Bouquets

So, things have been busy this summer for me.  Work has been moving at a rapid clip and on top of this, my sister got married last Saturday!  It was a wonderful event and I love her and her new husband dearly.  And obviously, we worked together on the flowers. 

We used orchids for the centerpieces at the tables and I'll post photos of those later this week.  For now, I'll show you how to make a bouquet, in case you don't already know.  I blogged about a year and a half ago about my experiences working at a florist.  When I was there, I also learned how to make fairly simple bouquets for weddings.

My sister loves hydrangeas, so we did blue hydrangeas with white roses for her.  We did photos before the ceremony on a July afternoon so I actually made her two bouquets, one for the photos and a fresh one for the ceremony. The bridesmaids were all wearing different colors of the same dress, so we kept our bouquets simple -- white roses.

I got the flowers at a wholesaler called Potomac Floral Wholesale.  Since my business is related, I was able to get a wholesale account, though they are strict about who can and can't work with them.  It was a blast walking through their warehouse, seeing the endless amounts of flowers.

 

The roses were longstemmed white roses called 'Eskimo' - the color was gorgeous, with just a touch of green.  Roses are delivered packed as you see them above - 25 to a bunch.  Typically they are grown in Columbia.  In fact, rose shipments are regularly searched as they've been used to mule cocaine into the country by drug traffickers in the past.

You need a few different tools to really take best care of the flowers.  Clippers to cut the stems (the orange ones above are Felcos, which are the best).  You don't want to use scissors unless they're terribly sharp because you don't want the stems to be crushed at all, instead they should be sliced cleanly so water transfer isn't interrupted.  You can use scissors to clip the leaves off.

 

 Finally, you use a knife to slice off the thorns.  Luckily this cultivar had very few thorns, so this didn't take long.  Once you've recut the bottoms of the stems, removed the leaves and cut the thorns off, you remove the outer, bruised petals and finally, put the roses right back into the water.

 

We planned on doing 15 roses per bouquet, so next you begin to organize the roses, trying to make them into an attractive bunch.  When you like how they look, you put rubber bands around the stems, holding them together. 

 When that's done, we wrapped the bunch in floral glue, which you can pick up at a craft store.  It's double sided with adhesive.  Once the glue is wrapped around the bouquet, you wrap ribbon around the base and use corsage pins to anchor the ribbon. 

 

Photos of the bride's bouquet and more tomorrow or Wednesday!

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!

Jasminum nudiflorum

Chances are you've seen a lot of this plant lately -- particularly if you are in the DC area or walking around Central Park in New York.  Though it's hard to miss right now -- with it's bright yellow flowers -- you may have previously assumed it was another Forsythia. 

And from a distance, that's a reasonable assumption.  They have a similar flower color and both bloom in early spring when few other species are blooming.  However, the green, square stems of winter jasmine are quite different from the putty colored woody stems of Forsythia and the flowers consist of five petals with an elongated, tubular neck, whereas Forsythia is four-petaled.

Also, Forsythia can be an upright shrub or a pendulous specimen (depending on the species).  Jasminum nudiflorum is always a cascading shrub and is often seen used to best effect in a scenario like the one below at Dumbarton Oaks.

The Infamous Forsythia

It's such a delight to be living in a new (but altogether familiar) city.  While I loved living in New York, the plant life there was getting a bit rote.  Whereas now, every time I go for a run, I'm inspecting new palettes, making note of when to return to see a particular plant in flower or fall color.  For example, on Monday, I decided I'd come back to Hains Point to see this Magnolia x soulangiana in full bloom -- as you can see it's just about to open. 

 

But today, we'll talk about the plant to the right, Forsythia.  Most likely, Fosythia x intermedia.  I know that Forsythia is a very common plant when my spell check recognizes it as a valid word and of course, none of us needed that to testify to the plant's popularity.  Almost unknown until the 18th Century, Forsythias became popular after western botanist Carl Peter Thunberg noted the plant growing in a Japanese garden. Its early spring flowers, fast growth and general bulletproof nature have aided in its surge in popularity since then.

