Ooooh lookey there!

Focal Points in the Garden

By Amy McDowell

The idea of creating focal points in the garden troubled me for years. I just wanted a garden to goof around in. (And if it looked good, all the better to impress others.) Adding specific focal points sounded like a demanding task. I wondered who’s stuffy idea it was that a garden needs a focal point, anyway.

Then one winter, whiling away the snowy hours with a stack of garden magazines, I noticed something. In the gorgeous glossy garden photos, my eye was always drawn to the single man-made element in the shot. Whether it was a birdbath, a bench or a statue, the photo would not have had the impact if it was just a garden bursting with plants. Playing a game in my mind, I’d picture the garden without the man-made item. I realized that without the “thing,” the garden would’ve never caught my eye. At last, I was beginning to understand how important a focal point can be in a garden.

Scouting out flea markets and antique stores, I bought every cheap milk can, metal watering can and wagon wheel I could get my hands on. Around every turn along the garden path, I’d tuck something in among the flowers. Often, the perennials—iris or goat’s beard or whatever—were so huge that the milk can or wagon wheel nestled into the flowers would nearly disappear. Just enough of it would poke out to create a subtle focal point. Visitors to the garden probably never realized what it was that gave the garden a rustic charm. The man-made elements throughout completed the picture perfect garden.

Anything will work—a pot, urn, sundial, gate, arbor, birdbath, bench, statue, fountain, wagon or antique plow. They say specimen plants can be used as a focal point. Although that sugary pink weeping crabapple tree may steal the show while it’s in bloom, the garden’s focal point may shift as the crabapple blooms fade and a clump of peonies or a climbing rose nearby bursts into color. Dark burgundy foliage on a Japanese maple or a purple smoke bush or the sparkling variegation or lime green foliage of a hosta can be used as focal points. But plants used as focal points are subtle and ever changing. I’m sticking with the simple man-made stuff that adds year-round accent.

Tried and true will reward you

Old-fashioned garden plants

By Amy McDowell

“I’d like to plant some low perennials over here in the shade,” my neighbor said, “but I don’t want any hostas. They’re too old-fashioned—like something my mother and her generation would plant.” Raising my eyebrows, I stammered for a couple of minutes before regaining my composure and coming up with a list of shade perennials for her.

Trends in plant popularity are puzzling. What makes some plants “in” and others “old fashioned”? Hostas are gems in the shade garden and it’s hard to imagine casting them aside as old fashioned. There are countless plants beloved by earlier generations that deserve space in our gardens today.

Twiggy old Hydrangeas (H. arborescens or paniculata) with cantaloupe-sized clusters of blooms are robust, reliable and trouble-free. Along the shady north side of a home or underneath the dense canopy of trees, Hydrangeas bloom faithfully and sucker to form a wide mound. Newer varieties are terrific, but their ancestors shouldn’t be forgotten.

Hedgerows of bridal wreath Spirea (Spiraea x vanhoutei) still frame the back yards of homes in some historic early 1900s Des Moines neighborhoods. Draped with tiny white blooms along graceful arching stems each spring, Spirea are pest-free and easy to love. Straggly in shade but dense and showy in sun, bridal wreath Spirea is great for a privacy planting around a patio.

Just as we disregard some delightful old garden plants, we sometimes trip over our own feet in a rush to snatch up the newest garden center offering. Unproven in our climate, the newest plants on the market can lead to failure and frustration. Daphne ‘Carol Macki’ (D. x burkwoodii), a darling shrub with fragrant white blooms, raged the Des Moines market a dozen years ago. Everyone planted them, and over the winter nearly everyone lost them. Daphne’s popularity fizzled out in a few years, after local gardeners realized she was a no-go for this area.

Every season, plant breeders, growers and garden centers offer new selections. Some become raging successes and some fail. Like anything new on the market, there’s always the possibility you’re buying a lemon. The plants of yesteryear, however, are tried and true and worth consideration anew.

