A Growing Obsession

This last Sunday of April has been misty and rainy, the same conditions since mid-week. Until the rains returned last Wednesday, I personally felt we had gone too long without rain (almost a week). But I know the farmers were becoming nervous about getting a second cut of grass done and felt pushed off schedule by the still-soggy ground, so they welcomed the dry spell to get some field work done. Funny how the neighborhood follows the farmers’ grass-cutting schedule, with small lawns appearing neatly mown seemingly overnight. We took the hint and pushed a mower over the tiny patch of shaggy grass at the front of the house. I’ve been slowly planting up the front north-facing garden, using divisions and castoffs from the back garden, where all my primary attention has been directed. Nothing much to show in the front garden yet, but we are working on a fence for Billie, Hannah and Domino, who just started walking around her first birthday.

Planting anything for the first time is always fraught with misgivings. Yet the five bulbs of Camassia leichtlini planted last fall seemed to know exactly what to do. They are after all native to western North America and thrive in moist meadows, and a moist meadow pretty much describes my back garden for eight months of the year. When the flowers began to open last week, I realized my only mistake was not planting more. I called around Portland nurseries to check if any potted bulbs were available, found a source, and took a rainy drive east to bring home two more bulbs planted in gallons. (This fall I will be ordering more bulbs, the easiest and most affordable way to go.)

The only uncertainty remaining is how the dying foliage interacts with expanding spring and summer growth of surrounding plants. Judging by last summer, there’s no question the dying foliage will be concealed, the only question being will the leaves get enough sun for the health of the bulb.

What else is stirring? Asphodels! Asphodeline lutea. Out of three clumps, all different sources, one is in bloom, another clump showing three buds. The only unsuccessful clump was mail-ordered, ‘Italian Gold.’ The latter’s leaves have died off and one flower spike withered before bloom. The thriving clumps were both grown locally. Makes sense to me.

The euphorbias continue to be a dominant presence in April as they have been all year. I can’t imagine spring without them…or more camassias!

Last spring a local nursery had planted whiskey barrels with Fritillaria persica. Which jarred me into the realization that I could too, that fritillaries were a green light on the Oregon coast.

This March it is such a kick to see the Persian lily in bloom, even if it’s only the one (they’re expensive). Planted in a 20-gallon galvanized bin also holding a still dormant Salvia ‘Amante’, I can now affirm that its reputation for distinctive beauty was not exaggerated or a trick of photography. Liberated from books and magazines to become a tangible thing in my garden this spring, it’s one of those tiny watershed moments in a gardener’s life. This gardener’s life anyway.

‘Miner’s Merlot’ euphorbia, also new to me, hits similar color notes. But unlike the fritillary, I know euphorbias fairly well and can mentally place them in a context that I just can’t for the fritillary. One is familiar, the other exotic. Technically, both are exotic, with ‘Miner’s Merlot’ a form of Euphorbia x martinii, a naturally occurring hybrid native to France, and the fritillary native to southern Turkey, Iran, Iraq, and other Middle Eastern countries. But “exotic” does not only denote geography, it can mean a bracing unfamiliarity that stirs the imagination, as in this fritillary reminds me of an exotic treasure Marco Polo would have brought to dazzle the court of Kublai Khan.

Continuing the color theme somewhat, the bloody dock has unexpectedly had great presence all winter. I’ve read of but never grown this edible ornamental before — but who could forget a common name like “bloody dock”? Nice to put a name to a face. Loves moisture so is thriving here.

And there’s lots of what might be considered mundane that is new to me too, like the biennial lunaria, or money plant, famous for its translucent seedpods. Lunaria is out early, willing to cover cold ground, taking space away from weeds. (Weeds are prodigious here, with bright green bindweed seedlings emerging daily, something to tackle with the first cup of coffee.) ‘Corfu Blue’ is said to possibly be perennial. Along with ‘Corfu Blue,’ I’ve also sown the purple-leaved Lunaria ‘Chedglow.’ If all goes well, this year should bring my first encounter with those storied seedpods apart from admiring them in the dried flower stall at the Los Angeles Flower Market.

What looks like straw in the above photo is a combination of grasses I’ve been cutting back since February. Early grasses like deschampsia were cut back first, as new growth at the base appeared. Just recently I’ve cut back the other grasses including miscanthus, so beautiful all winter, a favorite winter presence along with eryngiums and Digitalis ferruginea.

Deciduous grasses have been easier to deal with than evergreen grasses like sesleria, which need trimming, raking and grooming instead of a one-time buzzcut. I generally avoided cutting back perennials like penstemon and salvia until new basal growth was visible. Anecdotally, survival chances seem enhanced when the old top growth is left over winter, and hearing the garden rattled by birds seeking food and cover is another winter pleasure. So cutting back the garden for spring has been an ongoing activity depending on the plant, not a one-and-done event, and there’s still a few things to cut back. But the garden has definitely left its tall beige winter phase and entered the green stubble phase, which thankfully is short-lived.

The various carex have been flawless all winter, including a carex lookalike grass from New Zealand, Chionochloa rubra, which I’d argue is more strawberry blonde than rubra. Very slow growing, with a long period of belonging to the exasperating club of “Is it alive or dead?” Now that it’s larger, other colors are emerging, greens and gold, and it’s taking on some personality.

I’m glad I stuck with the Red Tussock Grass, moving it to a more prominent position where its form can best be appreciated — a spot that always seems to be in the gravel intended for the broad walkway…