Michigan Gardener

SIGN UP for our Free E-Newsletter!
We will send you occasional e-mails with valuable gardening tips and information!

Digital Edition

Click cover to read now!
This issue sponsored by:

Archive for the Janet Macunovich tag

Replacement options for a dying ash tree

  •   Leave a Comment

Ginkgos in the fall can be spectacular, the fan-shaped leaves glowing gold. Sometimes the color is a less showy yellow-green, but whatever the fall color, the leaves drop quickly soon after and all at once, a leaf raker’s dream.

Part 2 of 2 – Trees for root spaces greater than 10 feet wide

When an ash tree is the friendly cover above your patio or picnic table, and it is doomed to fall to the plague of emerald ash borer, its loss is a personal one. Here’s some consolation: in that location, with park-like room for roots to spread, many species can be expected to grow well and quickly.

Choose from this list and score one for diversity. By planting one of these excellent but underused species, you’ll help diminish the chance of whole-neighborhood defoliation during some future insect or disease attack. 

Trees for root spaces at least 10 feet wide

These trees need larger boulevards and islands, where roots have at least 10 feet to spread in all directions:

Ginkgo (Ginkgo biloba, fruitless male varieties such as ‘Autumn Gold’ and ‘Santa Cruz’) 50 to 80’ tall with a variable spread (‘Santa Cruz’ is very wide, ‘Autumn Gold’ just a bit more than half as wide as tall). Grows 12” or more per year in its youth, slower as it matures. Flowers are inconspicuous. Fall color can be a superb gold. Female trees are not desirable as the fallen fruit is malodorous. Full sun. Prefers deep, moist, sandy soil but will tolerate almost any situation.

Hackberry (Celtis occidentalis) 40 to 60’ tall and wide, may be larger. Grows 1 to 2’ per year. Grows in almost any soil and moisture condition, in full sun. Makes no show of flower or fall color. Hard-seeded, berry-like fruit loved by birds and small mammals. This is another of many native trees that are just being discovered for use in the landscape. Like the ash, it’s a tree that rarely stars, yet always fills a supporting role. Some selections have been made, such as ‘Prairie Pride’ with especially lustrous leaves and a broad crown or ‘Windy City’ for a fast growth rate and especially wide spread reminiscent of its relative, the American elm.

Hardy rubber tree (Eucommia ulmoides) 40 to 60’ tall and wide. Grows 12 to 18” per year. Lustrous dark green foliage that’s pest free (and so it’s wonderful to sit under!). Inconspicuous bloom. No fall color. Full sun and almost any type and condition of soil. This tree fits the bill for people who want a non-fussy, relatively fast-growing, pest-free shade tree that does not drop fruit or seeds.

Turkish filbert (Corylus colurna) 40 to 50’ tall and about half as wide. Grows 12-18” per year. Nothing worth seeing in its tiny flowers or fall color. Nuts ripen in fall. Dark green foliage is pest free. In full sun and well-drained soil can tolerate almost any other adverse condition, including the droughty soils that cause scorch on maples.

Yellowwood is a little known native that’s nearly pest free, a true showstopper in bloom or fall color, and excellent for shade on small properties by virtue of its wide spread.

Yellowwood (Cladrastis kentukea) 30 to 50’ tall. Wider than tall. Grows about 12” per year. Fragrant white flowers in large pendant clusters in June. Smooth gray bark. Full sun and well-drained soil.

Trees that should not have any restriction to their roots

These are trees that belong in back yards, parks and wide open spaces.

Bald cypress strikes many people as an evergreen, then surprises them in fall by dropping its needles.

American linden (Tilia americana) 60 to 80’ tall and 2/3 as wide. Grows 12 to 18” per year. Small white flowers in June are fragrant enough to carry across a yard and very attractive to bees—thus this is called “bee tree.” Fall color sometimes yellow. Full sun to half sun. Almost any soil.

LEFT: American linden is a stately, dependable shade tree—pyramidal in its youth, showy in bloom, and comfortably rounded in old age. RIGHT: Bur oak has no showy flowers and its fall color is dull yellow. But it is rich in character with deeply ridged, corky bark—an outline to admire while you lie in its shade.

Bald cypress (Taxodium distichum) 50 to 70’ tall and half as wide. Pyramidal. Grows 1 to 2’ per year. Fern-like foliage emerges yellow green and fades to yellow or orange-brown before dropping in fall. Shaggy red-brown bark and buttressed trunk base are attractive. Full sun. Moist to wet soil.

Black gum is all you could want in a shade tree—high branched, not messy, and great fall color. However, it is not tolerant of compacted, dry or highly alkaline soils, so plant it to replace a back yard tree, not one by the street or sidewalk!

Black gum (Nyssa sylvatica) 30 to 50’ tall and 2/3 as wide. Grows 12” per year. Its bloom is inconspicuous but fall color is stupendous, from yellow orange to deepest scarlet. Small fruits ripen in early fall and are eaten by birds. Full sun or part shade. Deep, moist, well-drained soil. Don’t site it in harsh winds.

Bur oak (Quercus macrocarpa) 70 to 80’ tall and wide. Can be larger. 8 to 12” growth per year. Nothing to note in terms of flower or fall color. Full sun. Most any soil. More tolerant of city conditions than almost any other oak.

Dawn redwood (Metasequoia glyptostroboides) 70 to 100’ tall, 25’ wide. The tree is an impressive pyramidal form. Grows 3’ a year. Inconspicuous flower. Foliage is ferny, very attractive and sometimes red-orange in fall. Bark is shaggy red-brown, easy to like. Full sun. Prefers moist, well-drained soil but is very tolerant of wet soil. Pest problems are very rare.

LEFT: Dawn redwood may keep its lowest branches into old age and sweep the ground, or branches can be pruned to accommodate traffic. The author was not a believer until she saw dawn redwood as a magnificent street tree in Manhattan. RIGHT: Kentucky coffeetree in winter is a stately form indeed.

Kentucky coffeetree (Gymnocladus dioicus) 60 to 75’ tall, not as wide as tall. Can be larger. Grows about 12” per year. Flower is insignificant. Female trees can bear large, hard pods; if this is unacceptable, hold out for the male variety ‘Prairie Titan’ or ‘Stately Manor.’ Fall color may be a good yellow. It can aggravate fastidious rakers since in the fall the leaves, the ribs that connect the leaflets, and the seed pods drop at different times. Full sun. Deep, moist soils are best, but the tree will tolerate almost any city condition. This tree got its name when early American settlers used the seeds as a coffee substitute, but we are now told its seeds are toxic.

Lacebark elm is a dependable, fast-growing, wide-spreading shade tree with gorgeous bark. It has an additional common name, Chinese elm, that causes some people to confuse it with an inferior tree, Siberian elm.

Lacebark elm (Ulmus parvifolia) 40 to 50’ tall and wide. Grows 1 to 2’ per year. Inconspicuous flower. Fall color may be yellow or red-purple. Mottled, peeling bark is a plus in winter. Full sun. Moist, well-drained soil is best but it tolerates many soil conditions.

Swamp white oaks are faster-growing than most people realize, so we can enjoy them in their youth as well as leave them to our grandchildren.

Sawtooth oak (Quercus acutissima) 40 to 60’ tall and wide. Grows 2’ per year during its first twenty years. Golden catkin flowers in spring can be attractive. Foliage is very clean, deep green in summer, often a good yellow in fall. Acorns drop early in fall. An impressive, high-branched shade tree. Full sun. Well-drained soil.

Shingle oaks can frustrate some gardeners by holding onto leaves through winter. Others see the leaves as winter interest. Isn’t diversity grand!

Shingle oak (Quercus imbricaria) 50 to 60’ tall and wide. Can be larger. Grows 12 to 18” per year. Leaves unfurl red, are lustrous dark green in summer and become yellow to red-brown in fall. Full sun. Moist, well-drained soil.

Swamp white oak (Quercus bicolor) 50 to 60’ tall and wide. Can be larger. Grows about 12″ per year. With age, develops an impressive, stout trunk and deeply furrowed bark. Fall color can range from yellow to maroon. Full sun. Moist to wet soil.

Read More: Part 1 – Trees for root spaces less than 10 feet wide

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

Replacement options for a dying ash tree

  •   Leave a Comment

Part 1 of 2 – Ash replacement trees for root spaces less than 10 feet wide

Chinese fringetree is a workhorse that also blooms once a year and supplies fruit for the birds. Remember, the ash trees we’re replacing offered no flower and only brief yellow fall color. Their greatest quality was dependable growth even in tough places.

Emerald ash borer has erased millions of native ash trees from our landscapes and forests. It’s hard to believe that similar devastation happened just decades ago, when millions of American elms fell to Dutch elm disease, or that America has also experienced the loss of certain poplars, black locusts and virtually all of its millions of acres of American chestnuts since 1850.

Perhaps we can stop history from repeating itself. After every previous loss, we planted as America always has—in a big way, in masses. As a result, our urban forest is dominated by just a few species, notably various maples, honeylocusts and littleleaf lindens. To protect ourselves from future widespread loss we have to break that pattern and plant a greater diversity of trees around our homes and on our waysides.

Even before the onset of emerald ash borer, concerned arborists had put a moratorium on ash and maple planting and begun planting less common trees. Tree planting became a matter of mixing species within a city block, rather than planting lines of hundreds of the same species, even the same clone of a species. They are making sure that trees won’t in the future be exposed and lost in blocks of hundreds and thousands, as they are now being lost.

For that next epidemic will occur. In this age where materials are whisked from one side of the world to another, complete plant quarantine and protection from new pests is impossible. You can take the same smart step and plant one of many wonderful tree species that are not in the “big three” when you replace that lost ash.

Choose from the following line-up. It’s a catalog sorted by the amount of root space the tree will have to grow in. After looking into all of them, I have an interest in so many that where my family removed 20 dying ashes from a relative’s property, we’ll probably replant with 20 different species from this list!

Trees for spaces where roots can spread just 5 feet wide

These trees can tolerate the restricted root space of small islands and the narrowest strips between sidewalk and street. Some may need pruning to remove lower branches as they grow, creating clearance for traffic below the main branches.

Chinese fringetree (Chionanthus retusus). 15-25’ tall, may be taller. Slow to grow, less than 12” per year. Often shrubby in habit, to attain tree form must have lower limbs removed as it grows. Hardy within the Detroit Metro area but may not be hardy in the colder parts of zone 5 in suburbs. Bright white confetti flowers in June. Blue-black fruit in fall is relished by birds but borne only on female trees, if a male fringetree is nearby. Fall color may be yellow. Grows in full sun or part shade. Prefers deep, moist soil but is very tolerant of a wide range of soil conditions.

Crabapples such as ‘Sugar Tyme’ are most often listed with ornamental trees, but those between two and three stories tall serve well as shade trees. It may be necessary to remove lower limbs while the tree is young to provide clearance for pedestrians and other traffic.

Crabapples (Malus varieties with known disease resistance such as ‘Adams,’ ‘Prairifire,’ ‘Red Jewel,’ and ‘Sugar Tyme’). 15’ (‘Red Jewel’), 18’ (‘Sugar Tyme’), 20’ (‘Prairifire’), 24’ (‘Adams’), rounded or slightly narrower than tall. Grows about 12” per year. Flowers white (‘Red Jewel’), pale pink (‘Adams’, ‘Sugar Tyme’) or dark red-purple (‘Prairifire’). Fruit small, red and persisting prettily into and even through winter. Birds eat the fruit in late winter. Full sun, well-drained soil.

Hawthorns are game for drier, windier places than many trees and their fruit is a favorite for songbirds. For safety’s sake around your home, choose a thornless variety such as ‘Crusader’ or the nearly-thornless ‘Princeton Sentry.’

Hawthorns (thornless types such as Crataegus phaenopyrum ‘Princeton Sentry,’ Washington hawthorn, and C. crusgalli var. inermis, Crusader hawthorn). 20 to 25’ tall and wide. 12-15” growth per year. White flowers (with unpleasant odor—Crusader) come later than crabapples but help these trees masquerade as crabs. Fall color orange to red or purple. Crusader keeps its small reddish fruit into early winter, ‘Princeton Sentry’ until spring; birds are attracted to both. Full sun and any type of soil so long as it is well-drained.

