Okra

The other day, my DC students and I were suffering the recent cold snap of weather, touring gardens around the mall, in search of some notable fall plants.  We found this at a community garden nearby.  At first glance, the leaves (and most of all the flowers) indicate the plant is in the Malvaceae (hibiscus) family, and luckily one of my students instantly recognized this as okra, or Abelmoschus esculentus.

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Below, you can look inside the flower and see why it's so clearly a hibiscus type plant -- the sexual parts of the flower are arranged in along a staminal column - a tall sheath encloses the stems of the pistil, which emerge at the top of the column (the velvety black parts below).  Along the column, stamens and anthers extend, perpendicular to the length of the column. 

At the bottom left on both photos you can see the remaining seed pod after flowering is complete.  The pod is the actual okra forming.  Okra is distinctive by its octagonal cross section.  It's common in southern US food as well as in recipes in the middle east and southeast Asia.  Most of the recipes include stir frying or flash cooking the whole pods.  If they are slow cooked, they become a bit slimy, as the skin that breaks down in heat is mucilaginous. Slicing the pods is common in cajun food like gumbo, and in this case, any broken down 'goo' is cooked off in the soupy mix. 

Depending on the cultivars, some okras are hardy in this zone.  Typically however they are annual.

When you reach the edge of Kenilworth Aquatic Gardens, there is a long boardwalk that leads you to the Anacostia River.  It's a lovely view with very little to indicate you are within a major city.  The semi-wet soil in which the pink perennial below is growing is a typical habitat for Vernonia noveboracensis or New York Ironweed.

New York ironweed is a native to the northeast and though it's regularly found on the edges of streams, it can also fare well in drought or heavy soils.   It can easily reach heights of 6-8' and works great with other late summer flowers like sunflowers and goldenrod.

Finally, the deep magenta blossoms (like all flowers in the Asteraceae family, the flowers are composites with disc and ray florets), add a powerful pop to an otherwise dull late summer garden.

Amsonia hubrichtii

Recently, I was recommending Amsonia hubrichtii or threadleaf bluestar, for a job site in Bethesda.  While sharing photos of the plant with the client and architect, I added, "Amsonia also is the 2011 'Perennial Plant of the Year' -- it's like the Oscars for plants." And while I was being a little flip, it's true.

I think the masses of Amsonia used here (with occasional pops of bluestem and aster) is a lovely application of the plant.  As wind brushes by the hillside, they all lazily sway in the breeze.  In the spring, when the light blue star shaped flowers appear, it's no doubt lovely, tough I think it must look best in the fall, when the plant turns a honey, straw color.

 

Amsonia is native to North America, from points east of Missouri within the zone range of 4-9. 

Joe Pye Weed

This is one of my favorite North American wildflowers -- Eutrochium purpureum (formerly Eupatorium), commonly known as Joe Pye Weed.  Eutrochium is a tall (6-7') summer flowering perennial, typically with pink flowers as seen below.  Part of the reason that this plant is now Eutrochium and not Eupatorium is because the former has whorled leaves (indeed, trocho is Greek for wheel-like, thus whorled) and the latter has opposite leaves. Both genera remain in the Asteraceae family.

Below, a white flowering variety, less common than the purplish pink flowers.  One way to distinguish E. purpureum from E. maculatum (these plants are often confused) is the presence of pink spots along the entire stem of E. maculatum, as opposed to the clear green or purple stems on E. purpureum.

Joe Pye weed is a pretty terrific common name, too.  It's named for a Native American who was known by colonists as Joe Pye.  As legend goes, he used the roots of this plant to aid a colonist who was ill with typhus.  The plant induced sweating which broke his fever. The plant was also used by Native Americans as an ailment to "breakbone fever" (which is now known as dengue fever), thus another common name of boneset (though boneset is usually considered the common name for Eutrochium perfoliatum, a close relative). 

You need a fair amount of real estate to use this plant, as large as it gets.  But if you have the space, it's a great addition as it provides habitat to bees, butterflies and birds.

