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Wednesday Vignette: A Sneak Peak of Gerdemann Botanic Preserve

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Wednesday Vignette is hosted weekly by Anna of Flutter & Hum. This week, I have a series of vignettes from a very special garden near Yachats, on the Oregon Coast. I spent this past weekend at Gerdemann Botanic Preserve, helping with a little garden maintenance while I enjoyed the scenery, the cool coastal climate, and the company of a group of fellow plant lovers. I'll be sharing much more from this hidden gem of the Oregon coast, but for today, here is a view into the beauty of the Gerdemann Botanic Preserve.

Crooked stems of rhododendrons form fascinating patterns.

Rhododendrons and western hemlock create a beautiful foliar vignette.

A beautiful opening in the garden, with cordyline in the foreground, trachycarpus to the right, and Eucalyptus niphophila in the background.

Abutilon vitifolium bears a few final flowers for the season.

A lush groundcover of Oxalis oregana and Corydalis scouleri contrasts beautifully with the flaking mahogany bark of a rhododendron.

Sunset through a leptospermum, likely L. lanigerum. It doesn't get much better.
You can follow the Gerdemann Botanic Preserve on their new Facebook page, where you can see more photos and receive updates about the garden.

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 Can it really be the end of August already? Time for another round-up of favorite plants, hosted by Loree of Danger Garden.

Daphne x transatlantica 'Blafra' (Eternal Fragrance) continues to bloom all summer with hardly any water. The scent wafts around the patio enticingly.

This daphne grows quickly to about three feet tall and wide (and by quickly I mean only a year or two), with dark, evergreen leaves and scented white flowers that come in waves all summer. Give it well-drained soil and even moisture in summer, though it appears to be quite drought tolerant in my garden. Mine grows well with full morning sun until around noon. It is hardy to USDA zone 5.

The Siam Queen basil is blooming now. The plants in the planter near the patio are much more colorful than the ones down in the raised beds in the vegetable garden. Basil grows best with even moisture and full sun in rich, well-draining soil.

Cotinus 'Grace' has lost its rich burgundy color, trading it in for a cooler mix of blue-green touched with purple during the summer heat. The stems of the new growth are still dark burgundy, contrasting nicely with the leaves. I think it actually looks quite nice against the dead brown lawn. This hybrid between Cotinus coggygria and Cotinus obovatus grows very quickly to 10-15 feet tall. Those 3-foot stems in the picture below are all new growth. It would have had a few flowers on it, but the deer nipped those off in spring before the fence was completed. Otherwise, there would be smoky pink panicles left from the blooms. Hardy to zone 5, this large shrub or small tree prefers even moisture but is also quite drought tolerant. It is tolerant of most soils. It can be cut back almost to the ground to control its size and to produce the largest and most colorful foliage, or allowed to reach its full size.

Lobelia cardinalis 'Queen Victoria' is in full bloom, with striking red flowers against the dark foliage. This perennial requires moist soils and full sun to part shade for best growth and bloom. This clump, in moist clay soil with some afternoon shade, is visibly healthier than the one growing in drier conditions and full sun. Hardy to zone 4, this perennial grows 3-4 feet tall and grows in a slowly expanding clump.

The plant in the following three photos is an unidentified Clethra from Far Reaches Farms that they are currently identifying by collection number: CGG 14059. Here's their description: "From the Chongqing-Guizhou-Guangxi Expedition in 2010, this collection from Fanjinshan was notable for the somewhat hirsute foliage and rough, exfoliating bark on the trunks. The seed capsules showed that the flowers - likely scented and white in mid to late summer - were held in 4" finger-like racemes. Nicely pinkish to reddish tinted new growth and the fall color is similar but intensified and can vary given exposure and climate. This paired nicely in the wild with the various Rhododendron and Sorbus species while the mingling of the odd Lily and Tripterospermum just added to the allure. Protect this first winter of 2013-14 if the weather turns cold although we expect this to be good to zone 6 at least once established." The upright stems are all new growth this year. The original stem was a bit weak and flopped over during winter.

The light coating of white hairs is denser on the reddish new growth, creating a complex and subtle play of colors as the leaves age.

The young stems are a beautiful red. I'm a little worried that they won't harden off before winter. Hopefully it's another warm winter.

Two for one! Artemisia schmidtiana 'Silver Mound' makes a shimmering silver backdrop for Carex testacea. Both drought tolerant and prefering well-drained soils, the carex actually prefers even moisture. The artemisia is hardy to zone 3 and the carex to zone 6. The artemisia grows 6-12 inches tall and can spread to twice that. It can be kept tidier and more compact if it is cut back when you first notice the blooms. I let it go this year and don't mind the blooms, but I can see how cutting it back could improve its appearance. The carex can grow to 24 inches tall and wide. Both are evergreen, but the artemisia should be cut back in late winter or early spring to refresh it.

My final favorite this month is Geranium robustum. This is one of two plants I grew from seed last summer. The other was growing at the end of the bed that flooded when the gutter overflowed and it didn't survive. I wasn't confident that this one would survive either. It took a little while to get going, but it has grown this year from a tiny seedling to a bushy plant about 2 feet tall and wide. Hailing from South Africa, this semi-shrubby geranium develops a woody base and is evergreen in mild climates. During this last, very mild winter, mine went completely deciduous. However, it was planted late as a small seedling and didn't even have a woody base yet. I expect it to fair better this winter, but it will still probably be mostly deciduous. It is hardy to zone 7 with good winter drainage. I have it growing in the hot, dry bed at the south end of the house. The soil is clay, though, so it's not one of those super finicky plants that melts in our winters unless it's growing in a gravel berm. As long as there's no standing water, it should be fine.
I still can't believe how much this thing has grown!

I've tried taking cuttings, but it doesn't seem to be a very good candidate for that form of propagation. Luckily, it's blooming! Hopefully there will be enough time before it gets cold for the seed to mature.

I just love the ferny, silver foliage of this gratifyingly fast-growing geranium. It contrasts wonderfully with the green foliage of Cistus 'Snowfire'.

After the storm...

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Well, the Pacific Northwest certainly had an interesting weekend. Strong winds, normally not seen until late October or November in this area, whipped through the region, causing unseasonable damage. From the looks of things, those living further north, around Puget Sound, received the worst of the storm. My garden got off pretty light, with only minor damage, unless you like corn. The sheltered plants in the center of the corn patch actually fell first, having been sheltered all summer from the lighter winds that stimulated the outer plants to produce sturdier support roots at the base of their stalks. For a while, it looked as though at least some of the outer rows would stay upright, but the storm unleashed a few more crushing blows that finally flattened the last holdouts.


So what to do now? Carefully untangle the fallen corn stalks and tie them up in tepees.

They look like drunken friends leaning on each other for support, but at least they're upright again. We'll see how they fare.

I was really hoping for rain, and wasn't expecting the amount of wind. At least we have about 1.5 inches of rain to show for it, with potential for more today and throughout the week. The photo below attests to the high winds. This poor Eleagnus pungens 'Maculatus' was ripped from its puny stake and blown about like one of those punching dolls that stands back up after you hit it. It even went fully horizontal a few times. Even though this one had the best root base of the lot when I picked it out, it still isn't very good. Hopefully this storm will encourage it to form more anchor roots. Even while I cringed at this poor little plant getting whipped about by the storm, I enjoyed watched the big trees sway. I enjoy a good storm, the sound of the wind and rain, watching the rain and everything blowing around. This one even included a bit of thunder and lightning in the night.


We have no large broadleaf trees on the property, which was actually a good thing at least in terms of this storm. Much of the damage caused by this storm was suffered by deciduous trees that normally don't have any leaves by the time such winds arrive. The worst I saw was a few large, already dead branches in the woods. I wouldn't be surprised if some trees in the nearby state park came down, though. Walking one of the trails through the park just a day before the storm hit, I saw trees down that I didn't remember from earlier in the summer. The especially dry year may have made things more brittle than usual, and there have been some smaller wind events this summer. On Sunday, the driveway was awash with small branches and needles from the Douglas firs. The patterns are interesting to look at, a bit of beauty left in the wake of the storm.

I'm glad I featured this Lobelia cardinalis 'Queen Victoria' as a favorite plant before it was blown over.

Interestingly, the other one stayed upright. Given its location, I would have thought it would be exposed to worse winds than the other. Perhaps the harsher conditions its growing in (more sun, less water, worse soil) kept it smaller and stronger to withstand the wind better.

Echinacea purpurea 'Magnus' is a wreck. A friend told me he's experimenting with cutting them back to rid them of the faded blooms and get them to rebloom. Maybe I'll try that with these. The other option is to tie them up like the corn. I don't know if the birds have actually been visiting the old seedheads in fall or winter. I haven't been home during the right time in the last few years.

Tiny little Powwow Wildberry echinacea couldn't really get much lower than it is already, so the wind did little more to it than ruffle petals.

A couple kniphophias flopped. They'll die back in a couple more months. I only have to look at them that long...

I may stake up the candy lilies and blackberry lilies. Certainly I'm not going to cut them back before the seedpods split open to reveal the shiny black seeds.

This clump of blackberry lilies didn't entirely flop, just most of it...

Beggars can't be choosers. While I would have preferred the rain without the wind, I'm really in no position to complain. The garden got some water, no trees fell, the power didn't go out, and most of the garden looks fine. I tend to avoid floppy plants, meaning most things stayed upright, aside from the things I've shown here and a handful of others. How did your garden handle this odd August weather event? Any plants surprise you, either by getting blown down or by staying upright?

A Hidden Gem on the Oregon Coast

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A slightly blurry phone picture of the sign on the gate leading to the public loop through the garden.
Secluded near the small town of Yachats, there is a garden that enjoys the benevolent climate of the Oregon Coast, mild even by the standards of the Pacific Northwest. It is a garden full of hidden treasures and magnificent plant specimens not commonly found in this part of the world. The garden is the creation of Jim and Janice Gerdemann, and it is now known as the Gerdemann Botanic Preserve. The following is a brief history of the garden, kindly provided by Kate Bryant:

"The Gerdemann Botanical Preserve

In 1981, Jim and Janice Gerdemann purchased an acre of property on the edge of the Siuslaw National Forest in Yachats. Thickly forested with spruce and hemlock, but on a sloped site adjacent to the ocean, it was the perfect place to test the hardiness of rare and unusual plants from all over the world.

For almost thirty years, Jim (a retired University of Illinois plant pathology professor) and Janice (a retired teacher) collected and planted unusual specimens — most of which they grew from seed -- on the wooded hillside with its myriad microclimates. Over the years, the site grew into a unique, 3.5-acre, richly-planted botanical preserve. The Gerdemann’s world travels, as well as Jim’s research into mycorrhizal fungi, informed their intense interest in growing seemingly challenging plants and helped them succeed with plants often deemed tender. Today, the Preserve contains some [how many?] unusual plants, from southern hemisphere shrubs and trees to significant collections of magnolia, camellia, and rhododendron species and hybrids -- including Jim's hand-crossed tropical vireya rhododendrons, in a glasshouse -- all nestled amid a vibrant native coastal habitat.

In 2008, the property was purchased by Jerry and Kathleen Sand, who shepherded the garden with care for eight years. As of the summer of 2015, the property is under the care of Andreea [& Sergui?] Ghety. Plans are being developed to increase the garden’s accessibility to visitors; meantime, many beautiful plants can be enjoyed while wandering the public footpath leading from the road to the entrance to the Siuslaw National Forest."
- Kate Bryant
A map of the garden, filled with meticulous detail, hangs on the wall of  Andreea's house
In August, garden writer and all-around amazing person, Kate Bryant, gathered a group of plant-crazed individuals to help provide some maintenance for the garden. I was thrilled to join in on the fun. Not only did I get to see a garden I've wanted to visit for years, I actually got to work in it! A work party in a place like this is essentially an excuse to explore off the path and really delve into the treasures this garden has to offer. The weather was absolutely gorgeous. This was before our recent rains, when much of the Pacific Northwest was mired in a thick haze of smoke and the sun shown red over Portland. The air was marvelously cool and moist at the beach, the only haze a bit of oceanic humidity that promised the usual coastal fog come morning. The sky was actually blue instead of brown! I could breathe freely, I wasn't sweating from the heat, and I was in a garden that promised to surpass even my fantasies, surrounded by equally plant-obsessed individuals. I was positively giddy, nearly to the point of running around like a hyper-active dog kept in a kennel all day. So many distractions, so much to see! Ooh, what's that?