Japanese tree lilacs are most often single-trunked, like this young one that will thus be very good one day as a small shade tree.

Japanese tree lilac (Syringa reticulata). 20 to 30’ tall and not quite as wide. Grows 12 to 18” per year. Creamy white, fragrant flowers open in June, weeks after common lilac. No significant fall color but the polished red brown bark brightens a winter day. Full sun. Well-drained soil.

Kousa dogwood has a reputation as “the dogwood for the sun” but this is misleading. Although more tolerant of full sun than its cousin, the earlier blooming flowering dogwood (Cornus florida), it prefers some shade. In the sun, it’s known for developing drooping leaves and failing to attain the much-sought horizontal branching.

Kousa dogwood (Cornus kousa). About 20’ tall and wide, can be larger. Grows about 12” per year. Often sold as a multi-stemmed or very low-branched specimen, but single trunk kousa dogwoods make excellent small shade trees if lower limbs are discouraged or removed. White flowers in June that persist into July. Varieties with pink flowers, larger or later blooms are available. Large rosy fruits favored by birds in late summer. Bark develops polished tricolor effect as the tree ages, very attractive in winter. Fall color may be good maroon. Part shade is best but will tolerate full sun. Moist, well-drained soil.

Redbud. Who would have thought that the romantic woodland tree that blooms in early May as if flocked with thousands of red-violet flowers would be such a winner in parkstrips along roads and driveways. Needs pruning while young to remove lower limbs for pedestrian and vehicular traffic.

Redbud (Cercis canadensis). 20 to 30’ tall and wide. Very fast growth when young, slowing to 12 to 18” per year. Flowers are tiny but numerous, red-violet nubs all along the branches in May. Fall color can be a clear yellow. Bark is near-black with crevices revealing orange beneath. Some people object to the shaggy winter look in a year when many seed pods form. Best in half sun or full sun in moist, well-drained soil but is very tolerant of almost all light and soil conditions except soggy soils.

Serviceberry is a native with international appeal. You can buy named varieties such as ‘Autumn Brilliance,’ ‘Cumulus,’ ‘Prince Charles’ and ‘Snowcloud,’ which have been selected by growers in Europe and the U.S. for traits such as tight upright form, larger flowers, more consistent fall color or resistance to the few leaf diseases that may harry this tree.

Serviceberry (Amelanchier species). 25’ tall, may be taller; 15-20’ wide. Grows 1-2’ per year. Fragrant white flowers in early May. Edible, sweet, blueberry-sized fruit in midsummer loved by birds. Fall color variable each year, yellow to deep red-orange. Smooth gray bark. Best in sun or half-sun in moist, well-drained soil.

Trees for root spaces between 5 and 10 feet wide:

Amur cork tree assumes such an interesting broad shape and open crown that it invites you to come into its shade.

Amur cork tree (Phellodendron amurense, fruitless varieties such as ‘Shademaster’ and ‘His Majesty’). 30 to 45’ tall, often broader than tall. Grows 12 to 18” per year. No showy bloom. Brief yellow fall color. Very open crown provides light shade and beauty of line in winter. Handsome corky bark develops in its old age. Full sun. Most soils are okay.

Golden rain tree provides welcome showy bloom in mid- or even late summer but is not well-known, so it has not been widely planted.

Golden rain tree (Koelreuteria paniculata). 30 to 40’ tall and wide. Grows 1 to 2’ per year to form a round crown of widely spaced branches for light shade. Flowers are large yellow conical clusters in late June, but bloom time is variable from plant to plant; some don’t flower until August. Seed pods are showy, like yellow-green Chinese lanterns draping the tree in bunches. No fall color. Full sun to part sun. Any well-drained soil. Tolerates high alkaline soils, drought and heat.

Hophornbeam or ironwood (Ostrya virginiana). 25 to 40’ tall and wide. Grows 8 to 12” per year. No significant flower or fall color, just a dependable small shade tree. Full sun to half shade. Well-drained soil. 

Hornbeams have lustrous foliage and sensuous bark. They also tend to hold their foliage long into the winter and so are often planted to serve as tall hedges.

Hornbeam (Carpinus betulus, European; C. caroliniana, American). 40-60’ tall, 30-40’ wide. 8 to 12” growth per year. American hornbeam or musclewood smaller by half and slower to grow than European. Inconspicuous flower. Fall color late, yellow, variable by year. Smooth steel gray bark more or less fluted like a well-muscled, flexed biceps. Best in full sun and well-drained soil.

Katsura foliage is captivating for its rich color in summer, lack of insect and disease damage, and the sound it makes in a wind.

Katsura (Cercidiphyllum japonicum). 40’ tall, may be taller; variable in width. Blue-green foliage is purple while leafing out, yellow in fall. Grows 1-2’ per year. No significant flower or fruit. Best in rich, moist, well-drained soil in full sun.

Mountain silverbell tends to be low-branched, so it may need pruning of lower limbs while young to obtain clearance for traffic in its shade.

Mountain silverbell (Halesia monticola). 60’ tall by about 40’ wide, upright or conical in form. Grows 12-18” per year. White or pale pink bell flowers hang from the branches in May. Fall color is not usually notable. Part sun is best. Moist, well-drained soil.

READ MORE: Replacement options for dying ash trees – Part 2

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

Janet’s Journal: Picking a size: Buy plants big or start them small?

  •   2 Comments

Once, we felt fortunate to find the type of plant we wanted. Now, what was unusual is common and the problem is deciding which size to buy. How to choose between pots of varying sizes, divisions, cells or even balled and burlapped? Here’s some help.

Here we are at the garden center, wrestling once again with that essential question: When picking a size, is it better to pay more, for immediate satisfaction, by buying the largest specimen? Or is a smaller plant the wiser investment?

The answer is a classic: It depends. But current research is providing objective, specific and sometimes surprising information that may weigh in your decision.

While growing in the field, this river birch had a root mass in balance with its branch spread, 6 feet wide or more. Its garden center root ball may seem large and is certainly heavy, yet it’s not 6 feet but 2-1/2 feet across and contains just 5 to 18 percent of the fine roots the tree had in the field. (Estimate per Gary Watson, Morton Arboretum, in Extension bulletins issued by several Midwest States and in his book Principles and Practices of Planting Trees and Shrubs.)

General buying guideline: Roots rule and water pays the bills

No matter what plant you’re buying, choose the package that delivers more roots in a wider formation, and plan to water attentively until the plant resumes growing as well as it did in its production field.

All plant parts begin as soft growth—as leaf, shoot or root tip. 95 percent of that growth is water, which enters the equation as a puddle sinking into the soil, pushing into soft root tips and being drawn up by photosynthesis to the leafy part of the plant. The winner in any growing contest will be the plant with enough roots to serve its whole top, spread to cover a wider surface that “catches” a bigger puddle.

Roots develop only when leaves produce more sugar and starch—energy—than they need to sustain themselves and woody parts nearby. As the root system expands, more water can enter a plant, which can then support more leaves. So leaves and roots grow in balance, equal in mass and in width of spread.

These viburnum shrubs are being grown in the flat pan method, for minimal root loss at transplant time. They’re given a relatively shallow but very wide circle of loose soil in which to grow. At sale time, each is lifted with roots intact, weighing much less than if it had been dug to make a traditionally-configured root ball.

When a plant must be dug from one place to be planted in another, root loss is inevitable. When the plant is grown in a container that prevents roots from spreading as wide as the branches, it can’t make use of natural, wide puddles but becomes reliant on a near-constant flow of water through its small area of ground, via frequent watering or trickle irrigation.

It may be a year or more before a transplant’s leaves manufacture significant spare energy and roots begin to recoup their loss. As long as the roots remain “behind,” the plant will grow fewer new leaves each spring than it should. In such a year, total root growth can’t measure up to potential, either. A few or many years can pass during which the top remains the same size or even shrinks and the roots slowly increase, until balance and normal growth resumes.

If you have your choice in seedling trees, choose the largest root collar diameter—girth at the base of the stem. This measure is regarded by producers of seedlings for reforestation as the best single predictor of the tree’s survival and growth in the field.

Trees: Smaller is often better

When instant gratification is an operative factor, you can’t persuade yourself or anyone else to buy small. But if you think putting a larger tree in the ground is a jump start toward a shaded yard or the glory of a full-sized ornamental tree, think again. Small trees often catch up to larger trees planted at the same time and may keep growing faster for decades.

Tree roots grow out, not down. So to stay balanced in mass and spread with the top, they spread wider than the branches. Even small trees have wide root systems. If a conventional pot or root ball was cut wide enough to encompass all of a substantial tree’s roots, it would be an unmanageable package for grower, garden center employee and you. Thus all trees sold at a garden center are unbalanced with the possible exception of bare root trees, seedlings or “whips,” and those grown in the unfortunately-uncommon flat-pan method.

Click to download…
Click to download…

The larger the top of the tree, the more out of balance its for-sale root ball. So the largest trees take the longest to regain balance and resume growth.

We buy trees rated according to their trunk diameter: “one-inch caliper,” “two-inch caliper,” etc. Studies show there is a direct relationship between this trunk size and root re-establishment time. For every inch in trunk diameter, a properly-sited, well-watered tree will take at least one year and possibly longer to recoup its losses. Smaller trees recover faster than larger trees—one year for a one-inch tree, five years or more for a four-inch tree.

That means a one-inch tree may shake off its shock and resume growing roots at a normal rate even during its transplant year. For most tree species, it’s normal to lengthen each root about 18 inches during a typical, zone 4-5 growing season. With that much new root, the tree is able to produce leaves and extend its branches to full potential the following spring—18 inches or more for fast-growing species like silver maple or river birch, 12 to 18 inches for moderate growers such as red oak and katsura, and 6 to 12 inches for slow-growing American hornbeam or bur oak.

Meanwhile, a four-inch caliper tree will take five years to return to this norm. It may extend its roots and its branches only an inch or two in year one, and continue to creep in growth over the next four years.

Exception: In seedling trees, pick the largest

So where you want one or a few trees, the fastest possible growth, shortest term of critical care and healthiest trees in the long run, buy small rather than large.

However, if your aim is to replant a forest or start your own grove of trees, seedlings or unbranched young trees called “whips” are usually the way to go. In that case, bigger is better. Given a choice of many whips, choose those which are thickest at their stem base. If all have the same size stem base but some are taller, choose the taller.

Pacific Regeneration Technologies, a network of reforestation nurseries in Canada and the U.S., has compared survival and growth rates of smaller and larger seedlings in the field. Although there are many variables that can affect these plantings, PRT’s findings are persuasive—thicker and taller seedlings have higher survival and growth rates. In one study of Douglas fir, the differences in survival and height remained almost unchanged even 21 years after planting.

Shrubs: Hedging changes the bet

Shrubs and trees are the same in many ways, including best planting size. The wider the roots and the closer they are to being balanced with the top, the more quickly that shrub will “take” and the better its long-term prospects.

Shrubs to be used as hedging are exceptions. Smaller shrubs, even seedlings, almost always outgrow larger plants when planted in close rows. A hedge begun with smaller plants is ultimately fuller, healthier and requires less care. Even most important, the hedge grown from seedlings or small shrubs is less likely to suffer middle-of-the-row losses as it ages.

Competition for water is why large-plant hedges fall short in speed and fullness, compared to hedges begun with smaller plants. Larger plants have larger root balls and once planted, each one has proportionately less root-growing space.

When roots are in direct competition with other roots, they grow slowly, if at all. It makes no difference that competing roots are from a related plant and the two sets of roots, if growing vigorously, could graft and become a single system. A line of large plants with root balls tucked one against the next is a line of plants with only half its roots free to grow. At best, those plants can grow at half capacity.

In addition, smaller plants have been sheared fewer times, so they’re less dense and cast less shade on other plants’ bases. A hedge grown from whips becomes and remains full at the bottom. Larger shrubs, pruned repeatedly for fullness before being sold to the hedge planter, thin out at the base and rarely regain density as they grow together.

A hedge that began with crowded roots remains weak. The weakest individuals are in the center, where competition was most fierce, side roots atrophied and each plant’s root mass remained small. Years and even decades later the hedge crowded at planting is most likely to be affected by drought, severe winters or seasons of high insect or disease occurrence. The plant in that hedge most likely to die is one in the middle.

