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Archive for the Janet’s Journal department

Janet’s Journal: Troubled times for the white pine, Michigan’s state tree

April 3, 2018 • 5 Comments

It is important to differentiate between white pine decline, and normal fall color, shown here.

A healthy white pine is full and dark green.

Many people in Michigan have noticed the yellowing and thin appearance of white pines that have stood sentinel and provided shade for decades. Some who didn’t recognize those earlier symptoms will see the first sign of this region-wide white pine problem as a dead tree.

What horticultural professionals have noticed in the Midwest, including southern lower Michigan and some areas further north on the mitten, is best described as white pine decline.

Decline is reduced vigor, below-normal functioning and slower growth in a tree when those symptoms can’t be attributed to a specific disease or insect. Trees in decline may fall prey to insect or disease problems because they are weak, but those are additional complications rather than causes of decline.

A tree may decline for many years. If its situation doesn’t improve, it may exhaust its lifetime starch reserves and begin to exhibit dieback—which looks just like it sounds and often ends in death.

I first noticed white pine decline in the mid 1990s. Many white pines yellowed suddenly, alarmingly and at least one 40-year-old tree on a property I garden died. Based on the positions of the most afflicted trees relative to northwest winds and open ground, and a severe winter that had just passed, I attributed the problems to cold-related root damage. Others came to the same conclusion and experience since then seems to support this.

When placed side by side, braches from stressed and unstressed pines exhibit noticeable differences.

Advanced dieback has occurred on this white pine tree.

Do you remember February, 1996? The white pines do! On the night of February 2-3, temperatures from the Great Plains to New England dropped to lows never seen before or not seen for 40 years. That week, the outbreak of Arctic air set nearly 400 record daily minimums and at least 15 all-time lows in the eastern U.S. Wind chills of -50 and -100 degrees were common.

In southeast Michigan, the mercury plummeted 15 to 20 degrees in just a few hours on a night when there was not even a trace of snow to insulate the soil. Branches and trunks of some plants died, and the frost knifing suddenly and deeply into the unprotected soil killed roots even on hardy, established plants.

This healthy branch shows the normal retention of needles for three years.

By spring, gardeners would be mourning the loss or severe damage of thousands of decades-old Japanese maples, and finding privet hedges, rose of Sharon shrubs and even stalwarts such as old junipers dead or killed to the ground. Plants hurt but not killed would begin the slow process of regenerating roots and limbs only to be socked with drought years, one after another.

Shallow-rooted plants like white pine may have been worst hit. Left with fewer roots than they should have, they were not likely to take up enough water and nutrients to fuel regrowth. They were in trouble even if drought had not begun to compound the loss.

Six years later, my tally sheet of all the white pines I see regularly in my travels and those I tend reads this way: Some of the first-affected died and many are still struggling. Some which did not initially show symptoms developed them during subsequent drought years. Only a few recovered. Very few escaped all damage.

This white pine, next to the spruce on the right, is yellow and thin—signs of decline.

In its bulletin, “Decline of White Pine in Indiana,” Purdue University Cooperative Extension reported, “white pine decline… has been a problem for many landscapes in Indiana. …Declining trees usually look a pale green, or even yellowish, compared to healthy trees. Needles are often shorter than normal; sometimes the tips of needles turn brown. Needles from a previous season often drop prematurely, giving the tree a tufted appearance.

“With loss of needles, the tree has a reduced ability to produce the energy it needs to survive…

“With severe or compounding stress factors, the tree may gradually decline and eventually die. Decline may be gradual or rapid, depending on the number and severity of stress factors.”

University of Missouri Extension made similar reports like this one from August, 1999: “We have received many white pine samples into the Extension Plant Diagnostic Clinic this year… from mature white pines, about 20 to 30 years old that are in a state of decline. …Other Midwestern clinics have also seen (this) and have been unable to explain most cases of decline…”

“We therefore believe… that the problems we are seeing with white pine may be related to environmental factors and site conditions… such as heat, stress, drought, flooding and sudden extremes in temperature and moisture.”

Note that experts don’t lay full blame on the cold but on a combination of causes. Ironically, reliable cold and snowier winters may have worked in some trees’ favor.

Missouri, Indiana, Ohio and the southeasternmost part of Michigan, which have all seen many white pine problems since the 1996 freeze and subsequent droughts, are south of white pine’s native range. Since a species’ native range is delineated at least in part by climate, we know that something about the weather in our area is probably not optimal for white pine. A record-breaking warm-up that came after the 1996 cold snap may be one of the climatological events these trees can’t handle. Two weeks after the freeze, all across the area affected by decline, temperatures jumped into the 70s, 80s and 90s. For the most part, white pines growing where there was the usual reliable snow-cover or where the warmest air didn’t reach, fared better.

What happened to the white pines was outside current experience, on a scale so broad that few had the perspective to be able to recognize it. Now that we look back and know how long a tree has been declining which we just noticed this year, we can wish we knew more earlier, but it won’t get us anywhere.

So if you have a troubled white pine, have it inspected by an arborist. Rule out disease and insect problems. Give it the help it needs to fight any secondary problems. Do what you can to alleviate underlying stresses.

Establish a regular watering routine and fertilize the tree in early spring to see if it responds. Aerate the soil if it’s compacted. Be pleased if the tree reacts positively, but be realistic about its chances and your needs. Many of these trees are years past their point of no return. Even those which respond positively to treatment may take many years to recover.

Article by Janet Macunovich and photos by Steven Nikkila, www.gardenatoz.com.

Janet’s Journal: Celebrate and respect the diversity of native plants

August 29, 2017 • 6 Comments

The new gardening ethic can help insure that future generations will still know the unique look of dunes along Lake Superior, covered in native goldenrod and tansy.

Do you ever travel for the pleasure of experiencing the exotic? To absorb a city’s regional feel, discover landscapes with unfamiliar hues and textures, or hike through natural areas where native plants in their native settings show you their unbound souls?

Then you probably appreciate diversity, too. You drive quickly away from your destination’s airport with its too-same hotels and restaurants. You’re thrilled to see cactus in a gravel mulch when you’re in the desert, disappointed to see bluegrass sod patched into prairie.

Chances are that you, like me, appreciate the plants you meet on your travels so much that you seek them out and add them to your garden.

“Invasive” becomes a watchword

It’s time to think about this. Not to stop collecting, necessarily, but to be more discriminating in what we plant. We’re in danger of homogenizing the natural world, with the same speed and dulling effect as fast food corporations expanding their territories.

I’m referring to invasive plants. Those plants the USDA considers for official weed status because they exhibit the ability outside of their native range to spread in ways that “threaten the survival or reproduction of native plants or animals or reduce biological diversity.” And I’m focusing on the ones deliberately introduced, not those inadvertently carried as cloth- or shoe-clinging seeds, discharged whole from a ship’s ballast tanks, or unwittingly planted as vegetative bits in root balls shipped between states.

A native wet prairie like this one on Walpole Island consists of dozens of species growing in harmony, each blooming in its season. Some people like the massed bloom of loosestrife better than this natural show, but the butterflies, hummingbirds and songbirds that reap crop after crop of nectar and seeds from this stand would disagree.

You already know a few of the worst

If you’re a lover of Michigan forests, you probably know Norway maple (Acer platanoides) is one of these deliberate introductions now seen as a big mistake. The species seeds prolifically into our woods, crowding out native saplings so that autumn hillsides once red maple scarlet in fall are muting to European yellow. They throw such long-season shade that they close the early spring window of sun our native wildflowers evolved to exploit, gradually killing the beauty at their feet. Even their roots are sinister, suspected of allelopathy, a plant kingdom domination ploy in which they exude chemicals that kill or stunt the growth of other species.

Those who find peace in walking our Great Lakes shores might picture baby’s breath (Gypsophila paniculata) in this role. Pretty in a garden, it’s a killer on the dunes, bullying and displacing bright orange hoary puccoon, dreamy off-white death camas and other natives.

Even those who don’t hike in but merely admire from a car window our extensive, water-purifying wetlands, know purple loosestrife (Lythrum salicaria) as this kind of cultivated criminal. Watch for just a few years as one tiny fluorescent pink patch expands to cover acres. Like the other alien invasives, loosestrife changes not only the plant community but the entire food chain that rests on its shoulders.

Once we might have thought it an inconsequential loss when this bright gold colony of the native horned bladderwort (Utricularia cornuta, blooming yellow in mass) is overrun by an invasive alien such as creeping buttercup (Ranunculus repens). Now we know that a specific insect might be totally dependent on the bladderwort, and a songbird on those insects, and so on up the food chain. — Once we might have thought it an inconsequential loss when this bright gold colony of the native horned bladderwort (*Utricularia cornuta*, blooming yellow in mass) is overrun by an invasive alien such as creeping buttercup (*Ranunculus repens*). Now we know that a specific insect might be totally dependent on the bladderwort, and a songbird on those insects, and so on up the food chain.

Continue excluding known criminals, or ask credentials of all?