Tropaeolum speciosum mingles with a fuchsia (and just about everything else in the garden).
(Note: I've tried to keep the photos in this post smaller than usual to reduce scrolling, but you can see larger versions by clicking on a photo. Then you can also go through just the photos and skip my effusive prose.)
HOT pink new growth on a rhododendron.
Of course I did some actual work, too. Luckily, much of the work that needs to be done at the garden is pruning, my favorite! As is the case with many gardens created by true plant lovers, many areas of the garden have become overgrown and need some special attention to bring the exuberant plants back under control. One of my many desires is to see the rhododendron forests of the Himalayas and China, so I enjoyed walking under the canopy of rhododendrons that covers much of the garden. The Gerdemann Botanic Preserve is perhaps one of the best places to see the big-leaved rhododendrons of the subsections Falconera and Grandia in the United States. Even the Rhododendron Species Botanic Garden cannot claim as large of specimens of these impressive plants.
A big-leaved rhody rises from the surrounding canopy, with silver tomentum flashing in the sun.
Entire groves of big-leaved rhododendrons grace the garden with their lush foliage. The effect of walking through these stands of magnificent plants is magical, so much so that I didn't even lift my camera to attempt capturing their effect. I'm sure it would have proven beyond my photography skills, anyway. Regardless, I walked through these copses almost reverently, awed by the enchantment of this place, completely forgetting the camera hanging from my neck.
The dark upper surfaces of the drooping older leaves contrasts sharply with the brightly-colored new growth.
Thankfully, I wasn't entirely stupefied the whole time, or else I'd have little to show you. During more lucid moments, I recalled my camera and captured images of moss-covered branches,...
False lily-of-the-valley cavorts through the moss of this
...rich, cinnamon indumentum thickly coating the undersides of leaves,...
This lovely specimen was in clear view sitting on the deck, enjoying excellent food and even better company.
 ... smooth, crooked stems forming magical arches over the pathways,...
The bent, bare stems of rhododendrons provide magical arches and tunnels to walk through. You can almost imagine yourself trekking through a forest in the Himalayan foothills.
 ...huge, fuzzy seed capsules like little bananas,...
Bananas? No, these are rhododendron seed capsules. Ok, so they aren't quite as big as bananas, maybe only two or three inches long. Yeah, only...
 ...and even bigger foliage that challenged my ability to hold the camera back far enough to frame the entire leaf while keeping my other hand close enough to use for scale.
Why do they call them "big-leaved" rhododendrons, anyway? It's a mystery.
While some areas of the garden are quite dense and in obvious need of some drastic pruning and careful editing, there is a wealth of beautiful views and vignettes like the one below. Streaks of sunlight spear through gaps in the taller plants to strike upon beautiful tomentum.
The mild winters and cool summers, complete with almost daily coastal fog, results in vibrant, lush foliage.
Anyone who thinks rhododendrons have boring foliage really needs to visit this garden. This particular specimen shone almost silver in a patch of sunlight.
You may be thinking by now that this garden has little to offer unless one really loves rhododendrons. That couldn't be further from the truth. While rhododendrons make up a substantial portion of the garden, many are far from the standard, plain-leaved masses we see engulfing houses, and there is a wealth of other incredible plants to see.  
A view of the front garden from the second floor of the house. That palm is a Washingtonia. No need to settle for Trachycarpus in this mild garden.
A view of the Washingtonia from the ground, with a very happy fuchsia in front. I'm fairly certain the fuchsia is the same as the Fuchsia sp. [Yachats, Oregon] offered by The Desert Northwest
The large fruits of the fuchsia pictured above were the tastiest of the many I sampled.
Every garden has weeds, but not every garden has weeds as nice as Tropaeolum speciosum!
There's always an agave, or two. Gerdemann's has something for everyone.
Salvia patens blooms in a rich, true blue in the front garden.
Oh how I wish phormium were reliably hardy in my garden. The Oregon coast has such an enviable climate.
A personal highlight of my visit to Gerdemann Botanic Preserve was stumbling upon this magnificent Dicksonia antarctica, situated on a short side trail in a small, sunken dell. The trunk alone is just over 6 feet tall. I've been slightly obsessed with tree ferns from a young age. I've seen them in conservatories, but this was my first time seeing one growing outdoors. It was almost a spiritual experience, stopping me in my tracks for seconds of eternity, my jaw slack, while I marveled at the sight of sunlight filtering through the massive fronds.

Ahem... Yes, well, back to reality. See what I meant by effusive prose?

Another favorite in this garden is Crinodendron hookerianum, of which I saw at least three specimens. My moment of reverence at seeing 15-20' specimens of these alluring Chilean tree was cut short as I attempted rather fruitlessly to capture their glory on camera, my frustration growing after each click of the shutter. Balked in my efforts by incredibly dark green, glossy foliage in dappled sunlight, I made it my mission to try to take a decent picture of these plants.
A shaded specimen in the middle of the day, with blazing sun in the background.
Better luck at sunset? Perhaps. Still a bad angle.

Close-ups are easier, though they don't show full glory of these trees.
 A massive Sitka spruce trunk provides some background contrast to the dark, glossy foliage. Highlights of lichen and a few red, lantern-shaped flowers add still more definition.
This one peaks over the roof of the house, though not reaching the peak of the roof.
A shot at the specimen next to the house. The top disappears against the dark foliage of Sitka spruce.
Ah well, at least I can take a picture of a single flower. 
I'll leave off there for now. With almost 300 photos taken, it was a struggle just to winnow my selection down close to 100. I hope you're eager to see more of the Gerdemann Botanic Preserve, because I have more to show you!

Planting out the pot ghetto

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Cooler weather has finally arrived! Even though the thermometer telling me the high yesterday was 83 degrees, it felt more like 75. Maybe it was all those days over 90 that made it seem so much cooler. 

Despite today and tomorrow forecast to be a little warm, the cooler weather has me thinking about planting again. Which is a good thing, considering the pot ghetto I've amassed this summer. I think it's tripled in size since the end of winter, at least. 

Most of the plants in the photo below, at least, have a specific purpose, a set destination. These are going to the driveway island makeover. The other four fifths of the ghetto in the photo above are the random accumulations of a hopeless plant addict.

Last weekend, I started setting out plants from the ghetto to decide where to put them. I'm still not quite ready to dig up all the established plants in the driveway island, though, so these potted plants were merely to get an idea.

While I was in the driveway island, I spotted this maneater in a patch of bearded iris. She could very well be one of the tiny babies I released in the vegetable garden and have spotted intermittently over the summer in progressively larger sizes. She looks about ready to lay her own egg case. A skinny green suitor was nearby, torn between continued life and completing his biological imperative. No one said it was easy being green.

While I'm not quite ready to start work on the driveway island, other areas are ripe for planting, since I don't have to uproot any mature plants to put the new ones in.

Much of this area, from the driveway just behind me to the dry-stack wall surrounding the raised bed in the distance on the left, stays green all summer, even this summer. It's also, for the most part, shaded during the hottest part of the day, especially now with the sun moving lower. I feel comfortable planting in this area ahead of the fall rains provided I water well at planting. I'm now using a technique I learned from Paul Bonine of Xera Plants, digging a planting hole twice as big as the rootball (which I usually do) and filling the hole with water. I then let the water drain and repeat the process once more. This helps ensure the soil stays moist for longer. It does pay to stalk Facebook groups, after all. Beyond the raised bed, the lawn turns into dead, brown wasteland (well, tinged green after that last rain storm). Even there, though, I think I'm ready to start planting. That August storm dropped almost 2 inches of rain on the yard. With that, the cooler weather, and the new planting technique, things should be fine.

 Yesterday I finally got a few things in the ground, expanding the circle around my Acer metcalfii into a full bed around 15 feet long by 7 or 8 feet wide at the widest point. I need to get some newspaper pinned down on it to keep the creeping buttercup from reclaiming the area. At the far right is a Viburnum plicatum f. tomentosum 'Cascade' and an Aspidistra elatior, barely visible. The viburnum was a rescue plant. It did put out a few new leaves after I brought it home and started watering. However, as I was planting it I noticed at least some of the bark at the base rubbed off to reveal dead wood. Hopefully there is enough living tissue connecting the shoots to the roots. If not, I'll be replacing it with something else next spring.

Now for a rundown of the other plants. In this photo, on the right, Azara microphylla with tiny, dark green leaves. Clockwise from there: Hosta 'The Shining', Cyrtomium falcatum, and Aspidistra elatior. In front of the aspidistra is an Ardisia japonica 'Hakuokan' that I dug out from under a rhody, where I had originally planted it last summer to protect it from the deer. Fences are wonderful things. The aspidistra and cyrtomium were moved from a bed near the back deck that gets too much sun and is too dry in summer, on top of having absolutely terrible soil that can flood in winter. Both plants should darken considerably now that they are in better soil with less sun. I need to figure something else out for that other bed.

Ardisia japonica 'Hakuokan', a semi-shrubby evergreen groundcover. Or at least it's supposed to be evergreen. It lost most of its leaves last winter. But then, it had just been planted and it was raised in Hawaii. It took a while to get going this spring, being trapped under a rhody for its own protection. Hopefully it makes it through this winter and can take off faster next spring in this more open spot. It is supposed to be hardy to zone 7, after all...

The hosta spent the last two years in a container on the back deck. It had grown to the point that it was shrinking...wait, what? Yes, the leaves were half the size this year compared to last year. It has also been impossible to keep it watered this summer, even on a north-facing deck, and it didn't show any signs of blooming. Divided into three plants, these are the first hostas I've actually planted in the ground! I had a couple miniatures in containers on the deck, safe from the deer. The Shining was a freebie, with big, chartreuse leaves and 4 inch long, pristine white, deliciously fragrant flowers, so I put it in a big container on the deck. I had planned to divide it, replant it in the container, and give away the extras, but with the new fence, I can actually put them in the ground! Sorry, I'll have to divide it for giveaways another time. This time I'm using it to fill some of the copious empty space I have. In front of the two hostas, I planted Adiantum venustum, divided from a patch in the bed by the back deck. This groundcovering fern is supposed to be evergreen, but I'm pretty sure it died down last winter. I wasn't here, so I don't know. Hopefully it will behave better in this new location. I left half of the clump in the bed by the driveway, as it seemed to be doing well enough, if not exactly thriving. That may change next summer, as the aspidistra in the previous photo was providing some shade for the adiantum. The other half may be joining these two divisions.

I also planted my little Corylopsis spicata seedling in this bed. Hopefully the chartreuse color is retained and isn't a fluke of the potting soil it was growing in.

Also relocated from the bed by the deck, Mukdenia rossii 'Karasuba' (also known as 'Crimson Fans') did not appreciate its former growing site, being rather hotter and drier than I had anticipated. The cool, moist soil, amended with plenty of compost, in its new location should provide better accomodations.

And finally, for now, the two Cyclamen purpurascens that I purchased from Garden Fever get a piece of the new real estate, too. I remember claiming last time I wrote about them that they didn't have much fragrance. Maybe the flowers that were open when I bought them were old, because I change my opinion. They have a wonderful, bubblegum scent, though you do have to get down on your hands and knees to appreciate it. Maybe once there's a whole patch of them it will be detectable while standing upright. Both plants are developing lots of seed pods, and more flowers. Cyclamen purpurascens is one of the few hardy cyclamen that will remain evergreen, with no summer dormancy, provided it has sufficient water. It also starts blooming before Cyclamen hederifolium, but can continue blooming into fall along with that more common species. This is the third species of cyclamen to join my "collection," with C. hederifolium and C. coum making up the rest.

Well, back to planting! Oh, but wait, there are plant sales this weekend... Hmm, add to my pot ghetto before I even really start emptying it out, or stay home and keep planting?

P.S. Please note that I have changed the settings for comments to allow anyone, including anonymous users, to comment. Hopefully this will solve the problem for those of you who have experienced difficulty commenting. However, this also means I've had to set up comment moderation, as last time I tried to do so without, it wasn't long before the spam vultures started circling.

Flowers and Foliage Together!

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Since the 15th completely caught me by surprise, I'm combining Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day, hosted by Carol at May Dreams Gardens, with Foliage Follow-up, hosted by Pam at Digging. And, since I haven't managed a Wednesday Vignette for several weeks, I'm linking up with Anna at Flutter & Hum, too! Since I lack both incentive and inclination to focus on any particular group of plants, this is going to be a long post. I'll keep the text to a minimum and get straight to the eye candy.

Starting out with a wide shot of the driveway island for my vignette of the Japanese maple flanked by Aster x frikartii 'Monch'. I would have preferred the asters to stay more upright, but that August storm flattened them a bit. Will I stake them next year? Probably not.
I've been pondering the removal of this Heliopsis 'Summer Pink', being not particularly fond of either yellow or pink, but darn it if it isn't absolutely beautiful in this photo.
Clockwise from the top left: An aberrant late bloom from Hemerocallis lilioasphodelus (I miss calling it Hem. flava), Salvia x jamensis 'Sierra San Antonio' in pale yellow and peachy pink, evergreen (evergrey) foliage of Erodium chrysanthum, a pale cream bloom of the erodium. 