Every perennial is divisible. Making one from many gives each division a faster start and better long-term outlook. The peony division on the right could grow roots freely from only one side when snugged up to its sister shoots. Separated, it can grow to all sides. Within the mother clump, it might have initiated two shoots, and stored energy to make four the next year. Alone, it might form three or four shoots this year and create enough stored energy to break ground with five or six stems next spring.

Perennials: Buy what you can afford, but give them rooting space

Trees, shrubs, vines and bulbs are perennials, as are those plants in the group most commonly called perennial—herbaceous flowering species from anemone to zebra grass. I hope you’ll keep in mind that every perennial is alike in a way that should influence your choice in plant size. That is, they all store energy this year for next year’s growth.

So buy perennials for the roots. Select the biggest, widest root system.

Avoid root-bound plants of any kind. Plants absorb most water and grow new roots primarily from root tips. Since this plant’s roots turned at pot edge and grew down, all of those tips are now crowded at the bottom, a very small area, but now it’s all the plant has from which to draw water. Since roots will drain that spot more quickly than water from surrounding soil can move in, the plant may dry out even if the soil around the root ball is moist. Also, new roots erupting from that tiny spot will each be in close competition with the others. The process of expanding its root system will be slow. (Although it’s a setback to the plant, my best bet is to cut the roots to create new root ends in more areas.)
Click to download…

As far as the roots spread by the fall of one year, that’s as much area as the plant’s top will cover the following year. So do everything you can to encourage roots to spread during their first year.

If you buy perennials of any type for immediate impact, you will probably also plant them close together. That’s fine, if this year’s show is all that counts. However, to make the most of those plants over the long run, understand that crowded roots won’t grow as much this year as they could, so next year’s top growth will be less and plants will be weaker overall. If you must crowd for immediate show, enjoy the display then dig and replant the component parts farther apart.

To cover the most ground for the least money, buy smaller perennials. (But not too small—see the notes about annuals and vegetables, below.) If the plant you want is available only in large pots, buy those and divide them as you plant.

Annuals and vegetables: Pay-off’s in the larger cell

For healthy, lush annuals and vegetables, space them as directed. That is, if the pot tag says “space plants 12 inches apart,” give every one its own square foot. A flat of 48 plants can cover 48 square feet—a 4-foot by 12-foot bed.

Want a more spectacular show, sooner? Do what botanical gardens do—keep the spacing the same but start with bigger plants. The higher cost per square foot pays off in immediate display.

Since most studies are on vegetables, we need to apply that data to annuals—there are enough parallels to make the comparison worthwhile. For instance, vegetables that flower earlier go to market sooner. Those that are healthier bear larger fruit and have fewer pests, so more of the fruit is cosmetically perfect and sells for a higher price. We value early flowering and health in bedding plants, too.

Trials run in Michigan, Kentucky, Missouri, Georgia and Minnesota on tomatoes, broccoli, cabbage, pepper and watermelon planted from various size cells, showed that the largest transplants yielded earlier and/or more. From larger sets the first picking of tomatoes and peppers was up to twice as great. The broccoli crop was 25 percent more, cabbages 16 percent heavier and watermelon harvest 7 percent higher. We flower growers may not be big on math, but we can still see that sometimes it can be worth spending 50 percent more for the chance at doubling the show!

Parting shot: Small plants more foolproof

Still not sure what to do? In such cases, I buy small. It pays off, especially when I’m not sure what the plant can do or where it will grow best.

Big, bushy plants can fool me by looking big and bushy even as they lose ground—who notices ten leaves gone when there were 200 to start?

A plant that comes to me with just ten leaves tells me clearly, week by week, how things are going. If it’s thriving, its leaf count increases and the new foliage matches the old in size and color. If it begins to lose ground, that’s also quickly apparent. If it seems a move is in order to correct the situation, that’s simpler with a small plant too!

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

ALSO… How Much are the trees in your yard worth?

ELSEWHERE: Planting a tree successfully requires the correct planting depth

Janet’s Journal: The Five Plants You Meet in Heaven

  •   5 Comments

With apologies to Mitch Albom and thanks to Mike Bosnich…

On the day she died, Diane was working on her rain garden. She had become known in the neighborhood as ‘the woman digging the ditch.’ The small children of the neighborhood had told her this. Little kids liked her. To them, she wasn’t the woman digging the ditch but “the lady with the flowers.”

This oak may be 400 years old. It has seen much in four centuries, but nothing quite so devastating as building construction. It may seem quite far from the house that was constructed, but its roots were affected. Note the dead limbs and the flat top that developed when central limbs slowed in growth or declined.

She dug, week by week for over a year, not a ditch, but depressed channels beginning at downspouts then joining, sloping and widening toward the wet area. She disconnected the downspouts from plastic drain tiles that had emptied into the storm drain. Now, rainwater from the roof coursed along the route she’d chosen and settled into that low space.

She’d planted tiny divisions of wetland plants there, and retained the edge of the sunken area with rough cedar logs and fieldstone. She was almost done, the day she died.

It came quickly. An aneurysm, they’d tell her husband.

What she knew was being very tired suddenly, and sitting down at the edge of the rain garden, thinking of salamanders. Light flashed. She closed her eyes.

She opened them to see the oak.

Selma’s massive white oak. Someone who knew trees had guessed it was 400 years old when Selma and her husband built their house nearby.

Shaking her head as if to clear a mirage, Diane stood. Under her feet she found not her rain garden but Selma’s patio. As she looked out across the big yard to the huge tree, a soft rumble filled her head, then sorted itself into words.

Rain garden. Modern building practice has been to grade properties toward streets, packing the surface soil so rainwater runs off, along paved surfaces and into storm drains. A great deal of pollutants run with it. City planners are trying now to correct this problem by advocating the use of rain gardens—wide, shallow depressions that are natural water filters where water can slow and sink in.

“You’ve come. I’ve waited for you.”

“Who…? What…?” she wondered.

“Me. You call me oak. We were acquainted. After I died I was given the job of waiting here until you died.”

“You died? Oh, what a shame… Wait. I died?”

“We died. Don’t be alarmed. You just need time to see it. My death took much longer than yours. I was given more time to prepare. Now, we’re both here and I can tell you about how you killed me.”

“I killed you? No! I helped Selma save you!”

“You had good intentions. I knew that. Now, I must tell you how it came out, and introduce you to others you affected. Sit. Listen.”

She sat.

“I grew in this good place a long time, and was still growing,” rumbled the oak. “People camped. Collected my nuts to grind into meal. Happy people, singers. With many children. They came and went, carrying their homes with them.”

“Indians?” Diane wondered.

“I suppose. Hunters. Fishers. They stopped coming when the farmers came. The farmers rested horses beneath my branches, and plowed above my roots.”

“Then, machines came. They tore down into my roots, there where you are sitting. They crushed the ground between us, heaped soil over my roots, and packed it down. You told Selma to help me.”

“Yes!”

“She did, with water and by loosening that soil. But it took many seasons to grow those roots that were taken from me, and other ones died when they could not breathe. I would have needed many, many seasons to heal.”

“I told Selma to put mulch under you, to get rid of the grass. You were looking better!”

“Yes, at first. You told her also that she could plant bulbs. Spring bulbs, you said, that could bloom each year before my new leaves came. They were very pretty flowers. They didn’t mean to kill me, any more than you did.”

“But how…”

“Selma got older, slower. She wanted more bulbs but thought she couldn’t plant them herself. She hired people. They planted bigger, fancier flowers, more every year. They used drills to make holes. They cut more roots each time. I couldn’t keep up.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It happens. But look—I’m here, but also still there.”

“There? That other house?”

“Selma’s children. They sent me to a mill, and built a house, a table, a stairway of me.”

“Why tell me this? 

“Because that’s how it works. We leave there, we come here, we look at how we are all connected.”

“I never meant…”

“I know. But now you see how things add up. I learned too. About smaller trees I shaded out, squirrels I nourished, small children who fell from my branches.”

“Now,” said the oak, “you must meet the others.”

“Others? Wait…”

But the light dimmed, and she was back where she’d died, in her rain garden.

She was standing and looking toward the neighbor’s.

“Come here!” sang a merry chorus. She saw a cluster of cheery white strawberry flowers, each canted toward her.

“So glad to see you, so glad to say thank you,” they trilled.

“For what?” she asked, stepping toward them.

“For water! Yes! For chicken manure! Oh, yes!” They appeared to be calling and answering, a song in two parts.

“But you’re not in my garden,” Diane said, crouching to watch them more closely.

“No, but we’re downhill, aren’t we?!” they said. “You left the water on. It rolled down the lawn, where it’s packed so hard. It came to us cool, and loaded with the fertilizer you spread there!”

“Well, I’ll be…” she said, looking toward her own home and noticing for the first time the slight uphill grade from the strawberry bed to her house.

“The kids came to see us, we gave them fruit. Then chipmunks, rabbits, and groundhogs. It was a party!”

“It was?” she wondered. “It isn’t any more?”

“Nothing lasts forever,” the sweet voices answered. “That channel intercepts the water now. We’ve moved on!”

“Am I supposed to learn from that? That you grew because of my sprinkler, and then I stopped it by making the rain garden?”

“Yes, learn that it happened. That things flow downhill,” they called in close harmony.

A gardener should be thorough in assessing a site, picking plants to match it, and deciding why particular plants fare well (above photo) or poorly there (bottom photo, far left plant). For instance, we think of astilbe as a shade plant, but moisture and cool temperatures may be more crucial to its health. It can grow even in full sun if the soil there does not dry out.

“Well, thank you for telling me,” she said.

“Are you done, then?” came another chorus, thinner and more raspy.

Diane looked toward the sound, to see a throng of astilbe. Droopy, singed, thin astilbe. “Oh, she said. What happened to you?”

“We dried up,” was the crackling reply. “Because Ralph did well!”

The plants’ leaves suddenly formed pointing arms. Diane looked that way to see a lush, glossy, deep green astilbe on the far edge of the strawberry bed.

“I didn’t want any trouble,” Ralph cried. “I never asked for your water and fertilizer!”

“Oh,” she said. “You too?”

“Yes, me too. I kept getting it even when the strawberries were cut off, since I’m ahead of your ditch. But my brother, Shelby, on the other side of this crabapple, didn’t.”

Diane stopped, looking at that group of scorched astilbe. Their rustling movement became a blur. The sound changed.

She looked up, into blue green leaves riffled by wind, and around at striped gray bark. At a thicket of some kind.

The riffle changed tone. It became applause.

Voices joined in. “Thank you! Brava!”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, of lifelong habit. “But, I’m sorry. I don’t know who you are. Where we are. What you are happy about.”

“Serrrrrrrr-viceberry,” the leaves said, sliding against each other. And some giggled. “You gave us this place, all this room to grow, and the ticklish feeling of these birds in our branches every summer.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, looking through the foliage to a field, a rise and a dip, and a far horizon of dark water. “I don’t think I’ve ever been here.”

“Maybe not, but the man with one leg was. You knew him. You talked, and he let us grow.”

The voices waited then, murmuring just a little among themselves. Diane looked down, thinking.

“There was a man, I saw him at the doctor’s a few times. That man?”

Applause again. “That man! You told him he could manage. Not to sell his family’s farm and move in with his daughter. He could. He did. He stopped mowing out here, though. And we grew.”

Serviceberry (Amelanchier species) are pioneer trees, often the first to populate a field once farming or mowing stops. Seeds may be dropped by passing birds. They’re native throughout Michigan, an important food source for birds and small mammals, and attractive additions to a landscape.

“So this thanks is for saying encouraging things, polite conversation?”

Laughter, light, louder, then light again, brushed back and forth through the branches. “You see! Everything we do, matters. Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” she said, looking toward the distant water. “Hey, maybe I have been here! Is that Lake Superior? Are we in the U.P.?”

She looked back to the serviceberries, and started. They were gone. Her nose was just inches from a fence.

She began to step back. A whisper came through the spaces between the wood slats. “Wait. I need to say thanks.”

She paused, looking through the opening. Twigs scratched across the gap. “Are you on the other side of the fence?” she wondered.

“Yes. Thank you for the air,” was the scratchy response. “You told them to give us a fence that lets air through.”

