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Fairy Crown 13 – Ditch Lilies & Serviceberries

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My 13th fairy crown for July 2nd features a plant I did not choose for my garden; rather, it chose me, tawny daylily (Hemerocallis fulva). As well, there are hosta flowers, the red fruit of serviceberry (Amelanchier canadensis) and crimson-red knautia flowers (K. macedonica).

When we moved to our home in the early ‘80s, a new neighbor spied the orange-flowered plants that crept into the back yard under the fence, along with ostrich ferns. As a gardener, I knew they were daylilies, originally from Asia and botanically named Hemerocallis fulva, but as a former west coaster I was unaware of their uniquely northeastern cultural history.

“They used to call these July 12th lilies,” said my neighbor. When I asked why, she said they were symbolic of Ireland’s 1690 Battle of the Boyne and used by Unionists or “Orangemen” as a floral motif to commemorate the victory of Protestant King William over the deposed Catholic King James.  As one Ontario writer noted: “The planting of Orange lilies in front of one’s property, displayed a family’s Protestant/Orange Lodge status, like flags.”  With Catholic ancestors in Northern Ireland but, as a former west coaster, largely ignorant of historic eastern prejudices, I looked askance at the poor, innocent, orange lilies. But it was their territorial ambition in my garden that bothered me, not their association with old sectarian feuding; they are almost impossible to eradicate. I soon learned that this Asian daylily has been called other uncomplimentary names: ditch lily and outhouse lily. Others call it tawny daylily, 4th of July lily, and plain old orange lily. It is ubiquitous throughout North America, often as an escape around farms where 19th century settlers planted it in their gardens.

Unlike the expensive daylilies I actually planted, tawny daylily overran my border, and its tuberous roots are very hard to eliminate.  In one spot, it flowers near the indigo-blue spikes of monkshood (Aconitum napellus).  It is a survivor, so we co-exist now, with occasional skirmishes to keep it from spreading everywhere.

Knautia macedonica, on the other hand, is one of those unassuming little perennials that seemingly disappear on their own, only to pop up in another spot a year later. Despite being short-lived, I know its seedlings will find a few square inches of soil in my pollinator garden each June, crowded as it is with pushy echinacea, sedum, rudbeckia and sage and catmint now fading. 

Knautia’s crimson-pink, pincushion flowers attract bumble bees, honey bees, and small native solitary bees. I love photographing them in public gardens, their leg sacs weighed down with the most amazing magenta pollen.  

Here it is in my pollinator garden with a busy little bicoloured agapostemon (A. virescens). 

My fairy crown also features the sturdy blossoms of the big, lime-green hosta ‘Zounds’. If you’re a hosta collector, you treasure each and every one, the newer and rarer and more colorful the better. But in my garden, hostas can charitably be described as “useful”; they fill in spaces, are low-maintenance, and the bees love them.

That last part is very important to me, yet not fully appreciated by people who design pollinator gardens. And, strangely, many hosta collectors remove the flowers to focus attention on the leaves. 

Simply put, the flowers of most hostas are nectar-rich and well-suited to the tongues of bumble bees, honey bees, and carpenter bees.  Especially popular with bees are the pale purple blossoms of old-fashioned Hosta ‘Albomarginata’….

…. which forms the edging of my patio and features in my deck garden.

When North America was developing its awareness of native plants in the 1980s, the northeast fell in love with serviceberries. Suddenly, the white spring flowers, edible, dark summer fruit and vivid red-orange fall color were in every ecologically-conscious garden, the species chosen determined by region and commercial availability.  For me, that meant planting a pair of shadblow serviceberries (Amelanchier canadensis) in my side yard, where their autumn leaves would complement those of the Asian paperbark maple (Acer griseum) nearby.  Because their location is not in my everyday view, I sometimes forget to check in early summer to see if the fruit has ripened yet. Waiting too long is a mistake….

….. because robins and cardinals adore serviceberries, and will strip the tree when the fruit is still red, long before you can have a taste.  Needless to say, if you want to attract birds to you garden, you cannot go wrong with a serviceberry! 