Spring is plant sale time

Perennials dug from another garden transplant best

By Amy McDowell

My mom and I once happened upon a garage sale with dozens of perennials displayed in a hodge-podge cluster of dirty mismatched pots. The skinny white-haired man priced the plants at $1 and $2 a pot, and I started snatching them up by the armload. When he noticed my interest, he offered us a guided tour of his garden. It was a standard quarter-acre city lot bordered by wide lush perennial beds on all sides. The flowers overflowed their boundary-line beds into a couple of island beds surrounding a concrete birdbath with flaked white paint and a work area set off by splintered railroad ties that looked like the remains of a long-abandoned sandbox.

As I oohed and aahed over his garden, he offered to dig up a division of any perennials I wanted for just $1 apiece. Suddenly I was the proverbial kid in the candy store, buzzing inside and out at the possibilities. I asked why he’d be so willing to cut pockmarks into his gorgeous garden, and he said he was being forced to sell his home. He was positive that the buyers were planning to “bulldoze the entire place.” I offered him sympathy and he shrugged, squinted his dark eyes and hurried off to gather empty pots for my selections.

It was a cool August morning, but we were just hours away from the sweltering midday summer heat. The plants were in good shape, but I wondered how they’d fare later in the day. I abandoned our plans for a full day of garage saling and went home to plant my new babies right away. Despite their midsummer transplant, every one of them thrived in my garden.

In fact, garden-dug perennials almost always fare better than the tender young perennials sold in garden centers. It’s either because they come from established plants with mature crowns or because the transplant from garden soil to garden soil is easier on them than the transplant from lightweight potting mix to garden soil.

Slip an old bed sheet into your trunk before the spring plant sale season begins, and you’ll be all set when signs start popping up along the curbs.

Oooh, climbing roses!

Climbing Roses

By Amy McDowell

You can grow spectacular climbing roses in central Iowa. Look for those labeled hardy for zones 4 or 5. Zone 3 would be even better, but climbing roses that hardy are rare. I’ll share a few of my successes and failures.

Blaze – My first climbing rose. The cane winterkill was aggravating, and I wasn’t willing to wrap them in burlap or bury them to protect them. One glorious bloom season in seven years wasn’t enough for me, so I dug it up and gave it away. Soil and mulch around the base of climbing roses just protects the lower part of the plant, so most years I’d get blooms no higher than my knees. Blaze is a red rose that grows to 10 feet with protection.

Zephirine Drouhin – My first successful climber. Three years after planting, this rose rewarded me with large deep pink blooms. When the blooms first open, the fragrance is intoxicating. This rose was on the south side of my home. I mulched the base but never protected the canes in winter. The tips of the canes would sometimes die back, and one harsh winter they died back several feet. It still came through winters much better than Blaze ever had, and I was hooked on climbing roses from then on. Zephirine Drouhin is a rampant grower to 12 feet. The canes are thornless, and it will bloom beautifully in light shade, although full sun is best.

Paul’s Himalayan Musk Rambler – I put a simple metal arbor over the walkway to my front door, and dreamed of my guests floating to the door wide-eyed with wonder at the lovely climbing rose. After poring over the catalogs, I ordered two “Pauls” for the arbor. Pleased with my decision, I curled up with a brand new catalog that had just arrived in the mail. Panic flooded through me when I read their description of Paul—it said this rose has “sharp, grabby thorns.” The visions of my guests turned gruesome and tragic. Scrambling, I decided to plant the two Pauls along the split rail fence away from any paths. They have grown 30 feet wide along the fence, with long arching canes that rarely suffer winterkill. The blooms are such a pale pink that they look white from a distance.

Jeanne LaJoie – This is the pink climber I chose for the walkway arbor, and it consistently rewards me with small perfect blooms and minimal winterkill. Jeanne is much smaller in stature than Paul, barely reaching six feet. Clematis planted on the arbor fills in where little Jeanne leaves off.