 

 Rudbeckia fulgida var. sullivantii 'Goldsturm' is past its peak, showing a few faded blooms, but I actually like the mix of colors the faded petals add. It also looks good with Zeltnera muehlenbergii


And that makes a good segue into the pinks. Clockwise from the top left again: Fuchsia 'Delta Sarah' starts out with very blue-purple petals that age to almost pink. I'm less certain about keeping it now. The new growth on this unnamed Agapetes (or possibly Vaccinium) from the RSBG emerges a fleshy pink and ages to a glaucous blue-green. I finally have fireweed! I knew it must have been around somewhere. I think we always just pulled it before it could bloom. Geranium robustum tends to flower most in the morning. My favorite part about this plant, though, is the silvery, ferny foliage. I'm really hoping the seed ripens before frost so I can have more of this beauty.



Origanum dictamnus, or dittany of Crete, is one of the "hop-flowered" oreganos. Much daintier than 'Kent Beauty' (next pair of images), dittany of Crete also has the best foliage of the group, thick, almost succulent quarter-sized leaves covered in woolly hairs. There was a light rain the the night, and the slightly cupped leaves hold water as tiny mirrors on their surface.


 I have so much Origanum 'Kent Beauty'. Seriously, I have swaths of it. (Huh, I seem to be abandoning my promise to minimize text. Oh well!) I began with one plant and took cuttings. Now I have seven or eight patches ranging from three to nearly five feet in width. They look wonderful spilling over the edge of the driveway island, provided there is a heather or something growing next to it as they get a little bare in the middle and need something to cover up their legs. Some of the inflorescences are nearly four inches long!

Strictly speaking, the heathers (Calluna vulgaris) are nearly done blooming, but their fading blooms and developing seed capsules will remain attractive through winter. Nearby, a sempervivum is nearly finished blooming, too.

Newly-acquired Cyclamen purpurascens holds its dark pink, fragrant flowers above beautiful foliage. In another part of the garden, Cyclamen hederifolium blooms before the foliage emerges. It's been in the ground for 5-7 years, and has bloomed better than this before. It is still getting started, but I wonder if this spot at the base of a Douglas fir is too dry even for a cyclamen.

 In the greenhouse, my peloric Phalaenopsis equestris continues to pump out one flower after the next. Next door in Stump St. Helens, Daboecia cantabrica is finally blooming after a very deep watering and a couple rain falls. Originally white, a seedling or mutation has arisen to produce purplish pink flowers as well. This bog plant is remarkably tolerant of drought provided it has acid soil, but I plan to relocate it to a moister part of the garden so that it will bloom all summer, as it is supposed to.

 I can't take credit for the magnificent blooms of this next plant. The incredibly lush, waxy flowers of Lapageria rosea are a dark, saturated pink, verging on red, with a bloom covering them (like on a blueberry) that gives it darker purple shadows that shift depending on the viewing angle. A fine marbling of white dots covers much of the surface as well. These 4-inch long tubes of fleshy petals are hefty, too! They look so delicate, but they have a lot of weight to them. These were available at Cistus, but this sole remainder was hiding in the back. Don't worry, there will be more. Only hardy to zone 9, this vine will be wintering in the greenhouse.

Purples are up next. Ceropegia woodii 'Variegata' has odd little genie bottle-flowers, complete with ominous dark smoke, I mean anthers, coming from the top. Begonia 'Little Brother Montgomery' is one of my favorite begonias.

 Heliotropium arboreum is enjoying the cooler weather and the buds that have been growing ever so slowly are expanding quickly. In a bought of color coordination, I placed one next to Strobilanthes dyerianus. The Persian shield is also blooming a bit, with lilac-colored flowers like little foxgloves.

 Calceolaria arachnoidea has fuzzy purple blooms that start out almost black and age to an almost amethyst color, slightly more red. It also has pretty wonderful fuzzy white foliage.

 Sedum 'Bertram Anderson' has dark burgundy foliage, topped in late summer by red-violet blooms, both of which are striking against the orange-touched chartreuse foliage of a Calluna vulgaris. Across the driveway, on the island, Salvia nemorosa 'Ostfriesland' (East Friesland) pokes out between another Calluna vulgaris (which will turn orange in winter) and Molinia caerulea 'Variegata'.

 Clockwise from top left: Astelia 'Red Devil' contrasts with the blue foliage of Andromeda polifolia 'Blue Ice', the oft-photographed Acer metcalfii has not ceased putting forth garnet-red new leaves all summer, still loving the combo of Euphorbia 'Nothowlee' (aka Blackbird) with Erica arborea 'Estrella Gold', the recent rains and cool temperatures have revived the primroses.




Next up: Developing bud on Crinodendron hookerianum, Lobelia cardinalis 'Queen Victoria' with Cedrus atlantica 'Pendula in the background. Moles may have contributed to the red color of my seedling of Mahonia 'Indianola Silver', which should be a metallic sea green. I've tried to water it, but that whole bed has been too dry this summer. The inflated seed pods of Nigella damascena takes on reddish hues that show up nicely against silvery Carex comans.


The Eccremocarpus scaber that I got at the Garden Bloggers' Bazaar from Ann, the Amateur Bot-ann-ist. This one is much more red. The one struggling at the south end of the house is more orange. Alchemilla ellenbeckii makes a wonderful, low groundcover less than 3 inches tall, with bright red stems. Like most members of the genus, the leaves hold water droplets beautifully.

This Acer circinatum, planted near the mahonia shown above, has been kept just moist enough to hold on to its drought-reddened leaves. If the darn moles would stop digging around all the things that have only been planted for a year. I worry that the voles are following the mole tunnels and inflicting further harm, too. Not really a good thing, but it is pretty.

Clockwise from top left again: The airy blooms of Hakonechloa macra 'All Gold' add another texture to this wonderful grass. White buds rise above the variegated foliage of Liriope muscari 'John Birch'. It might stay warm long enough for them to become purple blooms. I simply love the brilliant orange blooms of Calceolaria 'Kentish Hero', especially now with nothing else orange in the garden. Sorry, another photo of Daphne x transatlantica 'Blafra' (aka Eternal Fragrance). It just has such an impressive bloom period!



 I had to stop to admire the foliage textures of Agapetes 'Ludgvan Cross' and Blechnum gibbum. They're both such attractive plants, and the agapetes isn't even blooming! The fern is starting to produce spores, though. I plan to collect them when they're ready.

And I'll finish off this lengthy celebration of flowers and foliage with my favorite group this summer, the silver/grey/blue-leaved plants. Berlandiera lyrata has glaucous blue-grey leaves with paler undersides. You can also see one of the fascinating developing flowers, looking a bit like a green lotus bloom, near the center. The petals will expand, turn yellow, and the flower will smell deliciously of chocolate. Artemisia schmidtiana has beautiful silver foliage and clouds of little yellow flowers that never quite emerge from their silver-white buds sepals. The molten silver foliage of Geranium harveyi becomes even more mercurial when covered in drops of rain. Lupinus sericatus is like Lupinus albifrons on steroids, bigger and even more silver. The leaves are almost succulent.


 And there you have it. If you made it this far, thanks for reading! Don't forget to follow those links at the top of the post to see more of Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day, Foliage Follow-Up, and Wednesday Vignette.

A late summer visit to Joy Creek

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I hadn't been to Joy Creek since spring, so a couple weeks ago I decided it was time to return to see how the gardens had changed (and check off a few plants from my wishlist).

Parking the car, I was nearly blinded by this swath of Zauschneria. Oh to fast forward to when my tiny plants, added this summer, look like this.

It's such an intense color that it is difficult to photograph, especially in full sun. I'm not sure which was starting to burn first, my camera or my retinas.

I love this simple vignette of Hesperaloe parviflora prominently displayed in a gravel-mulched bed with green in the background. I wish there was a landscape supply company near me that carried the washed quarter-ten gravel Joy Creek espouses as such a great amendment for clay soils. The closest one I've been able to find so far is in Portland and they don't deliver to Washington. I'm going to have to settle for quarter-ten minus or pumice. The quarter-ten minus includes the fine, sandy particles, which can mix with the clay to make it more like concrete, instead of improving drainage like the washed version does. From what I've read, pumice is a good alternative, though I don't think it will look good as a mulch. Too bright.

I couldn't manage a good picture of the giant mass of Erodium chrysanthum, but I did get a close-up of some flowers and foliage. An evergreen, grey-leaved groundcover that doesn't have schoolbus-yellow flowers? Yes, please! I don't know why, but I generally dislike true yellow. The pale yellow, almost white flowers of this erodium, I love.

I really need to add Colchicum to my garden. These ones were just so beautiful. I love fall-blooming plants, or any bloom that appears at an unexpected time.

It was a truly perfect day. The recent rains had cleared the air of smoke, and the sun had broken through the clouds again. It was pleasantly warm, with a cool breeze, not baking, as it has been most of this summer. The puffy white clouds in the clear blue sky made a wonderful backdrop for the bright foliage of Catalpa bignonioides 'Aurea', which in turn served as contrast for the dark foliage of Rosa glauca, complete with bright red hips.

Cyclamens are a favorite of mine. I don't have any white ones, yet. I actually prefer these over the pink. I need to keep an eye out for these.

A beautiful Calycanthus still blooming. I believe this is 'Hartlage Wine', the non-fragrant hybrid between the eastern U.S. native Calycanthus floridus and the Asian Calycanthus sinensis. A beautiful flower, but I'm more interested in obtaining the western native, Calycanthus occidentalis, and the fragrant hybrid, Calycanthus 'Aphrodite'.

I'm not sure which species of Cyrtomium this is. possibly Cyrt. macrophyllum? It's one of the most shapely, graceful specimens I've seen. Perhaps I could ask to collect a few leaflets for spores next time I visit...

Out in the test garden area, it's a riot of color, both foliage and flowers.

what is that burning orange glow in front of the bamboo? Time to move in for a closer look.

That's a lot of Rudbeckia! Seeing this display makes me regret not planting some in my garden. I love the orange, red, and brown shades of these flowers, everything from the brightest flames to the dimmest coals. I don't like their short life-spans, though. I meant to ask if they had trialed any of the new xEchibeckia hybrids, crosses between echinaceas and rudbeckias with the flower colors of the latter and (supposedly) the constitution and lifespans of the former.

It might be worth planting these short-lived flowers, especially given my recent acceptance of Carex comans, individual plants of which only live about 3 or 4 years in my climate but leave copious seedlings as a legacy. Not to mention the self-seeding annuals I plan to grow in the future, like Nigella damascena, Escscholtzia california, and Phacelia campanularia.

I often prefer single flowers over double, but in the case of these dark orange beauties, more really is better. Not to imply that the single versions are slouches. The bumblebee in this photo certainly likes them.

One more shot of these beauties. This one especially long petals, with a slightly more spidery appearance than others.

Does anyone else think this weeping purple beech looks like it's waving? Or maybe just gesturing in the direction of more treasures to be seen.

I didn't get the name of this viburnum. It could be V. rhytidophyllum, but the leaves seem too short and wide. Possibly V. x rhytidophylloides, a cross between V. rhytidophyllum and V. lantana 'Mohican'.

The Heptacodium miconioides, or seven sons flower, was in full bloom. This is one of my favorite small trees. It has so much to offer.

The shaggy grey bark exfoliates in thin strips, revealing light cinnamon new bark underneath, making this deciduous tree attractive even in winter.

 It has a somewhat tiered branching habit, enhanced by the attractive, glossy leaves tending to hang down.

Then, of course, there are the fragrant, white blooms, born in groups of seven which earn it the common name of seven sons flower. Somehow I managed to get a shot without one of the hundreds of bees swarming the tree photobombing me. As if these beautiful flowers weren't enough, as they fade the calyxes will expand and turn a ruddy pink. The effect is of a second bloom, entirely different from the first, that lasts well into fall. No wonder I added one of these to my garden when I found it in the discount area at Tsugawa's Nursery in Woodland.

Almost to the sales area, I stopped to admire the amsonia bracketing a heather, slowly turning golden to echo the variegated yucca in the background.

Rated to zone 8, Salvia chamelaeagna is worth a try if you have a spot with excellent drainage, like a pile of gravel.

The bone-white foliage of Helichrysum tianshanicum beckoned (rather strongly) but for whatever reason, it didn't come home with me.

I've been to Joy Creek several times, but never taken a picture of the famous Yowler, the resident feline and virtual mascot of the nursery. This time, he came right up and demanded petting. I was happy to oblige, snapping a quick photo between ear rubs.