There are many other hardy North American species of serviceberry, including smooth or Allegheny serviceberry (Amelanchier laevis), downy serviceberry (A. arborea) and saskatoon berry (A.alnifolia var. alnifolia), which has been bred as a fruit crop in mid-central and prairie regions.  I photograph regularly at Montreal Botanical Garden and their Edibles Garden features a number of cultivars of Saskatoon berry, including ‘Honeywood’ and ‘Thiessen’ below.

Finally, I was born in the city of Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, though my parents left for the west coast of Canada when I was an infant. My birth city was named after the native fruit, “misaskatwomin” – and you can read that story in my 2017 blog titled ‘Wanuskewin – Finding Peace of Mind’.

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If you missed any of my fairy crown blogs thus far, you can find them below:
#1 – Spring Awakening
#2 – Little Blossoms for Easter
#3 – The Perfume of Hyacinths 
#4 – Spring Bulb Extravaganza
#5 – A Crabapple Requiem
#6 – Shady Lady
#7 – Columbines & Wild Strawberries on Lake Muskoka
#8 – Lilac, Dogwood & Alliums
#9 – Borrowed Scenery & an Azalea for Mom
#10 – June Blues on Lake Muskoka
#11 – Sage & Catmint for the Bees
#12 – Penstemons & Coreopsis in Muskoka

Spring at Brigham Hill Farm

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One of the best things about travelling for me is visiting gardens.  And one of the best things about having pals who are gardeners is the chance to visit beautiful private gardens at the drop of a hat!  So it was that the day after our spectacular May visit to Garden in the Woods in Framingham, MA (see my 2-part blog beginning here), my dear friend Kim Cutler of Worcester MA and Doug and I found ourselves walking up the stone path in front of the pretty yellow house of Kim’s friends, Shirley and Peter Williams at Brigham Hill Farm in North Grafton, MA.  The oldest part of the house dates from approximately 1795 and the property is on land established by Charles Brigham in 1727. According to the Grafton Land Trust, “Charles Brigham was one of the ‘Forty Proprietors’ who were given the grant to settle Grafton by King George II of England. The farm eventually covered most of Brigham Hill and raised fine dairy cows.”

Though Shirley was entertaining a friend in her lovely screened porch….

…. she cheerfully invited us to tour around the property ourselves.

What a gorgeous spot to enjoy the view to the garden without being bothered by insects or inclement weather!

Since it was mid-May, the late tulips were still looking gorgeous and Shirley had filled vases….

….. and bottles with them from her cutting garden.

Off we went past a towering sugar maple tree and stone wall toward the still-awakening perennial garden.

We passed the old, beautifully-restored 18th century barn on the right and more of the amazing stone walls that characterize Brigham Hill.  The house and barn are part of the parcel of land purchased in 1975 by Shirley and Peter Williams.  In time, Shirley and Peter purchased a large, adjacent piece of land and in 2007 they gifted a conservation restriction on the land to the Grafton Land Trust; its name is the Williams Preserve. But in those early days after their children were raised, the house and barn restored and the stone walls rebuilt, they were ready to begin gardening in earnest, at times seeking the expertise of designer/plantsman Warren Leach of Tranquil Lake Nursery in Rehoboth MA.

There were late daffodils and lots of fragrant lilacs nestled beside the stone walls.

Edible gardens are a big summer focus at Brigham Hill but I had never seen an espaliered apple using the heat of a stone wall to produce fruit.

Rhododendrons looked lovely, too.

Though billowing beds in the perennial garden form the focus in this area later in the season, I was happy to find this rustic, little red cedar pergola with….

….. bleeding hearts and Japanese hakone grass (Hakonechloa macra ‘Aureola’) looking fresh and lovely in a shady planting that also featured…

….. a stunning array of Japanese painted fern (Athyrium niponicum var. pictum) with bloodroot foliage (Sanguinaria canadensis).

I am a great fan of drama in the garden and this Warren Leach-designed dark border at the barn tickled my colour fancy a lot!

The big plants are hardy ‘Grace’ smoke bush (Cotinus hybrid) kept pruned into a columnar shape and tender black cordylines in pots.

At their base were the dark tulip ‘Queen of Night’ and the emerging black leaves of cow parsley (Anthriscus sylvestris ‘Ravenswing’).

Nearby, a cold frame contained an assortment of lush leaf lettuce for spring salads….

… while around the corner were Shirley’s annual seedlings, including varieties of love-in-a-mist (Nigella damascena), statice and amaranth.