Scutellaria resinosa

Last Tuesday I was giving my students a tour through Bartholdi Park and was a bit stumped by this plant.  The square stems and the bilaterally symmetrical flowers are good clues it is in the mint (or Lamiaceae) family, but what genus?

 

Luckily, I was able to email someone at the USBG and send them the shot.  A few hours later I got the answer -- Scutellaria resinosa or prairie skullcap.  Scutellaria means saucer or shield shaped and refers to the larger lower petals of the flowers.  These lower petals are designed to aid in seed dispersal, particularly during rain.  When petals are struck by rain drops, they catapult seeds off the plant. This makes beautiful sense for a plant that is native to dry prairie grasslands: the seeds only leave the plant when it rains, which is when they have the greatest chance of germinating.

There are differing explanations for the name skullcap -- some say the white markings on the petals resemble a skull (seems like a stretch to me); the other explanation attributes the saucer shape of the petals as looking like the bone we call the skullcap.

Iberis sempervirens

Iberis sempervirens, or candytuft, is quickly becoming a plant I immediately identify with Capitol Hill gardens.  Many of the postage stamp sized front gardens in that area are elevated, with a three or four foot retaining wall meeting the sidewalk.  And in many of those gardens, Iberis tumbles over the edge of the wall. 

Iberis as you may guess is named such because it's from the Iberian peninsula and in other areas of southern Europe.  It is best suited for dry, rocky soils and will not handle any saturated conditions -- it will immediately start to die off.  It blooms for several weeks, up to three or four -- which is longer than many other spring perennials.  And of course, it has this brilliantly clear white blossom.  When the sun hits it, it's hard to focus on the individual petals, the reflected light is so bright.

Salvia nemerosa

This is yet another plant I irrationally love.  When I walk by Salvia nemerosa or woodland sage, I can't resist taking a leaf and smelling it.  Like all species in the Salvia genus, the leaves are very aromatic, though cooking sage (Salvia officinalis) has much more aromatic and glaucous (gray) leaves.

That said, I love the somewhat acrid, medicinal smell of these leaves.  It smells sort of like a perm (for those of you who remember perms!).  I'm sure that my good association with this plant must go back to my high school days of working at a plant nursery.  I imagine that there was probably a day where I found out that the guy I liked liked me back and I happened to be at work deadheading salvias when I found out.  Something like that.  There has to be some primal scent connection for me to like this plant so much!

Salvia nemerosa is a popular perennial and if you do cut back the old flowers it can rebloom.  It's a clump forming plant but doesn't really take over an area the way Nepeta can.  They are related -- generally any plants with highly aromatic foliage are in the Lamiaceae or mint family.  Other characteristics in this family include bilaterally symmetrical flowers that appear in whorls around a spike and many members of this family have square stems.

It's hard to mention Salvia these days without addressing the stylish new drug - Salvia divinorum.  They are members of the same genus, but woodland sage won't give you the same psychedelic experience as Salvia divinorum.

Shooting Star

Here's another spring perennial from the Mary Livingston Ripley Garden in DC.  Seriously, if you need some inspiration for spring perennials, take a walk through these lovely gardens.   This plant is Dodecatheon meadia or shooting star.  Its basal rosette of leaves (leaves which have some relief to them) and elongated stems on which the flowers sit (those stems are called peduncles) are typical characteristics to the primrose family (Primulaceae), to which this plant belongs.

It's a gorgeous plant and native to boot.  It's found in the eastern United States from Georgia to Michigan.  It's typically found in wooded shady locations and prefers moist soils.  It has a high tolerance to alkaline soils as well.  It aestivates by mid-summer (i.e., it loses its leaves and goes dormant) but spreads easily and can be divided without trouble.  It is endangered in some states, primarily due to overcollection.

The common name, shooting star, is pretty obvious.  But Dodecatheon -- that's a bit more obscure.  Evidently, a similar primrose was christened with this name by Pliny the Elder himself (one of the first botanists).  He named it because he believed this plant was under watch by gods, twelve of them in fact.  In Greek, dodeca means twelve and theos means God.

