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By Hilda, on April 5th, 2011
 Photo: Wikimedia Commons “I was sorry because I had no loropetalum, and then I met a man who had no snowdrop.”
With tongue in cheek, the famed garden columnist Henry Mitchell wrote these words three decades ago, and I had to smile when I read them recently in an anthology of his work. The only loropetalum that gardeners knew way back then was the original species – Loropetalum chinense, sometimes known as the Chinese fringe flower, a rather nondescript evergreen shrub that wasn’t especially popular.
But things things have changed since then!
If the great man were alive today, I bet he’d trade his snowdrops in a heartbeat to get his hands on one of the modern loropetalum cultivars pictured here. The hybridizers and nurserymen have really done their magic. Today, bright flowers, burgundy foliage, and a graceful, arching habit combine to give loropetalum year-round appeal.
It was back in the early 1990s when these pink-flowered selections made their debut, and I can still remember when they first hit the garden centers. They’re usually classified as Loropetalum chinense var. rubrum, and they are currently seen absolutely everywhere where winters are relatively mild (they are hardy as far north as zone 6).
 Photo: Terry DelValle, University of Florida extension service
In early spring, usually March, loropetalum will be in its full glory. The hot pink flowers are like little tassels, made up of delicate, fringe-like petals. The show starts slowly, as just a few blossoms open at a time, but by the time the shrub reaches its peak, it can rival an azalea in full bloom. Altogether you can expect three weeks of flowers from loropetalum. At one time, I happened to underplant one of mine with a creeping veronica (Veronica peduncularis ‘Georgia Blue’) and it was a happy accident to find that the two bloom at exactly the same time. The brilliant, cobalt blue veronica combined with the fuchsia tassels of the loropetalum is probably the most spectacular plant combination I’ve ever seen – and it was especially gorgeous where loropetalum’s branches would arch down low toward the ground, so the colors could really mingle. I wish I had a picture of it, but I don’t.
More than any other flowering shrub I can think of, loropetalum has year-round appeal. After they bloom, most of these new cultivars put out reddish-colored new growth that can actually look like flowers from a distance. This new foliage eventually matures to a dark olive or purplish green that makes a nice backdrop for your summer perennials. When cool weather arrives in fall, the foliage deepens again, to a deep burgundy shade – and because it’s evergreen, it makes a nice focal point in the winter garden. During warm spells in December and January, the shrubs will even surprise you by throwing out a few colorful, sporadic blossoms – just a little taste of what’s to come again in the spring.
All things considered, you just can’t go wrong with loropetalum. It fits in everywhere and no matter what the season, as my next-door neighbor puts it, “it just always looks good.”
By Hilda, on November 1st, 2010
American beautyberry is an odd sort of shrub. By this I mean it’s hard to categorize. During the spring and summer it’s not really much to look at, just a generic looking bush that’s probably best placed in an informal setting. Not the kind of shrub you lust after…
Yet when it comes to calling attention to itself in the fall, this shrub is shameless! By late summer it’s already heavily adorned with clusters of berries so purple, they’re downright shocking. And by this time of year, when the shrub has lost its foliage, the fruits are absolutely brazen on the leafless branches.
 I was visiting a friend in a suburb of Nashville last weekend and we were on our way home from brunch when I noticed the color purple on a median strip in the center of the road — lots of lots and purple, for at least a quarter of a mile or so. Even at 45 miles per hour, I figured it had to beautyberry (Callicarpa americana). And I knew I had to stop for pictures, even though traffic was a bit on the heavy side.
The scene really was amazing, with the sunshine, bright blue sky, autumn foliage, and the myriad of bright purple berries. None of my pictures did justice to the plants at all, perhaps because I was trying to keep the cars and traffic lights out of my shot. But whoever planned this planting really did a good job of clustering the shrubs to make a strong impact.
Planting tip:
Plant beautyberry in full sun or light shade and prune hard in late winter for best berry display. (Zones 6 to 10.)