Across the way, a shade-dappled woodland on a rocky outcrop beckoned to us. At one time, according to a story by Carol Stocker in the Boston Globe, this was originally “a hill overrun by Japanese knotweed and poison ivy.”  Warren Leach found original granite foundation stones from the 18th century barn and “cellar holes” left as remnants of old colonial settler homes and used them to create the pond, rill, small waterfall and rugged stone steps that makes this feature so magical.

I was enchanted by the reflections of the chartreuse spring tree canopy in the pond.

Large granite pieces form sturdy steps…

…. while water bubbles down between stones.

Velvety moss is a major part of the charm of this garden….

…. but it is also a garden of sedges and woodland plants including greater yellow ladyslipper (Cypripedium parviflorum var. pubescens)….

…. which is such an iconic native orchid for the northeast….

… and Jacob’s ladder (Polemonium caeruleum)…

…. and crested iris (I. cristata).

This was a pretty combination of Virginia bluebells (Mertensia virginica) with yellow wood poppies (Stylophorum diphyllum) and ostrich ferns (Matteucia struthiopteris).

Rhododendrons were flowering with the ferns in the woodland, too, and….

…. at the very edge, tulips grew in a carpet of Virginia bluebells.

Back out in the open, late-season tulips were still looking good in Shirley’s raised cutting bed.  What a luxury, to have armfuls of tulips for vases!

Next up was the chicken coop with its succulent green-roof planted with sempervivums or (haha) “hens-and-chicks” – a nice pad for the resident hens.

Strawberry plants were flowering behind critter-proof protective mesh.

Caned berry bushes have their own enclosure.

The back of the house with its dining terrace features more stone walls, their geometric lines echoed in the clipped hedges. Later, colourful perennials will emerge in the beds here. Those stone steps lead into the walled vegetable garden, still unplanted.

If you visit a garden in May, you see spring things, but I did regret not being able to see the large, raised-bed vegetable parterre behind the stone wall in summer.

Trees, both in the native forest on the property and cultivated in the garden, are a focus at Brigham Hill Farm.  This featherleaf Japanese maple is a good example, as are…

…. the trees in the “arboretum”, including native flowering dogwood (Cornus florida)…

…. which looked resplendent against the blue May sky.  

We circled around to the front of the house and met Shirley’s guest, Kathleen Ladd, departing with a giant bouquet of freshly-cut lilacs and tulips, a lovely gesture from a gardener who also shares the expansive beauty of Brigham Hill Farm with many charities and groups for fundraising events

Kathleen Ladd with bouquet of lilacs and tulips from Shirley Williams's garden.

At the gate, we said farewell to my friend, gardener and well-known potter Kim Cutler (left), and to Shirley Williams, thanking her for her generosity in sharing her garden with us, strangers from Canada!  It was a highlight of our spring road trip.  (Stay tuned for Chanticleer!)

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Want to see some of the other inspiring private gardens I’ve photographed?
Here is Katerina Georgi’s garden in Greece 
This is tequila expert Lucinda Hutson’s fabulous garden in Austin, TX
The spectacular Denver CO garden of Rob Proctor & David Macke
The Giant’s House in Akaroa NZ – a mosaic masterpiece
Architect & art collector Sir Miles Warren’s garden Ohinetahi in NZ
Garden designer Barbara Katz’s gorgeous garden in Bethesda, MD
My friend and plantswoman Marnie Wright’s garden in Bracebridge ON  

Fairy Crown #9 – Borrowed Scenery & an Azalea for Mom

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My crown for June 5th was simple and a little bride-like – or so my friends told me. It consists of two flowers only:  palest-pink beautybush (Kolkwitzia amabilis) and azalea ‘White Cascade’ (Rhododendron hybrid).

The Japanese have a special word for the view in the distance, the landscape framed by your property, the elements that exist outside your own space: they call it shakkei.  For most of us, our borrowed scenery is not a distant mountain range or a bucolic meadow rolling to the ocean, but the plants and trees growing in properties adjacent to our own gardens.

My shakkei is a pair of large beautybushes (Kolkwizia amabilis) belonging to my neighbour Claudette that cascade over my own fence and dominate the view along my side garden path, sometimes in late May but usually in early-mid June.