So what came home with me? Not Yowler, unfortunately. As consolation, I did grab this Berlandiera lyrata, with attractive, glaucous foliage and chocolate-scented flowers. Yes, the flowers will be that true yellow I try to avoid, but I'll make an exception for the scent, and the foliage.

You may notice that the plants in these photos are already spread about the garden as I decided where to place my new acquisitions. Carex flacca 'Blue Zinger' ended up near the wet end of the dry creek bed.

Erodium chrysanthum moved about several times before finally ending up in the bed by the patio. Hopefully the slope will be enough to counteract the clay soil.

Here you can see two salvias (left) from Joy Creek staged with the erodium (right) and two hesperaloe from Means in the bed along the front of the house. None of these plants ended up here.

Salvia x jamensis 'Sierra San Antonio' may be a bit on the tender side according to some sources, but Joy Creek lists it as zone 8, possibly zone 7, so I'm willing to try.

Salvia chamaedryoideshas some of the most intense blue flowers available, enhances further by the lovely grey foliage. They show up a bit purple in this photo, but I assure you they are a true, cobalt blue. Plant Delights Nursery rates this as hardy to zone 7a, but they are often overly optimistic in their ratings, even more so when translated to wet PNW winters. Still, everything is worth a try, especially if you can give it good drainage. Did I provide adequate drainage? We'll find out in spring.


Annie's Delivers

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Right around my birthday, about a month ago, I decided to treat myself to my first-ever order from Annie's Annuals. Several items from my wishlist were available, so I thought, "Why not?"

The people at Annie's obviously know what they're doing. Nice sturdy box...

And a well-designed system that keeps things from shifting about in transit. Anyone who has ordered plants by mail knows that the carrier isn't always that careful.

On to the plants! First up is Sempervivum 'Plum Fuzzy'. Not very plum at the moment, though certainly fuzzy. I'm guessing it was either growing out of direct sunlight at the nursery or it lost its color in the dark box. I was hoping the color would return fairly quickly after it got some sun, but nearly two weeks after unpacking it and planting it in the ramp bed, it still only has the bits of purple under the leaf tips you can see in this picture. After looking again at the pictures on the Annie's website, it's not as purple as I thought. Still, time, growth, and some harsher treatment in my garden should result in better color, though perhaps not until next summer.

After finally adding Lupinus albifrons to my garden earlier this summer, I found this species, Lupinus sericatus. While the leaves are over twice the size of my L. albifrons, it grows into a much lower, more compact plant. The thick leaves are almost succulent, and so silver as to defy belief. After hearing Loree (Danger Garden) lost this in her Portland Garden, I'm a bit worried about my new little treasure. Hardiness ratings vary widely, from zone 3 to zone 9. Digging around the internet, I found a sufficient number of sources claiming zone 8 or lower that I'm going to practice a little optimism and hope for the best, with a good dose of prudence should a sudden hard freeze come in this winter and I have to cover certain things. I did plant it in the best-draining soil I have, along the west side of the house, but we'll just have to wait and see what happens this winter.

This one is destined to spend winter in the greenhouse. Psoralea pinnata is a broom that can grow into a 12-foot shrub or small tree, and is fast-growing, but anything can be kept in a container for awhile, right? Especially a tough, drought-tolerant broom? The common name, Kool-Aid bush, arises from the grape-scented, purple and white flowers. Since this is becoming one of my favorite floral scents, I simply couldn't resist. Though now, Annie's is listing an even more fragrant, weeping version, Psoralea fleta. I may have ordered too soon, but I'll see what Psoralea pinnata does, first.

Another plant not hardy in my zone, Crassula alba var. parvisepala has a fantastic mottling of red across its green leaves. Again, how could I resist?

A couple of the brittle leaves broke off either during packing or in transport. What's a compulsive propagator to do?

Many years ago (more than 10, at least), at Fred Meyers I saw a variety of thyme labelled "spicy orange." It's been in the back of my mind ever since. Not enough that I really researched it, but enough that I usually look for it at the herb section of nurseries. That's why I was thrilled to find Thymus fragrantissima, also known as orange-scented thyme. I'm not sure it's exactly the same as the one I saw all those years ago at FD, but it's close. Now, if I had any sense, I would have realized it's the same thyme carried at Cistus, and I could have picked one up at my leisure. But I didn't pay much attention to the scientific name on Annie's website, and had forgotten sighting the herb at work while looking for the next plant to demolish for cuttings. Ah well, what's done is done.

Perhaps my favorite plant in this order (that is, if I had to choose one) is Cussonia transvaalensis, the grey cabbage tree. Just look at those leaves! They may not be very grey at the moment, but that shape!

And look! It already has a little swollen caudex!

 Reaching to 16 feet high in the ground, at least in zones 9-11, the grey cabbage tree can be kept in a container for many years, and is a popular bonsai subject (though I don't recall seeing it mentioned in any of my half dozen bonsai books). I struggled a bit to decide on a container for it, but finally went with this round, studded bonsai container.

The crassula went into another wide, shallow container, along with a couple pieces of Kleinia stapeliiformis (formerly a senecio). Both plants have great foliage (or stems) with cool flowers as a bonus. I didn't notice until I looked at this picture for this post, but the plants in the pot sort of echo the design on the outside.

I spent the weekend doing more planting, though I'm still waiting for some real rain in the forecast before I do any major moving of established plants. I'm going to be spending most of each week in Portland from now on, coming home to garden on the weekends, and the days are getting short enough that both my parents leave in the dark and come home almost in the dark, so they won't be able to water during the week, either. Perhaps Mother Nature will humor me with rain during the week and sunny weekends...

No, I don't think that will happen, either.

By the way, I also finally took a look at my blog on a mobile device. It happened to be my GBBD and Foliage Follow-up post and because of the layout the pictures are not arranged the way they are on the full version, making the text a bit confusing. For anyone who tried to figure out which plant was which in that post on a mobile device, I'm sorry. I'll try to be more conscious of that in the future.

Gerdemann Botanic Preserve: Greenhouses and Grand Trees

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It's about time I did another post about the marvelous Gerdemann Botanic Preserve. In this edition, I'll cover the various greenhouses (oh, yes, there are more than one) and highlight some of the trees in the garden.

I'm also linking with Anna of Flutter & Hum for Wednesday Vignette. Be sure to click over to her blog to see other beautiful vignettes. Any one of the following images could serve as an inspiring vignette, but my official contribution can be found at the end of this post.

The first greenhouse is a little lean-to attached to the garage. Looks like it's used mostly for repotting and storage. It looks as if that acanthus is waiting at the door to invite people in. A ray of sun shining at the top of the door serves as the "open" sign.

Next is the vireya house. This is how I first learned of the Gerdemann Botanic Preserve. I was reading about vireya rhododendrons and kept coming across the name, "Jim Gerdemann," and later on I found mention of the preserve. The climate of Yachats, OR, is well-suited to growing these tropical rhododendrons.
This attractive structure comes complete with a license plate proclaiming its contents.

Wait, tropical and Oregon Coast don't usually go together, do they? Well, they do if the tropics in question are cloud forests. Not all tropics are hot. The mountains of Papua New Guinea and other islands in South East Asia and the Pacific reach heights where the temperature rarely surpasses 60 degrees Fahrenheit. But, being in the tropics, it also never freezes save at the very highest elevations, where a very light radiation frost can occur frequently. Radiation frosts form on clear nights with little or no wind, but the air temperature may not actually be at the freezing point. The generally mild temperatures and almost daily mists along the Oregon Coast make it one of the best places in the contiguous United States to grow these high elevation tropical rhododendrons.
A large, fragrant vireya hybrid, likely involving species such as R. leucogigas, R. konori, or R. superbum.

 So why the greenhouse? Well, it can still freeze in Yachats, if only rarely, and most vireyas won't tolerate an actual freeze. The vireyas in this greenhouse are the less-hardy specimens that likely wouldn't even experience radiation frosts in their native habitats. That is, if they were species. Many of these plants are hybrids, some of them created by Jim Gerdemann himself.
The plants in the greenhouse are overgrown, making a jungle-like tangle with flowers visible through the canopy.

 The articles that initially led me to the Gerdemann Botanic preserve also mentioned that there were hardier vireyas out in the garden, where Jim was working on breeding hardy vireyas using some of the species from higher elevations. Hardiness is, of course, a relative term here, though a very few species, such as Rhododendron kawakamii and R. rushforthii are hardy to 10F. Unfortunately, I didn't notice any of the vireyas outside the greenhouse. I'll have to make a point of finding them on my next visit.
An opening in the canopy revealed this lovely truss almost reaching a beam in the roof.
 Down a path, shielded from the house by rhododendrons, fuchsias, and other delightful plants, is the cactus house, the third and final greenhouse. This also happens to be where I slept during my stay. Doesn't it look cozy and inviting? Add a sleeping pad, a warm blanket, and shut the door to keep any mosquitoes out, and it made a lovely, secluded sleeping place. Just make sure you don't stumble into one of those benches in the middle of the night. Oh, I could have slept in the house, but come on, haven't you ever wanted to sleep in a greenhouse?
Can't you just imagine stretching out on the floor, and then waking up in the morning to curl up on that bench with a warm cup of coffee with the cacti?
Now on to the trees. Above the lush tangle of rhododendrons and more unusual treasures is a canopy of majestic Sitka spruce (Picea sitchensis) and western hemlock (Tsuga heterophylla). These trees become unique characters along the coast, often growing huge, heavy limbs or multiple leaders, like colossal candelabra. The photo below shows some such branches/leaders in the background. In the foreground is an unusual, gnarled knot of growth that may have begun life as a witch's broom. Now, most of it shoots having died off from lack of light or other factors, it resembles a strange sea creature hanging out of the tree.

Everyone needs a Magnolia macrophylla. I'm not sure if this is the straight species or subsp. ashei, a smaller subspecies. Either way, it provides contrast to the rhododendrons and camellias around it, both in the size of the leaves and, more strikingly, the amount of light that shines through the relatively thinner leaves.

Several specimens of Embothrium coccineum, the Chilean flame tree, are scattered about the garden. This individual has formed an entire grove by itself. What, don't you have a grove of Embothrium in your garden? No? Pity. I don't either. Memory is already becoming warped by imagination, but I still feel comfortable claiming that the largest trunks on this tree were over 6 inches in diameter. The dark grey bark is mottled attractively with lighter grey patches, adding a more subtle dimension to this tree which is so stunning in bloom. Just imagine a specimen like this covered in a conflagration of red blooms.

Not all the trees of note in the garden are living. There are stumps and logs of various sizes and in every stage of decay, though most are covered in a luxurious carpet of moss, ferns, and seedlings of various plants from hemlocks and spruces, to red huckleberry, to rhododendrons. Jim is still creating hybrids in this garden, even after he's gone. But the stump I want to show you is this one, riddled through with the mining of termites or carpenter ants. Just look at the intricate structure.

I don't usually think of olearias as trees, but everything grows larger on the Oregon Coast. This Olearia macrodonta has reached the proportions of a small tree, arching its limbs over the path. The exfoliating bark peals off in long strips, adding an even more exotic flair to this unusual garden. The dappled light filtering through the toothed foliage to splash across the bark made this tree especially beautiful.

Technically not a tree, but what else would you call a pair of 20-foot tall Cordylineaustralis? These weren't even the only ones. Really, if you haven't figured out this is a special garden in the Pacific Northwest by now, I can only hope these will convince you.

How about a tree rhododendron? Rhododendron arboreum is just that, growing over 80 feet tall in their native habitat in Nepal. On the Oregon Coast, with winter rain instead of summer monsoons, they grow more slowly, but the specimens photographed below were still over 25 feet. They are very upright and with an almost coniferous cone-like silhouette. Older specimens are broader and more rounded, looking rather like evergreen oaks that burst large flowers in trusses of 20 or more. The flowers can range from white, pink, red with white markings, to deep scarlet. The rest of the year, the foliage is an attractive dark green, with cinnamon-colored indumentum on the undersides. You can see some of the colorful indumentum in the photo below. I've pretty much "come out" now as working at Cistus Nursery as a propagator, though I still want to maintain some separation between my personal blog and my job. However, I will share this with you. While we didn't collect any cuttings of these Rhododendron arboreum, which can be a bit tender further inland depending on the subspecies or variety, we did collect cuttings from a hybrid of that species called Sir Charles Lemon, which has the same gorgeous foliage with white flowers, and is hardy to 0 degrees Fahrenheit. They're on the mist bench now. Cross your fingers that they root! Not for small gardens (at least not long-term), this hybrid can eventually reach heights over 20 feet.