But is it really worth it?  Does adding this to a landscape for a cheap thrill in March validate its scraggly appearance the rest of the year?  Probably not.  To quote Dirr (for the second day in a row!), "Upright and arching canes will give it the appearance that the roots were stuckin an electric socket; always needs grooming, one of th emost overrated and over-used shrubs!" 

Indeed. 

But, a nostalgic part of me likes the plant, as I remember it growing everywhere when I was a kid.  Its role as a bellwether for spring is almost more iconic or mythical than it is actual; I mean, there's plenty of other plants that herald spring, but it seems everyone knows this one.  That said, I doubt I would ever put it in a design.  Unless... my apartment here has a small balcony and I'm considering placing an espalier plant on the brick wall that faces the glass door that leads to the space.  Websites indicate this plant espaliers well, but photos of it are lacking.  I may have to consider using this.   Any thoughts?

Winter Aconite

Here's a small swath of winter aconite, or Eranthis hyemalis, growing near the Edgeworthia I posted about yesterday.   I love this sunny yellow flower, which grows from a tuber in the spring.  Leaves and blossoms emerge at the same time in early spring and when the forest canopy becomes more dense, the plant has adapted to lose its above-ground parts and become dormant. This phenomena, in regards to plants, is called aestivation.

Eranthis is in the Ranunculaceae or buttercup family.   The leaves are peltate, which means they don't have petioles.  To me, they look like the ruffled collars you'd see on a clown.

As cheery as this plant is, keep it the hell away from your belly.  It's infamously toxic, as it was what Medea used to poison Theseus.  It evidently tastes quite bad, so you'd be unlikely to actually digest it. Er- is ancient Greek for 'early' and -anthis of course means flower, so the plant is an early spring flower. 

Petticoat Daffodil

I'm not sure I can think of a cuter common name for a plant than 'petticoat daffodil.'  I mean, really.  The botanical name, bulbocodium, means 'woolly bulb' which is somewhat (conversely) less cuddly-sounding.  Paghat's Garden quotes a great line of Mother Goose that refers to this plant: 

Daffy-down dilly has come to town

In a yellow petticoat and a green gown.

Of course, this specimen is a white cultivar, which I think is somewhat less striking.  The fine, threadlike leaves and the small white blossoms get lost in this planting, near the USBG.  I much prefer the straight species and its yellow flowers.

I blogged about daffodils and their many classes on NYPAOS.  As you can see, N. bulbocodium has a greatly enlarged cup and small, flared perianth.  Like many other bulbs, this species is native to the Mediterranean, specifically Spain and Portugal.

Water Lily

 It occurred to me this morning, after posting a photo of the bench in Giverny, that although I've posted about the wonderful gardens there before, I've never shared more than one measly photo of the famous pond with its very famous waterlilies.

  

Monet's pond is largely populated with Nymphaea odorata, a fragrant, summer-blooming waterlily that is actually an invasive species in the west, where it can become weedy with an absence of cold winters.

The wide flat leaves (the petioles are at the center and reach to the bottom of the pond where they root) help keep the leaves afloat. 

The sepals on the flowers are thick and leathery, which also helps keep the flowers (fragrant, as the species name implies) afloat.

Nymphaea of course means nymph and refers to the ancient Greek belief in feminine free spirits that were often found at springs or water bodies.

Spring Buds: Witch Hazel

These flower buds are just weeks away from bursting.  

 

More about witch hazel (Hamamelis vernalis, or H. x intermedia) at NYPAOS.

Protea

A long, long time ago (well, almost three years ago) I posted some pics of hothouse flowers from a Parisian shop.  One of the shots was of Protea nerifolia, or protea. 

Here's a few thriving in the Longwood Garden conservatory:

This was in their Mediterranean collection, which is a greenhouse kept at lower temperatures than tropical stock and in a drier environment.  Mediterranean plants must be the toughest to house in a conservatory; they demand lots of sunlight and very little moisture.  And even then, this specimen looks like it's struggling a wee bit.

 

The species name, nerifolia of course refers to the leaves' similarity to the foliage on Nerium or oleander.

The Wait for Spring Begins in Earnest

Well, the holidays have come and gone and that means two things to me. One: it's dangerously close to my birthday (ugh), and two: it's time to keep watch for spring.  We had a pretty cold December and January (so far) has been a bit warm.  Keep an eye out for spring-blooming shrubs that require short dormancy periods to be blooming a bit prematurely.  Forsythia comes to mind. 