I thought Claudette — my neighbour for 39 years and a former French teacher — should be photographed for this blog with one of the progeny of her original shrub, and she kindly obliged.  Merci beaucoups, madame.

Beautybush is often called ‘old-fashioned’ but I rarely see it in residential gardens, or botanical gardens, for that matter, which is a shame because it is a majestic shrub in bloom. A member of the honeysuckle family and a cousin to weigela, it typically grows to 10 feet tall (3 m) with a vase-shaped, arching habit that you can see in my photos. Here it is in my friend Rob Proctor’s fabulous garden in Denver, which I blogged about a few years ago.

I love the story of the 1901 discovery of Kolkwitzia amabilis by legendary plant explorer Ernest ‘Chinese’ Wilson (1876-1930) while collecting in the mountains of Hubei, China for Veitch’s Nursery of England. The shrub was about 5 feet tall and out of bloom, though he recorded in his notes that it had spinose fruits. He collected seeds which Veitch’s grew on until, six years later, small plants labeled as “Abelia” were sent to Boston’s Arnold Arboretum where Wilson had been employed. Finally, in June 1915 the shrubs flowered for the first time. According to a story in Arnoldia, the Arboretum’s newsletter, “Their early-summer displays of pink blossoms, profusely borne on arching branches, so impressed Wilson and others that it was christened beautybush.”

Photo courtesy of Arnold Arboretum – Copyright President & Fellows of Harvard College-Arnold Arboretum Archives.

Seeing it in Claudette’s garden in full flower with swallowtail butterflies…

…..and bumble bees competing to forage in the pale-pink blossoms flecked with amber nectar guides, I cannot help agreeing with its discoverer.

Here’s a little video I made of insects enjoying the flowers:

And though I wouldn’t consider it a prime candidate for floral design, here’s a very tiny bouquet that shows the inner markings of the corolla.

Much of my love of gardening came from watching my mother tend her garden in the suburbs of Vancouver, British Columbia in Canada’s mild ‘banana belt’. She grew camellias, magnolias, flowering cherries and a collection of brilliantly-colored Japanese azaleas – and I was her willing student.  Though I garden in a much colder climate, in her honor I planted the ultra-hardy ‘Cascade’ azaleas (Rhododendron ‘Cascade’) beneath my sundeck.  It is the sole survivor of many rhododendrons I planted over the decades, most of which eventually succumbed to imperfect conditions or summer drought. But ‘Cascade’ kept ticking along, and is an important color component of this little white-and-green-hued area, along with old-fashioned, white-edged Hosta undulata var. albo-marginata.    

Here it is with my romping Siberian bugloss (Brunnera macrophylla) peeking through the flowers.

The fairy crowns are coming fast and furious now – it’s a job trying to keep up! Want to see more from earlier this season?
#1 – Spring Awakening
#2 – Little Blossoms for Easter
#3 – The Perfume of Hyacinths 
#4 – Spring Bulb Extravaganza
#5 – A Crabapple Requiem
#6 – Shady Lady
#7 – Columbines & Wild Strawberries on Lake Muskoka
#8 – Lilac, Dogwood & Alliums

Fairy Crown #8 – Lilac, Dogwood & Alliums

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My crown for May 31st wafted its fragrance around my head and made me wish I could bottle its sweet perfume.  That would be the scent of the Meyer lilac (Syringa pubescens ‘Palibin’) that I planted in my fragrance garden long ago. The white flowers are from my big alternate-leaved dogwood (Cornus alternifolia), an Ontario native shrub. And the fluffy spheres are an ornamental onion, Allium hollandicum ‘Purple Sensation’.

Much of the joy of lilac time is that it only lasts a week or so – if you just grown one type – so I’ve learned to savour that scent on the air or in a vase on my kitchen table, along with dame’s rocket (Hesperis matronalis).

Unlike the towering common lilac (Syringa vulgaris) which, if left unpruned, grows so tall that it flowers out of nose range, my Palibin dwarf lilac is just the right height to sniff at 5-6 feet (1.5-1.8 m) and a little wider. Some people grow it as a tightly-clipped hedge, but I prefer to let it have its natural shape.

True, it has a light scent, not the old-fashioned perfume of the Hyacinthiflora hybrids or common lilac, but it is nonetheless an ultra-hardy and low-maintenance fixture in my fragrance garden, and swallowtail butterflies enjoy nectaring on the tiny florets.