Bad blogger. If I had taken notes, or labelled my photos after loading them to my computer, or gotten to this post sooner (if, if, if) I might be able to tell you which species of Eucalyptus this is. I tried to capture its beauty, but I really don't think I managed to do it justice. The late afternoon light was beginning to turn golden, warming the cool tones of the glaucous leaves and highlighting the reddish petioles and smaller branches.

Another not-quite-tree, this is still one of the biggest Tetrapanax papyrifer I've ever seen. Rising 15-20 feet high, with a trunk around 4 inches thick at the base, it rises above the surrounding fuchsias and rhododendrons, looking impossibly tropical.

My trip to the Gerdemann Botanic Preserve provided my first encounter with a mature specimen of Azara microphylla. The surrounding vegetation left me few options for angles from which to photograph it, and the rich, dark, glossy leaves made it difficult to shoot against the bright sky. Still, this picture captures some of the interesting character provided by smooth grey bark covered in moss, supporting a canopy of cloud-like plumes of tiny leaves. I would love to visit when this tree is blooming. I imagine the scent is marvelous.

Just look at the trunk! And this is the narrower side. I couldn't get a good angle to show you how wide it really is, but it's about twice as wide as what you can see from this picture.

Gazing up into the leaves provides an interesting view of sinuous limbs rising up through the clouds of tiny green leaves. I just loved the mossy tufts covering the trunks and branches, as well as the texture of the tiny leaves. The larger leaves photobombing from the right belong to a Eucryphia, also an impressive representation of its genus, but I could not get a good picture of the whole tree.

At least one large, grandiose pine rises above the garden, along with the spruces and hemlocks. Just a few hundred feet to the beach, these pines become windswept masses less than 15 feet tall. This picture also shows the only Thuja plicata, or western red cedar, in the garden, and one of the few in the area. Western red cedar is usually found further from the coast, or further north. This photo was another attempt to capture the golden evening light. To my hyper-critical eye, it just doesn't do justice to the real thing. You'll have to visit the garden to see for yourself.

This final tree was one of my favorite in the garden, which the group tentatively identified as Eucalyptus pauciflora subsp. niphophila. Multiple trunks rose up, covered in smooth bark colored almost white, with darker grey and tan areas. When this tree performs its annual strip, more colors can be revealed, from lime green to copper to shades of purple.

For my vignette this week, I give you one of my more successful sunset shots from the trip, featuring the white trunks of Eucalyptus pauciflora subsp. niphophila in the background, with a palm (Trachycarpus?) silhouetted to the right, and a mound of cordyline growing up front and center. This garden is simply magical. I could wax poetic about it for paragraphs, but this picture says it all much more eloquently than I ever could.

And thus ends the second installation from my visit to the Gerdemann Botanic Preserve. I think there will be one final installation, featuring some of the truly unusual and rare specimens found in the garden. Oddballs and the most lust-worthy of treasures. The final issue (of this trip) will be a must see for plant geeks!

And the award for most random weed goes to...

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I've had a lot of fun looking at the positive aspects of various weeds, or volunteers, this summer, learning to accept them as assets rather than pests. I've had some unexpected volunteers, like Zeltnera muehlenbergii and Nigella damascena. I really was surprised by these plants coming up. The Zeltnera had tried to grow several years ago, but was pulled before it had a chance to bloom. Somehow, it managed to seed in again from some unknown wild population nearby. The Nigella, though I have no memory of doing so, must have come from seeds that I scattered about last summer.

As an aside: I discovered that the Zeltnera will rebloom if it gets a good summer thunderstorm, or a soaking from a hose, after the first bloom. It began forming a second wave of buds before I harvested the first round to collect the seed. The second flush has been continuing for almost two months now.

However, one volunteer has trumped them all for sheer stupefaction factor. I know exactly where this one came from, seeds I ordered from Silverhill Seeds last summer. I even remember having a few left last summer that hadn't germinated. I just have no idea how on earth one of those seeds found its way down to the vegetable garden (a considerable distance on a 5-acre property) to emerge from a patch of basil as a Melianthus villosus seedling in September. Actually, judging by the size, it may have come up some time in August.

Ah, blurry phone photography, gotta love it.

So there you have it, the most surprising, random volunteer in my garden for this year. Yes, I know the year isn't over yet, but I just can't see anything topping this.

Wednesday Vignette: Cloudscape

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Today I join Anna of Flutter & Hum for Wednesday Vignette. Be sure to click over to her blog to see more inspirational, artistic, or just plain interesting photos. 

This week, I'm actually showing something other than plants (unless you count the silhouetted trees). Leaving work on Monday, I was struck by the complex, intricate clouds ahead of me. They all shared a similar wispy quality, but had taken on all manner of shapes, from the standard "stretched cotton ball" to great sweeping arcs and fascinating zig-zags. The whole assembly seemed slightly to radiate out from a central void, with more distant clouds in the background.


The conditions were, of course, brutal for photography looking right into the sun to try to capture all the detail of the filmy cloudscape. The picture above it nice, but it absolutely falls short of what my eyes saw through polarized sunglasses. Oh to have a DSLR with a polarized filter. So I loaded them onto my computer, intending to play around to achieve a similar effect to what I had seen.

Well, I may have gotten a bit carried away...
Oh look, darling, what a lovely sunset...
Wait, the sky is on fire! That blue glow isn't the sun!
Life as we know it has ended in a massive wave of radiation!

Oh, well. Everyone lost their hair so long ago, no one remembers what they looked like with it. The sky is actually kind of pretty, if a bit eerie.
Nuclear winter. Better bundle up. It's gonna be a cold one.
I just couldn't resist. It's been a long time since I played around with hue and saturation like that. I probably haven't done that since middle school, when I first learned the entertainment of photo manipulation. You have to have a little fun, sometimes, right?

Ok, back to some (sort of) serious photo editing. This next one is a touch more realistic than the last few, sharpened and adjusted only slightly to bring out the detail in the clouds. My favorite part is the lower left quadrant with the squiggly clouds. I'm not sure I've ever seen ones like that before. I realized after I stopped for the picture that it looked better further back on the road, but I wasn't quite committed enough to go back to find that spot again.

And finally, a slightly more enhanced version. This is the last one, I promise. My sunglasses have a slight brown tint, which I usually hate and try to avoid (they were the lesser evil available when I bought them). Anyway, they do add a nice warm tint to everything, so I adjusted this last photo to reflect that. Ha! It's a bit of a rose-colored glasses situation.

Well, I had fun playing with this photo. I hope at least someone else enjoyed seeing the results, even if it was looking at 8 versions of the same photo.

Cabbage Tree on a Mountainside

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Ok, I can't believe I'm writing this, but today I'm joining Loree of Danger Garden for her Ornamental Cabbage and Kale Challenge. You can see her entry for the challenge here.

Like the infamous instigator of this challenge, I never cared much for ornamental cabbages or kales. To be honest, I still don't in general. However, the metallic purple ornamental cabbage at Pomarius Nursery is an exception to that rule, or at least one in particular. Apparently, it's merely the normal red ornamental cabbage. Something, probably the heat and drought, have enhanced the color to an otherworldly degree. This effect has been taken to extremes in one plant. I actually thought it was a succulent at first.

With such an unusual specimen to work with, I was inspired to participate in the challenge. I wanted to do something unexpected to match the bizarre plant. What could be more unpredictable than turning a cabbage into a tree?

For my entry, I created a penjing landscape. Similar to bonsai, penjing is the more ancient Chinese forerunner from which the art of bonsai was originally refined. Modern penjing are frequently designed as miniature landscapes (with multiple kinds of plants) in their own right, whereas bonsai are single trees (or groves of one type of tree) that evoke a landscape.

Unfortunately, I don't have pictures of the process, and some of the photos are a bit blurry. I assembled this in bits and pieces during spare moments at work and photographed the result with my phone. But you can see the metallic purple, dwarfed cabbage that inspired me to this mad creation.

I used a piece of lace rock, which is a porous stone and has holes and pockets of various sizes, perfect for mercilessly cramming rootballs into. Besides being used for cabbage penjing (and more commonly for bonsai and similar plantings) lacerock is frequently used in aquariums to simulate reefs.

I scavenged mosses growing naturally on the soil of larger plants at the nursery, selecting a type that grows in pillowy mounds and has a very fine texture. Some of the moss pieces also had a light green-grey lichen on it. On to the vascular plants, I broke up a clump of Saxifraga crustata and planted rosettes singly and in smaller clusters around the rock. A Cotula species (that I unfortunately have forgotten) looked ratty and terrible in a 4-inch pot. Place it at the base of a weird little cabbage on a craggy stone and it becomes a weathered, scraggly shrub on a mountainside. To echo the purple of the cabbage, I added a few clumps of Leptinella squallida 'Platt's Black'. They look a bit like Japanese painted ferns in miniature, don't you think? If Japanese painted ferns grew on a mountainside with cabbage trees, fern-leaved arctostaphylos, and any number of high-elevation, rosette-forming plants represented by the saxifrage. I ended up covering more of the stone than I had really intended. Funny how the space filled up so quickly. I did leave one particularly deep hole open, like a sinkhole or water-filled cave.


Here it is from one side. You can see the "trunk" of the cabbage tree a bit here. This angle really shows off the three-dimensional quality of the cotula, sprawling out in all directions with long, bare limbs.

And from the opposite side, a better view of the trunk and a bit more of the rocky "ledge."

So there you have it, a penjing cabbage. I never would have thought I'd ever make something like this, but I had fun doing it.

While I did create this using materials from Pomarius, Wes (one of the judges) had no influence in the design. Not that I think anyone would raise a stink over it, unless they're cooking their entry for the challenge. Just thought I'd cover my cabbage. 

Wednesday Vignette: October Gold

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I'm joining in today for Wednesday Vignette, hosted by Anna of Flutter & Hum. This week, I'm posting a cliché fall foliage shot, because I love fall. Often, color critics dismiss yellows in favor of reds for their fall foliage, but I happen to love golden yellows. I even enjoy the pale, ethereal yellows of plants in deep shade, glowing in the dark days of November. But those will come later. Maybe that's why I tend not to like yellow flowers. I want my yellows in fall.

This Cercis canadensis is one of the most brightly-colored plants in my garden, at present. It's brilliant in the sun, but truly glows in the mornings and evenings. It's still a young tree, only 8-10 feet tall, but is still one of the largest deciduous trees in the garden. There are a few red alders out in the woods, and some bigleaf maples we planted down past the vegetable garden, but other than that, it's Douglas firs everywhere you look. So I appreciate any fall color.


  It almost matches the golden yellows of the Acer macrophyllum on the hills along Highway 30, which I saw on Monday on my way to work. I know bigleaf maples are considered a nuisance by many when they drop those large leaves in fall and when their seedlings come up in carpets, but lately I've been considering adding some to the periphery of my garden. They are remarkably drought-tolerant natives providing food and shelter for wildlife. I may need to stop one day and collect some seed one of these days from some of the more finely dissected forms, which have a beautiful texture. Or I'll be lazy and get some seed from the young trees down in our field, which have only started producing in the last year or two.

Well, that turned into a bit of a tangent, didn't it? But I suppose that's the point of Wednesday Vignette, a photo that inspires or makes you think of something.

Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day - October, 2015

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Today marks another Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day, hosted by Carol of May Dreams Gardens. I can't believe it's already the middle of October. Only two more Bloom Days (and Foliage Follow-ups) this year. Time slips away incredible fast, at times. Presently, I have a cold that's set my throat on fire, so I wouldn't mind time slipping by a little faster to the end of this illness. Until then, I'll have another honey lemon tea while I work on this post.

This year, I learned that dahlia tubers are edible. Conveniently, one of my cousins received a windfall of free tubers from a lady whose big on dahlias, so I planted a few of those to try. They're not my favorite flower, but I must admit I've been impressed with these plants. I planted a few severely shriveled tubers in July, and after a slow start they've really exploded. They've developed remarkably sturdy stems that have withstood a summer thunderstorm and even the remnants of Hurricane Oho.

It has been a fun novelty this summer, waiting to see what will emerge from the mystery bag of tubers. So far I've had two basic blooms, a large purple and a golden orange-yellow. Judging from the leaves, there's a third type that hasn't bloomed yet. The purple blooms seem to be rather variable. Some are mostly purple, with white tips. One has emerged almost entirely white. I like oddballs, so the variable nature of these flowers is causing them to grow on me a bit.

Their size is amazing. The bloom below is the largest so far, around 7-8 inches across!

The peach-colored blooms are more petite, only about 4 inches across. I think this flower form falls under the "ball" classification.