By Hilda, on August 19th, 2010
It’s not often that I run into a garden plant I can’t identify – at least, I would say that’s true when I’m on my home turf here in the southeastern U.S., though it’s a whole different story if I’m visiting a garden in the tropics or a desert climate. But last fall, I was taking a walk in my neighborhood when I stumbled on a botanical mystery, in the form of the plant you see here in the photo.
I had turned down a little street that I’d never been on before, and just before it ended in a cul-de-sac, bright spots of color caught my eye: intensely pink flowers in a very tall shrub. It was mid-November, camellia season, but this shrub had neither the shape nor texture of a camellia. And, some of the foliage had already turned to brilliant autumn gold, which camellias, being evergreens, just don’t do. At this point, I was pretty sure I’d found a climbing rose that had clambered into a small tree. Since the mysterious plant was in a vacant lot and not in someone’s yard, I walked over to investigate.
Hmmm… it was most definitely not a climbing rose. I didn’t know what it was.
The blooms were about four inches wide, double-petalled, and quite ruffly. They resembled the flowers of rose of Sharon (Hibiscus syriacus), but the foliage ruled out that possibility – it was distinctly maple-shaped, very much like that of an abutilon. (Also known as flowering maple, Abutilon is a genus of tender, woody shrubs that are usually grown in pots outside of the tropics.) But abutilon has nodding, bell-shaped flowers, and these faced forward.
 I plucked a leaf and took it home with me, then spent a long time searching the Internet for a match. Nothing. I grabbed my camera and returned to the site of the mystery, then emailed the photos to a friend, who immediately identified my plant as Hibiscus mutabilis. I typed the Latin binomial into the search field at Google Images and sure enough, that was it. Mystery solved. I learned that Hibiscus mutabilus went by the common name of confederate rose, and that I had discovered the double flowered form known as ‘Flora Plena.’
A Quick Synopsis of Everything I Now Know About Confederate Rose
The species name, mutabilis, is a Latin term that indicates some sort of changeability. I read that the flowers change color as they age; opening nearly white and deepening to bright pink, then turning almost purple as they begin to wither. Botanists say this lets pollinators easily target those flowers that are at their prime and filled with nectar – making the color change an evolutionary adaptation that ensures the plant will set seed and pass along its genes.
 Flowers on the same shrub can range in color from white to pale blush pink to deep pink. Confederate rose is not native to the South, but it’s so well adapted to conditions here – as demonstrated by the fact I’d found it thriving on its own in a vacant lot – that it’s become a passalong plant as people collected seeds or rooted cuttings. Possibly it got its common name because it was planted in Confederate cemeteries. It’s sometimes called cotton rose, because the flower buds resemble cotton bolls (see photo below).
 Confederate rose blooms late into the fall, against a backdrop of autumn foliage.
Confederate rose starts blooming late in the summer and continues to produce flowers until the first hard frost. In zones 9 and 10 it takes the form of a woody shrub or small tree, while where I live in zone 7 it’s more likely to act as an herbaceous perennial, being killed back to the roots in winter. In colder climates, you can grow it as an annual, much as you would with other non-hardy forms of hibiscus, or try to overwinter it indoors in a pot.
If you want to grow this striking plant, you can order seeds from Summer Hill Seeds. I’d suggest starting them indoors in early spring. Cuttings are also said to root easily in a glass of water.
By Hilda, on July 20th, 2010
Some people use the term “plant marriages” to describe winning combinations of flowers that bloom at the same time and complement each other in terms of color or form. The photos below depict another kind of plant combo, one that I always think of as a green tapestry when I see it.
In this composition, there are so many textures and colors all woven together, yet the result is complete harmony. I shot this photo at the home of Atlanta landscape designer Paula Refi — among the plants I can name are a burgundy colored ajuga, strawberry begonia, hosta, aspidistra, Japanese painted fern (silvery foliage), an unidentified variety of green fern, and a tiny variegated shrub that might be boxwood or privet. The mossy stones add yet another pleasing element.
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Autumn ferns and a variety of evergreen shrubs provide contrasting shapes and textures around the base of a Japanese maple. The upright shrub in the right corner is the Japanese plum yew, Cephalotaxus harringtonia ‘Fastigiata’ — an amazingly versatile evergreen that looks good in all seasons. I can identify Fatsia japonica in the very back, behind the tree trunk, and the whorled foliage in the foreground is a hellebore.