Its ancestor was found as a cultivated plant grafted on privet roots near Beijing, China in 1908 by Frank Meyer, who brought it to the U.S. It was named in his honour, Syringa meyeri, before being reclassified as Syringa pubescens subsp. pubescens ‘Palibin’. (Despite the fact that it was never found in Korea, it is often confused in the trade with the Korean lilac species, S. patula and its cultivar ‘Miss Kim’, as well as littleleaf lilac, S. microphylla.)   

No such taxonomic confusion surrounds one of my favourite garden plants, the alternate-leafed dogwood (Cornus alternifolia). Native to a large swath of northeast North America, it is sometimes called pagoda dogwood for its layered branching.  It occupies a corner of my garden that sits just a few inches lower than the rest of the back yard, and appreciates the extra moisture there.  It is approximately 18 feet (5.5 m) tall and almost as wide.

It derives its Latin and common names from the fact that, unlike other dogwoods, the leaves are arranged alternately, rather than opposite. Some people refer to it as “pagoda dogwood” for its layered branching.

When it blooms in late May or early June, it is completely covered with creamy-white clusters of tiny flowers that attract native bees. I now have a few offspring of my original shrub seeded throughout my garden, which fills me with joy. And this morning I noticed the familiar flowers reaching over the fence from my next-door neighbours’ yard. I’m not sure they’ll know it was a gift from me, but it seems that my dogwood is intent on taking back native habitat from boring back yards! Hurrah!

In late summer, birds and squirrels make quick work of the blue fruit clusters….

….. and in October, the foliage turns a lovely rose suffused with gold.

Then there are the alliums, or ornamental onions. When I first planted Allium hollandicum ‘Purple Sensation’ a few decades ago, I didn’t expect that it would be quite so exuberantly happy in my garden. Translated, that means it seeds itself around vigorously, especially in spots that dry out in summertime. 

The good news:  the bees love the violet-purple globes on 3-foot (90 cm) stems; the bad news:  the plants look seriously ugly as the leaves turn yellow.

Rather than let them grow in a thicket, like I do in places, the best approach is to intersperse them among herbaceous plants, such as Solomon’s seal (Polygonatum biflorum), below, with old fashioned dame’s rocket (Hesperis matronalis). The latter is a biennial that took decades to creep under the fence from my next-door neighbor’s garden. It is native to Eurasia and considered an invasive in some parts of North America where early settlers brought it to grow in their gardens. Driving home from New Jersey last week, I saw it growing in drifts along the side of the highway in Pennsylvania and upstate New York.

Perhaps no other weed has as many common names:  dame’s rocket, damask-violet, dame’s-violet, dames-wort, dame’s gilliflower, night-scented gilliflower, queen’s gilliflower, rogue’s gilliflower, summer lilac, sweet rocket, mother-of-the-evening, Good & Plenties, and winter gillyflower (Wiki).  As for its Latin name, Hesperis comes from the Greek word hespera, meaning evening, referring to the plant’s nocturnal fragrance.

In my front garden, Allium ‘Purple Sensation’ pops up, along with the hybrid Allium ‘Globemaster’, amidst the emerging foliage of grasses and summer perennials.   Dramatic purple exclamation points in a sea of green, they offer a charming interlude in this quiet, green period between the last spring bulbs and the sages and catmint of June.

And then there’s an unassuming little native perennial that most of my neighbours would consider a weed. Virginia waterleaf (Hydrophyllum virginianum) grows in shady spots in my garden and, unlike the European weeds that like to colonize every square inch of freshly-dug soil, it picks its spots carefully. Its name comes from the white patterns that adorn the foliage of many, but not all, plants.  When its tubular, white flowers bloom above the lobed leaves in late May, they are very popular with bumble bees and other native bees.