Brunnera macrophylla

My regular students know that generally I'm not a fan of variegated plants, but occasionally I make an exception or two.  Cornus alba is one, as is Polygonatum odoratum.  It seems that variegated plants bother me less in the shade.  I suppose in those instances, the white foliage brightens up an otherwise dark space. 

Brunnera macrophylla just barely fits in that category for me.  I don't mind the almost silvery foliage on the rough, scratchy leaves.  Though I suspect I'd like it more if it was a solid green. Brunnera is a tough plant, I've seen it do well being ignored in New York.  This leads me to a sidenote: Now that I am teaching in DC and NY, I find myself telling the DC students a plant is tough based on my observations of seeing it in a harsh NY environment like a blighted park or a poorly maintained planter.  I hit a new low of cheesiness: I told my students, 'If Brunnera can make it in New York, it can make it anywhere.'  Yea, it was embarassing.

Anyway, there's a great common name story with this plant.  Though most people call it Brunnera another common name for it is bugloss.  Naturally you'd think the name refers in some ways to bug.  But no, instead it is derivative of the Greek words bous and glossa, which means "cow's tongue."  This is referring to the mottled tongue-like appearance of the leaves.

Bergenia ciliata

Those of you familiar with spring perennials will probably recognize this plant with little difficulty -- it's no doubt a Bergenia.  The tall cymelike inflorescence is a giveaway.  I've never employed Bergenias often, though I can't say why.  They're relatively tough plants, but perhaps a bit awkward for use en masse and at the same time, too diminutive to use as a specimen.

Closer inspection of the leaves cancels out any assumption this plant is the most popular species of Bergenia - B. cordifolia. The leaves on that species aren't hairy like this one.  In fact, the common name for B. cordifolia is pigsqueak because of the noise those leaves make when rubbed together.

This species is B. ciliata, justifiably referring to the hairs on the leaves.  Bergenias are native to mountainous areas of central Asia, such as the Himalayas and Afghanistan.  I'd hazard a guess that this species is native to an arid climate and the hairs on the leaves are employed to capture moisture from the air, much like plants native to desert climates.

Iris bucharica

Here's a funky little species of Iris to add to your spring collection: Iris bucharica or Juno Iris.  I saw this last week just outside the Smithsonian castle, in the rose garden.  There's no mistaking the genus, Iris - since these plants have the characteristic standards (the upright petals) and falls (the hanging petals).  But the species had me a bit stumped -- particularly due to way the leaves stack on each other -- almost like palm fronds. 

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After browsing through some books, I finally found it -- Juno Irises are several species of Iris, all of which have bulbs (as opposed to the rhizomes of the more common Iris germanica or Iris sibirica). They are native to hot, dry climates, particularly Afghanistan, though the species name bucharica means "of Bukhara", which is in Uzbekistan.

 

In any case, either area indicates that these plants do not like to be wet.  Some sites online recommend covering the plants during rains in the spring, as they are that fussy about wet feet.  Generally the foliage dies off in late summer and returns in the spring. 

Phlox stolonifera

Yesterday, my sister and another friend of mine ran the George Washington Parkway Classic -- a ten mile race that begins in Mount Vernon and ends in Old Town Alexandria.  It was kind of a gloomy morning - but by the time the race was ending the sun began to peek out.  Walking to brunch, I stopped to take a picture of this:

The flower itself may look familiar if you happen to remember my three-year-old post on NYPAOS about Phlox paniculata.  This is indeed a Phlox as well: P. stolonifera.  Clearly enough, it's called stolonifera because the plant spreads by stolons -- or adventitious stems that trail along the soil layer and eventually establish roots. 
 

The plant is quite similar to moss phlox, or P. subulata, though that plant is farm more prostrate, growing along the ground in a flat dense carpet.  They are both native to the US.  P. stolonifera is found in the Piedmont region, along streams or under the forest canopy.  P. subulata is more likely to be observed from the mid-Atlantic towards the western side of the Appalachian on exposed banks or slopes.
 

To confuse matters further, this plant could very well be P. x procumbens, which is a cross of the two species!