Under the United States Department of Agriculture plant importation regulations, inspectors reject excluded species, using a “black list” of plants known to have become invasive to the point of widespread economic and environmental impact. Under “white list” policy, new species are excluded until proven innocent, and the burden of proof rests on the importer. A grower who wants to import a species for agriculture or horticulture must conduct and file for approval a risk assessment, which evaluates the plant’s potential to spread and the impact of such a spread on native species.

Can such a policy really stem the tide of homogenization? It’s debatable. Battles still have to be fought against invasives already here. Even if white listing had been in place and effectively enforced since the earliest days of U.S. independence, it still would have come too late to shut the door against groundcover myrtle (Vinca minor, currently endangering American forest ecosystems), privet shrub (Ligustrum sinense, crowding out prairie and woodland plants alike in many states), or the glossy buckthorn tree (Rhamnus cathartica, a serious threat to both dry and wet plant communities). And import restrictions might not have stopped the importation of kudzu (Pueraria lobata, the vine that’s engulfing the southeastern U.S.) because at that time its economic promise seemed greater than any foreseeable risk. And even today we probably couldn’t predict the latent ability of a meek creature like Grecian foxglove (Digitalis lanata) to explode into certain special niches as it has done into the prairie in one Kansas county.

Norway maples can have respectable gold color in fall. But when this invasive tree displaces red and sugar maples in the woods and in the fall show, we are the losers.

Few plants shine so brightly in fall as our native red maple.

Might we control this at our garden level?

It’s a hot topic. A species that would run rampant if given free reign could be an acceptable team player in a controlled setting, like a private backyard garden. I’m among those who bridle at the thought of being told what I can and cannot plant, even though I greatly value and work to preserve our native species and systems. For financial reasons, many professional growers also balk at the idea of white listing. They know that what’s new, sells and what’s held up in testing becomes old quickly. Some also profit from the fact that what’s invasive, propagates quickly for sale. Who can predict whether people will voluntarily lean toward responsible stewardship of native diversity, as expected by some policy makers, or whether individualism, capitalism and the rising cost of controlling invasives will lead to a white list.

Happily, a few environmentally conscious commercial growers and botanical institutions have already begun doing pre-introduction assessment of new species. Some have evaluated and then decided not to introduce new species, or to issue them only with warnings. Certainly more of this will happen as awareness of the problem grows within the gardening community and buyers begin to question and reject the next gooseneck loosestrife (Lysimachia clethroides), spreading buttercup (Ranunculus repens) or Mexican bamboo (Polygonum cuspidatum) that comes along.

Baby’s breath (Gypsophila paniculata) is a beauty in the garden, a bully on the dunes. — Baby’s breath (*Gypsophila paniculata*) is a beauty in the garden, a bully on the dunes.

What you can do now

You and I may not be importing, introducing or selling new species, but the cumulative effect we have on their spread is mighty. The policy makers know this, and some feel that better enforcement and publicity may make white lists unnecessary.

So I hope that your awareness prompts you to think twice about buying plants from growers who act unethically. I refer to people best summed up by this exchange between myself and a world-renowned grower I will allow to remain anonymous for the time being:

Reporter: “I was alarmed at how quickly that plant spread, right out of the garden and even through mowed lawn.”

Grower, smiling rakishly, even proudly but certainly without any hint of remorse: “Yes, it is quite the thug, isn’t it?”

I hope for several things. That you will try to say “no” to species that prove themselves invasive in your garden, either by rigorously confining them or disposing of them in a final way. That you will question the urge to and consequences of deliberately planting surpluses from your own garden in nearby untended fields and woods. At the very least, I pray that you will think twice when someone offers you a plant that they “have too much of.”

Gardening is all about hope

Maybe our children will be able to enjoy the same kind of vacations that have delighted us, and walk with mouths agape in alpine meadows or tidal flats or cypress swamps full of plants they’ve never seen. Maybe they will also be able to proudly and accurately say to visiting gardeners “That carpet of trillium? Yes, it’s a Michigan native and we make sure it always will be.”

Article by Janet Macunovich and photos by Steven Nikkila, www.gardenatoz.com.

Janet’s Journal: Gardening and Growing Older Gracefully

July 5, 2017 • 9 Comments

High-maintenance perennial beds can be changed over to, or allowed to become, groundcover and shrub areas. These at the Laudenslager residence contribute foliage color, texture and other benefits, yet require far less care than typical flower gardens.

Virginia Smith poses sweet woodruff (Galium odoratum) as an example of an acceptable weed that succeeds on many levels. It fills in bare spaces, cohabiting agreeably here with blue-blooming Ajuga repens, and also offers features the older gardener learns to appreciate. “It’s so pretty in shape, foliage color and texture; it’s not just a bloom thing.”

When I was just five years old, Mrs. Kissinger’s age was as definite to me as my own. She was old. Grandparent old. Hair in a bun, crinkly-eye old. I can still hear the quaver in that voice that coached me to recognize weeds, and see the wrinkles on the fingers that pinched an apron into a sling for picking peas. The gold seal on the certificate of age I fashioned for her was that she could call my Dad “Johnny” and “son.”

She always seemed to be smiling when she was in the garden. Recently that memory has become a stand-out, a marked contrast to some of what I’ve been seeing in myself and my friends as we acquire age.

I see fretting (“This is just too much work anymore”) and hear worry (“That bed’s gotten totally out of control”). I’ve commiserated with others over keeping up with the over-ambitious creations of our own youth. Worst, in contemplative moments I’ve recognized in my own negative thoughts the same whines and crying I’ve heard from and disdained in others.

Nigella (Nigella damescena) is one of the plants that Virginia Smith and Wil Strickland call an acceptable weed. It has redeeming physical features and will seed itself into bare spaces before weedier species can do that.

This is not a new phenomenon, this reconciliation of garden and gardener over time. Gardeners have made this life passage before. Some, like Mrs. Kissinger, smiled as they went and their gardens reflected that contentment and calm. She found a way to accept the realities, anticipate the challenges, make the changes, and grow old gracefully.

It’s been my good fortune as a professional gardener to work with many people and to see many approaches to this phase of gardening. I’ve bailed out gardeners who made commitments beyond their physical means or who fell temporarily behind because of an illness or injury. I’ve worked regularly with individuals who need help on certain tasks but not others. I’ve even drawn and executed designs aimed specifically at reducing work for older or less able hands. Most important to me, I’ve had the privilege of working once again for the smiling older gardener and the wise gardener approaching age. I can understand the need and their advice. Here is what they say.

Judith Mueller’s life philosophy helps her to garden as gracefully now as she did 30 years ago. She views gardening as a continual choice, made each year. How she gardens each year changes with her own situation that year.

Judith Mueller: Making Choices, Keeping Fit

Judith Mueller doesn’t have a grand plan to garden forever, even though she thinks she will. She takes one season at a time.

Even before she became an empty nester and grandparent, certain of her friends would come over, look at her extensive gardens and say, “You’re crazy! How do you keep this up?”

Her response has always been, “It’s what I choose to do with my time.”

“I know that a garden doesn’t all have to be done today. It’s an ongoing process and it’s not over until I say it’s over.

“So I looked at what shape the gardens were in and decided what I could do myself, what I needed to get help for, and what I can let go of and let someone else do. This year that meant I looked around and got help edging and mulching. Someday I might have to cut back, maybe on the size of my beds. Or maybe I’ll have to ask for more help. But I don’t think about that now because for this year I can handle it.

Just one of the reasons Mueller feels gardening is important is that, “It keeps us mentally alert and healthier.” Her career in a medical profession makes her especially aware of how much good her hobby does her. “I don’t get aches and pains like I know some people do. And people ask me things like ‘How did you lift that?’ So I know I must be strong and healthy for my age.”

Mueller advises that gardeners who want to keep going, keep fit all year. “Don’t rely on gardening alone to keep you in shape through the off season. I’d rather not have to work out, but gardening, especially spring work, can be really overwhelming as you get older, if you’re not in some kind of shape.”

Recuperating from a heart attack forced Wil Strickland to take a step back and assess not only his garden but his place in it. “I flit from job to job more now,” he says. “I don’t try to weed a whole bed at once, just to fill one bucket with weeds. People who come to your garden will forgive your weeds.”

Wil Strickland: Forced to Look

Wil Strickland, whose garden and face are well known in Ann Arbor, laughed when I asked for his input. “It’s ironic you should ask me about how I cope with gardening now that I’ve had a heart attack. Because right now I have never felt better and may be healthier than I’ve ever been in my life. But you’re right, I have had to look at things differently, and I have made some changes.”

He makes four recommendations.

One: Choose your weeds. Pick willing spreaders that you can easily identify and don’t mind having in your garden, and let those go ahead and take over. Something like forget-me-nots will merrily fill in bare spaces, choking out what would be less welcome weeds.

Two: Mulch. You can’t ever do enough of it. As you approach the golden years, beef up your garden, too, so there is less space between plants, less room for weeds to get started.