“I can’t think who you mean, or which fence this is,” she apologized.

“You talked in line, at a store. They were putting up a privacy fence. You told them plants do better if there’s air. They hadn’t thought of that.”

“Well, you’re welcome,” she said, bewildered. “Can I ask a question?”

“Oh, please do!” tapped the twigs.

“First, can I see you better?”

“Certainly!” came the scritchy answer. “There’s a gate there.”

In the gateway, she froze. She saw her childhood home, its property line planted with lilac. “I told people about a fence, and those people were living in the house where I grew up?”

“Small world, isn’t it?” tapped the lilacs.

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

Janet’s Journal: Gardeners and builders, save those trees

  •   2 Comments

Builders are not tree specialists and may not even know the full effect of construction on a landscape. Unless you explain and enforce concepts such as the fragility and extent of a root zone,work will expand into that zone.
Builders are not tree specialists and may not even know the full effect of construction on a landscape. Unless you explain and enforce concepts such as the fragility and extent of a root zone, work will expand into that zone.

Here are tips to help you preserve your landscape during a remodeling or construction project

People are digging in these days.Not digging into the soil to make a garden, but digging in on their property to improve it by adding on or remodeling their homes. Ironically, this often increases the property value in one way while reducing it in another, unexpected way.

I’m talking about established trees and landscapes, overlooked assets that are often lost during and after construction. Sometimes, the loss is unavoidable. Even if you wanted to preserve a particular tree or group of shrubs during the construction process, it might not be possible. More often, the loss is the result of oversight, ignorance or miscommunication.

The loss can be huge, in tangible and intangible forms. First, there’s resale value to consider. Surveys by realtor groups (involving photos of homes with and without trees and shrubs) asked how much prospective buyers would pay for the various properties. The surveys indicated that landscaping can add 20 percent to the value of a home. Greenery in general, but large trees especially, garnered positive responses.

Then there are living expenses and quality of life. Energy conservation studies have proven that shade trees can significantly reduce heating and cooling costs. Environmental research concludes that established plants can cut noise levels and improve air quality, with attendant reduction in medical costs and stress-related illness for residents. And although numbers may never be able to convey the value of peace of mind, a majority of people agree that it comes in increasing amounts with beautiful surroundings filled with butterflies and birdsong.

Finally, communities lose when landscapes are degraded by construction. Many cities and regional authorities are dedicating public funds to the quest for cleaner water and lower water treatment costs. Such campaigns focus on educating the public about how actively growing, diverse plantings promote water quality by intercepting, holding and biologically filtering rain that would otherwise pick up pollutants as it runs along pavement and hard-packed soil.

It’s in your best interest to hold onto both the direct and indirect returns your landscape provides. Building professionals are not skilled in tree and landscape preservation. If you’re planning to build onto your home or remodel, or you aim to build new and want to keep all or part of the landscape, you must learn how to be an effective advocate for your trees and other greenery.

There are five points in the construction process when you should think and act to preserve your landscape. When you first consider construction, at your first serious meeting with a building contractor, just before construction begins, during the work and after the building project is complete, there are things you should know and do.

When the general public is polled,we learn that an established landscape can increase a home’s value by 20 percent…
When the general public is polled, we learn that an established landscape can increase a home’s value by 20 percent…

…to a gardener, the landscape may count for more than the house!
…to a gardener, the landscape may count for more than the house!

When you first consider construction

Your role as a landscape advocate begins when you first consider adding on, remodeling or building new. Begin by identifying “must save” plants. Then hire an arborist and/or a horticulturist, or train yourself to evaluate the health and replacement cost of those trees as well as the adaptability and moveability of shrubs and smaller plants. Get a written estimate of the replacement value of plants and detailed plans for protection and after care. It’s an invaluable item, both for your consideration as you weigh construction options and costs, and as a means to increase builders’ awareness and respect for the landscape.

You or your arborist/horticulturist consultant should also prepare a map of your property that shows the location and extent of the root zones of plants to be saved. You’ll use this to direct construction traffic and deploy protection for these invisible, surprisingly fragile and irreplaceable elements of your landscape.

Pamper “keeper” plants right from the start. Don’t wait until the plant has been damaged—for some damage is almost inevitable during construction. Fertilize your plants and begin or maintain a good watering program to build their stamina.

If you can’t protect most or all of the root zone, it’s not realistic to have that plant on your “keeper”list.This is especially true of species that are intolerant of root disturbance,such as this 70- year-old beech.The root zone extends to and beyond the tree’s drip line.Less than one-third of that area was protected. The tree died within the year.
If you can’t protect most or all of the root zone, it’s not realistic to have that plant on your “keeper” list. This is especially true of species that are intolerant of root disturbance, such as this 70-year-old beech.The root zone extends to and beyond the tree’s drip line. Less than one-third of that area was protected. The tree died within the year.

Discuss all grade changes before the fact. Excess soil piled in the root zone and against the trunk are almost certain death to a tree.The tree also suffers crushed and broken roots from the equipment which spread that soil.
Discuss all grade changes before the fact. Excess soil piled in the root zone and against the trunk are almost certain death to a tree. The tree also suffers crushed and broken roots from the equipment which spread that soil.

Deciding which trees to protect and placing barriers and cushions are good first steps toward preserving the landscape.Don’t slip up on the followthrough. If you hide your head in the sand during construction your precautions can fail.This oak’s protected root zone was breached and the soil there compacted. When the grade beyond was raised, water couldn’t drain. The tree died in two years.
Deciding which trees to protect and placing barriers and cushions are good first steps toward preserving the landscape. Don’t slip up on the follow-through. If you hide your head in the sand during construction your precautions can fail. This oak’s protected root zone was breached and the soil there compacted. When the grade beyond was raised, water couldn’t drain. The tree died in two years.

At the first planning meeting with your builder or work crew

Identify and stake out the exact placement of new buildings or structures. Determine where the grade will change and how much, whether it will be built up or cut away. Discuss all trenching and excavating ahead of time, in detail. You and your landscape experts need this information to plan specific protective measures and negotiate changes in building plans.

List all work functions that will take place on your property and where each will occur, including material storage, fuel storage, parking areas and places where paint and concrete will be mixed or dumped. Compare this to your keeper plant list and root zone map.

Plan a mutually agreeable vehicle and equipment route into the work area. Aim for a straight route, since every turn of equipment means more churning of soil and increased risk of scrapes and bumps to nearby plants. Allow for a track at least eight feet wide, as anything less represents an unreasonable expectation.

All trenching and excavation should be planned for minimal impact on “keeper” plants.Help your builder understand the effects and explore options. A trench for utility lines detoured around this oak, unfortunately, cutting through at least half of the roots along the outer edge of the circular root zone.
All trenching and excavation should be planned for minimal impact on “keeper”
plants. Help your builder understand the effects and explore options. A trench for utility lines detoured around this oak, unfortunately, cutting through at least half of the roots along the outer edge of the circular root zone.

A less intrusive option is to trench straight toward the tree and then bore under the main roots and trunk.Builders may not think this is necessary or possible since as non-gardeners they imagine the roots to be very deep.Here the main roots are visible at normal depth, within the top 18 inches of soil.
A less intrusive option is to trench straight toward the tree and then bore under the main roots and trunk. Builders may not think this is necessary or possible since as non-gardeners they imagine the roots to be very deep. Here the main roots are visible at normal depth, within the top 18 inches of soil.

When you make a root zone map of the property,you can deny access to the root zone of individual “keeper”plants. Sometimes it’s better to fence off entire areas, as here where root zones are protected behind this construction fence.
When you make a root zone map of the property, you can deny access to the root zone of individual “keeper”plants. Sometimes it’s better to fence off entire areas, as here where root zones are protected behind this construction fence.

Now you may have to modify your “keeper plant” list. Be realistic. You may have to change some plants’ status from “keeper” to “remove,” “move to save,” “keep but cut back,” “tie back,” etc. Then, for every plant that remains on the list, plan ways to protect not only the visible parts but the soil and roots. An eight-inch depth of mulch has been proven to be more effective in protecting the soil from compaction and roots from crushing than any other construction site device, including heavy plywood “paving.” Discuss this with the builder along with tarp coverage beneath material storage areas and where falling debris is expected, and where you will accept the greater cost but lesser damage to plants that comes from drilling beneath root zones rather than trenching through them.

Finally, before any work begins, discuss and list who will be responsible for plant removals and obtaining necessary permits (many communities require tree removal permits). Establish who will execute plant moves, when they will be done and how all parties will know that the involved areas are “all clear.” List, too, who will be in charge of putting up and maintaining protective fencing and padding, creating the cushioned vehicle and equipment route, and explaining all of these features and their importance to workers. Expect to be an active player throughout construction.

When construction is about to begin

Now it’s time to move, elevate or cap sprinklers, prune or tie back at-risk trees and shrubs, prepare the vehicle route and place fences and protective devices.

On the access route, peg down landscape fabric first. Its presence will confirm the original grade when it comes time for clean-up. Have eight inches of mulch dumped on the route, beginning at the entrance with successive truckloads rolling over already-mulched ground.

Place fences and barriers. Keep two things in mind as you do this. One, if there is space, workers will use it. Two, people need room to work. It’s true that work expands to fit the available space, so barriers are necessary, but they must not hamper the work.

Post signs, even if you feel they are redundant or obvious. “Fuel storage,” “dump excess concrete here,” “stay out, loose soil” are some messages you want to communicate clearly.

Expect to pay extra to protect plants and soil. The construction industry is not aware of its full impact on plants, does not go back to see the consequences years later, and has not been asked to consider the cost of effective protection in its estimates. So be prepared to buy or pay extra for tarps to cover paint mixing areas, “bulldog” type porous tarps to protect shrubs from falling debris or paint, and increased labor to carry in rather than truck certain materials across the soil.

During construction

Your most important act during construction is to stay involved. Many gardeners have described how they felt the need to detach themselves, to avoid looking at what was happening in their yard, and afterward go through a process of reclaiming the space. This is understandable but precisely the wrong thing to do.

Get out there, every day, to see what’s happening, to communicate with the workers and to tend to your plants, which cannot detach themselves. Be ready to prune off broken branches as soon as the damage happens, move fences to enlarge or reconfigure protected areas, add mulch or tarps, etc.

Stand up for your plants. You are the expert when it comes to their needs and condition. Do whatever you must to maintain the protection you intended and to continue watering and other essentials during construction.

At this point you should recognize that there is a language barrier between gardeners and builders, and compensate for it. Even simple terms like “soil” have different meanings to both, leading to variable interpretations of acceptable quality and density. A concept such as “root zone” may be incomprehensible to a carpentry crew, or exist in an altered state in their minds so that any conversation that involves the term must be confirmed with diagrams and clarifying questions, just as “load bearing wall” may be Greek to you until it’s drawn out. Although there are individuals fluent in both “gardenerese” and “contractorese,” you should assume until proven wrong that everything you say can and will be misinterpreted.

I’ve been admonished, in preparing this material, to prepare myself for righteous anger from those in construction fields, who may think that in speaking of all a homeowner must do to protect their landscape I am belittling the skills construction workers have and their sense of responsibility. I hope that I’m making it clear that I do respect skilled and responsible construction workers but at the same time I know that my expertise and that of any gardener deserves as much respect. We are expert in our differing disciplines and when we share the same ground, we must communicate carefully. That begins with respect, extends through explanations of technical terms on both sides, and is never hurt by a few shared cold lemonades on a hot day.

After construction ends

Inspect your plants and the soil for damage. Photograph the plants. These images may be invaluable as benchmarks to assess their recovery.

Make your landscape a garden once more. Remove the excess mulch, landscape fabric, protective fencing and tarps. Aerate the soil. Check that sprinklers are working, and make necessary repairs and adjustments. Untie tied-back plants, bring back temporarily relocated plants, and add new plants.

Watch for signs of stress. These signs may not show up right away—in fact, symptoms of stress may not show up for months or a year in larger plants. The bigger the plant, the longer you may have to keep it under watch.

Give stressed plants kid-glove treatment. Watering is the most important thing you can do, but special fertilizing, pruning and patrolling for particular pests that prey on weakened plants of that type may be in order too. Follow the plan that you made for the plant or had made way back in phase one. It all comes together now, when you see your plants resume the growth rates and beauty they possessed before you were possessed by the construction bug.