Now for something I really like, Tricyrtis, or toad lilies. First up is Tricyrtis hirta. Before the fence went up, this was the only toad lily I felt safe planting, because of the hairy foliage. Sure enough, the deer left them alone. If you suffer from deer plague but desire one of these exotic fall-blooming perennials, try the hairy toad lily, Tricyrtis hirta. If you don't have deer, try it anyway!

Heavily spotted flowers with amazingly intricate structure are born all along the stems in fall.

As soon as the deer fence went up, I planted another tricyrtis, this one without any fuzz. Tricyrtis 'Empress' has large flowers born at the tips of upright stems, with bright chartreuse foliage. It is highly susceptible to slug damage, though, especially early in spring. Apply slug bait with a heavy hand to prevent the foliage from being ugly all summer.

My favorite toad lily in my garden is a new addition, planted just a couple weeks ago. Tricyrtis 'Blue Wonder' has true blue washed over the white petals, with dark purplish-blue speckles scattered across them, too.

Three more new additions are these hardy fuschias. First up is 'Lady Boothby', a scrambling climber. I planted it at the base of a pieris I got from Anna of Flutter and Hum. Hopefully the fuchsia will clamber up through the pieris, prolonging the show after the flowers and new growth of the pieris have faded.

The name of this hardy fuchsia escapes me at the moment. It's a shrubby type loaded with lavender and cerise blooms. 

Fuchsia 'Genii' has chartreuse new growth and is literally dripping with pendant blooms.

The ornamental oreganos are still blooming. 'Kent Beauty' is looking rather past its prime, but still putting on a show.

The dainty blooms of Origanum dictamnus still look good, without the brown bracts and foliage that are slowly taking over on 'Kent Beauty'. It will be interesting to see how it performs next summer, after it's been in the ground for a year, assuming it makes it through the winter. I did find some conflicting hardiness information.

 I acquired a large clump of Sternbergia lutea from Kate Bryant. It's now broken up and scattered through the Carex testacea and Artemisia schmidtiana along the front of the house. I know I just said in my last post that I don't much care for true-yellow flowers, but I don't quibble too much over my fall blooms. Besides, I also said I like yellow in fall.

The primroses continue to bloom now that they've received a bit of water and cooler weather. The lack of heavy rain has at least kept these blooms looking good longer than normal. It is time to break out the slug bait again, though. Darn, slimy little mollusks.

One of my Thanksgiving cacti is budding up. I hope the other two will follow along shortly.

In the last few weeks, my variegated Ceropegia woodii has finally bloomed. I guess it's enjoyed a summer vacation outside, with more light than the dark corner it was consigned to indoors. I think I'll give it a better location when it comes back in, or maybe even keep it in the greenhouse. I wonder how low it can go temperature-wise.

 I can't help but continue posting photos of my Lapageria rosea. I'm absolutely enthralled with these luscious blooms.

A small, late-blooming Salvia forskaohlei adds a pop of color next to my Alyssum spinosum. I wonder if I would have gotten more blooms from the others if I had deadheaded them.

Daboecia cantabrica is blooming away now that it has some water. This native of the Irish heathlands did not appreciate the last two hot, dry summers, but it survived them with only one or two deep soakings each summer. Still, I'm going to take pity on it and move it to a location with more moisture.

Dianthus 'Frosty Fire' is another new addition. I love the clove scent, and the combination with the chartreuse heath.

Salvia nemorosa 'Ostfriesland' (East Friesland) is on the tail end of its second bloom.

Cyclamen hederifolium is almost finished blooming and in the process of trading in flowers for foliage.

Cyclamen purpurascens wafts the scent of bubblegum through the air. Now to grab the slug bait before those notches in that flower become no flowers at all.

Also new, Orostachys iwarenge is a little jumbled from planting, but the blooms are delightful little towers. I'm looking forward to this spreading.

One daphne was really not enough, so I've added Daphne x transatlantica 'Summer Ice' at the base of my redbud.

Geranium robustum is still blooming! It's slowing down, but still puts out a few flowers every day. Even better, the seed is ripening, though I haven't managed to catch any of the spring-loaded seeds as yet. I'll have to put in a purposeful effort to collect some seed as insurance.

One of my kniphofia has sent up a random bloom for the fall season.

As has Hemerocallis lilioasphodelus (formerly H. flava). What a delight to have an encore of these scented blooms! This stalk is currently on the ground, not having stood up to the wind that the dying Hurricane Oho sent us.

Eccremocarpus scaber continues to bloom. It's also producing a few seed pods that will hopefully ripen before frost.

Hoya carnosa took a little break during the last month of its summer vacation outdoors, but has begun another wave just in time to bring it back inside.

Neostylis Lou Sneary 'Bluebird' loved its stay in the greenhouse this summer. It responded with two large bloom spikes, and a third smaller one from the smaller plant in the back, not visible in this photo. I'm debating whether to bring it inside for the winter. It is half Neofinetia, which can tolerate temperatures near freezing for winter.

The rains have reinvigorated Lobelia laxiflora v. angustifolia, which is producing another flush of buds. If it stays mild, maybe I'll be enjoying these blooms in November. Wouldn't that be something?

 And to segue into tomorrow's Foliage Follow-up, Aster x frikartii 'Monch' flopped over to create a gorgeous combination with the self-sown carpet of Carex comans. Like most of the best combinations in my garden, this one is entirely accidental.


Foliage Follow-up - October 2015

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Pam at Digging hosts Foliage Follow-up every month after Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day to give foliage its due. This month, I'm featuring some of the early fall colors making their appearance in my garden, as well as some other fall surprises.

I came home in April to find the lime thyme in the driveway island looking almost completely dead, so I ripped out much of what was left and, in one location, I planted a few bits of Sedum spathulifolium. As you can see, the thyme has returned with gusto, covering most of the sedums except this one. There's also a few stems of Veronica liwanensis, which seems to have no trouble growing through the thyme. Back to the sedum, I'll have to move it, and dig out the ones that have been engulfed, before the thyme completely smothers them. I do rather like the effect, though. Maybe I can find something larger with a similar color to plant in the thyme.

The spring before last, I grew Cerinthe major 'Purpurascens' from seed. Summer heat came too soon for them to really look good, but they did manage to produce seed. However, those seeds didn't make an appearance until this fall, over a year later. Now I have three of them. That's three reasons to wish for a long, mild fall and a mild winter.

As so many plants are in the process of dropping their leaves for winter, Cyclamen coum (pictured below) and Cyclamen hederifolium are just leafing out.

A trio of fall color lights up from this view to the north of the house, with Cotinus 'Grace' on the far left, Cercis canadensis in yellow, and Rhus typhina in the background. The sumac really should be moved. It gets crisped every year in its dry, sunny location, and loses its leaved early. It's been dropping leaves since August, and I don't really care to run water all the way out to the fence where it grows. The smokebush is just beginning to turn, promising a long display of gorgeous color.

 Here is a close up from a couple weeks earlier. I love the fiery orange color.

The deciduous azaleas are coloring up beautifully. This cultivar, 'Mt. St. Helens' grows (grudgingly) in a burned stump that bears a remarkable resemblance to the volcano itself. I love this cultivar for the whole range of fall colors it provides, from yellow to purple.

I added four more deciduous azaleas to the garden after the new fence went up. I'm still working on remembering the names. The one below in brilliant shades of red may be 'Mandarin Lights'. It has a bit of powdery mildew. Hopefully that will clear up next year.
 

Another in beautiful red shades, with Osmanthus heterophyllus 'Goshiki' in the background, is (I think) 'Mary Poppins'.

The other two azaleas don't have much fall color. One is a lackluster mix of yellow and green and another shows promise but lost most of its leaves early from a bit of negligent watering and an attack of powdery mildew. I'm hoping that once it's planted and not stressed in its container, it won't be as susceptible.

Ever seen black fall foliage? I hadn't, until I took a look at my new Sophora davidii, planted earlier this summer. Not entirely black, it does have a black blush that came on with the cooling temperatures.

Even southern side of the stems, where they are exposed to the sun, have turned black. It's not overwhelmingly black, like black mondo grass, but provides a subtle curiosity for plant geeks like me.

Two persimmons I grew from seed (I think from 'Meader' persimmon fruit) show their individuality most when leafing out in spring and when coloring up for fall. The one photographed below is already blazing with color.

Whereas this one is still entirely green. Now that the greenhouse is up, it blocks the view of these trees from the house. Sure, they will grow above it eventually, but I'm still considering moving one or both to another part of the yard. I don't expect to get fruit out of them, and if they do ever fruit, I don't hold any hope it will be palatable. Such is the sad truth of growing fruit trees from seed. Very rarely does one result in anything worth eating.

Nearby, Calycanthus floridus is turning yellow with a reddish blush. These won't grow tall enough to rise above the greenhouse, but I don't plan to move them. Instead, I'll plant some of the western species, Calycanthus occidentalis, in more visible areas.


 The young Acer macrophyllum in the field are coloring up gold and brown.

I have two seed-grown tree peonies that, like the persimmons, are showing variation. One is completely green, but the one below, growing in drier, leaner soil in more shade, has turned an unusual pinkish reddish orange. What shade would you call that? I'm not the best at naming colors.

A Cornus florida in the same border as the peony has turned a beautiful pinkish red.

These colorful heathers are some of my favorite plants. In summer, they are almost chartreuse, with only a touch of orange, but with the arrival of cooler temperatures they blaze into glory. I'm going to hunting around the edges of my existing plants for rooted branches to plant separately.

And finally, Hydrangea anomala ssp. petiolaris, the climbing hydrangea (technically, a climbing hydrangea). This plant hasn't bloomed since the year it was planted. The location is probably too dry and dark even for this tough vine. However, it does color up nicely, lighting a dark area in fall. The last two or three years, it's started shooting up, so I have some hope that it will bloom again someday. Perhaps the new faucet less than 10 feet away will help by making watering easier and more frequent.

And there you have it. Don't forget to click over to Digging to see more beautiful foliage. 



Wide shots and doodling

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I've been sick with a bad cold for 6 days now, and it's driving me nuts. Work and any serious gardening have been put on hiatus, as I have trouble staying on my feet for a couple hours, much less eight. And don't even think about bending down to weed or dig or plant. The sinus rush just isn't worth it. At least I'm breathing more normally, now.

So what's a sick gardener to do?  Well, ok, a lot of things. But for the sake of this post, let's say take a few wide shots of the garden and plan some new beds. It's much easier to take a few steps around the house to take wide shots than it is to walk all over to take a bunch of close-ups.


I'll start with a view from the back patio. Black lines denote the borders of beds I'd like to make, filled in with brown lines, just to clarify which side of the line the bed will be on. There's a someone steep mound right off the patio that is a bit annoying to mow (not that I'm the one doing the mowing). I'd love to get rid of it and expand the existing bed off the patio, with a path somewhere through it for access. I doubt it's going to happen, as I don't think my clients (aka my parents) agree with this idea. The dry creek bed is wonderful, but it's difficult to push a wheel-barrow across it, particularly a full one, so a bridge has been sketched in. On the far side of the creek bed, I want to turn the entire area to the left of the black line into garden space. I think I'm gaining some headway in making this happen, but I have other projects higher up on my list. It's tough, because it gets no morning sun and full afternoon sun. The soil is hard, and the Doug firs suck up most of the water here. While much of the lawn grows thickly enough, even though it does turn brown in summer, here it barely grows at all, becoming patchier towards the narrow end at the left until it becomes almost bare ground. Breaking up the soil and amending it with a lean mix would make it suitable for tough western natives and a few other plants that can take less than 8 hours of direct sun and bone dry soil in summer. The rhododendron to the left of the hummingbird feeder was placed there optimistically, but after a few years it's time to admit the conditions are too harsh even for that especially tough rhody.

Shifting the view to the right, or southwards, you can see the large open area to the southeast of the house. Cotinus 'Grace', the blazing fire near the center of this photo, has really colored up in the last week. Here you can see the narrow strip along the dry creek bed that I want to plant. The red circle marks a steep mound of soil created when the yard was regraded and the creek bed was put in. It has several rhododendrons on it that I'm working up the motivation to move. They do surprisingly well there, but it's still too hot and dry for them. Since that mound probably has the best drainage on the whole property, I want to plant a madrone on it, with other western natives that need exceptional drainage. The rest of this big, open space will be planted in park fashion, with trees and large shrubs. I've been working on a small list of trees, including Catalpa bignonioides 'Aurea' and Aesculus pavia which I have already, some smaller oaks in the back area to the left, Robinia pseudoacacia 'Purple Robe' and 'Frisia', Albizia julibrissin 'Summer Chocolate', Pistacia chinensis, Cercis occidentalis, Aesculus californicaEucalyptus perinniana, and perhaps another Eucalyptus pauciflora ssp. niphophila, or debeuzevillei. Most of the space is very dry in summer, but there is enough variation that spots can be found to accommodate the species that prefer a bit more moisture. I'm open to suggestions for your favorite drought-tolerant trees, hardy to at least zone 7b, and tolerating some compacted clay soil. I'm looking for trees that have attractive foliage (or good fall color), flowers, and/or bark. Trees that attract birds are welcome, too, especially if those birds are cedar waxwings. I'll also listen to any warnings about the trees I listed above. For instance, I know black locusts have a lot of drawbacks, and I'm weighing those against my attraction to them.