Three: Start eliminating high-maintenance plants any time. Those plants that need the most work—dividing or pruning or fending off pests—are the ones you should let go. Switch to lower-care plants, such as shrubs and groundcover combinations. You don’t want to be in that situation Strickland cites, “with a garden full of plants you love but can’t possibly maintain anymore. There are so many plants you can try that you might surprise yourself and find out roses or irises aren’t the only things that can make you happy.”

Four: Garden in big pots. “It’s the ultimate answer,” says Strickland. “You can do floral arrangements, or grow vegetables or anything you want. Perhaps you’ll need to have someone help you set them out, but they can be set anywhere without worrying about whether the mower can get around them, they don’t need edging and they’re a wonderful height!”

“I don’t kneel any more, I bend, says Virginia Smith. I keep an open mind about what I can do even though I can’t do it the same way I once did.”

Virginia Smith: Happy to Work

Mueller and Strickland are both starting down a path that Virginia Smith found years ago. “Attitude is the most important thing you need to keep gardening gracefully, which is what I like to think I’m doing. It’s one of those things you have to accept. I think of so many things I did so easily a few years ago that I wouldn’t even attempt now. But rather than railing about what I can’t do, I say look at all I can do.”

Smith gets help a couple of times a year, with big seasonal jobs like mulching and pruning. But most things she keeps doing herself, making little changes all the time in how she does the work. “I can’t get on my knees anymore, so I bend over to plant. After a period of time my back gets tired so then I go do some pruning, which uses a different set of muscles and a different mindset.”

Make paths wider and easier to walk, like this one at the Sapelak residence. Youthful greediness leads to narrow paths, as we covet every square foot for yet another plant. Wide paths are wiser, and more generous. They are low care and make navigation easier for both wheelbarrow and wheelchair.

Changes in the garden itself have also allowed Smith to keep gardening. “I use a lot more annuals than I used to, and I’ve designated some spots that are just for annuals, spots that are not too big but just the right size. They’re always ready for me to plant. As soon as the weather lets me plant annuals, I can fill those spots. It’s very gratifying, right away. I also do more annuals in containers, pots I can fill with lighter weight styrofoam and potting soil so they’re light enough for me to move around to just where I need them.”

An altered perspective on what must be done on any one day is helpful, says Smith. “I don’t set deadlines anymore—I just do what I feel like doing. Then I rest a while and if I feel like doing more, I do.”

On the other hand, with its passage, time has become more valuable. “I’m less reluctant to move something if I don’t like it where it is. I’ve either gotten more brave or more foolish!”

Having to decide what one can and can’t accomplish and determine what you most want to do with your time has also changed Smith’s outlook on some plants, even weeds. “I’m more patient with plants I used to pull out because they were too aggressive, things like sweet woodruff that take over. I used to pull them to keep them under control. Now I just keep them from choking plants I really like, and enjoy them wherever they’re pretty enough to just put up with.

“I enjoy gardening more every year,” says Smith, and she smiles.

Article by Janet Macunovich and photos by Steven Nikkila, www.gardenatoz.com.

The Ultimate Garden Tool: Your Vehicle

June 6, 2017 • 2 Comments

Garnet Bowden lets husband Kurt do the loading at the garden center. “Weight isn’t a consideration in this load, so I can just load things in order by how we want to take them out—first in will be the last out. If we had anything very heavy it would have to go in first, to sit further forward so it wouldn’t weigh down the back end too much.”

All the signs are there. Fast food wrappers, cell phones, toiletry kits, children’s toys, recorded books and dozens of other items. A vehicle’s standard inventory tells it all—we live in our cars. Since two out of five Americans professes to gardening as a primary hobby, it shouldn’t be surprising that spades, pruning tools, plant identification texts and earth-stained gloves are commonplace in cars. That basic kit allows the average gardener to lend a hand at the in-laws or the subdivision entrance, and take advantage of roadside floral events.

For an increasing number of horticultural enthusiasts, that basic kit isn’t enough. Approximately 5,500 Master Gardeners are active in Michigan at any one time, volunteering about 200,000 hours a year at parks, schools, civic areas, farm markets, demonstration gardens, hospital therapeutic gardens and more. Other such programs enlist gardeners in growing and almost uncountable numbers – 350 official volunteers at The Detroit Zoo, for instance, are adept at sweet-talking family and friends into packing the necessities and meeting up at the zoo for a day of gardening. These are serious gardeners on wheels, packing garden carts, plants, mulch and assorted power tools.

That makes the car the ultimate garden tool. So of course some people have begun to seek, design or wish for the deluxe model. Others use ingenuity to turn everyday wheels into garden hybrids. And some must work undercover to take their passion on the road.

Deb Hall spent several days installing shelving and hardware for storing tools and materials in her cube van. Her system leaves plenty of room for a wheelbarrow, bagged materials and plants. The van is the envy of all her gardening friends. “I love it!” says Hall.

The deluxe model

Some gardeners give tours of their garden. Deb Hall gives tours of her garden vehicle. It’s a “cube van,” a tool shed on wheels that can also transport dozens of flats of flowers, enough trees and shrubs to plant an entire backyard or construct a water garden complete with fish. When it was time to retire her previous vehicle, Hall says, “I decided to get it for convenience, so I wouldn’t have to haul a trailer. I don’t handle trailers very well, but I wanted to get things done without making two or three trips. I also realized if I had it, I could be more organized because I could shelve things. It’s been fun, a growing thing, to learn even better ways to keep things organized.”

Hall’s van is the envy of other members of the Association of Professional Gardeners, such as Sharon Cornwell. “I love her truck!” says Cornwell. “Every tool has a spot. I’m sure she’ll even come up with a shelf unit so she can carry tons more flats of flowers. And it’s a great place for the whole group that’s gardening together to eat lunch. You all get in back, sit Indian style and chill out for a while!”

Ingenious hybrids

Brenda Sutton of Redford takes her gardening skills on the road several days a week and likes to be ready for everything. She considers what to take along each day, which revolves around some “regulars,” tools that can be used for most basic chores—spade, garden fork, trowel, pruning shears and a weeding tool. Although the Saturn’s back seats can fold down, making room for long-handled tools, the cargo space still won’t handle a wheelbarrow. That’s why Sutton includes a five-gallon bucket and a small tarp on her list of regulars—together they can take the place of a wheelbarrow.

Judy Jacobs of Franklin trundles tools and supplies around the Detroit Zoo in a red wagon. That’s not unusual among the adopt-a-gardeners, but it is unusual that all of Jacobs’ gear arrives at the zoo in her convertible. Not a car most people would want to see exposed to the elements, so to speak.

Tips for using your vehicle to haul plants and garden tools

Cardboard boxes that can be folded flat when not in use are handy accessories. Flattened, they can line a trunk or interior to keep it mud-free beneath plants or tools. They can also fit vertically next to tools to prevent gouged interior molding. Boxed, they can hold several potted plants to prevent tipping.
One or two disposable rain ponchos take up almost no room in a glove box or trunk, are always handy for the gardener, and can double as seat protectors under plants.
Elastic tarp straps also take up very little space but are indispensable for securing items that might shift.
Thick string is a great asset. It can stabilize loads and, gently used, can wrap around and compress plant crowns to half their actual size, or less.
If you put in a water garden with a flexible liner, save the scraps of liner. Bigger bits are excellent for lining a trunk and small scraps, placed between stacked bags of mulch or soil, create a non-skid surface to reduce the chance that heavy bags will slide onto adjacent plants.
A wide plastic spackling knife is useful for scraping tools clean before packing them back into the car.
Old canvas and cloth tote bags can be slipped over the blades of metal tools to prevent scratches to a car’s interior and to catch flaking dirt as well. Used this way they also muffle the telltale metallic clanking.
Open the windows if you must leave the car when it’s loaded with plants or bagged materials, to prevent condensation on interior surfaces.
In standard cars, load very heavy things first, pushing them toward the front of the vehicle to avoid weighing down the car’s back end. In a truck or bigger SUV built to handle heavy loads, put the weightiest things in last so you won’t have to slide them so far to unload them.

“I really enjoy my little car but I also need to take my garden tools around town – to my kids’ homes, the zoo, and to places where I work as a garden coach. So I took a good look at what I needed and worked out this system,” explains Jacobs. “With the top down and a tarp on the back seat, I can load the wagon and tools without leaving a mark. Plants can sit right in the wagon and there’s no danger that they’ll tip, which isn’t good for the plants and not so hot for the car’s interior either. And as long as I keep the outside of my bucket clean I can carry it right on the front seat, filled with all kinds of hand tools.

“My system does have its limits. Lately, I’m doing more and bigger gardening projects, and I have used my husband’s car more often—something he’s not too pleased about. He told me, ‘If this keeps up, you’re getting a truck!’”

Kurt and Garnet Bowden of Oxford came prepared to the garden center one day this spring. “We do lots of home improvement things – that’s one reason we both drive SUVs,” says Garnet.

Landscaping projects are annual events at the Bowden house, she adds. “This time we were redoing all along the front of the house. We tore out everything that was there. It was kind of an afterthought, as we got ready to go to buy plants, that maybe we should take both vehicles. We’re glad we did – we fit a whole bunch of evergreens, lots of flowers and a couple of trees in there. Kurt’s the packer. I just stepped back and let him go. When we get home we’ll just drive around the yard delivering everything where it belongs. The SUVs are our four-wheel-drive wheelbarrows!”

