Showing posts with label seedheads. Show all posts
Showing posts with label seedheads. Show all posts

Wednesday, February 7

Winter Break


I adore sedum 'Matrona' in the winter. Its deep brownish hue is the one shade of pink that I feel capable of handling in my garden. If only they would emerge this color, they would be a perfect plant for me... but I endure the cotton candy phase, knowing that this quiet beauty awaits me.


Just as plants need a break in the winter to rest and regroup, people sometimes need the same. I have been working every weekend, planning my spring garden, cleaning and decluttering my house, worrying about how to pay for repairs should my pipes freeze... and trying to figure out a few of life's great mysteries at the same time.

I usually thrive on stress like this, but right now I just feel taut and brittle. I am being rather shortsighted and self-absorbed in comments posted on other blogs, posts shared here, and even in one-on-one conversations with my friends. I am definitely overdue for a little hibernation. It's time to take a step back, send my energy back into my roots, and relax.

I'll be back in a week or two, and will post pictures and a review of the Cleveland Home & Flower show when I return. I am heading there tomorrow (my birthday--I officially turn 31 at 4:45am) which will be just my second day off since New Year's Day. I am looking forward to getting a few ideas for next year's garden... and some much-needed plant therapy as well.

Monday, February 5

Pineleaf Rhododendron?


Okay, I admit it. The title of this post was a geeky attempt at bad botany humor. As I observed my poor cold rhodie do its best impersonation of a needled evergreen, the words Rhododendron Pinifolius popped into my head. I giggled at the thought of making a tongue-in-cheek post to describe the rare pineleaf rhododendron, only observed on special days in the coldest of winters... yes, I'm sure that the cold was getting to me!

It amazes me that plants have such great coping mechanisms. It looks unhappy, but what the rhodie is doing is curling its leaves to keep the moisture from leaving through tiny vents in the undersides. It was -1 degree outside when I took all of these pictures yesterday morning. This morning I got up at the same time but was greeted by -4 degrees instead. I couldn't tell if the rhodie leaves were more tightly curled this morning or if I was just expecting them to be, though.

I don't really mind the cold itself, even if you factor in the wind chill. The big downside is that the pipes in my upstairs bathroom tend to freeze when it's below 12 degrees unless I leave my sink faucet drip. Friday night I discovered the hard way that when temps drop below 5 degrees, the sink doesn't quite move enough water to prevent the pipe freeze.

The pipes thawed on Saturday, but I have since had to leave the bathtub faucet drip as well to ensure the pipes don't freeze again and burst. My February heating bill is going to be bad, and my water bill is not going to be a whole lot of fun, either. I'm so appalled at being forced to waste so much water that I am already saving to tear down a few plaster walls this spring (where certain plumbing pipes reside) and replace them with insulation and drywall. Obviously I will not be going out for a steak dinner any time soon.

On the bright side, I've been able to drink in a lot of beauty to help sustain me through the frigid cold. With brittle sunny skies and the lovely crunch of snow underfoot, NE Ohio has never looked more beautiful to me as it does this winter.

It may just be my imagination but the cold seems to tinge the snow and even the air with a slightly blue hue, which makes orange pyracantha berries, the deep rose of papery sedum flowerheads, and even the slightly pink hue of dried little bluestem blades glow like the jewels of the winter garden.

Saturday, January 27

In Defense of Dead Plants


I have been reading with interest several web forum and blog posts about the issue of cleaning up your garden in the winter. Many gardeners--more than I would have anticipated--have confessed that they can't stand seeing dead plants in their garden at all. Some cut the plants down as they die, others do their garden cleanup in one fell swoop in the fall or early winter.

On the one hand, I can understand this compulsive cleanliness. On the other, I really feel that neat-as-a-pin gardeners may be missing out on a whole lot of winter interest. "A plant is only worth growing if it looks good when it is dead," says Piet Oudolf as quoted in Noel Kingsbury's recent book, Seedheads in the Garden. He was apparently half joking, but why not at least leave up those plants in your garden that don't turn to mush at the first sign of cold? Especially if you live in a climate where a quarter or so of every year is taken up by the monotonous grey/brown/white of winter.

Dead plants -- especially umbellifers, like bronze fennel, and those with sturdy skeletons like tall sedums, echinacea purpurea, and eryngium yuccafolium -- can collect interesting dabs of snow on their dried seedheads and other horizontal surfaces. Thin, brittle stems and bunched dried flowers on a background of soft white snow can give the effect of a lovely ink drawing right in your garden.

The worst plants to cut back too early, IMHO, are the grasses. Unlike the stick-straight architectural plants, the grasses contribute much-needed movement to the winter garden. They always remind me of the life hidden beneath the snow as the tips of their blades move to and fro in the winter winds.

(As Henry Mitchell noted, "I do say it takes very little to convince a a gardener he will make it right into spring." For me, all it takes is a few swaying grasses.)

Even those plants that are not much to look at during the winter... well, at least give you something to look at during the winter! I forget that I still have hollyhock foliage until the snow melts and the smallest of its rounded leaves pop jauntily back up into the air. I mentally tell the artemisia that it really needs a haircut when I walk past it, but I wouldn't want to cut it back in the fall and miss the way the melting snow falls through its fanned branches in small clumps.

Check out this picture of my back garden bed. Had I cut back everything I was supposed to at the "prescribed" time, here's what would be left in terms of plant life: The rhododendron in the back, the beginnings of an espaliered firethorn against the wall, and the clump of kniphofia foliage in the front.

Since nothing was cut back, the view includes little bluestem, 'Rotstrahlbusch' switchgrass, miscanthus zebrinus, and a rose bush whose upper leaves must be frozen onto the plant at this point. When there's not 4 inches of snow on the ground, you can also see groundcover sedums, the aforementioned hollyhocks, some young lady's mantle, dried Siberian iris foliage, some dead licorice plant clumps and the silvery stems of Russian sage (they disappear against the snow but show up aginst the mulch.)

As it is, I'm upset that I did cut back most of my bronze fennel, foxgloves, 'Hillside Black Beauty' bugbane, asclepias tuberosa, and verbena bonariensis. After checking out the gorgeous arrangements that Craig at Ellis Hollow put together this fall with the dead parts of such plants, I now have plans of my own. I can't wait to harvest dried material next October for a lush--but yes, very brown--Thanksgiving centerpiece.

Now that I think about it, maybe I need to plant some more Northern sea oats... and this may just give me the excuse that I was looking for to try out phlomis russeliana, too...