A Connoisseur's Garden in Spring
by Dr. Frank Greer

ARTICLE FIRST APPEARED: 2000 Spring

TWG Editor: Following on the heels of Becke Davis' springtime article, I include Frank Greer's monthly garden "diary" from Spring, 1999. Why? So that you, like me, will realize how deprived we are of plants (never enough!) and how depraved Frank has become (Frank: leave some for the rest of us, willya please?).

Spring began on February 14, after all. As in the previous winter of El Nino (1998), there was only six weeks of real winter, as fall lasted until the end of December. There was no problem planting 1,500 bulbs. By the way, did you know that 50% of all bulbs purchased by the public are never planted? Good Lord, how could this possibly be? But on this warm, sunny, February Sunday, I busied myself cutting away the blackened foliage of the epimedium borders, and did not dwell on the thoughts of million of last year's bulbs shriveling up in people's garages.

Clumps of snowdrops [Galanthus nivalis] were everywhere, erupting in full bloom from the brown carpet of oak leaves. I was a little disappointed that the bulbs of G. nivalis ÔAtkinsii' that I had smuggled back from England last summer didn't look like anything out of the ordinary. Could I have gotten the wrong bulbs? That would serve me right.

By the way, The New Plantsman had a great article on snowdrops in the March Ô99 issue. They are considered native to Brittany, and the first reference to them in English gardens was in 1664. Ever wonder why after you plant them, they take forever to form decent size clumps and then all of a sudden, you have more snowdrops than you know what to do with? (Dream on, this never really happens.) The bulb unit numbers increase in a Fibonacci sequence: 1-2-3-5-8-13-21, where each number is the sum of the previous two. If you plant a bulb containing one bulb unit, in the next year it will still be a single bulb but will contain two bulb units. In the next season there will be two bulbs (one with two bulb units and one with one) followed next year by three bulbs and five bulb units, then 5 bulbs and 8 bulb units, and so on. Both bulb number and bulb unit numbers increase in the Fibonacci manner, which leads rapidly (ha!) to the formation of dense clumps which need to be split regularly and replanted to ensure that a high proportion of the bulbs are large enough to flower. Rather uniquely, these bulbs are most successfully divided "in the green"; that is, immediately after flowering is complete.

By mid-afternoon the first crocus of the season had opened --Crocus ÔBowles White'. This is always the first crocus to bloom in the garden, and it is especially attractive with its white petals, orange throat, and red stigma. It is a variant of Crocus siberi of the White Mountains of Crete and originated in the garden of E.A. Bowles in 1923. Bowles' famous garden at Myddleton House north of London was a horticultural mecca, for "anyone who was anyone" made the journey to see "Gussie's" garden before World War II. Edward August Bowle's crocus always brings to mind Prince Charles. Bowle's grandnephew is the present Brigadier General Andrew Bowles, father of Camilla Parker Bowles, mistress of the Prince of Wales. E.A. Bowles' famous trilogy of books (My Garden in Autumn, My Garden in Spring, My Garden in Summer) has now been republished by Timber Press.

By the 23rd of February, my fourth and final pack of seeds had arrived in the mail. I participated in four seed exchanges this year--the North American Rock Garden Society, the Royal Horticultural Society at Wisley, the Hardy Plant Society of England, and the Hardy Plant Society Middle Atlantic Group. I don't know what I was thinking last fall, as I was inundated with seeds--90 packets in all, and all more or less free (that's the problem--greed!). There were over 20 new primulas, 18 penstemons (one of these for a woodland garden!), 10 digitalis, 8 aquilegias, 3 thalictrums, two packets of Podophyllum hexandrum (Himalyan mayapple), and many more. These were sowed outdoors in pots within the week, and as of this writing nearly all of the pots have germinated. No, I didn't sow all 90 packets. Heaven forbid, how can one gardener prick out and divide but a few plants from each pot? Why does every pot have to germinate, when the Great Garden Spirit knows full well that at best there are only enough spots in the garden for a few new seedlings?