Christmas Rose

I first posted these pics of Helleborus niger, or Christmas rose, last year during my coverage of the NYBG holiday show.   I'm re-posting them today because, well, it is the holidays and it's the second post today.  And, they're beautiful plants.  To read more about them, check out my discussion on NYPAOS.  

PJM Rhododendron

Here's another iPhone shot of a Central Park plant taken on a run this week: Rhododendron 'PJM' group.   I say "group" because the specimen below is a PJM type of cultivar, but I can't fathom which specific cultivar it is.  PJMs are crosses between R. carolinianum and R. dauricum var. sempervirens.  They are named for Peter J. Mezitt, founder of Weston Nurseries in Massachussetts.

 

PJM Rhodis have much smaller leaves than R. maximum or R. catawbiense, two other popular species.  The flowers are a bit smaller, too and don't bloom in umbels.  Some cultivars, like this one, turn a bronzy purple in winter. 

The plant typically blooms in spring but many of these group will bloom again in late fall.  I've seen cultivars of PJMs bloom almost all winter, though in less profusion.  Overall, the plant may remind you more of an Azalea-type Rhododendron, but if you count the stamens on this flower, you will see there are ten; Azaleas have five stamens.

Mahonia, again

Last week, I blogged about Berberis haematocarpa and it's resemblance to Mahonia.    I illustrated this by posting some photos of Oregon grapeholly, or M. aquifolium, but another common Mahonia species is M. bealei or the leatherleaf mahonia.  Here's a shot of one growing in northern Virginia.

 

Leatherleaf mahonia has, as the common name implies, thicker, larger leaves with sharp spines.  It's stiffer plant than M. aquifolium though is also far hardier. You're more likely to encounter this performing well in zone 6, which makes sense when one considers this species is native to China. 

 You can see the small yellow flower buds have already taken shape on this plant.  Mahonia bealei does bloom much sooner than M. aquifolium, and will display yellow, slightly fragrant flowers as soon as January.  After they bloom, the plant sets large blue berries which tend to languish on the plant, since its non-native status means local wildlife generally avoid the fruit.  (Read: deer-resistant.)

Though it's tempting to use a broadleaved evergreen - especially one that deer avoid and has showy flowers and fruit - I'd pass on Mahonia bealei.  The plant is invasive and threatens to become a management problem in forests where it's begun to appear. 

American Smoketree

Last week I was tagging some plant material for a property in the District and spent the better part of the day at wholesalers in Maryland.  When I was at Manor View Farms, I was lucky enough to start a conversation with one of the owners.  It went something like this,

Me: "I think I checked on your inventory and saw you're out of Amelanchier but that's what I was hoping to get.  Something small, multistemmed, with good fall color."

Him: "Well, you could go with a crape myrtle..."

Me: "Yea...I really don't care for that plant.  There's nothing wrong with it, really, but I'm just sick of seeing it everywhere.  Maybe a Stewartia, or..."

Him: "Franklinia?"

Me: "Oh, for sure.  Love that plant!"

It turns out John and I had pretty similar tastes in plants.  We discussed our admiration for black gum, yellowwood, American hornbeam and others.  Soon enough, he was giving me a tour of their hundred-acre farm.  While driving around, I pointed out the tree below and inquired about it.

Turns out the tree is a native species of Cotinus, Cotinus obovatus.  I never knew there was such a thing.  As you can see it's more tree form and less of a large shrub.  Occasionally these leaders will fail, at which point the nursery cuts it back to the ground and starts growing it as a multistemmed shrub.  The flower set is not as heavy as Cotinus coggygria, but the fall color is reportedly far superior.  I was intrigued.  The plant's native range is is primarily in the mountainous regions of northern Alabama, Tennessee and Kentucky, though it reaches as far west as Oklahoma and Texas.

I have blogged about Cotinus on NYPAOS a few times, I'm always a touch ambivalent about it because it seems so alien to our indigenous landscape.  I have to say the tree-form habit of this species makes me warm to the genus considerably.  I will definitely look forward to an opportunity to use this in a planting.