Undercover but on the road

Sometimes we drive borrowed or rented vehicles, or a car that significant others in our lives have designated off-limits for gardening ventures. Yet horticultural opportunities crop up at unexpected times. When that happens, what we’ve learned in sanctioned garden-mobiles can pay off in spades.

D prefers to remain anonymous, the better to protect her secrets from a disapproving spouse. “If I see there’s a good deal at the nursery but I’m in his car, I work fast and use lots of plastic to avoid leaving any evidence. I also take a careful look before loading up, to be sure I can remember exactly where everything was to begin with, so it all ends up in that same order once I’m done. Once I found a great rock—we’re always looking for good rocks along the side of the road—but all I had was his car. I put it in an old bowling bag to get it into the car without scuffing the exterior or interior. If it was bigger than the bag I would have had to wait until he was home, and we’d go back for it in our van. But then the rock might have been gone!”

D’s daughter K says, “It’s funny. They both agree the van is okay for gardening stuff. When the two of them are driving, they’re always on the lookout for rocks and they’re so cute when they find one. They carry this old towel just so they can roll a big rock onto it and lift it together.”

Perhaps what you’ve seen and read here will come in handy when you pack for your next gardening field trip. But every time you get behind the wheel, keep at least this last thought in mind. Since forty percent of the population has garden fever, many of the cars around you at any given time are being driven by gardeners. That’s a lot of people keeping one eye on the shoulder, studying landscapes and gardens while they drive and taking corners at unpredictable, subdued speeds lest their plants tip. At least a few of them may also be prone to sudden starts of alarm when shifting boulders go ‘thud’ in the trunk. So always be prepared for unexpected moves by fellow mobile gardeners, and do your own garden packing carefully so you can keep your attention on the road!

Janet’s Journal: Fertilizing Tips

May 16, 2017 • 1 Comment

Simple suggestions for wiser fertilizer use

Exotic species such as rhododendron and azalea that wouldn’t normally be found growing in Michigan’s alkaline soils need special fertilization every week or two from early May until late July. Use a water-soluble fertilizer that includes micronutrients. Products range from seaweed solutions to acid-loving plant powders that dissolve in water. Spray the solution onto the plant’s foliage, so some nutrients can be absorbed directly into the leaves.

The basic idea of fertilization is to supplement the soil rather than the plant. Just because the label says “Lawn Fertilizer” or “Rose Food,” it doesn’t mean that fertilizer must be used exclusively on that plant, or that plant must have its namesake fertilizer. Specialty fertilizers in general were formulated to meet greenhouse growers’ needs, providing enough nutrients in the right proportions for the named plants when those are growing in soilless peat-bark mixes. A Michigan State University Extension soil test is a better guide for choosing fertilizer for field-grown plants. It pinpoints nutrients present and lacking in a soil. You may correctly use lawn fertilizer on roses and vegetable formulas on trees if those products most closely match the nutrient ratios prescribed by the MSU soil test result.
An excess of any nutrient can be wasteful, or even harmful, to plants or the wider environment. Avoid “bloom builder” fertilizers with an extremely high middle number (10-30-20 and 5-30-5 formulations are two examples) unless you know your soil is deficient in what that middle number measures, phosphorus.
Learn to recognize needy plants by diminishing leaf size, paleness or washed-out bloom color. Use water soluble products as mid-season supplements for these plants – kelp and fish emulsion sprays or water soluble powders.
Accept the fact that some plants are so far removed from their forebears that they need more nutrients than nature can supply. Varieties of rose, delphinium, clematis, dahlia, tomato and corn bred for enormous flowers or fruits won’t live up to their catalog descriptions without fertilizer supplements.
Likewise, plants that you plant in soil that is very different than their native habitat will probably need special attention. Rhododendrons, azaleas, pieris, mountain laurel and heather cannot obtain essential nutrients from alkaline soil and so require “acid-loving plant” fertilizers that supply micronutrients in water soluble form.
Use MSU Extension’s soil testing lab to learn what nutrients your soil really needs. (Contact your county’s MSU Extension office for a soil testing kit and instructions.) You may be surprised. Some soils have everything a plant needs except nitrogen, so the fertilizer recommendation from MSU’s soil lab may call for a simple nitrogen source such as 20-0-0 lawn fertilizer.
Don’t use it if you don’t want to. Keep your soil’s organic matter content high by continual sheet composting – layering nutrient-rich plant matter such as fallen leaves and kitchen parings over the soil. Organic matter decomposes into nitrogen and other nutrients. One percent of organic matter in the soil yields nitrogen at a rate comparable to fertilizing with one pound of actual nitrogen per thousand square feet. It takes 3 pounds of 33-0-0 or 100 pounds of 1-0-0 fertilizer to do the same for that 1,000 square feet.
Microorganisms and other soil-dwelling creatures must digest slow-release organic fertilizers such as cottonseed meal and feather meal before the nutrients in these products become soluble and available to plant roots. So apply such fertilizers a month or two before you expect the plants in that area to begin rapid growth.
“Organic” and “inorganic” (manufactured) fertilizers often look very similar and other distinctions between them are also fuzzy. A plant can’t use either type of fertilizer until it has been dissolved in water. Most “organics” must be broken down by fungi and soil-dwelling creatures before they dissolve, while many “inorganic” fertilizers dissolve immediately. Yet fish emulsion, kelp and compost tea are organic and water soluble.

Flower color may be deeper in some species when the plant is given supplemental fertilizer. But fertilizer isn’t necessary if the flowers and colors in your garden measure up on the yardstick that counts most—your own appreciative eye.

The queen of vines, large-flowered clematis, has a reputation for loving alkaline soils. Although this myth has been dispelled by experts, many gardeners continue to spread agricultural lime or gypsum at the feet of their clematis. In Michigan’s naturally-alkaline soils, this repeated liming can be counterproductive, blocking other nutrients from reaching the plant.

Article by Janet Macunovich and photos by Steven Nikkila, www.gardenatoz.com.

Janet’s Journal: A Veggie Smart Perspective

May 2, 2017 • Leave a Comment

Harvest time at Ernie Bergeron’s—beautiful as well as tasty and fragrant.

One man’s successful transition of backyard lawn to vegetable garden

Rainwater can be collected for irrigation. Bergeron’s downspouts fill rain barrels. The barrels are elevated on blocks so they can be tapped to supply the garden.

Being laid off from your job can certainly change your perspective. In the early 1970’s, trucker Ernie Bergeron received a lay-off notice. Perhaps it was because the future wasn’t looking too bright that a new, dim view of lawn overtook him one day. He recalls standing in his backyard and wondering, “What am I growing all this grass for? I can’t eat grass!”

So he started digging, and planted a vegetable garden. 30 years later, retired but still digging, he improves his techniques every year. The vegetable “bed” now fills every inch of his 750 square foot backyard. It lives up to Bergeron’s description—“my country garden in the city,” partly because it’s completely walled off from the neighbors by lush, bird-planted grape vines and black raspberry bushes that grow along the enclosing fences.

It’s as self-contained as any farm, too. It includes some perennial crops as well as the more standard annual vegetables. There’s a compost area, rainwater collectors and a gravity-fed irrigation system, storage for equipment, plus many practically ingenious and whimsically inspired inventions. A salvaged 55-gallon drum is the main element in an elevated, rotating compost bin, which he turns daily to reap a steady supply of crumbly dark compost. His latest project was once a truck cap. It sits on a cinder block frame now, its black sides absorbing heat and windows oriented to admit light. Bergeron’s fitted it with shelves and is nearly ready to put it to use as a greenhouse.

Vegetable gardening isn’t so popular as flower gardening, but you wonder why, when you stand in Bergeron’s domain and sample the produce. One bite of a fresh-picked cuke or whiff of a warm, ripe pepper and I’m ready to redesign some flower beds to make room for potatoes, corn and beans. It’s like trading one sense for two or three—less visually exciting, perhaps, but heavenly in scent and taste, and much more likely to draw me in to touch and fondle.

And as for the possibilities – the sky’s the limit in this oldest of gardening pursuits. In the 6,000 years that beans have been cultivated, gardeners were not sitting still but selecting and passing on their favorite varieties. Although commercial farmers in North America now restrict themselves to just six potato cultivars, hundreds of types still exist, legacy of ancient New World gardens that provided a range of potato-y flavors from nutty to tart.

It would be a shame, on many levels, to let that legacy pass. European explorers of the 18th century found far better gardens in the Americas than they had known back home. Native Americans grew more species and varieties than most Europeans had ever seen, and in many cases used more advanced techniques. It’s likely that Bergeron, keen on treading lightly on the Earth by growing organically, would have enjoyed comparing notes with those gardeners. They would both know from experience that thorough soil preparation and the plant’s own health are the best defense against any pest.