Turning around to the north, there's a path going from the patio to the area of driveway between the house and garage. I've been planting a few things this summer to the right of the steps, which is mostly blocked by the big container currently holding basil, sage, and a couple peppers. I'd like to continue the bed on the mound off the patio along this path, petering out toward the end. However, it's not a high priorty for me. A bed between the path and the back deck does hold a few plants, but it needs some serious reworking, being hotter and sunnier than I had initially thought. A downspout off the corner of the house floods the lower half of this bed in winter, making this a difficult bed to choose plants for.

Now let's go back through the house to the front door, on the west side. Here you can see the huge circular driveway, the bed in the middle I call the driveway island, the pump house, a rhody border in the background (one of the oldest areas of the garden) and the star magnolia. The driveway island is still slated to be reworked this fall. The past weekend would have been the perfect time to get started, if I hadn't come down with this cold. Grrrr.

Walking away from the house a bit and turning around, you can see the beds along the western side of the house. The big evergreen azalea on the end handled the hot summer with aplomb, but since it shows no signs of slowing down (especially now that the deer aren't trimming it back) it will have to move elsewhere.

The new(ish) steps and ramp at the front entrance created a sloped, raised bed, very steep at the north (left) end and becoming less so towards the south. Initially, it was planted with excess heaths and heathers from the driveway island, a couple Berberis x stenophylla 'Corallina Compacta', and a Mugo pine. The soil is actually grittier than I initially thought, though there are areas of predominantly clay. Still, the slope, western exposure with reflected heat from the driveway, and areas of gritty soil, make this a good bed to experiment with a few things. This year, I added two agaves, two Hesperaloe parvifolia, Geranium harveyi, Origanum dictamnus, and a few xeric ferns in the shade of larger plants.

Moving to the left, north of the steps, is the bed that directly abuts the house. This summer, I fluffed up the compacted soil with compost, raising the soil level by about 10 inches and adding a slope for better drainage, exposure, and viewing. I did it in sections, with the section shown below being the first. Remodeling a couple years ago bumped out the wall, which was oddly set back from the rest of the house by more than a foot, and bumped it out even further by putting in a bay window. The bed here has lost about 3 feet in depth, but the space under the former overhang was practically unusable anyway. I'm sticking primarily to silver/grey/blue, orange, and burgundy, with most of the color provided by foliage. I've really been loving the combo of Carex testacea and Artemisia schmidtiana.

The second section hasn't filled in as much, and it's also a little more random. I continued the Carex testacea, but there are several different silvers. I plan to add more of the same plants to both sections to make them more cohesive.

This view shows the area past the garage, where the new greenhouse sits (sort of) between Stump St. Helens and an area that is (again, sort of) the "eastern woods". The eastern woods is so named for some of the plants in it. Two persimmons (possibly seedlings of 'Meader' a selection of American persimmon), two Calycanthus floridus, a pine (which probably isn't an eastern NA species but I'm considering it representative), and Leucothoe fontanesiana 'Rainbow' (a cultivar of an eastern NA species), and two (formerly three) Kalmia latifolia. The soil has a good layer of duff from a large pile of branches that was burned (without turning all the needles and detritus to ash) and I thought it stayed more moist in summer than other areas. Perhaps it does, and this summer was just too brutal, even with the sun leaving that bed by 2:00 pm. The kalmias, especially, look terrible. The masses of mostly-dead heather that I moved to this bed just before the first heat wave (when they were still green) don't help its appearance, so we'll just view it from here. Stump St. Helens is also slated for some edits. I've already removed the invasive Cotoneaster that I was growing misguidedly. Even if it wasn't invasive, it would have grown too large for the bed, anyway. The black mondo grass needs more moisture than this bed has, so it will need to move. So does the Daboecia cantabrica and Leptinella squallida 'Platt's Black'. I'm also thinking of relocating a couple rhododendrons and a variegated pieris from this bed. This bed has turned out to be great for native penstemons, though, so I think I'll add more of those.

Moving along, this rhododendron border was one of the first plantings we created when we moved to this house. It helps to block some of the property of the neighboring junk collector. I'd love to expand this bed to the proportions you see drawn out in the photo below. However, it's not really a priority at the moment. There are some large exposed roots toward the left end that make mowing difficult. That may be the only area I claim for garden space from this.

Moving to the left from the previous photo, there's a dry, shady area between the fence and the driveway. I planted a seed-grown Styrax japonica here, with a few hellebores and Salvia forskaohlei around it. The area is really too dry for all but the salvia. I plan to plant this area sparsely with a few native shade-lovers and basically leave it alone.

Turning back around, here's a view that I've presented before, or at least a similar one. This is my (relatively) moist area, which gets morning sun  with open shade afterwards and, closer to the driveway, mostly sun.  In general, I want this to be my mesic Chilean/Asiatic area. The large bed in the distance marks the end of the moist zone. The closest bed was, until very recently, the spot were we tend to have soil and compost dumped. I reduced the latest pile to nothing in the last few weeks making other beds, and decided to start planting this ready-made sodless patch, rather than let the lawn reclaim it.

This entire corner is a low spot that gets very wet in winter. I'd like to expand the bed to the area you see drawn out below, taking advantage of the moist conditions and mostly full sun in summer to grow some different plants, yet to be determined. For now, though, I'll just focus on filling in the space I have before the creeping buttercup does.

Moving along, I'd like to connect two trees and extend a bed out, in the process creating the beginnings of a network of paths between the beds. So far this area has proven excellent for magnolias, clethra, and maples. Of my three Embothrium coccineum seedlings, the one in this area is by far the happiest. I didn't draw it in, but I'd also like to make a bog garden at this end of the dry creek bed.

I don't like the shape as it appears in this photo, but I'm playing with the idea of a bed between these two new beds. Mostly I'm just looking for a place to put in a couple Eucryphia. And you can also see again the strip I want to remove along the creek bed. At this end, it will be planted with Carex comans, Daboecia cantabrica (from Stump St. Helens), and Siberian and variegated Japanese iris. Possibly other things as well, but that's what I have right now that I could plant there. This particular section along the creek bed is slightly moist even in summer, but the creek bed helps with drainage in the winter. The bed in the foreground needs more plants, too, primarily evergreens. The large plant in the middle is the Siberian iris I mentioned, which is due for dividing.

Continuing along the end of the house, the strip along the creek bed becomes progressively dryer and more sunny as we move east (left). Somewhere along this section will see a transition to more drought tolerant plants like Rudbeckia fulgida 'Goldsturm', which is currently growing in a large patch in the driveway island and needs to be spread out in a new location. I'll probably continue the Carex comans and start adding in Carex testacea and other evergreens. You can also see a bed sketched out beyond that, where a Sciadopitys verticillata grows. I have several plants to put in this bed now. I'm just waiting for more compost to do it. An area outside the stones of the bed to the left also should be converted to garden space. The roots from the stump on the corner makes mowing difficult, not to mention the rocks to the left of it and the new faucet in front of those rocks.

A couple weeks ago, I had plants set out to decide where to put them. This grouping is what I'm thinking of for the bed around the umbrella pine in the photo above. A Cornus alternifolia 'Golden Shadows' plays center stage, with a deciduous azalea to the left, a Magnolia maudiae in front and back, and three different clumping bamboos scattered around the bed. I had originally planned on putting the dogwood closer to the driveway, possibly in the bed where the soil pile was, but I thought the variegation was too much with the variegated dove tree in the background. On the other hand, I quite liked it here, especially when viewed from the driveway, echoing the dove tree instead of competing with it. This area gets full sun until 2 or 3 in the afternoon, and stays slightly moist in summer, making it a good spot for these plants. And none of them should get so large as to shade out the nearby bed with the Acer griseum, which I plan on keeping mostly full sun. The dogwood has started developing some beautiful dark red coloring that bleeds from the formerly green areas of the leaf to the white areas.

And just for kicks, here's a view of the south end of the house, with Cotinus 'Grace' visible again in the background.

And there you have it. I got some planning done, and recorded it so I refer back to it in the future, and you got a tour of my big garden full of empty space.

Gerdemann Botanic Preserve: the rare, the unusual, and- ooh, whats that?!

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This will be the final installment on my August visit to the amazing Gerdemann Botanic Preserve in Yachats, Oregon. You can see more of the gardens in my previous posts here, here, and here. I think I've saved the best for last. In this edition you'll find all the most unusual and rare treasures, or at least all the ones I noticed during this trip. I've also included plants that aren't necessarily that unusual, but captured my interest, a la "best of the rest." One of the best parts about the gardens of plantspeople is that there is always more to discover, especially after they've gone a bit wild and overgrown matured. It adds to the mystery, and increases the payoff when you turn a corner in a tunnel of rhododendrons to find something completely unexpected.

Grevilleas aren't that rare on the west coast of the U.S., but they are always a favorite of mine and tend to be crowd-pleasers in general. I think this was Grevillea victoriae, but I'm still not that great at grevillea ID.

Whichever one it was, it was loaded with pendant racemes of fuzzy, golden orange buds. I'd love to be there to see them bloom! I really must prepare areas in my garden for proteaceous plants. It's simply tragic that I don't have any.

Rhodochiton atrosanguineum is a tender perennial vine that many garden enthusiasts have probably at least seen sold as an annual, if they haven't grown it themselves. The Gerdemann Botanic Preserve is probably just mild enough in most years for this zone 10 vine to sneak through winter. I wonder if it reseeds?

Most people admire magnolias for their flowers, but many have spectacular fruit, as well. These pendant clusters belong to Magnolia wilsonii. This species has downward facing white blooms with red stamens, similar to the slightly more common Magnolia seiboldii, but has a more tree-like habit to 30 feet tall. Seeing a specimen dripping with these decorative fruit in late August makes me even happier to have added one to my garden.

This slightly shaggy trunk belongs to Fuchsia excorticata. It's hard to tell from this photo, due to the lack of reference, but this trunk is massive. The base was around 8 inches across. It's no wonder this species is known as the tree fuchsia. In its native New Zealand, where it is known by the name kotukutuku, it can reach heights approaching 50 feet. The specimen at the preserve was killed back by a severe winter (by Yachats standards) to a stump about four feet tall, but is coming back strongly. Several seedlings were also growing in the garden. I was lucky enough to take one home because it was growing right on the edge of the path. It dried out quite a bit on the drive home, but I potted it up and it is rooting in the greenhouse. Here's hoping for some top growth at some point.

One of the most unusual plants in the garden is this Berberidopsis corallina. One of only two species in the genus Berberidopsidaceae (Rolls off the tongue, right?) this barberry relative is an evergreen, rambling vine with leathery, serrated leaves. The flowers share the same general shape as barberries, but are a striking waxy red. Apparently, they're attractive to yellow jackets. We brought a good supply of cuttings back to Cistus Nursery and I'm pleased to say they rooted quite nicely and were recently potted up. I am of course knocking on wood to make sure I didn't just jinx them. Transitioning from perlite on the mist bench to potting soil in a greenhouse can be a bit tricky.

Telopea oreades is another treasure of the preserve, along with a large specimen of Telopea truncata. The latter wasn't in bud (that I could see) and was further off the trail, so I didn't even notice until a later walk through the garden when I didn't have my camera. These members of the family Proteaceae are known as waratah in Australia. I've had a devil of a time finding hardiness information for these Tasmanian and SE Australian plants, but Telopea truncata can survive at least brief dips down to 10 degrees Fahrenheit, and I believe T. oreades is similarly hardy. Cuttings of both species rooted well. I'm crossing my fingers while they root into their pots, as proteaceous plants are notorious for mysteriously dying when they're potted up after rooting. Even more exciting is the handful of seeds I collected from Telopea oreades, which have started to germinate.

Clerodendrum bungei isn't rare, but I don't see it often, either. Those dark clusters of buds atop the big leaves are full of promise. Funnily enough, don't they look a lot like the Telopea buds above?

Buds which burst open to fragrant pink flowers. They're so exotic and wonderfully-scented that I can accept the color, which isn't too bad as far as pinks go.

 I left out a few rhododendrons from my first post. One of the best was this one, which I'm fairly certain is Rhododendron proteoides. I first saw this species only last year at the Rhododendron Species Botanic Garden, as little 1-2' buns covered in gorgeous, fuzzy new growth. The specimen at the preserve is around 4' tall by 5' wide, though it's hard to tell the exact proportions as it's growing as part of a large mass of rhodies tangled together.