You can tell when your trees and shrubs recover from construction stress.Monitor and compare the current growth rate to pre-construction or the species’ average growth rate (listed in books such as Manual of Woody Landscape Plants by Michael Dirr).This sugar maple branch grew just three inches in a year, evident in the differing color of new and old wood.The species’average rate is 8 to 12 inches.It’s still recovering and still needs special attention.
You can tell when your trees and shrubs recover from construction stress. Monitor and compare the current growth rate to pre-construction or the species’ average growth rate (listed in books such as Manual of Woody Landscape Plants by Michael Dirr). This sugar maple branch grew just three inches in a year, evident in the differing color of new and old wood. The species’average rate is 8 to 12 inches. It’s still recovering and still needs special attention.

Another way to gauge stress and recovery is leaf size and color. If leaves are smaller than normal or discolored, the plant is stressed.This oak leaf is chlorotic—the plant equivalent of anemia. Chlorosis is as often an indication of root damage as it is mineral deficiency. So pamper this oak with aeration, steady watering and special fertilizer until the leaves tell you it is recovered.
Another way to gauge stress and recovery is leaf size and color. If leaves are smaller than normal or discolored, the plant is stressed.This oak leaf is chlorotic—the plant equivalent of anemia. Chlorosis is as often an indication of root damage as it is mineral deficiency. So pamper this oak with aeration, steady watering and special fertilizer until the leaves tell you it is recovered.

Watching for signs of stress after construction

Symptoms may be immediate or delayed:

  • Wilting or shedding of foliage during or right after construction.
  • Development of early fall color or leaves dropping early that season or the season following construction.
  • Reduced leaf size and shoot growth the next season or later.
  • Twig or branch loss the next season or later. More needles may drop than are produced on an evergreen. The plant may appear thinner,more transparent.
  • General growth, appearance and pest resistance may be poor, and secondary problems may appear.

Helping the plant recover

  • From April through November, water deep and slow throughout the plant’s entire root zone whenever the soil a few inches deep is dry and warm.
  • Check root growth (dig test hole at drip line) and resumption of pre-construction twig growth rate to determine when the plant has fully recovered.
  • For every inch of trunk diameter, expect a one-year lag before regular growth resumes.

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

Janet’s Journal: The plant whisperer – What do you say, what do you hear?

  •   4 Comments

What can it hurt to talk to your plants? Maybe it does nothing for the plants, but it makes you a better, more observant, attentive and cheerful gardener

In the 1960s a corn plant (Dracaena) stuck its leaf into a polygraph and started the world talking about plant-speak. Lie detector expert Cleve Backster lectured and gave interviews about the experience although the scientific world dropped the topic after having a good laugh.
In the 1960s a corn plant (Dracaena) stuck its leaf into a polygraph and started the world talking about plant-speak. Lie detector expert Cleve Backster lectured and gave interviews about the experience although the scientific world dropped the topic after having a good laugh.

Luther Burbank, by all measures a genius for more than 800 plant introductions, including the classic Shasta daisy, readily admitted to talking to his plants. He wrote that plants are telepathically capable of understanding speech.
Luther Burbank, by all measures a genius for more than 800 plant introductions, including the classic Shasta daisy, readily admitted to talking to his plants.

You’ve heard of whisperers. Most well-known are horse whisperers, people gifted in working with frightened, neglected, aggressive, hard-to-handle horses with behavioral problems. These healers came out of the woodwork when Robert Redford added his famous smile to the considerable mystique of horse whispering, yet one group is notably quiet. Plant whisperers remain in the shed, so to speak.

Why is there virtually no coverage in the press and no scientific attention to plant whisperers? When so many do it, when there are high-profile champions of the cause such as Prince Charles (‘Of course I speak to plants’), when slightly wacky lie detector expert Cleve Backster hooked his houseplants to a polygraph, and Alfred Hitchcock story collections featured men going mad once they could hear the voices of grass being cut and vegetables plucked? The conspiracy of silence stretches back even to 1848 when Dr. Gustav Theodor Fechner’s theory of emotive greenery, published in Soul-Life of Plants, sent only a short-lived riffle through the scientific community.

My goal is not an appeal for proof that plants hear us and respond. My point in amplifying the subject of plant whispering is to look at what it does for us, the whisperers. It’s irrelevant whether you believe the plants respond or not. What matters is that you see how good this practice is for those who do the talking.

The author whispers assurances to the weeping pine as it’s wheeled to its new home. It’s just part of the job, keeping the plants informed of the whole situation.
The author whispers assurances to the weeping pine as it’s wheeled to its new home. It’s just part of the job, keeping the plants informed of the whole situation.

Nine years later, never forsaken by the gardeners who voiced aloud their promises to help it through recovery, it’s still going strong. If it could speak, would it chide us or thank us for putting it into a place of prominence?
Nine years later, never forsaken by the gardeners who voiced aloud their promises to help it through recovery, it’s still going strong. If it could speak, would it chide us or thank us for putting it into a place of prominence?

Better learning when we hear as well as see

People who study human learning claim that we remember significantly more of what we see and hear than we do of things we heard but didn’t see, or saw without accompanying sound. In that case, we are bound to learn more if we speak to a plant, reinforcing thought with sound.

In addition, researchers have proven that we retain a great deal more information when we move as we learn, matching muscle use to spoken word. Since few can speak to a plant without also stroking a leaf, straightening a stem or gesturing in some way, we are also scribing into our muscles what would otherwise be only a mental and aural memory.

So it makes sense that the gardener who stops to chat is more likely to remember which of his or her charges need water the most, which limbs need staking, or where the bugs hang out. It’s a good bet that person will remember the promises and observations made aloud and then act on that knowledge in ways that improve the garden.

I pay attention when I’m talking

Talking is also a means of focusing attention, and that’s a basic tenet of the whisperers’ craft. Buck Brannaman, famous horse whisperer and consultant on the movie of that name, tells his students to get the horse’s attention first, that if you don’t have that, it doesn’t matter what you do next.

In the case of plants, the benefit doesn’t come from capturing the plant’s attention. It comes when the plant wins your undivided attention.

In talking to a plant, I’m compelled to look for specifics to include in my dialogue. It’s not like the wordless, soothing crooning or repeated generalities like “It’ll be all right” that I might use with a nervous cat in a car. I’m talking to myself as much as to the plant so I’m more likely to be analytical in my plant whisperings. I look for something worthwhile to say, perhaps, “You’re looking greener today” or “How’re those tips, have we finally ousted those pesky mealybugs?” Even if I’m taking a hard line with a plant the conversation is going to focus on particulars, such as, “I warned you that we’d have to cut that branch if you don’t start adding a bit more leaf on the other side!” Because I decide to talk, I look more closely and attend to the details.

An old saying sums it up, “The best fertilizer is the farmer’s footprint.” Attention makes the world greener while lack of attention leads to garden failures. We all know that plants rarely fold up and die overnight, that there are usually early-stage symptoms that an observant person can use to make a diagnosis. It’s also pretty commonly accepted that ministrations in the initial phases of a plant’s decline tend to be more successful than last-ditch efforts applied to the near-dead. Yet ask anyone who works at a garden center about the story given by people who return dead plants, and you’ll hear that it is most often, “I don’t know. It was fine and then it just died.” Such terse individuals are probably not plant whisperers. They didn’t talk and by keeping their mouths closed they failed to open their eyes.

Who can say whether this weeping hemlock survived its ordeal because we chatted it up? From the minute the author tied back its branches for surgery and started to dig, she began talking.
Who can say whether this weeping hemlock survived its ordeal because we chatted it up? From the minute the author tied back its branches for surgery and started to dig, she began talking.

Here it is being trundled to a new spot out of the way of construction workers building a new wing on the house.
Here it is being trundled to a new spot out of the way of construction workers building a new wing on the house.

While alone in its new spot, the author and other gardeners kept the plant company, whispering regularly to it. Certainly the water they brought it and the intercessions they made to keep construction workers from piling things on its roots made a difference.
While alone in its new spot, the author and other gardeners kept the plant company, whispering regularly to it. Certainly the water they brought it and the intercessions they made to keep construction workers from piling things on its roots made a difference.

Most recently, five years settled and joined by other plants, it has become happy enough to have earned the warning, “I know we said that if you’d hang on and make this move we’d never bother you again but if you keep up growing like that we’re going to have to start pruning you!”
Most recently, five years settled and joined by other plants, the hemlock has become happy enough to have earned the warning, “I know we said that if you’d hang on and make this move we’d never bother you again but if you keep growing like that we’re going to have to start pruning you!”

Synergy from involving others in the conversation

We capture the notice of others when we talk to plants. Not just the bemused neighbor or passerby but important others, people who have something to contribute but might not think to share information except that you piped up first.

As an example, take Pat the gardener and Pat’s handy, loving, but horticulturally-clueless spouse. Pat, leaning close over a small shrub and commiserating: “Oh, that’s not good. Here I thought you were all taken care of but that big old brute lilac is blocking the sprinkler from reaching here, isn’t it? I’ll just have to water you by hand until I can figure a way to move that sprinkler. Maybe you’d like a trickle irrigation line, wouldn’t that be good?”

Pat’s spouse, sitting unnoticed on the far side of the lilac on the patio, thinks: “Ah ha. That would be a perfect thing for a birthday present. I’ll have to ask Pat’s buddy Kim what the heck trickle irrigation is.”

It’s not just something that happens in the family. People of different disciplines do meet and take steps forward for the greater good when the thoughts of one are out there where both can examine them. Claus Mattheck was a mechanical engineer when something, perhaps one of those belt-wearing, saw-wielding plant whisperers known as arborists, made him take a look at trees as structures. Now Mattheck’s book “The Body Language of Trees,” is revolutionizing arboriculture by explaining specific signs that tell of impending breakage and fall.

Talk softly and carry a big smile 

Maybe the biggest benefit to the whisperer comes from the quiet, calm nature of whispering. This low level of sound probably applies more naturally and consistently to a plantsperson’s work than to any other whisperers’ job. Animal whisperers embrace non-violent ways, but don’t you suspect that even the best of them has raised his or her voice to a subject, if only to be heard above the crashing of hooves against a stall or baying at an imagined threat? That kind of racket just doesn’t happen with plants. Even when we’re upset with a plant so that we feel it needs rebuke, we don’t stand back, stamp our foot and holler. We practice reason or at least learn to accept events with grace, two strategies that become routine and thus are there as a natural fall-back attitude in stressful non-garden situations.

Are you laughing at yourself or a plant whisperer you know? That’s another benefit of this practice. Who hasn’t pulled up in spring an item they planted in fall, mistaking it for a weed? We recognize the error at sight of the potting mix on the root ball, or when we see that there are three of the supposed weed, regularly spaced in a triangle as weeds never are. Perhaps it’s good for the plant to hear “Oh you poor thing, I’m sorry!” but the grin at your own expense is worth far more.

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

Janet’s Journal: Springboard into the garden season

  •   Leave a Comment

Gardening has never been easier. Power equipment, ergonomically efficient hand tools, landscapes featuring groundcovers and mulch rather than labor-intensive hoed flower beds, inexpensive materials for no-bend raised beds, and lightweight prepackaged potting mixes all ease the strain of the garden season on muscles, bone, timetable and checkbook. It’s great.

But there is a consequence of all this efficiency and mechanization that causes me concern. Those long-reach tools, no-fuss plantings and time-saving schemes put distance and time between the gardener and his garden. Yet spring is a time to embrace the garden!

Early April is the time to get the jump on garden work. Smart moves now put me ahead of trouble for the whole season…
Early April is the time to get the jump on garden work. Smart moves now put me ahead of trouble for the whole season…

…If I wait until May, it’s too late!
…If I wait until May, it’s too late!

Lift perennials whose crowns have been pierced by running root weeds, remove the weed roots and replace the desirable plant. Sometimes the weed is quack grass or Canada thistle, but in this case it’s Carolina lupine (Thermopsis caroliniana), a desirable but rambunctious species, that’s spread underground to undercut this cardinal flower (Lobelia cardinalis).
Lift perennials whose crowns have been pierced by running root weeds, remove the weed roots and replace the desirable plant. Sometimes the weed is quack grass or Canada thistle, but in this case it’s Carolina lupine (Thermopsis caroliniana), a desirable but rambunctious species, that’s spread underground to undercut this cardinal flower (Lobelia cardinalis).

