sculpture.  I thought “What a great place for a picture, and a great plant to feature in this column.”

Because we met there, I also took the opportunity to snap a picture or two of our two full-time summer interns (we have a third who started in late June, and works semi-part time: I will write about him later, before he heads off to his first year at Colby).

Our summer interns are barely tolerating my presence in this picture on a couch made of nickels, which was more comfortable than you would think.

Next to me is Michelle Shortsleeves with Sibongile (Bongi) Sithe on the other end. We would not be the same garden without their good work and other contributions too numerous to mention.

Bongi is a native of Cincinnati entering her senior year at Yale. She majors in English, but has an interest in just about any aspect of culture, from music to film.  She applied for the job in the spring, despite being in Scotland for the semester.

She introduced me to ‘Skipe’ so that we could have an interview. I never would have thought that I would be doing that by computer and satellite, but indeed it happened. It must work, because we couldn’t be happier with Bongi’s work and her great sense of humor.  Her laugh is absolutely infections, and she is also an absolutely fabulous cook and baker: a cake appeared close to a cluster of staff birthdays in early July, and it was not lost on us that baking in an un-air-conditioned apartment is indeed a labor of love.

Michelle Shortsleeve is mostly Irish, but with an ancestor from France who was a member of the royal archers, hence the last name.  She hails from Massachusetts, and has just completed a master’s degree in education program at Yale, preparing for a full time job in one of the public schools here in New Haven.

We couldn’t have asked for more from a summer intern, as she has an attention to detail and an interest in gardening and nature that belies her more academic background.  She gets the Golden Roots Award for being the best weeder; this award comes with a gift certificate for carpal tunnel repair surgery.   Michelle has many charms, not the least of which being she will make a GREAT public school teacher.

SWITCHGRASS (PANICUM VIRGATUM)

Switchgrass is a native perennial grass, its range extending across the middle of the continent, from Saskatchewan east to Nova Scotia and south to Mexico.  It shares the tallgrass prairie biomes with Indaingrass, Big Bluestem, Little Bluestem, sideoats grama, eastern gramagrass and many species of forbs, like sunflower, coneflower, gayfeather, prairie clover and in Texas, the bluebonnet.

In thinking about writing this article, I tried to research reasons for the common name, Switchgrass, to no avail. It is not explained anywhere I looked.  It could be so named because in some locations it grows tall enough to be used as a ‘switch’ to encourage the horses in a wheeled conveyance, say a buggy or even a Conestoga wagon.

A bit darker interpretation would suggest corporal punishment, but let’s leave that one alone.  Perhaps Northern Europeans used it for the after-sauna stimulation.  The genus name comes from the Latin word for millet, which it resembles somewhat.

Switchgrass is highly adaptable and widely avaialable. It grows best in full sun, in deep fertile soil: think the prairie. But it will also live in marginal areas with thin soils, wet and boggy areas, soils with salt intrusion, alkaline soils, sandy and gravel soils and clay.  You can buy seed for large-scale plantings, or you can find many ornamental varieties in pots  at nurseries.

Let’s talk about ornament first: This is a warm season grass, so does well in the summer.  With a very upright growth habit, it will rise from 2 to 10 feet depending on the variety and conditions.  There are selections and varieties of Switchgrass with steel-blue stems and leaves with a bright yellow fall color, some with red seed-heads and yellow autumn coloration. They aren’t just green, but change hues subtly through the seasons.

The upright growth habit is equally useful in the border and as an accent in the landscape.  During the winter, the thick fountain of dried leaf stalks makes an interesting wind sculpture, and freshly fallen snow adds a bit of poignancy to the scene.

In spring, before new growth starts, it is best to cut the dried stalks to the ground, so that they don’t interfere with the young tender growth or detract from the look of the plant in the early part of the season.

Besides its wonderful ornamental pulchritude, Switchgrass is a major player in the biofuels debate. Unlike corn, which is an annual that must be planted and cultivated in good crop land every year, Switchgrass is a perennial. It can be harvested without the extra effort of corn and also grows well in marginal land, so using it wouldn’t automatically reduce our abilities to grow food.

In addition, the deep root system is a carbon sink, removing carbon from the air and fixing it in extensive roots that go down at least five sometimes ten feet in the ground.

Switchgrass is also used for soil conservation, for the same reasons: good deep perennial roots, lives in marginal soil, grows rapidly and lives a long time. It’s good for forages and grazing, and for game cover, too.

So bring a bit of the prairie into the garden, and enjoy the three seasons of interest that Switchgrass can provide.

Disclaimer:  The views expressed within bear no relationship to Marsh Botanical Garden or Yale University or Leslie Land. This is sort of a blog, which means, as far as I can tell, that first of all it’s free, and second there is no guarantee of the accuracy of the information – although I can assure you I won’t be making claims that might get a minor functionary in the Agriculture Dept. fired. But I will try to be as accurate and forthright as possible.  That’s how I was raised.

(Sculpture Note: The red zigzag is Tal Streeter’s Endless Column, which continues out of the frame to a total height of 70 feet. The Nickel Couch is by Johnny Swing. LL)