I’m not referring to surprises in the sense of predicted late-season arrivals, but just the generic, built-in unpredictability of plants we choose for our gardens. A plant’s performance can be dramatically different just down the street, not to mention spanning seemingly appropriate climate zones.
Take Kniphofia caulescens, for instance. This poker has been contributing its beautifully glaucous presence all year. The writhing, blue, cephalopod-like leaves are so good I almost forgot that it might want to contribute a flower as well. I realistically accepted around the time of planting that it might not be hot enough here to flower — wrong! Even pre-heat wave in early September (two days around 86F), we had bud launch!
At home in higher elevations in South Africa, it’s hardy to at least zone 6, so definitely not a risky gambit here in zone 8b (sliding into zone 9), but there remained the question of whether it could flower in this cool growing season. Mine came from Secret Garden Growers, planted in October 2022.
The strong outline is especially appreciated in September when so much of the garden is a buzzy fizz. Everything bobbing and weaving and looking for a shoulder to lean on — except for the resolute poker. All that fascinating buzzing activity brings out the only wildlife I dread and am always on high alert for in autumn — spiders! (Is there one in my hair? Check my back!) Knocking webs out of high traffic areas is once again the morning routine.
Unlike the kniphofia, whose flowering was exciting but not the main point, annuals like amaranthus were sown in April for their blooms. To give them the best shot, I potted the seedlings on in increasingly bigger pots, ending with one plant per 3-gallon pot. About five of these pots were plunged into various full-sun spots in the garden. They started flowering late August.
The uncertainty over whether the amaranthus would bloom before first frost was nerve-wracking, but they somehow managed it. I imagine they’d be a lot taller with more blooms in a warmer summer than mine. But watching them gain height and then drip those ropes of chenille flowers strikes me as worth the effort — better yet, maybe they’ll self-sow.
The canna ‘Cleopatra’ had a couple surprises for September. First, that it managed to push leaves up through the dense planting on all sides counts as a triumph.
And then the tomato red flower took a bizarre turn when another flower opened canary yellow. I wasn’t really expecting the canna to bloom either and had forgotten it had this bicolor tic. Helping with the two-tone canna is the surprise echo of Solidago ‘Fireworks’ just starting to gleam near ruddy Lobelia tupa, yellow and red again, bringing some context to the bicolor craziness. But I was tempted to cut the flower stalk off entirely.
Some plants seem destined to have their flowers sacrificed to preserve their leafy good looks. Seems like everyone I know who grows Argentina lineata cuts off the small yellow flowers as insignificant distractions from the plush basal leaves, finely cut silver brocade.
But look at the scaffolding that hoists up those “insignificant” flowers! And insignificant is a subjective value judgment anyway — insects don’t seem to be hung up on size of flowers and throng to the small stuff.
Acacia cultriformis in the front garden was brought up three years ago from Los Angeles. All the knockbacks by winter have resulted in treating this acacia as a cutback shrub. It has already been surpassed in size by a year-old Acacia pravissima. The latter has the reputation for the hardiest acacia in zone 8-9ish. But how much of its growth will it hold on to after the next winter?
Making a garden has a lot to do with being able to predict how a plant will perform, and there are countless variables to consider, but still who doesn’t like to take a flier on mystery plants or plants we’ve only read about, or try a familiar plant in unfamiliar conditions? Since I plant so densely, my biggest problem is always with ultimate size, and I’m already running into crowding issues after just a few years.
The cosmos started in April added so much to the late garden. ‘Rubenza’ and ‘Apricotta’ were standouts. ‘Fandango’ and ‘Xsenia’ were good but more compact in size. (Thank you to Chilterns for sending ‘Fandango’ gratis!) If I follow the same sowing and planting times next year can I expect the same results? Possibly but no guaranties. Growing conditions are vacillating wildly year to year. I think starting seeds in late May rather than coolish April will bring as good as a result.
I’m seeing Senecio ‘Angel Wings’ in lots of gardens, but it seems to always be just the one clump, as though it’s grown as an annual and replanted in spring. My one clump was planted in this container and survived here last winter. That clump is now several clumps, following the contour of the container, rooting as it goes. Just an observation on what seems to make this inscrutable plant happy and expand in size year to year.
Lastly, some notable events. Rain! A whole night and part of a day. Billie blew her ACL last weekend and is recovering from surgery. (We didn’t see the injury happen, but heard the commotion that had to do with a bench Billie uses to keep track of street activity via the large front window. From the barking, apparently a dog strolled by, Billie overreacted, twisted, fell and somehow blew the cruciate ligament.) We forced ourselves to sit through the debate, just as we did the last one, another stomach churner but for vastly different reasons!
Hope the weather is becoming more reasonably autumnal for you!