Bergeron worked hard on his soil preparation at first, but now he works smarter and less hard. “What I found when I first started digging was that this lot was used once for a dumping site. A manufacturing plant that was near here seems to have just dumped truckloads of scraps. It was disgusting. I knew I had to do something to make the soil better.

“Now I cover the whole yard with 10 to 12 inches of leaves in the fall. I wait until it dries in spring then sometime in May I turn the leaves and till them in. Maybe I’ll till them twice if they weren’t all the way dry the first time. Then I level it all and make my raised beds.

“I use string to outline my paths and then dig down, taking soil from the paths, throwing it on the rows and leveling it off. I usually make the rows no more than four feet wide so I can work in them without stepping in them. I can work two feet into the row from either side without stepping on it. It’s important to stay off the rows because the plants grow so much better in loose soil.

“I don’t start seed in the house, usually. The plants are too spindly when I grow from seed in the house. I buy my plants already started, although this year I’ll try out my new greenhouse. Some things I sow directly, of course—beets and carrots, for instance. I make my little rows and start the seed right there.

“I cut some rhubarb and horseradish in May. How do I manage to work around perennials like horseradish and rhubarb when I till in the leaves? I just till right over the horseradish – small pieces come up all over; enough for me to use if I watch for them. The rhubarb grows along the edge with the raspberries and the grape vines on the fence, where I don’t till.

“I don’t do much to the fruit. I prune the raspberries when I have time. I cut the dead canes out and throw a shovel of compost over their roots once in a while. I actually don’t dare go right in with them because I’d be sure to cry and because of what I’d look like—a guy trying to wrestle a wildcat!

“I grow way more than I can eat—here, have some of this cabbage, and some cucumbers. And I eat things other people might not think to try—here, taste this,” he says, pointing to the weed purslane that covers a bare area. “Really high in vitamin C, and tasty!”

“Learn how to make compost instead of using those chemical fertilizers – it’s free. Who fertilizes the forest? No one!,” says Bergeron.

Ernie Bergeron’s suggestions for the vegetable gardener:

Don’t plant too early. “I usually wait until the latter part of May to plant. I’d rather be late than early.”
“Learn how to make compost instead of using those chemical fertilizers—it’s free. Who fertilizes the forest? No one! I shovel compost onto the beds, and also make compost tea. And not only do my plants grow, but they grow well, even though I’ve been growing the same things in the same places all these years. No rotating—there’s really not room to rotate in a yard this small, anyway. It’s the compost and all the leaves I add that does it. If I have to buy fertilizer, I use fish emulsion and use it sparingly, maybe one or two times a season if the plants look a little pale.”
“Get away from chemicals. You don’t need them if the soil is in good shape. And encourage birds—a bird feeder I made from a metal trash can lid brings lots of birds in here. My friends the sparrows eat lots of bad bugs!”
“Keep weeds down by mulching with grass clippings or with leaves. You can store the leaves in bags from the previous fall. Just put the leaves in trash bags then cover the bags with a tarp so moisture doesn’t get in.”

Article by Janet Macunovich and photos by Steven Nikkila, www.gardenatoz.com.

Garden Forecast: Pleasantly Foggy

March 29, 2017 • Leave a Comment

After winter, predicting what happens to garden plants is as tricky as predicting the weather or the economy

Even a leafless tree can provide a windbreak and hold in a bit of radiant heat from the ground during the coldest winter nights, all good things for a plant at its feet. Yet none of this is any consolation if an ice-laden limb of the tree flattens everything in the understory!

Perhaps that mountain ash, burning bush, lilac or rhododendron died as a result of black walnut blight, poisoned by accumulation of chemicals produced by walnut roots. Or maybe the victim would have survived with more moisture. The more water that goes into the soil under a black walnut, the more the toxins are diluted, so that even sensitive plants may survive.

This past winter was odd, weather-wise. That’s not surprising, since few seasons ever match all the averages. At winter’s end the standard greeting between two gardeners is “Hello! Weird winter, huh? What do you suppose all that (fill in weather feature here) will mean to the garden this year?”

Needled, waxy species such as junipers usually have an advantage over broadleaf evergreens like boxwood and rhododendron in an exposed and windy winter. Yet if this big plant was newly planted last fall, still possessing only the unnaturally small rootball of the nursery field, wind may have rocked the plant and broken many roots.

Have fun soliciting and making predictions but treat it as what it is, a game. Use it to pass the time until spring arrives with the real answers. Don’t take any prediction too seriously, no matter the source.

A warm winter may be easier than usual on hybrid roses. But single-digit air that arrives in late winter when there is no insulating snow over the roses’ roots may do more damage than another year’s sub-zero snowy January.

That goes for the pictorial prognostications that accompany this story. Don’t fret over any of them, just consider them as the possibilities they are.

My goal here is to convince you that it’s not possible to make an accurate forecast of what effect a particular stretch of weather will have on a given garden. It’s far better, and more fun, to match plants and sites, then see what happens as millions of years of genetic development goes head to head with all the vagaries of the rest of the natural world.

If you want to explore this position, start by comparing garden forecasting with two disciplines that rely on prediction: meteorology and economics.

First, there’s meteorology, a science that even the most critical person admits has improved over the past 40 years in its ability to predict tomorrow’s weather. To make predictions, forecasters use precise data collected from thousands of weather stations across and above the world. These numbers are transmitted instantaneously to central reporting offices where all the factors that influence the speed, direction, temperature and humidity of air currents, plus the atmosphere’s current vital signs, are fed into sophisticated computers. There they churn as hundreds or thousands of equations whose answers are compared to known history and probability, then displayed as predicted future air pressure, wind speed, cloud development, etc.

This system for analyzing the atmosphere had its beginnings in prehistory when the first farmer or sailor squinted into the wind and tried to recall when he or she had seen a sky quite like that and what had followed in that sky’s wake. By 2,000 years ago, these forecasters had help from weather vanes and rain gauges, but it wasn’t until the mid-1600s that they understood the need to measure air pressure, humidity and temperature and invented the barometer, hygrometer and thermometer. Thus today’s computers have no more than 350 years of data to work with. For many New World areas the records cover less than 100 years.

Beautiful but stupid, that’s a forsythia. Just a few days of cold then a warm spell can trick the chemical clock in a forsythia bud into acting like winter is over. Flowers that open early, even part-way, won’t be part of the spring show. Some other plants that bloom out of season in late fall, such as azaleas and lilacs, may fare better next time if fertilized differently. A nutrient-deficient bud may not harden as well or set as dependable a chemical clock.

With simple math (at least I’m told it’s simple!) one can look at the number of variables, the amount of historical data on hand, the possible combinations of variables and locations for which we desire weather forecasts and see that we just haven’t been at this game long enough to know all the possible answers.

Lilac is a tough character that isn’t phased by unusual winter temperatures. Yet, if a foot path to the school bus stop passes over this plant’s roots, it may be in trouble. That pressure on the soil, buffered during a normal winter by ice in the ground, may pack the soil all year if the soil is not frozen. Soil there may now be so compacted it’s suffocating the roots.

Another place where accurate forecasts would be gold—literally—is the field of economics. It’s a science barely 300 years old and which only took on its current form about 70 years ago. It’s so new that we really don’t expect reliable predictions and accept widely varying interpretations of the same “leading indicators.” Economists are still debating how much influence each accepted variable has on overall economic growth and recession, and theories are still being advanced and tested that would change the variables themselves.

So there you have it, two areas where there is a pressing need for accurate forecasting. In one, we’ve strived for thousands of years yet we’re still only close in our predictions. In the other, although the search for reliable forecasts is fueled by the weight of all the world’s money and we have hair-splittingly accurate accounts of every conceivable factor for 70 years, experts still can’t agree that we’re even looking at the right numbers.

This coral bells might have gotten ahead, making more roots than usual during a warm winter. However, if there is no snow to insulate it against dry, cold winds in late winter, it may lose as much leaf to dehydration as the extra starch in the roots will be able to replace.

The basic natural factors that affect an individual plant’s performance are at least as complex as those that influence the weather. And because people are the ones who plant, prod and rate the plants whose futures we’d like to predict, human actions have to be taken into account, too.

Just to start building a history on which garden predictions might someday be based, we would need complete meteorological records for the garden area plus accurate daily measurements and seasonal averages of soil density, temperature, moisture levels, available nutrients and resident pathogens. Also important would be an objective evaluation of the relationship—beneficial or antagonistic—between each pair of plants so we could weight a plant’s possible response to adverse conditions for whether it was being assisted or debilitated by its neighbors. Of course we’d need reports on all human, animal or insect activity in the vicinity and detailed descriptions of the plants themselves, including their ages and past “medical” history.

Plants such as astilbe (also coral bells, rhododendron, azalea, yew, burning bush and many more) suffer extra damage from root loss if root-chewing black vine weevils were living in the soil near their roots in winter. The weevil grubs feed every day that the soil is not frozen, even under January’s and February’s snow. But if moles and shrews are also active during a warm winter, the weevil grubs may be wiped out.