It's even more gorgeous in evening light.

This abutilon formed a large, bushy specimen, a little overgrown and need of some grooming and rejuvenation. But it was so floriferous, absolutely covered in these blazing orange-red flowers that drew the eye as soon as the merest line of sight opened towards it.

Far from rare, phormiums simply break my heart. I had three before the winters of 08-09, known among the PNW garden bloggers as the Phormium Killing Winters, or PKWs. They might have recovered if it had just been the one winter, but the double whammy finished off whatever was left. There's just no hardy alternative to the red or purple phormiums, in my mind. Can you think of any? I know of two phormiums in a hellstrip in St. Helens that look fantastic. I have no idea how long they've been there, but it looks like they were planted at least two years ago. Unfortunately, I doubt they were around during the PKWs.

A big, happy gunnera is always noteworthy. I love these big, prehistoric-looking leaves, I just don't think I have a good spot in my garden to grow one.

Eucryphias aren't rare in the Pacific Northwest, but I also think they aren't seen often enough. I think they're reputation suffered a bit from the introduction of less-hardy cultivars. I know the small one my family brought home from a trip to the beach didn't make it, but it was planted "temporarily" in a pile of old, very dry mulch. Perhaps if we'd actually put it in the ground, it may have survived instead of slowly dwindling until a cold winter took it out. These clay-tolerant, narrow, evergreen trees, like many Chilean plants, prefer a cool root-zone and some supplemental water away from the coast. I think I have just the spot for several, and I plan on trying a few of the hardier cultivars.

These small trees offer a welcome show of flowers in late summer. The glossy foliage is attractive in all seasons, and the growth habit is narrow enough to fit even in most smaller gardens.

Those fuzzy stamens are so pretty. There is also a semi-deciduous species, Eucryphia glutinosa, which is said to be hardy to zone 6b. Along with the hardy evergreen hybrids, like 'Rostrevor' and 'Mt. Usher', I plan to try this one just to be sure I have one that can take even a freak winter like the PKWs.

This is it, the final plant I'll cover from this trip to the Gerdemann Botanic Preserve. Say hello to Gevuina avellana, commonly called the hardy macadamia or avellano. I don't know about you, but I normally don't think of proteaceous plants as having edible fruits or seeds. Nevertheless, avellano produces large, edible seeds, similar to macadamias (which are also part of the family Proteaceae).

Avellano is native from central Chile all the way to the southern tip of South America. It's hardy to zone 8, making this a possibility for many gardens in the PNW, though I'd be hesitant to try it in my current garden. It's a zone 8, but the cold is just a little colder and lasts a little longer than at lower elevations like Portland, and the memory of the PKWs, one of which brought single digits to the garden, still haunts me.

The big, glossy leaves are attractive, reminding me a bit of mahonia foliage. This comparison makes avellano even more strange, with white, bottlebrush Proteaceae flowers atop the foliage.

The best part of finding this small tree was seeing an experienced plantsman like Sean Hogan geeking out like any other plant addict, positively giddy as he caught site of the flowers peaking out above the rhododendron foliage and forging the short distance off the trail to get a closer look.

And there you have it, the last of my first visit to the Gerdemann Botanic Preserve, a hidden gem near Yachats, Oregon. It only took me about two months to wrap up. I can't wait to visit again.


Wednesday Vignette

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I'm joining in on Wednesday Vignette, hosted by Anna of Flutter & Hum, with an evening edition double feature. These photos were actually taken a couple weeks ago, but I haven't gotten around to sharing them until now. I have so many of those photos. I'm sure I'm not the only blogger who does.

The first is a scene from Pomarius Nursery. Poncirus trifoliata 'Monstrosa' (also called 'Flying Dragon') twists between two red phormiums, with a pair of Cycas revoluta (sago palm) fronds arching down in the back. I don't think I've ever read anything about the fall color of Poncirus trifoliata even being noteworthy. Isn't it beautiful, though? It seems to color up wonderfully in the PNW. It's not just this specimen. The one in my garden had wonderful color, too, though not quite as orange. I would have included a photo of mine, but it's a much smaller, thinner plant and it didn't have many leaves this summer. Some type of ant was coming out to the edge of the woods where I had planted it and chewing the leaves off to drink the sap. I moved it to a new location this summer, but by then it had stopped producing new foliage. Hopefully, I moved it far enough away from the trees that those particular ants won't find it again.

The second image was taken on a foggy morning at Cistus Nursery. The camera on my phone had a little trouble adjusting to the light. In person, it was ethereal and beautiful (if you like foggy fall mornings, which I adore). The blue-grey foliage of the Eucalyptus perinniana in the background made it fade into the fog around the edges, the oak further back and to the right even more shrouded. The Aesculus californica in the foreground may not have spectacular fall color, but I find the hints of yellow foliage and the structure of the white-barked, lichen and moss encrusted trunks and branches indefinably charming. I plan to add several of these to my garden.

How many bromeliads?

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Certain plants are addictive. One might argue that any group of plants can be addictive depending on the individual. Societies are formed based on these mutual addictions: rock garden societies, primula societies, orchid societies, magnolia societies, etc. While I tend not to be a "join the club" kind of person, I do have my own addictions. One of them is bromeliads. I was recently inspired by a bout of madness to actually count my bromeliads. Until then, I had some deniability. Now, there's no way I can call it anything else but a fixation.

So what's my current count? Well, the number is a tad swelled at the moment, as I'm rooting a small crop of Cryptanthus pups. At least I pawned a few off on some fellow plant addicts at the Portland garden bloggers' fall plant swap. I had hoped to get rid of more of them, but most hadn't rooted yet. Well, no more putting it off. Ok, here goes. Here it is. Right here.

Ok, fine! My grand total is 80 individual bromeliads, with 50 different types. Are you happy now? I may have a problem. I'd just like to point out that about 15 of those are Cryptanthus pups that I'm rooting to give away, and another 28 are Tillandsia (about 20 different types) and those don't really count because they don't even need soil, right?....Right? So if you think about it, I only really have around 30. That's logical, isn't it? No? Well then I reject your reality and substitute my own.

The following is a smattering of my collection. Posting them all at once would simply be too much, and I haven't taken the time yet to figure out the collage thing that some other bloggers do.

This summer, I ordered seven new bromeliads from Seabreeze Nurseries in Florida, and picked up a few locally. Below on the left is Orthophytum gurkenii. On the left side of the photo on the right (you follow?) is Billbergia 'Tinkerbell', and to Tink's right is Billbergia 'Pipeline'. I was amazed that they sent me a 'Tinkerbell' that was about to bloom. This cross is half Billbergia nutans, which is the most reliable bloomer out of the handful of bromeliads I've grown, so I was hoping 'Tinkerbell' would inherit that trait.

This is an as yet un-named hybrid Neoregelia. The cross is 'Royal Burgundy' x cyanea. I'm not sure how I feel about it, yet. I'm hoping it will look like the picture on the website, here, when it grows up, but maybe this cross is a variable one.

I was disappointed with this one, at first. Neoregelia 'Justin's Song' x 'Hula Girl #39'. It was a rather drab olive-y green when I first unpacked it, but in the last few weeks it has not only started growing fast, but producing at least some of the colorful patterning that made me drool over it. It's in a south-facing window now. I'm looking forward to seeing it really color up outside next summer. Click here for the website picture. See why I had to have it?

 You can see most of my latest mail-order bromeliads here. The one shown just above is on the far left. This was before it had started producing the colorful leaves. To the right of that is Cryptanthus 'Hawaiian Starshine'. In front and to the right is Cryptanthus 'Lou Trahan' and Orthophytum gurkenii. Behind them are Neoregelia 'Royal Burgundy' x cyanea and Neoregelia 'Royal Burgundy' x 'Fireball'.

Another recent purchase, this one from Fred Meyers, is this unnamed Guzmania hybrid. Guzmanias are fast-growing and tolerant of fairly low light, making them good bromeliads to grow as houseplants and more likely to rebloom every year or so for those of us who live in cool climates.

I also purchased this dwarf Aechmea chantinii (or is it Aechmea zebrina?) from Fred Meyers. The bloom is gorgeous, and still looks good two months after I bought it, but the main draw is those beautiful leaves!

 I've shown my Vriesea ospinae-gruberi (left) and Vriesea 'Splenriet' (right) before. They are still two of my favorites. I'm still unsure of the identity of the larger one. It's so much bigger than the form I saw at Longwood Gardens, but then many bromeliads have different forms that grow to varying sizes, and sometimes patterns and colors.

Dyckia choristaminea 'Frazzle Dazzle' is hardy to zone 8a, but, being cautious, I grow mine in a container and will put it in the greenhouse for winter. It has lots of little offsets just beginning to form around the base.

Quesnelia marmorata is one of my absolute favorites. This is a plant that I will never voluntarily relinquish or dispose of.

This summer I finally picked up a Tillandsia xerographica. I think it's almost as big as all the rest of my tillandsia combined. Well, maybe half of them.

Speaking of half as big, and an excellent illustration of my point about bromeliad species coming in forms with different sizes, here we have a giant and miniature form of Tillandsia bulbosa. Can you guess which is which?

I've killed Guzmania musaica once, with the help of a horrendously dark and dry apartment in Wisconsin, but I love it so much I had to try again. It was one of the first plant purchases I made when I returned to the PNW in April. It loved summer in the greenhouse, and the two pups seem to be growing along just fine indoors.

This photo gives a better view of the aechmea and Neoregelia 'Royal Burgundy' x 'Fireball'.

The flowers on Billbergia 'Tinkerbell' opening, and a close-up of the flowers. The two billbergias are possibly my favorites from that order. I love the upright, narrow vases and the complex patterns of spots, marbling, and colors, especially on 'Pipeline' which has both spots and stripes.

Cryptanthus lacerdae 'Menescal' is up to four pups now. You can't see it here, but the stolon that will produce the first pup is now several inches long. It's not growing fast, but it is growing. I can't wait for it to really mature. The pups of this plant hang on stolons which can be quite long, looking like the coolest spider plant ever.

My latest find, this unnamed Cryptanthus came from Portland Nursery on Division St. The wide, wavy leaves are marked randomly with darker green, and the central leaves have red edges and a red blush. With stronger light, the red coloration would probably spread. Cryptanthus hybrids can be almost impossible to identify, because they change so much depending on their growing conditions.

The faint rivers of silver trichomes down the center of each leaf helps. It reminds me most of a hybrid called 'Earth Angel' but there are at least two things that don't match. The trichomes are only along the center of the leaves, rather than over the whole surface, and there are several pups coming from the base of the plant. The pictures I've seen of 'Earth Angel' show pups emerging near the top of the plant. My curatorial training yearns for a name for this beauty, but the plant addict in me is content simply to ogle it and wonder how the colors will change if I give it more light.

I've also started a bit of a Sansevieria collection. Along with my mystery Cryptanthus, I picked up several new Sansevieria that I'll have to show you, along with my other plants. There's so much more to the genus than the common snake plant (not that there's anything wrong with the basic Sansevieria trifasciata). Thankfully, I've only just started amassing that collection, so I'll be able to show the whole thing in one post. Is there a group of plants that you collect? Inside or out? Look around, do some counting (if you're brave enough). You might have started a collection without even realizing it. 

Wednesday Vignette: South, into the sunset (just go with it)

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This week, I'm looking to the sky again for my vignettes. There was a spectacular sunset last weekend. With a wall of Douglas firs directly west of my parents' home, we usually see only bits and pieces of the sunset through the woods. On this particular evening, as the sun sank below the clouds to the west, it struck lower clouds to the south, giving us a beautiful view. The display went fast, though, not only because the sun was sinking quickly, but because the clouds were being blown rapidly to the east. It was a rare treat. Usually, if we want to see the sunset, we have to walk to the top of the road, or, better yet, down to the boardwalk on Silver Lake, about a 1.5 mile walk. How often does one get to look south to see the sunset?

I hope you enjoy this series of shots I snapped as the clouds skidded past. It only took about a minute for the clouds to blow away and the sun to sink to the point that the colors began fading to black. As always, thanks to Anna of Flutter & Hum for hosting Wednesday Vignette. Be sure to click over to see what wonderful scenes she and other bloggers have to share today.

Oh, and unlike the last time I shared sky scenes for my vignettes, there's no digital trickery to these shots. The colors were so gorgeous, I didn't see any point in messing them up.





This was probably my favorite part, because of that dark swirl in the top left. 

And also for these smaller swirls at the bottom.

One last shot, and then it started to fade quickly.

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