On February 28, the snow was falling once again. The snowdrops had made little overall progress and Crocus ÔBowles White' was tightly shut. I discovered that the excellent aim of male dogs walking down the front sidewalk have played havoc with several specimens of Picea glauca ÔJean's Dilly' over the winter.

However, on a brighter note, the large bulges in the pine straw mulch indicate where Adonis amurensis would soon appear. Hooray! By March 15, Adonis had emerged on a sunny day in all of its glory--huge clusters of three inch, bright yellow, semi-double, composite flowers. Even my wife was impressed enough to say, "Why don't you grow more of those?". I took this as a divine sign and that very night completed the order for ten more plants from Kurt Bluemel Nursery (Baldwin, MD).

Incidentally, there is a wonderful article on this plant written by John and Janet Gyer in the Winter 99 issue of the Rock Garden Quarterly. They confirm that the largest known patch of Adonis amurensis is on the March Bank at Winterthur, near Wilmington, DE. Native to Siberia, northeastern China, Korea, and Japan, it naturalizes well in the North American woodland garden.

The cultivar at Winterthur is ÔFukujukai' from Japan, and the large masses grew from single plants planted by Henry Francis duPont in 1909. From the size of the great round circles there, it's been calculated that it spreads at a rate of 1.7" a year. This is the cultivar most commonly available, and it sets no seed (the plant is sterile). Since they are sterile, the flowers last longer than other cultivars, a point obviously appreciated by Japanese gardeners. By the way, the Gyer's state that it is great planted with Begonia grandis (hardy begonia), as one goes dormant just as the other begins to come to life.

On the ides of March, I note also that the wood poppy (Stylophorum diphyllum) was beginning to emerge along with the seedlings of Impatiens balfouri (the earliest seed to germinate in my woodland garden). The so-called giant snowdrop, Galanthus elwesii, stood out. A few days later, the reticulated Iris danfordiae opened its jaunty bright yellow flowers. It may be my imagination, but this species seems to persist better in the garden than other reticulated ones (perhaps it's just because I plant some every year). The flowers of Scilla tubergeniana (no common name, and more correctly known as S. mischtschenkoana, but what mere mortal can pronounce that?) are beginning to emerge. I discovered the pale blue flowers (larger than most Scilla) of this bulb in the gardens of the Delaware Valley a number of years ago. The way the flowers open as they erupt from the ground and the way the racemes of flowers reach over 6 inches in height before the first leaves appear, gives it a very long bloom time for a spring bulb.

On March 27, as the first yellow flowers of winter aconite [Eranthis hyemalis] open, I filled the pond as I was entertaining a Downy woodpecker snapping at a blue admiral butterfly. Within the week the snowdrops were all but gone and the various forms of Iris reticulata and Chionodoxa were spectacular. The large pots stuffed last fall with ÔKing Alfred' daffodils were now at their peak and generated "wows!" from garden visitors. The small pink flowers of Scilla bifolia ÔRosea' on the edges of a stone path were new this year and were very diminutive compared to the large flowers of Chionodoxa ÔPink Giant', which are definitely to be preferred.

On the 5th of April, the gorgeous deep-reddish salmon flowers of Corydalis solida ÔGeorge Baker' opened for the first time, and were well worth the anticipation as well as the price. Next fall I will have to order one of the beautiful pink forms described in the Potter & Martin catalogue (English bulb firm on the Internet). Both of these outclass the dull purple flowers of the ordinary C. solida.

And so the spring bulb show continued with a parade of daffodils and tulips lasting until the fourth week of May. A number of bulbs continue to surprise me with their persistence and improvement in flowering with age. Several years ago I planted 50 bulbs of Ipheion uniflorum ÔWisley Blue' from South America. Hardy only to Zone 6, I guess I wasn't too surprised when the following spring there wasn't a single flower. However, this spring a half dozen of these late blooming, violet-blue flowers appeared, causing me to consult my notebooks to see what they could possibly be.