Meteorologists turn to the National Weather Service for reports. Economists tap the National Bureau of Economic Research for essential statistics. Pressing need and the importance of money fuel these data-gathering efforts. There’s no big pay-off in collecting garden stats. So don’t hold your breath waiting for the Garden Prognostication Agency to appear.

Do keep doing your best to match each plant you grow to a site that provides the conditions it would have had in its native setting. Embedded in every well-sited plant is the ability to survive just about everything that Nature can throw at it. Grow it in the right amount of light and in the type of soil that species evolved to exploit. Water it as if you are the gentlest rains of that plant’s homeland. That plant will not only light up your life in a “normal” year but provide you with something to crow about in the bad times.

Article by Janet Macunovich and photos by Steven Nikkila, www.gardenatoz.com.

Janet’s Journal – A Drought Diary

August 30, 2016 • 1 Comment

Some gardening seasons are better than others. Don’t look and learn only during the best years, but also when disasters such as drought strike. There’s a lot to be learned, such as the fact that butterfly bushes, sedum and grasses not only survive drought and heat that wipe out astilbe and daylilies, but also look good under those conditions.

Plants that armor themselves against future droughts

After one of the hottest, driest summers in recent memory, we realized that quite a few species were not crispy critters, but actually seemed to be reveling in the heat and drought.

So I began noting plants in my own garden and others that rely almost entirely on rain, and made the following list. It’s hardly exhaustive—it’s heavy on perennials since that’s my gardening specialty, but even that list could be longer—but it’ll be useful for designing dry, gravelly beds or hot places where the hose won’t reach.

Hawthorns provide pleasant bloom in June, fruit for the birds, and respectable fall color. What a delight to know they also perform well in hot, dry places.

Don’t call it a list of drought-tolerant plants. Tolerance isn’t what you should settle for, because it’s not always pretty.

Joe Pye weed is a good example. They showed me their burned-back foliage, their drought defense mechanism. They simply hang on until late June, ugly though they may be with leaves so wilted you can pass your arm between stems without touching foliage, because then they can set buds for next spring. Even if they die back without flowering, those buds survive, insulated below the soil. It’s an effective survival technique, but hardly handsome.

So, some plants perfectly capable of outlasting a drought aren’t listed here. I sought and found plants that fare well in a drought and remain attractive too.

What makes these winners, when other plants shrivel or duck out in a hot, dry season? I’ve noticed a number of common characteristics that probably helped them survive. I’ll describe them so you can be on the lookout for other plants like them. Even without witnessing a plant’s performance under fire, you can probably bet on it if it has one or more of these attributes.

Plants with skinny foliage

The fewer and smaller its leaves, the less water a plant loses through transpiration on hot days. This was important this year, since some plants that might have weathered simple drought couldn’t handle the heat—they couldn’t take up water fast enough on the hottest days to replace what the leaves transpired.

Missing from the list are some plants with tiny leaves but a preference for dry air. Cosmos and annual bachelor button, for instance, are drought tolerant. Both are also susceptible to mildew when they’re under stress, as in a drought. Our high relative humidity insures that spores and chances of infection abound, so we see their lower leaves begin to brown and curl, victims of mildew.

Leaves held vertically

A leaf that stands upright escapes the full impact of midday sun. Bearded iris is a perfect example. It’s a plant that may never be as happy as when it’s planted in that hot, dry strip between driveway or sidewalk and brick house foundation. Yuccas and many ornamental grasses employ the same tactic.

Even large leaves can get by in a drought if vertically arranged. Prairie dock and its relative, compass plant, have huge leaves that stand straight up like canoe paddles stuck butt first into a sandy beach. Both plants impress me most in dry years, standing taller and producing sturdier flowering stems in a dry summer than wet (although prairie dock, a native of seasonally wet meadows, loves being wet at least through spring).

By comparison, and in explanation of some sad losses this year, pity the poor understory species often planted in the sun—flowering dogwoods, Japanese maples, redbuds, hydrangeas, etc. These plants’ leaves are held parallel to the ground, better to catch every photon of light that filters through the forest canopy. The only way for those leaves to protect themselves from full sun is to hang down—to wilt. In a wilted state they can’t photosynthesize, so the plant can starve in the process.

Leaves with a furry coat

The hair that makes a leaf look gray or silver also acts as insulation. Water released from “breathing holes”—the stomata—isn’t whisked away directly by the wind but remains trapped in the hairs as a high-humidity buffer zone.

Even a little bit of hair makes a difference—the downy foliage of a Tellima or the bristles on prairie dock and annual sunflower are examples. Excessive hair doesn’t seem to be the problem for plants that overdressing can be to people, however. Blue mist spirea and Russian sage, two of the best species for hot dry beds, have a coating not only on their leaves but the twigs too.

Leaves can fail to develop their rightful downiness if grown in cool, moist shade. Blue globe thistle and dusty miller are cases in point. They become almost green in the shade and apt to sag at the first taste of drought.

Waxy coatings on leaves

Here’s another means to slow water loss. Myrtle euphorbia’s (Euphorbia myrsinites) wax coating protects it even through winter’s freeze-drying, so I’m not surprised this plant looked blue, cool and comfortable all summer. And although giant crambes burned or were set back, their waxy blue cousin, sea crambe, never looked better than it did in this drought.

Tap roots

Plants that pull water from deep down can grow for weeks and even months after other plants have curled up and blown away. Tap roots are probes that can extend many feet into the subsoil.

Many plants have more than one defense mechanism. Waxy myrtle euphorbia has a tap root. Yucca and yucca-leaf sea holly (Eryngium yuccifolium) have vertically-arranged leaves as well as tap roots.

Butterfly bush may hang its leaves on the hottest dry days, but it comes through with flower even so. Now, if we could only help it stay ahead of the spider mites that also like hot, dry conditions!

Wide-reaching roots

Far-flung, stringy roots carry junipers, butterfly bushes and hawthorns through a drought. These plants aren’t limited to drawing water from only that relatively small area right outside their own driplines.

Sedum ‘Autumn Joy’ has become the plant I love to hate, because it’s too perfect. Is it fair that a plant with good foliage all summer, great color all fall, plus winter interest should also handle drought and heat without faltering?!

Succulent foliage

You probably know that cacti take up water during the brief desert rainy season and can retain and use it slowly, even over years. Michigan native prickly pear cactus and many sedums can also make use of water that was imbibed weeks before.

Bulbous plants and others with avoidance syndrome

Listen hard, and you can probably hear tulips, daffodils and foxtail lilies humming with delight right about now. These plants developed “grow fast, then hide” traits to deal with bone-dry summers. In fact, Michigan’s normally-moist summers may account for problems we have with these plants as perennials—namely, that they won’t come back. If the bulbs (tulip and daffodil) or roots (foxtail lily) remain cool and moist all summer, they don’t ripen. As a result, they may not set flowers or might not develop a proper protective tunic, which may mean they’ll rot during winter.

Catmint is happy here next to a stone patio in 95 degree heat, even without irrigation.

Beats me what gives them an edge

Then there are the plants who survive by some facility I can’t figure. Yet even though I can’t guess why ‘Gold Standard’ and ‘Sugar and Cream’ hostas keep going when other hostas are toasted or prostrated by the heat, I can’t deny my notes—they did stand tall. Tovara, Solomon’s seal and goatsbeard stump me as well, as does siebold viburnum—this last has hairy leaves and twigs, but so do other viburnums that scorched and drooped this summer!

Most of these enigmas are shade-loving plants, and as such are not likely to withstand drought and heat if moved out of their element. However, I’m convinced that shade alone did not save them. Many were survivors in shade gardens among dozens of other shade-loving species that wimped out.

One last thing. If you choose to grow a perennial or hardy woody plant from this list, don’t simply set it out in a dry bed and expect it to thrive. If it was produced in a nursery or an irrigated bed, even if it belongs to the most drought-tolerant species in the world, it will need time to reconfigure its root system from a dense, watered-every-day ball to something wide, deep or both. If it’s a species shielded by furry foliage or a thick, waxy coating, it may come to you less hairy or thinner-skinned than it should be. Once established, things are different, since the plant’s leaves will form in hotter, drier conditions. So provide water during dry spells for at least the first year if you want to see your drought-tolerant plants shine the next time rains fail.

Half the world may feel that yuccas are appropriately named, but even those detractors must admit they shine during a drought.