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Want to see more of my Fairy Crowns?
#1 – Spring Awakening
#2 – Little Blossoms for Easter
#3 – The Perfume of Hyacinths
#4 – Spring Bulb Extravaganza
#5 – A Crabapple Requiem
#6 – Shady Lady
#7 – Columbines & Wild Strawberries on Lake Muskoka

Fairy Crown #6 – Shady Lady

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If my fairy crown for May 24th makes me look like a shady lady, blame it on the woodland plants now emerging under deciduous trees freshly leafed-out in my garden.  Most prominent in my crown is lily-of-the-valley (Convallaria majalis), which I have nicknamed “guerilla of the valley” for its invasive nature. Native Solomon’s seal (Polygonatum biflorum) with its pendant, green-tipped, white flowers is visible over my right eye. The fuzzy white flowers are fothergilla, from the shrubs in my front pollinator garden. The lavender-blue flowers are Camassia leichtlinii ‘Caerulea’, and since the fragrant snowball viburnum (V. x carlcephalum) was still perfuming the air, I added one of those, too.

Most prominent of my woodlanders is native Solomon’s seal (Polygonatum biflorum). I love this plant – for its tall, elegant stems that always arch in the same direction, its pendant, pearl-drop flowers, its brilliant, gold autumn color and its absolute ease of care.

Each year, my drifts get a little bigger but it is easy to pull out by the roots if it meanders too far down a border. It thrives in a partly shaded location in my side yard garden where, along with other woodlanders, it flanks the winding entrance path under my massive black walnut tree and is a joy from spring to fall.

Alas, the same cannot be said of my lily-of-the-valley (Convallaria majalis).  I suspect many gardeners have come to regret the day they bought a certain plant or ignored one already growing in their gardens. Since we’ve lived in our house for almost 40 years and there was not much here in the way of gardens when we bought it, I suspect it was hiding under overgrown shrubs along the property line. So when I began to dig out new beds and borders, enriching the soil with amendments and adding a big roster of desirable perennials, the lily-of-the-valley began its territorial march. So stealthy was this invasion and so quickly did it change the dynamic of my garden that I renamed it ‘guerilla-of-the-valley’.  You can see it as a green carpet under the bulbs in this photo of my grandson tiptoeing through the tulips.

Not everyone has this problem; indeed many friends find it difficult to grow and would love a few pips; some garden writers even call it a “useful groundcover”. To that, I point to their dense, mat-like roots so tough to dig out and mutter Caveat emptor. 

Nevertheless, the fragrance from my front garden in mid-May is enchanting and I always enjoy cutting the stems for little bouquets, either on their own or combined with other flowers in bloom now, including the fragrant viburnums, blue camassia, common grape hyacinth and small daffodils, including amazing, long-lasting ‘Golden Echo’, below.

I once even created a perfumed lily-of-the-valley hat for a garden party, and gave the how-to instructions in this blog!

In my front yard pollinator garden, the fothergilla shrubs (F. ‘Mount Airy’) come into flower now with their scented, cream-white, bottlebrush inflorescences.  Depending on the amount of summer sunshine and rain or irrigation my garden receives (and fothergilla does prefer adequately moist soil), the leathery leaves take on vivid fall colours of yellow, gold, apricot, scarlet and purple.

I love white and blue combinations in the garden and this fothergilla-camassia duo is delightful.

Camassia leichtlinii ‘Caerulea’ is such a lovely spring bulb, a cultivar of Pacific Northwest native Leichtlin’s camas or ‘quamash’ that is surprisingly hardy in the east.  My camassia clumps expand each year, as they do in the camas prairies of British Columbia, Washington and Idaho where their edible roots which were a food staple for native peoples. The gorgeous blue flowers offer nectar to queen bumble bees, below, and honey bees provisioning their nests; they also make beautiful cut flowers. 

Camassia has a place in my lily pond garden in the back yard as well.

Like tulips and daffodils, camassia foliage should be allowed to turn yellow to feed the underground bulb. If camassia has a fault, it’s that the blooms last such a short time, but for me, a brief, utterly memorable scene is better than one that lasts so long that you stop noticing it. Here’s a little musical video tribute.

Along with the camassia, the weeks-long parade of tulips culminates now with the Single Late tulips featuring elegant flowers on tall stems.

Among my many favorites are purple-black ‘Queen of Night’….

….rose-pink ‘Menton’…..

….and orange-scarlet ‘El Nino’…..

… with its cyclone swirls of salmon, orange, yellow and pink.

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Want to see more of my Fairy Crowns? 
#1 – Spring Awakening
#2 – Little Blossoms for Easter
#3 – The Perfume of Hyacinths 
#4 – Spring Bulb Extravaganza
#5 – A Crabapple Requiem