Similarly, Leucojum aestivum (misnamed the "summer" snow flake) planted ten years ago has gradually produced decent size clumps that reliably bloom year after year. Another surprise was Ornithogalum nutans (silver bells) first planted four years ago and reaching a floral peak this spring with hundreds of racemes holding up to 10 translucent, white, broadly striped green flowers. And finally, about five years ago I planted five large bulbs (ex-PEN-sive) of Fritillaria persica. These bloomed magnificently with the deepest of purple black flowers the first year. But the next year, only a couple of 3" stalks appeared from the remnant of a single bulb. For some reason, these weren't sacrificed to the God of Compost, but left in place to produce 2-3' magnificent flowers this spring after a four-year wait.

My first spring order arrived on April 5--the first of fifteen or so orders. This one was special, however, as it was three plants of Delphinium tricorne ÔAlba' from Gene Bush (Munchkin Nursery, DePauw, IN). I have been trying for several years to find more about this woodland species. I first saw the deep blue flowers of the spring larkspur, en masse, in the wildflower garden at Cheekwood, the botanical garden of Nashville, TN. Planted with a low-growing golden ragwort, the combination was a knockout. A month later I found three plants for sale at Craig Bergmann's Country Garden in Winthrop Harbor, IL, and now these plants are 18-24" tall and have been in bloom much of the month of May. A dozen self-sown seedlings have appeared, though a couple of Wisconsin Hardy Plant Society members have had no luck germinating the seed.

As it turns out, Ôalba' is more dirty blue than white, and Gene e-mails me that this persistent plant also occurs in a pink form (eat your heart out!). He says it self-sows best in a mulch of chopped leaves. I've now seen this plant for sale at The Flower Factory, and I definitely think it's one that more of us need to grow and promote.

There have been some "woody" highlights in my spring garden. An Enkianthus companulatus, purchased in 1992, bloomed for the first time with a half-dozen clusters of creamy yellow-pale orange bells. Though the plant has an amazing range of fall color (yellows, oranges, reds), I must say the long-awaited flowers gave me much satisfaction.

The eleven-year-old climbing Hydrangea petiolaris (Chinese climbing hydrangea) is about to bloom for the third season and has dozens of flowers spread out along its 30-foot-high vines reaching for the top of an oak tree. Did you know the huge panicles of flowers are mildly fragrant? Even the Schizophragma hydrangeoides (Japanese climbing hydrangea), which is only three years old, has a few flowers and seems to be growing much faster than H. petiolaris at the same age.

Likewise, I am pleased to report that Stewartia pseudocamellia is covered with flower buds as of late May. Last year, this ornamental bloomed for the first time after a five-year wait, and each of the two flowers lasted only a single day! Hopefully, I will be able to savor its gorgeous, large white flowers with gold stamens a while longer come June.

The "woody event" of the spring was obtaining a 4 foot specimen of Acer shirasawanum ÔAureum', the Japanese full moon yellow maple, from Peter Moersch at Stonewall Nursery (on Highway 14 near The Flower Factory). Many years ago I read about this maple and was impressed by its relative hardiness and how its ideal site was a shade garden, as in these conditions it retains a lovely chartreuse color all summer. Having obtained a 20" plant two years ago (they are difficult to propagate and very slow growing), I have been dreaming of a much larger specimen plopped in front of the yews in the back corner of the garden. Now I no longer have to dream about its luminescent leaves, perfectly backed by the contrasting deep green color of the yews, lighting up a dark corner of the garden all summer long. Such is the pleasure of instant gratification.

Dr. Frank Greer is president of the Wisconsin Hardy Plant Society, which (according to Frank) is "for people with broad interests rather than those who are nuts over just one genus." In his spare time, Dr. Greer is a professor of pediatric medicine. He lives in Madison, WI, and can be reached at (608) 233-4686.

You can join the Wisconsin Hardy Plant Society for $8 (a bargain) by writing to: Richard Bloomquist, 5743 Wilshire Drive, Madison, WI 53711. Then you'll be able to read Frank's wonderful articles more often.

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