Drought-thriving plants

Annuals

Dusty miller (Senecio cineraria)
Gazania
Licorice plant (Helichrysum species
and varieties)
Red fountain grass (Pennisetum setaceum ‘Rubrum’)
Sunflowers (Helianthus varieties)
Verbena bonariensis

Perennials

Allium (Allium species)
Amsonia (Amsonia tabernaemontana and A. hubrichtii)*
Baby’s breath (Gypsophila paniculata)
Barrenwort (Epimedium species)*
Bearded iris (Iris germanica hybrids)
Blue globe thistle (Echinops ritro)
Blue lyme grass (Elymus arenarius, Lymus arenarius). Beware: it’s not a clump-former but a runner extraordinaire.
Butterfly bush (Buddleia davidii and its hybrids)
Catmint (Nepeta mussinii and hybrids)
Compass plant (Silphium laciniatum)
Daffodil (Narcissus species and hybrids)
Dianthus ‘Bath’s Pink’ and other perennial carnations having D. gratianopolitanus in their genes.
Fountain grass (Pennisetum alopecuroides)
Foxtail lily (Eremurus himalaicus)
Goatsbeard (Aruncus dioicus)*
Goldenrod (Solidago species and hybrids). Note: it’s not an allergen and there are excellent clump-forming hybrids such as ‘Goldenmosa’ available.
Hosta ‘Gold Standard’*
Hosta ‘Sugar and Cream’*
Lavender mist meadow rue (Thalictrum rochebruneanum)*
Leatherwood fern (Dryopteris marginalis)*
Michigan lily (Lilium michiganense)*
Myrtle euphorbia (Euphorbia myrsinites)
Perennial ageratum (Eupatorium coelestinum)*
Prairie dock (Silphium terebinthinaceum)
Prickly pear cactus (Opuntia humifusa)
Rose mallow (Lavatera cachemiriana and Malva alcea)
Sea crambe, sea kale (Crambe maritima)
Showy stonecrop (Sedum spectabile and hybrids such as ‘Autumn Joy’)
Solomon’s seal (Polygonatum species)*
Starry false Solomon’s seal (Smilacina stellata)*
Tellima (Tellima grandiflora)*
Tovara (Tovara virginiana, Persicaria virginiana)*
Tulip (Tulipa species and hybrids)
Yucca (Yucca filamentosa)
Yucca-leaf sea holly (Eryngium yuccifolium)

Shrubs

Barberry (Berberis thunbergii)
Blue mist spirea (Caryopteris x clandonensis, gray-leaf forms)
Juniper (Juniperus species)
Siebold viburnum (V. sieboldii). Caution: fragrant in bloom, but not in a nice way.*

Trees

Hawthorn (Crataegus species)
Honeylocust (Gleditsia triacanthos)

* Should be grown in shade or half shade.

Article by Janet Macunovich and photos by Steven Nikkila, www.gardenatoz.com.

After the Fall: Late-Season Plant Staking

June 28, 2016 • 2 Comments

Many of the players in this scene owe their upright stance to the gardener who took a few minutes in May to position a grow-through support above the plant.

Save grace and flower with these restorative plant staking techniques

by Janet Macunovich / Photos by Steven Nikkila

This article is not about proper plant staking, that pre-meditated placing of supports. It’s about staking after a plant falls or when a plant flop is imminent.

Surely you’re familiar with the situation: it takes place in high summer. It involves a perennial whose progress you’ve been following with pleasure—by its fullness and vigor it has made it clear that this year’s bloom is going to be the best ever. The action begins as you step outside to look over your garden and find it, the promising star, leaning drunkenly against a neighboring plant or sprawled flat like a worn out puppy on a hot day.

The next time you find yourself playing this scene, resist the urge to grab all the stems, stuff them together in a string girdle and tether them to a stake. Few things look more ridiculous than bunched, crooked-tip stems with foliage turned inside-out, torn or flattened by the encasing cord. Not only are your efforts sure to produce a visual disaster, chances are you’ll crack stems or flower stalks in the process.

Before you take that route, try one of the following methods of restorative staking.

Left, a grow-through support is a simple, effective device—if it’s used in May. Right, the globe thistle (Echinops ritro) stands tall and straight in July. If you look closely you can see the edge of the support that was placed in May and keeps the plant in line. — Left: a grow-through support is a simple, effective device—if it’s used in May. Right: the globe thistle (*Echinops ritro*) stands tall and straight in July. If you look closely you can see the edge of the support that was placed in May and keeps the plant in line.

Stakes and crutches

First, gather a dozen or more stakes that are just as tall as or a bit taller than the plant was before it fell. Round up a small hammer. Put your pruners in your pocket, along with a roll of string or wide, soft ties—I prefer to use green- or straw-colored hemp. Often you will need some crutches as well, so take out your loppers and prune a shrub or two to get a half dozen sticks that are at least half the height of the fallen plant and have forked tops.

This globe thistle was not staked in May. By July 1, it’s leaning drastically, inches from a full fall.

Now, lift a stem of the fallen plant you’ll be staking. Raise it gently toward vertical to see how far back you can push it without cracking it. Lay the stem back down again.

Insert 4 or 5 bamboo canes, straight sticks or hooked-end metal rods in the center of the plant’s air space. Imagine a spot about six inches underground, directly below the center of the plant’s crown. Insert the stakes as if they would meet at that point below the plant. Angle them so they are not straight up and down, but lean outward slightly to match what your test lift said the stems can bear.

Insert 6 or 8 more stakes to make a ring around the first. Lean these stakes outward to match the angle of the inner ring. An important note: You must be happy with the stakes’ positions before you start to work with the stems. The stakes should cover space evenly and gracefully—I aim to make them look like the spray of a fountain. I have learned that if I am not pleased with the stakes alone, I will not be happy with the finished staking either.

Tap the stakes into the ground with a hammer. I’ve found that if I use my weight to force them in, it’s too likely that I’ll lose my balance at least once and end up stepping or falling into the plant’s prostrate stems.

Set the stakes just deep enough to be steady. They don’t have to be driven to China, because each one is only going to support one or perhaps two stems.

To position the stakes well, you may drive them right through the crown of the plant. Don’t worry too much about this. Most of the time, the stakes will go through without serious damage. Once in a while a stake will pierce an important root or stem base, in which case the stem will tell you by wilting the next day and you’ll just cut it out then.

All of the fallen stems will be tied to or contained within the stakes you see here. You should be happy with the arrangement of the stakes before tying stems to them. — All of the fallen stems will be tied to or contained within the stakes you see here. You should be happy with the arrangement of the stakes *before* tying stems to them.

Next, take a look at the fallen stems. Picture the crown of the plant as a bull’s eye target and pick 4 or 5 stems that emanate from the bull’s eye at the center. Raise them gently, one by one, to meet in the middle of the inner ring of stakes. This often requires patience to separate the stems from the heap and guide them past the stakes without breaking them or tearing foliage.

Tie these central stems together, loosely. Let them lean against an inner-ring stake. This is only a temporary arrangement, so it doesn’t have to be pretty.

From stems still on the ground, select some that arise from the first ring around the bull’s eye. Tie one to each inner-ring stake.

Each of the inner-ring stakes has a stem tied to it now, and several stems stand free in the center. Here, for demonstration purposes, the inner ring of stakes has been temporarily marked with orange sleeves.

After the inner ring of stakes is full, release the string that holds the central stems together. Usually these will not fall but will rest against each other or the stakes. However, if it seems like they may slip through and fall to the ground again, take one turn of string around the inner stakes to corral the loose stems within.

Use a figure-eight tie to prevent crushing the stem and to allow it necessary swaying leeway in winds and storms. That is, cross the two ends of your tying string in between the stem and the stake.

Now raise a stem and tie it to each outer-ring stake. Clip out weak and flowerless stems.

Cut off the tip of any stake that shows above the plant.

You can obtain crutches by cutting branches from many common landscape plants, including burning bush, crabapple and spruce. All foliage is removed and soft twigs clipped off to turn this 36-inch piece of burning bush into a crutch.

Use crutches to support the outermost stems of the fallen perennial. These outside stems are often least flexible and most crooked since they were the first to fall. Raise the outer stems one at a time, push a crutch into the ground to support it, then let the stem rest there. Sometimes one crutch has enough forks to support several stems. If so, drop stems one at a time into the crutch—don’t bunch them.

Raise the fallen stem. Push a crutch firmly into the ground so its fork is beneath the stem, then let the stem rest on the crutch.

Here’s the globe thistle, arrested from its fall and restored to nearly full glory.

If raised before its flowers are open, a stem’s tip will turn up to vertical again. Here’s the plant, proud and tall two days after being staked, its crooked tips already straightening. — If raised *before* its flowers are open, a stem’s tip will turn up to vertical again. Here’s the plant, proud and tall two days after being staked, its crooked tips already straightening.

Crutches alone

Sometimes when a plant is only beginning to fall or when it has very few stems, it can be returned to grace with just a few well-placed crutches.

Left, This milky bellflower Campanula lactiflora ‘Loddon Anna’ wouldn’t normally need staking but is growing away from the shade of big trees 25 feet to the west. Its stems are likely to descend further unless staked. Crutches are all that will be needed to bring the plant back up from its fall. Right, Each stem was lifted and a crutch pushed into the ground to hold it nearer to vertical. For crutches with multiple forks, additional stems were then lifted and guided into the crutch. — Left: This milky bellflower (*Campanula lactiflora* ‘Loddon Anna’) wouldn’t normally need staking, but it is growing away from the shade of big trees 25 feet to the west. Its stems are likely to descend further unless staked. Crutches are all that will be needed to bring the plant back up from its fall. Right: Each stem was lifted and a crutch pushed into the ground to hold it nearer to vertical. For crutches with multiple forks, additional stems were then lifted and guided into the crutch.