Don’t we get enough separation from our gardens from November to April? Shouldn’t we be kissing the ground, hugging our shrubs and stroking the silky new bulb foliage once the snow melts? That’s what I do.

Not only does it make me feel better to reconnect, but it keeps me ahead of trouble and on the easy side of the street for the whole year.

Here’s my spring start-up routine.

When the bulb foliage is up several inches and perennials’ basal rosettes have begun to show new green, I know the soil in that area has drained and warmed enough to accept my ministrations. In my own beds and most others I’m involved with, I expect to be out there on April 1, although I do work in a few beds that are too low, poorly drained or so shaded and sloped away from the sun that plant growth is retarded and I wait until later in April.

It helps at this time of year to summon one of my alter egos to coax, prod, push or fire me up and send me out the door, because an April morning can seem cold and unappealing. Even though I’ve learned that every hour I spend in early April saves me triple time later in the year, and I know that it will be less than an hour before I’ve warmed up enough to peel off my first layer of insulation, the first step out of the house can take work.

Here I cut back woody Artemisia absinthium to budded stubs…and it presents a bushy new face three weeks later.
Here I cut back woody wormwood (Artemisia absinthium) to budded stubs…and it presents a bushy new face three weeks later.

My first and most important job is to visit the plants and see how they’re doing. So I crouch, pruners in hand to clip away last year’s stems from perennials and damaged bits from shrubs, and give each member of my garden the once-over.

I’m not doing anything other than clipping yet, but I’m noting things like the presence of weeds in or near the crown, animal damage, weak or rotted portions, overcrowded clumps or over-eager colonies, and puzzling unknowns. After 30-some years watching my plants wake up, I pretty much know my team. Each species has its own character and unique weaknesses. Some always jump up ready to rock, some winter restlessly and need untangling from the sheets, and a few need to be hustled quickly to the vanity for a makeover before polite company arrives. Occasionally one needs doctoring or inoculation because I see early signs of that plant’s unique recurring problems.

There are always a few new guys every year who give me pause. Getting to know each one is like learning the ways of a new friend, one day and one encounter at a time. In spring, I scribble my observations on a mental clipboard.

I cut to just above a bud on woody perennials such as culinary sage, lavender, Russian sage and shrubs that I cut back hard, including butterfly bush (Buddleia davidii) and bluebeard (Caryopteris x clandonensis).
I cut to just above a bud on woody perennials such as culinary sage, lavender, Russian sage and shrubs that I cut back hard, including butterfly bush (Buddleia davidii) and bluebeard (Caryopteris x clandonensis).

I clip herbaceous perennials back to the ground, leaving only the brand new leaves or flower buds.
I clip herbaceous perennials back to the ground, leaving only the brand new leaves or flower buds.

As I cut, I toss plant debris over my shoulder onto the lawn or a tarp. Every 10 or 15 minutes I stand up, pocket the pruners and stretch out with a rake to clean up my clippings. It’s unwise in early spring to spend too long in any one position or motion.

If the bed needs fertilizer, I broadcast a slow-release, organic product. I do this now so that the granules of fertilizer will be mixed into the top few inches of soil as I do my next steps—weeding and dividing.

I weed the bed beginning where most weeds begin—on the edge. Most of the plants we call weeds get into a bed as creeping roots or from seed dropped from the plants just outside. If I keep the edge free of weeds, the middle of the bed can almost fend for itself. After one good weeding in April I generally have very little weeding to do in May and often none in June, July and August.

I cut along the edge with a spade, separating runners from their source and loosening the soil. Then I lift out seedlings and creeping infiltrators, chasing every bit of running root. If there is a root barrier such as edging surrounding the bed, I loosen and lift seedling weeds all along the perimeter and check to be sure that defensive barrier is working. Sometimes I find that running root plants are coming in over the top of the edging or ducking beneath. If that’s the case I plan a change in tactics—a wider no man’s land to thwart above-ground creepers or a deeper edging against the subterranean invaders.

When I have secured the borders, I look to any weeds in the center. Weeds there consist mostly of desirable plants that have run amok. Running root perennials like bee balm, obedient plant, herbaceous artemisias and Japanese anemones have that tendency to spread beyond their appointed places. I sort out such messes by chasing the aggressive plants’ roots outward from their crowns. Sometimes it’s necessary to lift neighboring perennials all around these aggressive species, remove the foreign roots from their crowns and then replace them. Do this now and the oppressed plants will have time to reestablish roots before they stretch upward for the year. No sign of the disruption will remain.

I edge with a spade, inserting it…
I edge with a spade, inserting it…

…and leaning back on the handle of the spade, which forces the blade up and loosens that soil along the bed edge. Removing weeds from the edge is simple in that loose soil.
…and leaning back on the handle of the spade, which forces the blade up and loosens that soil along the bed edge. Removing weeds from the edge is simple in that loose soil.

Left: I prefer mulch that is dark and fine in texture, such as cocoa hulls on the left edge of this bed. Right: But I will use anything that is free of weeds and can cover the ground, from shredded bark…to the fall leaves shown.
Left: I prefer mulch that is dark and fine in texture, such as cocoa hulls on the left edge of this bed.
Right: But I will use anything that is free of weeds and can cover the ground, from shredded bark…to the fall leaves shown.

Now or at my next visit in April I divide declining perennials and tend to those who seemed to need help with pests. Dividing is a matter of lifting all of an existing plant, removing the oldest parts—usually the center—and replanting only about one-quarter of the whole. I put back only pieces that are vigorous, outer-edge divisions, as those probably carry the least spores and eggs of pest diseases and insects that may have contributed to the original plant’s decline.

Every plant I lift for dividing represents a loss of organic matter for the bed. So for every bushel of peony, daylily, daisy or anything else I remove, I spread a bushel full of compost on that space and work it into the soil. If I don’t, the area will settle after replanting. Plants in such depressions may suffer from poor air circulation or puddling water.

I replace every bit of organic matter in a perennial bed when I divide. I lifted a wheelbarrow full of daylilies (in the background) in a fall dividing session and so added a wheelbarrow of compost to that area before replanting divisions.
I replace every bit of organic matter in a perennial bed when I divide. I lifted a wheelbarrow full of daylilies (in the background) in a fall dividing session and so added a wheelbarrow of compost to that area before replanting divisions.

My final chore in spring is to top up the mulch in the bed. Where the existing blanket of mulch is less than two inches thick, I add new, being careful to leave a clear collar around the crowns of plants so moisture isn’t trapped against stems.

I’ve been told that the thorough weeding I prescribe for early April is impractical, that it’s far too laborious to cut, loosen and clean the entire edge. Yet that’s the way it’s done in botanical gardens, because that’s what works best. It’s not such a chore as it sounds. This 500 square foot bed has 100 linear feet of edge. It took me just about an hour to cut and weed the outer 18 inches, all the way around.
I’ve been told that the thorough weeding I prescribe for early April is impractical, that it’s far too laborious to cut, loosen and clean the entire edge. Yet that’s the way it’s done in botanical gardens, because that’s what works best. It’s not such a chore as it sounds. This 500 square foot bed has 100 linear feet of edge. It took me just about an hour to cut and weed the outer 18 inches, all the way around.

Pre-emergent weed killers are unnecessary if you mulch. Pre-emergent products are often counter-productive in a perennial bed, getting mixed too deep into the soil in the normal course of weeding and dividing so that they do not prevent weeds at the surface, but build up to begin affecting the deeper roots of desirable plants.

There! Now I can sit back and enjoy the season because there will be very little hard work to do until fall!

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

Janet’s Journal: Lawn Long Gone

  •   4 Comments

Nothing looks so good alongside a flower bed or feels so comfortable underfoot as lawn. It deserves better than we give it. After years of drought and neglect, your lawn might need your care more than a quick pass with a magic wand dispensing liquid fertilizer and weedkiller.
Nothing looks so good alongside a flower bed or feels so comfortable underfoot as lawn. It deserves better than we give it. After years of drought and neglect, your lawn might need your care more than a quick pass with a magic wand dispensing liquid fertilizer and weedkiller.

How to restore weed-infested lawn areas to healthy turf grass

My mailbox is full! One out of four letters reads: “My lawn is being taken over by (description or sample of weed). I’ve tried weedkiller but it didn’t work. What should I do?”

News flash: In many cases, the weeds are not taking over your lawn. They are your lawn. Perhaps you should think twice about trying to kill them.

The grass has been dying out for years, thinned by drought, heat and wildly oscillating winter temperatures over snowless, uninsulated turf. It’s tempting to think that a few passes with the right magic wand will fix it, but it won’t happen that way.

Portrait of a dying lawn

Five years ago, your sod may have had a dozen bundled grass blades in each square inch, the individual growing points snuggled tight against one another. Those leafy sprays were content to be packed in with their fellows since they were all equals—and polite, as plants go. They were also healthy, each one tapped into enough water and nutrients to meet its needs.

Then as soil moisture dwindled, these plants began to strain. Whenever temperatures soared you could almost hear them wheeze, as their pores closed in defense against dehydration. Although those pores release water vapor and have to be stopped like leaks when heat and drought combine, they also serve as intake ports for atmospheric gases. Without those gases that are essential ingredients in photosynthesis, the whole sunlight-into-sugar process stops. The plant must switch to emergency power—burning the starch stored in its roots. This literally reduces the size of the roots. As they shrink, so does their reach. They cover a smaller, shallower area so the plant has even less moisture to live on.

One by one, the grass blades sicken and die from starvation, dehydration or diseases they were once vigorous enough to stave off. In the new open spaces, sun penetrates and dark soil absorbs the radiation, heating and stressing the roots further.

The advent of rude, greedy weeds

Meanwhile, the sun has now reached and spurred the germination of heat-loving seeds such as crabgrass that can wait decades for such an opportunity.

These newcomers to the grassy carpet are not polite. Crabgrass is all elbows and explosive growth. Spurge, purslane, ground ivy and others don’t even have the manners to stand up straight. They sprawl and worm their way between grass blades. All of them are better able to function in hot, dry times and compete heavily with the sickly turf for available water. Thieves like dandelion and Queen Anne’s lace put all their seedling energy into deep tap roots that drain the lower reaches of the soil.

News flash—those weeds aren’t taking over your lawn, they are your lawn!
News flash—those weeds aren’t taking over your lawn, they are your lawn!

At first it’s just a few discolored spots in the lawn where weeds have incurred. If you return the lawn to good health you can keep it at this state of nearly all lawn or even reverse the tide.
At first it’s just a few discolored spots in the lawn where weeds have incurred. If you return the lawn to good health you can keep it at this state of nearly all lawn or even reverse the tide.

In their first year of lawn incursion, maroon-tinged, clover-like oxalis plants (common yellow sorrel) can be overlooked as nothing more than slightly discolored areas of turf. Yet these weeds have dropped seeds and runners into every available space. Given continued poor growing conditions for grass and inadequate lawn care by the gardener, they will run amuck in subsequent years.
In their first year of lawn incursion, maroon-tinged, clover-like oxalis plants (common yellow sorrel) can be overlooked as nothing more than slightly discolored areas of turf. Yet these weeds have dropped seeds and runners into every available space. Given continued poor growing conditions for grass and inadequate lawn care by the gardener, they will run amuck in subsequent years.

Creeping along beneath our notice

In its first year, all this trouble may escape our notice. It’s a few discolored areas of maroon-tinged, clover-like oxalis, chartreuse nutsedge or gray-green henbit. Those pioneers make lots of seed, however. They also crowd and shade out more lawn. By seed and runner they move quickly into every new opening.

Winter kill leaves even more gaps in the sod, just in time for cool season weeds such as chickweed and creeping speedwell to sprout and settle in. Since they germinate between November and March, the gardener spreading grass seed in April is too late, and her well-intentioned fertilizer assists the wrong plants.

After years of escalating losses, we finally notice the trouble. Restoring that battered greensward now is more a matter of starting over than kicking out a few weeds.