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So many shades of green! A soft mound of feathery, silvery artemisia consorts with a bluish-green variety of euphorbia in a sunny border.
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Gold clubmoss (Selaginella kraussiana ‘Aurea’) lights up a shady area and contrasts beautifully with the dark ribbons of black mondo grass (Ophiopogon planiscapus ‘Nigrescens’). I shot this photo in the woodland garden of landscape designer Sandra Jonas.
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Ajuga and strawberry begonia (Saxifraga stolonifera) always play well together — though they both can spread to cover a wide area, they never overpower each other. Here, a fern is happy to make it a threesome.
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This is a beautiful combo for shade. The gold-leafed plant in the forefront is creeping jenny (Lysimachia nummularia ‘Aurea’). In the rear, a variegated hosta mingles with self-sown impatiens. I’d actually prefer to see white impatiens here, to play off the white variegation in the hosta leaves — but for some reason, impatiens only ‘volunteers’ in shades of red and orange.
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By Hilda, on July 18th, 2010
The Wall Street Journal recently ran an article called Midnight in the Garden that explored the topic of moon gardens — that is, gardens designed to be experienced after dark. Luminosity and fragrance are usually the most important elements of such gardens, so they rely heavily on white flowers.
According to the article:
Multicolored flower gardens look muddy in moonlight, but moon gardens glow because of their predominately white flowers and silvery foliage. Some blossoms unfurl only at day’s end—especially moonflowers (Ipomoea alba), a type of morning glory; angel’s trumpets (Brugmansia arborea), so named because the flowers open downward, as if from heaven; and devil’s trumpets (Datura meteloides), so named because they open from the opposite direction. Both are poisonous and emit a perfume that grows more pronounced in heavy evening air. The white flowers, which seem to illuminate the dark, are visible to night pollinators such as the sphinx moth, which is drawn to the scent and the tubular, nectar-filled blooms.
The article’s author, Anne Marie Chaker, also blogged about her own experience creating a moon garden at her own home, and you can read that post online as well, at the WSJ’s Speakeasy Blog.
 Flowers that open at twilight: moonflower (left) is a vine in the morning glory family and angel's trumpet (right) is a woody, tender perennial with a strong fragance
I’m more accustomed to the term “white garden” for a garden designed around white flowers and silvery gray foliage. These have been popular through the ages, with the most famous being the white garden designed by Vita Sackville-West in the 1930s at Sissinghurst Castle, in England.
 Spirea, a deciduous shrub, blooms in late spring The idea of relying on white flowers for gardens and terraces that will be used primarily at night seems a bit old-fashioned to me. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not without its charm. I do love white flowers, but I also tend to be one of those gardeners who wants one of everything that grows, so it would be hard for me to limit my palette this way.
 Left: Dramatic, snowball shaped blooms on Viburnum macrocephalum. Right: The white panicles of oakleaf hydrangea (H. quercifolia) glow in a shady spot.
Let’s say you have a terrace or courtyard that’s the perfect place to relax with an evening glass of wine… or even a picture window that provides a glorious view of your back garden. And, you want to extend your enjoyment of a flower bed or a water feature past sunset. I think the best way to do this is through well planned landscape lighting — and I’m not talking about the security floodlights that come on every time a raccoon walks past the motion sensor!
 Plants with silvery foliage, like this artemisia, are often used to complement white flowers in moon gardens -- but they're also an effective foil to brighter colors and hot hues I did a quick Google search on adding landscape lighting to gardens and quickly found two good newspaper articles. Here’s an excerpt from the Toledo Blade:
There’s an art to lighting the landscape, so deciding what to accent, how to aim the lights, and where to place them is one of the keys to a successful project.
The idea is to cast light on structural and natural features, not make the display all about the light itself. Techniques include uplighting, downlighting, spotlighting, silhouetting, shadowing, and washing. The light should make you see the rough texture of stone on a house, or the spray of water in a fountain, not a line of bulbs marching like little soldiers along a sidewalk or the front of the house.