Lasso it, then crutch it

Throwing a lasso and cinching it around a plant is not attractive or even effective—the whole bale can still slump to one side or the other. However, I do sometimes cinch stems temporarily to pull a plant together while I set crutches.

Crutches are often simpler to place than late-season stakes and are much less visible than any kind of corral or police line you could construct around the outside of the plant with stakes and string.

Left: This culver’s root (Veronicastrum virginicum) was beginning to topple. Although it looks ridiculous in its string girdle, it’s only a temporary measure – a way to make the plant “suck it in” while crutches are placed. Right: While it’s tied up I can set crutches around the base of the plant. They’re sleeved with orange so you can see them better. — Left: This culver’s root (*Veronicastrum virginicum*) was beginning to topple. Although it looks ridiculous in its string girdle, it’s only a temporary measure—a way to make the plant “suck it in” while crutches are placed. Right: While it’s tied up, I can set crutches around the base of the plant. They’re sleeved with orange so you can see them better.

Left: I’m releasing the plant from its string girdle now, and the stems are relaxing against the crutches. Right: Don’t you think using crutches allows the plant to retain its grace? Just compare it to the strung-up culver’s root in photo number 1.

Another reason to temporarily tie up a plant is to work on a fallen neighbor:

Left: This yellow daylily and blue balloon flower (Platycodon grandiflorus) make a great combination when they bloom together, but the daylily has overgrown its neighbor. The daylily can be divided in fall or spring to reduce its size. For now, I’ll stake the balloon flower. Right: It helps to tie the daylily out of the way while I work on the balloon flower. — Left: This yellow daylily and blue balloon flower (*Platycodon grandiflorus*) make a great combination when they bloom together, but the daylily has overgrown its neighbor. The daylily can be divided in fall or spring to reduce its size. For now, I’ll stake the balloon flower. Right: It helps to tie the daylily out of the way while I work on the balloon flower.

Left: I’ve placed the stakes and am raising and tying the fallen balloon flower stems. An alternative would be to leave the fallen stems on the ground and use short stakes to keep the tips vertical. I decided against that option since I prefer to have the blue balloon flowers open at the same height as the daylilies. Right: Once the balloon flower was staked, I released the daylily from its bonds. I also clipped back some of the daylily’s leaves to make it less overwhelming.

Wrap-up: a time consuming thing

Staking after the fall takes considerably more time and skill than preventive staking. As an example, staking the blue globe thistle after its fall, including the time required to cut branches and make crutches, took about an hour. Placing the grow-through grid over the globe thistle pictured at the beginning of this article took less than five minutes in May. As my Dad always said, “If you do a thing right at the start, even if it seems like a lot of work, it will still save time in the long run.”

On the other hand, Mom must have told me a million times, “Don’t cry over it! Use your head and come up with a way to fix it.”

Out in the garden in July and August, I smile every time I stake after a fall. I’m not only salvaging a pretty plant, I’m proving my parents’ wisdom.

Article by Janet Macunovich and photos by Steven Nikkila, www.gardenatoz.com.

An Expert Perspective: Making the Most of Garden Walks

June 1, 2016 • 4 Comments

You can ask for the names of the plants that thrill you as you tour a garden. But what if you were seeing those plants through the eyes of someone involved with breeding them? What would that expert see?

by Janet Macunovich / Photos by Steven Nikkila

Live my life in the garden, that’s what I do. Work in others’ gardens. Teach in gardens. Write about gardens. With all the time I spend there, it seems like my great revelation about making the most of garden walks would have come to me there.

Nope. It came on a horse.

My daughter wanted to go riding, but none of her friends could go. So I went. It was a pretty fall day, but a weekday. The stables were nearly deserted, and the same man who took our money and collected our insurance waivers saddled our horses and one for himself. We’d take his favorite path, he told us, the one he’d first cut through the woods ten years before.

It can be fun, mind-expanding or even shocking to hear what someone else is thinking as they look where you do. When you wonder about how long it took to plant it, they may be pondering what kind of finish those non-plant materials need to be weather-resistant.

What do you see? Pretty plant combinations that you wonder if you can grow? Intriguing garden art the source for which you’d like to know? Are those the same things someone else would see? You never know, and therein lies one of the greatest values of taking garden walks!

Single file behind him, we rode into those woods. Quietly at first, enjoying the colors and the sush of hooves on fallen leaves.

Then my daughter pointed out a clump of baneberry just off the trail, turning in her saddle to be sure I looked where she pointed. I saw, and we made some just-to-talk guesses about what else we’d find growing there, if we waded in.

Our guide had not even turned to look, but my daughter, ever the sociable gatekeeper in conversation, called to him. “Don’t worry. We aren’t really going to stop. Way too much poison ivy in there!”

Then, he did stop. Reined right in. “You know what poison ivy looks like?” he asked us.

“Uh, huh,” we both said. I looked at the vines scrambling over brush and along the ground, some shed of foliage, others with a red leaf or two still clinging. Vines on tree trunks alongside the path were presenting their leaves so close that our horses were surely carrying some of the oil on their coats. How could someone who rode this path every day, who dealt with the effects of poison ivy all the time—as he was now proceeding to tell us—how could he NOT know what it looked like?

So we pointed out the vines, the leaves, and some telltale characteristics of both. Pulling a gallon baggie from my jeans pocket—as a dog owner and a cutting-snitcher, I’m rarely ever without one—I covered my hand, reached out and broke off a bit of leafy vine. “Here,” I said, reversing the bag on itself, to seal vine and oil inside. “We can hang this on your bulletin board. It’ll be safe enough in the bag, and people will know exactly what to watch out for.”

You’d probably be encouraged to take home not just the name of the plants, but the tonnage of stone and details of construction if your 70-year-old tour companion said, on seeing this stonework, “You know, Bonnie and I built our stone wall last year by ourselves and it was easier than it looks.”

What a nice smile he gave us! So I dared to ask the burning question.

“I wonder,” I said. “I look into the woods here and the poison ivy jumps out at me. You’ve been scanning the woods as we ride, too, but you weren’t registering those vines until just now. What is it YOU see alongside this path?”

So, for an hour or so one afternoon, I looked into those woods through a horse-savvy, outdoorsman’s eyes. There was so much there I would have missed.

The butt of a large tree, sawed off nearly at ground level wouldn’t have interested me, but it made our guide chuckle. “Had to cut through that old tree twice. Once when it first cracked and leaned over the path. A second time when the horses kept shying and wouldn’t walk past the stump I left behind!”

Some tumbled rocks held another story. “I always take a good look around those big rocks because once there was a fox den up there. Those foxes, they sure take care of the mice around the barns.”

On a garden walk, there are so many eyes, and each pair sees something different.

That eye-opener of a ride changed what I do before going on a garden tour.

I still make my standard preparations. That starts with admitting that no matter how impressive a plant or garden feature is when I see it, I will NOT recall its name, where someone said it came from, or even why it impressed me without a memory aid. So I round up a pencil, a pocket notebook and sometimes a camera, too. I don’t bother with pens anymore, having learned that pencils work even in the rain and graphite scribbles are legible even after something unfortunate like a dip in a water garden.

Then, I take a stroll through my own yard a day or so before the garden walk. The objective is to note my current stars—what’s in bloom or has other appeal such as great form, attractive seed pods or sweet smell. Why? Because my pre-tour perceptions will help me sift through all the beautiful things on the tour to develop a truly practical “must have right now” list.

On the tour, I consider each potential “must have” against that mental snapshot of my own yard. I don’t concentrate hard to do this, just let the visual stimulation switch on what every gardener has: great visual sense. Very quickly, the mind’s eye can tuck the item under consideration into a hundred different real spots, and critique it.

Fun garden art? Lush groundcover? Multi-stemmed tree trunk? A beautiful trellis/vine combination? For each viewer, it may be something different.

This process flags for me the things I can buy right away, even on the way home, because they can be added without rearranging a whole garden. I star those in my notes as “must have’s.” The runners-up are noted as well but not starred. I won’t make the mistake of hauling home a bunch of plants that may languish and perhaps die in their pots while I get around to moving a fence or adding a walk (those little details that can delay a planting).

Finally, I recruit a companion for these treks to peek into private gardens. Who? Anyone who would enjoy a pleasant walk who also sees differently than I do. She or he might not even be a gardener and that’s fine because what I hope they’ll bring with them, and give me a look through, is a perspective on gardens and plants flavored by a background in some field I don’t know. It might be that they travel a lot, practice embroidery, admire calligraphy, know how to jet ski or once studied astronomy. Whatever we don’t have in common, that’s what will make the day most interesting. Together, we’ll see more than we would have.

Article by Janet Macunovich and photos by Steven Nikkila, www.gardenatoz.com.

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Ernie Bergeron’s suggestions for the vegetable gardener:

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Plants that armor themselves against future droughts

Drought-thriving plants

Save grace and flower with these restorative plant staking techniques

Stakes and crutches

Crutches alone

Lasso it, then crutch it

Wrap-up: a time consuming thing