Crabgrass is all elbows and explosive growth, and produces seeds that can fill an empty space next year or lay in wait for twenty! Ground ivy doesn’t even have the manners to stand up straight. It sprawls and worms its way between grass blades. Dandelions have a deep tap root that pulls the water down away from the shallower grass roots.
Ground ivy doesn’t even have the manners to stand up straight. It sprawls and worms its way between grass blades.

Fix the areas where poor drainage has been undermining your lawn’s health.
Fix the areas where poor drainage has been undermining your lawn’s health.

Starting over

It’s best to sow seed between the third week of August and the middle of September when conditions are prime. Fall rains and milder temperatures support seed germination and establishment.

You’ll need broadleaf weedkiller since handweeding thousands of square feet that’s mostly weeds is usually not practical. Don’t use preemergent, though, if you intend to sow grass seed.

If there is almost no grass left in that field mowed short you’ve been calling “lawn,” kill the whole shebang with a non-selective herbicide such as glyphosate. Whichever route you take, time it so the herbicide finishes its work before the prime time window for sowing closes.

Oh, but you said that weedkiller didn’t work. With no offense intended, I think that was not the fault of the herbicide. You may have applied it when it couldn’t work, such as in the hottest part of summer when the target weeds were metabolizing too slowly to be affected. Or perhaps you spread a weedkiller over dry greens. Rather than sticking where they could do the most harm, the pellets slid to the soil and dissolved with little effect. Maybe you did kill some weeds, but without follow-up help your lawn couldn’t recolonize the weeded spots. By the time you looked again, the bad guys had reasserted themselves.

Don’t spread seed on dead weeds. Rake or till to let the seed fall on loosened soil, as shown here.
Don’t spread seed on dead weeds. Rake or till to let the seed fall on loosened soil, as shown here.

Seeding like you mean it

After killing the weeds you’ll need grass seed. Buy a premium blend—bluegrass for sun, fescue for partly shaded areas. “Premium” is an important term. It means the seeds are from recently developed strains of grass bred for disease resistance. In a lawn as ravaged as yours, disease organisms have found a toehold and could devastate susceptible seedlings.

You can sod rather than seed. But sod is more expensive than seed, while both are quick to take in September.

Don’t spread seed on top of dead weeds. Seed must rest on moist soil to sprout and survive. Till lightly, make numerous passes with a core aerator, work the soil with an iron garden rake—whatever it takes to loosen and expose the earth. Smooth it and water it so it’s settled, moist and level like a tray of potting mix ready for seeding.

While you’re at it, address other problems that have undermined the health of your turf. Level or drain puddled and soggy areas. Use a garden fork to pierce and break up the compacted layer that’s been there, 6 to 9 inches down.

If a hard pan exists all over your property, you could rent an irrigation pipe-pulling tractor and drive it back and forth with its pipe slitter lowered but no pipe being played out. This will knife into or through that dense, airless, water- and root-stopping layer so soil dwelling creatures can finally move in and soften it.

Rake lightly after seeding to tumble the seeds with soil crumbs at the surface. No straw cover is necessary—sod farms don’t mulch! Don’t water right away. Wait for Nature to do her thing. Fall rains will coax the grass up and keep it growing. Water only if Nature fails you and the soil begins to dry after the seed has sprouted.

Take it from there

Fertilize when the new grass is 1-1/2 inches tall. Mow when it reaches 3 to 4 inches, just barely clipping its tips with a freshly-sharpened blade—dull blades can uproot the seedlings. Most important, get down on your knees to watch for weeds, then kill or pluck them as they appear.

While you’re down there, apologize to your lawn and promise to water often, lightly—so the water isn’t wasted below summer-shortened lawn roots—at midday when it’s hot so the mist cools the air and pores can stay open.

These directions may sound like heresy but have been proven effective by tests at Michigan State and other universities. “Water deep and infrequently” sounded good but had not been empirically tested before 1995 and turned out to be inappropriate for lawn species.

Tell it you’ll mow it high so it has enough body to shade out weeds and cool its own roots. Mean it when you say you’ll fertilize at the start and end of each year with a slow-release, soil-building organic fertilizer.

Finally, promise that you’ll pay closer attention from now on, so problems won’t get so out of hand.

Or take it in another direction

Reviving a lawn isn’t your cup of tea? I can sympathize. Lawn care bores and frustrates me—millions of clones demanding my help to grow evenly across sites where soil conditions, sun and moisture vary foot by foot. Yet I respect its place in the landscape and all the work that’s gone into breeding grasses and developing lawn care products that work even in our clumsy hands and laughable sites. Try as long and hard as you like, you won’t find another plant so visually perfect as edging for flower beds, that we can grow with so little care yet walk on regularly, enjoy in all four seasons and depend on for decades of service. Like me, you’d better learn to care for it correctly.

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

Janet’s Journal: When Tolerance is Not a Virtue

  •   3 Comments

Rather than placing plants where they only “tolerate” a space, plant them where they are actually happy

For the best garden, avoid the word “tolerate” as you select plants. Use what will thrive on a site, not just survive. Barberry, German statice, lavender, dianthus and iris can all thrive in the dry soil.
For the best garden, avoid the word “tolerate” as you select plants. Use what will thrive on a site, not just survive. Barberry, German statice, lavender, dianthus and iris can all thrive in the dry soil.

Why do we deliberately plant species that only “tolerate” our gardens? Perhaps it’s because “shade tolerance,” “heat tolerant,” “tolerant of a wide range of conditions” and similar phrases are basic to horticulture. It’s so common in books that we skip right over this important word as we read.

Maybe we just don’t recognize body language in plants as well as we do in people. A plant’s message may reach us on a subconscious level and trigger vague disquiet, but for most it doesn’t process beyond that point.

Are you in tune, or are you living in a garden full of sullen, sniveling, grumbling malcontents? Here’s a primer, a listing of some of the signals I’ve learned to read as “I’d rather not be here but if you insist I’ll stay and make us both miserable.”

Rodger’s flower (Rodgersia sambucifolia) is far less tolerant of drought than lamium, and unable to stand the full sun, crying out with scorched leaves.
Rodger’s flower (Rodgersia sambucifolia) is far less tolerant of drought than lamium, and unable to stand the full sun, crying out with scorched leaves.

There may be fine line divisions in your garden between tolerable an intolerable sites. Sweet Solomon’s seal (Polygonatum odoratum ‘Variegatum’) is a stalwart performer here where the lilac shades it all afternoon, yet would fall prey to pests and disease in the full sun and heat just a few feet to the left.
There may be fine line divisions in your garden between tolerable an intolerable sites. Sweet Solomon’s seal (Polygonatum odoratum ‘Variegatum’) is a stalwart performer here where the lilac shades it all afternoon, yet would fall prey to pests and disease in the full sun and heat just a few feet to the left.

Astilbe is a tough plant all around, so long as it doesn’t have to go dry. Given constantly moist soil, it can put on a show even while putting up with singed leaves in full sun.
Astilbe is a tough plant all around, so long as it doesn’t have to go dry. Given constantly moist soil, it can put on a show even while putting up with singed leaves in full sun.

Clematis suffers from its reputation as “tolerant of shade.” Here, it’s tolerating shade as it always has, by escaping over the fence to bloom in the sun, in the yard outside the gardener’s view!
Clematis suffers from its reputation as “tolerant of shade.” Here, it’s tolerating shade as it always has, by escaping over the fence to bloom in the sun, in the yard outside the gardener’s view!

Subsisting in Shade

A key to recognizing tolerance is knowing what a plant could look like. Until you see a member of a species being all it can be, you may not register your flora’s resentment of the conditions you force it to endure. You may never hear the mumbled curses shared between pallid plants who view you as the stingy human who’s consigned them to, in this first case, chronic light deficiency.

Perhaps the plant that opens your eyes is one of your own that escaped by seed or runner into a brighter place, to stun you with its transformation. Although I’ve also seen this happen where the gardener does not even recognize the original and its progeny as the same species. Maybe your enlightenment comes when you see a division of your plant in better circumstances, strutting its stuff in someone else’s sun garden. The differences, minor or major, and the chance for comparison might escape you except the resident gardener is there, thanking you for the gift of (name of plant here) and bragging on its performance.

What a shade-tolerant plant does is become thin, developing more stem and fewer leaves. The stalks may be weak so the plant dips and sags. Its yearning for sun may make it lean or even crawl toward the light on prostrate stems. The foliage lacks substance and is paler than it should be. In the case of variegated foliage that longs for the sun, golds may become dull green, maroons a muddy pink, and gray loses its silvering fuzz to reveal ordinary green.

Flowers, too, are paler. Worse, they’re fewer in number despite all you spend on “bloom builder” fertilizers.

Some shade tolerant species whose discontent becomes obvious in midsummer:

Daylilies – come on, count the flowers per stem and then try to tell yourself it’s happy compared to sun-grown siblings!

Purple coneflower – snip a flower from your shade-grown echinacea and put it in a vase with one cut from the sun garden.

Balloon flower – this sturdy creature shouldn’t require staking but it will fall when it’s starving for light.

Sullen in the Sun

Their foliage wilts on hot days and has a hang-dog droop even when it’s only pleasantly warm—these plants are begging you for a place with at least midday shade. A leaf’s edges may be scorched, while the blade is pale and chlorotic, its color-producing chemicals destroyed by light as surely as sun fades a drapery. Singed, washed out foliage may be concentrated at the top of the plant or on its sunniest side, that outer rank of leaves taking the brunt of the abuse. Flowers may be abundant but short-lived. The whole plant may opt for a shorter season, in the case of woodland and forest-edge species able to escape into dormancy.

Hostas are troopers, making only the smallest unhappy noises in the sun. Not so, flowering dogwoods and rodgersias, who moan and wail for cool shadow. Lucky bleeding heart and mayapple can fold their foliage early and depart the scene by midsummer.

Whining in the Wind

Holding shredded, tattered flower petals or snapped flower stalks out for you to see, your “wind tolerant” plants can’t believe you fail to notice their plight. Some are less stoic, simply refusing to flower or, if woody, holding back growth on their exposed faces until the windward side is all stunted, twiggy limbs. Other shrubs and trees thrust dead branches in your face, hoping you’ll understand that constant rocking in the wind is costing them roots.

A more subtle sign is foliage that’s been rattled and rubbed against itself until it’s bruised, creased, abraded and wide open to every leaf spot fungus that ever took a liking to that kind of plant.

Serviceberry is wind tolerant, but don’t ask it to endure too much if you expect to enjoy its fragrance or cut a pristine flowering stem for a vase. Poplars stand up to any gale but try not to look at their spotted leaves and cankered twigs, and don’t hold it against them when those twigs grow into easily broken limbs. Great Plains gardeners know lilacs as dependable windbreaks, but don’t send a photo of your symmetrical shrub to your gardening cousin in Kansas, if you want him to remain deaf to his deformed lilac’s moans. And certainly don’t cut a bunch of big, rich-colored blooms from your shrub and drive them out to him, unless you want him to learn to cry over his plant’s paltry showing.

Hostile in the Heat

Plants that don’t love heat, only tolerate it, cry out in singed spots, especially on wide, horizontally oriented leaves. They wilt on the worst days and even on the best days curl their foliage under like so many clenched fists. With every stab from their ever-present mites, they hurl silent curses at the gardener. If all else fails, the herbaceous ones will develop crown rot, tender young buds drying and dying as they emerge, and the plant will bow out.

Many people ask their plants to tolerate heat without knowing it. Away at the office, you may not notice the midday sun or superheated 3 p.m. air that oppresses your Hydrangea, pounds your Pulmonaria, and cooks your Caladium.

Dreadful in Dry Places

Brief bloom, slow growth, increased susceptibility to fungus and sucking insects, tip dieback—these are all the price we ask a plant to pay when it must tolerate drought.

Just because it puts up with the shade, don’t ask it to take the drought, too, or Astilbe will simply retract its developing flower buds in crisped disappointment. Spirea is a dogged player, even where it’s dry—just don’t expect it to put on any but the briefest floral show. Misunderstood Monarda, grown dry for fear of wetting its mildew-prone leaves, will powder up even sooner than otherwise. Given constant moisture the same plant may show not a spot of gray.