Allium albopilosum

Though yesterday I posted some photos of Aster simplex growing on a roadside in Virginia, I'm not quite done with Blithewold, up north in Rhode Island.  Here's a small bed in the display gardens. with a lovely Agave serving as focal point and anchor for the blue-toned plants surrounding it, including kale and marjoram, to name a few.

 

And perhaps most striking are the Allium albopilosum, or Star of Persia, in front of the Agave.  Like giant onion and chives, the flower on this onion consists of a round ball of smaller individual flowers.  Another name for this species is christophii, though albopilosum refers to the small white hairs that surround the flowers.

 

These flowers dry fairly well - I've encountered them rolling through gardens in early fall, looking a bit like fancy tumbleweeds.  Like the other Alliums this plant is a bulb that can be planted in autumn.

 

I thought it was also worth posting a photo of the detail above.  Corten steel beams shape the bed and the grass risers.  It was a surprise to see such contemporary vocabulary in a garden that is otherwise quite traditional.

Aster simplex

Here are a few shots from this morning's run.  Aster simplex, or panicled aster.  The more current botanical name for this plant is actually Symphyotrichum lanceolatum, but its older name can still be applied.  As I've mentioned before, I think the word 'Aster' is decidedly less of a mouthful than Symphyotrichum. 

 

This specimen was found growing along an unmowed roadside and is very common this time of year.  It blooms in mid to late summer until the first frost.  It's not as showy as other asters, but you can buy seeds of the native plant from various sources.  To me, it's a great addition to a wildflower meadow and the small white flowers would be a great alternative to baby's breath (Gypsophila) for cut flower arrangements. 

Finally, like all members of the Asteraceae family, this flower structure is composed of disc florets and ray florets.  The disc florets are the very small yellow petals that compose the inside 'eye' of the flower.  They are the seed-producing flowers, whereas the ray florets (in this case, the white petals) are decorative; primarily present to attract pollinators.

Blithwold Display Gardens

Certainly, my favorite part of the Blithwold Estate's grounds were the Display Gardens.  These are tucked behind an original 1901 Lord and Burnham greenhouse, that is still being used to propagate the collections today.  The smaller structure below would typically house gardening tools, though equally important, it anchors the garden beds and also provides a structure upon which a pergola can be set.  The gardens were once populated with only vegetables - it was a proper potager - but today it is used to herald the worthiness of various herbaceous plants. 

 

Rare vines such as Nepenthes grow on the pergola with shade-loving ferns (Asplenium, for instance) crowd the stone path. 

Outside the pergola, tables of orange, geranium and Euphorbia milii are lightly touched by the cascading grape vines.

Here's a shot of the display gardens.  It's basically a reverse-view of the first photo in this post.  I think what makes a garden like this a success is not over-planning it.  As a designer, I probably shouldn't admit that, but the joy of a garden like this derives from its unbridled profusion of colors, textures and sizes.  After seeing so many variations of these types of gardens, I think I've become a bit fine-tuned to spot out the ones that are too carefully constructed.  Look at the heights alone: the beds below are lop-sided.  If a designer was obsessively selecting plants, they'd mirror heights, or would have some kind of alternating rhythm (tall-medium-short-tall-medium-short).  Instead, this looks like the person who picked out the species was too excited about the lovely selection to worry about 'coloring in the lines.'

Clematis paniculata

I have a fond spot in my heart for Clematis paniculata, or sweet autumn clematis, since it was one of the very first plants I learned in my ornamental plants class at Virginia Tech, way back in 1993.  

It's a lovely fall-blooming perennial vine, which is somewhat unnoticeable until this time of year. 

Below, it is growing near the boardwalk in Southern New Jersey. 

 

I have blogged about Clematis before, though those species were crosses of Clematis x jackmanii.   As you can see the flowers below are far different.  They are smaller, with strappier petals and only occur in shades of white. 

 

There's some debate as to whether this plant is invasive or not (some simply call it "vigorous").  I haven't seen this invade woodlands or pop up along highways but inevitably I will start to see that now that I've posted this.  What about you?  Any chance you've seen this plant where it shouldn't be?