The Cape Cod Times also makes several good points, including this one:
Most of us don’t spend nearly enough time outdoors for one reason or another. Landscape lighting expands our opportunity. Not just in the summer, but all year long. Lighting enhances our view during the dark months of the year. Imagine being able to see the snow falling outside while you relax with a cup of cocoa. Or the beauty of beds of tulips and daffodils on a cool spring evening. You might even spot wildlife you’re not aware of. Outdoor lighting creates a window on the world, adding to our enjoyment 12 months of the year.
If there are any landscape designers out there, I’d love to have you weigh in — what are the best options for enjoying a garden after sunset? Are white flowers the most important element, or is effective outdoor lighting?
By Hilda, on July 1st, 2010
 image source: Linda N., via Flickr
I always think of the daylily as a harbinger of summer. No matter what the calendar says, when you start seeing those brightly colored blooms in yards around the neighborhood, you know the warm weather is here to stay.
I’ve lived in the Northeast, Midwest, and Southeast, and in all these regions it was common to see “wild” orange daylilies growing untended along roadsides, posing as wildflowers. This is a flower with a tough constitution – few others can tolerate such a wide range of growing conditions: full sun or part shade, sandy or clay soils, slightly dry sites or the sides of a stream bed.
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But daylilies blend in to formal flower borders just as well as they fit into cottage gardens and more naturalistic settings. They’ve been nicknamed “the perfect perennial” because they are such versatile and reliable garden plants. Their strong flower stems never need staking, and the plants aren’t susceptible to any pests or diseases that I know of.
Gardeners of a previous century might have considered the daylily’s greatest flaw to be its limited color range – warm hues ranging from bright lemon yellow to orange-red. But during the past 75 years, new hybrids have been introduced in many new colors and flower forms, as well as a range of heights.
This remarkable diversity comes from the fact that daylilies are very easy to hybridize, even for amateurs and home gardeners. (If you want to try it yourself, you can find a tutorial online at Dave’s Garden.) Because of modern hybridizing efforts, there are now exotic new shapes, including ruffled petals, double forms, and flowers with long, spidery petals. There’s also been an explosion of new colors, from scrumptious pale shades of pale apricot and lavender, to deep hues like maroon and violet, and even bi-colors.
True blue is now the only shade missing from the daylily color spectrum because, like roses, daylilies don’t have the gene that codes for blue pigment. There are also no snowy white daylilies, though you can get close with creamy shades of ivory.
Many years ago, when I was writing an article about daylilies for a glossy magazine, I learned that there’s a secret to tapping into all this daylily diversity. Basically, you have to take the road less traveled. Most commercial garden centers tend to stick with very common varieties of daylilies. If you shop exclusively at those places, you’ll miss out on all the really exciting stuff.
Instead, seek out a specialty nursery or a daylily hybridizer. In the Atlanta Yellow Pages, there’s actually a listing titled “Daylily Farms,” but maybe that’s not the case where you live. Fortunately, the American Hemerocallis Society has an online listing of daylily nurseries, organized by region. Try to go shopping when the flowers are in bloom, so you can see exactly what you’re getting. I’ve done this several times, and it’s always a fun excursion!
Planting Tip:
Daylily Color Schemes
The daylily growers I’ve talked to all have different ideas on how to combine daylily colors in the garden. Here are a few of them, to tickle your imagination:
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Plant like a purist – in huge, sweeping drifts of all one color.
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Plant for contrast – start out with one color, like yellow. Then, for every 5 or 6 yellows, plant one red. You can also do this with pale lavender and deep purple, soft apricot and bright orange, etc.
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Plant for a theme – one grower I talked to said she planted soft pinks and lavenders around a Victorian gazebo, and bright yellow daylilies in a border built around chartreuse hostas and other gold-variegated foliage.
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Plant randomly – I always remember what Steven Stinchcomb, the owner of Turnipseed Nursery Farms, once told me: It’s impossible to clash daylily colors because they all seem to work together.
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About
The Author
Hilda Brucker
 Hilda combines her
love of gardening
and passion for writing
in her blog entries.
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