Pests can tell a plant that’s being tolerant, even if we can’t see any difference. Above, this butterfly weed (Asclepias tuberosa) growing in compacted soil at roadside may look fine at first glance...but it regularly falls prey to aphids (below) that never touch its sister plants growing 10 feet away in deeper, better drained soil.
Pests can tell a plant that’s being tolerant, even if we can’t see any difference. Above, this butterfly weed (Asclepias tuberosa) growing in compacted soil at roadside may look fine at first glance…but it regularly falls prey to aphids (below) that never touch its sister plants growing 10 feet away in deeper, better drained soil.

butterfly-weed-attacked-by-aphids-0718

Muttering in the Mud

Listen early in the year for the voices of plants who want out of the wet soil. They give themselves pep talks and start into growth, then gasp as stems are bitten by crown rot and fall. Surviving stems bear pale and discolored leaves, deprived of nutrients available only in warmer or better-aerated soils. Leaf spot and mildew plague them, especially at high summer.

Burning bushes and yews must be the most tolerant plants of all time, for all the places they’re asked to grow. But watch them to be the first to tell you when it’s too wet, with pale foliage that yellows or develops fall color early. Redtwig dogwood, a native to wet places where soil water is constantly refreshed, is often relegated to stagnant mud where its beautiful foliage assumes a tortured, pocked look.

Don’t scoff at intolerance of confinement. Look closely at the bee balm (Monarda ‘Violet Queen’) in the center of this picture. See the brown, thin, stunted, bloomed-out stems to the right? That’s her mother plant, the only difference between the two being that the daughter is a division, set into fresh soil renewed with compost.
Don’t scoff at intolerance of confinement. Look closely at the bee balm (Monarda ‘Violet Queen’) in the center of this picture. See the brown, thin, stunted, bloomed-out stems to the right? That’s her mother plant, the only difference between the two being that the daughter is a division, set into fresh soil renewed with compost.

Crabby in Confinement

Some aspects of a plant’s environment are quite natural, others almost entirely manmade. Confinement, for instance: forcing a plant that wants to spread to stay put, or restricting a woody plant that wants to stretch its roots to a small pot.

We must confine plants to be able to grow trees in openings in the sidewalk or perennial gardens in patio containers. That’s all copasetic so long as we understand the unavoidable consequence of limited space: premature aging. Wood ages and dies sooner, herbaceous stems become more crowded more quickly, leaf size diminishes on older limbs and crowns, and diseases multiply as blooms decrease.

So star magnolia and callery pear will perform acceptably where their root space is limited, but to keep them flowering well, prune regularly to stimulate fresh young growth. Mint makes a great container plant, lush and fragrant even on a hot patio, but where one in the garden might need dividing every two or three years, divide the potted one each and every spring.

If I were a plant, I would probably tolerate much in exchange for compliments and the satisfaction of persisting against all odds. Yet I doubt that I could handle confinement with anything approaching grace, for there as here I would always want a little more space!

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

Janet’s Journal: Double Your Perennials, Double Your Fun

  •   Leave a Comment

Pair perennials properly to create superb companion plantings

Crocus, a spring-blooming lark, has an additional qualification for doubling up: It has a shallow root and so can be paired with tap-rooted myrtle euphorbia (Euphorbia myrsinites).
Crocus, a spring-blooming lark, has an additional qualification for doubling up: It has a shallow root and so can be paired with tap-rooted myrtle euphorbia (Euphorbia myrsinites).

Quamash (Camassia leichtlinii) is a lark, a spring-blooming bulb of wet places. When it fades into dormancy, it can be covered by a late rising, moisture-loving owl: boneset (Eupatorium perfoliatum; foliage in the foreground). Boneset is a relative of another, better known owl, Joe Pye weed.
Quamash (Camassia leichtlinii) is a lark, a spring-blooming bulb of wet places. When it fades into dormancy, it can be covered by a late rising, moisture-loving owl: boneset (Eupatorium perfoliatum; foliage in the foreground). Boneset is a relative of another, better known owl, Joe Pye weed.

Doubling up on perennials. It’s the designer’s color-hungry attempt to copy and even improve on nature. Nature, which blankets the ground below trees with spring ephemerals and populates a prairie with low-growing vernal species among taller, later-blooming types. In both instances two perennial groups co-exist harmoniously. The spring species live fast and finish their business as the summer crowd takes over. The summer species graciously shed their leaves or topple to the ground at year’s end, letting in light to fuel the next cycle.

The designer who doubles up perennials will plant two species where one might be expected to fit, pairing them in one of several ways:

A) Larks with owls: One species that starts and finishes early in the season with another that comes on later. Larks often have a summer dormancy, or don’t suffer when the gardener cuts them back hard early, to make room for the owl.

B) Layered species: One wide, ground floor occupant below a narrow high-riser.

C) Equitable competitors: A shallow root scrambler with a deep or tap root, each drawing on different levels for water and nutrients, and the scrambler able to move out of the way as the other grows.

The concept is simple. Yet it is an attempt to copy natural elegance so it requires observation, patient trial and a certain ingenuity in execution. I coined the phrase “doubling up” for my garden design classes. So here are some successful doubles and the most important practical lessons I’ve learned along the way.

Perennial alyssum is not only a tap root plant but a ground floor specialist. Thus it doubles-up well with a shallow-rooted high riser such as Joe Pye weed (Eupatorium purpureum).
Perennial alyssum, left, is not only a tap root plant but a ground floor specialist. Thus it doubles-up well with a shallow-rooted high riser such as Joe Pye weed (Eupatorium purpureum, right).

Be a matchmaker.

In the accompanying chart are species for doubling up, each with its qualifications listed – lark, owl, ground floor, high riser, tap root or shallow-rooted scrambler. Any species that rates a check in the “lark” column (A1) is a suitable candidate for pairing with an “owl” (A2). High risers (B1) can double up with any ground floor specialist (B2). Tap roots (C1) are right to be teamed up with shallow root scramblers (C2).

Always plan for “Right Plant, Right Place.”

In making these pairings, I leave it to you to familiarize yourself with a species’ cultural requirements—amount of sun, moisture needs and soil preference. I trust you’ve already learned the lesson that it only pays to plant where you know the species will thrive, so you’ll pair off plants only if you know they both suit the site, or you’ll modify the site. For instance, oriental poppy, a lark, can share space beautifully with the owl, hardy hibiscus, but only if you can meet the former’s need for deep, well-drained soil, plus keep that soil moist enough to satisfy hibiscus, a native of damp pond edges.

Aim for more than one qualifier.

Plants get along in crowded quarters even better if they have compatible adaptive characteristics from two or even three of the categories. For example, balloon flower as a high riser does well with ground floor rock cress. You will learn to recognize the match is more sure when you see that it also pairs a tap-rooted owl (balloon flower) with a shallow-rooted free ranging species that does its growing in late winter (evergreens have that advantage!) and early spring.

I might also pair balloon flower with hybrid pinks for the high rise/ground floor match, but I’d be less confident of success. Neither is shallow-rooted so they will compete with each other more than is good. Also, because the pinks can’t scramble—i.e. move readily by surface-rooting stems into better space when conditions such as shade from a growing partner becomes greater in one spot than another—it will be a bit slow to react to openings in the balloon flower’s “canopy,” suffer more thin spots, and be less vigorous overall.

Lark and owl: The lark, Virginia bluebells (Mertensia virginica), is a great match for the owl, Japanese painted fern (Athyrium niponicum var. pictum), because both are at home in the shade.
Lark and owl: The lark, Virginia bluebells (Mertensia virginica, left), is a great match for the owl, Japanese painted fern (Athyrium niponicum var. pictum, right), because both are at home in the shade.

Plumbago (Ceratostigma plumbaginoides) is another late-rising owl, excellent for covering the departure of larks such as tulips and daffodils.
Plumbago (Ceratostigma plumbaginoides) is another late-rising owl, excellent for covering the departure of larks such as tulips and daffodils.

Wait to see who wins.

Yet you should keep an open mind as you pair the plants and avoid making snap judgments once you’re growing the doubled-up combination. Some pairings will test your determination, requiring the patient trial I mentioned earlier. I call this period “see who wins” even though what I always hope for is a long-term balance of power.

When one plant is slower growing than the other, but persistent enough to endure, it’s all a matter of time. Tap-rooted, high riser gas plant increases so slowly that it may be years before it’s a visually wonderful match with shallow-rooted, ground floor sedum ‘Vera Jameson,’ but that day is almost sure to come.

However, when the paired plants are both vigorous growers, it’s best during the wait and see period to adopt the laissez-faire of a really good kindergarten teacher. Watch and tolerate rambunctious individuals so they have leeway to grow, and step in only when one’s assertiveness becomes a threat to another’s growth. Stepping in between plants may involve judicious cutting back during the season, yearly thinning, or staking the lark to allow the owl to emerge with straight stems.

Consider once more the oriental poppy/hardy hibiscus double up. Through a wait-and-see strategy, I learned that a slow-growing pink cultivar of oriental poppy may coexist peacefully with hibiscus, but the rampant red-orange standard doesn’t play nice and will abuse a well-mannered partner if I turn my back. One year, I planted both types of poppy, each with a hibiscus companion. The pink poppy and its hibiscus are still happy campers seven years later, without any interference from me. The red-orange beast, however, acts like a red tide and would reduce its hibiscus partner to a tired swimmer trying to keep her nose up to that crimson surface, except that I act as referee.

So I wade into my red-orange poppy every June as the flower petals fall to remove that foliage before its time. I grasp each cluster of poppy leaves and stalks, then give a sharp tug to break it off below soil level. I learned that this does not kill the poppy, just slows its spread. It does free the emerging hibiscus shoots from the poppy’s shade. I can almost hear the hibiscus gulp in air as I pull the poppy out of the way.

Tap root and shallow. The category “tap root” doesn’t always mean a single, straight root but a root that is deep. Hybrid lily, left, has a deeper root than perennial ageratum (Eupatorium coelestinum a.k.a. Conoclinium coelestinum, right), so the two can co-exist harmoniously.
Tap root and shallow. The category “tap root” doesn’t always mean a single, straight root but a root that is deep. Hybrid lily, left, has a deeper root than perennial ageratum (Eupatorium coelestinum a.k.a. Conoclinium coelestinum, right), so the two can co-exist harmoniously.

Accommodate the staggered start.

Some pairings involve plants that are best planted in a certain season—bulbs in fall, the first sowing of a self-seeding annual in spring. Yet you may want to plant their double up counterpart earlier or later. Or you may decide to try doubling up beginning with an established plant in your garden. The challenge is to insert the second plant and insure its good start but cause minimal disturbance to the first.

It can be a puzzle to do this with bulbs, especially the big ones. The plants they double so well with are often in full, glorious bloom at bulb-planting time. Perhaps tiny bulbs can be shoehorned in with a narrow trowel, but the gardener can’t bear to insert a spade and ruin that show. The best answer I’ve found is to wait until November to add the bulbs. Then the new additions still have time to get established before their debut, yet I’m less hesitant to plant in the other plant’s midst.

The reverse of that situation, planting an owl companion in spring among already established larks, is also difficult. Digging to place a one-gallon container of Japanese anemone among bulbs is likely to destroy or at least set the bulbs way back. When working among spring bloomers, it’s more do-able to trowel in several three-inch pots, small divisions of a late riser perennial, or the smallest available cell packs of an annual, or simply sow seeds between the established plants.

Sometimes you do have space at ground level for digging, but the air space is full of stems of established plants. You have to be a terrific lightfoot to avoid bending or snapping stalks as you work in that already tight place. I find elastic tarp straps helpful for cinching in existing plants, temporarily reducing their girth while I plant between them.

Have fun but don’t go broke!

Which brings me to one final, practical aspect of doubling up—the cost. It’s more costly than conventional planting because you plant two for one and there is always the chance that a pairing will fail. That consideration, along with the knowledge that small plugs make better double ups, keeps me always on the look-out for small starts at garden centers and plants that can be divided to plant as double ups. You can also do some begging of perennial divisions from fellow gardeners. Since you’ll request only very small divisions, perhaps your friends will be more likely to say yes. Then you can cut your costs even as you double your perennial show!

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

Copyright © 1996-2020 Michigan Gardener. All rights reserved.